Fat Finding Mission

Thanks to all of you who have written to me, and for your funny comments about this little blog. It's great to know some people still read more than 140 characters.  In summary you are mostly interested in what goes in, what comes out with the general thrust being "great blog, yeah, we know you do yoga and are interested in god and stuff, but can you give us more food,  poo and tourism/cultural stuff-ups?"

So in the last 48 hours there's been tears, homesickness, random kindness of strangers, strangers in my room I didn't want there, rain rain rain, yoga, Ayurveda massage, injury, no hot water, samosa hunting and it's been cold and wet and blah blah blah. First world problems, and I hit a first-world wall.  I decide I have 2 choices - it's either go back to talk to the tuk-tuk driver who offered me hashish, or go shopping.

When the going gets tough, the tough gets on the scooter, ditches chanting class and goes to Loyal World which is the closest thing to Westfield Marion, except with no escalators, no parking, and not many shops. But the 2 shops they did have were a factory outlet for 'fashion' (questionable but let's go with it) and awesome similar Food Glorious Food Indian style supermarket.  Nice combo, I thought while  jumping around pulling jeans on in a sweltering dark change room due to a power cut.  I'm gonna hit up that food store and show these skinny jeans who's boss! They had 8 different kinds of dates!  I didn't know there were that many varieties.  I thought it was pretty much the same guy over and over and the restaurant just changed.

I was told yesterday by a grungy downtown ayurveda masseur  (best massage of my life) I needed to eat something fatty and stay away from dhal...and that's not advice you need to tell me twice. Basically stop being full of air and stay warm. And drink this little packet of medicine, and no, it's not from the tuk-tuk driver. So back to the food counter... straight to the samosas and the desserts because let's face it, they are full of fatty goodness, gracious me! Ayuervedic massage doctor's orders. It's authentic! Traditional!  Just doing what I'm told.

Ayurvedic massage table

See picture below. The top ones have almonds and a weird texture like fairy floss when you bite into them, it kind of grinds on your teeth which is just strange. I can't decide if I like it, so I have to keep eating it to work it out.  I don't think any of these deserts are baked, it's like they are raw and held together with lots of lovely buttery yum.

I was desperately hoping the brown balls were chocolatety in the right way, but they are more what I would call ...chocolate salty balls.  I'm not saying any more except... thanks Chef and hello bin. And the yellow diamonds are turmeric and almond something, the best of the three, so far.

That was pretty much a long story to get to the good bit.  That's what goes in, but you know it's what happens in the next 48hrs that will tell how it all comes out in the end... here's a goofy pic of my housekeeper's son, Chetana wearing my swimming gear. He'd never seen anything like it before. A beautiful boy.

dress ups 

milk in a bag

God or Guru?

Being a Hindu place with a God for every occasion you'd think there'd be plenty of opportunity to explore ideas of God, but it's harder than it looks. I'm no newcomer to religion and not uncomfortable with God as an experience. But if you do yoga, do you need to believe in God? If you don't believe in God, which I'd say statistically would include most people who do yoga, then is the next best thing to treat your teacher like a god? Is the guru a substitute for God?

Religion is an ordinary part of life for locals by what I see in daily routines, but the only people doing the sweating are the westerners. And the only people I see us worshipping are teachers and the images of gurus past and present. So then, is a guru/teacher the western replacement for God?

'God' is up there with 'strategic', 'love' and 'spiritual' as an over-used and abused word, used with either great caution or too much definition. But knowing God is one of the 8 limbs of ashtanga; after self study comes studying God.  If you're into yoga then at some point, you may start checking out what you believe about god, or spirit, whatever term you use.

God is a pretty big topic to stomach before 8am. Hard to tackle between your mat, millet pancakes and eco-friendly date-shake. But if you're not 'going in', or thinking about where god is in all this sweating and concentration, then it's a workout in a place with coconut trees.  But I didn't come to India for a workout.

Visiting a temple recently I was a spectator, and more interested in the silverware than the ritual, which what I could see involved taking money from lots of poor people, pushing them through a small doorway past a dirty concrete statue of something for about 2 seconds and then pushing them into another doorway out into sunshine yelling at them to hurry up the whole time. God On The Run.  Drive Through Religion.  But you can't be a tourist if you want to find God, standing on the sidelines and waiting for the entertainment.  God happens inside, by what I know.

