Earth Heart Holistic
  • www.glittermouse.co.uk
  • Earth Heart About
  • Earth Heart Blog

The Beginning...

14/4/2017

2 Comments

 
I’ve been thinking I needed to somehow bring closure, to at least this phase of the Maggamouse Blog for a few weeks now, certainly since I returned to the UK from India, probably a week or two before that even. After all, the dates would have lined up quite nicely if I could have published some kind of departing summary on the day I left. Job done. Case closed. Box ticked. Moving on. Next, please! I decided not to write about my last couple of weeks in Nagpur while still there though. In the few remaining days I had left, it seemed rather wasteful not to spend as many of those hours as possible actually being with eople, rather than in front of a laptop writing about being with them.
In theory, there’d have been nothing stopping me from writing this in the days immediately after my arrival in England of course. I could have done it a lot sooner than nearly 5 weeks later. The henna stains on my nails have grown a good half centimetre closer to the clippers since then and the tan line between my toes from my recently spurned flip-flops is barely visible anymore. I’ve distributed all the homecoming presents, I’ve served all the Indian meals I’ve learned to prepare. More than once. I’ve shared the biggest, most obvious titbits of ‘and then this happened!’ or ‘but of course it’s different in India!’, and I’ve almost stopped saying ‘ha’ instead of ‘yes’. The affirmative sideways head wiggle I realised I’d begun to subconsciously mimic, appears to have faded and yesterday, I took the plug socket adaptor out of the bottom of my bag. Later, I might even fish the old Indora to Bhilgaon bus tickets out of my wallet, though if I’m honest, it’s not due to a reluctance to litter that I keep stuffing the Nagpur INOX cinema ticket back in my coat pocket when if falls out with my hanky. An older version of normality is slowly reasserting itself, as if I was uninstalling updates to my operating system, one at a time. Writing about an increasingly distant experience was indeed becoming ever harder to find the motivation for, like a shore line becomes less photogenic as the boat sails on.
Picture
A final mehndi design with Sheetal...
Picture
A Maharashtrian Mother's Day (with drying mehndi!)
Picture
A spring homecoming...
Picture
...from a distant shore.
Picture
I have a habit, though, of not just noticing significant dates, but in being spurred to some action by them. I think it’s an extension of my poetic streak. As such, I am finally sitting down to write this on a date which will have a very different significance for my Buddhist friends in Nagpur, to my British (and more widely Western) friends, regardless of their religious persuasion. I am sitting down to write this on a date that perfectly illustrates my current phase of cultural transition. Today is April the 14th 2017. Today is Good Friday, the beginning of the Easter Weekend. That, in all honesty, doesn’t mean a lot to me because I am not currently in work, so I don’t need a holiday from it and I am not a Christian. I have; however, begun things in a traditional, English way by breakfasting on hot cross buns and choosing to dry up afterwards on a tea towel with a pattern of brightly coloured eggs printed on it. It’s not because I’m being pseudo christian (with a little c), or celebrating the death and reported resurrection of an historical figure. It’s not because I’m half-pretending to be in touch with my more pagan ancestry and tipping my hat to Eostre or the ancient fertility rights that come with the burgeoning spring. It’s not even, particularly, because I’m seeing it as an opportunity to celebrate new beginnings, the coming summer or the analogy of life, triumphant over the winter of death. I didn’t exactly experience what I’d call a winter last year anyway. No. I’m doing it because this year, more than any other, I am really, really aware of my roots. Not the dull kind, in the cruellest month of April, that Eliot stirred with spring rain in the Wasteland, but the ‘Oh wow, I never knew how bloody English I am!’ kind. I’m marking the Easter Weekend for no other reason than it’s what my family have always done, because that’s what English families do and because this year, I am really very glad to say I am a part of that. That’s certainly not due to any misapprehension that it’s better than any other way of doing things anywhere else but because it’s ‘me’ and ‘mine’ and pleasantly familiar and grounding and reassuring. This isn’t a tea towel with a gaudy design of cheery chickens and exciting Easter eggs. This is a cultural comfort blanket. However, while I am drying up with it after my very English breakfast, I am thinking a lot about Nagpur. I’m thinking about conditions, I’m thinking about the events and people that have brought me to this point. Last weekend I helped celebrate the 50th anniversary of the entire Triratna movement and so we talked a great deal about gratitude for Bhante Sangharakshita and all the things that have happened up until now for so many people to be benefitting from his teachings of the Dharma as he brought it to the West and started to share his knowledge of Buddhism in England. So today, on April the 14th 2017, it feels rather wonderfully synchronistic for me to be also quietly celebrating the birthday of Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar, the social pioneer, political activist and indefatigable philanthropist who led hundreds and thousands of his fellows from the oppression of the Hindu caste system into the liberty, equality and fraternity of the Buddhism. This he did finally, after a lifetime of selflessly struggling for emancipation, and sadly, just weeks before his death. Just as Bhante was in India, just when people suddenly needed someone to look to and to help them find the strength to continue Babasaheb’s work. Just as the conditions for this new movement were forming themselves and the Bodhicitta was stirring and swelling and moving. So that’s two reasons why the 14th of April 2017 is significant and that’s why, in between fleeting thoughts about how much I’m going to enjoy making shredded wheat Easter egg nest cakes this weekend, I am also thinking about my adopted culture and my Indian family and that’s why when I finished drying up my very English breakfast, I sat down, finally to write about how I came to know just how very English I am. Eliot didn’t just write about ‘mixing memory and desire’ after all, he also wrote about travel and how, at the end of it, we shall return to where we started and ‘know it for the first time’.
I was the ‘last one standing’ on our teaching team, after Shakyajata and Mark both headed back about 6 and then 2 weeks ahead of me, respectively. I knew, having spent the last five months trying to get my head around Indian planning, that no matter how carefully or meticulously I planned that remaining time, it was not going to end up playing out quite as I hoped in reality. Shakyajata had made it clear that what the students still really needed was help writing CVs, looking for jobs, preparing for interviews and maybe a bit of handwriting practice. In theory, that was all totally fine. Nothing I hadn’t done before, year after year in tutorial groups. In England. Where I knew a bit more about the job market and the application ‘norms’. In India? Goodness knows. I’d discussed some of my concerns in this area with the ever supportive Mark just before he left though, and he’d very wisely counselled me that perhaps the most important thing to consider, the best ‘parting gift’ I could give to the students was not necessarily academic but social. Human. ‘Just spend time with them’ he suggested. ‘Don’t worry about the teaching, don’t get stressed. Just finish on a positive note.’ There can’t have been a more useful word written in the most academic of teaching resources and though I didn’t want to feel I’d ‘given up’, I did recognise that dragging everyone kicking and screaming through a series of activities because ‘that’s what it SAYS on THE PLAN!’ Would be doing no one any favours. In fact, that would be scarily reminiscent of the criticisms I had of the UK education system that had lead me to leave it and wind up trying to decipher and teach grammatical voodoo magic in Nagpur in the first place.
Picture
How to wear a sari...
Picture
Painting the feet...
Picture
How to make jam tart cases with no oven...
Picture
An indoor picnic (it was too hot outside!)
Picture
'Who likes cucumber sandwiches?' (or was that 'Who hates Marmite?')
Picture
Pasta Party!
It was just as well his advice resonated with me. What with Hardware and Networking revision classes, the exams themselves, Tally practice and exams, MS-CIT resits, and even educationally unrelated things such as random centre closures for city elections, there was far less formal classroom time available than I had anticipated, even when taking ‘the unexpected’ in to account. It would have been very easy to worry about this and feel I was not providing what I had been asked to deliver, but, with Mark’s words in my mind and a few reassuring emails from Shakyajata, I was able to relax, let go a bit and respond flexibly to the reality, rather than agonise over the unrealised planning. We did, in the end, do enough. We did some work on CVs and we wrote, reviewed and typed some personal statements. We talked about how to find and apply for a job, we filled in some practice application forms, talked about black ink and ‘block caps’ and what N/A means. We chatted about how to prepare for and give a good interview, we briefly role played answering some daft questions. And then, around those shreds of ‘teaching’, we had fun. We enjoyed spending time together, and I finally, finally, eased off my expectations of what people might expect of me (which they probably didn’t anyway) and gently let go of the ‘professional’ conditioning that says you don’t socialise or share things with students. I then began a concerted effort to wring every last drop of these things out of the rapidly evaporating hours.

I went to market to buy groceries with the girls. I asked them to alter a sari for me and teach me how to wear it, as in actually get dressed myself. I was finally brave enough to sample their strange deep-fried biscuits and I let them paint my feet, Bihar style with pink alta. They painted my nails and drew ornate designs up my arms with henna. I didn’t get to run the ‘positive body image’ tutorial work shop I had started to plan, but I did have dinner with them and when I established that the conversation had run into areas such as ‘but you are fat and she is skinny’, I adlibbed a rather poetic series of rhetorical questions about whether a tiny, delicate jasmine flower was more beautiful or valuable than a soft, voluptuous rose, (and anyway didn’t they both smell just as fine?), before standing, hooking my rice-and-chapatti replete belly out of my salwar and pinching my gut up and down to make my belly button mouth along to my loud exclamation ‘I’m proud to be me!’ “Good example, Ma’am!” Hemlata commented, when the company had finished dissolving into fits of giggles. I realised I didn’t know, until I actually spent time with her, that her English had got so good. Of course it wasn’t all about the pleasure of receiving their hospitality. I devised, sourced and prepared an ‘English Style’ picnic, with cucumber sandwiches (crusts off!), peanut butter (on brown) and strawberry jam tarts. I don’t think I’ve ever put so much effort in to planning a ‘cultural awareness tutorial’ as I did into working out how to cook jam tarts without an oven. I introduced them to Marmite, but no one really thanked me for that. After about 15 minutes of trying to persuade Madhu that yes, I really had made all this ‘gourmet cuisine’ myself, I finally asked why she was in such disbelief. “Because she didn’t believe anyone would go to so much trouble for them” was Sheetal’s translation of her sadly moving reply. Half choked with pathos, half cresting the wave of appreciation, the next day I spent 3 hours scouring various supermarkets and ‘expat shelves’ and on our final night together, I cooked them a pasta party with spaghetti Bolognese, tomato penne, a pasta-bow salad, garlic bread (read garlic toast, I did my best), a green salad and a summer pudding. Sort of. As much as you can prepare a summer pudding without summer fruits. I probably spent about six times as much cash on that feast than I spent on an entire 5 months of photocopying and printing class resources. I lived in the same house as the girls of course, so it was easier to spend more time with them and the boys drifted off in dribs and drabs as they returned one here, two there to their home villages to sit the government exams required of them in their own states. There was time for those who remained; however, and it was thanks to the men, not the women (no stereotype enforcement here!), that I now know how to cook poha (flattened rice flakes cooked with potato, tomato and chilli) for breakfast and can just about prepare a batch of chapattis (I’ve stopped setting fire to them now). We chatted a lot about the Dharma. I bought them expensive coffee. I took them to Pizza Hut (Hey, my dad used to work for Pizza Hut, it’s practically in my genes!). We walked round town and went on the swings (who can get the highest!?) and visited the science museum to sit through a ‘planetarium show’ that turned out to be a very poor computer animation of some under the sea scenes in a rundown theatre of a battered, ancient exhibition centre that still had displays heralding the arrival of the internet.
Picture
A Pizza Hut indulgence!
Picture
The science museum hall of mirrors!
Picture
An expensive (but delicious) iced coffee!
When the students had all finally departed, I then spent time with the family I’d lived with that whole time. Sheetal and I went shopping, bumping up and down on the back of her scooter for the last few times. We visited the Deekshabhoomi to say ‘goodbye’ to Babasaheb’s stupa. We splashed around at a water park that resembled an aquatic version of those photos you see of the abandoned fun fair in Chernobyl. We went for more expensive coffee. I tried to make cookies on the hob; I made flat scones. Everyone agreed the jam tarts were better. I made a ‘Chinese’ that ended up having too much chilli in it even for Aryaketu and Ojas. I thought it was fine. I finally tried to make bread in a pressure cooker with the yeast we bought about a week after I arrived. The cows enjoyed a rather stodgy breakfast. What I learned (as well as just thoroughly enjoying my final fortnight) was that you can’t formalise real sharing. You can’t prescribe or manipulate a genuine connection. It is not possible to ‘plan and deliver’ that ‘content’, you just have to be. You simply have to be content to be you, with others; as interested and accepting of their version of the mundane as you are willing to spend time demonstrating and exemplifying yours. It’s not in the heights of academic discourse that we exhaust the limits of our commonality. We bond over the hilarity of the failed bread and we forge friendships in a dripping heap at the bottom of rickety old water slides as we share stories about summers long gone, before we learned to be scared of the foreigners. So much of that flies in the face of what I’ve been trained to do. It took me five and a half months to unlearn that when a student is crying, they must under no circumstances be hugged. It took me nearly my whole stay to remember that the best teachers are the ones who are confident enough to say ‘I don’t know the answer to that question. But I’ll show you how we can both find out.’ I still feel like a slightly suspicious and potentially untrustworthy liability when I accept a student’s friend request on Facebook. But why? We are, after all, friends. It strikes me as somewhat significant that I am gradually letting go of all this interventionist and ultimately well-meaning but fundamentally dehumanising policy against a background of heightened awareness of the need for safeguarding in the Triratna community. The movement has recently been re-engaging with a history of controversy, allegations of abuse and openly admitted failings in the backstory of a (very young) order that are now resulting in discussions around how to protect the vulnerable and challenge those who would manipulate them. Yet again I find myself realising that in this, as in all things, it is a question of balance. We must accept and address our human potential to fail, to mess up, to hurt each other, but please, never let this be at the cost of the genuine expression of honest, wholesome, friendship and affection.

