Vipassana: Good Vibrations...

So I leave Delhi having said an emotional train station farewell to O (reminiscent of a Bollywood film) - but this is no time for melancholy. In a few short days I will start Vipassana meditation in Uttarkhand. Vipassana is an intensive form of meditation and mind purification, stemming from the Dhamma teachings of Lord Buddha. Although taking it's roots in Buddhism, Vipassana is non-denominational and welcomes meditators from all religions, creeds, castes and backgrounds. On enrolling, participants must agree to follow strict guidelines and codes of practice for the 10-day duration. No intoxicants, no stealing, no killing - these are the easy ones to follow. But alongside these, all participants must observe "noble silence" and abstain from uttering a single word for 10 whole days. 10 WHOLE DAYS. This includes cutting all contact with the outside world. No cellphones, no computers, no internet, no notebooks/pens/paper, no novels, no newspapers, no literature at all. Male and female partcipants are kept strictly segreagated, and even eye contact is prohibited.
And the fun doesn't end there. The daily programme is full to say the least. Every day begins at 4am and the majority of the day - around 10 hours - is spent silently meditating, before lights out at 9.30pm. It's set be an intense, challenging and gruelling 10 days, but I'm feeling ready for Vipassana/prison/Guantanamo India style...
 And if I can manage to stay silent for 10 full days, then there is every chance that pigs will fly...

I arrive to the meditation centre in Dehradun by jeep on the afternoon of the first day, along with some of the other participants. There is a broad mix of westerners and Indians, and we share our nerves and feelings on the journey. It is strange to know that I will spend every day with these people, and yet this is the last time we will have any real contact for 10 days.
 After surrendering our passports and any books, phones, computers or gadgets that we have, we are assigned rooms - simple and very basic 2-bedded cells. My room-mate is a stern-looking (but lovely) older Ukrainian woman. It's really quiet disconcerting to share a room - a tiny room - with someone and yet not know a single thing about them. We must silently adjust to one anothers habits and rituals, and try our best to be sympathetic to one another, which is no easy task at the best of times, and even more problematic without words. But somehow we manage.
So, with the rooms assigned and all of the paperwork taken care of, the Viassana can start....

The first night, we are eased in gently, with some short meditation and the first of the nightly discouse videos by S.N Goenka, the most recent "guru" teaching Vipassana. An elderly Burmese man, Goenka's nightly 90 minute discourses are definitely interesting, if a bit tedious and repetitive at times. And his voice certainly takes a little getting used to. It's croaky, raspy and most of the time he sounds like a frog thats been hit by a rickshaw. Over the course of the 10 days, I begin to despise Goenka's discourses, but by the end of the Vipassana I finally understand the very essence of the Vipassana itself, and the lengthy stories and chants don't bother me as much.

By the time the lights are switched off at 9.30pm, I feel too nervous to sleep. I have no idea what is in store over the next 10 days. What if this isnt for me? What if they find out that I've got a pen and paper stashed inside my pillowcase? What if I have a nervous breakdown? Should I start chipping away at the wall now, and breakout in dramatic, Shawshank-esque fashion? After all, Vipassana is officially tougher than prison...

All apprehensions aside, I finally sleep, acutely aware that for the coming 10 days, the morning wake-up alarm will ring at 4 am. Surprisingly, I discover over the course of the Vipassana that the early morning wake-ups are the least of my worries. In fact, all of the things that I am nervous about - the noble silence, having to sit cross-legged for 10 hours per day, the lack of contact or communication with anyone - prove to be easier than I imagined. The real challenges in Vipassana lie where you least expect them.

After the 4 am alarm, I am sitting shivering in the meditation hall, silently meditating for 2 hours. It's cold - we are pretty high up - and everyone is sitting with blankets, scarves and thermal socks, in a strange hue of blue. Although this session is a group meditation, no-one acknowledges one another. Even eye-contact is forbidden. I'm surrounded by people, but completely alone!
6.30 am is breakfast - usually tea and some unidentifiable gruel-type mixture. It's hit and miss at best, but necessary given the brusque morning chill in Uttarkhand. If you don't eat now,then that's it till luch at 11am. So best fuel up! After breakfast is my favourite time of day in Vipassana. NAP TIME. OK, so it's not officially nap time, but for 1 hour between 7 and 8 am participants are free. There's no way I'm wasting precious sleeping time doing something as tedious as washing (hygiene in Vipassana is becoming increasingly lax...), so instead I climb back in to bed and enjoy the most perfect hour of sleep. Sleeping at nighttime is becoming increasingly difficult (more on that later!), so my morning nap soon becomes and essential part of my day. My dreams are so vivd, powerful and lucid during this time that when I awake at 8am with the next meditation bell ringing, I feel deeply affected by what I've seen in my dreamstate. When the course finishes, I discover that many other participants experienced similarly powerful dreams , also during their morning nap. Perhaps it means something, perhaps not. Vipassana is such a unique experience for every participant - there is no "right" or "wrong" feeling or experience. Often I found my mind wandering, wondering what everyone else was thinking, or if they could feel the same tingling sensation as me, or if they were in as much physical pain as me from sitting still for so long. But soon I came to realise that this is a fruitless task. I will never understand their experience, and they will nver understand mine. The impermanence of evey feeling, every emotion, every sensation means that I may never even fully understand my own experience, let alone anyone elses.

The second meditation sitting of th day is 3 hours, with a couple of short intervals to break up the time. This sitting is also a group sitting, with the opportunity to practice some individual meditation, should you desire. Each participant is assigned their own single meditation cell in the pagoda, where there is really only enough space to sit and quietly contemplate. Ocassionally I meditated in my individual cell, but with my propensity for laziness, I realised that (unsupervised) meditation like this was becoming detrimental to my practice. Instead of serious meditation, I would find myself dozing off, leaning against the wall. So I decide to stick to the group sessions, as much as it pains me, and as tired as I am.

Lunch time is an 11am affair, which I usually find to be surprisingly tasty - an assortment of vegetables, rice, curd, chapatis and dal. As usual, we eat in in silence, consciously not looking at each other. It's quite refreshing actually, to eat a meal that I am full aware that I am eating. Rather than idly chatting, I am concentrating fully on every bite, every morsel. Obviously I'd prefer a glass of Malbec and a chin-wag with my pals over a plate of cheese-drenched pizza anytime, but for the short time I'm here, I
enjoy the singular, solo act of eating.

After lunch, it's free time again. Once or twice, if I've had a terrible sleep the night before, I'll go for a nap again, but ususally my afternoon free time is reserved for washing and laundry. Hygiene times. Hot water is only available by the bucket, and is in short supply, so it's big competition to be clean. Most of the time, I simply don't bother washing. It's too cold, and having to sit naked on a stone floor with one bucket of tepid water to wash with is pretty unpleasant. So three washes over the course of 12 days suddenly seems reasonable. Besides, we're all looking a bit rough and smelly, so it doesn't matter a bit. But my idle hands are kept pleasantly occupied with laundry, which I become a bit obsessed with. Every day I find something new to carefully handwash, and by the end of the Vipassana I realise that I have washed everything that's in my backapack at least once. Even clothes that I've never worn. But it feels good to have something constructive to do, in the absence of all other stimulus. I even manage to sew up a few holy clothes too.

Afternoon meditation begins at 1 and drags on for a whole 5 hours. I find the afternoon session to be the hardest -the passage of time feels glacially slow and drawn out. Regardless of how best I try to focus, I simply find these 4 hours pretty excrutiating. Not every day - because of course every day, my mediation experience is entirely different. But most of the time, the afternoon session is simply a headache for me.
In fact, i would say that the passage of time is what I found to be the hardest thing about Vipassana. It suddenly becomes abstract and confusing, and entirely not what you think. Minutes seem like hours, hours like days and days like weeks. Sometimes I feel like it's going to send me mad - and yet other times I feel complete equalibrium about it all. But it' doesn't matter - nothing matters - because it's all impermanent. If you learn one thing at all from Vipassana, it's that everything's impermanent. As soon as you understand this - and I mean really understand this - then everything will fall in to place. In the course, in life.

Follwing the afternoon session, we are treated to a bizarre "dinner" of what can only be described as curry flavoured dry rice krispies. Yes, really. At first, I really dread this dinner, which must have the nutrional value of dust, but by the end of the course I've grown quite attached to those like puffed rice fancies. I've started to appreciate the simplest and most basic things, and it's a beautiful feeling. We have a almighty thunderstorm one day, and it's almost a spiritual experience, to stand out in the rain and feel every wet drop on your skin. To hear the song of birds during the morning mediation. To make illicit eye-contact with someone across the dining hall. To afford myself the sheer luxury of time! Taking 10 days out of "reality" in order to purify the mind is a luxury, and I'm so appreciative of every second. Even the seconds that feel like hours, or sometimes days.

After "dinner", we have another short hour long mediation before the nightly discourse, and so the day ends. Mediatate, eat, sleep, repeat... But bedtime is a frustrating affair. I am ususally exhausted (believe it or not, sitting for 10 hours per day doing very little genuinely knackering), but for reasons that I initially don't understand, I simply cannot sleep. As bizarre as it sounds, I begin to experience very powerful vibrating sensations throughout my whole body, as soon as I lie down to sleep every night. The sensation is so strong, so pronounced (i can feel it particularly in my jaw), that I find it difficult to sleep. Lights are usually out by 9pm, but it's at least midnight by the time I finally drift off. At first I am frustrated (acutely aware of the 4 am wake up bell...) and a little concerned that I'm coming down with something, but thankfully during one of the nightly discourses, Goenka explains that such sensations are common, and that you should embrace them and continue meditating throughout the night. I'm not sure I'm ready for 24 hour meditation but I feel relieved to have some clarification and explanation as to what's going on. Although I totally understand and adhere to the noble silence policy (sharing our experiences can breed negativity, and negativity is contagious), it can be difficult to only look inwards for answers. So as lengthy as the nightly discourses are, they are essential.

Before I entered the Vipassana, I had done meditation before with different organisations, who have different styles and methods. Some using mantras, some using the universal mantra "om", some focussing on opening the 3rd eye. But Vipassana uses a completely different method, mainly concentrating on breath and physical sensations in the body, which is fully and clearly explained throughout the course. Even if you are a complete novice to meditation, it doesnt matter. There is nothing complicated or confusing about it at all. In fact, it's so startlingly simple that I wonder why the whole world hasn't caught on to it. I mean, imagine suddenly unlocking your mind, finding answers to many questions and experiencing moments of sheer clarity, simply by observing your breath and looking within? Incredible.
And perhaps the best thing about Vipassana, and the Dhamma society, is that they are funded and run entirely on donations. This isn't some dodgy meditation retreat, where they charge you thousands for the promise of enlightenment. Instead, participants can "pay" for their course (plus food, accommodation etc) in the form of a donation. It is completely at the individuals discretion how much they choose to give. To offer the course in this way is remarkable, and a testament to its ability to work for people. Plus should the Dhamma society choose to charge a set fee for the course, then the whole principle of the Vipassana would become redundant. As soon as someone pays for something, be it a hotel room, a curry or a meditation course, then they develop a certain set of expectations. The very essence of Vipassana is to remove expectation and desire. So in every centre, all over the world, particpaants from all walks of life donate what they can. Being the nosy lady that I am, I linger around while others are making their donations, and see a huge range of money being donated. I see one man give 50 rupees for the full 10 days. That's 50p. It works out at less than 5p per day. And conversely another man gives Rs10,000, which is about 100 pounds. You give what you can, and the amount is never questioned or quibbled.

