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.
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.
I love you!!! I love how you see life! Thank you for your detailed description of life there- makes me feel like you aren't a world away. The phone call you made on Jonathan's birthday was one of the nicest things- you made the birthday boy so happy. It really means a lot that in the midst of living in India, you remembered his 7th birthday- you are an amazing brother (and son!). I love you more than words can say! Stay safe, healthy and happy and know that we are praying for you everyday. Your proud mama!
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