Coming to India to find out about God is not a bad place to start. But you wouldn't want to be lost and searching, cause there sure are a lot of them and there's no text book.  A prison is another place you would probably be wondering if there's a God. Or at war, or in intensive care. Often dealing with my housekeeper I am muttering to God.  A yoga mat is a pretty soft place to be, really. It's hard to find and fight for real love when there's been little adversity, or suffering, or motivation. In many ways we don't need God, until wham! Suddenly we do. Even this guy will do in an emergency.

Ganesh remover of obstacles - quite a busy elephant 

Pattabi Jois (died in 2009) is/was  Guruji for many people who learnt ashtanga yoga from him. I not sure I'd call him that, in any but the true meaning of the word - a teacher (guru) of great affection and respect (ji).  Worshipping gurus seems odds with what we are being taught in yoga - to be self sufficient, practise daily, find our own sense of spirit and be become better people over time by being conscious of our crap. If you don't believe in God, I guess your guru is the next stop, but worshipping humans - apart from boy bands when you are 14 years old - is a little fraught if you want to call yourself an adul

But I see it, the gushy adoration of gurus. It's sad how we are so willing to give ourselves up, give our power away to another human being, putting people on pedestals when they are just people whether our bosses, politicians, teachers, rock stars.  It's one thing to trust but another to worship a teacher. I think you are always free to say no, to disagree. It's not arrogance to back yourself up, test out your ideas. Even if you are wrong. It's not superiority or smugness.  I'm sure Pattabi Jois bugged his wife, left his wet towels on the bed, told bad jokes, forgot to get the milk, argued...whatever.  I like to think about this version of the man in his ordinary-ness, but also with his talent as teacher, father, husband, person.

I think of all the everyday people who do amazing things, saving lives and negotiating conflict, doing the plumbing, trash collecting, teaching children, and keeping company of elderly people preparing for death and who cares if you can back bend?

I don't think you need a 'guru' to worship,  but you might need one to help you study God and know the difference.

The Poo Post

I sat down the morning of the first Moon Day (moon day means no yoga practise because the moon is full, or new. Or making lots of water in our bodies, or something) of the trip. Sat at the Microwave Desk with my first proper cup of coffee after a week experimenting with a variety of strainers, coffee makers and cowboy techniques, taught by my coffee guru and camping buddy, Kasia.

Microwave Desk

Things are starting to feel normal here in downtown Gokulum. I listened to a favourite podcast Saturday Morning Extra by Geraldine McDouge an intelligent, thoughtful broadcaster. Inspired by the quality of her content I thought:  Right. I’m going to write something meaningful today. Not just about my experiences travelling and yoga and observations. No. I’m going to write something different that will sum up things without any straining. Lower your expectations, people. Lower.  Much lower.

This is for my girlfriend Michelle in Sydney. She has been hanging out for the ‘Poo Post’. Because she’s a newish mum, she has plenty of current experience with boisterous bum behaviour. Alas, Shell, there has been little farting going on in this Indian shala as far as I can tell; I may just be out of harm’s way. But a hell of a lot of body fluids are being shed. It’s a sweat fest. I cannot understand how some people remain dry after practising in that room. It astounds me, when sweat is literally dripping into my eyes off my legs in shoulder stand.

When you are so busy 'going in', sometimes you forget that there are things that want to come out, like heat, sweat and hot-air. Farting is the great leveller in a yoga class, a test on whether you are concentrating or not and also a bit funny, whether you are the farter or the fartee. I have been both, I’ll admit but the skill is in carrying on like it wasn’t you. This is called the Fart? What Fart? manoeuvre where if you can just create just enough doubt among your neighbors within earshot that it came from your direction you can just get on with your practise. It's more about self deception than deceiving others so rarely works but is the last fallback before the Apology manoeuvre which you never really want to resort to as it disturbs the breath count, the poo prana and the general bum zen. It’s better to own it with attitude, than to apologise for it, in my humble view.

