My Life be Like...

I've been wanting to write out a solid schedule of a typical day in the vihar for a while now, something that says "this is what a Tuesday is like."
I wanted to share with the world what my new "normal" was in India, but sadly, after realizing that I've been here for over six weeks, I still have nothing. Between the different meditation traditions, the papers, and the weekends on mountains, in cities, and at temples, there is no such thing as normal. A typical 9 to 5 day is just another myth of America.
Since my life is about to become a flurry of Tibetan meditation, Independent Study research, and Halloween (this Saturday!), I figured this is as close to normal as India is ever going to be for me. So here is a sketch, as loose as silk pajamas and as malleable as the cow poop on the street. But hey, it's something.

5:15 a.m.: A bell rings through the hallway. I ignore the first one, wake up to the second, and get up on the third. My kurta is draped over my bedpost, and I pull it over my head as I walk out the door. The yoga room is empty, with the exception of Ben, and we do some stretches to wake up. Yoga is notably harder in Zen robes or a man-skirt. Be warned.

5:30 a.m.: Meditation begins in the Buddha hall. Slowly but surely, India has gotten cooler, so the need to shoot daggers at Sensei as he closes a window or turns down the fans have disappeared. Each tradition has a distinct flavor, but not totally mutually exclusive. Whether I'm forming the mudra or breathing out white smoke and taking on the doubts of the world, it's still my mind. That never changes (....or does it?)

6:30 a.m.: I take my one plate and spoon down to the dining hall for silent breakfast. India is big into this idea that breakfast is the biggest meal of the day, and then they get progressively smaller throughout the day. Whatever.
All I know is that breakfast is always fantastic.
There's a pretty reliable cycle between cereal and hot milk, porridge with baked apples, toast and a fried egg with a Paula-Dean amount of butter, and a disgustingly enormous English muffin-esque thing that I will never know the name of, with a spattering of the occasional french toast day or crepe Sunday. On the table, there is butter, peanut butter, honey, and either mango, mixed fruit, marmalade, or strawberry jam.
On the side, there are bowls of palm sugar syrup, which is thicker and darker than maple syrup, flax seed, and sesame to taste. And as sure as the sun rising, there are pomegranate seeds. POMEGRANATE SEEDS! It's as if the deliciousness of fruity pebbles and the healthiness of Kashi made a beautiful Indian breakfast baby.

7:30 a.m.: Hindi class. Sometimes I play the game, "which do I know better: Spanish or Hindi?" And it's often a toss up.
I've decided that there's this giant blob of brain designated to "foreign language," and everything inside of it, Hindi or Spanish, becomes interchangeable, creating the wonderful language of Spindi.  Unfortunately, the bigger the blob gets, the more I forget English, effectively making me the most blundering, blubbering English Lit major ever. Such is life.

8:30 a.m.: Philosophy. What is philosophy? What is to think? Who is the thinker? Between Yogacara and chariots with wheels with spokes, I often walk away with a headache. Not a bad one, just one that makes me want to lie down for a long time and never think again.

10:00 a.m.: And the world is right again. Teatime.
On the beginning of this trip, me and tea had an unhealthy, possibly abusive relationship. The transition from trenta iced coffees to chai masala was a little too smooth, and one obsession became the other.
Also, there are these round coconut "biscuits" that they've stopped putting out because of its mass consumption and, layered with freshly ground peanut butter and a dash of salt, become the epitome of perfection. Once upon a time, I thought I'd lose weight here. Then I went to teatime. The end.

Favorite teas: lemon grass, cherry almond, rooibos with honey, mint, and chamomile rose

10:30 a.m.: Traditionally, this holy time is reserved for nap time, but there have been a few times when I've audited the Anthro class for an academic change of pace. Unfortunately, the nap-less me is a dysfunctional me, and most of the time, I cuddle up with my mosquito net and "meditate horizontally."

12:00 p.m.: Hindi Round 2, without the white board. Guarav-ji asked three assistant teachers to come in every day, split us up, and work with us in smaller groups for language practice. Vishnu-ji, Shanti-ji, and Achina-ji each have their own accent, vocabulary, and teaching style.

1:00 p.m.: Don't get me wrong, lunch isn't bad, and when it rolls around, I've got my plate ready to go.  But it's not my favorite.
Daal (lentils) seems to be a lunchtime staple along with a side of beets in a variety of forms: chopped beets, shredded beets, beet and carrot salad. Indian yogurt is pretty good with a spoonful of sugar, courtesy of Mary Poppins, and I've mastered my phobia of grapefruit. (Editor's note: turns out it's really pomela. Phobia restored).
I've not no quarrel with lunch. It's enjoyable, it does its job, and we part ways as friends.

