The Adventures of Bindi Girl: (2012) (3 page)

My doubts of lonely, solo traveling have been put to rest. I have met so many people here, it’s “We Are the World.” Actually, it suits me. I can be with a group, or another person, for a short time—a meal, a hike, or other adventure—then retire to my room or run away to a cafe to write. Even so, every time I think I’ll go to a little restaurant for a cup of chai and a date with my journal,
voila!
There’s the French guy I see everywhere, or the Czech girl, or the Danish couple—and I’m no longer solo. It’s quite comical, actually. That’s why I’m looking forward to my retreat: blessed silence.

There’s a saying, “In India, you are never alone.”

The Tibetan secretary of the complex saw the three of us western women on the sidelines of the courtyard, standing out and relatively
very
tall—especially the two Scandinavians. We were watching the monks from a polite distance. The secretary hurried out from his office and personally escorted us directly into the middle of a good hundred burgundy-robed debaters. We could now watch close-up, seated comfortably on a bench.

This was my first exposure to the fact that no matter how “enlightened” or how monastic the monks are, they haven’t entirely eliminated their egos, and they are very human. From their facial expressions and playful glances our way, it almost seemed—no, could it be? Were some of these monks actually
flirting
with us? Yes, the three of us could swear it was true.

The surreptitious courting in the courtyard was then broken. Curiosity got the better of a large Indian tourist family, so they crossed the barrier, came to our bench, and asked us what was going on. They were far more interested in us than the monks. Before we knew it, an entire family of ten, eleven—no, make that twelve!—brothers, sisters, cousins, aunties, uncles, and babies surrounded us, all clamoring to have their picture taken together. I had little kids on my lap and grandmas at my side, each family member tugging to get in the shot. And once they saw the intriguing technology of the Danish girl’s digital camera, they were beside themselves. So much for the monks. We had to hightail it out of there.

It’s amazing to me how the Indians have absolutely no shame gawking and staring at foreigners, especially women. On my long bus ride yesterday, there was an Indian man who blatantly stared directly into my face, less than three feet from me, for an hour straight, seemingly without blinking the entire time. I was impressed with his concentration! And his utter lack of self-consciousness. Fellow travelers say one gets used to it. I sometimes feel the urge to glance over and say, “DO YOU WANT TO TAKE A PICTURE OR SOMETHING?!” But then I just laugh and wonder to myself, is he staring because he thinks I’m beautiful or ghastly pale and alien?

The timing was perfect. I happen to have dropped out of the course just one day before a Vipassana insight meditation course was to begin just down the road! A Vipassana course, as taught by S.N. Goenka and assistant teachers, lasts a total of twelve days, with ten days in absolute silence. I had completed my first such course in California last year.

I questioned myself.
Am I really ready to sit for eleven hours a day—no speaking, no journal writing, no reading, and no food after eleven a.m. (except lemon water), making a complete dissection of my consciousness?
I suppose so. After much prayerful consideration, I went ahead and arrived at the course the next day.

Vipassana is a technique of the Theravadan Buddhist meditation lineage, and there are free study centers around the world organized by S.N. Goenka, an Indian lay-teacher (not a monk) who was raised in Burma. Goenkaji (as his students refer to him) studied this form of meditation under a Burmese master named U Ba Khin, and was so deeply impressed by the method—that of uncovering the true nature of impermanence (
anicca
)—that he devoted his life and financial resources to setting up meditation centers all over the world.

The day after I quit my corporate job back in California, I went straight into my first ten-day Vipassana course. Afterward, I said, “This is by far THE hardest thing I have ever done in my life.” A few months later, after I had trained for and ran an entire 26.2 mile marathon, I still said, “Vipassana was even harder.” (Incidentally, Vipassana meditation helped me tremendously during the actual marathon. After about Mile 20, I used “witnessing” techniques of awareness of respiration and sensation in order to
observe
the mental and physical pain rather than identify with it. It worked, and helped me cross the finish line.)

Believe me—and I know the mothers out there will mark my words—I feel I could endure a natural delivery if I were to ever have a child. Maybe that’s naive of me, but through witnessing techniques, the type of pain I have been able to observe is tremendous.

Part of this Vipassana meditation technique involves not becoming averse to unpleasant (“pain”) sensations or attached to and developing craving for lovely little vibrations and tingling sensations (“pleasure”). From Day Four of the course onward, participants must sit in a single posture for one entire hour without moving a muscle.

This may seem completely easy. Yet, consider that you are on your bum for eleven hours a day, sitting on a hard cushion in a position that Westerners are simply not genetically predisposed to tolerate! And that’s just the physical challenge; the mental test—asking oneself, “Can I do it? Why am I doing this? Who cares?!”—is another dimension altogether.

In actuality, the silence part—not speaking for ten days—is a beautiful thing. I have come to fully enjoy silence. In fact, since practicing serious meditation, I have become increasingly sensitive to much of the mindless chatter that floats around my head most of the time.

Speaking of chatter, I was thinking a lot, and trying to reel in my monkey mind, swinging from branch to branch. When I wasn’t supposed to be thinking, I was thinking how I couldn’t wait to start thinking again.

I stayed up at the Vipassana center an extra two days in order to readjust my socially-interactive brain a bit before heading down to the village of McLeod. The best part of an intense retreat is the first day after—walking through the mountains, with the Himalayas towering above, and the green hillside terracing so typical of Asia. Birds chirping, creeks bubbling… it feels like a Technicolor Disney movie. One’s senses are so keen and sharp after such deprivation. It’s like a super vivid dream!

When I returned to the bustling town of McLeod, it felt like New York City. I wanted to bolt, to catch the next bus out, right away. I felt completely done over, and ready to make a change. Alas,
I
may have thought I was ready, yet I quickly realized that my mind and coinciding physicality were absolutely 100% exhausted. You may
think
you’re not wiping yourself out in retreat because physical activity is almost nil; but in fact, the mental exertion is tremendous. It has taken me at least four days to finally feel back to myself. And of course, the concept of who that is must catch up to the past two weeks of change and self-examination—or make that self-emollition.

There’s a little “travel family” of foreign folks from the Vipassana course who have settled into a group guest house. We are all leaving together tonight on a bus that will whistle over potholes to Rishikesh, which lies about twelve hours south of here in the state of Uttarakhand. As for me, I plan on (yeah right, PLAN—that’s a laugh in India) finding a little nest in Rishikesh. I would like to stay for a while—maybe a month or more, practicing yoga and enjoying the peace and serenity of this holy pilgrimage site at the headwaters of the River Ganges, the great Mother Ganga.

I’m THRILLED to be heading back into “India proper.” As I’ve described, McLeod is a touristy “Little Lhasa” Tibetan enclave—and a tremendously westernized one at that. It is so cozy and comfortable: pizza parlors, English breakfasts, shops of kitsch, even a makeshift movie hall for the touristas—and that is not what I have traveled halfway around the world to experience. I know Rishikesh will be much more “India.”

I look forward to the chaos, the colors that take your breath away, the smells that make you wonder what planet you’re on, and the beauty of having to let go and surrender. I only tasted this experience the first four days of my trip (in wacky Delhi) before I whisked myself up to the mountains of McLeod. Now, my real India journey begins anew!