So that, as they say, was that. That’s a potted summary of the final fortnight of my twenty two weeks in India. But can I give a meaningful summary of my key experiences? Can I provide an insightful reflection from the perspective of my homecoming? Honestly? I don’t know where to start. Nothing’s scared me more in recent weeks than the enthusiasm of friends who ‘can’t wait to hear all about it!’
Picture
A very irresponsible back-of-scooter-selfie. Sorry, Mum.
Picture
Shrove Tuesday pancakes! Now there's a treat that needs no oven!
Picture
And why wouldn't the teachers have a selfie with the Birthday Girl?
How can I possibly put that in to words? I mean, I’ve tried, obviously. I’ve poured as much articulation of my experiences as I’ve been able into this blog and it’s (semi)regular updates. I’ve spent literally days writing, re drafting and finally publishing 25 (whoops, 26!) of them, often several thousand words a post, some with their own chapters, all with carefully selected and sometimes edited images. But they are weak, supermarket own-brand blackcurrant cordial filled beakers of my words, placed next to the crystal goblets of Châteauneuf-du-Pape that have been my experience. They don’t come close.
I’ve been moved to frustrated tears of spiritual discovery under the Bodhi tree, I’ve narrowly escaped near disaster on remote hillside paths, I’ve learned not to bat an eyelid as I cross roads where the traffic never stops and I’ve developed the ability to wee, in a sari, over a hole in the ground, without getting wet feet or falling over (mostly). I’ve listened in horrified silence to personal stories of oppression, debasement, exclusion and torture in the name of religion, divinity and tradition. I’ve experienced spiritual death in the countryside, spiritual rebirth in the city. I’ve laughed until I nearly lost control of my bladder and wept until I thought I’d be sick. I’ve felt energised, I’ve felt exhausted, I’ve felt healthy, I’ve felt ill, been in hospitals where patients are treated next to piles of bloody rags, but where you get to watch your own samples being analysed in the laboratory. I’ve been on a shot-to-the-heart roller-coaster-ride of cultural pugilism. I’ve felt so happy I might evaporate one minute and I’ve felt cut to the quick, so hopeless I might dissolve the next. I feel like I’ve spent the last six months ignoring the dilution instructions on the high juice of life and elected to drink it straight from the bottle. I’ve had experience concentrate flowing in my veins. But what have I learned?
One key thing I’ve learned is that I don’t represent anything other than me. I am not a sex symbol (really), nor a symbol for my sex. I am not ‘one of them’ (one of who, incidentally?). I am not one of ‘you people’. I do not represent ‘women’, I am not speaking for ‘the westerners’. I am not, for that matter, speaking for Europeans, the British or the English. I’m not even speaking for other white, single, pierced, vegan, female, recently converted Buddhists who grew up in London in the 1980s, like running, reading and drawing, eat too much sugar, drink too much coffee, have a weakness for cats a romantic predilection for walking on beaches on starry nights and have perfected the art of the crispy skinned, fluffy centred, humble baked potato. I’m not sorry to say, that really all I’m doing is speaking for me. I’m not even totally sure I’m doing that particularly reliably a lot of the time. I might try and speak up for someone, but that’s not the same thing. I am not, nor will I ever be a generalisation.
I have learned (once again but in a different way) that it doesn’t matter how many miles you put between you and the apparent source of your unhappiness because the demons you’d like to blame it on are inside your head and the chances are, you’ll be bringing that along with you. Demons are most definitely not excluded from your cabin bag. In fact they really quite like a trip out and are very happy to come along to play. You’ll have to do something a bit more creative if you want to make peace with them, like listening to what they are actually trying to tell you, without sticking your fingers in your ears and going ‘la, la, la, I’m too grown up to listen to you!’

I have learned (or at least confirmed my suspicion) that I am extremely English. I maybe a particularly open minded, broadly experienced version of one but there’s no doubt at all that I am an Angle, through and through, from my tendency to burn in the sun to my persistence in trying to queue for things even when no one else does, right down to my almost genetic need for nice predictable planning that we stick to. Yes, it’s true, I like vinegar on my chips and a cold sea breeze in my face and nice warm socks on my clean, dry feet. But that’s OK. Those are things that shape my perception but they are not, at the end of the day, the things that define my capacity to be a responsive, compassionate human being. They influence but they do not limit me.
I have learned, genuinely, surprisingly, for the first time in my life, that actually, I am a feminist. I have also learned that I have an absolute responsibility now, to do something about that. I haven’t learned how I’m going to do that yet, but I have time.
I’ve learned the nature of being more privileged than I truly realised, but sort of suspected I might be. I’ve learned, embarrassingly, that simply because I was born with the genes to produce less pigment in my skin than some people, there is a vast swathe of the planet’s surface where a majority of its inhabitants will always be willing to prioritise me, usher me to the front of the queue (where there is one) and listen to me with rapt attention, regardless of how half-baked and barmy whatever it is I might have to say could be. I’ve learned I have a responsibility to respect that audience and say things that will be useful to them. I’ve learned with humility that I will never be so poor I have to choose between healthcare and a meal, between safety and dignity, between free will and a secure place to call home. I will benefit, for my entire remaining life, from never having suffered the crippling personal disability of being denied an education because of who my parents were. But then I’ve also learned that ‘privilege’ is a slippery concept, a movable benchmark that is entirely dependent on your perspective. I’ve learned that some communities are fighting through financial poverty, but some, in other parts of the world are battling emotional poverty, social deterioration and psychological need, which is perhaps not so easy to fix with charitable donations. I’ve learned, that perversely, sometimes too much privilege can be just as damaging as not enough. The opportunity to compare the achievements of young people with a sense of entitlement to education against those who’ve fought tooth and nail to get anywhere near it, has taught me that we often only value that which we’ve had to work for. I’ve learned that the apparently honourable acceptance with which some people appear content to live a simple, basic existence can be misleading when viewed from the eyes of those who feel the strain of an overly complicated life of excess and hedonism. Apparent renunciation and the discipline of a frugal lifestyle is hardly honourable if you’ve never had any wealth or excess to renounce.

There’s more, of course; I have learned that the UK society is a LOT more equal and diverse than we might think or even aspire to. I thought, when I moved from London to Manchester, that I knew homogenised communities for the first time, but that’s nothing compared to some places and a majority of British people are not entirely as prejudiced or xenophobic as we seem to think we are. We are not the only nation to fear the alien, the other, the slightly unfamiliar, nor are we the only people to foster massive generalisations about anything slightly foreign. I’m not for even a split second suggesting that’s a reason to stop working for change, and tolerance and liberation, but I think we’d sometimes benefit from recognising and celebrating just how far we’ve already come, on a global stage.

I’ve also noticed that for all our inherited inequalities, we LIKE an underdog. Yes, our society is divided into classes that struggle and have wars and exist in the relative strata of have and have not but nowhere in our culture do we ever say you can’t achieve a life beyond that if only you work hard enough. No, it’s true, it’s not fair that we don’t all start with the same resources and we don’t all get the same breaks in life but no one in post war Britain grows up terribly far from the idealism that with enough welly (and maybe a pinch of luck), you’ll get there, wherever that might be. It may be regrettably materialistic in nature but whoever you are, you’re only ever a winning lottery ticket away from a comfortable life, social status and maybe even a little respect and envy. Yes, you might struggle to break into certain professions because your family can’t easily afford the specialist education to get you there but you’ll never be told that you have to do a certain job because of your surname. You’ll never be told (by anyone society deems worth listening to, anyway) that you should accept the conditions of your birth as a reason not to aspire to better things, that your worth as a human is signed and sealed in your father’s name, on a birth certificate in permanent ink that cannot be changed.
Finally (you’ll be pleased to know), and with some surprise, since coming home, I’ve learned that sometimes the little personal or domestic ‘duties’, the changes we can make close to home are every bit as revolutionary as the stuff we do that stretches over continents and demands answers from global superpowers. Before I left for India, I had been staying with my (almost 84 year old) bachelor great uncle, indeed, I published a poem and a new series of photos of his home shortly before I went. He supported me with a couple of rent free months and a place to store all the junk I couldn’t quite bring myself to give away or chuck in a charity shop while I was gone. Two weeks before I flew back, he was taken into hospital and so what I had anticipated as a rather roomy period of time to vaguely drift about the country visiting all the friends I’ve been promising to drop in on for years as I tried to postpone a sense of obligation to ‘settle back down’, instead became a short, sharp return straight to his house, where I have been ever since. My time has been concerned with helping him keep track of his medication, and assisting him with liaising between the different agencies that are tasked with supporting his independent recovery in his own home. I’ve been helping, in return for somewhere to live, of course, with basic domestic needs and I’ve taken responsibility for trying to coax a severely diminished appetite back into existence with creative applications of mayonnaise, strategically placed digestives and deliberately timed Cup-a-Soups. The ‘get a cheap tent and walk round the UK because I can’t afford the travel’ plan was probably never a very good one anyway, though in hindsight, it probably wasn’t one of my craziest. Sure, helping round the home of someone with the frayed temper of one in constant pain for whom I normally have to repeat sentences at least 3 times, isn’t always reminiscent of a Butlins Holiday Camp, but I’m very, very happy to be doing it and I’ve been somewhat saddened by the surprised response of those who seem to view it as some kind of martyrdom or heroism on my part. Here is a human being, whom I happen to love and care for, who has helped and supported me, who now needs my help and support. I do not have any commitments or responsibilities that I cannot flex around meeting these needs. Why wouldn’t I do all I can to facilitate this? Perhaps it’s because I’m fresh from a country where this would never be a problem because families literally live three generations to a roof that it seems strange to question it, but I think it’s a sad symptom of a society increasingly fractured into selfish and insular units that value the hedonistic ‘me, me, me’ quick-fix, excite-and-move-on fast track, disposable gratification lifestyle, that so many people consider caring for your elderly relative to be something even worth remarking upon. So I am being the change I want to see in the world and I am quietly getting on with a private revolution in what might appear to be a conservative but has apparently now become an alternative lifestyle.


Picture
Well, there's a lesson learned...
Picture
A return to number 49...
Picture
Ssh! Can you hear it? No. Exactly.
Oh yes. One last thing. I’ve learned to appreciate silence. I’ve always liked but now I’ve learned to love a clean, organised street lined with daffodils and hawthorn shoots and quiet enough on an early Sunday morning that you can almost hear the blossom falling off the cherry trees onto the damp grass below. I’ve learned that nothing sounds quite as much like home as the self-satisfied chortle of a big fat wood pigeon stuffed to the beak on old bits of dry crumpet.

Picture
Some last, brave smiles before the tears as Shakyajata says farewell.
Picture
Mark's last dosa!
And so that was the end of the course. The increasingly distant completion of my time trying to teach English in India and my reflections upon it. It wasn’t a fixture in a diary, it wasn’t a note on a calendar. It came like the fading out of a ballad or a short film fogging away into the mist of a blank screen. It didn’t really happen, it just gradually drifted from future tense, to present perfect progressive, to future perfect progressive and then, simply past. See, I did learn some grammar. (Nah, I lied, I had to look that up.) I was sort of aware of this process, of course, and aware that I should be feeling emotional about it all somehow, this slow, slipping away. In India, people generally live much more up against their own emotions, or at least there’s an expectation that one should be quite clear about demonstrating these in certain contexts. My Stiff British Upper Lip didn’t quite get with all the weepy-wailing on several occasions and left me feeling as though I was somewhat cold or lacking. When I waved goodbye to Shakyajata for example, unlike all the students waving her off, I didn’t cry. When I said goodbye to Mark and left him at his farewell dinner with the rest of the young men he’d been living with, I certainly didn’t cry. Actually, I think I punched him on the arm before shouting ‘you smell anyway!’ and running out of the crowded restaurant only to emerge through a bush moments later on the other side of the window where he was sitting and treating him to my finest piggy nose on the glass. Well, I never pretended my expressions of affection were particularly ‘normal’. Sure, I felt a little uncomfortable saying goodbye to our young women’s community and since they all left on the same day, their absence left a palpable vacuum, but I didn’t cry. I wished the departing members of the men’s community good luck for the future with firm handshakes all round, but I didn’t cry. The morning I left the family home, the moment I waved goodbye at the airport, I felt a tug of detachment. But I didn’t cry.

24 hours later, I landed in Manchester on a cold, grey, Saturday dawn and stood on the ‘UK border’. How you can have a border in the middle of a suburban airport, I have no idea but still, I stood under the signs for it with my passport in hand and I didn’t cry. Later, I met my friends, I went to the Manchester Buddhist Centre, I found and hugged (broadly speaking) my ‘original’ Sangha; I didn’t cry. Still later that day, another farewell, to Manchester for London, on a Virgin train. I didn’t cry.
By the time I arrived in Leigh on Sea that night, across two tube changes and a C2C train, I was so tired, I might have burst in to tears at any point but when I got through the door and I saw my mum and my uncle; you know what I didn’t do? Right. I didn’t cry. So that was that. The imagined Facebook status update that went something along the lines of ‘…and then my face dissolved into a weeks’ worth of wet washing’ never got an airing. The Ice Queen reigned supreme.

Three weeks later, and I finally engineered the time and the train fare to head back into London for a meeting at the Triratna centre in Bethnal Green. I stepped in to London Buddhist Centre courtyard and the familiarity, the placid, unchanged calm, triggered a genuine flood of raw emotion, finally given a point of release. Here, my brain eventually threw caution to the wind and necked shot after hard core shot of relief, gratitude, compassion and love until I was quite drunk in an aura of fuzzy, warm, positive emotion. As I removed my shoes and hung up my coat, this vague yet forceful release distilled itself into an awareness of where I am coming from and what I had just done. An acknowledgement of the events I had been a part of and the commitments I have made, all set against the backdrop of the sheer unadulterated brightness and joy of what my future holds, despite the difficulties I still work with, despite the days I find hard. I really knew then that no matter how black they may seem they will ultimately come to no more than passing clouds in front of the endless azure skies and radiant sparkling sunbeams that glitter, endlessly before me, always there, above whatever gloom I might be inflicting upon myself, always, ungrudgingly and unfailingly patient in waiting for me, without judgement, to be finally grownup enough and ready to dive into them, bringing with me as many people as I can carry. And I nearly cried there and then; but I’m English. So instead, I went into the shrine room, I gathered my mat and cushions, I settled myself down and I contented myself with silently, deliciously, allowing the tears to roll down my cheeks all the way through the lunchtime drop in meditation class, to the extent where I began to believe I might spend the rest of the afternoon with wrinkled cheeks, as if I’d been face down in the bath for an hour.

