vipassana in the punjab

waiting at midnight in the bus station in mandi, i fell into conversation with one of a group of three youngsters, keen to practice his english.  he posed me the question:  do many people have LED tv screens in scotland?  i said: what are LED screens?  he told me that they were the latest.  i told him that i didn't pay much attention to the advances of technology.  he considered this, then said:  we need tvs and computers because . . . to do something when we are bored.  i considered this and said:  yes, but . . . what is boredom?  if there is a void at the centre of life then . . . is it not best to face it rather try and escape from it?     i left my question hanging, because my thoughts were running along: but why is it best to face it? if there is really a void what is wrong with trying to escape from it?   joe simpson certainly didn't choose to touch his void.

i had met quite a few travellers in india - and once a nepalese on a bus - who had participated in 10 day Vipassana courses, freely available in many countries.  for quite a while i had been interested in doing one myself.   people had described it as: "difficult", "challenging", "but yes, very rewarding".


i copied out the poster in my residential cell, which read:

VIPASSANA

A Technique of Meditation

for

Spiritual Development

Internal Peace

Freedom from Mental Impurities (through self-observation)

Equanimity of Mind

Awareness of Each Passing Moment

Health and Happiness

Gradual Unfoldment of Truth

Coping with All Sorts of Stress Situations

Enjoying Real Peace,

Real Happiness, 

Real Harmony

the course consists of ten hours of meditation for ten days.  noble silence is maintained between all participants ('noble' because silence is noble), but you can talk with the teacher at allocated times if you have any queries.   the course is free of charge, and provided for by donations from previous meditators who feel they have benefited from the course and wish to allow others to have the same experience.  we were woken by a bell at 4:00 am, then spent two hours meditating in the hall from 4:30 to 6:30, then had a simple breakfast - a glass of milk or tea and a plate of something like porridge or kedgeree or idly (rice cakes.)  then we rested until 8:00 then meditated in 55 minute sections, broken by five minute breaks, until 11:00 when the main meal was served - always rather tasty, always chapattis and rice and dal and sabji (veg sauce) and a little sweet item - then it was the main rest of the day - or meeting and talking with the teacher if one so desired - until 13:00, when afternoon meditation commenced and lasted till 17:00, whereupon there was the last little intake of food - a banana, rice crispies and warm milk or tea.  the last hour meditating was between 18:00 and 19:00.  i liked this hour the best because it was the last hour and it stood alone and there was always a nice dimming of the natural light between entering and leaving the hall.  at 19:15 there was a video in which vipassana teacher Satya Narayan Goenka gives a commentary on the techniques which unfolded as the days progressed.  everyone was riveted with attention on goenka's words, partly because the video sound quality was less than good, but also because he was a fascinating speaker, at times peppering his speech with little parables and stories with funny endings, while other times becoming so involved with explaining some intricate aspect of buddhist philosophy. one intricate intellectual observation immediately followed the next, and was always expressed clearly.  the video about an hour then we convened in the hall again for a nightcap little meditation of 15/20 minutes before retiring for the night.


i loved living a monastic lifestyle for ten days; no decision about what to do when; only meditating, resting, eating, sleeping, a change of activity beckoned by the ring of a bell.  we were asked not to read anything or write anything or engage in any activity other than observing the self.   i loved the noble silence.  not only words, but communication on any level was to be avoided between meditators.  it was to be entirely an interior experience.  all the same, even without ever having looked into his eyes, after ten days of sharing a room with my sikh turbaned roommate i felt that i knew something about who he was.  the very fact of two people sharing their presences implies communication, whether it is desired or not.  i knew how eagerly he anticipated the five minutes rest by the way his body fell onto his bed.  i could not remain unaware of how he gradually, meditatively crossed the threshold of slumber to greet a new day of meditation, and how he gave a little toss here and a little turn there, contentedly giving himself over to sleep again at the end of the day.

one evening i came out of the hall and was arrested by the sight of a bright shining white full moon.  yes, that is why they say 'an arresting sight', it was as if i could not move, its contemplation had taken me captive.  how can such a massive ball just hang there in the sky?  is hang the correct verb? the moon orbits around the earth, but for all the speed it must hurtle in order to orbit the earth in 24 hours, it seems to hang there motionless, just hanging there... i resolved to sleep outside that muggy night.  i would far rather sleep under the cool silvery gaze of such a moon than enclosed in the stuffy room under the slowly rotating fan . . . i gave it half an hour and stole out with my sleeping mat and pillow under my arm, and made straight for the weedy flat ground behind the meditation hall, beyond the pagoda in construction.   it only took a few minutes of settling down before torchlights flashed nearby, and a couple more minutes before they alit on my face.  i had prepared my response:  kamre me bahut garmi hai.  kya main yaha sosakta hu? (it is hot in the room, can i sleep here?) it was the first time i had spoken to the teacher, and i wanted to employ the little hindi that had come my way.  but he responded in english that was dangerous to sleep here.   why, i asked?  it always gets hot and humid before the rain begins, and the snakes come out, he responded.  better sleep in your room.  we were concerned for you.  you are our guest, we only want your safety.  i told him that i like to sleep outside, and often prefer it.  after a few minutes back in my room one of the assistants was at the door, beckoning me out and showing me to a bed they had prepared on the porch outside the kitchen, underneath a powerful whirring fan.  such courteousness one receives from indians from time to time.