By the time the course comes to an end, I am ready to leave. I've been having filthy and perverted dreams about palak paneer and dosas, and I am in desperate need of a hot shower. Thankfully, on the final day of the course we are permitted to begin speaking to one another, which is an altogether strange experience. Finally we can talk about our individual experiences. Finally I can see whether my "guess the nationality" game has been accurate or not. Finally I can speak to the people who I've formed unspoken bonds with over the length of the course. Every day, at mealtimes I've sat opposite the same girl, and occassionally we've exchanged a glance or shared a (stifled) giggle when some unidentified food is brought out. We have formed a bond, totally without words, and when we finally speak I feel as though I know a lot about her already.

So as I prepare to leave Dehradun, I'm actually a little nervous to reintroduced to society again. After 10 days of silence and solitude, I'm going back to the teeming metropolis that is Delhi. So that will be a crash back to reality! But during the Vipassana, I had some very profound moments of clarity and found it rather easy to simply make decisions, rather than swither. And one such decision was that it was absolutely imperative that I meet O again. So I will travel to Delhi, spend one night and then hop on a train to Jaipur in Rajasthan, where we will meet. Who knows how long for? But I have such a good feeling about this guy that I'm sure we should at least give it a chance.

So it's farewell to the shanti Vipassana existence, and NAMASTE MADAM to the chaos of Delhi. I'd be lying through my teeth if I said that I've "enjoyed" the Vipassana experience (remember, it's harder than prison!), but I've certainly appreciated it, and it has definitely changed my perspective and attitude to life and to people. Meditation is a wonderful tool, and one that I hope will be given on prescription one day, rather than endless pills and medications.
It has the power to change lives, and I would urge anyone to try it - although it's absolutely NOT something to be taken lightly.
But for anyone curious, dhamma.org has all of the details.

Go on, look inside yourself. All the answers that you're looking for are there...


A FEW TIPS...

Exercise isn't recommened at the Vipassana courses, but walking after meals is a good idea, as you will most definitely get constipated.  I took Indian Triphala pills (herbal laxatives basically) to ease the situation too.

Despite sitting for long periods of time and essentially being "lazy", most people who do vipassana find that they lose a little weight.  Try to keep momentum and energy up by eating every meal and mot skipping food.

Sitting for 10 hours a day is physically demanding, and downright painful, so start practicing now! Sit for 20 minutes a time and build upwards. Also, try opening up the hips by doing the "butterfly" with your legs. Simple yoga should also help.

Bring enough supplies for the duration of the course.  You can "order" basics like toilet paper etc when you are there, but for specialist things make sure you have a good stock.

Dont go in with any expectations at all. Nothing. Surrender and roll with it.

Vipassana: Good Vibrations...

So I leave Delhi having said an emotional train station farewell to O (reminiscent of a Bollywood film) - but this is no time for melancholy. In a few short days I will start Vipassana meditation in Uttarkhand. Vipassana is an intensive form of meditation and mind purification, stemming from the Dhamma teachings of Lord Buddha. Although taking it's roots in Buddhism, Vipassana is non-denominational and welcomes meditators from all religions, creeds, castes and backgrounds. On enrolling, participants must agree to follow strict guidelines and codes of practice for the 10-day duration. No intoxicants, no stealing, no killing - these are the easy ones to follow. But alongside these, all participants must observe "noble silence" and abstain from uttering a single word for 10 whole days. 10 WHOLE DAYS. This includes cutting all contact with the outside world. No cellphones, no computers, no internet, no notebooks/pens/paper, no novels, no newspapers, no literature at all. Male and female partcipants are kept strictly segreagated, and even eye contact is prohibited.
And the fun doesn't end there. The daily programme is full to say the least. Every day begins at 4am and the majority of the day - around 10 hours - is spent silently meditating, before lights out at 9.30pm. It's set be an intense, challenging and gruelling 10 days, but I'm feeling ready for Vipassana/prison/Guantanamo India style...
 And if I can manage to stay silent for 10 full days, then there is every chance that pigs will fly...

I arrive to the meditation centre in Dehradun by jeep on the afternoon of the first day, along with some of the other participants. There is a broad mix of westerners and Indians, and we share our nerves and feelings on the journey. It is strange to know that I will spend every day with these people, and yet this is the last time we will have any real contact for 10 days.
 After surrendering our passports and any books, phones, computers or gadgets that we have, we are assigned rooms - simple and very basic 2-bedded cells. My room-mate is a stern-looking (but lovely) older Ukrainian woman. It's really quiet disconcerting to share a room - a tiny room - with someone and yet not know a single thing about them. We must silently adjust to one anothers habits and rituals, and try our best to be sympathetic to one another, which is no easy task at the best of times, and even more problematic without words. But somehow we manage.
So, with the rooms assigned and all of the paperwork taken care of, the Viassana can start....

The first night, we are eased in gently, with some short meditation and the first of the nightly discouse videos by S.N Goenka, the most recent "guru" teaching Vipassana. An elderly Burmese man, Goenka's nightly 90 minute discourses are definitely interesting, if a bit tedious and repetitive at times. And his voice certainly takes a little getting used to. It's croaky, raspy and most of the time he sounds like a frog thats been hit by a rickshaw. Over the course of the 10 days, I begin to despise Goenka's discourses, but by the end of the Vipassana I finally understand the very essence of the Vipassana itself, and the lengthy stories and chants don't bother me as much.

By the time the lights are switched off at 9.30pm, I feel too nervous to sleep. I have no idea what is in store over the next 10 days. What if this isnt for me? What if they find out that I've got a pen and paper stashed inside my pillowcase? What if I have a nervous breakdown? Should I start chipping away at the wall now, and breakout in dramatic, Shawshank-esque fashion? After all, Vipassana is officially tougher than prison...

All apprehensions aside, I finally sleep, acutely aware that for the coming 10 days, the morning wake-up alarm will ring at 4 am. Surprisingly, I discover over the course of the Vipassana that the early morning wake-ups are the least of my worries. In fact, all of the things that I am nervous about - the noble silence, having to sit cross-legged for 10 hours per day, the lack of contact or communication with anyone - prove to be easier than I imagined. The real challenges in Vipassana lie where you least expect them.

After the 4 am alarm, I am sitting shivering in the meditation hall, silently meditating for 2 hours. It's cold - we are pretty high up - and everyone is sitting with blankets, scarves and thermal socks, in a strange hue of blue. Although this session is a group meditation, no-one acknowledges one another. Even eye-contact is forbidden. I'm surrounded by people, but completely alone!
6.30 am is breakfast - usually tea and some unidentifiable gruel-type mixture. It's hit and miss at best, but necessary given the brusque morning chill in Uttarkhand. If you don't eat now,then that's it till luch at 11am. So best fuel up! After breakfast is my favourite time of day in Vipassana. NAP TIME. OK, so it's not officially nap time, but for 1 hour between 7 and 8 am participants are free. There's no way I'm wasting precious sleeping time doing something as tedious as washing (hygiene in Vipassana is becoming increasingly lax...), so instead I climb back in to bed and enjoy the most perfect hour of sleep. Sleeping at nighttime is becoming increasingly difficult (more on that later!), so my morning nap soon becomes and essential part of my day. My dreams are so vivd, powerful and lucid during this time that when I awake at 8am with the next meditation bell ringing, I feel deeply affected by what I've seen in my dreamstate. When the course finishes, I discover that many other participants experienced similarly powerful dreams , also during their morning nap. Perhaps it means something, perhaps not. Vipassana is such a unique experience for every participant - there is no "right" or "wrong" feeling or experience. Often I found my mind wandering, wondering what everyone else was thinking, or if they could feel the same tingling sensation as me, or if they were in as much physical pain as me from sitting still for so long. But soon I came to realise that this is a fruitless task. I will never understand their experience, and they will nver understand mine. The impermanence of evey feeling, every emotion, every sensation means that I may never even fully understand my own experience, let alone anyone elses.

The second meditation sitting of th day is 3 hours, with a couple of short intervals to break up the time. This sitting is also a group sitting, with the opportunity to practice some individual meditation, should you desire. Each participant is assigned their own single meditation cell in the pagoda, where there is really only enough space to sit and quietly contemplate. Ocassionally I meditated in my individual cell, but with my propensity for laziness, I realised that (unsupervised) meditation like this was becoming detrimental to my practice. Instead of serious meditation, I would find myself dozing off, leaning against the wall. So I decide to stick to the group sessions, as much as it pains me, and as tired as I am.

Lunch time is an 11am affair, which I usually find to be surprisingly tasty - an assortment of vegetables, rice, curd, chapatis and dal. As usual, we eat in in silence, consciously not looking at each other. It's quite refreshing actually, to eat a meal that I am full aware that I am eating. Rather than idly chatting, I am concentrating fully on every bite, every morsel. Obviously I'd prefer a glass of Malbec and a chin-wag with my pals over a plate of cheese-drenched pizza anytime, but for the short time I'm here, I
enjoy the singular, solo act of eating.

After lunch, it's free time again. Once or twice, if I've had a terrible sleep the night before, I'll go for a nap again, but ususally my afternoon free time is reserved for washing and laundry. Hygiene times. Hot water is only available by the bucket, and is in short supply, so it's big competition to be clean. Most of the time, I simply don't bother washing. It's too cold, and having to sit naked on a stone floor with one bucket of tepid water to wash with is pretty unpleasant. So three washes over the course of 12 days suddenly seems reasonable. Besides, we're all looking a bit rough and smelly, so it doesn't matter a bit. But my idle hands are kept pleasantly occupied with laundry, which I become a bit obsessed with. Every day I find something new to carefully handwash, and by the end of the Vipassana I realise that I have washed everything that's in my backapack at least once. Even clothes that I've never worn. But it feels good to have something constructive to do, in the absence of all other stimulus. I even manage to sew up a few holy clothes too.