From my shallow and fairly loose research a fart is the result of a complicated series of gut reactions over a 24 - 48 hour period that reflects an amazing working world of the stomach, processing and internalizing the outside world via the food we eat, literally into each of our cells and organs. (A great metaphor for a writer). A fart is no simple feat. It is the sounding of a long process coming to its end, a public cry of release in a room full of people, that says “Hey guys. Things are happening over here, finally the works are relaxed enough for the next shift to start, and all the stretching and breathing and letting go, is pretty rad. Til next time,  ciao!”

I have a friend at home who is the greatest yoga farter I know. So much so, that it’s gotten to the point where it’s almost like his talkative bum is a whole separate being practising in the room. And his farts stink and it’s a small room. So we have to stop and acknowledge it and groan in fake disgust.  Then he mutters what he had for dinner the night before (Musta been that pea and ham soup…) which cracks me up even more because it’s just a bit wrong, when we are trying to be so serious and our teacher is trying not to laugh and keep us all focused, but it’s funny.  If you were offended, you’d be wasting your time. The body left to it's own devices doesn’t give a shit what we think, pardon the pun, it has it’s own delightful needs and knowledge and ability to let go. And the head is attached to it, is the witness swivelling around like Carrie, whoosh, whoosh, oh-oh, reacting to others’ reactions. So it’s gotten to the point now, where if you were new to the class you’d think, Holy cow, that is just rude. But by now most of us just chuckle at the delightful human horror and then hope there’s no more to come.

Having a happy bottom is an aim worth aspiring too. Eating mainly vegetarian food here is normal, and wonderful because I could never copy how they put it together, the food is soft, warm, mushy and full of flavour, colour and vegetables. Perfect for digestive health.  And my body has never been more regular, than eating Laxmi’s home-cooked food daily.  I am loving not having to cook.  My stomach has decided India is it’s new love nest and is likely to stay on and marry all the people who have cooked for it, including this man and his crew who make the best sweets and weird yogurt and pistachio filled deep fried rice ball pastry things, for 50 cents. Yep 20 rupee, but only after 4pm. Guys, you've gotta get here. Masterchef is a SHAM.

Rice ball things called diaparu. Perfect for the poo post.

If you are squeamish, or worried about toileting in Mysore, India here’s the lowdown. It’ a fairly modern place all round if you are frequenting the mainstream areas, which most western yogis are.  If you are going to cafes and restaurants or in your apartment (if it’s been built in the last 20 years) you don’t need to squat over a hole, but if you are out visiting temples, attractions, markets and going to toilets at public places then squatting and splashing yourself with buckets of water and on the ground around you, is the way you do it. Toilet paper, if available goes in the bin, not flushed due to old or just poor city plumbing. There are hand held shower guns by some toilets to help wash away waste.  People value but are not obsessed with cleanliness, so lower expectations of housekeeping and bathroom cleaning generally.  Restaurant bathrooms seem purely functional spaces, doubling as storage often, not places to show off interior design concepts like at home.

So I hope you enjoyed the toilet post! It was only a matter of time. If you are interested in gut heath and links to emotional and full body well being, read  ‘Guts’ by Giulia Enders, a very amusing and insightful German science writer who actually did the research, into poo, pooing, and digestive organs. It is fascinating and strikes through a lot of our shame about farting and pooing, reveals the biological truth behind phrases like ‘gut reactions’ and ‘feeling it in my guts’… but please don’t tell my yoga buddy, he doesn’t need any more encouragement. Bless him.

Here's a review: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/may/07/gut-reaction-book-digestive-tract-german-bestseller.

Yoga tourism - am I being duped?

So you might think, if you were Indian, what the big fuss is all about with this yoga tourism? Why are there no Indians here, doing a lot of astanga? It's a western thing now, eh?  A bit like aboriginal art in Australia is a 'white person' thing. No aboriginal person I know hangs fancy dot paintings worth thousands on their walls. Only rich white people do that. Perhaps it's because aboriginal people have their culture,  their stories, they don't need to look at an image to marvel at it.

I'm not suggesting Indians nor aboriginal people are selling their culture like selling out. But there is no doubt this experience has a price tag.   Mysore is on the map because of the heritage of yoga here, particularly astanga-style with vinyasa. And local businesses are springing up, and new apartments being built here, and there is a lot of local wealth here, but local people are a bit baffled about what all these young, white people are doing here in the neighbourhood?