vipassana my nose!  that was all it was about the first three days.  concentrate on thy breathing.  don't even try to regulate it the way some meditation techniques propose, says goenka's recorded voice in the meditation hall (but i say: but as soon as i become aware of my breathing, it is no longer natural and i have to make a decision as to whether to breathe in or out or how slowly and how long a pause to leave between breathing in and out and out and in) observe the sensations on thy nose. that is all thou must do, whether the sensations be tingling or prickling or itching or numb or warm or cool or moist or dry, observe the sensations attentively attentively... goenka explained during the evening videos that the purpose of this was to hone one's attention, to sharpen the mind to a highly acute single-pointedness.  let nothing distract you.  keep focused, keep calm, concentrate on thy nose.

as the days progressed, this field of attention extended to the entire body.  with thy single-pointed mind, scan the whole body, head to foot, head to foot and do nothing but observe the sensations.  remaining motionless, with eyes closed, do nothing but observe the sensations.  goenka expounded the theory in the videos, which, he was proud to say, were the pure teachings of the buddha, preserved intact over 2,500 years, now taught to you.   the aims of the course are to develop the awareness and equanimity of the participant.  one's own body is the sole object of study from which all truth can be arrived.  the truth learned while meditating can then be applied to interactions with the world outside.  one experiences sensations in the body which come, and go.  one realises the impermanence of all bodily sensations, and also the impermanence of everything in the physical world.  everything is in a constant flux of births and death and risings and fallings and comings and goings.  suffering is generated within the individual who reacts either with pleasure or displeasure at the impermanent things of the physical world.  first the senses record the objective information - sensations or smells or sights or sounds or tastes, or mental stimuli - then another bodily aparatus judges this information and labels it as pleasant or unpleasant.  suffering even comes from pleasure because when the pleasurable sensation ends, its passing is lamented.  a craving has developed. after registering the sensation, dissemble the judging apparatus.  learn non-reaction. be impervious to the sensations.
goenka emphasies that vipassana is entirely non-religious, non-sectarian.  all religious rituals or practising of yoga had to abandoned for the 10 days, "to give the technique a fair trial".  even though a participant may find it useful to chant the name of a deity or a holy person while meditating, this is not the way of vipassana.   vipassana, in all its simplicity, is a technique available to anybody with a body and bodily sensations.  following firmly the footsteps of the buddha, goenka affirms that after becoming liberated from the bonds of attachment, it then becomes our goal to work towards the liberation of those who surround us, to desire the liberation of all beings.  bhavatu sabba mangalam, goenka chants in his deep drawling drone at the end of meditation sessions, and at the end of each video, with his hand upraised, eyes closed: let all beings be happy.

(as regards JC, goenka commented one night: what a great liberated being he was, hanging there in the throes of death, his only thought for his torturers is to forgive them.  what perfect equanimity of mind!
the crux
the crux is that liberation can only come from within you.   saying that you are a follower of jesus can only mean anything if it means that you too wish to attain the same state of liberation as him.)

constant, uninterrupted equanimity of mind is the dharma - the art of living, the secret to living well, to key to liberation from suffering.   goenka's voice is imprinted indelibly in my mind from the recorded commentaries at the beginning of meditation: always remain equanimous with an understanding of the law of impermanence, anichaa, anichaa, anichaa.

yes, in the long run everything is impermanent, my thoughts ran, but living is composed of individual moments, and the sensation of a moment may consist of pain, and for the experiencer of that sensation the pain might as well be permanent because it is there, o it is there!
- always remain equanimous, this too shall pass
but how can this thinking aid my grandmother who experiences pain moment after moment and the pain is likely to stay until the moment her body goes away?


first i tried sitting cross-legged and absolutely still; the aim was not to move at all for the whole hour, but after fifteen minutes i was craving a more comfortable position, and goenka's exhortation to only observe, only observe was disregarded.  many times i had to disregard it for the sake of my comfort.  still, from time to time i have a penchant for physical challenge and occasionally tried my utmost to sit it out.  cross-legged, i can do this.  it is only a sensation.   what is a sensation?  concentrate on your breathing; that'll take your mind off it.  ah, calm breathing, remain calm, remain calm.  i am equanimous in the face of any crossed-legged sensation.  how can my legs hurt so much? all i am doing is sitting down.  o, this is difficult, this is reeeeeallly testing my mettle now.   what is this? a voluntary torture technique?   why should i participate in this?  i am my own master and i choose a little bit more comfort, please, please, no no, i can do it, yes we can do this, come on come on, hold on dear brother, o meditation shmeditation meditizzle shmizzle!  i might as well just admit that meditation is not for me, it is blatantly not my cup of tea.  aaaaaoooow, my legs are really protesting, they would really rather not maintain this posture any longer, O Lord, help me in my hour of need, give me strength, poor meditator that i am, in my hour of need!