Afternoon meditation begins at 1 and drags on for a whole 5 hours. I find the afternoon session to be the hardest -the passage of time feels glacially slow and drawn out. Regardless of how best I try to focus, I simply find these 4 hours pretty excrutiating. Not every day - because of course every day, my mediation experience is entirely different. But most of the time, the afternoon session is simply a headache for me.
In fact, i would say that the passage of time is what I found to be the hardest thing about Vipassana. It suddenly becomes abstract and confusing, and entirely not what you think. Minutes seem like hours, hours like days and days like weeks. Sometimes I feel like it's going to send me mad - and yet other times I feel complete equalibrium about it all. But it' doesn't matter - nothing matters - because it's all impermanent. If you learn one thing at all from Vipassana, it's that everything's impermanent. As soon as you understand this - and I mean really understand this - then everything will fall in to place. In the course, in life.

Follwing the afternoon session, we are treated to a bizarre "dinner" of what can only be described as curry flavoured dry rice krispies. Yes, really. At first, I really dread this dinner, which must have the nutrional value of dust, but by the end of the course I've grown quite attached to those like puffed rice fancies. I've started to appreciate the simplest and most basic things, and it's a beautiful feeling. We have a almighty thunderstorm one day, and it's almost a spiritual experience, to stand out in the rain and feel every wet drop on your skin. To hear the song of birds during the morning mediation. To make illicit eye-contact with someone across the dining hall. To afford myself the sheer luxury of time! Taking 10 days out of "reality" in order to purify the mind is a luxury, and I'm so appreciative of every second. Even the seconds that feel like hours, or sometimes days.

After "dinner", we have another short hour long mediation before the nightly discourse, and so the day ends. Mediatate, eat, sleep, repeat... But bedtime is a frustrating affair. I am ususally exhausted (believe it or not, sitting for 10 hours per day doing very little genuinely knackering), but for reasons that I initially don't understand, I simply cannot sleep. As bizarre as it sounds, I begin to experience very powerful vibrating sensations throughout my whole body, as soon as I lie down to sleep every night. The sensation is so strong, so pronounced (i can feel it particularly in my jaw), that I find it difficult to sleep. Lights are usually out by 9pm, but it's at least midnight by the time I finally drift off. At first I am frustrated (acutely aware of the 4 am wake up bell...) and a little concerned that I'm coming down with something, but thankfully during one of the nightly discourses, Goenka explains that such sensations are common, and that you should embrace them and continue meditating throughout the night. I'm not sure I'm ready for 24 hour meditation but I feel relieved to have some clarification and explanation as to what's going on. Although I totally understand and adhere to the noble silence policy (sharing our experiences can breed negativity, and negativity is contagious), it can be difficult to only look inwards for answers. So as lengthy as the nightly discourses are, they are essential.

Before I entered the Vipassana, I had done meditation before with different organisations, who have different styles and methods. Some using mantras, some using the universal mantra "om", some focussing on opening the 3rd eye. But Vipassana uses a completely different method, mainly concentrating on breath and physical sensations in the body, which is fully and clearly explained throughout the course. Even if you are a complete novice to meditation, it doesnt matter. There is nothing complicated or confusing about it at all. In fact, it's so startlingly simple that I wonder why the whole world hasn't caught on to it. I mean, imagine suddenly unlocking your mind, finding answers to many questions and experiencing moments of sheer clarity, simply by observing your breath and looking within? Incredible.
And perhaps the best thing about Vipassana, and the Dhamma society, is that they are funded and run entirely on donations. This isn't some dodgy meditation retreat, where they charge you thousands for the promise of enlightenment. Instead, participants can "pay" for their course (plus food, accommodation etc) in the form of a donation. It is completely at the individuals discretion how much they choose to give. To offer the course in this way is remarkable, and a testament to its ability to work for people. Plus should the Dhamma society choose to charge a set fee for the course, then the whole principle of the Vipassana would become redundant. As soon as someone pays for something, be it a hotel room, a curry or a meditation course, then they develop a certain set of expectations. The very essence of Vipassana is to remove expectation and desire. So in every centre, all over the world, particpaants from all walks of life donate what they can. Being the nosy lady that I am, I linger around while others are making their donations, and see a huge range of money being donated. I see one man give 50 rupees for the full 10 days. That's 50p. It works out at less than 5p per day. And conversely another man gives Rs10,000, which is about 100 pounds. You give what you can, and the amount is never questioned or quibbled.

By the time the course comes to an end, I am ready to leave. I've been having filthy and perverted dreams about palak paneer and dosas, and I am in desperate need of a hot shower. Thankfully, on the final day of the course we are permitted to begin speaking to one another, which is an altogether strange experience. Finally we can talk about our individual experiences. Finally I can see whether my "guess the nationality" game has been accurate or not. Finally I can speak to the people who I've formed unspoken bonds with over the length of the course. Every day, at mealtimes I've sat opposite the same girl, and occassionally we've exchanged a glance or shared a (stifled) giggle when some unidentified food is brought out. We have formed a bond, totally without words, and when we finally speak I feel as though I know a lot about her already.

So as I prepare to leave Dehradun, I'm actually a little nervous to reintroduced to society again. After 10 days of silence and solitude, I'm going back to the teeming metropolis that is Delhi. So that will be a crash back to reality! But during the Vipassana, I had some very profound moments of clarity and found it rather easy to simply make decisions, rather than swither. And one such decision was that it was absolutely imperative that I meet O again. So I will travel to Delhi, spend one night and then hop on a train to Jaipur in Rajasthan, where we will meet. Who knows how long for? But I have such a good feeling about this guy that I'm sure we should at least give it a chance.

So it's farewell to the shanti Vipassana existence, and NAMASTE MADAM to the chaos of Delhi. I'd be lying through my teeth if I said that I've "enjoyed" the Vipassana experience (remember, it's harder than prison!), but I've certainly appreciated it, and it has definitely changed my perspective and attitude to life and to people. Meditation is a wonderful tool, and one that I hope will be given on prescription one day, rather than endless pills and medications.
It has the power to change lives, and I would urge anyone to try it - although it's absolutely NOT something to be taken lightly.
But for anyone curious, dhamma.org has all of the details.

Go on, look inside yourself. All the answers that you're looking for are there...

Vipassana: Good Vibrations...

So I leave Delhi having said an emotional train station farewell to O (reminiscent of a Bollywood film) - but this is no time for melancholy. In a few short days I will start Vipassana meditation in Uttarkhand. Vipassana is an intensive form of meditation and mind purification, stemming from the Dhamma teachings of Lord Buddha. Although taking it's roots in Buddhism, Vipassana is non-denominational and welcomes meditators from all religions, creeds, castes and backgrounds. On enrolling, participants must agree to follow strict guidelines and codes of practice for the 10-day duration. No intoxicants, no stealing, no killing - these are the easy ones to follow. But alongside these, all participants must observe "noble silence" and abstain from uttering a single word for 10 whole days. 10 WHOLE DAYS. This includes cutting all contact with the outside world. No cellphones, no computers, no internet, no notebooks/pens/paper, no novels, no newspapers, no literature at all. Male and female partcipants are kept strictly segreagated, and even eye contact is prohibited.
And the fun doesn't end there. The daily programme is full to say the least. Every day begins at 4am and the majority of the day - around 10 hours - is spent silently meditating, before lights out at 9.30pm. It's set be an intense, challenging and gruelling 10 days, but I'm feeling ready for Vipassana/prison/Guantanamo India style...
 And if I can manage to stay silent for 10 full days, then there is every chance that pigs will fly...

I arrive to the meditation centre in Dehradun by jeep on the afternoon of the first day, along with some of the other participants. There is a broad mix of westerners and Indians, and we share our nerves and feelings on the journey. It is strange to know that I will spend every day with these people, and yet this is the last time we will have any real contact for 10 days.
 After surrendering our passports and any books, phones, computers or gadgets that we have, we are assigned rooms - simple and very basic 2-bedded cells. My room-mate is a stern-looking (but lovely) older Ukrainian woman. It's really quiet disconcerting to share a room - a tiny room - with someone and yet not know a single thing about them. We must silently adjust to one anothers habits and rituals, and try our best to be sympathetic to one another, which is no easy task at the best of times, and even more problematic without words. But somehow we manage.
So, with the rooms assigned and all of the paperwork taken care of, the Viassana can start....

The first night, we are eased in gently, with some short meditation and the first of the nightly discouse videos by S.N Goenka, the most recent "guru" teaching Vipassana. An elderly Burmese man, Goenka's nightly 90 minute discourses are definitely interesting, if a bit tedious and repetitive at times. And his voice certainly takes a little getting used to. It's croaky, raspy and most of the time he sounds like a frog thats been hit by a rickshaw. Over the course of the 10 days, I begin to despise Goenka's discourses, but by the end of the Vipassana I finally understand the very essence of the Vipassana itself, and the lengthy stories and chants don't bother me as much.

By the time the lights are switched off at 9.30pm, I feel too nervous to sleep. I have no idea what is in store over the next 10 days. What if this isnt for me? What if they find out that I've got a pen and paper stashed inside my pillowcase? What if I have a nervous breakdown? Should I start chipping away at the wall now, and breakout in dramatic, Shawshank-esque fashion? After all, Vipassana is officially tougher than prison...

All apprehensions aside, I finally sleep, acutely aware that for the coming 10 days, the morning wake-up alarm will ring at 4 am. Surprisingly, I discover over the course of the Vipassana that the early morning wake-ups are the least of my worries. In fact, all of the things that I am nervous about - the noble silence, having to sit cross-legged for 10 hours per day, the lack of contact or communication with anyone - prove to be easier than I imagined. The real challenges in Vipassana lie where you least expect them.

After the 4 am alarm, I am sitting shivering in the meditation hall, silently meditating for 2 hours. It's cold - we are pretty high up - and everyone is sitting with blankets, scarves and thermal socks, in a strange hue of blue. Although this session is a group meditation, no-one acknowledges one another. Even eye-contact is forbidden. I'm surrounded by people, but completely alone!
6.30 am is breakfast - usually tea and some unidentifiable gruel-type mixture. It's hit and miss at best, but necessary given the brusque morning chill in Uttarkhand. If you don't eat now,then that's it till luch at 11am. So best fuel up! After breakfast is my favourite time of day in Vipassana. NAP TIME. OK, so it's not officially nap time, but for 1 hour between 7 and 8 am participants are free. There's no way I'm wasting precious sleeping time doing something as tedious as washing (hygiene in Vipassana is becoming increasingly lax...), so instead I climb back in to bed and enjoy the most perfect hour of sleep. Sleeping at nighttime is becoming increasingly difficult (more on that later!), so my morning nap soon becomes and essential part of my day. My dreams are so vivd, powerful and lucid during this time that when I awake at 8am with the next meditation bell ringing, I feel deeply affected by what I've seen in my dreamstate. When the course finishes, I discover that many other participants experienced similarly powerful dreams , also during their morning nap. Perhaps it means something, perhaps not. Vipassana is such a unique experience for every participant - there is no "right" or "wrong" feeling or experience. Often I found my mind wandering, wondering what everyone else was thinking, or if they could feel the same tingling sensation as me, or if they were in as much physical pain as me from sitting still for so long. But soon I came to realise that this is a fruitless task. I will never understand their experience, and they will nver understand mine. The impermanence of evey feeling, every emotion, every sensation means that I may never even fully understand my own experience, let alone anyone elses.