Neighbourhood of Gokulum in monsoon

Where are you from? Older couples stop to ask me in the street on their morning walks at 8am practising their very good English. Nanna hesru Susan, nanna desha Australia, I reply faltering in Kannada, the state language. Yoga? they ask  Yes, I reply. Hmmm. They think about this. Where is it? Pattabi Jois, with Saraswati, I say. Oh, she start already? They are so curious to hear this. It is a tourism phenomenon, supporting a lot of local people in a very nice way. Personally I don't have a problem with any of it, I prefer to support small local business people offering a service, than beggars and like seeing the enterprising nature of the men and women around this emerging yoga tourism industry. They are really smart and good on them.

Destination development we call in in the trade.  There are whole strategies and plans around it, how you do it, who you engage, infrastructure requirements, support provided to communities. But to do this here in India seems laughable. Nothing is straightforward. And of course this is not where the original shala started, nor the inspiration for the current, new shala. That is another story all-together, and not mine to tell. You need to come here to learn some of that heritage from the teachers here who chat to us after class, after pranayama. It's very nice this part. I think it's mean spirited to moan about how coming to Mysore to do yoga today is not like it used to be before the new shala opened, as though somehow we didn't wish for locals to benefit from growing western interest in their town and culture, as though doing it harder is somehow, better. I don't buy into this.  I don't support 'poverty porn' either, you know  gawping at how other people live and taking photos and walking among them and wrestling with guilt and going home to comfort. Ethically I have a problem with it, and don't feel sorry for poor people. It is how it is and it is unfair but people don't need our pity, they need food and work and clean water and school and privacy to live their lives.

The emergence of 'slum tourism' sounds disgraceful, but like a lot of things around poverty, cultural tourism and money, first impressions are not usually correct.  In India the phenomena gives locals the chance to tell their story their way, be paid as guides and show curious westerners about slum living, creative social systems, survival and services. (Read Shantaram for more about this, or A Fine Balance by Rohan Mistry.) To me this is a slightly better way, than perverse, invasive photo-snapping and vouyerism or visiting orphanages to give love (pity) to children, who tourists have no connection to. Or making stuff up without the facts. I think it's important to get clear on what we believe based on our own experiences and research.

It has crossed my mind in a horrible way, that perhaps I've been duped. I've bought into this thing that  coming to Mysore is somehow going to deepen my practise, but does it matter where you do this? There was a point in my practise today where I didn't even really know where I was, that's what going in deep is like. The town you are in is irrelevant when you are focusing so much on breathing, and finishing it is like coming out of a vivid dream; there's a mental shift back into time and space when I finally lay down for shivasana. I remember thinking after practise Oh ok. I've got to go back 'out there' and have breakfast and stuff. Navigate this town and country again. It seems a bit daunting and not really important at the same time.

Locals worshipping at Chammundi Hill Temple

Is the Mysore experience really a thing, or just what you make it? What you bring to it? And this may well be true, I may well have been duped.  I will tell you in a month if it is true, or if it even matters. You are what you think.  (I'm paraphrasing Buddha with a fair bit of liberty there)

Sometimes I wish I didn't think so much.

It's not me, it's YOU India. (Top 6 Mysore Must-Haves)

If you are having a break-up fight in your head with a whole country, you know you are in trouble or at a turning point.

I'm stomping up the stairs, sweaty from walking around in the heat because my scooter hasn’t come when promised for the second time, I can't get food despite being cashed up and surrounded by a million cooks... "but not right now Miss. Sleeping!", and I'm getting ready for round 5 with the most temperamental washing machine in Southern India. Apartment residents use the rooftop 'laundry' which consists of a few strung out washing lines, about 15 pegs that 4 groups share creatively, and no shade and of course what Sanir from Bombay (my grumpy downstairs neighbour) and I now call The Stupid Bloody Piece of Shit Washing Machine that we battle with and curse over together which we thoroughly enjoy. Of course, now we are pretty good friends. He is hanging out for 12 weeks while his wife does yoga teachers' training and like me is in a domestic routine of hanging out, riding around the neighborhood, washing, watching telly, eating, talking to strangers, doing jobs. Being grumpy is perfect for doing washing, especially the thumping-the- crap-out-of-your-yoga-pants-on-concrete-slabs kind of washing because it feels so good to vent, and now I know why Indians’ clothes are so clean.