thirty minutes was the most that i carried on such shinanigans before changing - telling myself flatly that it was necessary - to change posture.
i resolved to speak to the the teacher about this.  i told  him it was becoming a grueling physical challenge for me; i compared it to my experience of running in a race, where a barrier of pain always presents itself to me.   my will would have me running faster and faster but my body protested with pain, and there is always the uncomfortable challenge of finding the balance...
the teacher said that sitting cross-legged was not necessary.  if it is too painful then find a position that is more comfortable.  the aim is to remain immobile, and to always only observe sensations, always with an equanimous mind.

my thoughts ran, o how my thoughts ran!  one thing i learned during the course was how difficult it was for me to control the rambunctious dog that is my mind, who constantly wants to roll around in the terrain of past events, sniffing and reviewing anywhich trivial event lodged in my memory, or else bounding ahead and eagerly panting in expectation of events to come.  will i get a visa for pakistan when my indian visa runs out at the end of august?  i would love so much to pass through pakistan, so my thoughts ran, and will i ever meet shokouh in iran? and what will it be like to meet her?  ah, i would love to learn some more portuguese, spend some time in portugal,  maybe brazil.  that italian guy frederico talked about a wonderful community in north brazil...

calmness, friend, calmness, i have to remind myself.  my mind will be still, my mind will be still....


[stillness of mind for an indeterminate period of time]


places drift into my mind.  the feeling of being in a place:  that little hut on the north tip of skye, the waves crashing below, the road to ben rinnes: braes of enzie, mulben, maggieknockater, dufftown, the road to ben rinnes in summer, in spring, autumn and winter, luibleathann bothy, then suddenly - a street in seville, a little chuch in a village in the pyrenees, a motorway peage in france, a crowded street in kathmandu, they come thick and fast, and as soon as i am aware of them, i have to reign them in - stillness, stillness (we are not supposed to make any mental verbalisation or visualisation, but i need to repeat this mantra to keep my mind in control) - "still mind" i say to myself as i breathe in, "calm  mind" i say as i breathe out, then suddenly it is a scene when i am ten years old, in my parent's sunny garden, seeing how many times i can head a football back and forth between my father, or i am walking along a street in the evening in aberdeen with colin, or i am sitting in aberdeen university computer room at one in the morning, listening to online jazz music while trying to finish a pesky essay, what am i doing? i am cycling, i am running, i am beneath trees, i am at a party in oxford with francis and caitlin, i am meeting up with kevin and ally and finlay and mum and dad at belfast ferry port in the rain, ah my mind will not stay still.  i crave mental activity, i crave it.  what is wrong with sitting quietly, with a reposed mind for an hour?  is it too boring?  must i always play, as it were, a video of past memories and future imaginings? oh, it is too boring, i crave sensations, i want to swim in the sea! i want to run along the beach! i want to bake potatoes in the fire, and eat them! ahh, sensazioni, sensazioni! at the very least i want to read some poetry or write some poetry, i want to eat some cheese. aaaah, roasted peanuts. ahhhh sweet sweet honey...

retrospectively, i understood very well the young lad's comment in the bus stand about the human need/ great desire for entertainment.









these words came to me in the meditation hall ('though we weren't supposed to be thinking of anything) and i wrote them down (although we weren't supposed to write anything either):

One day i'll decay.

my bones will decompose.

my blood'll become mud.

my skin will shrivel up.

no more shooing away the flies,

it'll be they who feast on my eyes.

therefore at this moment

i'll be in this moment

i'll cherish your smile

if only for a while

'though our hearts may beat together now

next they'll beat themselves into the ground;

upon their old fibres a layer of moss and

from our dead bodies flowers will blossom.

and these words i wrote when i was in nepal and read over them again yesterday while flicking through my old damp notebook.  they seem garbled but possibly sincere.  they present a peculiar slant, the thoughts of one moment in time.  what they do is deny the fact that we are both soul and body.  we can never really escape our nailedness to the material world, however much we want to stretch our arms out to the Infinite


so what does my being filled with love mean to the taxi-driver who wants to supply me with his service?

• it means recognising his buddhahood.  his taxy-driving money-making is a tiny superfluous detail in the self-fulfilling majesty of his awakeninghood.  He is Present.  by recognising this, by being aware that We are Present Together, the Divine intricately unfurling Eternal Reality as perceived by the Beautiful Awkening Soul within is honoured.  The Simplicity and Majesty of this One Unique Singular Unforgettable Unputdownable Death-defying Conscious-edifying Moment is honoured and Enshrined in the Ageless Annals of Death-defying Moments.

You and that taxi-driver can be aware of this:  the Material Circumstances of Existence are Immaterial.  the Deep Throbbing Soul within is all that matters.  Suffering is part and parcel of the physical world.  Divest thyself of the pettiness of material things.

• whether thou hast a full belly or not
• whether thy leg is half chomped to bits,

Rejoice! or at least be still in the Moment.  Perceive the Moment for what it is, for what it has been for what it Always will be.  All these physical sensations will pass away.  everything will turn to dust and be born again and climb up the golden lattice work of the stupas to stand glistening, grinning, turgid, unperturbed, shoeless, gnarled and knotty-minded in the breathless, knowledgeless wind of incongruous notime.

