More To Love

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Lying in a fan-cooled room with calming pale blue walls this morning, I can hear the non-intrusive sounds of clucking chickens, chirping birds, Musilm call-to-prayer, shuffling feet, muted conversations and the occasional wandering street vendors calling out their wares and alerting the residents to their presence. They are selling Chai tea, fresh fruit and vegetables, cooking pots and pans, snacks and bottled drinks, sometimes even ice cream. I feel utterly blessed to be in this tranquil neighborhood setting, away from the hustle and bustle of the nearby downtown markets, temples, churches, palaces, crowds of people, piles of garbage, gaunt cows, dogs, cats and goats, honking buses, motorbikes and the ever-present put-putting polluting 3-wheel rickshaws.
We braved all this yesterday. We enjoyed a delightful home-cooked Indian breakfast of dosas (a thin sourdough-type crispy pancake common to South Indian cuisine) and iddlis (a small white round fluffy lentil and flour-based bread) topped with spicy mint chutney before heading out into central Mysore. Mysore is in the state of Karnataka, in South Western India and is famous for its Maharaja’s palace, finished in 1912.
We took a rickshaw to the palace, entered for 200 Rupees ($5), and promptly had to surrender our cameras and shoes in order to walk inside the palace itself. The guard, who told us to take our cameras to a faraway counter, whispered loudly that if we tipped him off, he’d permit us to keep our cameras with us, as long as we didn’t actually use them. We obliged with about 50 cents worth of rupees. The palace certainly had its marvels and charms, but also had an interesting undertone of being quite cheesy. There were sections that had ornately carved rosewood and inlay or gilded silver doors, polished marble stairwells, plush red-velvet and cut-crystal thrones and pillared rooms with towering curved stained glass ceilings. There were rooms with royal portraiture and detailed story-telling painted walls portraying the maharaja with his many types of decorated elephants, fanciful processions, guards, and uniformed military parades. One large royal address hall that was open-air and faced the main entrance had ceilings depicting many Hindu gods and natural settings in fresco style beauty. Courtyards which once probably housed lush plants and gardens now seemed a little dusty, empty and unattended to. We were 2 of the 4 westerners we saw the whole time, and overall, it was a truly enjoyable wander through a not-so-distant past of grandeur and royal extravagance. It had me contemplating how it is possible that in 99 short years, this palace has gone from its heyday to being a museum. So much can change in a century, what will the world be like in 2111?
After the visual-stimulus overload that was the palace, we decided against the horse-drawn carriages and took another rickshaw to the Government Cauvery Arts and Crafts Emporium where we could explore the different handicrafts of the region in one regulated set-price location. Once we arrived, we knew we’d be paying top dollar for their goods as it was clearly set up for wealthier Western travelers seeking peaceful (read non-haggling)and high quality shopping experiences. We found a few things, namely some becoming-rare sandalwood carvings, some silk gifts and a couple kitschy Indian Christmas decorations: lime green sequined Santa and glimmering gold Ganesh ornaments. Our cleverly enterprising former rickshaw driver decided to stick around (it is the slow season after all and with nothing better to do, he knew we’d need a rickshaw to head to our next destination), and swiftly delivered us, at our hungry requests, to a delicious ‘Pure-Veg’ restaurant called “Om Shanti”. For 60 Rupees (about $1.50) each we feasted on South Indian vegetarian thalis (basically translates to meals) that consisted of various veggie curries and soups, lentil dhals , curd (yogurt), steamed rice and puffed fry-bread called puri. Delicious!

With our bellies full of food we well-knew would potentially cause gastronomically unpleasant adventures later, we headed off to explore the famous Devaraja market. This market is known in South India for its many rows of covered stalls bulging with fresh vegetables and fruit, essential oils, conical piles of brightly colored dyes, pungent spices, puffed grains and beautiful arrays of loose and strung fresh flowers, namely roses, marigolds, jasmine and a few others I couldn’t name. People seem genuinely curious about us and greeted us with glowing smiles and often told us about their goods with a healthy dose of pride. Dave bought some yummy-smelling watermelon blossom essential oil and the friendly vendor threw in a bunch of locally made sandalwood incense with the sale.

Feeling not-quite shopped out, but nearly there, we stopped in to one of the many eye-catching salwar shops (there are two main types of traditional wear that most Indian women wear, one is the saree/sari which is 6 meters of material wrapped in flowing fashion over a bust-covering short-sleeved crop-top, or the Salwar which is a tunic-like top that comes to the knees with a coordinating pair of pants and shawl) to see if we could find one I fancied wearing. Unfortunately, similarly to in North America, almost all the ones in my size were frumpy and unfashionable, and all the display ones that I loved were in size extra small. Ah well…it was a fun experiment and I do hope to find one someday that both fits well and that I adore.

