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.

Dhanyavad

mom dad steve rosalia alicia parker john traci scott sonia brooke darrell dawn dave forrest jd khyati frank denny paris for all taking time to give blessings parties love laughter advice reality checks photo stories and a wedding to go to. I'm sure I left out some sponsors, producers, directors, managers, gaffers, key grips, priests, beggars but that will have to do for now.

Any takers?

One last note: Adventure is adventure. Adventure shared with another soul is double adventure. Any takers? All you need to do is survive the trip from the airport to downtown Mumbai.

Plus, indulge in art. The few galleries I have visited are sanctuaries of the mind and soul. Perhaps art is God. Perhaps God is art. Whatever it may be, what comes out the human mind with expression of art is beautiful beyond all summation. Even in Mumbai, art is a mantra for me. Who woulda thunk?

Mumbai madness

Matt is here! Mumbai better watch out! Hahahaha. That is a joke. Rather, Matt is finding out he is about as internationally savvy as a little white Bo-peep sheep. The one with the pink bow on it. If you know the joke, then you know what I mean. All I have to do is turn around and it's like: "whooosh, what was that?. It will probably hurt later." This place is the Hoover of dollars. Schemes abound to drive a wedge between you and your dollars. Between you and any plans placing dots on a map culled from Lonely Planet by careful planning the night before. And I mean planning at 3 am because the walls seem to close in when you realize that's the only reality of familiarity. How Awesome!

How Mumbai can exist is a miracle. Dirt is mingled with pavement is mingled with mud. Glass and steel storefronts wedge between 4 ft by 5 ft stalls. Vendors line the sidewalk inches from taxis and trucks with only horns keeping the lanes and the entire traffic system from complete chaos. Oh, it's chaos. Just not complete, triple-X chaos. This Mumbai is slow entropy. You can watch it like sitting on a Yosemite cliff watch the granite break away one feldspar, one quartz, one olivine at a time. You know it's going to destruction. But somehow, the erosion just keeps on going, going, going...

What I like best? Thank you for asking! Walking down the street and some dude siddles up next me, all innocent, and we start talking. "You know the Jain temple up the road? It's the 40th year rotation for this festival. Follow me, we go see it." After walking 20 minutes to who knows where (just trust the universe) I walk into a Jain creatatorium. Of course Peter knows the crematorium overseer (my words aren't working now). So I get the "special tour." However, this is really for real. Families are in progress of creamating relatives. I am asked to be respectful, in return I can make photos. I can't upload any because this internet cafe has no provision. But let's just say that the heat from burning human is quite intense. Tears don't really make it past eyelashes. Hindu and Jain philosophy - just the part of life, bury the ashes, plant a mango tree over the ashes, the tree bears fruit, the people eat the fruit, the people are nourished. Capiche?

Now the circle is not complete until all three of us reach the back of the crematorium. That's where I am asked for a donation, so the poor people can afford the wood and facilities that the well-off can easily afford. Wouldn't you know. 2,000 rupees later, I am the fuck outta there! Third lesson in two days and I'm sure it won't stop there. PAY ATTENTION or you will be in the slum before one week is out.

Hey, other than that, everything is like San Francisco would be if it had 18,000,000 people smashed on top of each other.

Well, I'm off to see how much trouble buying an international calling card will be. I expect worse than buying used cars from Slick Freddy in Antioch.

Merry Christmas at 85 degrees and 80% humidity.

Cheers Love Namaste Matt what am I doing here Soby

Could have had a mai-tai in Hawaii