Choc O Block

I am now a weekly writer for www.sajaforum.org. Your link to everything media, masala and hm...Mumbai?

This is my most recent article: http://www.sajaforum.org/2008/06/yoga-magazines.html

I know, me, yoga magazines, what? The funny thing is, I didn't even pick the topic.

Just got back from a splendid weekend with 25 family members in one gi-normous house. It was wonderfully fulfilling (or maybe just filling). I got to celebrate two birthdays, one graduation and finally setting my eyes on the most beautiful baby boy. I absolutely love my crazy family and the conversations (ranging from SSRI's to baby-talk) sparked a lot of new ideas. Like this title, for instance, which is a British/Indian word for traffic jam, but so much better!

Now I'm slightly grimy from the drive and back at work. My mom and Manisha are here for a few days to get a taste of the H.I. Wahoo.

Stray Birds*

Sometimes when I'm meditating I pop open an eye and see the person next to me looking at the clock and think,"Man whats the point of meditating if you're going to keep looking at the clock." And then I realize I'm looking at the person looking at the clock.

When I don't feel like figuring out whether to use a comma, period or semi colon, I use an ellipse (...). So now you know my secret...

I've been wearing a payal (anklet with small tinkling bells) on my left ankle since I was twelve. When it gets oxidized I switch to a new shiny one. I don't think people have commented on any part of me more than my payal. It's like a warning that I'm coming.

Can soap get dirty? Where does that other sock go? Does a British accent make you sound smarter?

Americans at the H.I. pronounce my name perfectly (Un-kee-tha) but at school it continues to be butchered.


*Stray Birds is one of my favorite collections from Tagore. It is just a smattering of his thoughts. But they are much more eloquent and meaningful than mine.

Matri-moan-ial

I'm exploring the splurge of Indian "marriage" novels in bookstores.

I was looking through a list of books by Indian authors and I felt that 90% of them had names like Arranged Marriage, Love Marriage, A Good Indian Wife... It seems like a Mt. Kailash-sized step backward in comparison to the progressive laws against domestic violence and women's rights in a rapidly developing India.

I'm a big fan of love, and a bigger fan of spectacular 7-day elephant-riding, drum-blaring weddings...but I'm also a proponent of good writing. The churning out of frothy books about nuptial disasters makes me want photocopy the Elements of Style for every author daring to pen a novel about Sapna's affair with spontaneous photographer Rajiv while her parents make a deal with the serious (but eventually lovable, parents know best) lawyer Nitin.

Of course there are blaring exceptions that pretty much knock other modern writers out of the water: Rohinton Mistry, Arundhati Roy and Kiran Desai, for example.

The topic of marriage can be handled with intelligence and truth. I'm not the kind of person who will only read books about war, strife and social change. But the last few books I've read on the topic have basically been modified screenplays to cheesy Bollywood movies. I would like to see some more books that actually reflect my culture. Unless this is my culture, in which case I am mistaken and should gladly accept another 100 versions of Bride and Prejudice (shudder) on the shelves.

Back in the USSR

An interview, brunch, subway ride, bus ride, car ride, hot shower later...I'm back!

My weekend in fast-paced, lecherous and wonderful New York City was an eye-opener. I'm operating at high-frequency from the inspiring journalists I met at the convention. The sounds of screeching subways, bold honking and "aye mami" still pulsethrough my mind. But I'm slowly winding back down to yoga-pace and soaking it all in.

Alongside the motivation to throw myself into the job came a big "uh-oh" for the news industry. The dwindling of newspapers, budget cuts, workforce cuts--not exactly what I need to hear as a budding writer. I can just hear my dad telling me not to think about all of things out of my control and just work on crafting my skills to their full potential. Anyway, the economy is bound to change before I get out there...it's not like we can re-elect Bush.

I am ready for a good sleep, a long yoga asana class and some muesli with soy milk.

And also...don't hesitate to comment. Good, bad, silly...let me know what you think, what you want to hear etc. I like comments, I feel like the cheerleader at school when I get them...instead of the kid who gets picked last for kickball, which is a lot more accurate.

Sleepy, slippery journalism

Having a great time in NYC. Running on free food, borrowed laptops and bits of sleep. I'm posting the links for first two of my articles for the blog. I have two more today and one today...not used to writing with a one hour deadline, but it's more than worth it.

Celebrated Caity's 21st at kitschy Indian restaurant Panna II at St. Mark's Square on Thursday as soon as I came in from Jersey. Yesterday I stumbled after the conference to Broadway to see the raunchy/dark Broadway show Spring Awakening with Ashley and crew yesterday. We even got to meet the stars after the show. Wish I would've been a tad less unconscious.

http://www.sajaforum.org/2008/06/diversity-where.html

http://www.sajaforum.org/2008/06/amar-bakshi-and.html


Okay, I am off to write about Kevin Negandhi, first Indian sports anchorman in America. Currently, he is working for ESPN and premiers on Sports Center next Friday.

www.sajaforum.org

Finding Fire

I'm sitting on a silk couch in plush Holmdel, New Jersey. The TV is yelling about Barack Obama. Manisha is saying "I don't do internet dating," to her father. I'm in transition. 