The second meditation sitting of th day is 3 hours, with a couple of short intervals to break up the time. This sitting is also a group sitting, with the opportunity to practice some individual meditation, should you desire. Each participant is assigned their own single meditation cell in the pagoda, where there is really only enough space to sit and quietly contemplate. Ocassionally I meditated in my individual cell, but with my propensity for laziness, I realised that (unsupervised) meditation like this was becoming detrimental to my practice. Instead of serious meditation, I would find myself dozing off, leaning against the wall. So I decide to stick to the group sessions, as much as it pains me, and as tired as I am.

Lunch time is an 11am affair, which I usually find to be surprisingly tasty - an assortment of vegetables, rice, curd, chapatis and dal. As usual, we eat in in silence, consciously not looking at each other. It's quite refreshing actually, to eat a meal that I am full aware that I am eating. Rather than idly chatting, I am concentrating fully on every bite, every morsel. Obviously I'd prefer a glass of Malbec and a chin-wag with my pals over a plate of cheese-drenched pizza anytime, but for the short time I'm here, I
enjoy the singular, solo act of eating.

After lunch, it's free time again. Once or twice, if I've had a terrible sleep the night before, I'll go for a nap again, but ususally my afternoon free time is reserved for washing and laundry. Hygiene times. Hot water is only available by the bucket, and is in short supply, so it's big competition to be clean. Most of the time, I simply don't bother washing. It's too cold, and having to sit naked on a stone floor with one bucket of tepid water to wash with is pretty unpleasant. So three washes over the course of 12 days suddenly seems reasonable. Besides, we're all looking a bit rough and smelly, so it doesn't matter a bit. But my idle hands are kept pleasantly occupied with laundry, which I become a bit obsessed with. Every day I find something new to carefully handwash, and by the end of the Vipassana I realise that I have washed everything that's in my backapack at least once. Even clothes that I've never worn. But it feels good to have something constructive to do, in the absence of all other stimulus. I even manage to sew up a few holy clothes too.

Afternoon meditation begins at 1 and drags on for a whole 5 hours. I find the afternoon session to be the hardest -the passage of time feels glacially slow and drawn out. Regardless of how best I try to focus, I simply find these 4 hours pretty excrutiating. Not every day - because of course every day, my mediation experience is entirely different. But most of the time, the afternoon session is simply a headache for me.
In fact, i would say that the passage of time is what I found to be the hardest thing about Vipassana. It suddenly becomes abstract and confusing, and entirely not what you think. Minutes seem like hours, hours like days and days like weeks. Sometimes I feel like it's going to send me mad - and yet other times I feel complete equalibrium about it all. But it' doesn't matter - nothing matters - because it's all impermanent. If you learn one thing at all from Vipassana, it's that everything's impermanent. As soon as you understand this - and I mean really understand this - then everything will fall in to place. In the course, in life.

Follwing the afternoon session, we are treated to a bizarre "dinner" of what can only be described as curry flavoured dry rice krispies. Yes, really. At first, I really dread this dinner, which must have the nutrional value of dust, but by the end of the course I've grown quite attached to those like puffed rice fancies. I've started to appreciate the simplest and most basic things, and it's a beautiful feeling. We have a almighty thunderstorm one day, and it's almost a spiritual experience, to stand out in the rain and feel every wet drop on your skin. To hear the song of birds during the morning mediation. To make illicit eye-contact with someone across the dining hall. To afford myself the sheer luxury of time! Taking 10 days out of "reality" in order to purify the mind is a luxury, and I'm so appreciative of every second. Even the seconds that feel like hours, or sometimes days.

After "dinner", we have another short hour long mediation before the nightly discourse, and so the day ends. Mediatate, eat, sleep, repeat... But bedtime is a frustrating affair. I am ususally exhausted (believe it or not, sitting for 10 hours per day doing very little genuinely knackering), but for reasons that I initially don't understand, I simply cannot sleep. As bizarre as it sounds, I begin to experience very powerful vibrating sensations throughout my whole body, as soon as I lie down to sleep every night. The sensation is so strong, so pronounced (i can feel it particularly in my jaw), that I find it difficult to sleep. Lights are usually out by 9pm, but it's at least midnight by the time I finally drift off. At first I am frustrated (acutely aware of the 4 am wake up bell...) and a little concerned that I'm coming down with something, but thankfully during one of the nightly discourses, Goenka explains that such sensations are common, and that you should embrace them and continue meditating throughout the night. I'm not sure I'm ready for 24 hour meditation but I feel relieved to have some clarification and explanation as to what's going on. Although I totally understand and adhere to the noble silence policy (sharing our experiences can breed negativity, and negativity is contagious), it can be difficult to only look inwards for answers. So as lengthy as the nightly discourses are, they are essential.

Before I entered the Vipassana, I had done meditation before with different organisations, who have different styles and methods. Some using mantras, some using the universal mantra "om", some focussing on opening the 3rd eye. But Vipassana uses a completely different method, mainly concentrating on breath and physical sensations in the body, which is fully and clearly explained throughout the course. Even if you are a complete novice to meditation, it doesnt matter. There is nothing complicated or confusing about it at all. In fact, it's so startlingly simple that I wonder why the whole world hasn't caught on to it. I mean, imagine suddenly unlocking your mind, finding answers to many questions and experiencing moments of sheer clarity, simply by observing your breath and looking within? Incredible.
And perhaps the best thing about Vipassana, and the Dhamma society, is that they are funded and run entirely on donations. This isn't some dodgy meditation retreat, where they charge you thousands for the promise of enlightenment. Instead, participants can "pay" for their course (plus food, accommodation etc) in the form of a donation. It is completely at the individuals discretion how much they choose to give. To offer the course in this way is remarkable, and a testament to its ability to work for people. Plus should the Dhamma society choose to charge a set fee for the course, then the whole principle of the Vipassana would become redundant. As soon as someone pays for something, be it a hotel room, a curry or a meditation course, then they develop a certain set of expectations. The very essence of Vipassana is to remove expectation and desire. So in every centre, all over the world, particpaants from all walks of life donate what they can. Being the nosy lady that I am, I linger around while others are making their donations, and see a huge range of money being donated. I see one man give 50 rupees for the full 10 days. That's 50p. It works out at less than 5p per day. And conversely another man gives Rs10,000, which is about 100 pounds. You give what you can, and the amount is never questioned or quibbled.

By the time the course comes to an end, I am ready to leave. I've been having filthy and perverted dreams about palak paneer and dosas, and I am in desperate need of a hot shower. Thankfully, on the final day of the course we are permitted to begin speaking to one another, which is an altogether strange experience. Finally we can talk about our individual experiences. Finally I can see whether my "guess the nationality" game has been accurate or not. Finally I can speak to the people who I've formed unspoken bonds with over the length of the course. Every day, at mealtimes I've sat opposite the same girl, and occassionally we've exchanged a glance or shared a (stifled) giggle when some unidentified food is brought out. We have formed a bond, totally without words, and when we finally speak I feel as though I know a lot about her already.

So as I prepare to leave Dehradun, I'm actually a little nervous to reintroduced to society again. After 10 days of silence and solitude, I'm going back to the teeming metropolis that is Delhi. So that will be a crash back to reality! But during the Vipassana, I had some very profound moments of clarity and found it rather easy to simply make decisions, rather than swither. And one such decision was that it was absolutely imperative that I meet O again. So I will travel to Delhi, spend one night and then hop on a train to Jaipur in Rajasthan, where we will meet. Who knows how long for? But I have such a good feeling about this guy that I'm sure we should at least give it a chance.

So it's farewell to the shanti Vipassana existence, and NAMASTE MADAM to the chaos of Delhi. I'd be lying through my teeth if I said that I've "enjoyed" the Vipassana experience (remember, it's harder than prison!), but I've certainly appreciated it, and it has definitely changed my perspective and attitude to life and to people. Meditation is a wonderful tool, and one that I hope will be given on prescription one day, rather than endless pills and medications.
It has the power to change lives, and I would urge anyone to try it - although it's absolutely NOT something to be taken lightly.
But for anyone curious, dhamma.org has all of the details.

Go on, look inside yourself. All the answers that you're looking for are there...

Vipassana: Good Vibrations...

So I leave Delhi having said an emotional train station farewell to O (reminiscent of a Bollywood film) - but this is no time for melancholy. In a few short days I will start Vipassana meditation in Uttarkhand. Vipassana is an intensive form of meditation and mind purification, stemming from the Dhamma teachings of Lord Buddha. Although taking it's roots in Buddhism, Vipassana is non-denominational and welcomes meditators from all religions, creeds, castes and backgrounds. On enrolling, participants must agree to follow strict guidelines and codes of practice for the 10-day duration. No intoxicants, no stealing, no killing - these are the easy ones to follow. But alongside these, all participants must observe "noble silence" and abstain from uttering a single word for 10 whole days. 10 WHOLE DAYS. This includes cutting all contact with the outside world. No cellphones, no computers, no internet, no notebooks/pens/paper, no novels, no newspapers, no literature at all. Male and female partcipants are kept strictly segreagated, and even eye contact is prohibited.
And the fun doesn't end there. The daily programme is full to say the least. Every day begins at 4am and the majority of the day - around 10 hours - is spent silently meditating, before lights out at 9.30pm. It's set be an intense, challenging and gruelling 10 days, but I'm feeling ready for Vipassana/prison/Guantanamo India style...
 And if I can manage to stay silent for 10 full days, then there is every chance that pigs will fly...

I arrive to the meditation centre in Dehradun by jeep on the afternoon of the first day, along with some of the other participants. There is a broad mix of westerners and Indians, and we share our nerves and feelings on the journey. It is strange to know that I will spend every day with these people, and yet this is the last time we will have any real contact for 10 days.
 After surrendering our passports and any books, phones, computers or gadgets that we have, we are assigned rooms - simple and very basic 2-bedded cells. My room-mate is a stern-looking (but lovely) older Ukrainian woman. It's really quiet disconcerting to share a room - a tiny room - with someone and yet not know a single thing about them. We must silently adjust to one anothers habits and rituals, and try our best to be sympathetic to one another, which is no easy task at the best of times, and even more problematic without words. But somehow we manage.
So, with the rooms assigned and all of the paperwork taken care of, the Viassana can start....

