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.

Meditations and Musings...

A Few observations...

At the moment I am tucked away high up in the Himalayas, and have the absolute luxury of silence and solitude - things which don't always come easy in India.
Ok, so I've had to sacrifice warmth in order to snatch this little piece of peace, but it's been absolutely worth it. If nothing else, I've had a lot of time to think here, and to reflect on India as a whole, and how it has slowly seeped under my skin over the past couple of years. So instead of writing about a place or an experience (Sikkim Himalayas blog coming soon!), I have tried my best to put in to words some observations/reflections about India generally, and what it means to me personally.

1. NOSINESS. India is seriously one of the nosiest countries I have ever been to. It's practically epidemic here, and getting worse. Particularly as a foreigner, it is virtually impossible to do anything without incurring the nosiness of the average Indian. When I bend down to tie my shoelace, by the time I look up there are 10 people peering down at me, brows furrowed. When I stop to ask one person directions in the street, all of a sudden there are 20 people circling me, all determined to be the-person-that-gave-the-tourist-the-right-directions.
Last week, when I went to the toilet, a little voice carried over the cublicle door.
"Madam, what are you doing?"
"Eh...."
And then silence, as though he was really waiting for an explanation, or a blow by blow account of The Pee 2014.
Then finally, "Oh yes Madam, please, continue."
So finally, I finish my pee in peace, but when I open the cubicle door I am met with a curiously smiling face, arm outstrectched, waiting to shake my hand. I look at this hopeful little face, incredulous, until he eventually cottons on and moves to let me wash my hands. Then, of course, a handshake and the obligatory 20 questions.
More often than not, the inherent nosiness can be a total pain in the arse. But on ocassion, it can be a real blessing too. Any problems, and there is always someone to assist or help.

2. CURIOUSITY. This is a friendlier offshoot of nosiness. India is an unapologetically curious nation. Everywhere you go, everything you do, is met with a barrage of questions.

"From which good country are you from Madam?"
"What is your job? And how much do you earn?"
"Where is your husband?" (quickly followed by a sympathetic, "Oh, why don't you have a husband?")
"Why are you alone? Don't you have any friends?"

Alongside relentless and repetitive questioning comes the obligatory "One photo please, madam," Indians love to take photos at the best of times, and even moreso if they can capture that special moment with a white stranger that they have accosted in the street. Pretty much every tourist gets asked for photos, and I must be in countless family albums across the subcontinent. With grinning aunties, nervous children, frail grandmothers, burkha-clad women, the family goat. Parents have even thrust their newborn babies in my arms, wriggling around, looking up at me completely bewildered. I'm not quite sure what they tell their relatives and friends when they get home after a day sightseeing... "Yeah yeah, I saw the Taj Mahal, it was fine. But look - I got my picture taken with a tourist! A white tourist!"

I can't complain though - this could be a potential business opportunity should I run out of money on my travels. 10 rupees per photo. I could easily fund my way around India like this for at least a year.

One final thing to note: "One photo" is NEVER one photo. This translates as at least 10, and a lot of pushing and shoving (ususally by grown men), to be the person to stand next to the tourist.

Sometimes curiousity can be misconstrued. People here tend to stare A LOT and don't see this is as offensive. You learn quickly to deal with the stares, as most are simple curiousity. But sometimes, when alone at night on a train or walking down a street, a group of men will stare and i really don't think they realise how intimidating they are.

3. MANNERS. Ah, manners, Or rather, lack thereof. I completely understand that this is simply down to cultural difference, but sometimes I find myself completely astounded by the lack of common respect for one another. In queues at the railway station, people will push and shove one another out of the way, regardless of who has been waiting the longest. Bus journeys have left me black and blue, simply due to overcrowding, and far too many people cramming in. And everyone does it - from little kids to seemingly frail old ladies with walking sticks. It's every man for himself, so I suggest sharpening your elbows and getting on wth it!

And speaking of manners... never before have I heard such a nation of proud farters, burpers, spitters and phlegm-hawkers as India. It's part of the daily ritual here, and again, everyone does it. Waking up on the train after an overnight journey is typically to a chorus of farts, burps, grunts and phlegmy coughs. In a restaurant, it isnt that uncommon to hear someone let rip. Old men spit arrogantly in the street. So do old ladies. It's just part of life here.