Be Aware of That!

live to die          live to die          live to die

birth is thy boisterous right and death is thy bedridden right.  go beyond the fickle fluctuations of the earthly tickling clock and embrace the sole spontaneous moment that is neither here nor there; that is everywhere at once, that knows no wright or rong, that cannot be fathomed by any amount of trivial contemplation

not to be tampered with

we are mortal because we are mortal

the incongruity of the eternal frofruity.

rainbow parvati

then ioana wrote me sayin there was a rainbow gatherin in parvati valley 

so i set off forthwith, catchin an early bus next mornin from nainital, then gave hitchin a go on that busy road outta haldwani, havin to politely ignore all the wayfarers interes'd in my welfare who said: 

where you goin? 

you goin wrong direction, busstand busstand!

only later that evenin, after bumpin on the back of a dusty truck along the erroneous road for sev'ral hours, and havin to retrace that bumpy road on the back of 'nother dusty truck did i recognise their logic that bus is best, the bus allthesame being a nightslide with a memorable bump bump tarless section squashedlegs nosleep to arrive in chandigarh and there board the next daylong bus north now to bhunter, slowin down on the unsurfaced sections to let all the trucks past, and slowin down in the towns and villages to let the tangle of bicycles and mopeds and other buses and occasional ambulating cow slowly unravel themselves.  that night got some blissful outtabus sleep in the countryside terrain of someone's house in construction, and then next day continued hitchin up the valley - small lil roads now, mountains risin - to kasol.

i was walkin along outta kasol when this real friendly big grinnin kid greeted me from afar:

hey, hey! how are you!?  come have chai with me

one never knows when rats are lurkin around or which grin is genuine or only seems to be genuine, but a cheeky wee chai was callin and this kid was full of thusiasm, quizzin me all bout my travels, where been in india?  how long left in india?  after a while i says: good to meet you bro, im gonna head on now to the rainbow.  ah, alright, he says, but come to my guesthouse room first and meet my friends.  i follow him up the stairs and inside three muscley chaps sittin back, and there is a sorta tension in the air as i sit down and begin the friendly-shmendly rigmarole of where i been in india and who i am, then slowly the whole ruse comes to the surface as the ringleader explains they have a jewelry business in bombay and in europe they can sell for 10 times the price they fetch in india, see, but they get whopped by a mass-sized tax when they export more than a certain quantity.  this is where i could be roped in by takin back some jewelry with me, and he quoted a big sum o money which would thereby be mine.  i let his proposition sink in, and felt the tension in their smilin-on-the surface but actually cool and calculatin company

"we are not breaking the rules.       only . . . bending them"

i was soon up and outta that room, leavin the kid with the genuine fake smile and his cronies to wallow in their own moneyspinnin schemes.

i was gonna walk but a bus took me up the final 13km of bumpy unsurfaced steeply climbin twistin track to bershani.

aye, smotherin the earth with tarmac's got its perks when you're after comfy longdistance travel.

the river here at bershani valleybottom is a frothin seethin cauldron of white water speakin o glaciers and wild natural forces, and here the beauty of parvati valley commences.  a four hour trek takes you up the valley through the grandiose tally-spiring Deodar trees to arrive puffin an mighty glad to arrive at lil village khir ganga, a lil collection of low stone houses and large plasticsheet-draped constructions strung out on a meadow perched on a steep talltreeclad valleyside.  khirganga exists almost exclusively to serve the trekkers and peacesearchers with its laidback restaurants an guesthouses and lil shops and at the very top is the temple and the hot springs. the hotspring is kinda annexed to the temple so there is s'pposed to be silence.   always a beauteous sensory adventure to dip your hands into the scorchin outflow of the thermal pool, then gradually realise its not so scorchin, actually beautifully simply hot; after lettin the hot water splash thump over your head for several minutes, you climb in an let all the fatigue seep outta yer bones and float up to the trees and shiftymist-permittin glimpses of the snowy peak further up the valley.

leavin the hotspring that first lulled evenin i thrilled to hear the scottishness of fairhaired dreadlocked scot's accent, "o aye?  i'm fae auchterarder.  you goin tae the rainbow? here i'm headin back there now, come wi me if ye want.  if i mind the waai.  av been here three weeks and i think everytime i take a different route" 

twenty minutes or so up to the far end o the meadow, across a gurglin wee stream, the rainbow camp there ringed by massive soaring noble deodars.  soon s i arrived it was: 

"welcome home brother! chai? here, take this cup.  ye found a place to sleep yet? i'll show you where there are some good spots"  everyone, upon arrival, just walked into the woods and found an appealin place to make camp.  i strung up my tarp on some springy forest floor, not far from where a young russian couple were campin and not far either from pascal, a young german, who passed by to say hello every so offen.

