It has been 26 days, 4 hours and a handful of minutes, approximately, since I have eaten meat. For those who know me, this is a big deal. Underneath this thirst for knowledge and dedication to health and wellness is a hungry logger’s daughter who takes great pleasure cutting into a juicy, plum red, rib eye. For what it’s worth, I always eat my steak mindfully, savouring every tender bite. As I mentioned, the town of Rishikesh is vegetarian and alcohol free. The fact that I have not missed either says something about the quality of food that I have been eating daily since arriving. To be very clear, I am not committing at this moment to never eating meat again, let’s not get carried away here.
Indian food is incredibly diverse, as each region has its specialty. In Rishikesh, I have enjoyed common dishes such as Aloo Puri, Vegetable Pulav; Palak Paneer; and Paneer butter masala, to name a few. For me, the joy of travel always includes a venture into the food native to each place I visit. It was time to roll up my sleeves and learn how to cook the food that has had me forget about my love affair with meat.
Over time, as I have learned more about Ayurveda (the science of life or alternative medical system with roots in the Indian subcontinent), I have recognized the role that our diet plays not just in our physical health but its role in nourishing our mind and soul. I found a cooking class that did not only teach me the recipes of the food I have grown to love here, but also taught me the role that every ingredient plays in health and healing.
I ventured off into an unfamiliar area of town and while walking down the dusty roads, I lost my navigation. Fortunately, I ran into a woman from the States who let me use her GPS while exchanging a few experiences of our travels thus far. I love these random moments travelling, meeting people you will likely never meet again, sharing such profound experiences in brief moments. Once there, I opened the large gate of the residential building and made my way up to the flat where the cooking class was held. There were three others in the class, two from Seattle and one from Mexico.
For three hours, these fellow foodies and I enthusiastically observed and participated in the making of the specific dishes I had been curious to learn, as well as the value that each of the ingredients has on our physical and mental health. For example, cardamon is a digestive aid and eases gluten intolerance, anise is a detoxifying agent, the leafy part of coriander can prevent food poisoning. And cumin seeds, which has become particularly handy for us foreigners, relieves diarrhea. We began with the mother sauce which is essentially onion and tomato masala. This becomes the base for the other sauces-Dal fry; paneer butter masala; palak paneer (spinach with cottage cheese).
She presented her spices, both ground and whole, in a traditional masala box.
The aromas of the spices created a stage of culinary bliss that we four slipped into, internally dancing to the pops and sizzles as the spices and onions met the oil. We then ate our creations in a thalis made of dried banana leaves, and finished with house made chai and coriander biscuits. I spent the later afternoon in Shavasana, with thoughts of masala dancing in my head.
In addition to familiarizing myself with local cuisine, I have adapted quite well to that which has been unfamiliar to me. Last night after going for supper, me and my new friend Dishaa (from another province in India) crossed the road of death, with me in the lead. I confidently and with an effort of faith, spilled into the frenzy of vehicles, quickly and effectively commanding the traffic to allow us to cross, slithering through the backup of cars, tuk-tuks, scooters and cows lying randomly on the road. “Look at you!” my friend exclaimed. “I know right?”, I proudly replied. I often venture off on my own across the bridge, a whole other world than the area I am staying in. There are few foreigners on the other side. Crossing the bridge over the Ganges, involves stumbling over napping cows and being asked every few feet by locals if they can take a selfie with me.
For many, it is rare to see a Westerner, particularly one with blonde hair. I always oblige. Once I even asked for a selfie in return.
One evening, climbing down the crooked stairs towards the bridge, an elderly woman lost her balance. I instinctively grabbed her hand and in one tender moment she grabbed mine back and we held hands smiling at one another until we reached the end.
The only time I have felt unsafe was on my way to the Beatles Ashram, which was quite a walk down dirty, and at times, desolate paths. During what felt like the most ominous part of the walk, two young men approached me with suggestive gestures. I kept walking forward. Two other men coming from the opposite direction did the same and turned around to join the two men following behind me. There was a brief moment of decision-making where I contemplated my choices. Walking faster didn’t seem like the best option because I didn’t know what lay ahead. I went with my gut. I turned around abruptly, leaned in, pursed my lips in the way my children know well, extended my arm and pointed my finger at them, “NO!!!”, I shouted. And just like that they dropped their heads and turned around like scolded children. Hell hath no fury like a mother who has had enough. Aside from that, I have had no problem and found most people to be friendly. Confident smiles convey a universal symbol of peace and have worked quite well for me as a solo woman traveller.
I have also become quite comfortable with dirt and being dirty. There is an interesting assortment of excrement lining the paths and roads here and I pay no mind anymore. I just skip over them like Frogger. I am perpetually cloaked in a layer of sweat and dirt. During our sound healing course, we were working on reflexology and my poor comrade in training had to practice on me. I laid back on the mat and shamefully raised my feet, caked in dirt, to the bolster. And I mean caked, as in every crack and crevice was stencilled with dirt, as he moved the sound bowl over the mounds of my feet. I’m not sure the healing powers of those bowls can reach past the layers of dirt, I thought, but let’s give it a go. God bless him for trying.
There are many differences to life back home, as there are all over the world. But it only takes watching a child to remember that we all, in our essence, deep deep down, start with the same playful, open, curious approach to life before the layers of time, messaging and experiences create a sense of self and other… separateness. In every part of the world, kids are still skipping over rocks, walking arm in arm, finding the potential for play everywhere they go. We can learn a lot from them.
I had heard many mixed messages about India before arriving. “It’s magical, spiritual, like no other place in the world” This is true. “It’s filthy, loud and crowded” This is also true. At 3:30 am I woke with a thought. This often happens for me at 3am. India is a world of extremes. Dualities. It is easy to judge the chaos, and lack of predictable direction we rely so heavily on. Easy for us in the Western world to say it’s so much better how we have it. It should be more like this or that. But isn’t the higher goal to be okay no matter the circumstance or condition? To not have our inner contentment be externally bound to circumstances that may be largely out of our control? I can’t speak for all of India, but in most of the towns I have visited, I have yet to see people cursing or shoving one another despite the chaos. We work so hard to keep everyone in the right lane. We need it to be so. But what if the lines weren’t there to guide us? Would we continue to respond respectfully, without fear-based reactivity? What if, on our way to work, we were made late by snoozing cows in the middle of the road and we stepped in cow dung? Would we show up smiling and ready for our day? I’m not sure. This all goes back to my biggest takeaway from this trip. Finding comfort in discomfort, in every way.
Now if you will excuse me, for the sake of my fellow students, I must exfoliate.
Namaste.