4. HYGIENE. I feel that India gets a pretty bad rap for hygiene - unfairly so. It is billed as a nation where people eat with their hands, and squat down to use the toilet. And while this is true, there is perfectly justifiable logic behind it all. Wash your hands thoroughly before you eat, and then you know exactly how clean your "utensils" are, and where they have been. But go in to a restaurant and use the knife and fork they provide...well, who knows how clean they really are? Same goes for greeting someone. Shaking hands is a no no - who knows where the others persons grubby wee paws have been? Instead, say hello with hands in prayer position.
When it comes to drinking, you will NEVER see an Indian touch their lips to a bottle, glass or cup (unless it is a hot drink). They are freakishly conscious about this. Bottles of water can be shared and passed around many people, without the worry of spreading germs. I have tried to drink this way, but I usually end up with water all over my chin. And let us not forget the marvellous invention that is the squat toilet. The first time I used one, in Mumbai Airport about 2 years ago, I nearly cried. I was aghast at having to peel my jeans off my sweaty legs and squat to pee. How undignified! Now I love a squat toilet, and would go as far as to say that I prefer them over western toilets. Why? Because my bum doesn't need to touch the seat. Beacuse I dont need to touch anything. Simple! And of course by "manually" flushing the toilet using a bucket, you use a lot less water. Hygienic AND environmentally friendly.
Using a bucket of hot water to have a shower is also pretty common here, as sometimes hot water is in limited supply. I've grown to love a good old bucket shower. Fill a big bucket with hot water, and use a smaller bucket to shower the water over you. Surprisingly effective, and and efficient washing at it's best.

5. PRONUNCIATON. Specifically of my name. I find the Indian confusion over/pronunciation of Charlotte so endearing. Most people find it really difficult to get to grips with, and over the past couple of years I have been called everyhting from Silent to Salad. My absolute personal favourite has to be the man in the Sivananda Ashram who genuinely thought my name was Chocolate. I tried to set him straight but to no avail. This turned out to work in my favour, because every day for a week he would bring me little contraband sweets and chocolates and cakes, while laughing happily to himself...."oh, her name is Chocolate..."

6.THE ABILITY TO SLEEP THROUGH ANYTHING: This is a skill that Indians are blessed to be born with, and it never fails to amaze, me. India is NOISY. Seriously NOISY. Even villages don't escape the persistent racket of car horns, traffic, people, animals,... So it is nothng short of incredible how people can sleep through this constant noise. On trains in cars, laid out on the pavement. Im completely in awe of this. One loud snore on the train and I am WIDE AWAKE, meditating on this noise for hours.

7. THE HEAD WOBBLE. One my favourite things, probabaly ever. If you aren't familiar with the Indian Head Wobble, then let me elaborate. It's is the physical equivalent of the French exression "comme ci, comme ca." Quite simply, the head wobbles from side to side, as though the neck is actually a coiled spring. The Head Wobble is used all the time, and has many different meanings depending on the context. Although I love the Head Wobble, it can be a source of confusion at times, particularly when asking for directions. For example:

ME: "Excuse me, is this the way to the temple?"
OLD MAN: *wobbles head with serene smile on his face*
ME: "Eh....ok. So is the temple here then?"
OLD MAN: *wobbles head some more*

IF YOU DON'T KNOW, THEN JUST SAY! Instead, i walk 3 miles in the wrong direction, on the advice of 2 head wobbles.
Nonetheless, the head wobble is a skill, and for me, a source of great entertainmenty. Not just anyone can do it. I'm in practice.

8. HOLDING HANDS: Ok, so it's no great secret that India is a conservative country when it comes to sexuality - particularly homosexuality - so that's why it comes as a bit of a shock to people when they first arrive and see scores of young men casually wandering about holding hands. The first time I saw this, I thought I was witnessing a gay pride event. But then it was explained to me that men holdng hands is simply a sign of brotherhood. It's very common, and can be seen all over India. Couples - a man and a woman - holding hands, however, is almost unseen. Occassionally in bigger cities, but it really is a rarity.