i first heard bout rainbow years ago from lavanya, who gave wondrous descriptions of the massive gatherins in america - everyone sharin and livin together in nature, cookin and eatin together and sharin everythin and singin songs of love for everythin.   someone else told me that american rainbows were the best organised and followed most closely the spirit of the native americans:

venerate the earth

for she is sacred

when i arrived parvati rainbow was at the tailend of its proposed month duration.  the original organisers had left and things were startin to drift apart abit, i was told.  for lots o folks there - like me - it was their first rainbow.  the whole idea o the rainbow is that there is no rules, no hierarchy, no leaders, everyone knowin what needs done and doin it.  but because there were so many neophytes, there wasn't a great deal o knowin what needed done or what kinda community we were tryin to construct, part from campin there together and cookin up when anyone got hungry.  

jaya stood up durin one eatin circle and said he generally shirked the role o leadership but he wanted to make a few comments, a few suggestions as to how we could get things runnin rainbow fashion again, if people wanted to stay here for another month.  "why not?  its a beautiful place. we've got fresh water from the stream a few minutes away.  but we really must think of camp hygiene.  we can't have a rainbow without a shitpit.  it is never done.  if the whole forest becomes full of everyone's individual hole, the flies come, then they land on our food. . . lets think of hygiene, lets get some big shitpits dug!
and . . .  we have to do something to stop the cows from wanderin into the main tent and eatin the leftovers from the previous night.  i had to chase them away this mornin and its not the first time they've been at it.  we should build a fence at the entrance, let's get organised!"

jaya was maybe approachin midlife and had straggly blonde hair. he told me he had been livin outside the system for the last 20 years - by this i assumed he meant not workin or payin taxes and suchlike.  one afternoon a lovecircle was organised - where everyone sat in a circle and passed the talkin stick round.  whoever was holdin the talkin stick could talk and whoever wasn't holdin it had to keep quiet an lissen.   the topic of talkin was anythin relatin to Love; some folks had little to say; they weren't talkers, but when it came to jaya he talked for a long time. he was so thusiastic bout love, everyone was pending on his words.  he said he was so full of love but it wasn't proper to say that it was his love, it was the great Universal Love that had filled him.  sometimes though, he did feel mopey and low, and those times he would go off into the woods and tell himself to sit for an hour and write a love letter to himself, beginning: dear jaya, I Love You! then he would go on and list all the things that he loves to do, all the things that really make him feel alive.  the best times in his life, he recalls them all and writes them all down, and thereby restores in him the creative spontaneous spark that is alive and brimming within him in each moment - brimming within each one of us, truly.  that is the purpose of his life, that is the purpose of everyone's life: to love to love to love...

 jaya's whole body would become a flowing mass of dancin vibrations at singin circle moments, specially when we sang 

"every lil cell in my body is happy, every lil cell in my body is well

every lil cell in  my body is happy, every lil cell in my body is well

i'm so glad, every lil cell   in my body is happy and well

i'm so glad, every lil cell   in my body is happy and well"

then we we go back to the start and repeat, taizé-style, everyone holdin hands in a big circle jivin along to the happy boppy melody.  we always sang before eatin, and offentimes it was timeconsumin gettin the meal preparation underswing - choppin vegetables and also ensurin water'd been collected an firewood fetched - that by the time everyone had assembled for the circle, there was a good bit o hunger goin around.  but we always gave a good singsong first, atimes anticipatin the tasty meal ahead, othertimes gettin caught up in the singin.  whenever one song had taken its natural hush, someone would start up another, sometimes it was a slow one, a sacred one, a shivanamol old hindi chant or one in any other foreign tongue which everyone lissend to and gradually began to copy over the days, or it was birdie the frenchgirl singin mostly her solo sept from the refrain: ciao bella ciao bella ciao ciao ciao, when everyone joined in.  some o the songs i was a bit ambivalent about singin firstoff, but over time, with repetition, they got into my head and i began to like them all.  the first one was usually the slow sacred one:

"we are circling, circling together

we are singing, singing our heart song

this is family, this is unity

this is celebration, this is sacred"

once there was a steady lil rain fallin and most folks were huddlin around the lil fire in the main tent makin chapattis; a few thusiastic souls had gone out to boil up the rice and begin the singin.  i was a lil shivery and thought of only stayin dry by the fire, but by and by more folks drifted out into the rain and joined the circle and after a while i headed out too - and it was some scene in which to participate: a circle o forty or fifty damp figures hands held as the rain fell singin songs of love and only feelin the warmth inside.

towards the end o every circle i would usually be proactive in gettin the OMs goin - a very special  moment when all our vibrations were hummin in unison, deep bass AAOOOOOOs joined with light humming mmmmmmmmmmms - which slowly, slowly, slowly would fade then we would raise our arms skywards then separate our clasped hands for each one to join their own palms together above their heads then slowly kneel down and kiss the earth or touch forehead on the earth, and then we would begin eatin.

after everyone had been served and served a second time and those who wanted served a third time and everyone's plates had been licked clean, the magic hat would begin.  someone would donate their hat and the one who knew the chords would get the guitar and those who wanted would jig around the circle holdin out the hat for money donations singin thus (to a great swingin boppy melody; i really liked this song) :

"deep inside my heart i've got this

everylastin love that's shinin

like the sun that radiates on everyone

and the more that i give,

the more i've got to give

its the way that i live

its what i'm livin for

boom boom boom"

then back to the beginnin and on and on. 

