Sutras & Singing Bowls

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Chanting the Yoga Sutras with Neel Kulkarni
Accompanied by Singing Bowls by Akhilanka

Tonight, Friday 25th November 2011
#30 Mystic School, 14th Cross, Gokulam
6pm to 7:30PM

Though I didn't make it myself, my friend Claudia--who was helping promote the event--said it was hugely successful drawing over 25 people for the sutra-singing bowl concert. Good vibes were had all around!

mysore night light

Even though I spent two and a half months here last season, there were a lot of things I didn't get to do last trip. Among them was to visit Mysore Palace on a Sunday night when they light the whole thing up with what pretty much amounts to hundreds and hundreds of 60-watt light bulbs, the kind you pretty much find screwed into the sockets at home.

Its spectacular, a little strange, and very festive as tourists and loads of locals walk around in awe of the magnificent night lights. We went last Sunday, took a quick stroll. They say the trick is to get there before 7 o'clock, when they turn the lights on and the old palace transforms into a magical Disneyland-like wonderland.

Lights start to go out quarter to 8, when the Palace grounds close. The magic suddenly ceases as the lights turn off and things shift sadly back to normal, at least by Indian standards.

kirtan for kids

Kirtan tomorrow November 4, at 5pm at Anokhi's Garden for the benefit of the Ashadayaka and Operation Shanti Children. Sure to be good fun for a couple of great causes!

sound yoga

Kirtan at Anokhi's.

I love kirtan. I don't deny it. Even if I don't have the voice for it. Even if I don't have the tuning for it. Even if my pronunciation is flawed and my tongue trips over the succession of Sanskrit consonants ungracefully. I love the coming together of people, the strength of collective intention, and the vibrational shifts one feels when we allow our bodies to be an instrument of devotional sound.

Ok, so never mind the strangeness of repeating the names of Hindu gods with ecstatic fervor. If they could see me in the throes of Indian devotional song, my ultra-Catholic relatives would surely sick the family priest at me or at the very least whisper behind my back what they've always suspected, "she's a weird one, that little heathen!"

Thank goodness I quite like being strange. And I don't mind being quirky. Though when you are in a place like Mysore, surrounded by so many yoga practitioners/world wanderers, its actually hard to stand out. Extraordinary is quite the norm. But I digress here.

My point is, hereabouts I'm not the only one who likes kirtan because there's been two already in the two weeks I've been here and another one slated this Friday, 5pm at Anokhi's Garden. The first was a small candle-lit Diwali affair with Mark Robberds on guitar and Ganesh on tablas. The second was an all out feel-good mini concert where Mark and Ganesh were joined by Samya with her cool ethereal voice and Peter on his harmonium. They played together and took turns leading. The back room at Anokhi's was packed. And the appearance of some of the Ashadayaka children really made the kirtan extra special. They were, of course, well versed on the chants and were not shy about singing their hearts out. In fact, neither were we, the collection of some 30 odd students sang so exuberantly that we were not shaken by the last dregs of fireworks exploding around Gokulam.

Kirtan has been such a source of great joy for me, not just here recently, but also when I was in the Pacific Northwest this summer where I stayed at the aptly named Bhakti House and beautiful Bellingham--where just about everyone seemed to own a harmonium--and I was able to take a kirtan class with jazzy lady Gina Sala, that I've decided to take singing lessons from a classical Indian teacher right here in Gokulam. Gulp! Just writing about it is making me sweat because in my heart of hearts I always secretly wanted to sing but lack the skill and confidence to do it.

The opportunity to tackle this new challenge seemed to just fall into my lap. Or rather I moved in to it, so to speak. My landlady, Ranjini, upon letting us into our apartment that first night in Mysore introduced herself as a classical Indian music teacher, and it turns out that she's a respected one also. We sat down then and there and I agreed to come to class once I was all settled in.

Yesterday was my first class. And I am still buzzing from it. She gave us a brief intro, went over the scales, then threw us right into song, starting us with common chants and scales. Most of it is call and response. To just listen to her deliver the chants is in itself a delicious activity. Its a little more rattling trying to sing myself, but I found the beautiful voices coming from my fellow singing partners Claudia and Patricia buoyed my own performance.

So, surprisingly--and happily--I am finding that this is time of singing. A new dimension to this second Mysore experience.