9. SHOPPING ETIQUETTE: Again, it is no secret that India is a country in love with shopping and markets, and this is one of the reasons I love it. Bit of bargaining, drink chai with the shopkeepers, purchase something for a knockdown price. Brilliant. But n occassion, I absolutely DETEST the shopping experience. The pressure to "just look in my shop" is intense.
"Madam, just look"..."Madam, cheap as chips"..."Hey, white chicken, cheaper here than Primark"...
And once you're in, it is impossible to browse freely. There is always someone looking over your shoulder, lurking around, placing things under your nose, demanding that you try things on. And dont even think about enquiring about the price. As soon as you ask, that's it. They've got you. Let the haggling begin. And the next thing you know, you've bought 10 of the same anklet.
Supermarkets are just as bad - if not worse. I have identified the problem as acute overemployment. In every aisle, there are 3 or 4 women, just waiting to pounce. To help you pick out handcream. Or a razor. Or an apple. Or tampons. It is frustrating to say the least. Ok, so it's great that so many people have jobs, but I really don'y want or need assistance when it comes to choosing sanitary products.

10. PLASTIC. India has a tragic love affair with plastic. It's depressing to say the least. Bottles, crockery, cutlery, toys, household goods...its EVERYWHERE! Not only is it UGLY, but is causes a lot of pollution and litter. And how does India deal with litter? It burns it, of course. The smell of burning plastic isn't nearly as nice as that of incense or sandalwood. (Marginally better than the reek of a train toilet though...)

11. SUGAR. India's greatest love (other than Sachin Tendulkar) is undoubtedly sugar. It is a nation of sugar junkies and I'm sure the whole place would grind to a halt in the absence of sugar. Tea, chocolate, biscuits, sweets, cakes, lassis, ice-cream...sugar is EVERYWHERE. India has a super sweet tooth. It's little wonder that waistlines are increasing and there is a huge diabetes problem.

12. STATING THE OBVIOUS: This is something else that I find really endearing. Pretty much every Indian that I meet has this brilliant knack for stating the obvious. I will be looking at a fruit stall, and someone will appear over and say, completely earnestly, "Bananas, madam." This happens all the time. Most of the time I say thankyou, yes, oh bananas, really? But when a nosy little man takes it upon himself to follow me around the market for an hour, helpfully pointing out the chickens and the carrots and the sheep, it can grate a little...

13. WOMEN: Attitudes to women here are still pretty abhorrent. In bigger cities, women are are fairly liberated and can live freely. But for many, restricted and repressed lives are the norm. They marry, have kids and look after the home and their family. End of.
Since I arrived to India, I have been buying a newspapers most days, and the stories of rape and sexual assault are neverending and absolutely horrific. Most days, there is another tale of a brutal gangrape, a disembowelled body, a child violated and burned to death. Victims of rape made pariahs and forced out of their homes. Perpetrators given paltry jail sentences and fines that equate to a hudred quid. Tiny articles, tucked away at the back of the newspaper.
This is a hug issue across the country just now - far too big and complex for me to even attempt to navigate.

15: POVERTY/BEGGING. Everyone who comes to India cannot help but encounter the poverty here at some point, and frequently on a daily basis, beggars will approach looking for money or food. Sometimes 20 or more times a day, I will be asked for money. To give to everyone is virtually impossible, and is doing more harm than good. While it's pretty horrific seeing street kids begging for a rupee or 2, or a morsel of food, this problem is so widespread in India that its virtually impossible to know where to start. Somewhere along the line, you must detach yourself. This may sound callous or hard-hearted, and I don't mean it to, but it is necessary. If you don't think so then try travelling a few months in India and then see how you feel.
One thing I do find unacceptable though, is the authorities treatment of beggars - particularly child beggars. On a few ocassions I've seen poliecemen beat and hit kids with the long bamboo canes that they carry here. It's cruel and totally unjustified.

16: TRAINS. Good old India Rail. Where delays of 20 hours are nothing unusual. I've just been delayed 24 hours, stranded overnight at the shittiest shit hole train station in the arse end of nowhere in West Bengal. Stuck in a "ladies waiting room" (full of men), that smells repugnant.  But with no other option, I roll out my yoga mat and sleep on the floor...it's freezing cold and very grubby, but it's a bed for the night, so i am grateful for that at least!

But ridiculous delays aside, the railway network is actually pretty decent. It's super cheap (15 hour journeys that cost 3 quid), full of interesting characters, and is probably the safest way to travel around the country. If you disregard the frequent derailments and fires, that is...

17: HOSPITALITY: I'd like ths to be my parting note for now. Indian hospitality is second to none. People here are really generous and will go out of their way for you. If you are invited to eat with a family, they won't let you leave until they are satisifed that you are on the verge of vomiting. Seconds, thirds...they will fill your plate higher and higher desite pleas and protests. Suck it up and eat! Even when people have very little, they will still exercise the kindest of hospitality. A couple of days ago, a Sikkimese family of 6, living in a 2-roomed shack invited me for tea and sweets. They had barely a rupee to rub together, but made me feel so welcome that I could have cried.