I have so much potential. So much to do. So much I can achieve. These things won’t come, either, in the format of all the other things I’ve ever used to judge myself or assess my worth. These things won’t be expressed by graded certificates, resigned to battered folders. They won’t be tallied by marathon medals in a dusty box. They won’t be checked by piled sketchbooks or exhibited paintings or published writings. They can’t be described at all by collected things, finally doing no more than keeping each other company in my uncle’s loft. Nor will they be digital manifestations. They won’t be collected selfies in a social media album that seem to reflect the person I think other people think I should be trying to be. They won’t be blog posts or articles or poems online. They won’t be aggregated bullet points on an evolving CV and they certainly won’t be piled up credit tokens in a virtual bank account, not mine and not even a charity’s. The contribution I have the ability to make to the world, the changes I will go on to make cannot be counted or collected at all. They will be as transient as a phantom smile flicked onto the lips of a miserable stranger when I recognise their humanity with a broad and honest grin in the street. They will be as deep but inexpressible as the aches eased by plumping my uncle’s cushions before he’s come back into the room and as non-existent as the symptoms deflected by preparing his medication for him before he’s woken up. They will be as tiny, yet as unstoppable as a seed of self-belief sown in the mind of a generationally oppressed teenager, that will push up with the raw natural energy of a wild flower through a brittle tarmac of sedimentary hate. They will be as paper-thin as the subtle uplifting in mood of a troubled mind I hear, or connect with, or make a much needed cup of tea for (for we all know that sometimes a cup of tea is for the mind, not for the stomach). They will be as indistinct and as feral as my own failings and struggles, shared with an intention of marginally lightening the burden of another’s perceived inadequacy, despite risking my own vulnerability. These things I achieve will be tiny. They will be weak. They will be unremarkable, insignificant, almost pointless. But they will drip, drip, drip in to the world in a relentless trickle of positivity. They will create the softest of secret, silent ripples and you won’t even notice they are there. But you can feel it now, can’t you? Gently, lifting and stirring you? Because these ripples will swell in to waves. It’s in you too. And these waves, between us will form an encroaching tide, a rush, a swell, an unarguable uprising. As yielding as water. As unstoppable as a tsunami. And we will win. This love will save the world.

And then the bell rang for the end of the meditation, and I thought, ‘I’m home. Where next?’

2 Comments

At the Foot of the Diamond Throne

31/3/2017

2 Comments

 
As I finally come to write this account of my two months distant visit to Bodhgaya, I realise it would be easy for me to let it become an exhaustive day-by-day diary of every experience and discovery, especially as I kept something of a journal in the form of daily notes and sketches. I’m aware that would probably not make for especially riveting reading though and it probably wouldn’t be particularly successful in communicating what I gained from it either. I shall try and avoid irrelevance but my reflections tend to take a path of their own so I can’t promise that. It’ll be what it is; an attitude I applied to the entire trip as I studiously avoided any assumptions or preconceptions in the days running up to my departure.

I should probably explain for those who don’t already know, that Bodhgaya is taken to be the location of the Buddha’s enlightenment. The Mahabodhi Temple is said to be built on the spot where Prince Siddhartha Gautama sat on a cushion of kusa grass to meditate beneath a peepal tree with such determination that he was able to resist the efforts of Mara (Buddhist equivalent of the Devil) to distract him from achieving Buddhahood. Of course, the peaks and troughs of 2500 years of history have not always been kind to Buddhism, less so its monuments but acceptance of impermanence is a key Buddhist teaching and it seems also largely accepted that the site is genuine, even if the temple has seen several restorations and the tree is only a grandchild of the original Ficus Religiosa or 'Bodhi Tree'. So, it’s a pretty important place if you’re Buddhist, or even if you’re simply interested in history, culture or Eastern religion. It’s a World Heritage Site and the principal place of pilgrimage for Buddhists around the world. When I first knew I was definitely coming to India to volunteer, I said to my colleagues, ‘of course my main purpose here is for work, but if it is at all possible I’d like to do just two other things; go on a retreat and visit Bodhgaya.’ I was, therefore, very grateful to my host, Aryaketu, for helping me to organise both these things and I had been looking forward to the trip since it was confirmed in November.
Gaya is a good 24 hour train ride from Nagpur and Bodhgaya a few kilometres further still.  My journey was always going to be especially lengthy as I had to change trains about 22 hours into my travel, with a five hour wait before the onward service from Mughal Sarai. I was initially quite pleased about this, since the likelihood for my train from Nagpur to be delayed was high and though I was fairly confident I’d be able to work out getting off one train and on to another, I wasn’t so sure I’d be able to negotiate a ticket transferral onto a new service if I missed the one I was supposed to catch. That sort of thing is tricky enough in England, let alone a country where you don’t speak the language. I needn’t have worried. The inbound train was only delayed by about an hour, giving me temporary cause for jubilation that I only had 4 hours to wait at the station, only until I realised that the ongoing train was also delayed by what eventually turned out to be another 7. If I’d known I’d have 11 hours to kill, I might have checked my bag at the luggage desk and gone for a wander but it was one of those situations where the delay grew by about an hour, every hour until I finally had no confidence that I really was on the right train at all. I only started getting a little fractious after about 9 hours. Up until that time I was strangely content to sit back and watch life come and go. I quite like stations, airports, service stations, any place of transience. So many lives and stories playing out before you; it’s almost better than the cinema.
Picture
You can get quite a lot of drawing done on a 22 hour train journey...
Picture
And still more during an 11 hour wait for the next one...
I arrived in Gaya long after dark with the plan of being collected by Buddhavajra, a Triratna order member I’d never met before. We’d not spoken either, until that afternoon, when he called to check the delay of my train. I hadn’t even told him. It was simply that inevitable. I reflected on how much anxiety that would once have caused me, compared with how little it bothered me now. I find it’s easy in life to focus only on the developments we still aim for, the improvements we still hope to make and to completely forget how far we’ve come. I was frustrated that I still had to get from Mughal Sarai to Gaya, forgetting I had already travelled all the way from Nagpur. Equally, I sometimes get irritated when I think of all the distance I’ve yet to travel personally without recognising the significant steps I’ve already made. Still, in this case I felt able to trust to the network of support that is the Triratna Sangha that someone from somewhere would collect me and convey me to safety and this indeed happened; I was soon whizzing though the dark night toward the Triratna land where a room had been arranged for me and a bed was waiting. As I lay in it, ‘only’ about 30 hours after leaving the family home in Bhilgaon, I realised how genuinely safe I felt. I also realised that the station snacks I’d succumbed to after running out of packed food at about hour 24 had been a bad idea. I’d already known that at the time, I think, but hunger and eventual frustration at the apparently endless spiral of delay had resulted in some unskilful decision making, the karma vipaka of which I was now certainly experiencing! Such is life.

I wasn’t too ill the next day to meet Buddhavajra and his family properly (I was staying in a room he had arranged for me with another family but I would be eating meals with him and his wife, Pritti) and he introduced me to a community of young men who live on the Triratna land to receive training in various subjects. The arrangement is very similar, though slightly less formal perhaps, to that which we have at Aryaloka and it felt quite comfortingly familiar to be again interacting with students, hearing their stories of village life, their aspirations and their experiences of learning about the Dhamma. I immediately offered some English taster classes during my stay, an idea that was readily accepted, though it didn’t end up being possible to organise in the end as the community members were soon engaged deeply in helping prepare for, and then run, an order retreat taking place at the centre. Still, the connections have been made, the conversations have been conducted and I think there is a lot of opportunity for the future here. The young people in the state of Bihar are even more disadvantaged than their Maharashtrian contemporaries and it would be a fruitful place to volunteer in future years.
Picture
A gleaming goal to which we a-spire!
Picture
A glimpse of something higher through the Bodhi branches...
Picture
Abstract sketch (from memory) of a first trip to the Mahabodhi Temple
My first visit to the Mahabodhi Temple ended up being a little rushed as I visited with one of the Dhammacharinis who had arrived a day early for the retreat, but I wanted to be back in time for evening meditation and checking in with the community students, so by the time we had walked there I had almost to turn around and come straight back. This mild pressure didn’t stop me having a strong experience though. As we walked up the busy, winding road to the temple, I got the sense that only just now was I in the India of my imagination. We always have something of an idea of what a place will be like before we arrive in it, built from pictures and stories we’ve seen or heard. The French philosopher Marc Augé discusses this in his essay Non-Places, introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity (as well as a discussion of the aforementioned train stations and airports!). The ‘Non-India’ of my preconceptions had mostly been formed from long lazy afternoons as a child, scanning though back copies of my Uncle’s National Geographic subscription. This had given me a very rich visual impression, possibly augmented by shopping trips to ‘ethnic markets’ and an almost instinctive love of meals out in British curry houses! Of course, busy, dusty, urban Nagpur had resembled none of this but in Bodhgaya, the sounds, sights and smells lent a flicker of life to those flights of fancy that seemed now to be not so far from the truth after all. Stalls festooned with floating fabrics, trestle tables groaning with the weight of heaped miscellaneous trinkets, sacks spread out with an array of brightly coloured vegetables, fruit stalls with clouds of incense about them to deter the many flies, the occasional cow chewing surreptitiously on the stock. Monks in bright robes, rickshaw drivers in their jauntily personalised vehicles, auto or cycle, exhausted workers resting in the shade, grubby children playing in the street. That’s not to ignore the less savoury sights; poverty is rife and it’s impossible to avoid the fact that India does not appear to have any fixed solution to waste disposal. It is clear there is still a huge gulf between those who have and those who have not and the visual delights highlighted this; the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows. So it was perhaps because I was already experiencing a stirring sensory onslaught, or perhaps that I had not kept my hopes for the temple as neutral as I’d have liked, that upon getting my first glimpse of the ‘spire’ of the Mahabodhi Temple glinting, golden in the afternoon sun I felt really quite emotional. We had time just to go in, walk briefly round the complex and pay our respects at the shrine before I had to leave. I felt torn; I could easily have stayed, but I had a commitment to keep and I didn’t want the young people at the centre to get the impression I didn’t value their invitation so I resolved to myself that this was simply a reconnaissance mission and that I would return for a deeper engagement with the place in the morning.
I returned the next day like an eager student on the first day of term, my bag packed with a sketchbook and pencils, my meditation cushion under my arm. I was determined to spend as much time there as possible, at least as long as my stomach could hold out to a late lunch, and I planned to sit, to meditate and to draw my little fingers off in recording all the impressions I could gather, to make notes on all the dharma I could possibly consume. I walked around the complex to find a good spot to settle and allowed myself to take in all the sights and sounds; draped garlands brightly hanging on every available monument, small floral offerings and cups of water placed in careful arrangements or simply huddled round edges where space was scarce. The shuffling of feet, the deep whirring of spinning prayer wheels, muttered mantras, clicking mala beads, glistening brows of those engaged in repeated prostrations on specially provided boards. This looked quite torturous but it must be a great upper body workout. I found a rare grassy patch and sat for some time to observe the comings and goings.
The stray dogs and busy birds. The monks taking a break to eat from their tiffin boxes. The Chinese, the Indian, the Tibetan, the Western, the traditional, the new age, the tourists, the devotees. The cleaning staff, the shrine dressers, the security guards. I sat and waited for the inspiration to arise in me for a drawing. It didn’t come. I gently tested my mind to see if it was ripe for fruitful meditation. It responded with resistance. I made my way nearer to the central shrine and the Bodhi Tree and realised that what I was feeling was restless and irritable. This did not fall in line with the expectations I had told myself I should avoid but couldn’t help have. Was I tired? Was I hungry? Was I still feeling the aftermath of the station samosa? I swiftly ruled out these physical causes and recognised my unease as having a psychological root. Something was bothering me. Something was making me uneasy and annoyed, which in itself was disturbing me as I felt that of all places, out of every square foot I could have landed in on the globe, surely this was the place where I should be keying in to some sublime spiritual experience, some resonant, Dharmic peace. Not mild irritation with my fellow visitors. Where was the metta!? How undharmic could it be!? If I’ve learned nothing else in my time studying the Dharma, I’ve learned that these moments of unease, or irritability, or dissatisfaction are valuable alarm bells that indicate a place I need to explore more deeply in myself. Like an ‘X marks the spot’ on a treasure map of my mind. Far from being feelings to be embarrassed or ashamed of, far from being thoughts to deny expression, they are clues and hints of an opportunity to dig a little deeper, go a little further, and learn a little more. So I went with it. I found a little gap between the meditators under the branches of the Bodhi Tree and I sat down to really observe what was going on in my mind, as well as in the world around me, calmly and without judgement. I watched the stream of people gradually making circumambulations of the shrine building and the Bodhi Tree. Chanting mantras. Prostrating and standing, stepping forward, prostrating again and repeating one arduous circuit after another. Pushing and shoving to get close enough to the tablet marking the Vajrasana to press their foreheads on the perfume oiled, gold-leaf flecked stone, to leave a coin or a note, to prostrate again. I watched the pilgrims from the east, performing habitual rituals to appease their Buddhist families, I watched the hippies from the west seeking a quick fix enlightenment on an organic coffee break from their yoga retreats, I watched wrinkled, withered monks doing the same thing they do every year; and I felt angry with them. “What good is this doing you!?” I wanted to stand up and scream. “What is the purpose of your actions? Do you even know? How on earth is this moving you closer to enlightenment? How can you be so blind, so ignorant, so repetitive, so dull?!” I felt helpless then, for them and for myself, questioning too my own reasons for being there. What was I expecting? How could I ever achieve this hugely difficult goal? Not if I meditated for every heartbeat I have remaining, or chanted with each and every breath still to come, not if I prostrated until my muscles have atrophied or offered every flower that ever grew; none of this would be enough. I felt that then so sharply and it disgusted me. Suddenly, a layer of distortion seemed to fall away from my perception and I watched the dogs scrapping in the dust, the birds bickering in the branches, the people pushing past each other to feel themselves, or be witnessed by others as just a shred closer to the transcendental and I saw this hopeless struggling in each of them to escape their suffering. The empty or over filled stomachs, the diseased or injured bodies, the anguished minds. The self-abused, the socially oppressed, the poor and in need, the rich yet dissatisfied, the internal pain, the external friction, the hurt, the sorrow, the suffering, the despairing machinations of each and every being, those present in front of me and those on the furthest reaches of the planets crust, all just desperate, so desperate to break free from the rounds of conditioned existence; and my heart simply broke. All that anger and irritation completely dissolved under a flood of compassion that found physical form in my suddenly wet cheeks. So I sat and gazed up into the branches feeling at one again with all of them and never more determined to find my way to enlightenment that I might guide them to the exit myself. ‘Hold tight’ I found myself willing every other being on the planet, for not the first time. ‘I’m not sure how or when but I’ll do it. I’ll find the way and I’ll bust us out.’ Once the flow had ebbed, I found finally beneath it the motivation to draw and at last fetched my sketchbook from my bag. I didn’t move, but settled into drawing the thing I had been staring at for maybe ten, maybe twenty, maybe thirty minutes; my sketchbook note suggests I spent nearly an hour drawing the spreading, ancient branches of the great Bodhi Tree.
Picture
Prayer wheels
Picture
Circumambulation
Picture
Prostration
Picture
Floral Offerings
Picture
Heart Shaped Bodhi Leaves
Picture
A drawing of the Bodhi tree, with marigold petals that fell as I drew.
The order retreat was due to start that evening on the Triratna land. I knew, as I had been told by more than one order member, including co-leader Maitriveer Nagarjuna, whom I had got to know through NNBY, that I was welcome to attend the evening pujas to be held every night at the Mahabodhi Temple, but that as I was not yet ordained, I would not be able to join the meditations or talks. To be quite honest, it had not even occurred to me that I might participate in any of the retreat at all and as far as I was concerned it was a coincidental event that had nothing to do with my visit. However; that invitation had planted a seed of curiosity. I had no specific plans for my days and the land was a nice enough place to spend time; there was something about it that reminded me of an English garden during a particularly warm autumn. I realised that if I happened to be sitting there, enjoying the peace and quiet, absorbing the hedges and flowerbeds, the gentle calm and the clear, fresh air, if I happened to hear some of what was being said through the walls of the marquee it was being said in… well… that wasn’t exactly intruding… was it? The fact that on the second day an enormous speaker appeared outside the marquee suggested that if I wasn’t being exactly encouraged (I think it was to reduce feedback from all the equipment inside the tent, not to satisfy a greedy mitra), then I at least wasn’t eavesdropping on any guarded Dharmic secrets.  Of course, this would never have been much use to me had Maitreveer not been co-leading with none other than Subhuti himself, whom, as I have mentioned in earlier writing, delivers his talks in English, with interpretation. My luck was clearly in and so, the rest of my time in Bodhgaya was basically formed around these activities; either sitting at the temple, reflecting, drawing, observing, meditating, or pitched up outside the tent for some insight into what sort of talks and meditations are shared on an order retreat. There are, of course, plenty of other temples, centres and places to visit in Bodhgaya but I didn’t feel like paying them any attention beyond their utilisation as handy navigational landmarks. All I really felt like doing was being at the Mahabodhi Temple, or listening to the Dharma in a language that was familiar to me, both in terms of linguistics and the Triratna style of teaching. In the evenings, I joined the puja with the retreatants. Some of the ritual I could enthusiastically join in with, and it was lovely to discover that I had become familiar enough with a little of the Hindi to join in the positive precepts but I had to shut up half way through; order members commit to ten ethical precepts, not the five that mitras begin on and I didn’t know all of them, in fact, the fifth seemed somehow different too, so I ended up just joining in with the first four and the little bits I was familiar with elsewhere. Though it was a comforting familiarity to feel I was practically participating, really, it was the inclusion itself that mattered. No, I may not yet have had the training and experience to fully participate in the other activities on the retreat, but still my presence, my commitment and my intention, was recognised and valued enough to be included in what for most people is the pinnacle of each day’s practice.
Picture
Twilight drawing until the light failed...
Picture
So the next day, I took my camera...
I have had the recurring experience since studying Buddhism that the course, or book, or teaching I am engaged with seems to do no more than guide me along a path that I pick out for myself. I am on a well-worn trajectory that is far from accidental, yet I am supported to follow a deeply honest personal instinct, as a migrating goose in a flock independently follows a natural truth alongside others, not compelled to shape my journey to a system of given co-ordinate facts by an external, academic discipline. Wild geese do not need to ‘recalculate’ their GPS directions due to unreported road closures. I am sure that if I’ve articulated it well enough, that description will seem familiar to many. I first made this distinct observation when completing courses in Manchester and again in London, when simultaneously studying and reading The Journey and the Guide by Maitreyabandhu. Time and again, the close of a chapter or class would cause me to independently consider certain concepts, or identify particular personal issues that might at first glance appear tangential. Lo and behold; however, the very next chapter, or the topic of the next class would describe just that, sometimes subtly, sometimes quite directly, as if the author or teachers had somehow checked in on my most private thoughts and factored that in to their lesson planning. I tried to avoid interpreting this from the point of view of my conditioning around academic success but I found it to be a very affirming experience.
Of course, you can’t really manufacture it. It just has to happen. It is certainly confidence building though and I was relieved to experience it again in Bodhgaya, despite the piecemeal and somewhat voyeuristic nature of my ‘study’. There were, for example, times when I was making notes during the main talks that I found myself so tuned in to the topic that I was practically writing down what Subhuti was saying as it came out of the speakers. Once or twice, I summarised things to myself in a hastily jotted phrase, only for him to use the same analogy in the next sentence.
That felt a bit like when you think you are finding your way OK based on a rather confusing map, but look up to confirm that a landmark you were hoping to see is, indeed, firmly rooted in the ground before you. ‘Yes! I get it! I’m on the right track!’ In Bodhgaya, I found a couple of particularly notable moments of this affirmative experience, the first of which served to provide me with some clarity the day after my confused feelings of anger-cum-heartbreak-cum-determination under the Bodhi Tree. The theme of the order retreat was compassion and one of the first talks Subhuti gave reflected on the cultivation of Bodhicitta. I’m currently reading into this topic further as preparation for an upcoming retreat and it’s a complex area that I don’t pretend to fully grasp, but it does inextricably link a desire to achieve Enlightenment with the purpose of benefitting all other beings, essentially due to the dissolution of the self-illusion. Once you realise, really feel that ‘you’ and ‘them’ are simply different expressions of the same being, all your actions become wise and compassionate by default because what benefits ‘you’, benefits ‘them’, what benefits ‘them’, benefits ‘you’ and there is a deep understanding of these apparently separate entities as in fact, a single coherent body. I am still definitely interacting with the world through the illusion of self, however, the fact is that I felt an incredibly intense urge to get beyond that, not so I could pat myself on the back and put my feet up with a cup of spiritual tea, listen to Nirvana (bad 90’s music joke, sorry) and enjoy a future of blissful release; but so that I knew how to get everyone else out of their suffering too. I find I am recoiling from writing these words for fear of appearing to seek approval, praise, or status. I don’t know exactly what I felt, or what it ‘means’, if it can be said to mean anything. I am not claiming to be channelling Bodichitta, nor assuming I’ve ever done so, but I couldn’t help feeling, when I heard Subhuti describe this, that I was very, very familiar with his words. ‘Yes,’ I kept thinking, ‘I know how that goes’ and my mind kept returning to my experience under the Bodhi Tree. ‘I wouldn’t have described it so eloquently myself or known to explain it in those terms,’ I thought, ‘but that’s what I felt, that’s what it was.’