our collections were mostly modest, but enof to buy us rice and dal (lentils) and beans and flour for chapattis, tea, sugar (and from time to time milk too) and potatoes, onions, tomatoes, amongst other veg, from the village.  prices of things in the village were a good deal costlier than down the valley cos everythin had to be manhauled up the track on someone's back. sometimes a generous magic hat would give us bananas in the mornin, and once - a memorable once - we bought a jar o nutella and melted it all and added ground almonds to make a much relished and rare dessert.

one time boris the softly-spoken very clear blue-eyed dreadlocked old russian came to the camp bringin a big bunch of wild garlic and tellin us where we could find more, and showed other tasty edible plants besides .  few times after that i swung past his abode - a kingly tarp construction nestled atween the boulders with his own porch and his own wee water source few metres away.  i shared a spliff with him then a cup o chai then we went scramblin up the steep hillside behind his house, almost to the bottom of the cliff, where the wild garlic was to be found.  he was a really gentle creature of the woods, boris.  said he didn't come down to the rainbow camp so often cos our eating hours didn't coincide so neatly with his own.  said he'd been comin to that forest dwellin for years, always in the early months o summer, afore the rains start.

usually mornins were quiet times and a lot o times folks would form their own groups and make their own coffee, etc over their own lil fire, which isn't really the original rainbow spirit, but thats what happened.  everyone was happy to do whatever they wanted - that was the liberatin aspect of being in that driftin temporary community of wandering souls; everyone participated because they wanted to participate.  an if they didn't want to participate, well, they didn't.

as the mornin got underway folks would drift down to the fire an a big pot o tea would be organised, an maybe a pot o porridge made, or previous night's leftovers warmed up.  usually at one point someone would suggest: chapattis?

if you wanted help collecting firewood you would call out: "firewood mission!"

collectin water was a constant mission called for; i would usually volunteer because i liked to spend time by the gurglin brook fillin up slowly each plastic water bottle then carryin them back to the camp in a big sack balanced on my head; i knew that cartin 20/twentyfive litres o water wasn't everyone's cup o tea.

sometimes people would organise group events like sharin circles or meditation circles or carvin a wooden spoon circle.  it didn't take me long to get a dedicated ninja circle up and running.  all you needed to do was call out: "niiiiiinja ciiiiiirrrcaaaaaal!" and the thusiasts would come runnin.

anytime you wanted somethin you would call out: "such-and-such connection!", e.g. "salt connection", "cheenee [sugar] connection", "lighter connection", "spoon connection", "knife connection", or it could be a suggestion for a wantin: "chai connection anyone?", "charras connection?"

jaya always spoke only softly, but several times a the day his holler would ring out around the camp "boom parvati!" as he lifted the chillum pipe to his lips and inhaled deeply of the charras smoke before passing it round the circle.  aye, tis fair to say smokin charras was a strong and everpresent connection at the rainbow; t'would ha' been easy to have abstained and participated in your own laidback way, but you would ha been in the vast minority there.  one mornin i had to get up early and take a big slow walk to clear my head, followin a soft springy sheephearder trail which climbed steeply beneath the towerin deodars to arrive at the top of a crest, and then observe my passage through different vegetation zones as i clumb higher, leavin the trees behind to pass through a thick grove of big redflowered sweetsmellin rhododendrons, then up and up, aiming for a rocky outcrop where plant life all but stopped, givin way to a field o boulders which lead to snow patches further up and, finally, the white iceclad peak.

after maybe a lil more than a week the nighttime rain became constant.  one mornin it didn't even stop rainin, it jus kept rainin all mornin.  also the police had come around sayin that we should be payin a hundred rupees per tent.  everyone was talkin bout leavin.  jaya talked bout holdin the next rainbow in august - on a beautiful piece o land on the banks o the ganges, a few hours shy o calcutta on the delhi-calcutta trainline.   he wrote details of how to get there on a piece o card and everyone passed it round and copied it out.

next mornin i was up early everythin packed up an trekkin slidin along the muddy path - "treacherous" i commented to mysel, steadyin mysel wi ma stick - back down the valley.

hunky monkey monologue with a dog

i had just had a little skype chat with my brother who was about to turn thirty.  the connection was shoddy but it was good to see him - little glimpse fashion - nonetheless.   coming out of the cyber i quickened my steps for i saw that the lake was being flecked by raindrops.  i quickly climbed up the twisty road for twenty minutes or so then turned into the woods and scrambled up to the top of the ledge where i am sleeping.

i have been here in nainital for 5 or 6 days now.  the wonderful withdrawn rocktop campspot has invited me to linger, as well as the aesthetically pleasing landscape surrounding the lake - the town nestled in the valley, creeping up the hills at the edges, and the dark old deodar conifers clothing the slopes, between which stately homes can be glimpsed at stately intervals.  some of the stately homes have signs in the gardens saying:  No entry.  Trespassers will be prosecuted.   something about the mediterranean twisting roads and the alpine coniferous slopes and the stately homes bring back a lot of european memories to me.  nainital is a very desirable holiday destination for indian tourists, but curiously almost no westerners come. when i am walking along the lakeside mall road my passage will be followed by the curiosity of dark-eyed young couples and families and groups of friends holiday-making.