So these are just a few of the things I have noticed or experienced since trravelling in India. It's a country that (frequently) defies logic, can be infuriating and is intense to the extreme. But somehwere, somehow, it casts a spell on you. You are hooked. You have this country under your skin. Even when you are bent double, vomiting furiously in to the toilet and regretting the biryani you ate on the train, you know that no where else will ever come close to the magic of this country.

Varkala to Calcutta; Beach Bum to City Rat...

So it is with mixed emotions that I say goodbye to Sivananda. I'm ready for a change of scenery, and I miss the physical process of travelling and the sense of freedom it brings. And i need a bit of respite from the karma police.
 But i will miss the intense yoga, the social aspect and of course, the delightful long-haired yoga teacher. (In my head we are married with hundreds of Jewish babies, living on a yoga farm in Rishikesh, making yogurt and walking about barefoot ...in reality when he asked me my name last week I may as well have sneezed in his face...)
Alas, onwards to Varkala!
Varkala is a beachside town about 40 minutes from Trivandrum. Obviously, it's a real treat to get some beach time in, particularly after such a busy ashram scedule, but Varkala is bursting at the seams with tourists - and the cost of living there certainly reflects this. Luckily I am ith 2 friends from the ashram, so we spread the cost of accommodation and are fortunate to pay only Rs300 each for a decent little room just a stones throw away from the North Cliff which leads to the beach. I'm not going to dwell too much on Varkala - life at the beach soon becomes groundhog day. Yoga, eat, chai, read, walk, write, shop....and so on. There are countless yoga classes on offer here, for every style and every budget. Aside from my own practice (which I am managing to9 maintain!), I try one class at Bohemian Masala with a very bendy teacher called Vasudev. It's based on Sivananda, in a lovely garden location and costs Rs300 for approx 2 hours. Shop around and get recommendations to make sure you're getting a decent teacher. Kerala is also the home of Ayurveda, and Varkala is a veritable paradise for health and wellbeing tourists. Every other shop is a treatment centre, offering everything from 1 hour massages to 2 week Panchakarma detox programmes. On the advice of an ashram friend, I decide to opt for ShiroDhara treatment; where warmed medicated oil is dripped slowly on the forehead for 45 minutes. It's an intersting experience to say the least. WIth benefits alleged to include the alleviation of insomnia and skin diseases, shirodhara is also purported to open the third eye. And although I'm pretty sure that my 3rd eye is still a bit blind, I feel relaxed happy afterwards. Though it does take about 3 days to fully wash the sticky oil out of my hair...