Picture
Picture
Rubbings of words selected from a plaque at the Mahabodi Temple
Picture
Trees at Sunset on the Triratna Land
The next evening, sitting again outside the tent in the late, amber sun (actually I think I had a better deal than those inside, quite frankly) I learned, for the first time, the Development of Bodhicitta practice of meditation. It was not one I had come across before in either my experiences in Triratna drop in classes, or on open retreats and I suspect that it’s not normally introduced until a little further down the line of study. I also suspect that a standard way of learning it would be to build up to it slowly, one stage at a time. I’m nothing if not committed though, and previous incarnations of self, have me led to develop a kind of sturdy resilience that I try and avoid feeling proud of. In other words, I have a personality that enjoys the challenge of the deep end and I am no stranger to feelings of both emotional and physical pain and discomfort. Let me at it. In the Development of Bodhicitta meditation, one begins from a strong foundation of metta, or loving kindness for oneself. From this base, you imagine that you are ‘going for refuge’, or seeking Enlightenment from the teachings and practices of Buddhism, with all other sentient beings for their benefit. From here, you build up a sense of your own unshakable commitment to this, imagined as a clear, bright, white light at your heart, alongside a sense of the suffering and unskilful actions of the other beings, seen as a dark black smoke in theirs. Now, you visualise yourself breathing in their black smoke, physically inhaling their suffering, relieving them of it in order to neutralise it in the intensity of the light of your purpose. For myself, I imagined this very visually, like when you drop ink into bleach and that staining simply fades away on contact. I found myself able to focus during this meditation and felt no ill effects. I quite enjoyed it as a new experience and I appreciated the mental aesthetics it encouraged. The next morning; however (I have long thought a good meditation is a bit like a hot chilli; you only appreciate it through the after burn), I wrote this:
‘Feeling sick today. Sick and no motivation. Yesterday, began feeling like I’ll never be able to do this. It’s too hard. I am inadequate. Oh, hi Mara. Too much work. Thinking about the analogy of the black smoke, yes, I feel polluted. Poisoned. Exhausted too. I feel like I could scream in frustration. Honestly, I feel that emotional, I feel like I’m railing against the reality of the way things are, like a slumbering teen, shouting and swearing at the caring parent who is trying to wake them up. Where is this anger from? It’s too easy. It’s just too f**cking easy to accept a bit of suffering in exchange for the pleasurable moments, to accept the occasional dissatisfaction for the comfort of impotent complacency. This Dharma sh*t is f**cking hard work. It’s painful and it’s tough and it’s messy, but once you’ve seen that it’s the only way forward, for the whole damned universe, how can you ignore it? The illusion that is me feels very emotional today.’
Picture
Then, I wrote a poem about self-clinging and ignorance.
In composing this post I’ve avoided, until now, spilling out great reams from my sketchbook notes and I am making genuine efforts to edit and summarise my most important experiences but these musings from the morning of February 8th still seem so rich and direct and honest that I’ve made an exception in this case. They are also by way of being an introduction to my next experience of being ‘one step ahead of the text book’. It’s perhaps not so strange that I had thought in terms of the ‘folklore’ of the Buddha’s Enlightenment, being so close to the source and surrounded by various retellings of how Mara flung arrows at the meditating Siddhartha in an attempt to distract him from his task. I did genuinely have a sense that my feelings of rage, inadequacy, irritation and discomfort were no more than some kind of counterintuitive force (a bit of my own head no doubt, anthropomorphised as Mara), dragging me away from the effort of commitment to serving the Dharma, and, being a poetic type who revels in analogy, I’d already couched them in terms of being akin to Mara’s arrows. It felt very ‘right’ then, that Subhuti’s talk that afternoon took the next part of this same story to explain how to deal with them. The story continues that the determined aura of the meditating Buddha-to-be is strong enough for the arrows to be transformed into flowers as soon as they meet it, raining blossoms instead of threat. This, Subhuti explained, is something we can do in our own lives.
Picture
When we notice moments of irritation, pain, unhappiness, anything serving as a distraction from our practice, we can take the time to acknowledge it, be aware of it and respond mindfully, transforming it instead into a flower of compassion, be that compassion towards ourselves or others. We can recognise the hate, or anger, or fear in the world and we can see past the apparent threat to the underlying suffering that causes it and respond to that suffering lovingly, rather than react to the unpleasant experience in a way that fuels or exacerbates it. Yet another experience where it seemed my thoughts had been responded to, very directly, very personally. If I believed in an interventionist god, I’d certainly have believed my prayers answered. The next morning, still feeling unsettled and fractious, I began a little creative project that I maintained for the rest of my stay, in which I acknowledged such moments as ‘arrows’ and drew them as seeds, from which I visually described the ‘flower of compassion’ bursting. I hoped that the time I took to put pencil to paper and think about what form the flower from that particular seed would take, could be the time in which the reactive feeling would subside and allow me to respond more skilfully. Sometimes it certainly did, sometimes it took a little more work, but I quite enjoyed the activity and though I’ve not yet carried it further, it seems like it might itself be the seed of a wider, deeper project.
Picture
Picture
Picture
The Development of Bodhicitta meditation was alternated (aside from the basis of the very familiar Metta Bhavana and Mindfulness of Breathing meditations, which were also included), with one other that was slightly more familiar to me. I had read about the Six Element practice, in which one works systematically through each ‘element’ of what appears to be the fixed self to contemplate its transience. For example, beginning with Earth, we develop an awareness of all that is earthy, or solid about us; our bones, flesh, organs, the food we have consumed, and we remind ourselves that our bodies are made from cells that were not with us when we were born and will continue to be refreshed and replaced until we die, when our final materialisation will return again to earth. The atoms that make our cells do not belong to us, they are part of a system of process including all organic matter. We think then of the Water element, our bodily fluids, all passing through us in a daily cycle of drinking and urinating, exhaling, sweating. The Air, our breath, passing in and out of us as the oxygen is absorbed, the carbon dioxide released. Our body heat and energy, the Fire element, generated by our metabolism or borrowed from the sun. In addition to these more traditional elements, we progress then to the Space we occupy temporarily, moving through it, never fixed, and finally consciousness, where we consider the impossibility of fixing the origin of this to anywhere permanent. I am conscious of a pain in my shoulder, but my consciousness does not originate there. I am aware of sense impressions from the outside world, yet my consciousness does not reside in the throat of the bird whose song I can hear, or the released chlorophyll of the grass clippings I can smell, or the current of the breeze I can feel on my face.
The purpose of this meditation is to try and realise the illusive falsehood of a fixed self on a deeper level than the surface fact. we know we are changing, developing, learning, aging and progressing, until we one day die but we can’t help behaving like this only applies to other people. The Six Element meditation aims to bring us in to a closer, deeper realisation of our own impermanence. I first read about it some months back but I did not feel able to attempt it without guidance, I did not understand it or its purpose well enough to know where I was going with it. I was actually quite excited when I heard it would be included in the retreat and despite managing to fall asleep in my first attempt, I enjoyed it thereafter. I found something very reassuring, very comforting, about feeling I was really only responsible for guiding a collection of ‘stuff’ through a temporary experience that would one day cease to be my problem. That might not be a particularly healthy way to view impermanence and I don’t want to sway too far towards the nihilist or use it as an excuse to deny responsibility for my actions but hey, as aforementioned, this Dharma sh*t is f**king hard work, so I’m gonna take my breaks where I can get ‘em. Pleasant as that was, actually, the most useful thing I derived from the experience was an actual felt sense of my consciousness being no longer limited in my perception to this coagulation of flesh I call ‘me’. I found, particularly through the sense of sound, which was interesting as a primarily visual person, that if I angled my thoughts in the right direction, I could really feel that ‘I’ extended beyond my body in an imagined sphere that stretched at least as far as the origin of sounds I was aware of. I’m aware as I cobble those words together that I don’t yet have a way to properly articulate it. I’m not sure if that’s a sense others would corroborate, I’ve not had the chance to discuss it with anyone yet, but the pleasant thing is, I have been able to easily revisit it in subsequent meditations. I think as far as ‘expanding one’s mind’ goes, I’ve done no more than swell my ball-bearing scale consciousness to the size of a small marble, but it’s been an interesting development to my methods of experiencing myself as a part of the wider universe.
Picture
Rubbings of words selected from a plaque at the Mahabodi Temple
Picture
Bodhi Leaves...
Picture
From the Bodhi Tree...
Interestingly, my reflection that ‘I’ve not had a chance to discuss it with anyone yet’, is perhaps the most important thing to mention in addition to the intellectual learning, about my time ‘on the edges’ of the retreat. No doubt there’s nourishment to be found in gathering the scraps dropped from a table but one can’t be guaranteed the same balanced meal as the guests, nor can one benefit from the dinner party chatter. If I struggled with the week, or the content I absorbed by osmosis, it was at least in part due to that semi-solitary nature and the lack of opportunity to ‘unpack’ my experiences as part of a peer group, something I shall now value even more on my next retreat. I benefitted greatly and I feel deep gratitude that I was able to do so, but I have had cause to really understand the difference between being on a retreat and studying by one’s self. In terms of the Three Jewels, what was missing of course, was Sangha. Actually, as I write that, I realise it was far from missing really, and the fact that my conspicuous scurrying about on the edges was tolerated in the first place is some evidence of that, but it’s a subtle manifestation and not of the same intensity as actually having the spiritual fellowship of shared practice. Nor have I taken lightly that which I received. Even if I have described it as crumbs from a table, still I know there are others starving. I’m all too aware that many of the order members who had paid to attend what I got a lot of for free, will have been scarce able to afford it and will perhaps be able to attend such gatherings only sporadically for that reason. If anyone reading this is thinking that my Dharmic eavesdropping sounds a bit too much like ‘taking the not given’, please rest assured that since I returned to the UK, I have set up a standing order to make monthly donations to the Indian Dhamma Trust, who work to support people otherwise unable to access the teachings or train for ordination in to the Triratna movement.
Picture
Just one garlanded figure of many...
Anyway, just as my body is merely borrowing its elements from the universe, my mind is only borrowing the knowledge I gained. I will, as an aspiring servant of the Dharma, be gladly utilising all my learning for the benefit of others at every possible opportunity. Though I had succeeded somewhat in avoiding a fixed expectation of the trip, I suppose it was only natural that I had some hopes or dreams of encountering a deeply moving, transformational spiritual experience that left me on some kind of elevated plane of consciousness. Perhaps I did find this on a more subtle level, I certainly learned a lot from the talks and I benefitted from the time and spaciousness, from my reflections at the temple and in meditation during the week. I also reengaged with a dormant creative practice in my sketchbook and in a series of photographs taken in the temple complex. I think the true value of the experience will be found in the subtleties though, not in the features. It’s in how I take that learning, those moments of realisation in the conditions conducive to their arrival, and apply it to my daily routine in more mundane surroundings that will decide how fruitful my time at Bodhgaya was. Like a random battery discovered at the back of the kitchen drawer, perhaps the spiritual energy I gained from the trip will not be obvious until I have cause to discharge its energy to an appropriate application.
So no, as I wandered the land of the Buddha's Enlightenment, I didn’t find my ultimate release from suffering the rounds of conditioned existence. I did not achieve Nirvana under the Bodhi Tree. But as our teacher, Sangharakshita has identified:
‘Our everyday life may be pleasurable or painful; wildly ecstatic or unbearably agonising; or just plain dull and boring much of the time. But it is here, in the midst of all these experiences, good, bad and indifferent – and nowhere else – that Enlightenment is to be attained.’