But for mental health my three options to get through my inner fight with all the shitty little things about India getting on my nerves are 1)pray 2) lie down, or 3) both. I take option 1. It goes something like this:

"Oh God. Please help me with my attitude. It really sucks, I wish I was a better person and all that but my specific point is ...because I know you are busy, that if I don’t get your help to change my perspective on all the shit that is not working out, like in the next hour, I am going to be the Screaming Hungry White Woman of Mysore Rooftops. And that is not how I would like to be remembered. God, my attitude is 'I should get what I want and should ask questions' but realise these don't really have answers because they are my questions, no-one elses' responsibility to answer and God, help me to shut up. Getting what I want is so close but so far away. Help me be content with confusion and patient while treading fucking muddy water. But mostly - and this is the big one - help me to trust people more. Please help me be like Keanu in the Matrix and discover a new reality (but can you make me look a bit smarter than him). Finally, thank you God for the guy who makes those buttery chocolate coconut balls because if I’m not premenstrual right now, then when I actually am, they are going to save me and everyone I deal with from a big, fat headache.

Amen.

P.S. thanks for making the extra pegs appear today in the crazy laundry space, because that’s one less thing I have to go buy in my "serviced apartment" that is neither serviced nor an apartment.

Ok, so I'm not going to change India. I can mutter and eyeball and tut all I like, but I've gotta trust the locals more. They are telling me how it is in their own special way. Indians are very honest, not deceptive, not mean-hearted. I’ve been here before – struggling against cultural differences and my expectations while travelling – it’s the toughest thing but it does sort out by about week 2 with varying degrees of ‘same shit, different situation’. I realise how how awful tourists must appear to communities where people don't have the opportunity to get outside their 'normal'. Feeling a little ashamed for the luxury of self indulgent moaning, I clean my own bathroom, and wait until someone in India is awake and ready to cook. Unbelievable.

Getting settled is a big part of being grounded enough to get the most out of my yoga practise, for me anyway. The feeling of being settled is a total skill that I've had to get better at in the last 4 years. It's not something you are given by someone else, you have to create it yourself. It’s taken me 5 days to finally get sorted, settled and identify what's missing that I need - a good cup of plain black tea. An apple. Fresh milk. Here's my top 6 must-haves to settle down and enjoy yoga life in Mysore:

1) Money

Getting cash out is straightforward - I can just use my domestic Commonwealth Bank debit card at a local ATM. There are no Cirrus signs on the local ATM, no indication you can use other international bank cards, so this was a nice surprise, no dramas. I bought no rupees over and changed a bunch of AUD with a money changer locally. The black market is active and cheaper than bank fees.

2) Food 

Mysore is Hindu so vegetarian is the norm. I’m not vegetarian, but found options at western style cafes. Going out to eat 3 times a day can be exhausting if you are walking in the heat, and sometimes it's nice to just be able to stay home. Fruit is fresh and plentiful in the First Main Street, Gokulum. Vegetables are plentiful but quality is ho-hum, depending where you shop. Sanir gave me the number of a young woman locally and she cooks for yogi bears in the neighbourhood for 100R ($2 AUD) a meal, lunch and/or dinner, and delivers. What’s not to like? I am very grateful to have found her.

3) Wheels

There is nothing more liberating than riding around on a scooter in a foreign town among the tide of local traffic. You love it or hate it, but I love it. It's the only way to really see a place fast, each trip you see about 50 new things, down streets, in houses, clothes, fare, places. Scooters are around 3000R or a bit less, you may have to pay a deposit. Go to Shiva (the Facilitator) in the pink house on 8th cross just up from the main shala. There are a lot of lazy, well-fed street dogs around his place - a measure of the man's character. Nice guy.

4) Sim card

To text and communicate with people here to get things you need, make arrangements to meet. Locals won't text you on international numbers, too expensive. If your phone is unlocked with your provider head to the First Main Road Gokulum with the cluster of shops and look for a guy in a red shop with Sim signs. He will replace your Sim with a local one for about 200R and then you buy 200R of phone credit and Internet access. Txts are 1 R which is 2 cent AUD. Cheap!

