Shrikant and Niyati

The Maharashtrian wedding. Now that was spectacular. 3 days - that I know of - of preparation. An Indian classical concert the night before. Apparently the vocalist is a famous Indian singer, probably 750,000 Indians know of him, and Shri likes his music. I don't remember this man's name - he just happens to be Niyati's family's friend. Awesome when it works out like that. Of course the tabla, sitar, Indian accordian and vocals were hypnotic - apparently the entire crowd enjoyed the performance.
The next day, the actual wedding, let's just say it was all 24-karat gold robes, mehendi, 5 outfit changes, fire, tying knots in rope - well I think Niyati and Shri were tied together by the priest and their parents - to symbolise their future together. Colors of yellow, red, pink, blue, gold, green. It is a swirl of intricate steps leading to the exact moment when the Hindu astrological calendar of Shri and Niyati overlap - between 1144 and 1148 am - that's when the final event takes place and they are married. Oh yeah, and venue has to be available that day as well!

I wish Niyati and Shrikant the best of fortune and luck. Hope your heads didn't get banged together too hard!

Q-tip girl

Even if I don't need q-tips, when in Mumbai, when the q-tip girl walks into traffic selling q-tips for 10Rs, I buy q-tips. I may not even use the q-tips.
One wish: I wish my brain were faster.
If you can't help them all, and helping one doesn't matter, what does matter? I just didn't like it. So there.
It's a pretty harsh world out there. Yet it is beautiful. Well, maybe, all you need is dollars.

Eye Contact

You've all heard of the (in)famous Osho commune in Pune? Yeah, well I visited the area called Koregaon Park. It's the Beverly Hills of Pune. Except take Beverly Hills, extract it entirely, sweep a bit of space in Compton, a gingerly drop Osho in the middle. Now that's good times!

I can't trek 12,000 miles away and not see this First Encounter, which first off are the Bugs Bunny-robbed, mostly Westerners, wandering the streets. I tried, seriously, I tried, keeping an open mind. I even pulled out the drill, did a bit trepanning (sp), but, alas, for the first time in weeks I had tears of extreme laughter running down my face. I must have looked more wacko than those Maroons. Thanks Bugs Bunny!

Get your OM on! Holy freakin' Buddha on a luxury, gourmet, organic, carbon neutral, pesticide-free, chakra-aligned lotus leaf. This is in India? 90% white, 5% asian, 3% black, 2% Indian. Where is the Indian guru? He passed away, probably out of sheer hysterics at making his disciples run around in maroon robes.

OK - my way of judging? Because judge I did. Absolutely NO eye contact. None. Zero. Nada. Nyet. Maroonites have so liberated themselves and shed their outer shells to expose their inner light that merely acknowledging another human with a smile that goes past their nostrils, or eye contact that descends from the sky or rises from the sidewalk must not be part of their collective enlightenment.

So, let me contrast this, lest you think I am a horrible asshole. Which, by the way, I am. I headed across town to a small neighborhood temple. Since I don't have my notes with me, I have no name because I can't remember. The temple was beautiful, the Indians warm and friendly. There was no prentense. Eye contact and smiles were easy to come by. Two people were all too happy to explain the significance of the temple and the puja, or worship, that was about to take place. No robes. No getting their OM on. Yoga and pranayama was lived as life. No special classes or programs. I don't want to describe this as simple, it just was what it was, it was not something else.

I was beyond honored to sit with these devotees and just be.

Look Ma, no hands

I had my first motorcycle ride in Pune a few days ago. Holy mother of God. That will make a believer out of you. Guess what you have for health and safety? Hang on, sit down. That's pretty much it. You don't even have to shut up. No helmet. No gloves. No leather jacket. No leather pants. No boots. Hell, these dudes are on mobile phones. I've even seen the passenger holding the phone to the driver's ear - gotta keep the convo going while honking a swerving.

Oh, lest I totally freak out some people, a few rules of the road do exist: Honk, honk, honk. You lane split all the time. Correction, there are no real "lanes" so when we are riding, it's just kinda swerving and honking and braking. Add to this a 20 pound day pack on me and wow, it's like crack and heroin combined - who knows because I have no idea.

One of the best traits of India? Conversations with the random people. It's best when they are literally 3 to 6 inches away from your knee travelling 20 to 30 mph. I can just smile, nod, say hey. When the traffic comes to a stop, always at weird times and unexpected locations, everyone kinda blackholes together. Physics is WRONG! Matter can occupy the same place at the same time as long as it's a motorcycle, autorickshaw, bus, or huge TATA freightliner. It's like a big mash-up scrum.

Hysterical.