The Daily Grind

It’s nearly three weeks since my arrival in Gokulam, a Brahmin neighborhood in Mysore, where life centers mainly around several yoga shalas and the Sri Rama Krishna ashram. Here in the southern state of Karnataka, it’s not that much of stretch to be a single western woman wandering around alone. In my previous trips to India, I never managed to make it south of Delhi. North India, South India. Night and Day.

Upon touchdown at Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi (up north), the harassment, mayhem and frustration begins. Things move at a Manhattan pace in an environment that looks like every garbage can in the world was just dumped in front of you. Southern India is also filthy, but in a shanti, shanti kind of way.

Southern India is much more progressive than northern India. Women drive here–cars, scooters, motorcycles; I spotted one driving an SUV! Up north, even in Delhi, you will never see a woman driving. There, women in saris and kurtas perch on the back of their husbands’ scooters, sitting sidesaddle, without helmets, clutching an infant or toddler who is also helmetless, and talking on their mobile phones. The driver, always a man, will usually be wearing a helmet. Some message about what matters.

Here, women throw their legs right over the motorcycle or scooter. They wear some bad ass looking helmets. If they have kids, they’re more likely to herd them into a car or auto-rickshaw than balance them precariously on the back of a scooter.

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Things I miss from home: SALADS, Whole Foods, well-taken-care-of pets.

Things I don’t miss: Starbucks, Peet’s and Tully’s. That’s because I have a new favorite coffee shop:

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The local Ganesha Temple, a mere 2-minute walk from my house, is my favorite place to hang out in the evenings. Each day the beautiful Ganesha statue is dressed in a different color. A man selling garlands of jasmine, roses and chrysanthemums sits in front of the temple. When you present the priest with a garland or other offering (money, for example) he performs a quick puja for you.

The biggest attraction in Mysore–other than Ashtanga yoga–is the spectacular Palace. On Saturday and Sunday nights, the entire Palace and all its ancillary buildings are lit up. Visitors are allowed to stroll around the Palace grounds and enter the Palace temples while an Indian marching band plays John Philip Sousa tunes.

One of the oddest experiences I encounter occurs while trolling around tourist traps: Indian tourists ask if they can have their photos, which they call snaps, taken with me. Years ago, I found this embarrassing, but it happens regularly so I grew comfortable enough to say, “Sure, as long as I can get of photo of me with you, too.” Now, I’m thinking of channeling the Indian entrepreneurial spirit. The next time someone asks if he or she can have his/her photo taken with me, I’ll wobble my head and say, “Of course, Madam (or Sir). 500 rupees.”