the dark clouds and flecked lake ended up not coming to very much, but i was glad of my foreplanning in stringing up the plastic sheet between two trees in order to keep essential things dry: sleeping bag and books.   i had grown used to having the rocktopspot all to my own, reached after several minutes of barely a little footpath climbing steeply uphill between the bushes, and the final scrambling section which involves pulling myself up by roots and hanging branches to arrive at the ledge, there to cook over a fire at night and to stretch naked in the new morning sun.

i had grown used to having the place to myself.  imagine my surprise then when i ducked my head under the tarp and beheld a little monkey sitting placidy on my sleeping bag.  he turned from contemplating the rain to look up at me and then, as if he had entirely expected my return, he went back to surveying the rain falling outside.  i stared at him in disbelief for a while before removing my rucksack and settling down next to him.  i decided that if he was completely unconcerned by my presence, then i too would be unconcerned by his.  or at least i would pretend to be.  i sat and looked out at the last few raidrops dripping from the trees and saw the sunlight beginning to push through the clouds.  i stole glances at him every so often from the corner of my eye.  he was very still and placid.  after a while i got some bananas from my bag and broke one off, offering it to him with raised eyebrows.  it seemed that was the cue he had been waiting for, for he quickly grabbed it and, deftly snapping off the stalk, he had it gobbled it up in a matter of seconds, getting his fingers sticky in the process.  he watched my fingers intently as i slowly finished my banana, then he fixed me with his intense black eyes, his black little face ringed by a ring of white fur.  i returned the same steady gaze then slowly held out my open palm to him and he, slowly too, stretched out his hand and slowly clasped his little fingers round mine.  rough and sticky and a little tickly they were. "what communication is possible between us?" i thought out loud and almost whispered it to the monkey and, as if this were another cue, the monkey sprang for the bananas and dragged the whole bunch off with him, quick as a flash, and disappeared into the trees.


after some time he returned and nervously handed me a rumpled piece of paper upon which the words were scrawled "My name is Ramesh", with spidery arabesques curling from the R and the h.   overleaf was the question: "And what is your good name?"

i looked up suspiciously at the monkey, who by now was prowling around restlessly.  "hey, who wrote this?"  i called out, to which the monkey paid scant attention,.  he threw nervous glances in my direction from time to time, but otherwise treated my presence with indifference.   what kind of human-handed roguish monkey tricks are you up to?  i peered down the cliff from all angles, expecting to see the human accomplice hiding somewhere.  i had become very suspicious and sensed sinister spirits all around me.  the next minute the monkey was at my side holding out timidly another piece of paper upon which the questions were posed:  "you are from which country Sir?", and overleaf: "are you married?"

"am i married?" i blurted out slowly, incredulously.  what kind of monkey-driven mind would conceive...
this is becoming curiouser and curiouser, i thought... this has become a regular little story.  whatever will happen next?   the narrator then made his presence felt in my mind, and i could not suppress flashing him a roguish smile.  perhaps you be an omniscient narrator? i bethought myself.   maybe omniscient...     who knows?

some new excitement had gripped ramesh by this point and he was lithely ascending the cliff above the ledge.  from the top he looked round and fixed me with his pokey black eyes before disappearing out of view.  something in the flick of his head seemed to beckon me to follow him.  in any case, i was gripped by curiosity, and though i had never ventured up this wall - deeming it too sheer - i found it was actually easily scalable with care.  at the top the slope eased off, but even so, i was panting hard to keep up with the bounding monkey.  even so, i paid scant attention, and my legs propelled me forward with thrill-filled eagerness.

i came to a forest trail and there saw ramesh a little ahead, looking alertly into the woods.  at that point hooves could be heard approaching, then from round the bend came four horses trotting sedately, with riders astraddle and each one led by a young man.  it looked like a family out on an excursion.  the first guide gave me a wide tooth-missing smile but the woman perched on the horse regarded me with seeming displeasure, surrounded by her amply streaming orange sari.  the man only flashed me a cold expressionless glance in passing.  the young boy called out something excitedly as he passed while the young girl was putting all of her concentration on remaining balanced on her horse.

after their passage it took me a while to locate ramesh, but eventually i spied him quite far into the woods, making his way across some boulders.  when i caught up with him he was jumping nimbly from rock to moss-covered rock, stopping now and again to look round at me.  the sun was beaming brightly now, and sent shimmering rays through the leaves which quivered and danced and scattered bright green light all around.  ramesh had somehow reached the top of a big boulder (which looked pretty inaccessible to me) and there he sat preening himself studiously in the sun.  "this place binds spells", i said, and set about climbing a big nearby tree, whose lowest branches could be reached  by standing on a rock.  "in short, it is spell-binding."   the highest branches reached up into the sunny blue sky and from there i looked down and saw little ramesh squatting on his boulder, blithe and unconcerned.