After 5 nights of beach-bumming, paying over the odds for daal and buying things that i don't actually need, I move on (albeit briefy) to Cochin. Cochin, in my view, is a rather dull and unexciting Indian city. It's clean, relatively wealthy and has little in the way of enticing attractions. Perhaps I am being a little unfair, but if you are going to hang around an Indian city then you may as well go all out. Give me the chaos of Mumbai, the eerie atmosphere of Varanasi or the unrelenting craziness of Kolkata any day....
And therein lies my sole purpose for being in Cochin. I am taking a flight (a bit more "flashpacker" than "backpacker", but internal flights in India are pretty cheap and save days of smelly train travel), to one of India's most chaotic and exciting cities, Kolkata. I fell totally i love with Calcutta 2 years ago, and am eagerly anticipating my return. After a brief stop in Chennai, I arrive to Calcutta around midday, with my newly acquired South Korean pal in tow.
A 2 hour bus ride later and I'm back in the pulsing, heady throng that is Sudder Street, the backpacker district of town. Hotels and guest houses here are no great shakes (think bare cubicle-style rooms with rock hard beds), and prices are pretty steep, but after a quick scout about we manage to find a decent place for only Rs300. As standard, bathrooms are shared and hot water is only available by the bucket, but for 3 quid a night, I'm not complaining!
Calcutta is a city which almost defies explanation. It's real, raw, unapologetic India. First impressions can be daunting; it looks like a colossal refugee camp. There are people upon people upon people. Streets are crammed and bursting at the seams with people, cars, trams, rickshaws, cycle-rickshaws, stray dogs, market stalls, more people...
Ancient, crumbling mansions reminiscent of Victorian, Dickensian London give way to post-apocalyptic dystopian shanty towns. It's a frantic, hyperactive, stressful city; it's India on speed, on crack, on hallucinogens.
Calcutta is a steaming, foetid cesspool. Fruit stands, chai wallahs, makeshift food stalls, market stalls selling absolutely everything and anything. If Calcutta doesn't sell it, you don't need it!
People sleeping (or passed out) in every available bit of space; dirty children playing among the rubble-strewn streets; full-feathered crows stalking the flea-ridden stray dogs that are in abundance here; serious men sitting cross-legged on heavy blankets, methodically hand-cutting gnarly stalks of tobacco ready for chewing; men shining the snazzy shoes of the fabulously moustached Calcutters; typists lining the shady streets, waiting patiently to type out anything required on heavy, old-fashioned typewriters; locals hawking up fat slevery globs of red paan, spitting in arrogantly on the pavements; young boys expertly rolling out chapati after chapati, paratha after paratha; rivers of stinking animals blood running down the streets leading from the markets; tiny baskets crammed full of featherless chickens just waiting to be grabbed by the foot, weighed and taken to the nearest restaurant to be slaughtered; dead cats flung to the side of the street,crawling with parasites; dirty ice melting over the freshly severed fish heads; tens of thousands of bangles and bracelets glinting in the hazy sunshine; Muslims stopping work on hearing the hypnotic call to prayer from the Mosques; vats of bubbling and boiling fat serving up jalebis and gulab jamun; homeless women thrusting skinny babies in the faces of tourists, begging "Please Sister, help me..."; half-dead men collapsed on the pavement, oblivious to life around them; shattered clay chai-cups littering the streets; desperate prostitutes; beedie rollers, making thousands of hand-rolled cigarettes per day; amputees dragging their smooth stumps through the streets on skateboards, or using flip-flops to preserve their calloused hands; junkies huddled with blankets in the New Market, injecting with dirty needles......

Calcutta is a city of extremes, so alongisde the extreme poverty, there also exists a very rich and affluent side. There are designer shops, rich businessmen, flash cars, well-heeled students, McDonalds... The poverty is Calcutta is so much more apparent than that of any other Indian city, simply because of the huge, gaping dichotomy that exists between rich and poor. The rich are RICH, and the poor are totally DESTITUTE.

Nonetheless, it is a brilliant city to lose yourself in. the streets are wide, and are brilliantly named. Dalhousie Square. Chowringhee Street. Dum Dum. Hooghly. Ballygunge. Tollygunge. Every corner is like an open-air museum, and transport is modern and effienct - particulary the Metro, which is only Rs5 per journey. I have seen much of the main sights in Calcutta already, so am under no pressure to do the "tourist" thing. But one place I'm really keen to visit is the Kali Temple. I've heard incredible things about this place, where pilgrims come to worship this destructive goddess. A 40 minute walk from Sudder Street, Kali Temple is a bustling mass of people. Inside the temple, it's nearly impossible to move. Hundreds of worshippers push and jostle, eager to catch a glimpse of the fiery-eyed effigy, wailing and throwing flowers. It's prime territory for pick-pockets and dodgy dealers, so be careful!

I don't hang around the Kali Temple too long - only long enough to catch a glimpse of the dead body of an old woman arriving. It's too intense here, and I need to break free from the fake priests offering all-sorts. A quick and easy ride on the Metro later and I am back in the centre of town, wandering around the labyrinthine market place.
Food here is ridiculously cheap; masala dosa for Rs20, lassis for Rs25, parottas for Rs6. This is the real price of food; this is how it should be.
I buy The Times of India for Rs3 and spend the rest of the day reading and drinking chai with the market sellers (who I am now on first-name terms with...). This city never sleeps, and so i head to bed early-ish. I'm pretty much guaranteed to be awake from 5am onwards, woken by the noise of Indians hawking up their phlegm (as they do, every morning without fail!) Though I am becoming increasingly immune to the unrelenting noise of India, and can almost sleep through anything, without the aid of sleeping pills. The ability of Indian people to do this is nothing short of amazing.

But after only a couple of days here, I am ready to move on, the solitude and peace of the mountainous northern state of Sikkim. No matter how much i wash, Calcutta seems to leave a film of dirt on my skin. And it is under my skin. I have real Indian, calloused feet now, ingrained with dirt. I need some fresh mountain air!