The first night, we are eased in gently, with some short meditation and the first of the nightly discouse videos by S.N Goenka, the most recent "guru" teaching Vipassana. An elderly Burmese man, Goenka's nightly 90 minute discourses are definitely interesting, if a bit tedious and repetitive at times. And his voice certainly takes a little getting used to. It's croaky, raspy and most of the time he sounds like a frog thats been hit by a rickshaw. Over the course of the 10 days, I begin to despise Goenka's discourses, but by the end of the Vipassana I finally understand the very essence of the Vipassana itself, and the lengthy stories and chants don't bother me as much.

By the time the lights are switched off at 9.30pm, I feel too nervous to sleep. I have no idea what is in store over the next 10 days. What if this isnt for me? What if they find out that I've got a pen and paper stashed inside my pillowcase? What if I have a nervous breakdown? Should I start chipping away at the wall now, and breakout in dramatic, Shawshank-esque fashion? After all, Vipassana is officially tougher than prison...

All apprehensions aside, I finally sleep, acutely aware that for the coming 10 days, the morning wake-up alarm will ring at 4 am. Surprisingly, I discover over the course of the Vipassana that the early morning wake-ups are the least of my worries. In fact, all of the things that I am nervous about - the noble silence, having to sit cross-legged for 10 hours per day, the lack of contact or communication with anyone - prove to be easier than I imagined. The real challenges in Vipassana lie where you least expect them.

After the 4 am alarm, I am sitting shivering in the meditation hall, silently meditating for 2 hours. It's cold - we are pretty high up - and everyone is sitting with blankets, scarves and thermal socks, in a strange hue of blue. Although this session is a group meditation, no-one acknowledges one another. Even eye-contact is forbidden. I'm surrounded by people, but completely alone!
6.30 am is breakfast - usually tea and some unidentifiable gruel-type mixture. It's hit and miss at best, but necessary given the brusque morning chill in Uttarkhand. If you don't eat now,then that's it till luch at 11am. So best fuel up! After breakfast is my favourite time of day in Vipassana. NAP TIME. OK, so it's not officially nap time, but for 1 hour between 7 and 8 am participants are free. There's no way I'm wasting precious sleeping time doing something as tedious as washing (hygiene in Vipassana is becoming increasingly lax...), so instead I climb back in to bed and enjoy the most perfect hour of sleep. Sleeping at nighttime is becoming increasingly difficult (more on that later!), so my morning nap soon becomes and essential part of my day. My dreams are so vivd, powerful and lucid during this time that when I awake at 8am with the next meditation bell ringing, I feel deeply affected by what I've seen in my dreamstate. When the course finishes, I discover that many other participants experienced similarly powerful dreams , also during their morning nap. Perhaps it means something, perhaps not. Vipassana is such a unique experience for every participant - there is no "right" or "wrong" feeling or experience. Often I found my mind wandering, wondering what everyone else was thinking, or if they could feel the same tingling sensation as me, or if they were in as much physical pain as me from sitting still for so long. But soon I came to realise that this is a fruitless task. I will never understand their experience, and they will nver understand mine. The impermanence of evey feeling, every emotion, every sensation means that I may never even fully understand my own experience, let alone anyone elses.

The second meditation sitting of th day is 3 hours, with a couple of short intervals to break up the time. This sitting is also a group sitting, with the opportunity to practice some individual meditation, should you desire. Each participant is assigned their own single meditation cell in the pagoda, where there is really only enough space to sit and quietly contemplate. Ocassionally I meditated in my individual cell, but with my propensity for laziness, I realised that (unsupervised) meditation like this was becoming detrimental to my practice. Instead of serious meditation, I would find myself dozing off, leaning against the wall. So I decide to stick to the group sessions, as much as it pains me, and as tired as I am.

Lunch time is an 11am affair, which I usually find to be surprisingly tasty - an assortment of vegetables, rice, curd, chapatis and dal. As usual, we eat in in silence, consciously not looking at each other. It's quite refreshing actually, to eat a meal that I am full aware that I am eating. Rather than idly chatting, I am concentrating fully on every bite, every morsel. Obviously I'd prefer a glass of Malbec and a chin-wag with my pals over a plate of cheese-drenched pizza anytime, but for the short time I'm here, I
enjoy the singular, solo act of eating.

After lunch, it's free time again. Once or twice, if I've had a terrible sleep the night before, I'll go for a nap again, but ususally my afternoon free time is reserved for washing and laundry. Hygiene times. Hot water is only available by the bucket, and is in short supply, so it's big competition to be clean. Most of the time, I simply don't bother washing. It's too cold, and having to sit naked on a stone floor with one bucket of tepid water to wash with is pretty unpleasant. So three washes over the course of 12 days suddenly seems reasonable. Besides, we're all looking a bit rough and smelly, so it doesn't matter a bit. But my idle hands are kept pleasantly occupied with laundry, which I become a bit obsessed with. Every day I find something new to carefully handwash, and by the end of the Vipassana I realise that I have washed everything that's in my backapack at least once. Even clothes that I've never worn. But it feels good to have something constructive to do, in the absence of all other stimulus. I even manage to sew up a few holy clothes too.

Afternoon meditation begins at 1 and drags on for a whole 5 hours. I find the afternoon session to be the hardest -the passage of time feels glacially slow and drawn out. Regardless of how best I try to focus, I simply find these 4 hours pretty excrutiating. Not every day - because of course every day, my mediation experience is entirely different. But most of the time, the afternoon session is simply a headache for me.
In fact, i would say that the passage of time is what I found to be the hardest thing about Vipassana. It suddenly becomes abstract and confusing, and entirely not what you think. Minutes seem like hours, hours like days and days like weeks. Sometimes I feel like it's going to send me mad - and yet other times I feel complete equalibrium about it all. But it' doesn't matter - nothing matters - because it's all impermanent. If you learn one thing at all from Vipassana, it's that everything's impermanent. As soon as you understand this - and I mean really understand this - then everything will fall in to place. In the course, in life.

Follwing the afternoon session, we are treated to a bizarre "dinner" of what can only be described as curry flavoured dry rice krispies. Yes, really. At first, I really dread this dinner, which must have the nutrional value of dust, but by the end of the course I've grown quite attached to those like puffed rice fancies. I've started to appreciate the simplest and most basic things, and it's a beautiful feeling. We have a almighty thunderstorm one day, and it's almost a spiritual experience, to stand out in the rain and feel every wet drop on your skin. To hear the song of birds during the morning mediation. To make illicit eye-contact with someone across the dining hall. To afford myself the sheer luxury of time! Taking 10 days out of "reality" in order to purify the mind is a luxury, and I'm so appreciative of every second. Even the seconds that feel like hours, or sometimes days.

After "dinner", we have another short hour long mediation before the nightly discourse, and so the day ends. Mediatate, eat, sleep, repeat... But bedtime is a frustrating affair. I am ususally exhausted (believe it or not, sitting for 10 hours per day doing very little genuinely knackering), but for reasons that I initially don't understand, I simply cannot sleep. As bizarre as it sounds, I begin to experience very powerful vibrating sensations throughout my whole body, as soon as I lie down to sleep every night. The sensation is so strong, so pronounced (i can feel it particularly in my jaw), that I find it difficult to sleep. Lights are usually out by 9pm, but it's at least midnight by the time I finally drift off. At first I am frustrated (acutely aware of the 4 am wake up bell...) and a little concerned that I'm coming down with something, but thankfully during one of the nightly discourses, Goenka explains that such sensations are common, and that you should embrace them and continue meditating throughout the night. I'm not sure I'm ready for 24 hour meditation but I feel relieved to have some clarification and explanation as to what's going on. Although I totally understand and adhere to the noble silence policy (sharing our experiences can breed negativity, and negativity is contagious), it can be difficult to only look inwards for answers. So as lengthy as the nightly discourses are, they are essential.

Before I entered the Vipassana, I had done meditation before with different organisations, who have different styles and methods. Some using mantras, some using the universal mantra "om", some focussing on opening the 3rd eye. But Vipassana uses a completely different method, mainly concentrating on breath and physical sensations in the body, which is fully and clearly explained throughout the course. Even if you are a complete novice to meditation, it doesnt matter. There is nothing complicated or confusing about it at all. In fact, it's so startlingly simple that I wonder why the whole world hasn't caught on to it. I mean, imagine suddenly unlocking your mind, finding answers to many questions and experiencing moments of sheer clarity, simply by observing your breath and looking within? Incredible.
And perhaps the best thing about Vipassana, and the Dhamma society, is that they are funded and run entirely on donations. This isn't some dodgy meditation retreat, where they charge you thousands for the promise of enlightenment. Instead, participants can "pay" for their course (plus food, accommodation etc) in the form of a donation. It is completely at the individuals discretion how much they choose to give. To offer the course in this way is remarkable, and a testament to its ability to work for people. Plus should the Dhamma society choose to charge a set fee for the course, then the whole principle of the Vipassana would become redundant. As soon as someone pays for something, be it a hotel room, a curry or a meditation course, then they develop a certain set of expectations. The very essence of Vipassana is to remove expectation and desire. So in every centre, all over the world, particpaants from all walks of life donate what they can. Being the nosy lady that I am, I linger around while others are making their donations, and see a huge range of money being donated. I see one man give 50 rupees for the full 10 days. That's 50p. It works out at less than 5p per day. And conversely another man gives Rs10,000, which is about 100 pounds. You give what you can, and the amount is never questioned or quibbled.

By the time the course comes to an end, I am ready to leave. I've been having filthy and perverted dreams about palak paneer and dosas, and I am in desperate need of a hot shower. Thankfully, on the final day of the course we are permitted to begin speaking to one another, which is an altogether strange experience. Finally we can talk about our individual experiences. Finally I can see whether my "guess the nationality" game has been accurate or not. Finally I can speak to the people who I've formed unspoken bonds with over the length of the course. Every day, at mealtimes I've sat opposite the same girl, and occassionally we've exchanged a glance or shared a (stifled) giggle when some unidentified food is brought out. We have formed a bond, totally without words, and when we finally speak I feel as though I know a lot about her already.

So as I prepare to leave Dehradun, I'm actually a little nervous to reintroduced to society again. After 10 days of silence and solitude, I'm going back to the teeming metropolis that is Delhi. So that will be a crash back to reality! But during the Vipassana, I had some very profound moments of clarity and found it rather easy to simply make decisions, rather than swither. And one such decision was that it was absolutely imperative that I meet O again. So I will travel to Delhi, spend one night and then hop on a train to Jaipur in Rajasthan, where we will meet. Who knows how long for? But I have such a good feeling about this guy that I'm sure we should at least give it a chance.