Another bumpy rickshaw trip took us to the top of Chamundi hill where there is a temple dedicated to the goddess Durga who slew the demon buffalo Mahishasura Nandi. We’d had enough of walking barefoot that day, so we passed on waiting in the long queue to enter the temple, but we soaked in the expansive views of the hazy valley below and enjoyed walking down over a thousand steep steps to the bottom, passing a 5 meter long statue of the black buffalo Nandi on our way. At the bottom we came upon a large colony of monkeys playing, humping, picking bugs from each other’s hair, swinging from branches, biting each other’s bums, cuddling and generally enjoying a lazy afternoon. It was truly a delight to see monkeys in the wild, and a great end to our long day of Mysore explorations.

It is later in the day and I just went for a walk to find lunch. Dave has been needing to give his more sensitive belly a rest from all the crazy Indian spices, and I can’t get enough, so I headed out alone this time. I walked 1 or 2 kilometers before the heat and my hunger pushed me into a rickshaw to take me the rest of the way to “Triple R’ restaurant downtown. My Rough Guide India book had recommended it as a bumping lunch spot serving delicious set veggie meals for lunch and it certainly lived up to this claim. The seated crowds were scooping their food voraciously into their mouths with their full hands, and more crowds haphazardly ‘queuing’ and staring down the eaters, hoping that this might hurry their already lightening speed gorging. I was seated in the back separate air-conditioned room at a table made for 6, so a family of 5 sat down with me and we awkwardly ate together. It seemed like an opportunity to connect and have fun with our different ways of eating, but they were clearly not interested in conversation, even after I made curious attempts. Quite honestly, I was there for the food, not the friendship, so I dove into my amazing vegetarian thali with lentils, chickpeas, cabbage, yogurt, curry, papad (round, thin crispy cracker-like thing similar to papadum, but without the spices and more curved than flat), rice and various condiments like spicy red pickle, fiery mint chutney, and powdered salty spices, all this served on a large, shiny green banana leaf. Divine! There wasn’t much time to linger as the staring with arms crossed began to wear on me, so I relished my last bite and fled the scene, paying my bill of 84 rupees ($2).

Thus began the gauntlet. I’ve received my fair share of penetrating and shameless staring while traveling with Dave by my side, but this could not prepare me for the loud, brash, crude, disturbing and downright rude harassment (which South India is sometimes infamous for) that I was to endure on my hour walk home alone. It can be quite enjoyable being the only Western person in a sea of local people, but it can also have its downsides, especially as a lone woman. Countless men of all ages reached out to shake my hand, touch my arm, ask ‘what is your good name? Which country did you come from?’ whoop and holler “Hellooooo” as they whizzed by in cars, trucks, rickshaws, bicycles and the more brave ones, on foot. Over and over I had to turn down rickshaw drivers offering me a lift, over and over I had to look away and not make eye contact for fear I might start another mass attack of questions, leery stares or unwanted propositions. Many are able to participate in this kind of pestering quite light-heartedly and are appeased by a shy smile, but many are more prone to lechery. One man reached out his hand saying again and again “Good morning Ma’am” and when I leaned away from his handshake he reached up and ‘accidentally’ grabbed my breast. I swerved around batting his hand away and saying loudly “Do NOT touch me”. Later a teenage boy on his bike kept following me and stopping ahead of me to take pictures with his mobile phone of me walking towards him, then he’d wait until I passed him and ride by me saying “Hello, I f*ck you, I f*ck you”. Around the corner he’d stop his bike and ask me where I was from and when I ignored him he’d repeat the pervious crude phrase as he safely and swiftly rode by again. Finally I lost it. He started coming up behind me again and I suddenly lunged towards him, pointing my finger straight at him and yelled with vehement force “Get AWAY from me.” He dramatically swerved into traffic almost falling of his bike. This put a funny little grin on the older man walking along side me, probably silently glad to see me stand up for myself. It kept him away for about 3 minutes and then he was back at it, so I stopped and stood with my hands on my hips, my blood pumping with adrenaline, attempting to stare him down. I was ready to have to use even more force than my non-violent self would like to admit. He finally turned and went a different direction. When I got back to our safe-haven room I collapsed on the bed in Dave’s arms and thanked him for traveling with me. It’s a whole different world out there without him by my side.

The next morning we packed our bags and checked out of our quant little room, and left our belongings with the host family so we could head unencumbered into Mysore once more. Our rickshaw driver was quite a lovely man and offered to take us all over the city for the day, for only 300 Rps. We were up for the adventure and took him up on his offer. We started with our original destination of the Sri Ganapati Ashram called Data Peetham, a man who has dedicated his life to healing through music, one of the ‘original’ music therapists. He was not in residence that day, nor was there any events or concerts taking place but we toured the site, barefoot and camera-less once again, on our own. There was an interesting and extensive bonsai garden, some large ornately sculpted terra cotta statues, beautifully carved tall pillars - one for each day of the year, medicinal plant gardens, a museum filled with paraphernalia from all over the globe that Sri Ganapati has collected or been gifted, and a large meditation and music hall. We definitely enjoyed exploring the Ashram, though we would love to see it in full musical swing someday as well.