The photographs used in this post are from a new series titled At the Foot of the Diamond Throne
2 Comments

Neha; The Story So Far...

8/3/2017

3 Comments

 
When I arrived in India, I quickly realised that I was going to meet many people whose stories deserved telling. This was perhaps not because they were particularly unusual, but because they would demonstrate a kind of tenacious determination that I feel is becoming eroded in the west, where many people have learned to take so much more for granted and where relative comforts have, in many cases, made it easier to accept the status quo. I’m not sure this has always been the case though, and I think we’d do well to be reminded of our potential for self-improvement and social development. I didn’t get to write as many of these stories as I’d hoped; I have learned it takes a good deal of time to research the facts, let alone write such a biography well enough to do it justice, especially when your subject has a busy schedule. That’s before you’ve accepted the fact that everything just seems to take longer in India, too! However, there was one story that I was determined not to leave without writing. This is Neha, who is also the first person whose story I realised really needed to be shared. Neha is also one of the first people connected with Aryaloka that I met when she visited the UK in June of 2016 as part of a trip to Europe, having been commissioned to film a documentary about how people from the Romany Gypsy community in Hungary have found inspiration and strength in the work of Dr Ambedkar. This in itself is indicative of the kind of woman she is; you have to be a pretty remarkable person to get such an opportunity when you’ve started life in the conditions she experienced.
Neha is the youngest of three sisters but also has a younger brother. This is significant and the family stops here for a reason. As with many traditional Indian families, her father, if not her mother, was waiting for a boy. What might in other circumstances have been a joyous occasion therefore lacked celebration, in fact ‘Papa’ was so disappointed to have yet another daughter that he became angry with her ‘Mama’ and refused to even see Neha for a month after her birth, professing hate for the new arrival. It’s of no surprise that Neha goes on to reflect on her childhood as ‘not very happy’.
Despite the controversy of her gender, she says she did feel loved at home, though I personally think this is little more
Picture
A recent coffee date!
than a testament to the strength of her mother, a generous and kind lady who I have met on several occasions. Her family could not afford treats or gifts and this in itself caused, and was caused by, a good deal of sorrow. ‘A normal child is playing and joyous’ Neha tells me, describing an idea she has of what a young life should be, not wanting for things such as chocolate and toys, ‘our family was not like that’. The sorry reason for the lack of funds will be well known to many. Until the age of 11, Neha’s Papa was heavy drinker. He was regularly home late and drunk, beating her Mama. He was earning, as he still is, as a rickshaw driver, but much of what he earned was spent on alcohol.
Picture
By the reservoir at Bordheran
At the end of 6th standard, Neha was ill at the time of her exams and she failed. Papa was very angry and decided she would spend the summer going to work with him as a punishment for poor studies. The cycle rickshaw he used was heavy and he was weakened by drinking. Neha’s job was, therefore, to walk behind the cart and push. This was not a passenger vehicle, as he now operates, but a goods service and unfortunately, his main occupation was delivering alcohol to bars, perhaps not how he developed an alcohol addiction in the first place, but certainly not helping him recover from it. Mama found work as a cleaner, going door to
door and working in people’s homes. They all put in long hours in order to keep the family of six fed and clothed, despite their challenges. As I listen to Neha describe her upbringing, I can’t help but ask how she thinks the allotted social status of being from a Scheduled Caste (ex untouchable) family has impacted upon their lives. It’s a question I feel slightly awkward asking, and one I feel I have phrased in the clumsy terms of one who really doesn’t understand the hierarchical system they are questioning. It is perhaps too broad a question to be useful, too unsubtle to get to the heart of the matter. At least she does not seem offended by it, responding simply by saying that most of Indian society would dismiss the difficulties her family faced as the inevitable life of low caste status. A ‘put up and shut up’ attitude that does not empower people to develop either personally or socially. This is your lot. Accept it.

Though these circumstances put her at a disadvantage in many ways, Neha certainly learned to be a hard worker, particularly in school and she successfully passed 10th standard, moving on to 11th and 12th with no difficulty. At least she had no social distractions to keep her from her college studies; she was very shy and withdrawn, she recalls. She graduated from 12th class with good marks, but with no friends and few reasons to be happy. As something of a vote of confidence, she was advised by her teachers to train as a chartered accountant, which is considered to be a very good, and certainly well paid job. There is an entrance exam to continue studies in this field though, and while she could certainly have passed, she was not able to afford the course fees so she gave up on this idea and enrolled onto a Bachelor of Commerce degree instead.
One day, a neighbour who knew she enjoyed drawing and painting, called on Neha for company while she enquired about a six month animation course. The course cost 15,000 rupees and her neighbour decided she wasn’t interested; but Neha certainly was! She applied and paid the 1000 rupee deposit with all the money she had and no idea where or when she'd get the rest. Knowing she may be forced to leave after the first month, she studied hungrily and learned fast, often being asked for help by her peers! This also encouraged her to become more social and after confiding in a friend on the course about her uncertain place on the course, she was helped to get a job working as a Photoshop operator in a photo studio. The director of the studio drove a hard bargain, asking why she deserved payment if she was inexperienced and unqualified. She explained her situation, that she only wanted the remaining 14,000 to continue the animation course, offering to work every day if needed. Her enthusiasm, if not yet her skills must have been impressive and so she secured the job and the security of finishing her course. During this time, she rose early every morning to help with household work, leaving at six every morning to attend the animation course before working in the photo studio. Her day also included continued study on the Bachelor of Commerce course as well as office work, and yet more study when she returned home not normally until after 9pm, finally ending her day around midnight. After a month at the studio, the manager was sufficiently impressed that he helped her get a scholarship on the animation course and began paying her an actual wage, which she put straight into supporting her family.
This was not just a time of development and personal transformation for Neha. After attending a one day retreat led by Subhuti at Nagaloka, at which he is reported to have had a bottle of wine conveniently stashed in a nearby bush, her papa stopped drinking. One of Neha’s domestic duties had been to prepare tobacco for her father, rolling it into betel leaves to make paan for chewing; but when he came home from the retreat that day, he did not want paan. After two days, he had stopped drinking and now, she tells me proudly, he doesn't even drink chai, taking only milk in the morning and water throughout the day. Neha and her family had thought they enjoyed the freedom of Papa being away for a day on the retreat but could never have guessed how their lives might change as a result of it; no more shouting, no more anger, no more violence.

In 2007, as he continued to attend classes and events at Nagaloka, Papa met Aryaketu (director of Aryaloka) and heard him discussing various creative projects, including those involving animation; he didn’t waste much time in detailing his daughter’s experience and asking about opportunities for her. Aryaketu was looking for help making a comic about Buddhist teachings and so he offered her a chance to demonstrate her skills, agreeing that if her work was of a good standard she would be paid for it. Now she was involved in the Triratna community, Neha’s drive and potential was beginning to get noticed. By the time Shakyajata was organising and recruiting for the first batch of Young Indian Futures students, three different people, all order members, had separately recommended her, keen to support her progress if possible. As such, Neha became resident in the first community of young women, living and studying at the old building in Indora.
PictureNeha at the family home with Mama and Papa
She finished the course at Aryaloka, very happily in 2009, with as much success as one might expect, knowing a little of her determination. She learned English and new creative software such as Maya, also improving her skills in other programmes such as Photoshop. Here, she felt confident for the first time too and made friends with the other eight women in the community, a bigger social group than she had ever previously known. She felt free for the first time too, and even found the confidence to speak with boys, challenging her own preconceptions that they must necessarily be up to no good, realising through this interaction that they were just as human as she, and also capable of good things! Critically, she also learned about the Dhamma and deepened her practice of metta (loving kindness). As the outstanding student of the first cohort, she was invited back the next year for a paid opportunity, teaching animation to the second year of students.

Of course things weren’t always perfect and she recalls the challenge of being away from her family for the first time, at least, she considers, she was not located too far away, which made it easier to adjust and she felt mentally prepared. Making good friends in the community helped too, and though there were quarrels at times, she felt able to stay out of them and not get involved. English was also a challenge for her, though she recalls memories of learning with Shakyajata and fellow UK teacher, Priyadaka, with great affection. She remembers creating a rangoli welcome for Shakyajata and when she finally arrived, such had been the depth of their correspondence by email that she did not feel it was the first time they had met. She vividly describes their first meeting, an emotional occasion where the tears flowed. She laughs at the memory; ‘that time, I am mad! I don’t know why!’ One thing she’s quite clear on though, is the crucial role that the opportunity at Aryaloka played in her development and current life. ‘If I didn’t study there, I wouldn’t be here now’ she states firmly. She didn’t leap straight into employment beyond Aryaloka; however and still faced difficulties turning her knowledge and skills into an income. She travelled as far as Pune, Deli and Mumbai for interviews, with mixed results. For some vacancies, she was still considered too inexperienced, for some, she achieved successful offers, yet her family would not allow her to live alone and so far away. Such is the disadvantage of girls in India, even those with clear talents and ambitions.
Picture
Celebrating her last birthday!
By this time, Papa had not just allowed his discovery of Buddhism to improve his own life, he’d shared it with his whole family, who were now all practicing. Neha didn’t take long to fully embrace the opportunity to become more involved in the Dhamma either and became a Mitra of the Triratna order in 2010. She requested ordination in 2016. In 2011, her hard work finally paid off. She heard from her brother in law of a vacancy for a graphic designer at Lord Buddha TV, an alternative news channel based in Nagpur that broadcasts across the whole of India. After taking her show reel to interview, she was offered the job, a role she still more than fills, frequently spilling over into a myriad of peripheral duties with her multiple talents. It’s hard to imagine someone more dedicated to their employment, especially when the small organisation does not always have a smooth cash flow to enable timely payment of salaries. This is more than a job to Neha though; it’s not just an opportunity to engage in her creative passions either. Far more importantly than that, it is a way of helping to spread the word of the Dhamma and help others find ways to ease their own suffering. After all, such teachings affected a great deal of positive change in her own life and to share this potential is a key motivator for her.
Her success in employment is also something she attributes to her time at Aryaloka. ‘I met Triratna, I learned about Buddha and Dr Ambedkar’, she says, learning that she feels she wouldn’t have got at any other institution. She does not believe she would be working at LBTV either, does not feel she would have found this opportunity to combine her Dhamma practice and her practical skills. In fact, she believes even the longevity of her job (she has seen many other members of staff come and go) is thanks to the depth of her practice and passion, which she would not have got from any other college. ‘I wouldn't have been able to afford it anyway’ she reflects.
Her time at Aryaloka has positively affected those around her too. After she began teaching and earning an income, she was able to support them to live much more comfortably. Her commitment to practice has also helped, feeding into and strengthening that of the whole family.
Thinking back to our conversation as a write this, a snatched hour round the back of the stupa at Bordheran during a busy schedule filming the talks by Subhuti at the NNBY 10th Annual Convention, I realise that I have, in some ways set myself an impossible task. I can’t write Neha’s story yet, for despite the rich material in her first two decades, her story is far from complete, a fact she is all too aware of herself; this is not a fairy tale ending. ‘Is there anything else you think I should mention?’ I ask, half exhausted already from recording the details of so many trials and tribulations. ‘Yes!’ she responds, ‘My struggle is not finished!’ Every day at work is challenging, with more tasks than she can complete. She’s working on big stories too, broadcasting the talks and activities of some of the most senior order members, so there’s a lot of pressure to do so successfully, pressure that she doesn’t always even get paid for, when a key advertising client has not paid their fees, or the tiny channel has simply run out of cash.