So it's farewell to the shanti Vipassana existence, and NAMASTE MADAM to the chaos of Delhi. I'd be lying through my teeth if I said that I've "enjoyed" the Vipassana experience (remember, it's harder than prison!), but I've certainly appreciated it, and it has definitely changed my perspective and attitude to life and to people. Meditation is a wonderful tool, and one that I hope will be given on prescription one day, rather than endless pills and medications.
It has the power to change lives, and I would urge anyone to try it - although it's absolutely NOT something to be taken lightly.
But for anyone curious, dhamma.org has all of the details.

Go on, look inside yourself. All the answers that you're looking for are there...

Once upon a time in Delhi...

Once upon a time in Delhi...

Once upon a time, there was a pale (and by now, slightly smelly) Scottish girl travelling the vast and colourful country of India, with only a dirty backpack and a Dostoyevsky for company. She had seen many beautiful and shanti places, but now the inevitable had happened. She had to go to the dark and dangerous city of Delhi. With anxiety in her heart she boarded her carriage, and there in front of her stood a tall, dark, handsome stranger with an exotic accent. Soon, her fears would melt, and for a few days, Delhi would become their own little kingdom....

Enough of that though - here's how it really went.

As I board the night train from Varanasi, I am feeling totally apprehensive about arriving to Delhi, and feel completely resolute in my decision to get out of there as soon as possible. Recently, there have been increasing reports in the Indian media of horrific gang rapes of women in the city, and the week before I am due to arrive, a Danish woman is gang-raped right in the heart of the tourist district of Pahar Ganj. I have planned to spend only 1 hour maximum there; just enough time to catch a bus to the foothills of the Himalayas. But of course, this being India, things never ususally turn out as you expect them. Take all of your plans, ideas and expectations and forget them...

The train journey from Varanasi turns out to be one of the best train journeys that I have taken in India. In my little carriage, there are 2 hilarious Danish guys, a group of Indian art students, and a solo Catalan, who for the purposes of this story, we shall call O. It's a really nice group, and the journey passes pretty quickly as we sit up chatting till late, while the (super talented) artists sketch for us, and draw portraits. Of course, the trasin is late by 4 hours, and so by the time we arrive to Delhi the following day it's already too late for me to catch my connecting bus. I'm absolutely knackered anyway - the train was freezing cold so i barely managed to sleep - and a dodgy bag of namkeen that I ate is coming back to haunt me. I feel feverish, my stomach is aching and it's becoming increasily essential that I am near to a toilet at all times. Basically im living in constant fear that I could shit myself at any time. Disgusting, but the harsh reality of anyone travelling in India. So with little choice, i decide to spend the night in Delhi.

The Danish boys, who have a significantly higher budget than me, disappear off to an upmarket hotel, while me and O (whose budgets are what I would refer to as "rockbottom") decide to find a cheaper place, and split the cost of a room. We quickly find a pokey wee room on the Main Bazaar for Rs500, and although it's no great shakes, I'm too tired to care.
After a spot of food, I spend the afternoon wandering around the Pahar Ganj area, deftly trying to dodge the countless touts and scammers trying to sell me hash/opium/gemstones/pashminas/train tickets. The Main Bazaar is a long straight street lined with typical tourirst-tat market stalls and hotels with the obligatory neon signs - and for precisely this reason, it reminds me of a much smellier, much grimier version of the Khao San Road in Bangkok.

Desite my initial apprehensions though, I am not completely repelled or intimidated by Delhi. Yes it's stressful, yes its cold and and yes it's the offically the most polluted city in the world, but it's significantly better than I anticipated. WIth the benefit of hindsight, I now understand that my fears and negativity towards Delhi have been completely internalised. It is not the city that is negative, but my attitude towards it. The same can be said for other places, for people, for anything really. Negativity is an attitude that we project upon something.

So I allow myself to surrender to Delhi; to wander the market and to roll with it. In the evening, me and O head off exploring all of the little narrow backstreets and alleyways in Pahar Ganj. There is no way I would have done this alone in Delhi, and so for the first time in a long time I am grateful to have man around to walk with me. Although it is still my plan to get up early the next morning and head out of town, me and O sit up all night talking, and before we know it, it's 7 am - and time for a sleep. So it looks though I won't be catching my 10am bus again!

After a very indulgent lie-in, me and O decide to spend the day doing a little sight-seeing around the city - we may as well since we are here! So we head down to the metro - a clean, modern and totally efficient transport network spanning much of the city - and go to Old Delhi. It's a warm and breezy Sunday afternoon, and totally perfect for wandering around Chandi Chowk market, the imposing Red Fort and the bustling Mosque, where the hypnotic and hauntingly beautiful call to prayer echoes throughout. We drink countless cups of chai sitting on street corners, watching the frenetic hustle and bustle of Old Delhi whizz past. It's a perfect and completely unexpected day.

Back in Pahar Ganj, night has set in and so has the misty chill that permeates the city. To keep the chill at bay, we head to a little rooftop restaurant and have a couple of beers ("special tea", wink wink). Although a little expensive, it can be worthwhile to enjoy a rooftop eaterie once in a while - the sheer number of beggars, street kids, scammers and touts that frequent the ground-level cafes can be a bit overwhelming at times.
Then, on the short walk back to the hotel, veritable disaster strikes. O - rather naively - goes to pet a fat, docile looking labrador, when it suddenly lunges at him and bites him pretty badly in the most unfortunate of places.
Right in the bollock.
There is a lot of blood and the quite a significant open wound, so we head straight to the nearest ER hospital. Thankfully we don't have to wait too long, but the hospital is questionable at best. Grimy, dirty and ramshackle, it's definitely not hygienic, but faced with little other choice it will have to do. Nurses and doctors are dressed very casually in jeans and t-shirts, and it's difficult to identify who they actually are, so when we eventually find someone "official" looking, he nonchalantly requests that O clean the wound himself in the public toilet before being seen by a doctor. Toilets in India are scary places - stinking, dirty cess-pits that have induced vomit in me several times. And sadly, the toilet situation in this hospital is no better; no electricity, dirt everywhere and a distinct reek of shit. But somehow he manages, and within minutes he is lying on an a bed being stitched and jagged with a variety of painkillers and potent anti-rabies vaccines. To the credit of the hopsital - which is a standard government hospital - the whole process in pretty quick, and there is no charge for services rendered and very little paperwork to filled out. The only cost to O is the antibiotics that he will require for the subsequent 2 weeks.

We are both completly astounded by the bizarre turn of events - what a shit end to a great day! But lesson learned -NEVER NEVER NEVER TOUCH THE DOGS IN INDIA!

So, with a bit drama to add some masala to proceedings, I decide stay in Delhi with O. There's no way that I can leave him invalided and hobbling about like an old man. And besides, (for those of you that can't read between the lines), we are enjoying a lovely little Delhi romance. I'm in no rush to be anywhere, so why not hang out a bit longer?

The next couple of days are spent wandering the city - getting lost and finding ourselves hours later. It's actually a really enjoyable way to see Delhi and we discover plenty of places that otherwise we wouldnt have seen. About a 20 minute walk from the hustle of Pahar Ganj is Connaught Place - an absolutely beautiful part of the city. Clean, afflent and filled with designer shops and chains like Levi's, Costa Coffee and Marks and Spencers, Connaught Place doesnt feel particuarly like the India that I know. Rich trendy young Indians everywhere, couples holding hands and barely a saree in sight. It's all skinny jeans and even a few high heels. At this point, it feel as though we could be in any city in Europe - even in London. It makes quite a refreshing change, and we while away the hours sitting in the central park chatting.

On our last night in Delhi, we decide to switch hotels to something a little better. The hot water that was promised in the first hotel never materialised once, and the noise of the man next door snorning is becoming ridiculous. So for the same price, we find a quieter place just 5 minutes walk away, with hot running water and a balcony, with great views over...the graveyard. At least we are promised a decent nights sleep!

The next day, we have a train-station farewell; O is bound for Agra, and I am heading to Dehradun in Uttarkhand, where I will start a 10-day silent meditation. Delhi has really been a pleasant surprise - somehow my plan for 1 hour has turned in to 4 great days. And I have finally overcome my Delhi fear, and would be happy to return alone again.

Now the question remains...will the pale Scottish girl and O - stranges on a train - be reunited again...?

DELHI

If you arrive to New Delhi railway station, then Pahar Ganj and the Main Bazaar are a 2 minute walk away. DONT SPEAK TO OR TRUST ANYONE IN NEW DELHI RAILWAY STATION. I have spoken to too many people who have been ripped off/scammed/nearly POISONED here. Just be calm, breeze through the crowds and walk to Main Bazaar to find a hotel.
The closest metro stop to here is Ramakrishna Ashra Marg.

Where to stay: Prince Palace Hotel, just off of the main bazaar. Large, spacious rooms, very clean, wifi, TV, hot running water and some rooms even have balconies. Quiet side-street, but right in the centre of the action. We paid Rs500 for a double room.

Eating: There are hundreds of places to choose from -street food is always brilliant and mega cheap. Food prices range from Rs10 upwards. Beers are significantly more pricey. Ask for "Special Tea" and be prepared to pay around Rs150 or a can of Kigfisher.

Getting Around: Cycle rickshaws are pretty decent for short journeys, and auto rickshaws are useful for the places that the metro doesnt cover. Journeys on the metro are swift and efficient, and cost from Rs12. It's arguably the best way to cover the city easily and quickly.

Shopping: The street around the Main Bazaar are backpackers paradise, and sell all of the usual tat, but at very very good prices. Great place to pick up essentials and clothes cheaply.

What to Do: Old Delhi is a must see - the bustling Chandi Chowk, the Red Fort and India Gate are nice spots to visit, and the parliament and Presidential Palace are both very grand an opulent affairs. Just walk and discover!

