Processing and Relaxation

Processing and Relaxation

March 4, 2013

It's getting close to the end of my time in India, three more days before making the long trek back to the States.  I'm happy with my decision to travel to the beautiful city of Rishikesh, near the base of the Himalayas and perched along a much cleaner aspect of the Ganges River (referred to as the "Ganga").

Getting here was another long trek, infused with the somewhat typical Indian way of getting from point A to B.  We left our Kolkata hotel at 5:30 am for the airport and a flight to New Delhi.  One of our trip leaders, Kelly Campbell, was at her best when the airline we were flying on wanted to charge our group an extra $252 USD for excess luggage.  Her patience and determined way of negotiating brought the fee down to about $80 USD although we only had 10 minutes before boarding...she held firm.

I am one in a group of nine Seva Challengers who decided to come to Rishikesh and originally we had a flight from Delhi...but that got changed, so we took a private bus instead.  What we were told was to be a five hour ride, took eight hours.  To pass the time, I took countless photos as rural India bounced and jiggled by...pilgrims, cows, water buffalo, dogs and hogs along with the plethora of transportation methods you see all over India.  Cars, motorcycles, bicycles, tuk-tuks, buses, trucks, horse/ox drawn carts and bicycle rickshaws.  Add in another layer of smells and dust and one bathroom break (where my room mate accidentally dropped her iPhone into a squat toilet), it seemed to be quite the journey to get to this beautiful place.

Arriving exhausted, having to pee and somewhat cranky, we made our way to a hotel only to be greatly disappointed by the rooms.  They were quite old, needing renovation, dirty (I won't go into details) and smelling of mold.  We did however have a delicious meal and by the next morning, six of us decided to find another hotel.  As things sometimes tend to unfold, one of the group reached out to her husband, who pulled some strings from the States and found us an extraordinary place to stay...simply called "Ananda" which means BLISS.  And that it is.  We are perched on a hilltop overlooking the city of Rishikesh and are given white pajamas to wear around the grounds which are a palace/hotel on 100+ acres.

They have the desire to please here and offer a retreat like setting with daily yoga, spa services, fine dining, Vedanta lectures and much more.  So, now I am straddling two very different experiences...the rigors of India travel and the experience of the Bare Witness Tour to this piece of paradise in the Himalayas.  I love the busy energy of Rishikesh, it's connection to Mata Ganga (the mother), the sadhus and spiritual seekers that seem to leak out of every crack of the city, the abundance of "yoga inspired" shops and the juxtaposition  of old culture and the birthing of being in a modern experience.

To say that I am processing all of these elements is an understatement.  I have committed to letting my journey percolate, to give myself space to reach into the core of my experience and to continue to surrender.

Here I am...to let go, to be in the experience and let my heart crack wide open.

Tiny Little Angels

February 27, 2013

Tiny Little Angels

The organizers of this tour were wise to have us visit the Ananda Marga/Amurt orphanage on our final day of "work".  The visit began with us arriving and being met at the facility with a line up of adorable young girls with their hair neatly combed and wearing matching dresses.  A single girl would step forward, hand us a red rose and take our hand to escort us.  We had brief stops along the way into the building...one girl offered us a tikka (powdered dot at the third eye), the next an offering of lit incense, then shoes removed before being guided upstairs to a gaggle of orange robed DIDI's (nuns of this particular path) and a DADA (male renunciate).

Amurt is an orphanage that houses 18 young girls.  These children have found their way to this place to be cared for by the Didi's through a number of different circumstances and tragic stories.  One girl was given up because her family thought she was too black.  Another was the youngest of nine girls and her parents had three failed attempts to overdose her and ended up surrendering her to the nuns.  Another was simply handed to a Didi at a railway station by her mother.

Yet, we all knew that no matter what the reason for their arrival at Amurt, they were loved and put into the care of these gentle people.  Their philosophy is via the Ananda Marga Mission founded by their guru, Ananda Murti.  They have a simple philosophy of how to live a spiritual life-daily yoga, meditation and a vegetarian (sattvic) diet.  Sattvic means no garlic, onions or chilies that overstimulate the mind.

Once we were all brought onto the main floor, we were offered a feast cooked by the Didis...we were forewarned about not eating breakfast to save room for the amazing fare.  Following lunch, we toured the rooftop school room and uncovered that what this particular mission would like to do is to purchase the entire building which would offer the nuns a place to stay and have space for more children.  They raise the girls until they're 18 years old, educating them along the way.  Purchasing the whole building would cost approximately $60,000USD which left many of us contemplating how we might be able to assist in the future.

The close to the visit was a dance performance by all of the girls who have won awards in local dance competitions.  They got dressed up in their full regalia, including headpieces and make up.  It was adorable and akin to watching your kid or niece in a dance recital where some are off the beat, some facing the wrong direction or  wandering on or off stage at the wrong moment.