She’s had problems with colleagues as well, and recently encountered difficulties with bullying and blame, causing her to return home in tears every nights for a long spell. Her mum supported her through these problems though, and with this help she found the strength to stick it out, not reacting to or fuelling such unpleasant behaviour. Her skills and good will have also been stretched professionally; she was originally employed as an animator but when her manager left after just one month, her future was uncertain. At this time, she only knew how to work in 2D and animation software but the channel director liked her work and asked her to stay on in a different role, as an editor. For this, she taught herself how to work in entirely new editing software because no one else at the company would teach her. It was a similar story when she was invited to run her own programme.
Picture
Picture
Picture
Filming Subhuti at Bordheran
 Colleagues behaved angrily and with jealousy when she achieved recognition for her work and so she had to learn a substantial set of new skills in filming; suddenly finding herself in the deep end with no camera man willing to work with her, presenting the programmes herself too, despite being very shy and having to learn all this completely on the go.

There’s another reason her story is not yet finished too; in fact, she has just started yet another new chapter as a newlywed, to Maitri, also a Mitra who has requested ordination and who works running a shop and restaurant as enterprises offering services to visitors at Nagaloka. Maitri is originally from Arunachal Pradesh, a northern state of India, with different customs, languages,
Picture
Resplendent as a bride...
 lifestyles and cultures. This in itself has been something of an issue for the couple; interstate marriages are not common and it took some time for Neha to ease the concerns of her family and achieve their blessings. Not that I suspect it would have stopped her if they’d maintained their disapproval. Aware of the imminent wedding, and as a somewhat excited guest, I was pleased for the opportunity to grill Neha on a happier issue; how did you meet? How do you think your life will be different after the wedding? What are your plans for your future as a couple? At this, she wrinkles her nose and asks ‘It is important?’ She tells me, after a joke dismissal of the question, that whatever happens, she plans to spend at least the next two years spreading the Dhamma through her work at LBTV. There will certainly be no children in the short term. In the long term, who knows? She remains uncommitted beyond her drive to become ordained, and this is something she feels they will be working for together, as Dhamma practitioners. ‘Maitri tells me we will be a team’ she says, ‘there will not be “your work” and “my work” in the home; we both have jobs, we will share the house work.’

There were other concerns too, of course; any young person about to enter into a lifetime commitment may be expected to feel somewhat anxious about such things and, I realised, when talking as a friend, not as an interviewer, that what from a Western perspective is a distinct lack of relationship experience was adding to these worries. I found that particular conversation very difficult at times and really got the sense that though Neha was indeed happy with the idea of getting married to Maitri, this was perhaps still in the context of feeling that she didn’t have much choice about whether or not she got married at all. ‘It’s not too late!’ I felt like saying, ‘run away with me!’ but knowing that would not be helpful, I contented myself with simply listening to her concerns and making it clear that I was willing to continue to do so at any time. If I can trust anyone to have made the right choice for themselves, I feel sure it’s Neha. She had at one time, she tells me, entertained the idea of leaving India entirely and becoming a nun, in order to fully commit to her practice and avoid marriage entirely. This, she feels is a more sensible and balanced approach that will allow her to stay connected with her family and probably to do more meaningful Dhamma work.
Picture
Pakora success!
Picture
And the new husband chips in!
Any fears I, or indeed she may have had, have happily melted since the wedding and Maitri’s promise at least with regards to housework certainly seems to stand true; the wedding was in January, and I received an invitation to dinner shortly after the couple returned from some time away with Neha’s new family. Sure enough, alongside Neha in the kitchen, Maitri was chopping, cooking and washing up too. We had a fine meal, with Maharashtrian specialties cooked up by Neha, (including her first, very successful, attempt at pakora!) and some home treats prepared by Maitri. They seemed happy and relaxed together too, a relief to me, with my cultural preconceptions about equality and gender roles in marriage. Neha is glowing, smiling, as busy as ever at work, but still capable of telling me that she is very happy. Not yet quite a fairy tale ending perhaps, but a very joyful pit stop if nothing else, and it’s certainly a union that’s blessed from the start. There are not many weddings, I think, to which Subhuti, a very busy and senior order member, would fly all the way from Pune and back in the same day to officiate.

Neha is clear that she never would have believed it to be possible for her to be living as she does now. This isn’t a matter of luck though, it’s sheer hard work, raw belief and pure determination that has achieved it. Yes, certain opportunities have arisen for her, but none that would have occurred without her own drive and motivation to realise the fruits of them. ‘If you had a message, for people in the UK who might read your story, if they are Buddhist, or if they are not, what would it be?’ I ask as a concluding thought, unsure that I will be able to articulate her experiences well enough myself to communicate the lesson that I know so many could learn from her example. She looks a little taken back at a difficult question and is thoughtful for a moment.
‘I face difficulties and challenges in my life’ she states, ‘but friendship is most important.’ People, she says, are all the same and we have the same feelings. ‘I know what it's like to be hurt, so I believe in not hurting others. Respect each other. Treat others as you want be treated.’ This, she believes, is what has got her through.
I’ve met many people in India, many of them have told me impressive tales of triumph over adversity, many of them I now feel honoured to count among my friends. I am sure, too, that I shall return when possible, to continue what I’ve left and that I shall meet many of them again. I don’t think, however, that there is anyone else I’ve met in my time here in whom I recognise that spark of deeper connection, a truly common perspective on the world and of our places in it, the kind of friendship you have where you almost instinctively realise a complete trust that this person will be around for the rest of your life, regardless of the circumstances you find yourselves in or the distances between you. If I think hard about it, I can actually only say I’ve met 3 or maybe 4 other people in my entire life with whom I feel such a connection, who I would call my ‘best friends’ and funnily enough, they all live in completely different countries.
Picture
Caught mid-interview at Bordheran!
As I near the end of my first stay in India, I think of all the people I am going to leave behind, all the people I shall miss. Strangely, Neha is not among them and I think it is due to the strength of the bond I feel with her that this is the case. I shan’t miss her because in every important way, she’ll still be with me. I’m not sure where, or when, Neha and I will next meet, but I do feel sure that while her story is not over, she is going to somehow play an continued and important part in mine.
3 Comments

Still Learning…

15/2/2017

0 Comments

 
With the rich and varied content of my last few posts, one might be forgiven for drawing the conclusion that the teaching here at Aryaloka is something of an afterthought. Really though, that couldn’t be further from the truth and it is to the credit of the commitment and efficiency of the team I have been fortunate to work with, as well as to the diligence of our students that it hasn’t really been at the front of my mind as something to report on. This is partly because there have genuinely been so many experiences in some way ‘one off’ or remarkable that have instead taken my pen-time, but mostly because the teaching has been running so smoothly that the rhythm and structure it has lent to our daily routine has become something like the gentle hum of a well maintained machine that you only become aware of when it stops.
Picture
A Final Goodbye
Picture
From Sheetal Too...
Picture
No Cheese Today, Thank You
It is perhaps for this reason that I have felt it important to reflect on some of these things now, before writing about my experiences in Bodhgaya last week. It certainly isn’t because I have nothing to say about that, I can assure you!

The first factor that changed the dynamics of our teaching machine was the departure of Shakyajata as she returned to the UK. Every year for the past 8 or so, she has spent which months she can in India, teaching and running the programme, then living in the UK to fund-raise, recover and plan her return as soon as the hot Indian summer has abated. Not only is she the principle fund raiser for the project and an important anchor of consistency for the teachers and the staff, she is also the most experienced English teacher at Aryaloka and it’s her syllabus and approach to delivery that Mark and I have followed. While she has encouraged us to add personal elements and use our own skills where appropriate (my classes utilised a heavy application of illustration for example!), there was never any doubt whose course it was.

As a Dhammacharini (Triratna Order member), she also took the reins in Dharma classes and teaching meditation, often leading puja twice a day with the women’s community and with the men at least once a week. It’s easy, then to see, that when it becomes time for her annual migration back to England, there’s a significant shift in the daily running. Of course, Mark and I are both more than capable of teaching and even continuing the spiritual content but it was perhaps the first event that marking the approach of the end of the academic year, and with it a reminder to our young people that they will soon be leaving the safety of their communities and be back out in the harsh reality of a very flooded and heavily biased jobs market.

Far from the ‘stiff upper lip’ for which we Brits are so famous, my experience is that Indians live far more emotionally on the surface of themselves (at least in responding to the issues which are not socially taboo) and so the tears flowed and the weeping was wailed when it was finally time to wave Shakyajata off to the airport. Less of a personal wrench from my own perspective as one who will be hot on her heels in the coming weeks, the main difference it made to me was a sense of moving a step closer to the firing line with respect to responsibility for the course. Still, with everything left so well organised there was little to practically concern me and it was good that I could present a strong front to support the girls, especially. I did wonder though, if one or two of them looked at me slightly askance; surely I should be weepy wailing too!?
The week before her departure, I had been concentrating my efforts out of the English classroom as it had finally been possible to get everybody in the same place at the same time (no mean feat, this had been in the planning since December!) for me to deliver an intensive week of classes to three of our main Aryaloka teachers on the creative use of Photoshop. The classes had presented a combination of teacher training and skills delivery. I’d been somewhat apprehensive about this as these professional teachers had been using Photoshop for some years and I was concerned that there may be nothing new I could really teach them.
I was also aware that it might seem quite patronising for me to suddenly swan in and start telling them how to do their jobs so I was quite sensitive to couching the classes in flexible terms that allowed me to respond to their experience as and when it became apparent. Thankfully, I quickly realised I had nothing to fear and my colleagues were receptive as well as vocally grateful for a new perspective on both the software and the delivery of content. Education style in India is very teacher centred so it was a new idea to them to engage in a group discussion for example, in which one elicits the answers from the students rather than telling them the ‘facts’. I also soon found that there were many new skills and applications within the programme that I could share. It is all too easy to take one’s own abilities and experiences for granted, so it was a relief to find they were genuinely learning new things at the same time as receiving a new structure for teaching it themselves. Institute director Aryaketu was very vocal about how important he felt the classes were. For me to teach the students to use Photoshop would be one thing but to teach the teachers is equivalent to teaching the same number again for each member of staff trained and as I’d written an entire 12 class course with lesson plans and materials provided, I hoped to ensure that this would be practical with as little drain on their already busy schedules as possible. This was especially the case for Sanjaya; she teaches at the Raipur branch in Chhattisgarh, so her new skills would be spreading out even beyond Maharashtra. For not the first time I reflected upon how impossible it is to really appreciate the extent of your influence as a teacher. I don’t suppose those members of staff who first introduced me to Adobe software in a London suburb 20 years ago thought for a moment that they’d be indirectly facilitating the improvement of employment prospects and therefore living conditions for young people and their families on the other side of the planet two decades hence. That’s the wonderful thing about knowledge. You never really possess it, you just borrow it for a while and then pass it on. I just can’t believe anyone who’d try and keep it to themselves really derives any benefit from it at all.

Picture
Introducing Pixels!
Picture
The Basics For Week 3 Delivery
Picture
Sanjaya Returning to Raipur... With the Tools for her Homework!
Picture
Late Night Revision!
Anyway, I knew the classes were going well right across the centre when I arrived in the classroom after 10pm one night to prepare for a 7am Photoshop class and found all our community women diligently plugging away at their screens in practice for their upcoming exams. They sit exams in accountancy software called Tally, general IT skills (MSC-IT) and Hardware and Networking (physically setting up PCs). These exams took place off site at the beginning of the month and most passed first time. One or two fell just a few marks short but all is not lost. Each entrant has up to three attempts but I’m confident that no one will require a third.
This week we are approaching yet another farewell; Mark will leave Nagpur on his way back to the UK on Monday and so we have planned a week to make the most of our remaining time together where possible. Practicing English, reflecting upon the skills covered and building confidence are the key focuses of our time now, as well as keeping up the Dharma study where we can. Today, we came together for a morning on the Karaniya Metta Sutta, tomorrow, we’ll conduct presentations that summarise student’s experiences of the course and on Friday we’ll simply enjoy a final few hours together with a picnic at the nearby Dragon Palace (though I suspect that eager teachers may feel obliged to chuck in at least a couple of educational activities before the lunch comes out!).