5) Expectations of accommodation

In tourism here there is no ‘standard’ or industry website that advertises accommodation options that you can openly compare like in regional tourism websites in Australia. Value for money is not consistent. What you get for $500/month AUD can range from 2 bedroom apartment with balcony and separate kitchen ($300 US), to a nice new, one bedroom apartment, with no real cooking gear and a fan, A/C extra $20 ($560AUD). Not that you need a lot of space, or AC in June/July. ‘Hotels’ are often used to refer to restaurants. 'Serviced apartments' means I have to negotiate with the cleaner what I want and how often, according to the manager here, who didn’t want to step in. Hmm. A bit awkward but negotiations are all about relationship building, and staying cool, smiling, head waggling, easy does it. People just want you to be happy and will keep asking if everything is OK? Very sweet actually.

6) Meeting a regular visitor to Mysore

I met Jennifer who's been coming here for 10 years to study with Sharath and Saraswati. She's a yoga teacher in San Fransisco, and has been invaluable at giving me tips about getting water, the places that do fresh milk, or coconut milk, the places to go for a beer, (thank god! A yogi who is not a complete saint) she showed me about how the traffic works and being assertive on scooters. She's a road cyclist and bonkers but I love her because she rides her bike around the major hairy 'ring road' and up very steep Chamundi Hill. It's just nice to have at least one person my age/culture who lives just across the park who I bump into in the neighbourhood and ask my questions.

Fancy Pants

My first led class in Mysore was not as easy as I thought it might be which goes to show, you can never get complacent with your practise, or anything in India. This is the place to have low expectations – you just end up hot, cranky and dissatisfied.

Led class is a 'called class' by Saraswati, where all the students at the KPJAYI shala practise together, breathe together, a pretty awesome experience to be in a sea of bodies moving and later singing together.

I know I'm a little late as I can hear the opening chanting start as I approach the shala and kick off my shoes on the stairs. An American woman Alyssia, is soothing her howling child out the front, who doesn’t want to be left alone. We enter the room together and it is packed. No real room anywhere, 5 cm between mats. I’m not a particularly ‘sacred’ person when it comes to tiptoeing around, how can you be in this place, where ‘personal space’ concepts seems so ridiculous! Leave it at home. So I walk over a few mats to get to the change rooms and then we are directed by David to the front, where there’s the only room left, on the stage, next to where Saraswati is sitting and calling the first postures. I am right next to Saraswati’s feet. OK. There goes the plan to blend in at the back and take it all in. My modus operandi is screwed. Again. 

Earlier in Take it or Leave it, I wrote about what is appropriate to wear in Mysore both on and off the mat. Today I decided it’s gonna be cranking hot in led practise, I’m wearing short-shorts and possibly I’ll get a disapproving comment if inappropriate, or it’ll just go unnoticed among the throng. But up on stage, next to Saraswarti, there’s no hiding now. God has a sense of humour all right. If you are worried about it, it will probably happen. That’s my lesson.

I feel a little self conscious and talk myself around. This has been a real benefit over the last 4 years of practising, learning to self soothe. Hey Sue, it’s not performance. I am on a stage but out of necessity. Don't perform yoga. Do it how you would at home. For me. Noone cares but me. It doesn’t matter who is looking and what they see, it is not our problem. I am a student and allowed to make mistakes and look after myself. Get focused. Go in, go in, go in, I tell myself. Use the dristi. Don't try so hard. Just do what comes next. I think of my teacher at home, who taught us dristi and am grateful as I realise what a powerful tool this is right now. Dristi are the focal points in each asana for the eyes to be steady, when the mind is getting agitated, to help keep calm and carry on). Perfect timing with my fancy pants paranoia, a room full of strangers, wondering eyes, performance anxiety among a lot of new-to-yoga students in the room, and All That Jazz.

The practise is hot and intense and sweaty, just what I’ve come to expect. How many times Saraswati has called that class, I cannot start to know. The count flows off her tongue like prayer, interspersed with corrections to people across the room, “Straight leg! You make it straight.” She calls the count in Sanskrit as my teacher does so I enjoy the familiarity of her voice keeping me connected to my experience and the present moment at the same time. My heart sings! As people are getting tired, she stops the beginners to sit through until backbend, watching others. “You rest. Stop! Stop. You stop.” She has a great memory and sharp eyes.