We felt the love.  We delighted in the food.  We felt part of this extended family that there is no separation between any of us.  This final stop along our short journey here for the Bare Witness Tour made many of us feel hopeful.

Love.  It has been the undercurrent of all of our visits.  I think I'm beginning to get the message...

A Day Of Devotion

February 26, 2013

A Day Of Devotion

One of the most beloved and well-known figures of Kolkata is Mother Teresa, the Catholic nun who created "The Home For The Dying and Destitute".  We visited one of her care centers, her residence and the original home for the dying.  To think that her sole mission was to care for the poorest and most marginalized of people-homeless, maimed, starving and dying-is a true testament to purpose.  It's impressive to see that her order of nuns and original intention are still flourishing.  It hits you in the guts to walk through one of these places and see mentally disabled children contracted with muscle spasticity or the elderly in hospice care connected to an IV as they make their transition.  But I also felt a such a strong sense of compassion by those offering service to this most outcast population and being face to face with their work took my admiration to another level.

We visited the Mother Teresa gift shop on our way out which had the anticipated memorabilia of rosary, postcards and books of her life's work, but also included chocolates, fridge magnets and figurines.  You just never know what will appeal to the masses...

Moving to another point along the spiritual spectrum, we stopped at the Bilar Krishna Temple.  A newly built (1971) building with giant statues of Krishna & Radha, Durga, Shiva, Ganesha, Vishnu and Hanuman.  The marble and stone structure had places for puja (offerings) which if you made a small donation, were given a tikka (powdered dot on the forehead), pradam (sweet to eat) and a scoop of sacred water.  The ritual is to receive the water, sip and brush along the top of the head, then to eat the sweet.  A couple of us, being fully in the moment of offering, forgot that this is India (i.e., don't drink anything but bottled or boiled water) tossed some of the sacred water into our mouths before cleansing the head.  Oops.  Upon realizing the potential for ingesting any unwelcome bacteria, we said an extra prayer for good luck and healthy digestion.  Of course the power of suggestion began to feel real...on the bus I found myself wondering, "is my stomach gurgling?  Do I feel a bit nauseated?".  Let's just say that all is well and the lesson has been learned.

I have found that India is a place of open devotion.  Small altars are spread along roadsides, people make puja rituals part of their daily practices and wear their religion almost literally on their sleeves.  Hindus with dots on the forehead, Muslims with skull caps and heads covered.  It all seems to flow into the natural rhythm of the culture.  Not that it hasn't been without its major conflicts, but my limited time here has me thinking that all of us could be in the practice of acceptance more fully.

A day of devotion and lessons learned.

Om Shanti and amen to that!

We Danced Our Bindis Off

February 25, 2013

We Danced Our Bindis Off

"In the middle of this starkness I suddenly found some colour.  That colour was dance.  Buoyed by the rhythm of dance, I have discovered a new language in my body.  I have discovered the overwhelming taste of life." 

Kolkata  Sanved Dancer

The above quote is from a brochure describing Kolkata Sanved, an organization that focuses on the rehabilitation of rescued and high risk girls using dance and dance movement therapy (DMT).   And today was a day that reflected what can be achieved.  We went to their head office and were greeted not only by friendly staff, but no water or electricity.  As the director said, "Today is a day where work gets done with pen and paper!".

After the ritual of being offered chai, we went to a larger facility where we were taken through a dance based program.  It's difficult to sum up what we did but the biggest impression I was left with was the deliberate method of taking the girls through various stages of healing.  They begin by offering ways for the girls to re-connect with their own bodies.  Imagine having your physical body under the control of a pimp, trafficker or john.  Disassociation with the physical body is highly likely and the program gives the opportunity to connect to physical expression without necessarily using words.

We experienced this through role playing and movement using sound and talking jibberish.  Many people are able to access feelings that have been tamped down deeply into the psyche of the cells, particularly anger.  They then move onto addressing emotional issues, self expression and eventually empowerment.  The process is aimed at those who've been rescued for quite some time and are ready to step deeper into their healing.  They are supported by other DMT trainers and eventually have an opportunity to become a DMT trainer themselves.

We were all treated to a dance performed by the girls.  This was simply inspiring as they were so self-possessed and confident in their movement, eye contact and expression.  We were truly bearing witness to what is possible following such hideous circumstances.  To quote another dancer, "Earlier, I couldn't talk to anyone.  I didn't know how to communicate effectively.  But now I feel comfortable speaking to different people.  I can sense how much I have changed."

The other highlight happened during lunch when some Seva Challengers were invited to stand up and share what their fundraising effort entailed.  I was sitting watching the reaction of a few of the girls as the stories were translated.  When they were told we each raised over $20,000 USD, their eyes grew large and you could see the light shine through.  They were given the perspective that we were all there to support them, that we cared what their futures looked like and that we all worked really hard to be there with them.