But I'm sure that I'll be back here soon, because I love every rotten smell that oozes from Calcutta's sewers. What a truly incredible, humbling city.

 VARKALA:  Stayed at Green Dhara Homestay on the North Cliff. A room for 3 costs Rs1200. (I had a mattress on the floor). I also stayed one night at the very luxurious Ksethra, just next door to Green Dhara. Rooms are meant to cost Rs1500, but a bit of negotioation and good chat gets me a very healthy discounted rate (I promised I wouldn't tell...but Rs 600 for best room I have ever stayed in, with the most comfortable bed too!) Eating is expensive, and service slow, but a few decent places include Sky Lounge (very good service) and the Sunrise German Bakery, both on the North Cliff.

Train from Trivandrum (near the ashram) is Rs30 and takes about 45 minutes. A rickshaw from the train station to the helipad at the start of the cliffs will cost Rs80.

COCHIN - I stayed on the Ernakulum side, near the boat jetty on Cannonshed Road. There are plenty of accommodations available there. I stayed at Maple Regency. A double room costs Rs485 upwards. Rooms have TV and attached bathrooms. Plenty of cheapish restaurants here too. A prepaid rickshaw from the train station to Cannonshed Road will set you back Rs22. The airport is quite a trek out of town, and there is an AC bus that uns direct from Fort Cochin to the airport. My flight was too early in the morning to co-ordinate with the bus, so I have to take a rickshaw. Cost Rs400.

Flight from Cochin to Calcutta cost Rs 7000.

CALCUTTA -

Where to Stay: Sudder Street, where else?! The main tourist street (although not actually that touristy) is in the thick of the action. Guest houses are a bit rough around the edges, so definitely check out the rooms first. Bed bugs are common! I stayed at Continental Hotel. Room was decent enough. Cost Rs300 per night.

Getting around: Metro! Easiest and quickets way by far, and costs Rs5 per journey. For other journeys, bus is cheap, but traffic is a nightmare, so be preapred to wait a lot! Cycle rickshaws and hand-drawn rickshaws are also available, but seem a bit cruel. (a skinny indian man pulls you around the city in a 2 wheeled carriage...)

Eating: Not the healthiest, but the parottas are DELICIOUS. Street food is INCREDIBLE here, and avaialbe on every corner, for pennies. Egg-rolls are typical here too. It's possible to eat for about 1 pound per day. Juices, smoothies and lassi's also radily available. Hogg Market is a brilliant place to pick up fruits, nuts, snacks, teas, spices...haggle hard.

See: Obviously Calcutta has some great attractions - Victoria Memorial, Indian Museum, Asiatic Society, Mother Teresa's House, Park Street Cemetery, Kali Temple...but just walking arund is great too, and a fantastic way to experience the city. Some of the best sights are off the beaten track.

Hare Krishna and Chums...Om Shanti!

As I say farewell to Hampi, I do so with mixed feelings; it's been such a beautiful experience so I'll be sad to leave. But next destination - the Sivananda Ashram in Neyyar Dam, Kerala - is one that I'm eagerly anticipating. I spent 2 weeks there in 2011, and felt so good physically, spiritually and mentally afterwards that I have decided to return over Christmas and New Year for another intensive session of yoga, meditation and obligatory chanting.
To reach the ashram from Hampi is a long process, but fairly easy. First, it's an overnight bus to Mangalore (Indian sleeper buses are pretty good; you get a little bed compartment and a curtain for privacy...shame the roads are like rubble so it's difficult to get a decent nights sleep!), then an overnight train from Mangalore to Trivandrum. From Trivandrum it's a 1.5 hour bus ride to Neyyar Dam, a tiny little village slightly inland, and where the Sivananda Ashram is sited. Both journeys are long, but go without a hitch, so I arrive to the ashram feeling ready to get stuck in to schedule as soon as possible.
During the Christmas and New Year period the ashram runs YACP - a Yoga and Ayruveda Cultural Programme. It's fundametally the same as the standard Yoga Vacation programme that runs, but with the addition of a few more Indian cultural performances and activites - everything from classical dance, to martial arts demonstrations to devotional singing.
My first day at the ashram begins well enough; afternoon yoga and a bit of chill out time. But by evening, an apple i bought at the train station in Mangalore has come back to haunt me, and I spend the next 12 hours nauseous and hunched over the toilet throwing up. Luckily it passes quickly, and by the 2nd afternoon i'm feeling good again.
The ashram becomes my Keralan home for the next 2 weeks, and very rapidly I settle in to the (fairly) intense and busy schedule. The morning wake up bell rings at 5.20 am (hideous; i despise being forcibly woken by the very oppressive and relentless bell-ringing) and then from 6am till 7.30 am it's Satsang, a compulsory session of meditation and chanting. Morning satsangs are always a struggle; it's too early, everyone is tired and the repetitve chanting of "Hare Krishna" and "Jaya Ganesha" can really grate. A few times I decide to bunk off the morning Satsangs, but this is ususally unsuccessful, as a staff member will stroll through the dorm softly singing "Om, Satang, time to get up" at 6am making sure that everyone gets up to go. No luck!