So, as of Tuesday, I shall be the last one standing, of the visiting staff, at least. I’m not quite sure how I feel about this and if I’m quite honest I have very mixed feelings generally at the moment that I’d probably be wise to give a little more space to than I’m usually in the habit of. Practically, my time will be full, of course. I have committed to CV workshops and hand writing practice and confidence building.
I have ideas of discussions I’d like to have with the young women (and possibly young men if that’s not considered inappropriate) on body image, I have plans for things I’d like to discuss with all of them about assumed hierarchy (why do you call me ‘ma’am??). I am still hoping to organise further work with NNBY before I leave and I suppose it speaks volumes about my overall feelings about being here that I have already started fund-raising for my return to India.
Picture
I have an extremely strong sense that there is still so very much to do. I am only just starting. I feel very strongly that the time I’ve had here since October has been about laying foundations, researching, learning and giving myself a good base of cultural understanding and social awareness but that the real work is yet to come. It’s wonderful to be leaving with such a strong sense of purpose, I had feared my return to England would feel like the worst kind of void and this will be far from true. But. In the quiet times, it’s different. In the dark of night when I’m woken up by cicadas trilling and dogs howling and I think of the sound of the sea lapping on the sand. When I wake up in the morning and for a split second before I open my eyes, I expect to see the sun streaming through the stained glass window in my Uncles’ spare room. In the moments of discomfort when I’m feeling the effects of a climate I’ve still not quite acclimatised to, or aware of the dusty air, or noticing the heaps of rotting refuse and I think of walking across frosty grass, not dusty stones. Or when I’ve spent all day communicating as best I can with those who speak English far better than I’ll ever speak Hindi, yet still I think of how much I miss those conversations that just flow for hours before you realise you don’t even really know what you’ve been talking about; then I cross a few more days off my diary and I visualise the faces I’ll smile at, the bodies I’ll hold close, the minds I’ll relish and I feel a little tug inside. Of course, this is all shortly before I consider how cold I’ll be, how much I’ll miss the fresh chapattis, the colourful vibrant energy and all my new friends and family. How I’ll miss the Indian tune for the refuges and precepts, which I found so strange and alien on my arrival. How strange it will be to try and use a knife and fork… maybe I just won’t bother.
After moving from London to Manchester and then again down south to Essex, I began to realise that my relationship with the concept of ‘home’ was a fluid thing that had very little to do with bricks and mortar. The more I travelled abroad, the more I felt that ‘home’ was simply based in England, with some sense of it in Europe generally and that trying to pin it to one house, street or even city was a bit narrow minded. I feel now that this has been brought into question even more and suspect that this will not fully manifest until I am back in the area defined by my passport as being the source of that part of my identity called nationality. It will be strange. It will be sad and happy and comfortable and uncomfortable all at once. It will be scary and comforting, empty and full. But at the very least it will have toilet paper and Marmite. I’m also really looking forward to irritating my uncle by stealing the Times Crossword and completing it before he even gets a look in. If you’re reading this Unc…. You’ve been warned…
0 Comments

NNBY Regional Conference, Amravati

30/1/2017

6 Comments

 
Apart from the very obvious reason that I was keen to recover as quickly as possible from my newly diagnosed infections for reasons of personal comfort (as discussed in my recent tales of dukkha from the hospital), there was another factor. I had an event coming up in the diary which I was totally unwilling to miss, come hell or high water. At the end of December, I was fortunate to attend the National Network of Buddhist Youth 10th National Convention; the most eye opening week of my time in India so far. I had quickly realised that though I’d found the experience richly rewarding and intensely useful, I was entirely the wrong beneficiary and so had begun what proved to be an at times challenging process of organisation to take as many of our Aryaloka community students as possible to an upcoming NNBY Regional Conference, this time in Bihali, where I’d enjoyed a retreat only a few weeks ago.
Of course, I’d have liked to take all our students but I knew from the outset that this wouldn’t be possible. There were too many factors prohibiting it. Retreat fees and travel were the first and foremost obstacles, with additional uncertainty around exam dates, supervision and duty of care. Fortunately, I had the support of Diksha, one of the main organising team, whom I had got to know in Bordharan as the facilitator of my discussion group and she was very keen to help with arranging some of the travel. I’d also snuck in an informal conversation about the possibility over lunch on the final day of the National Convention with two other key people; retreat leader Maitriveer Nagarjuna and Aryaloka Director, Aryaketu. All these interactions had felt very constructive and my enthusiasm for the idea was received positively by the rest of the Aryaloka team when we returned to Nagpur. Unfortunately, when the reality of organisation kicked in and the prospect became elevated beyond the status of ‘nice idea’, it became far less straight forward and there were a couple of really quite difficult moments when it seemed I was simply not going to be allowed to take any students at all. I knew that at the very least I could still attend; I had promised to deliver a fuller version of the rather impromptu talk I gave in Bordheran, as well as running a workshop or ‘floating session’. As long as I could get myself by bus to Amravati, about half way between Bihali and Nagpur, Diksha had promised to organise a car to collect me.
Going alone would have been better than nothing and I knew some young people could still benefit from my contribution, but I also knew how valuable our students would find it and was absolutely determined not to back down. Still, not to dwell on adversity, it’s enough to say that thankfully, it was eventually possible to navigate the challenges and find solutions to the very valid concerns presented by my colleagues. It was agreed that two students, one representative from the young men’s and one from the young women’s communities, would accompany me with the responsibility of reporting back to their peers on the experience. I’d already delivered a presentation to both groups about my time at the National Convention but better by far for young Indians to hear about the work of NNBY from other young Indians, not a rapidly aging English lady. I had to concede, that though this wasn’t half as many students as I’d thought we could take (I’d decided I could afford to pay retreat fees for up to six) it did solve some problems with regards to travel and would be significantly less stressful than being personally responsible for quite that many! It made the whole thing a little cheaper too and I could then afford to pay their travel costs as well, which ended up being no more than contributions to petrol as we’d received the very kind offer of a lift all the way from Nagpur to Bihali from Chetan, a main NNBY organiser and very committed youth worker. Aryaketu chose who should attend based on considerations such as academic progress and exam dates so there should be no worries around apparent favouritism (which had been a concern) and we would even have a spare seat for Mark, who was keen to come to find out more about NNBY and offer a workshop on Climate Change, one of his key passions outside of English teaching!

Needless to say, after all that, there was no way I was going to be too unwell to go. Fortunately, I was indeed feeling genuinely better, with energy levels once again approaching normality by the time a rather excited car full departed Nagpur just after lunch on January the 19th!
Picture
An Important Mission...
Picture
And off we go!
I am equally delighted to report that the trip was very fruitful for all of us. Once again, I got a lot personally from attending, as I know did Mark. I could tell from their enthusiastic participation (it demonstrates a particular kind of commitment for a teenager to be out of bed and ready for pre-meditation Chi-Kung at 06:30) as well as the little bit of English conversation we could manage, that students Bharti and Akhilesh had also gained much. It wasn’t until we were back in Nagpur and working together to prepare their presentations that I realised quite how much; however. I’m only slightly embarrassed to admit that when I heard the depth of their experience for the first time in translation, I was almost moved to tears. I’ll let their feelings have their own space in a moment, for they are the most important words I’ll include in this piece, but I shall just share a couple of my own most significant experiences first.
Picture
Akhilesh and Bharti In the Shrine Room
Picture
Exploring the Jungle and Learning Photography!
Picture
Working with Chetan...
Picture
... who kindly interpreted my talk!
My main aim for our mission was for Bharti and Akhilesh to have meaningful experiences that fully demonstrated the potential benefit of their future involvement in NNBY, and that they felt able to communicate this to the others upon returning to Nagpur, but I did of course have some other focuses as well. In Bordharan I had planned (at the last minute, but planned none the less) to give a version of the ‘Why I am a Buddhist’ talk that I delivered at Vajrasana in September. This had ended up being condensed on the spot (you can actually find a video of it here) into only about 7 minutes (including interpretation), so I was very happy to have the opportunity to give a fuller version in Bihali as I’d spent quite some time thinking about the content and how to make it relevant to a new audience. Hearing from others on their experience with the Dharma is always useful but still, there would be very different things to say to make it relevant to a group of Indian Youth in the Maharashtrian Jungle as opposed to a group of Europeans at a rather civilised Beginners Retreat in Suffolk. I knew they’d be keen to hear something of an autobiography; you don’t get far at a gathering of Indian youth without multiple questions about your origins, I have discovered! I felt there was something more important than that though and I wanted to explain why I was there. I’d been instinctively aware, as well as confirming from some conversation at Bordharan, that the reason for my attendance could be easily misconstrued and reduced to mere tourism. I felt a strong need to demonstrate that this wasn’t the case. I also wanted to explain why my Buddhist practice was so important to me in the hope that it might help support that of others. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I felt it was really critical to demonstrate commonality. I can only guess what assumptions a mind from an Indian cultural background is conditioned to make about individuals from the West but I know that at least some of them are completely unfounded and really quite damaging to genuine racial cohesion. My approach to these areas in my talk was mostly couched in spiritual terms but there was a key socio-political link too, with reference to the work of Dr Ambedkar and why it might be that a 35 year old Brit can find his words as inspiring as an 18 year old Indian. My basic point was that though we come from very different backgrounds (as demonstrated by the autobiographical introduction), we are certainly following the same path into the future as we work for a common goal of global unity as described by the Buddhist teachings presented by Babasaheb Ambedkar. Some of the questions I’ve had since do make me wonder how much of what I said was lost in translation, as I’m sure I covered some of the answers to those in the talk itself. I tend to use quite subtle turns of phrase and rely heavily on analogy to communicate some of my more creative ideas so I just can’t tell how well much of that came across, but still I must have been doing something right to sustain the apparently rapt attention of the group for over an hour. I didn’t feel it flowed quite as well as my original talk but I think this is as much down to the practice of speaking with an interpreter as anything else. Hopefully this is a skill I can develop. I feel confident I got the gist of what I wanted to share across, anyway.

On the second day, I delivered a creative workshop aiming to use visual communication to stimulate a discussion of the things that feature prominently in the lives of the participants and could be seen as formative elements in the concept of self. The purpose of this was to help people establish where they are currently at in their life, with the view to identifying opportunities for positive change and development, particularly in the very Buddhist terms of a non-fixed self. We know we can change, we know we will change, but how can we realise the sense of deliberate focus that we need to achieve this in the most positive way? I’d planned to use an almost diagrammatic form to deliver this and had pre-prepared some blank mandala-style pages for participants to draw on. Though I’ve plenty of experience delivering various arts workshops, I’d devised this one specifically for the convention and had never run it before so I was grateful to Maitriveer who made time to go over it with me before I started and ask me a couple of pointed questions that helped me refocus my objective. I was fairly confident but still felt relieved that it was well received and everyone who came along seemed genuinely pleased with their outcomes.

Picture
A Visual Workshop on Self
Picture
A Session on Climate Change
At the same time that I was delivering this, Mark ran his workshop on Climate Change. I was very glad of his presence and support at the weekend on level of simple friendship, but I was particularly pleased for practical reasons that there was an alternative provision for participants and so I didn’t have to try and contend with fifty in my session! Chetan also ran a seminar on a personal development technique called SWOT Analysis. I can’t pretend I’d ever heard of it but Akhilesh found it very useful!
Beyond the obvious work involved in preparation and delivery of appropriate content, there is perhaps a more important role fulfilled by leaders and facilitators involved in any kind of youth work, which is much harder to pin down or qualify. This role is simply to be present, to be engaged, to listen and to demonstrate a deep degree of care. I knew that being available (energy levels permitting) during meal times and rest periods to engage with people informally was important, but there was one particular conversation that gave me a really startling insight into my adopted culture which will stay with me for a very long time. One young woman had asked to speak with me for some advice on how to practice English, having moved back to her home village after some time away studying. As she was no longer spending time with people who valued the use of English, she was finding it difficult to keep it up and felt her command of the language was suffering. I suggested a few things; reading books and newspapers, accessing English films and talks on the internet where possible, offering to teach the language to her local friends who dismissed the importance of learning. She seemed to receive these suggestions well and I was satisfied I’d helped as much as I could, yet she had one further question.
Picture
With Akhilesh and Bharti in the Shrine Room
Picture
Climbing a Hill!
Picture
Stream Entrants!?
Picture
With New Friends...
Picture
Akhilesh, Mark and Convention Leader Maitriveer Nagarjuna
Picture
Discussion Groups and Sangha...
Picture
Lunch Queue...
Picture
Shared Ideas...
Picture
A shared lunch; Vishakha is 4th from the right!
‘Why,’ she wanted to know, ‘do the organisers call you by your name when they introduce you?’ I was completely baffled by this question and felt sure I’d misunderstood. What else should they call me? After some further discussion it became clear that she was asking why they had not used a formal term of respect when inviting me to speak. I was pleased to have the opportunity to explain that it was because we were following the key Buddhist principle of equality that Babasaheb himself had been so active to promote. After receiving a mildly blank look I went further to state ‘because I am not better than them. I am not better than you.’ I may as well have stated that grass grew in the sky and we had clouds gathering under our feet. ‘Yes you are!’ was her instinctive and wholehearted reply. As I come to write this I find an uncharacteristic inability to articulate quite how that made me feel and realise that such was the importance of the exchange, I still feel quite emotional about it even now. It cut absolutely right to the heart of me that this sparklingly bright human being, simply bursting with manifest talent and clear potential, had been so conditioned by her upbringing in a society of deeply entrenched hierarchy that it was completely beyond her perspective of the world to believe that I was anything other than some kind of superior being. As a teenager, I certainly respected my teachers and those I met in mentoring or leadership roles. I understood that they’d had more experience than me, that they’d had more years of learning and education, that their thoughts and statements were the culmination of their deliberate efforts and that careful consideration was due. I wanted to listen and to learn from them. I wanted to demonstrate my appreciation of the time and teaching that they gave me and I even hoped to follow the example of one or two of them in my own life; but I never, for one moment, supposed that they were better than me. More skilled than me at certain things, yes, more practiced than me in many areas, of course, but not quantifiably better. Suddenly, I felt a little window had been opened for me into the world of caste discrimination and I realised just how much work we have to do. It’s not enough to say we believe in equality. It’s not enough to say we reject parts of a religion that attributes fixed and unchanging birth privilege to divine whim. It’s not even enough to renounce the entire religion that preaches this and convert to a new one if the bedrock of our cultural experience, the foundation for all our interactions and the way we place ourselves and others in the world is formed from the sediment of oppression and erroneous discrimination that has accumulated over centuries. Legislation is not enough. It’s not even a start. It’s simply a signpost, a practical suggestion for a direction to move in but nothing like the change in attitude, the change in minds that will make a real difference. How, then, can we possibly break through such barriers and why does it matter? What difference does it make to my life, when I return to the UK in a few weeks, or to the lives of my English friends who have perhaps never even left the UK? Why should it trouble them if a community on the other side of the planet is living in such conditions of social inequality? We can donate money to feed people. Even better, we can donate money to educate them and empower them to feed themselves, but if they choose to follow a dogma of division what is it to us? Compassion isn’t just about financial poverty though, and anyway what good are these employability skills really, if you can’t utilise them because you’ve not got the social liberty to follow certain careers without prejudice, even if the legal framework theoretically supports you? Still these issues are closer to home than the cultivation of philanthropy from a distance. If we want to be equal, if we want to live and operate in harmony and with the respect due to us from other humans, then we need them to know, to see and to feel that they too are our equals. Different, yes, and delightfully so, but always free and above all, equal. If I want to be truly valued as an individual with my own unique skills and talents that I have invested time in developing, then the last thing I want is for someone to elevate me to a pseudo superior status based upon factors beyond my control such as age and skin colour. This does not afford me any more equality than it affords her, and that, after all, is what equality means. Without wanting to get too Orwellian, if some are more equal than others then no one is equal at all. This is a contradiction in terms. It is quite simply then that if you wish equality for yourself, you need it for others. And it’s not enough to stop at the boundaries of your town, your county, your country or your continent. The world is bigger than that and so, I believe, is our potential as members of the only kind of society that can possibly support any kind of human progress. I hope I managed to communicate to this young woman that the only difference between us was based purely in our life experiences.  I hope I managed to make my point that I’d simply benefitted from a few more years’ to learn from my many mistakes and had been born, randomly, in a different set of circumstances. Even if she didn’t get quite the same clarity of insight as I did then I at least hope I planted a seed. The conversation certainly got me thinking along new lines and I began to consider how appropriate it is for the students at Aryaloka to address me as ‘ma’am’. Is this apparently harmless pleasantry actually reinforcing the very hierarchical systems we are trying to demolish? Should I encourage them to stop saying it? From this I mused; why erode respect? Perhaps it’s better, rather than removing such terms, to demonstrate mutual respect by reciprocating. I don’t always remember but I’m trying to do so now when addressing the students I work with.
Of course, following this, there was an obvious person who sprung to mind when wondering who to ask for help with translating the audio recordings of Bharti and Akhilesh’s presentations and I have to say she’s done a great job, responding both enthusiastically and promptly. I only hope she’s benefited as much from the English practice as I have from learning the content of the talks and it is in part thanks to her that I’m able to carry on into the most important section of my writing with such detail on my students’ responses to the convention. Vishakha ma’am, thank you. I hope this paragraph provides you with yet more English practice and let it be known that I am not only no better than you but have in fact learned a great deal from you. Just like many of the young people I have had the fortune to meet since I came to India, I am quite confident that you will do very well indeed.