One of my pre-trip intentions was the hope that those that we've been supporting over the past 12 months would know that someone in the world wanted to hear their story.  That someone wanted them to know that they were loved and cared about.  That people, who they were never likely to meet from so many different parts of the world, took an interest in their future.

And that someone was us...all of us collectively, proudly standing by their sides and dancing our bindis off.

*Bindi=the decorative dot between the eyebrows to symbolize the Third Eye

Mistaken Identity

February 23, 2013

Mistaken Identity

I've never had quite the experience as the one I had today.  After our morning ritual of yoga and breakfast, my half of the group headed to a safe house run by Women's Interlink Foundation (WIF) and housing a Made By Survivors work space.  Before heading to the Nijoloy Shelter Home (run by WIF) we stopped for a wander through a local morning market.  It was bustling with activity...people buying food, newspapers and flowers.  Being an avid photographer my Nikon was kept busy snapping at what seemed like every turn.  This place is so vibrant and we continue to catch the attention of many onlookers.

As we arrived at the shelter home, a few young girls greeted us. One of them saw me and came flying out of the pack, making a bee-line straight toward me and wrapping her arms around my waist with great familiarity.  To my surprise, she was overly happy to see me and began chattering away with great joy and excitement.  She wouldn't let go of my hand and began to lead me into the grounds of the home, still chattering away.  

I asked the translator if she thought I was someone else.  After a few moments of listening to her story, the translator began to tell me that she thought I had been there on January 23 of this year.  He told her that it wasn't me, but she was insistent and began to realize that I looked like a woman who had been at the home.  This young girl continued on that she doesn't have any parents and this lady was so kind and compassionate that she wanted to leave with her.  As this young girls story unfolded, tears began to form in her eyes, realizing that I wasn't the one.  That I wasn't the one who was going to remove her and take her to another life.

Yet, she still clung to me, or more likely to the idea of me.  She was insistent and attached, leading me along our tour of the home, sitting next to me as we began our yoga class and barely taking her hand away to maintain physical contact.

During our tour, the founder of WIF, Aloka Mitra, the 73-year old I referred to in an earlier post arrived and welcomed us to sit with her for morning tea.  She spoke extensively about her vision of empowering women, of various challenges her organization has faced and amazing moments of well-timed gifts and support.  As we concluded, I hugged Aloka to say thank you for all that she's done throughout her career, during which my young friend came up to Aloka.  Although I don't speak Bengali, I could tell the girl was telling Aloka about me, again with tears welling up.  Aloka gently spoke to the girl, who began to loosen her grip on me.

I just couldn't imagine what was going on in this young persons head and experience.  That she seemed to truly think I (or someone who looked like me) came back for her.  And then her dream was blown apart because of mistaken identity.  You could tell she so wanted the story to be true, like the fairy tale that keeps young girls dreams alive.

Unfortunately, the reality was different from the dream and more than one heart was broken.  I realized that my role in all of this is simply to love.  To hold the space to offer compassion, to open my heart to sorrow, to breathe deeply into the moment and to realize that love is the most powerful tonic of all.

Love is all there is...let it flow.

Soccer Balls, Block Prints and Red Lights

February 22, 2013

Soccer Balls, Block Prints and Red Lights

We began today with a long bus ride to Sanlaap (Bengali for dialogue) visiting the complex where we are funding the construction of two buildings.  Girls rescued from the trade are housed here for anywhere between 2 days and 5 years.  They are given 3-months of intensive care whether it be legal, medical or emotional upon their initial arrival.  The highlights for me were playing with new soccer balls that one of our Seva sisters hauled from the States, seeing the construction of a building we are funding and making a batik block print scarf.  The girl that was teaching me was encouraging, giving me a big thumbs up when I did it right and pointing to her head indicating how "clever" I was.

And today was also the day we went through one of the Red Light districts of Kolkata called Bowbazar.  Initially I wasn't quite certain as to what we were going to actually be doing but came to learn that we were to visit a child drop in center for the kids of prostitutes in that area.  We were told to leave our cameras in the van, so I have to rely on my own inner lens to recall the scene.

Kolkata is much greener than New Delhi and without the number of high rise buildings, so it has a sense of being more open.  That is until you begin to weave your way through the older, narrow streets of the red light district.  With narrow lane ways, the buildings appear taller and cast a darker hue over the streets.  As we began our walk, I noticed small stalls with various foot or hand powered machines, people going about their business, mostly men and with a parade of 13 white people they began to pay us more attention than we'd probably prefer.  You could feel a sense of anxiety within the group, coming face to face with the place and people implicitly involved in the exploitation of women.  