Varanasi; City of Light, City of Shite

Varanasi: City of Light, City of Shite

When the North-East Express eventually trundles in to Mughal Sarai Station near Varanasi, it is around 6am - and a full 24 hours later than the anticipated sheduled arrival. I smell like death, look like shit and have lost all sensation of what it feels like to be energised, or even to feel tired. My bodyclock is in turmoil and if it wasn't for the endless cups of chai that me and D (the German guy also travelling to Varanasi) have been downing since 3am, I would probably be a much bigger mess.
From Mughal Sarai, it a good 45 minute rickshaw ride to Varanasi, which is quickly negotiated in the early morning traffic. This is my second visit to Varanasi, which is easily one of my favourite places in India. It's completely mystical, and something about this place really got under my skin the last time I was here, so there was never a doubt in my mind that I wouldnt return. As we begin to approach the Old part of the city, I get butterflies deep in the pit of my stomach. The incredible architecture and narrow labyrinthine alleyways that twist and turn down to the Ghats and the Ganga are beautiful - very old fashioned, very dirty but absolutely charming and enchanting. This particular morning there is a thick mist hanging in the air, which only adds to the eerie, mystic atmosphere.
On the recommendation of D, I head to Assi Ghat to stay, which is on the fringes of the Ghats, a little away from the centre of the "action" in Varanasi.
Varanasi is one of the most intense and overwhelming cities I've ever been to, and it can be a total assault on the senses, so I am happy to stay on the periphery of the crazy. For anyone unfamiliar, the gist of Varanasi is this: it's the holiest city in India, set on the Ganga River. Hindu Pilgrims from all over the subcontinent flock here frequently, and for thousands of years the area down by the water has been used as an open-air cremation ground. So when a devout Hindu dies in India, the family has 24 hours to get the body to Varanasi. Once there, the bodies ae smothered in sandal wood paste, covered in cloth and flower garlands and almost "paraded" on a stretcher through the narrow backstreets to the cremation area on the banks of the river, with a convoy of family and friends chanting "Ram ram sat hai" on the way. On top of piles of logs and firewood, the bodies are burned, and the whole spectacle is quite fascinating and draws huge crowds of locals and toursits alike. It can be quite disconcerting to watch a body burn like this; to see flesh and bone poking out from the flames, to see family members cremate their loved ones so publicy while performing the death rituals (ususally the male next-of-kin shaves his head, dresses in white, walks round the fire and bathes in the Ganga). But stangely, there is nothing morbid or repulsive about this whole ceremony. There are no tears, no wailing. Indian life continues as usual- people drinking chai, taking their morning walk, bathing, chatting on the phone, dogs sniffing around the ashes, goats scavenging for food, monkeys scrambling around the piles of wood. In many ways its completely disconcerting, but at no point does it feel gruesome or voyeuristic.
Instead death is treated in a very raw and human way and perhaps as it should be - as the most natural and inevitable part of life. There is no greater certainty that death, so why not come face to face with it? Ok, so in western culture the whole concept is totally alien and unnatural. Perhaps that is because we place so much emphasis on the physical body, and find it hard to spearate the body and the soul. I cannnot say conclusively, but in India it seems that the body is simply a recepticle for the soul; a vehicle which holds the real essence of someone. The body may expire, but the soul will live on. In the west, funerals are a typically cold, staid and detached affair. In India, it very real and very hands-on. There is a real understanding and respect for what death is, and although it's not particularly pleasant to watch a body burn, I find myself in awe and admiration at the process.
And if someone is lucky enough to die or be cremated in Varanasi, according to Hindu religion their soul will attain moksha, or enlightenment. I don't necessarily subscribe fully to this idea - I'm not a Hindu and never will be - but there is something so beautiful and so comforting about it.


So I check in to Ashish Guest House, and after a spot of breakfast with D, we head out for a morning walk along the misty Ghats. Observing life on the Ganga is real pleasure and a past-time in itself; morning swimmers, 24-hour cremations, bathers, people doing laundry, cows and buffalo wading in the shallows, hundreds of packed little boats motoring or rowing up and down, people brushing their teeth...there is always something to look at, something to smell, something to hear. Chai? Boat ride? Postcard? Cremation? Hashish? Opium? Varanasi has it all. And it's really so perfect and so beautiful to be in a place where there is no shame in the simple acts of daily life. There is no shame in bathing, near-naked in a dirty river with hundreds of other people. Or squatting down to piss by the banks of the river. Why should there be? This is humanity! This is what we all do. This is real, this is honest and this is raw.

Although not the cleanest of places (there is cow shit, dog dhit, human shit and litter EVERYWHERE in Varanasi), the ghats are really magical, espeically some of the older buildings and lingums. There are certain parts of the ghats, particularly those that are close the the main burning ghat cremation ground that are so old that they look as though they are subsiding; as though the Ganga is slowly devouring them. This city really is an open-air museum. The fog never really lifts at all on the first day, and so I seize the opportunity to do some much needed laundry, which as been neglected for too long. Today is also the day where I experience the delight that is the Blue Lassi Shop for the first time. Never in my life have I tasted lassi so good, so fresh and so fucking delicious. This surely has to be one of the best in India, without a doubt. Everyday for the week that I spend in Varanasi, I make a daily pilgrimage to the Blue Lassi shop; by the end of the week I'm on fist-name and hugging terms with the staff.

Varansi is a brilliant place to find yourself doing nothing. To just be. To lose yourself in a dark alley and find yourself 2 hours later. To walk the ghats, read, write, drink chai with the locals. In fact, for many people just being here in enough, and I am content with that for the majority of the time that I am here. The locals are exremely friendly and super-curious, and even taking a short walk undisturbed becomes a mammoth task. People really want to chat! So expect to make a hundred new friends, at least. Quickly, my days become filled with chatting to my newly acquired "friends" - students who want to practice English, shop-keepers, rickshaw drivers. I feel in demand here, and almost like a local. Soon I cannot walk the city without bumping in to someone who wants to take chai, and journeys of 3 kms take 3 hours to walk. There is something so open and lovely about these kind of connections and relationships that I cannot help but feel profundly happy in Varanasi.

The first couple of days here the weather isn't too great - in actual fact, it's cold and pouring with rain. The first time since Kerala that I've seen rain! Although I don't really mind, walking in Varanasi in the rain can be a real challenge; the streets are like rubble, and there is so much animal shit that I am skidding and sliding all over the place. Not ideal in flip-flops either, but since Ive been relieved of my trainers, for the moment I don't have much choice.

Half way through my stay in Varanasi, me and D decide to go to Sarnath for the day. Around 10kms from the city, Sarnath is a Buddhist hub, and the site where Buddha gave his first sermon under a bodhi tree after reaching Enlightenment in Bodhgaya. There are temples everywhere, and for every culture. Thai Buddhist temple, Burmese Buddhist Temple, Tibetan Buddhist Temple...you name it, they have it. After a day of checking out the various temples on offer, D heads back in to Varanasi and I decide to stay in Sarnath. So I head to the Japanese Buddhist temple and see if they can put me up for the night, which they can. I've never slept at a temple before, but the room they offer me is simple and spacious, and they ask for no money either. I am anticipating a quiet and peaceful night in Sarnath, to think and meditate...but this being India, of course the plan never quite happens as you would expect!
While at the Tibetan temple I meet a young Ladakhi student, who offers to explain some of the principles, concepts and rituals of Buddhism to me. So we head to a cafe for momo's and chai, and I get the lowdown. As we are heading back to the Japanese temple, we inadvertantly stumble across a very rich and elaborate Indian wedding ceremony, and me being extremely nosy decide that I want to poke my head in for a quick look. Of course, a "quick look" at anything in India is never possible, and I welcomed in to take part in the wedding with open arms. Being the only foreigner there, I definitely stand out, and people are continually trying to feed me, take photos and chat with me. I feel like a total gate-crasher, but no-one seems to mind. Soon, I am on the marriage stage having photographs taken with the bride and groom, and afterwards dancing manically to bhangra beats being blasted out by the DJ while hundreds of guests gyrate and give their best Bollywood moves next to me. It's a hilarious and fascinating experience, even if I do feel a buit self-conscious! During the whole ceremony though, I never notice the young bride smile once. In fact, she looks positively miserable. But today - her wedding day - is the first time that she has properly met her husband, and she is only 18 years old. Naturally she is petrified. And from chats with other guests, I discover that her family paid a hefty dowry to the family of the groom - somewhere on the region of Rs150,0000 (about 15,000 pounds). No wonder she looks miserable! Arranged marriage is such a curious thing.
So my quiet night at the temple didn't quite work out, but I am delighted that i finally got to experience a real Indian wedding. Back at the temple, I have to say a firm goodnight to the Ladakhi student, who seems to think that becuase he helped me out today, I should "help him out" in return. Sometimes being a female in India is a fucking minefield - even smiling at someone can result in crossed wires, or the expectation that you are willing to have sex. Certainly wasn't expecting a devout Buddhist to push his luck, but such is life. Boys, you don't know how easy you have it at times.

I spend my last few days in Varnasi trawling the ghats, reading and writing and trying to find a solution to my broken tablet. Annoyingly, it has died on me, and if I can't find an adequate solution then I'm seriously considering smothering it in sandal paste and flowers and taking it to the burning ghat for cremation. Thankfully though, this is India. Everything is possible, "no" is not an option and there is always a solution to every problem. So with the help of Mansu the chai-wallah and Vinod the rickshaw driver, I am technologiclly equipped again. Once the problem is solved (charger trouble!), I go with Vinod to his house for lunch, and meet his wife and 5 kids. Although they have a tiny little one-roomed place near Assi Ghat, they are extremely hospitable, and it's nice to get another glimpse in to lives of locals. Small house, big love.

And so its finally my last day in Varanasi before I leave for the dreaded Delhi...But there is no chance of a lie in, as D bangs on my door at 6am, and insists that we go for a sunrise boatride along the Ganga. I am more than happy to oblige; it's a great morning, and taking a rowing boat along the river offers a brand new perspective on the city. The light is absolutely stunning, and the river is a feast of the eyes...cremations, dead cows wedged under boats, candles floating down the river, birds diving for fish, swimmers. Just perfect. And made 100% better my out boatman, who is the famous singing boatman of Varanasi. To accompany our trip, he sings religious chants which echo off the grand buildings that overlook the river. A real treat - look out for this guy!

I have had a lot of time for reflection and contemplation in Varanasi, and honestly, trying to make sense of everything I've seen here is a real mind-fuck. The culture, the religion and the everday mechanisms of life in India are so complex and deep-rooted that I wonder if it is really possible to penetrate them; to fully comprehend them. Of one thing I am certain - the more time I spend travelling India, the more I realise how little I really know of everything. How little I really understand about the world. What a truly humbling thought! I feel grateful at least, to have been able to come to this realisation.

With my final goodbyes said (took me all bloody day!), I pack up and Vinod takes me to the train station. I am absolutely dreading Delhi, and plan only to spend one or two hours there before catching a bus as far away as possible.

But of course, this is INDIA....things never go as planned...! Just wait until the Delhi blog....

VARANASI:

Getting there: There are 2 main train stations, Varanasi Jn (in town) and Mughal Sarai (13km from town). A rickshaw from Mughal Sarai to the ghats will cost around Rs400. Varanasi Jn to the ghats will cost Rs 100 upwards.

Where to Stay: Ashish Guest House, on Assi ghat. A little bit away from the crazy, but still within walking distance to the main busy ghats. A room with a double bed and shared bathroom with hot running water costs Rs300 per night. Nice chill-out rooftop, and brilliant food in the cafe. They even have home-made brown bread! Portions are decent and food is super-cheap too. I would highly recommend this place - especially for longer stays.