7.30 is chai-o'clock, and i usually squeeze in 3 cups of sugary goodness before morning yoga. The 2 hour morning sessions are a brilliant way to start the day - intensive and thorough, but not too knackering. By the time they finish, we eat the first of out 2 meals per day. Brunch is definitely the best meal, served thali-style and with 4 or 5 different foods on the tray (dinner, on the other hand, is a bit of a let down; ususally a watery daal or okra curry with a couple of chapatis). Afternoons are largely free time (ususally to be spen inside the ashram walls), and aside from a spot of reading and writing, i tend to catch up on some sleep during this time. Staying in the dormitory is great and all, but 40 women in one room means it can be difficult to sleep during the night. My first couple of nights are spent wide awake listening to the thunderous rumbling snores of an obese German woman; despite the karmic implications I am very tempted to put a pillow over her face at times.
By 3.30pm, it's time for afternoon yoga - my favourite part of the day. It's so relaxing, but so very thorough that I feel completely blissful when the 2 hour class is over. And of course my enjoyment is heightened by the fact that I am totally in love with my yoga teacher, a very zen, long-haired Israeli (I can barely even look at him, it's all very pathetic).
By 6pm, we eat again, as usual sat cross legged and using our right hand. After dinner is free time for mot people, but I have an hour of Karma yoga to complete, which consists of making juices and smoothies for hungry ashramites in the Health Hut. Because dinner is usually pretty dull and unsatisfying, the evening shift in the Health Hut is busy, and by the time we finish I am shattered. But of course, the day is not over; and we end our day in the same fashion as it begins....another Satsang. It's pretty much the same drill (meditation and chanting), but during the festive period the evening sessions include some Indian cultural events, which on the whole are pretty good. Highlights over the 2 weeks include an amazing, passionate devotional singer with dreadlocks to the floor, martial artists complete with swords and fireballs, and a silent walk to a very steep hill-top temple to witness an annual puja. Hypnotic, fast-paced drumming, incense, fire ceremonies and chanting make for a heady experience.

A real mixed bag of people com to stay in the ashram, and it makes for a brilliant place to meet people from all walks of life. There are yoga devotees who have come simply to improve their practice, people who are attempting to detox from western life (foods, alcohol, drugs, technology etc) and hard-core religious nutters (a few of whom are taking the whole thing a little too seriously and can be spotted a mile off...bleating on about karma, scowling at people who swear and occasionally stroking the statues of Hindu gods with a demented look in their eyes). And then there are those that have come to atone for their sins and try to reverse the damage that they've inflicted on themselves over the years; drug addicts, alocholics and masochists attmpeting to find solace in yoga and meditation. The ashram is seemingly a refuge for lost souls and misfits; a spot where everyone can find thier place, discover more about themselves and reflect upon what they want out of life, in a peaceful and accepting environment.
The inclusive environment is something I really enjoy about Sivananda. Without any stimulants, without caffeine, nicotine, alcohol, drugs, non-sattvic foods, TV, etc, every individual who attends is pretty much stripped bare, and so we all have no choice but to view each other in our purest, rawest human form. This is a really beautiful way to meet people, and to form bonds and relationships. I suspect that for most people, including myself, this is a little unusual. I'm used to forming relationships through alcohol - meeting friends for drinks and such like. And although I'm only here for a couple of weeks, it's a genuine pleasure to live a little bit of life devoid of external pressure and stimuli; to let go of the ego and surrender to this experience.
For the first week of my stay, I feel inexplicably narcotically high. My body feels strong from 4 hours of yoga per day, my mind feels clear, and I am meeting such interesting people that my mind is really engaged in the present. It's such purity and clairty that I can't really recall feeling before, and I am beaming from ear to ear. In fact, most people here are. Of course the setting helps; rural, lush gardens, jungle and fruit trees, and a vast lake on the doorsetep teeming with wildlife.

