This morning I thought I’d go try the morning yoga with Swami
Yoganan, because, face it, what are the chances I’d be able to practice
with a 103 year-old yogi ever again? Now, you’d think that if you lived
that long, you’d be all mellow and take it easy on yourself, right? No,
not really.
One of the poses that he enjoys showing off is putting his legs around his neck with his tongue sticking out, with his manly bits hanging dangerously close to said tongue. This is pretty much the most unattractive thing I have ever seen. Mari Chéri would tell you that Swami has achieved the Holy Grail of masturbatory technique, self oral stimulation, but I’m sure that is not an appropriate way to think about Swami (and the imagery is too disturbing anyway).
After class, we went for breakfast with most of the group (yummy pancakes), and then for some shopping in Rishikesh at a small clothing shop with fantastic embroidered tunics and scarves. We had picked a bunch of stuff and it was time to negotiate, and my friend Martine had it all figured out. Yogish, our Indian organizer in Montreal, had told us that in an Indian negotiation, the merchant tells a price, and then you immediately offer him one third of it. The conversation went a bit like this:
Merchant: “Total is 11400 rupees, I give you 10% volume discount, so total is 10260.”
Martine: “I’ll give you 3500 rupees.”
Merchant: “No.”
Martine: “4000.”
Merchant: “No.”
Martine: “5000.”
Merchant: “No.”
Martine: “You have to give me a better price.”
Merchant: “You already have better price: 10 260 rupees.”
And this went on for a while until Martine was able to bargain him down to 10 200 rupees. I was really proud and not a little envious of her, let me tell you.
And me, you ask? I got the 10% discount for my four tunics but totally chickened out of the negotiation process. He did give me a nice handkerchief as a bonus, so I’m happy. It is a pretty handkerchief.
After shopping, we wanted to go for lunch at the German Bakery, where we were told there’d be pastries and coffee (Yééé!) but there was a slight misunderstanding about its location. It turns out that it was across the second bridge, not the first one. After walking in the sunshine for what felt like forever, we stopped at a gas station and asked for directions. There was a tuk tuk (some kind of open taxi) driver there who told us that he’d take us for 70 rupees, but then a second driver who wanted in on the action tried to exploit our womanly insecurities by declaring that “all six, impossible”. The first driver would have none of it, gestured all six of us in his tuk tuk and off we were. I was afraid that the second driver would follow us and beat up our driver, but it seems that Indians are more civilized than my mind scenarios.
After an amazing lunch, we went back to the ashram and I had (another) glorious three-hour nap. When I woke up, Hélène and A.-R. were getting ready for dinner and wanted to try an Italian restaurant about 30 minutes away by foot. Walking, getting lost a little bit, and then finally sitting down and eating took a bit longer than expected, and we realized around 8:45 that we had to be back at the ashram before the 9 p.m. curfew.
Now, a word about curfews. After spending the better part of my teenage years fighting curfews hand, tooth and nail, it seems pretty ironic that in my forties, I would travel a few thousands miles and pay a fair chunk of money to be subjected to one.
We found a jeep driver and asked him to drive us, fast, to our ashram, but that was without taking sacred cows into consideration. It turns out that cows love lying about the streets at night and that honking at them is a no-no. A.-R. did her best screaming “curfew!” at them, but eventually the driver had to drive around the animals, which proved to be a little hair raising. We did make it at 5 to 9, though, so we were saved from sleeping on the streets with beggars and stray dogs.
Three things I am grateful for today:
1- I found tunics my size at the shop, and the merchant told me that he has seen “much bigger woman” before. Yé for that.
2- The pace in Rishikesh is better suited to my own natural speed, is less polluted and not as noisy and smelly as New Delhi.
3- Having the freedom to sleep, eat, read and write when I want to is great, never thought I was such a night owl before?
One of the poses that he enjoys showing off is putting his legs around his neck with his tongue sticking out, with his manly bits hanging dangerously close to said tongue. This is pretty much the most unattractive thing I have ever seen. Mari Chéri would tell you that Swami has achieved the Holy Grail of masturbatory technique, self oral stimulation, but I’m sure that is not an appropriate way to think about Swami (and the imagery is too disturbing anyway).
After class, we went for breakfast with most of the group (yummy pancakes), and then for some shopping in Rishikesh at a small clothing shop with fantastic embroidered tunics and scarves. We had picked a bunch of stuff and it was time to negotiate, and my friend Martine had it all figured out. Yogish, our Indian organizer in Montreal, had told us that in an Indian negotiation, the merchant tells a price, and then you immediately offer him one third of it. The conversation went a bit like this:
Merchant: “Total is 11400 rupees, I give you 10% volume discount, so total is 10260.”
Martine: “I’ll give you 3500 rupees.”
Merchant: “No.”
Martine: “4000.”
Merchant: “No.”
Martine: “5000.”
Merchant: “No.”
Martine: “You have to give me a better price.”
Merchant: “You already have better price: 10 260 rupees.”
And this went on for a while until Martine was able to bargain him down to 10 200 rupees. I was really proud and not a little envious of her, let me tell you.
And me, you ask? I got the 10% discount for my four tunics but totally chickened out of the negotiation process. He did give me a nice handkerchief as a bonus, so I’m happy. It is a pretty handkerchief.
After shopping, we wanted to go for lunch at the German Bakery, where we were told there’d be pastries and coffee (Yééé!) but there was a slight misunderstanding about its location. It turns out that it was across the second bridge, not the first one. After walking in the sunshine for what felt like forever, we stopped at a gas station and asked for directions. There was a tuk tuk (some kind of open taxi) driver there who told us that he’d take us for 70 rupees, but then a second driver who wanted in on the action tried to exploit our womanly insecurities by declaring that “all six, impossible”. The first driver would have none of it, gestured all six of us in his tuk tuk and off we were. I was afraid that the second driver would follow us and beat up our driver, but it seems that Indians are more civilized than my mind scenarios.
After an amazing lunch, we went back to the ashram and I had (another) glorious three-hour nap. When I woke up, Hélène and A.-R. were getting ready for dinner and wanted to try an Italian restaurant about 30 minutes away by foot. Walking, getting lost a little bit, and then finally sitting down and eating took a bit longer than expected, and we realized around 8:45 that we had to be back at the ashram before the 9 p.m. curfew.
Now, a word about curfews. After spending the better part of my teenage years fighting curfews hand, tooth and nail, it seems pretty ironic that in my forties, I would travel a few thousands miles and pay a fair chunk of money to be subjected to one.
We found a jeep driver and asked him to drive us, fast, to our ashram, but that was without taking sacred cows into consideration. It turns out that cows love lying about the streets at night and that honking at them is a no-no. A.-R. did her best screaming “curfew!” at them, but eventually the driver had to drive around the animals, which proved to be a little hair raising. We did make it at 5 to 9, though, so we were saved from sleeping on the streets with beggars and stray dogs.
Three things I am grateful for today:
1- I found tunics my size at the shop, and the merchant told me that he has seen “much bigger woman” before. Yé for that.
2- The pace in Rishikesh is better suited to my own natural speed, is less polluted and not as noisy and smelly as New Delhi.
3- Having the freedom to sleep, eat, read and write when I want to is great, never thought I was such a night owl before?
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