Eating: Aside from Ashish, there are plenty of restuarants dotted around the ghats, some catering to tourists and others a bit more local - and therefore cheaper! Be a bit choosy in Varanasi though- this place is notorious for people getting sick! Blue Lassi shop nea the burning ghat is also definitely worth a visit. A fruit lassi will set you back Rs70, and if you flash them a smil they'll top up your cup for free.

Do: Just be! Walk around, get lost enjoy! There are loads of temples to explore, boatrides to be had and classes in everything from yoga to sitar to ayurveda to hindi. It's impossible to be bored here. Be wary of ayone who approaches you on ghats offering things though - pervy massages and opium and the like.

Sarnath: About Rs200 in a rickshaw, and a 1 hour ride from the city. You can easily spend a day exploring there on foot, and if you like it, why not stay at one of the many temples. Most dont charge, and some will even feed you for free.

Getting Around: Walking is by far the best and most rearding way to see the city, and although its actually a huge area, the main tourist areas are easily done on foot. Cycle rickshaws are available from as little as Rs10 per journey, while auto rickshaws are better for longer journeys.

Wedding: Turn up and enjoy! :-)

Sikkim: Accidental Babysitting and a Train Station Sleepover...

It's time to bid farewell to the madness of Calcutta and retreat to the peaceful Himalayan state of Sikkim, tucked away high up in the northeast corner of India and bordering Bhutan and Tibet. I've loved Calcutta, but I am really looking forward to some solitude and quiet time in the mountains. The train journey is unremarkable and goes hitch-free, and I arrive at New Jalpaiguri station - the jumping off point for any onwards travel - very early on a cod, misty and grim morning.

As soon as I leave the station, I am met with the usual barrage of questions and offers of onwards transport. Madam, where do you want to go? Sikkim? Gangtok? Darjeeling? For a change, this is most welcome. There is absolutely no reason to stick around New Jalpaiguri and the surrounding Siliguri area any longer than necessary. The area around the train station in particular isn't exactly pleasant; there is an abundance of beggars and street kids, and the countless people huddled around little fires in patches of wasteground with tarpaulin tents for homes makes the place feel very much like a refugee camp.
So I hop in a shared jeep bound for Gangtok, the "capital" of Sikkim, and some 5 hours later, after a bumpy ride through some very questionable narrow mountain roads, I arrive in Gangtok. Although shared jeeps are pretty much the only way to travel around the Himalayas, they can be a little uncomfortable...drivers wait until the jeeps are FULL (sometimes 10-12 people in one vehicle) before they go anywhere. So get used to the idea of sacrifiicing your personal space for a few hours! And because the roads are so winding and unpredictable, the chances of being saddled next to a young Indian boy who can't stop vomiting are pretty high....

Nonetheless, we arrive to Sikkim by mid afternoon, and I head to a a hostel located near the main market road. It's bitterly cold and thick with mist and fog, and although Gangtok is essentially a city, the atmosphere is heavy. It never ceases to amaze me the sheer hardiness and resilience of people that live high up in mountainous regions like this - homes and buildings are without central heating, without fires and stoves, and without double glazing. Often, there isnt even any hot running water. At home, when the temperature teeters around zero, we can take comfort in the fact that we have warm houses, radiators and fireplaces. It's easy to take these things for granted. For the people here, heating seems to be a luxury and a privelige.
Thankfully in my guest house, there is hot running water (which mostly works, though on a couple of ocassions I have to grit my teeth and brave a cold shower). And instead of a single room I take a twin-bedded room, for the simple reason that 2 beds = 2 duvets. For an extra Rs100, it's completely worth it.

I ditch my bags and decide to have a wander around Gangtok as the remnants of sunshine dispappear for the day. Because it's deepest winter, this is off-season for Sikkim, and there are few tourists around. But actually, I quite like it. It's incredibly peaceful, and a welcome change from the frantic, unrelenting chaos of Calcutta. The people are reserved and almost a little shy, which is refreshing for India, when so often it is impossible to go anywhere or do anything without the curious questions and stares from locals. Here, I feel very free.
Central Gangtok is quite a surprising place in many ways though - despite it's geographical remoteness, it is a modern, well-connected and progressive city. There are designer clothes shops, cinemas, up-market night clubs and food chains like Dominoes Pizza. Every second shop is a liquor store (what else to do in cold places...?) and there are plenty of little cafes and patisseries dotted around the main shopping street. It all seems very Westerised. And yet a short walk uphill to the outskirts of town and life is as you might expect it. Little wooden-shack style houses, dirt roads, chickens scratching around the roadside verges, and beautiful, colourful Buddhist and Tibetan prayer flags adorning trees and buildings.
Although Gangtok itself isn't particularly attractive (development has definitely not been kind or sympathetic to this landscape), the views from just about anywhere around the ciy are nothing short of breathtaking. The snow-covered, craggy peaks of Mount Kanchenjunga (the 3rd highest in the world) and the Himalayas dominate the horizon, and the ever-changing light makes the whole range a total marvel to look at, any time of the day. Some days I am so enraptured; so captivated by these dramatic, humbling peaks that I just sit and watch them for hours on end.

Early the next morning, I decide to hike up to Ganesh Tok, a little temple view-point 6 kms steep-climb out of town. Along the way (as so often happens in India...),I get chatting to a local boy called Depen who invites me to hs family home for tea. Usually, I wouldn't just disappear off to the home of a perfect stranger on the premise of a cup of tea, but there is something so genuine and endearing about his manner and his whole persona that I can't say no. My hike has been temporarily derailed!
So in a surprise turn of events, I find myself sitting in a tiny little wooden house on the outskirts of Gangtok, drinking tea and eating burfi sweets with the Depen and his family. They are a family of 6, living in a 2-roomed, very cramped wooden shack with no windows, no heating and only an outside toilet. And yet there is such a warmth coming from their house; such a tangible sense of love between the family that I feel really lucky to have met them. I am completely humbled by their hospitality, as they keep feeding me sweets, biscuits, ginger tea...I'm even given a plate of scrambled eggs to eat whilst I peruse the family photo albums. His younger sisters - 2 beautiful little Sikkimese girls who speak English perfectly and with such eloquence - are keen to be my tour guides up to Ganesh Tok. So somehow, I inadvertently agree to take them - Trishti, Reena and next-door neighbour Bopen - along with me. This turns out to be one of the most lovely days that I've had in India so far. It's chilly, but the sun is splitting the sky, and the kids are so excited and happy to come along. We chat constantly on the 1 hour walk to the temple; they are eager to tell me about thier school, their culture and their favourite singers (Justin Beiber and One Direction), and they are desperate to know what life in the UK is like. After we leave Ganesh Tok, we decide to go to the Himalayan Zoo,which is pretty much next door. I'm not particularly keen on zoos, but the kids have never been before, and really want to go...so another couple of hours is spent wandering the hills around Gangtok, looking at leopards and peacocks. Animals aside, the view from the zoo over Kanchenjunga is absolutely incredible; sharp peaks that look as though they are ripping through the clouds below. Breathtaking!

A short distance from Gangtok, and only Rs100 return in a shared jeep is the beautiful and totally peaceful Buddhist Monastery of Rumktek. Whether you are religious or not, Rumtek is most definitey worth a visit, even just for the sheer peace alone. There isn't hours worth of stimulation - just bask in the silence and enjoy the views over the surrounding valleys. One thing that is a little strange, or jarring is the fact that there are so many armed guards surrounding the monastery. It seems bizarre, and a little incongruent with the Buddhist ethos. But armed guards are a common sight at temples and places of worship across the whole country, and regardless of religion.

Although a little out of the way, Sikkim is definitely worth the trek. The people, the scenery, the peace and the Buddhist culture are a most welcome change. Just pack thermal knickers...!

So after a few days in Gangtok wandering the hills, drinking endless cups of masala chai to heat me up and reading on the rooftop of my guesthouse, I decide to push onwards...booking my ticket it easy enough at the SNT stand in town, and I arrive back in Siliguri in plenty of time to take my train to Varanasi, in Uttar Pradesh.
My train is due to depart at 5pm, but as I sit at the station, I hear the announcement that strikes fear and misery in to the hearts of many..."The 1700 hours North East Express is delayed by 14 hours..."
14 HOURS. I am absolutely INCREDULOUS. How on earth can a train be delayed by 14 hours? It's so ridiculous that I can't even bring myself to be annoyed, and so my initial reaction is to start laughing. As I already mentioned, the area around the train station slightly resembes a refuge camp....but left with no choice, it looks as though I'll be hanging around here for a while.
The first 6 hours are a breeze - I create a little oasis for myself in the ladies waiting room (which REEKS of pee and is full of men) and befriend a 10 year old Tibetan girl and we become instant pals and chat for a good few hours. As it gets later and later, a thick fog descends on the station, and it becomes absolutely freezing, and quite eerily atmospheric. And soon, I grow really tired...but thankfully I have my yoga mat with me, so I roll it out on the floor, take out my blanket and manage to squeeze in a few hours sleep before I'm rudely awoken at 5am by the chai-wallah..."chai, chai, chai...!"

At 6 am, I check the status of my trainm and discover that it has been delayed again - a further 4 hours. So I spend the morning reading every English language newspaper I can find, chatting, drinking tea and wandering the station. Annoyingly, my warm trainers have somehow been emancipated from me in the night, and so my feet are resigned to flip-flops again. I can only hope that whoever has them now needs them more than I do! Finally, after another couple of delays, my train departs New Jalpaiguri, bound for Varanasi. I smell fairly horrific by this point, am wearing pretty much all of my clothes and am running on some kind of raw adrenaline (combined with chai). But I couldn't be happier, because when all is said and done, the train finally came, I will eventually take a shower and wash my clothes, and I can always catch up on sleep. No disasters, no drama - just a night sleeping on th floor at the station. And it was actually a pretty decent sleep!

And in a rather serendiptious fashion, the train journey turns out to be very enjoyable and passes quicky, adided by some very interesting and philisophical conversations with a German man, also heading to Varanasi.

Isn't is beautiful how a potentially frustrating and miserable situation can turn out to be actually quite the opposite?

GANGTOK

Where to Stay: New Central Modern Lodge, Tibet Road, Gangtok. Hot running water (VITAL!) and single rooms starting from Rs 250. Great views from the roof, decent food and friendly service too.

Eating: Plenty of eating options to suit everyone. Pizzerias, Tibetan Momo shops, typical Indian food. Momos from Rs30.

Getting there: Shared jeep from JNP Station run when full, and cost Rs250 one way. Journey time is 5-6 hours. Lots of little taxis available around Gangtok itself, as it is very hilly.

Viewpoints: Ganesh Tok is particularly nice, and only 6km out of town. And is next to the zoo - entry fee for foreigners is Rs50.