I remember being a learner – it was full of frustration, doubt, agitation, restlessness and moments of oh, wow! I did that? So... what else is possible? Hmm, sounds familiar even now!

Take It or Leave it

Getting ready for a month stay in a new country in a monsoon climate with a traditional, patriarchal culture, I've been asking what am I going to wear? Do they do espresso in southern India? How will I get my laundry done so it's dry in time? Is practising yoga in shorts inappropriate for Indian teachers? As India is sounding more traditional in dress code than Thailand, I’ve been asking around how to avoid unnecessary social faux pas and 'fit in'. A big part of getting ready to go practise at the shalt has been my teacher giving me lots of tips and information about the teacher's in India, the unspoken expectations, the major traps newcomers fall into on the mat and also socially. Personally I love this stuff, uncovering what makes a culture tick and knowing it can make the transition a bit smoother.


Probably for the first time I’ve asked for help on things you might have thought I’d know from all the travel I’ve done and written about. But every country is different and it's interesting what other people remember about their Indian experience. It's a different trip as there is no 'itinerary'; it's more like visiting a friend where you settle into a community and neighbourhood. It’s going to be freaking hot, wet and rainy, and a very physical 'holiday'. I’m not planning on moving around much. And I’ve got an apartment to base myself at for the month. So this means I can afford to settle in, like the lotus, get comfortable in muddy water - apt for travelling in the monsoon.

In terms of packing this means taking what I need to get comfortable and maybe of interest to you if you are considering a yoga journey (do it!).

Take

• Roller, hard ball and other physio toys – you can’t get the rollers there, but I’m pretty sure you could buy a cricket ball from somewhere

• Yoga mat - apparently you can’t get good mats there, so take your own. Surprised me! 
• Normal yoga clothes. You may think India = home of yoga, there’d be a lot of yoga clothes around but when you think about it, ‘yoga fashion’ is a very western thing. I’ve been told most of what’s on sale is loose cotton shirts, fisherman pants and general clothes that locals wear. So if you are more Lulu Lemon than loose threads, bring your gear from home. 
• Movies to watch in the day. If you are not doing chanting, singing, dancing, cooking, language, meditation, chakra blending courses, then maybe you just want to watch Kung Fu Panda while eating smuggled Tim Tams. Txt me. 
• A set of light cotton clothes in carry-on luggage to change into at Bangalore airport while waiting for luggage and before doing the 3 hr drive to Mysore - it's muggy at midnight. 
• One warm jumper. Sounds contrary to the above but apparently at 4.30 am lining up for class outside the Shala it can be chilly. I’m just gonna take my friend's word for it. 4.30? yikes. 
• Your normal clothes you wear at home, (with sleeves and long pants to cover legs and shoulders) on a hot day. 
• Alcohol/hand rub - personally I think this is a gimmick. You kill bacteria with hand-washing pressure, not alcohol ....unless they are alcoholic bacteria going through a rougher than usual patch. 
• Brolly! 
• Heavy duty mosquito repellent – Southern India is mozzie country in June/July and has epic proportions of malaria and dengue fever. Buy coils over there, take tropical strength Rid 
• Good health insurance cover – don’t forget to activate it before you go if you have travel insurance via your credit card or bank. 
• Coffee - if you love it, they do french press, but not really espresso like we are used to in Australia. So take your coffee already ground over there and probably more than you think you'll need 
• Bathers - there's no beach as Mysore is inland, but there's a hotel with pool where yogis hang out ...and presumably swim and look fabulous drinking elaborate mock-tails posing in an assortment of extravagant yoga asanas.

Leave

• Shorts and short skirts – Mysore is a more traditional city and in all pictures you see the men are wearing long sleeved shirts and trousers and women are covered shoulders and legs. Showing belly however, is fine. 
• International roaming - Buy a local SIM card when at the airport to stay in touch with new local friends in the community. Internet is a bit sketchy but there are internet cafes for email and Facebook 
• Hairdryer - probably leave! But then can be good for drying clothes that stay damp in the humidity. 
• Heavy denim, jeans, anything polyester that doesn't breathe. 
• Books - opt for the Kindle. 
• Ideas about finding butter chicken - that's more central and northern cuisine. Southern dishes are more soupy, wet lentils, vegetables, breads and dairy... yum! 
• I'll tell you the rest when I get back!