i do not know how much time passed but gradually i became conscious of the energy flowing through the tree and flowing into my tightly gripping hands, filling me with buzzing vital energy.  the air was filled with the sweet heady chirping of birds.  i closed my eyes and said: "thank you birds, for keeping me alive."
after a while i observed an old man threading his way among the boulders, shuffling along and stooping now and again to pick up a fallen branch and tuck it under his arm.  mostly it was thin little twiggy branches he collected, for even this far from town the forest floor had already been meticulously scoured for firewood.  meanwhile the sky had grown overcast and raindrops began to fall again.  the old man shuffled his way to beneath my tree where he rearranged a smallish boulder and there sat down, and seemingly began the contemplation of his shoes.  i observed him noiselessly for a while, then called down to him "may you be forever happy!", employing the language of the birds, thus: caawooooah, caawoooooaah, caawooooo.  he showed no signs of having heard and instead picked himself up and picked his bundle of sticks up and shuffled back the direction he had come, in spite of the drizzle, falling steadily by now.  there was no sign of ramesh; he seemed to have gone off on his own, following some trail of his imagination.    then, looking further into the forest, i caught sight of the white walls of a building with a pyramid-shaped roof and climbed down to investigate.

it was a little-frequented hindu temple, by the looks of it.  it provided scant protection from the rain, but all the same, i snuck under the cover of the overhanging roof and peered warily through the metal railings to see the gaudily-dressed statue of the warrior god shiva, gorily daubed with bright red dye and surrounded by spiky tridents.  his platform was scattered with spent insense sticks, spent matches and grains of dry rice - left there as offerings.  some chants to shiva went through my head - Om namashivaaya, om namashiva-aya, om namashiva-aya, om namashivaya - then, cautioulsy rather than instinctively, i bowed my head to the statue before giving the temple bell a ring and making to move off.

then i perceived a little man rising from his crouched position in a  nearby storage shed and coming towards me with a respectful bow.  "shiva temple", he said to me, indicating the shiva temple.  "yes.    shiva temple", i agreed, acknowledging the alter i had just left.  after a pause he inquired, "you hindu?"   "well, i'm.....     no, i'm.......    i would like to recognise.......     i was brought up a christian", i concluded, wondering if he really thought i might be a hindu, me with my white skin.  to be a hindu is a birth inheritance, it is to be born to hindu parents, it is to follow the footsteps of those parents, it is to follow a tradition, to continue a cultural practice.  these thoughts were cast aside when he asked i where going now?  the woods are lovely, dark and damp, but i have to get back to my camp.  i revealed to him that i was sleeping outside, a little distance above nainital.  he had to seek confirmation: "outside?"
"yes, outside", i said
"you have no dar?", he inquired
"what is dar?", i asked
he looked somewhat taken aback.
i sought confirmation of his gesture by giving a sharp intake of breath and opening my eyes wide.
"yes, yes, this", he confirmed and thus i learned the hindi word for fear.
"fear of what?" i asked.
he rolled  his head around in an expansive, all-inclusive gesture, and then specified: "lions, snakes..."
he began as if he were beginning a big list but then trailed off, and i smiled and looked upwards and, putting my hands together, said: "God will protect me".
he instantly found this funny, but i was deadly serious.


later that night i was stirred from my slumber by the sound of raindrop bullets pelting on the plastic sheet.  i dimly registered that a downpour was in full progress, but i liked the sound and i was lulled by the sound until i also heard a squeaky mechanical sound, like some squeaky breaks squeaking from afar.  i sleepily began to grow used to it, but as it began to grow louder i grew more curious and then i sat up and looked out to the dark forest streaming with rain and there became aware of the dim outline of a dog, whining in the most pitiable woebegone whimper i ever heard.  i shone my torchlight on him and beheld his pitiable poverty-stricken eyes, full of his own shame, while he incessantly emitted his high-pitched miserable whimper.  i regarded his wretchedness from the soft cosy warmth of my down sleeping bag and addressed him thus:

"aye, it a drizzly one tonight ey?  you could be doing with a bit of shelter right now i bet,  you lonely despised pariah dog, the lowest of the low.  outcaste you, everyone kicks you aside but i'll give you some dry space, here, come on doggy, in you come....what do you mean with those eyes? come on, stop all this woebegonnery! what, you don't understand? allora ti parlo in itaiano, sicuro che capisci il tono della mia voce se non il senso delle parole.  vedi, io sono tutto amabile guarda, non ti faro nessun male.  vieni qua dentro cane.  qua si sta bene...ma non capisci? sono amabile, ti lo giuro.  sono sicuro che anche tu lo puoi sentire.  vieeeni qua dentro.
no?  preferisci restare li fuori sotto la pioggia?  va be' resta li allora, ma sappi che io ti sto a invitare.  io so bene che non sei abituato a accetare i gesti di gentilezza da parte degli umani ma.....cane pazzo..
"sotto il palazzo c'e un cane pazzo
te' pazzo cane, questo pezzo di pane"
viene pazzo cane, che anch'io sono pazzo.  dai, siamo due pazzi a stare al riparo della pioggia insieme.
bo'; fai come vuoi",

and i turned over and left him there to be pelted by the cold rain all night - "you're not going to get a wink of sleep like that, i assure you" - then later in the night i saw that he had crept close enough to allow at least his head to remain dry.  in the early morning i saw that he was entirely underneath the plastic, curled up by my side.  and when it had become fully light i looked round to see that he had gone.