This week I am attending a journalism conference  at Columbia University. It will be four days of chaotic New York, networking and workshops to rock my writing. I'll be staying with my generous Ashley at her apartment on Mulberry Street. 

As a pleasant bonus to the conference, my application to be a blogger for the convention was accepted. I will be interviewing keynote speakers, covering South Asian topics and throwing some more words out there into the Web world for the professional blog/site. I'll be sure to let you know how to check that out.

I'm still feeling a little strange being away from the quiet of the institute. Before I left I had a thorough evaluation with the ayurvedic/medical doctor on campus. I am learning (slowly) to be more compassionate toward this physical body. I haven't exactly been the kindest mechanic for my vehicle, but I'm working on it. I'm trying to create a dialogue with myself that resembles one with my friend or a family member. I've been cultivating self-talk that deals more with constructive truth and less with negative criticism.

Tomorrow we are going to Little India (Edison) to eat chaat and saturate our pores with the sweet smells of masala. Then I'm going to try to balance my wardrobe of yoga pants and t-shirts with some collared shirts and dressy skirts. I don't even think I know how to wear heels anymore.

Cheatin' Weekend

I'm feeling uninspired today and I'm attributing it to the past three days. A schedule that would have been acceptable (maybe even productive) in past summers felt like pure lazy. Eating in restaurants, skipping yoga class and sleeping late made me feel tired and a little agitated.

Last night we had a great time at an impromptu "Sacred Link Office Party." We cleared the furniture in one of the office buildings, put on some of the worst rap songs created, and danced for hours. We had John doing the robot, Ethan acting out scenes from Umbrella, and Khushi and Varuna doing the Macarena. It was silly and wonderful and satiated our young spirits.

My dear cousin Vivek is about to throw us out of his room since Manisha and I have taken a three hour nap, watched Dan in Real Life and eaten all of his graham crackers since we woke up. He is now threatening to marry his sister off to a less than ideal boy-man at the institute.

I can't take credit for this...

But man is it beautiful.

Photo taken by a woman here of Anthony playing his sitar.

Sankhya very much

I'm attention-deficit when it comes to lectures. Something about figures of authority talking at me in fluorescent lighting doesn't appeal to me. So when I enjoy a lecture, I know the speaker was good. Damn good.

Last night Manisha and I trudged half-heartedly to a Yoga Philosophy lecture by a visitor here. We didn't really want to go and we planned to leave in half an hour. Then our lecturer began to speak.

In perfect detailed clarity, he explained the anatomy of the mind (buddhi, ahamkara etc.) and the atman (soul). No tangents, no ridiculous metaphors, just straight-forward Sankhya and Vedanta philosophy. The whipped cream of the lecture was his impeccable pronunciation of every Sanskrit word, which for some reason is intensely important to me.

Halfway through the lecture, a severe thunderstorm barreled into the institute. The windows slammed open and shut, the lights went out. There were rumors of hail, fallen trees and tornadoes.

But the man walked the talk. Not bothered by any of this tumult or the gasps around the room, he continued to speak by lantern-light and everyone continued to listen in the mini blackout.

One of my favorite things he talked about was the difference in the Western and Eastern worldview. If a Chinese person looks at a picture of a city, they will notice a transaction happening, a conversation, a person with their dog. An American will point out a single car, a person or a building. I wonder what I would notice...probably the pizza stand in the corner.

He talked about the idea of freedom. The reason that we're not spiritually free is because we have decided that we aren't. Our only boundary for realizing this other 90% of unused consciousness is our own mental construct that says we have something to seek, something to attain, when it is actually already waiting for us to go "yup, got it, had it all along."

The lecture was followed by a never ending card game, a sticky hot night of sleep, and the reality that I was now working another job under yet another person and my title reads something like: Ankita Rao, Editorial assistant, public relations intern, marketing idiot, professional mail-opener, phone-answerer, Web-site updater, dishwasher and bringer of family members.

Why did I ever ask for more work?

Some cheese for your wine

So I don't write poetry well. It is always lame and cheesy. But sometimes it is just time to rhyme. Here is something I doodled during our meeting today.

If in the cold of winter, you only want some sun
or wish for a snowfall when spring has just begun
If you ask for russet leaves amid a hot July
but stomp on them with hate as autumn flies right by
I ask you then, my friend, to open all three eyes
to ponder some rolling hills, or a warm sunrise
not with the mind of sages who have hidden in dark caves
but instead with the childhood that your soul craves
To smell and taste as if anew
And your right to happiness will return to you.

Rx for Rajas*

One of my chief challenges is not cowering from criticism. I don't do well with orders, and I don't do well with scolding.

So when someone wants to give me feedback...I know I screwed up.

Yesterday, I was humming along, happy to be working and have family here. And then I was informed of all the things I was doing wrong including making calls to my family (once every two or three days) and checking my personal e-mail during office hours (guilty) etc.

My first reaction was to shut down. My eyes glazed over, the little flame inside of me was being fed with each word she told me. I stomped out with my new assignment and immediately felt the hot, annoying tears. Head down, strides long, I made it to my room before breaking down.