The next kirtan at Anokhi's Garden Cafe will be this Friday, November 4, 5pm. To explore voice lessons with Vid. Ranjini Koushik, a vocalist in the Carnatic Classical tradition, call mobile +919480380383641 or 0821-2582193.

Surviving Diwali & Getting Down to Business

Day 1, Diwali. Fireworks in front of the shala.

Boss Sharath is a kid at heart, face-mask and sparkler in hand.
Here he is lighting up one of a ton of fireworks.

Its not as bad as I remember. Last year, Claudia and I had just arrived for our first ever trip to Msyore when Diwali celebrations commenced in India. And in my memory it went on forever and ever, merging with other minor holidays that seemed to follow one after the other. After the third day, the loudest and most extravagant in terms of fireworks, however, the noisy activity seems to have petered off (I hope I am not speaking to soon and the peace holds).

But Diwali has not passed without taking on victims. Some students are worn down--not from celebrating themselves--but from having their nerves shredded by neighborhood explosives. There have been sleepless and smokey nights throughout Gokulam, where students are getting up for start times as early as 4:30am.

Still, Sunday led feels like a new day. Things are starting to normalize. Routines are finally being set. We are happily returning to the regular programming. Today as I write, intermediate students are having their second led class. There were two led primary before that, one at 4:30 and another at 6am.

This morning, Sharath lead a speedy first class. I know because I was able to hold utplutihih, which I have not yet accomplished in any of his led classes. As we jumped through from the pose, he skipped savasana altogether saying, "Jump through, go home, take rest." He does his quiet chuckle and adds, "two more led class." Our cue to make haste, he's getting down to business and we are only a third of a very long morning.

Today also marks the beginning of the first 6-day practice. I can't help but feel that things are finally getting serious and the air, along with the chill, is filled with possibility.

slipper karma

Have you seen these brown slippers?

Are these your black flip flops?
Any chance you're wearing brown ones today?

Today, I walked out of the shala after a lengthy savasana following the second led class of today. My slippers, your basic brown Havianas, are nowhere in sight. Nearby there was a lonely pair of black flip flops, also Havianas but more worn in, looser round the thongs--all I could think of after my post-led haziness was, "Seriously?! Not again!"

Last year, my own slippers went missing and in its place were a pair quite nearly similar except for the thickness in the thong. Also after a led class. And despite sending out the word, blogging about it, leaving a note on the replacement pair at conference, my original pair did not make its way back to me--and I ended up wearing the ones left behind for another 4 months.

When I shared my latest slipper slip up saga at the coco stand, two friends separately pointed out that I must have some serious slipper karma. Was I a slipper thief in a past life? What injustice had I committed against rubber flip flops that I should slip up twice now.

Perhaps I just didn't learn my lesson: don't bring a nondescript pair of flip flops to the shala. Or perhaps I should have followed my instincts and written my name on the pair -- which I resisted just on the grounds of the pure dorkiness of the act. I should be more assertive and simply stand by my own compulsive quirks.

Or maybe its another one of those not so heavily veiled messages from the universe. Let go, do not be attached. Maybe, its yet another metaphor for life at the shala. I stepped in today sure footed, stepped out in another person's footwear altogether.

So here's to change! To adapting! Still, I would be eternally grateful if my original pair , which fits so much better, does reappear. Fingers crossed!

Sleeplessasana

I am usually a heavy sleeper. My usual night pattern is to fall deeply into slumber only to be pulled out from a full night’s shuteye by my two deafening alarm clocks. Not so in this first week and a half in Mysore.

I am so excited to practice that my body clock is playing tricks on me. Not only am I am getting up before my first alarm, but many times well before it.

One night last week, I must have drifted off to sleep sometime past 8:45pm. I woke up and looked at the windows trying to surmise whether the darkness outside could be that of early morning. Maybe its time to get up, I thought. I looked at my alarm to find that it was only still 9:30pm—only 45 minutes had passed! How in the world could I think it was nearly morning? I tucked myself into bed, surrendered back to sleep. When I woke up again, feeling pretty rested, if now I was closer to my start time. I looked at the clock it was 9:45pm—a measly 15 minutes had passed!

Though that’s the most extreme case so far, I’ve been waking myself out of sleep pretty consistently of late, well before my time. 11:15, 12:30, 1…

This is the energy of the shala’s call. It wakes me in the morning. Not just me, but all of us, motivating us to get up well before dawn. Its drawn us all here to Mysore, India, to practice, to be present, to just be—and that’s worth waking up for.