1:30/1:45 p.m.: Free time, which isn't really free at all. It's get-everything-done time. Whether I have to run to the bazaar for soap or Rajesh for some pants, this is the prime time.
Exhibit A. It's 2:50 and I'm downstairs in the bazaar interneting. If there's nothing to do, there's always homework. Always.

4:00 p.m.: Back to teatime. This is why I get fat.
A peanut-butapple (like a caramel apple with peanut butter), banana dripping with honey, or a slightly curried smiley-face cookie, and no Jenny Craig commercial can save my diet.

5:00 p.m.: Sitting, sitting, sitting. Sitting is form is emptiness. Tara is sitting on my head.

6:30-ish p.m.: Hallelujah, the gods are good. If it's not Madras Monday with some awesome $1 dhosas, which it is today, then we're chowing down some fried momos or panneer of any variety for dinner. Calyans is a hotspot, but I'm also good with Gautam's, Lotus, or Tirupati.

7:30/8:00 p.m.: Occasionally I do homework at my desk, but it's a severe rarity. The night before a test, a study group takes over the classroom and uses the whiteboard, marker courtesy of the library. Last night, our T.A. woke up to "I Hamesha Love You."
On a chill night, the library is a pretty great place to study, have some company, and read some books.

9:30 p.m.: After a quick, cold shower, it's off to bed.

Do You Believe in Magic?

Yesterday was a day of new beginnings.

First of all, it marked the official start of the second half of the term, and to celebrate, the entire vihar went into a spring (?) cleaning frenzy. Wet kurtas and saris hung out in the sun, dripping from the clotheslines lining the hallway, and the smell of Dettol saturated the air from mop buckets and bathroom floors. After the super official health inspector, aka our history prof, cleared each of the rooms, she gave my room a giant pink star for doing the best job. It's a point of pride.

Maybe more importantly, though, was the wedding.
Gwendolyn, the program manager who makes sure that we have electricity, running water, and pillows at least the majority of the time, got married to Adam, her boyfriend of four years, this morning. As an American couple who met in Japan and tied the knot in India, they decided to have the wedding be a dual Theravadan-Zen ceremony. Being international is a lifestyle.
Now, I had a lot of trouble understanding the concept of marriage within Buddhism because a lot of people do it... but it doesn't make sense.

It's not uncommon in a lot of Buddhist countries for the groom-to-be to ordain as a monk for three months before the wedding day so that he gain the spiritual understanding and leadership he will need as a husband and father. In the same vein, thousands of monks disrobe every year because of the classic boy meets girl and falls in love story. But there's still a "but."

I've taken a lot from Buddhism over the past few weeks, and I really can't express how grateful I am for this opportunity and how much I've learned about myself, India, and life as a whole. But in the end, Buddhism says that there is no self, and these concepts of "me," "you," and any relationship between the two are conventional, conceptual fictions. To reach enlightenment, one lets go of "me," "mine," and desire, freeing him or herself from craving, and thus, suffering. This is a super Buddhism 101 summary, and there's so much more to it, but I'm just trying to set the scene.

Now, it wouldn't be a realistic expectation for everyone everywhere to drop everything, shave their heads, and pick up some robes. The sangha (monastic community) depends on the alms of the laypeople for their food and shelter as they continue on their journey towards nirvana. In turn, the laypeople make merit that will enable them to be reborn in another life in a position that will allow them to ordain and reach enlightenment. Eventually.
But the underpinning thought is still there: live your life, fall in love, but know that ultimately, it's not real. So tonight, I went to dinner with Sensei, and he restored all of my faith in a chuckling, almost incomprehensible English. Buddhism says that there are two realities: conventional and ultimate. And the key part of understanding either is realizing that both are real. Nirvana is samsara, reality is delusion. Zen isn't about theory, labeling, or philosophy; it's about living. It's about the pure experience of reality, conventional or otherwise, and love can be a part of that.

"Marry You" by Bruno Mars

Admittedly, I'm caught in the throes of conventional reality. I get attached, I get hurt, and sometimes, I suffer. But I'm no where near giving that up.
From where I stand, I want to want. I want to be happy and enjoy the happiness that I have here and now. Whatever pain comes along the way is life, and it's worth it.

The wedding this morning was absolutely beautiful. Everyone dressed up (makeup allowed), Indian kids ran in, out, and all around the Mahabodhi, pilgrims crammed their way in to watch, and the nuns were taking an endless string of pictures. All was India, and all was right.
There shouldn't be a "but" in life or love, and something I've really enjoyed about meditation, zen especially, is the idea that everything just is. There is life, there is love. No questions, no hesitations.