How could they do this to me. Nobody ever trained me like other interns. I was thrown into this, I do more than they ever ask and faster than they ever could. I come up with ideas spontaneously that they use every single day.

And the b.s. continued as I made it to work. Secretly wanting everyone to know that I was mad. The irrational thoughts continued with force and I told myself I would only allow myself to be mad until midnight. And then I would put it to rest.

Luckily, I only made it to 4:30. I went to asana class with my mat and my fury. As predicted, the fire began to subside with every breath. By the time I finished my first sun salutation I was smiling. And by final relaxation, it never happened.

It was almost embarassing how quickly I became rational again. Every time we get angry, we know exactly what can make us happy. Corny, easy things like bubble baths, puppies and friends. But we choose to lock ourselves up in front of our computers or stomp around with dumbells on our shoulders, becoming wrinkled and tight from the anger.

It's nice to have therapy built into the schedule. Whatever comes up must be dispelled quickly since I have asana class, meditation or dinner with friends soon after. As my friend put it, "Karma burns at double-speed here."

In other news, we went to a meditation lecture followed by a folk concert in a venue called the "Chicken Coop." The name was not one of those cutesy names...it seriously used to be a chicken coop. I love Honesdale sometimes.


* Rajas = One of the three gunas (qualities) that we have inside of us. It is the quality of fire, passion, anything active and variable within us.

Cuz of the Cousins

Manisha and Vivek came to visit me for ten days! I feel like I won a prize. Showing them around the institute and introducing them to people made me realize how at home I am here.

Seeing their reactions to the lifestyle and everything was very interesting. I forgot how confusing this life can be when you have never lived in an ashram setting or anything like that. I could tell that their thoughts ranged from "why is she here" to "man, this is sweet."

They brought me cookies and Maaza, which is awesome. But the truth is, the simplicity and even some of the austerity has agreed with me. I like having three simple meals at the same time every day. I like not worrying about high fructose corn syrup or what the heck is in my food. Nevertheless, chocolate chip cookies are more than welcome.

Currently, Manisha is lying on my bed face down in sleepy stupor. I can't imagine how she'll be after asana class, meditation and "five hours of selfless service," tomorrow.

Yay.

Rumbly

I'm too hungry and exhausted to write a proper post but I just wanted to throw out two things for you.

In the Namesake the main character sees the fruits of his architectural labor in a skylight or door in a huge skyscraper...some small part of a whole. That's how I feel with my work at the magazine. A line here, a heading there -- that's where I am right now.

Also, I ran across this quote in a book and it made me smirk.
"Love thy neighbor, even if he plays trombone." - Jewish proverb

Love to all.

New Age Rage

I've spent the better part of the morning listening to kirtan music to find songs for a project we're doing. It continues to surprise me how many of the artists are of Western descent and training. And it reminds me of this video I watched in a religion class about how all of this cultural borrowing is diluting the sacredness of oral tradition and custom.

It actually used to bother me a lot that people listened to Sanskrit mantra, sitar and chanting done by Western musicians. Why not go to the source? Why should all of these people be able to pick up a guitar and think they could lead kirtan and satsangs?

Of course, this was my own narrow-mindedness. First of all, kirtan and mantra are forms of bhakti yoga. And any type of yoga should be open to any type of person. Clarity of mind, connection with consciousness; you can't put a nationality on that. Secondly, some of these artists (Wah!, Krishna Das, Jai Uttal, Ragani) are extremely talented with both their music and their energy. They have thoroughly researched the art of kirtan and put their personal touch on the presentation. The result is a huge launch of awareness about these sacred vibrations.

The world is also shrinking by the instant. With globalization and the mixing of culture comes new perspective altogether. Instead of fighting to keep a hypocritical boundary on spiritual practice, we should be able to share and learn what we need from all wellsprings of ideas as our roots become more tangled and convoluted. Like that sentence I just wrote.

So my double-standards have gone down the celestial drain. Instead of being annoyed that the majority of well-known yoga musicians are not Indian, I should be annoyed that more Indians are not cultivating more of this tradition embedded in their own culture. Or maybe I just shouldn't be annoyed at all.

All of that aside, I really wish someone would teach Sanskrit pronunciation classes to all kirtan singers of all backgrounds. If I hear "shan-tee" one more time....

Maitri

I really love to go places alone. I like the idea of arriving somewhere surrounded by strangers who don't know anything about me. Then I have to be seen as my present self and not any vestiges of the past years. Not that I have some unforgivable past experience -- but I like to start fresh.

The thing is, there is an element missing in new places. I miss the human contact. I miss the hugs I get all day at school and at home. I miss the ridiculous baby voice I still use with my family and some of the unfortunate friends. Its hard to go a couple of weeks without love. I'm thinking I'm going to start coming places, skip the awkward get-to-know-you, and go straight to the hugging and giggling part.

I remember when I hardly knew my friend Ashley and I went and lay on her bed and forced her to talk to me. She told me recently how she was surprised by my randomness. But Ashley, you were the trial...look how good we turned out together! So I'm going to forgo the mystique (not that I have mystique) and dive into the heart.

And I'm gonna start huggin' some people.


(Don't worry momma, not the boys)