And then we came across our first brothel where the women were standing outside of a narrow doorway, watching the parade of foreigners.  I turned to my buddy and said, "is this a brothel?" to which she quietly nodded "yes".  Then she said, "I feel like I want to throw up".  We kept walking and thankfully she kept it together.  We then turned down an even narrower path which led us to the drop-in center, a cramped space with about 17 young boys, 4 young girls and their handful of teachers.  Add 13 of us into a space approximately 10 x 30 ft and you get the picture of the spatial intensity of our situation.  The kids were mostly head down, drawing madly, with a few peeking up to see who was stepping through the curtain doorway.

In we piled, shoes off, squatting tightly together.  The kids then began introducing themselves to us, saying something like "My name is Ganesh.  I am in year seven".  We were then treated to dancing by three of the four girls, a skit by two of the boys, more dancing by the boys and then more dancing with three of the people from our group joining in.  Despite the room becoming hot and stuffy, we clapped along, laughed at their antics and got a glimpse into how these highly at risk kids have an opportunity to learn and play, in a safe and caring environment.

The interesting experience for me was on our walk out of the district.  I was looking around, so incredibly curious as to the place and people.  I noticed the old buildings, the waxing Gibbous moon in the indigo sky and my feeling of wanting to find out more.  It wasn't as bad as I had anticipated.  In fact, I thought some aspects were beautiful which I by no means want to diminish the hideous nature of the underbelly business and trade happening within its midst.

It hit me that having seen a few different red light districts in my travels, in Amsterdam, Bangkok, Sydney and now Kolkata that I wondered how many other areas I've been in and simply missed it by being distracted by the old beauty and the everydayness of the place.  How many times have I walked straight past the suffering of someone and been too self-involved or naive to believe it could be anything else than a wonderful scene?

This experience is intense.  Our group has been experiencing a multitude of emotions and reactions.  I feel honored to be bearing witness to suffering in the company of people who want to make a difference.  And we are making a difference.  We've chosen to step into the discomfort, to look into the eyes of others seeking a better life and are doing what we know to invite a shift.

Perhaps the biggest shift will happen within each of us and that's ok.  I know that hope exists and I would rather be an active participant than someone who turns a blind eye.

Sadness and Hope

February 21, 2013

Sadness and Hope

Today, our group split up with half of us going to Made By Survivors (MBS) and the Child Care Home (CCH), the others to Sanlaap.  After morning yoga and breakfast, we met in the hotel lobby to re-distribute the abundant donations that many of us had hauled over from the States and Canada...medical supplies, nail polish, art supplies, toys and games.  I am still blown away by the generosity of not only my community, but the entire collective of communities throughout this Seva Challenge.  

We arrived at the gated Child Care Home and gently entered into the outdoor large patio type space.  Our group leader, Suzanne Sterling was immediately greeted by a few girls as she has become a familiar face to many of them.  CCH is a place where about 75 young girls live full-time and how they've come to the home is varied but include; mothers who are prostitutes, giving them up, not wanting them to become prostitutes; by kids being dropped off as their families are unable to care for them; and children who've simply been abandoned.

The founder of the home and Women's Interlink Foundation, Aloka Mitra, a regal and radiant 74-year old woman, is known for offering care to girls and women of any age or circumstance.   Later in the afternoon, I was fortunate to meet her and she sincerely wanted to connect with us from OTM.  As she shook my hand and welcomed me, she gently touched my face-a pure sign of warmth and affection, a quality that is so needed with this population of young girls.  You could see she was the respected and loved matriarch.

Throughout the morning we did yoga with the girls, taking turns leading with a highlight being a portion taught by Josh, the only male in our group.  He did laughing yoga with the girls and was able to raise the pitch and intensity of the laughter as we went along.  He was brilliant in being fun, loving and completely non-threatening and the girls responded beautifully to his energy.  

The rest of the day was spent playing games, coloring, Mehndi (henna) taking photos (which we printed out on the spot and gave to the girls) and being with one of the budding jewelry makers.  Mousumi was my "teacher" but really didn't let me do much in the way of cutting, sanding, polishing or stamping the metal.  However, I did watch her craft out a piece just for me...a heart with "Mousumi & Free" stamped onto it.

As our 3 o'clock departure  neared, we began saying our good-byes.  The entire day had been filled with many hugs and moments of hand holding, a search for connection, affection and love.  One of the younger girls, likely around age 5, came to give me a hug and as I bent down, I just picked her up.  Her little body simply melted into mine and I could feel my own heart not only melt, but begin to break.  I just kept holding her and tears began to roll down my face with such a simple act of human connection.  It was difficult to leave, wondering what the future holds for these girls.  They are in a place where they are safe, given food, and when they turn 16 a chance to gain a skill as a jeweler.  They are off the streets and we are part of that, but I still couldn't let go of the feeling of wanting to do more.

How do you leave a hug behind?