Our rickshaw driver then took us to the famous Maharaja-founded Mysore Silk factory and showroom. Our tour started out awkwardly as there was no guide, nor was there clear signage. We would be pointed down an alley or into the next room by workers who saw that we might require direction. We were able to see (but again, not photograph) the process nearly from start to finish (they spared us the billion-cocoon massacres that must take place every day to produce silk just for this one factory) which included spinning, twisting, warping, wefting, more spinning, weaving, washing, dying, rinsing, setting, drying, cutting, folding and even trying on. The workers, most of whom have been working there for 25+ years, were cheerful, friendly and proud of their work, falling over themselves to bring us steaming hot chai tea, show us the intricacies of their particular specialty and the ladies insisted that I try on a sari. I fell in love with a rich indigo blue sari with their signature 22 carat gold thread fancy borders and if I had the 12,000 rupees (about $300) it cost, it would have been mine. Instead when we visited the showroom, we picked out some cut pieces that were still pricey at 50% off, but well worth the high quality assurance and experience of buying it from the people who lovingly, if a bit painstakingly, make these beautiful saris day after day.
Our doting driver then shepherded towards one of the best Indian meals we’ve had the good fortune to imbibe at a high end hotel, ‘The Metropole’ in the ‘Tiger Trail’ restaurant, with full crystal chandeliers to boot. All-one-can-eat delicious decadence for a mere $7. Incredible.

We then were swept away on a unique adventure led by our driver and his business friend who hopped along as our second, and most verbose, guide. They took us down winding cobblestone streets, to a artisanal district where we were led on foot by a young man to all the little alleyways and enclaves where workers were diligently chiseling fine rosewood table tops and pillars, some with inlay that included orange mango wood and yellow jackfruit wood detailing. We even stepped behind an unmarked door into a private home for him to show us how he processes the Tendu leaf into small ‘beedis’, a cigarette-like thing that is traditionally smoked by many people in India. No buzz is involved, just the apparently pleasurable sweet taste. Next we were led to the essential oil shop where the man in the back was far too good a salesman for us to turn down, and after himming and hawing as much as possible, we left with two bottles, one of Black Jasmine, the other of Musk. Again we were whisked away to two more Kashmere style shops plum full of scarfs, metal statues, Tibetan singing bowls, wall hangings, bedding and jewelry. This was apparently our day to be persuaded into emptying our wallets and purses and by the time the sun was setting, we had enough beautiful things to furnish our new home upon returning to the USA. Beyond shopped out, we headed for our guesthouse where we spent an hour playing with the delightful children before loading up our bags into the rickshaw and heading for the train station.
Despite there being some trials and tribulations, namely teenage boys taunting me on bicycles, and the occasional unsavory person or experience, I do feel firmly that there is certainly more to love about Mysore, and India in general, than there is not to.

***We have now spent our last 4 days in India in a previously French colonized city on the East Coast of India in the state of Tamil Nadu. Three of these days I spent in bed so ill all I could do is practice moaning. I will spare you the details, but let’s just say I would never wish that kind of gastrointestinal distress on anyone and have a whole new level of compassion and empathy for dear Dave, who was my champion king the entire time. He cooled me with wet towels, supported my energetic healing with Pranic cleansing, and even brought me fresh coconuts and bananas for my recovery. We took a scooter and visited Auroville (www.auroville.org) which was an interesting experience that left us with both an appreciation and respect for successful intentional community, and a bit of wariness about charismatic leaders like “The Mother” who founded the ‘experiment in human unity’ in 1968. Any limited perspectives and judgments aside, it was a beautiful place, and even the crows were calmer, cooing rather than the squawking we hear everywhere else. Today I slept and continued to recover and by sunset was feeling well enough to head out and meet the Indian Ocean. We’ve been blessed with stunning views out our 3rd floor room of a well manicured and peaceful ‘Garden of Good Vibrations’ and just beyond the line of coconut palms, is the crashing waves of the warm Indian Ocean. As much as I wanted to be able to say I swam in the Indian Ocean, it is safe to say that is was not at all calling me to dive in, so we settled for wet feet and Indian Ocean Spray.
Tomorrow at 3am we catch a 3.5hr taxi to Chennai where we will fly to Denpasar, Bali via Kuala Lumpor, Malaysia. Next blog will be from Indonesia!

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Photos

Our little blue room
Home Sweet Home in Mysore - homemade breakfast included!

Top of Chamundi Hill
Bull posing perfectly for me

Temple at top of Chamundi Hill
"One of the top 8 most sacred hills in all of South India"

Loved her face
Thank you 20x zoom!

Nandi the Bull
300 steps down from peak

So many steps!
We had decidely wobbly legs at the bottom of the 1000+ steep stairs

Wild and Free Monkies!
First time for both Dave and I to see them in the wild!

US on rooftop
Great spot to watch the sunset

Little Nivieda and Grandpa
Not the best pi - but she was SO beautiful! It is common for people to shave their child's hair off at age 1.