 But ashram life is far from perfect. The ridigity of the schedule is often difficut to adjust and adapt to, and there are countless oddballs and characters. So by day 10, after feeling such blissful highs, and am really not surprised when I begin to encounter a few lows. Actually, I'd be more concerned if I didn't. One afternoon, in the middle of the Downwards Dog, I get the overwhelming sense that I am going to burst in to tears, and for the rest of the day I feel flat. But upon discussion with a few others, I discover that this is not uncommon. A few friends have also felt tearful and emotional, for apparently no just reason. The best way to deal with this - with anything in an ashram - is simply to allow yourself to surrender to it. No complaining abut the early mornings. No frustration at things running late or over time. Embracing the chanting (by grabbing a tambourine and joining in), rather than resisting it. Focussing on the present, rather than worrying about past or future. Just allowing yourself to be.

Spending Christmas and New Year in such an environment is certainly unique. Hundreds of relative strangers, bound together by a common circumstance, enjoying the festive period for what it really is. A time to relax, reflect and forget about materialism and commercialism. On Christmas Eve, the usual 10.30 pm lights-out is ignored in favour of chanting, carroling, symbolic candle-lighting ceremonies and - as an extra special treat - a slice of cake. The simplicity of it all is really beautiful, and the appreciation and contentment we feel at being given a little piece of cake is really tangible. Individual energy becomes collective, and this really is motivational and inspiring, and helps everyone carry on their ashram journey through to the New Year.

New Years eve in an ashram is certainly different to the standard new years experience. The last 3 years celebrations have been spent in India and South East anyway, partying or at the very least having a drink. But this is perhaps the first time since childhood where I have enjoyed a totally sober festive period, and the first time ever where I welcome the new year around a bonfire, chanting for world peace (Om Namo Narayanaya...), and dancing to traditional Indian music. Spirits are high, and most people are dancing wildly, moving thier bodies freely and laughing, totally without the aid of a vodka. Again, we a treated, this time to a herbal coffee and a piece of chocolate cake. Simple pleasures!
And by midnight, the party is over. Normal service will resume in the morning.

For a few us though, January 1st is the day that we have decided to jump ship and head up the coast for a bit of beach time. I have really (for the most part) embraced my time in the ashram, and feel heart-happy at the lessons learned, experiences and people I have met. Ok, so I'm not about to sign away my life to the Hare Krishnas, but the ethos of this type of communal living is pretty attractiv at times. Perhpas that's why so many people return time and time again, and stay for months on end. If nothing else, at least I have picked up a little discipline, particularly with regard to continuing my own indivdual yoga prctice.
 But 2 weeks of okra curry, early mornings, relentless snorers and mosquito bites mean that I am ready to leave. I need to return to my flighty existence; to eat what I want when want. To wake up when I please. To vegetate on the beach, and swim in the sea. I feel pretty bloody healthy too, so this is the perfect opportunity to retox with a Paneer Butter Masala and a Kingfisher.
Sivananda, it's been beautiful. Maybe I'll see you again soon.

But for now, Varkala beach is calling....

Om, Shanti, Shanti, Shanti!

Sivananda Ashram, Neyyar Dam, Kerala

Getting there: Trivandrum is the nearest city, and there are international as well as national flights directly to there. i arrived on the train from Mangalore. From Trivandrum, it is 1.5 hours to the ashram by local bus, and cost about Rs 20. The bus stand is 2 minutes walk from the train station.

Cost: The prices have been hiked 15% as of the 1st of January, but to stay at the ashram in a dormitory room during the YACP (with all food, yoga, cultural events included), I paid Rs 750. Dorms do not need to be booked, you can simply turn up and beds are allocated on a first come first served basis. Privates are available, but need to be booked well in advance. Check website for the lastest details and programme dates.  www.sivananda.org

Food: Food is 2 lacto-vegetarian meals per day, served at 10am and 6pm. Expect lots of veggies, rice, beans, pulses an chapatis. Despite what you might think, you won't go hungry! The Health Hut supplements the perpetually starving, selling juices, fruits salds, milk shakes and even cheese on toast if you need a bit of comfort foods.
Neyyar Dam is a tiny village, but there are a few small kiosks and shops, so if you are desperate you can wander down the hill for a packet of biscuits or a sweets.