"The question in Buddhism is with the 'I' and the 'you,' but the love? The love is real." (Katie, our TA)

I don't believe in fairy tales, but I do believe in magic. I believe in the ups, the downs, and all the beauty in between. Magic isn't in a lamp, ruby slippers, or all the fairy dust in the world. It's about coming home from a 9 to 5 to a cup of coffee, an advil, and a kid running up to the car door. It's about sitting out on the porch for a summertime sunset. Magic isn't extraordinary or supernatural--it's an everyday, mundane miracle.

The latest incarnation of Oedipus, the continued romance of Beauty and the Beast, stand this afternoon on the corner of Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue, waiting for the traffic light to change." (Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces)

I'm not ready to give up on the story, and even if there's no palace, no wizard in the land of Oz, there is absolutely a happily ever after. And it starts today.

Myths of America

I've been out of the States for about a month now, but it feels like it's been a lifetime and more (which, thanks to rebirth, is totally possible). These are the things that, when I'm surrounded by cows and Sri Lankan pilgrims, I cling to like Oz or Santa Clause. These are the faintly remembered dreams of another place, another time that at this point might never have been real to begin with.

1. Air conditioning: India is HOT! There really isn't much else to say. A fan or a cool breeze are merciful gifts from God that faintly dry the constant streams of sweat dripping down my back. But to stop sweating completely? Over my dehydrated, sunburned body.
A magic machine that turns an entire room cold? Don't tell me lies.

2. Meat: Going 100% veg really hasn't been that much of an issue, and as someone who has had zero experience with Indian food, I'm enjoying the hundreds of ways there are to avoid eating animals. But sometimes, when I'm waiting for another round of buttered naan, I can't help but think of a bacon cheeseburger dripping with fat and barbecue sauce.

3. Black people: Thought I saw one guy today walking to the Japanese temple, but he was South Indian. The search continues.

4. Consistent electricity: There have been many light-less study sessions in the library spent not knowing whether it's worth the effort to go get my candle. And there have been even more meditation sessions that have been solely dedicated to sending metta to the fan. I firmly believe that a constant flow of power is impossible.

5. Cold milk: Earlier this trip, I was craving something cold. A milkshake, a smoothie... hell, an ice cube would have worked, which is also a myth of America. I almost cried when I saw cereal and a giant vat of milk at breakfast. I'm pretty sure I managed a few authentic tears when I sat down and saw steam coming up from my cornflakes. It was hot milk
 Honestly, it would almost be worth a few days over a toilet for a cold glass of 2% and a nice PB 'n J.

6. Jeans: I wore them in the States, I wore them in London, but now, my jeans are just decorations I put on my shelf a long time ago. The thickness, the stiffness... the pockets! Unbelievable. Now, I'm rocking some hardcore pajama pants...and that's on the days that I'm wearing pants.

7. IPhones: Complete and constant access to the internet anywhere, anytime. Want to know what the weather will be later? No problem. Lost? Don't ask a local in tragically broken Hindi, just ask Siri.

8. $10 meals: Last night, I went to a fancy Thai restaurant for some pad thai, and the bill was around 140 Rps., which is around $3 rounded up. That was an expensive night out. Tonight, for three dhosas, three mago drinks, and some chai: also $3. When a bottle of water is around 40 cents, the $5 footlong looks like a scam.

9. Midnight: I woke up at 12:00 a.m. once, and it was for a middle-of-the-night trip to the bathroom. My wake-up time is a pretty established 5:15 am, so falling asleep at 10:00 p.m. is a quick recipe for a very angry, never fun Joe.

10. Parties: going hand in hand with the nonexistence of midnight, my Saturday nights are more likely spent up on the roof looking at the stars. The Five Precepts and a 9:00 curfew have done a pretty good job of stamping out sin.

11. Multiple brands:
"I'd like some toilet paper, please."
"You're in luck! We have one of those."
"Thanks, India."

12. Set prices: Haggling has become a favorite hobby of mine. Since I'm white, I'm automatically a rich tourist in the eyes of all venders, beggars, and rickshaw drivers. If I don't work them down to at least half price, I'm doing something terribly wrong.

13. Washing Machines: No one who has a washing machine should have dirty laundry. Ever.
For the most part, I don't trust myself with my kurtas, pajamas, and lungis. Here, Dadai-ji (Grandmother) takes our nasty, sweat-soaked laundry, and in a few days, she comes back with a  pile of crisp, fresh, and ironed goodness. And it only costs about 120 Rps.
But when it comes to my boxers, tshirts, and workout pants, I go old school. The soaking, soaping, rinsing, and wringing take a solid 40 minutes to get it all done. Then a long day in the sun should finish the job. The idea that I could toss in clothes, taking about 2 minutes, and use those other 38 to sit back, eat some chips, and watch t.v.? Never will I complain again.