Although I’d picked up a clear sense that Bharti and Akhilesh were enjoying the convention, it wasn’t until the day after we returned that I felt some certainty that they had benefitted from more than just the novel excitement of a weekend out of Nagpur. Having asked them to deliver presentations about it, I knew they’d need some support in putting their thoughts together, so the four of us met on Monday morning, with the help of Joydeep, a men’s community member, whose English was already excellent before he started the course, to the degree that he’s often called upon to translate Shakyajata’s Saturday Dhamma classes. I’d had the idea that it might be good to run the two hour afternoon presentation session like a day on an NNBY convention and I was glad that everyone readily agreed. We planned to start with a mini Chi-Kung session (led by Bharti), then
a short meditation (lead by Akhilesh). We’d then move on to their main presentations before splitting into discussion groups and reconvening for a Q&A session, where groups could put any questions they had to the pair. We’d finish with a puja.

That was all fairly straight forward but of course the hard work was still to do; we still had to write the presentations! I suggested using PowerPoint to help them keep track of what they wanted to say and as a method of displaying some of the many photos that they’d both enjoyed taking, either on Mark’s mobile camera or my SLR. Easy enough and good practice in using those programmes too. This only left the content to decide upon! I knew they’d been taking notes over the weekend (I’d bought them each a brand new notebook to encourage it!) but that’s a long way from having a prepared presentation, and my experience of working with young people is that they need a significant amount of help in recognising the most important things to say. This can be a challenge in itself but it’s even tougher with a language barrier. Sure enough, to begin with, they needed a little prompting but I could tell even without Hindi that Joydeep was himself doing a very good job of coaxing out the key points without interference from me. I listened to him interpret Bharti’s account of how she’d found the conditions very supportive to deepening her meditation practice and how she’d enjoyed learning a new approach to the Metta Bhavana. I listened to him explain that she felt she’d learned a lot more about the teachings of Babasaheb, about why he’d taught his people to follow Buddhism, about the significance of questioning the superstitious spiritual practices that she’d been so used to at home. I heard her thoughts on gender roles and how she now realised she had the same potential to achieve excellence as anyone else, that she believed girls should be encouraged to go on retreat to develop confidence and gain clarity around their identities. I heard her state quite deliberately and without any prompting, that she wanted to maintain her involvement in NNBY to support her own continued development and to take friends so they too could benefit as well as to challenge to the restrictions on travelling away from home that are currently placed on girls in many villages. I felt a lump rise in my throat as the reality sunk in to my mind that the combined efforts of all my friends and colleagues who’d gone out of their way to indulge my stubborn insistence that we should attend had not just been ‘worth it’. Those efforts had been our absolute obligation as teachers, as mentors and as dharma practitioners. Akhilesh recounted a similarly positive experience and explained that attending the convention had clarified a lot of his previous confusion around the purpose of following a Buddhist practice. He felt that the main benefit he’d gained was in seeing equality exemplified. He’s not from Maharashtra and was concerned that he would encounter coldness or discrimination from the regional participants but recognised that this had been very far from his experience, which, he told us was the first time in his life he’d realised such genuine equality could exist. He’d in fact felt so included that at times he’d had to take himself away from the group in order to make time to write his notes! He too had a clear idea of what he planned to discuss in the presentation and hoped to give his own perspectives on the main talk given by Maitreveer Nagarjuna on human evolution and how this related to social, political and spiritual factors. For the second time in one update, I find I’m at a bit of a loss for words to describe quite how I felt upon hearing all this. Proud, certainly, and delighted that they’d both responded so hungrily to an opportunity that hadn’t been smooth to arrange. Joyful, definitely, to see how fired up and motivated they both were, how eager to share their experiences that others might benefit. Most of all, the best word to describe how I felt is moved. Moved in the emotional sense, as the reality of the real difference we’d made to their lives came home to me but also moved in a dynamic sense and ever more determined to drive forward in whatever way I can to keep supporting these young people in their developmental leaps and bounds.

Picture
Bharti Engaged with the Discussion
Picture
The diagram from Maitriveer Nagarjuna's talk that so inspired Akhilesh
Picture
A final farewell before an early start back to Nagpur!
Picture
Back at base; with the Buddha kindly given to us by the organising team!
Picture
Bharti Leads Chi-Kung
Picture
Akhilesh Leads Meditation
It’s very rare to be able to say that anything in India has gone to plan, in fact I’ve come to see plans as a rough guide that give me an idea of what is probably not going to happen, but it’s entirely to the credit of Bharti and Akhilesh’s enthusiasm that the presentation afternoon went like a dream. There were unplanned factors, of course, including the arrival and subsequent attendance of Aryaloka’s main benefactors, the additional pressure of whose sudden presence gave even me an unexpected dose of performance anxiety. Bharti and Akhilesh; however, more than rose to the occasion and appeared to actually relish the additional audience members. We’d decided that it would be good practice for them to write their PowerPoint presentations in English and deliver the introductory sentences in the same, but that to foster a genuine degree of communication, they could give the main talk and answer questions in Hindi. As such, although I had a rough idea of what they were discussing, most of it went right over my head. In my formal teaching history, this would have caused me some anxiety as I would worry that I’d not be able to support and direct the content if needed. How would I know they were on topic? How would I know they weren’t accidentally misleading their peers with confused interpretations of complex concepts? How would I know they weren’t just chatting about what they fancied getting up to at the weekend? Actually though, I found their confidence gave me some structure to relax against and when I opened up to trusting them with the job of communicating their own thoughts, I found that not being overly focused on the language gave me some space to notice other key indicators that all was well. Aside from the occasional words I did recognise to show we were on track (‘NNBY’, ‘Dhamma’, ‘Babasaheb’ for example), I could gauge from the engaged body language of both speakers and audience, as well as from the enthusiastic pace of the discussion, that there was a good deal of focused and genuine communication taking place. Group discussions can be tough to get going and Question and Answer sessions flat and dead in the water with even experienced adult participants but there were no awkward silences or confused pauses, in fact we had a queue of people wanting to ask their questions first. Again, with thanks to Vishakha for her translation of the transcripts, I can now tell I was right not to be overly meddlesome in the flow of interactions and it seems the content was a mature and respectful debate that would put most Question Time
panel members to shame for it’s degree of mutual respect and open minded inquiry. My favourite part of the dialogue (translated by Vishakha and with additional clarification and grammatical tweaking from me) is as follows:
Q: After the convention what changes will you make in your society?
A: (Akhilesh) I will try. Actually, before, I used think about how my mother and all the members in my family worship Gods and Goddesses. I was the only one who was not following this and from start I was confused and somehow I found it wrong. If I argued with my mother about this she used to shout at me but I think by telling her about Dhamma we can change.

Q: How will you change the society?
A: Yeah, it’s possible. (Bharti) First, we have to change our homes, then the rest!

Q: How will you tell your parents about Dhamma?
A: By small, small things. Gradually we will tell them! It's difficult but we can do it! If we build their confidence then we can also do things like that, show our hidden talent and potential by doing a good job and making our parents proud. Believe in ourselves!

Q: If we give these teachings of Buddha and Babasaheb to society and to girls, can we achieve this goal. And excellence?
A: Yes! We should raise our own talents make it more glown! (clapping)
Actually, I’m not sure what ‘glown’ means. I can’t decide from the context if it should be ‘known’ or ‘glowing’ but either seems quite appropriate and I rather like the idea of a word that means both simultaneously so I shall leave that one open to interpretation. Maybe it means something else entirely. Regardless of possibly vague moments in translation, I think it’s quite apparent from just that brief excerpt that Bharti and Akhilesh did us proud, both in terms of how they responded and participated with the content of the convention itself and in terms of how well they took on the task of sharing their learning and new perspectives so enthusiastically with their communities. Of course, I needn’t have worried too much about what was being said as my Hindi speaking colleagues were also present. Sheetal, Vaishali, Saccadhamma and Aryaketu all attended and were clearly as impressed as I was by the maturity and depth of the presentations. Such was her engagement that Bharti even ended the Q&A session by questioning her peers, asking if they felt they would like to go to an NNBY event in the future. Their replies were an almost unanimous ‘yes!’

So that’s a tale of optimism and positivity for the future of many of the community students at Aryaloka but what of my own responses?
Picture
Our new Buddha on our shrine in Bhilgaon
Well, my motivation is galvanised, my resolve, more focused and my sense of purpose nourished with a deep sense of potential for just how ready many of the young people I’ve met here are to make the most of the support given to them to determine their own development. None of the lazy assumptions I am so used to from the attitudes of many in the UK that a ‘right to education’ is synonymous with not having to apply effort to one’s own progress. But I am aware that there is so much work to do in India, such an important revolution occurring that I feel I must apply my efforts with a degree of discrimination and in a very carefully considered, skilful way to ensure the results of those efforts reach the most lives possible. There are so many projects to work with here, so many communities to visit, so many different states to see. And I feel blinkered. My perspectives of the situation here are so coloured by my own cultural filters that I feel I’m groping around in the dark, not really sure of where to find the best opportunities or how to fulfil the potential inherent in my role when I do. I discussed this briefly with Chetan on the way back to Nagpur, and asked his advice. My experience of India is so limited, my understanding of the complex social dynamics so foetal, my background so different and my appearance so loaded with unknown interpretations. How can I utilise this sense of ‘other’ that I represent to many for the greatest good? There’s no denying that I feel intensely uncomfortable when people appear to bestow respect or privilege upon me for no reason other than my skin colour but how can I best respond to this? Should I try to humbly ignore such attention in the meek hope that I will somehow communicate its fallacy? Or should I step up to my own discomfort and use it to speak the truths that those who afford it to me need so desperately to hear? Of course I need guidance from people with a deeper understanding of the issues but it seems belligerent to deny the opportunity, especially in communicating to girls and women, whose plight is still so much more challenged than many of their male counterparts to a degree we’ve not encountered for decades in Europe.

Practically and in the short term, I hope to run more workshops with NNBY before I leave in March, but in the long term and on a deeper more emotional level, I feel quite certain that the work I have to do in India extends way beyond the expiration of my visa and for the first time since arriving in October I am absolutely adamant that I am coming back. I think there’s something of the small child in my approach to forming attachments. I might take some time assessing, exploring, patiently finding some common ground and establishing a foundation for trust, but once my roots are sunk, I’m a difficult weed to pull up. My experiences of moving around and living in different parts of the UK had already made me question the concept of ‘home’ but now I’m finding the whole notion increasingly irrelevant. One English phrase suggests that home is where your heart is. I’m not so sure about that but I know without a doubt that there is now a big chunk of India, and her people, resident in my heart.

Sorry, India. It looks like this mouse will be a tough one to get rid of...
6 Comments

Dukkha

25/1/2017

2 Comments

 
If my last couple of updates have seemed relentlessly positive then good. There indeed continues to be a great deal to feel very positive about. There was also; however, an ongoing situation underpinning my experience of that positivity, that I found quite frankly, less than pleasant. Thankfully, it is increasingly distant, but in the interests of maintaining an entirely honest record of my time in India I feel obliged to record it, despite its rapid recession.

If you’ve been regularly following my blog, you’ll recall that though generally, my health has been good; I’ve been enjoying the cuisine (spicy food does not upset my system) and doing my best to stay physically fit and healthy (I joined and have been using a local gym as well as maintaining some yoga practice), I’ve not had a completely spotless medical record. In November, I had what appeared to be my first bout of food poisoning. This was embarrassing but no worse; it’s perfectly possible to eat something dodgy in the UK, in fact I distinctly recall a particularly evil houmous sandwich that once knocked me out for over 24 hours. Then, on our way back from Bihali, I was flummoxed by what was apparently my first ever experience of car sickness. We decided this was probably a combination of fatigue, altitude, a full day in the car on winding roads and too much lunch. Whatever. Such is life. I recovered.

I didn’t recount the details in the recent update on our trip to Raipur, because I didn’t want to undermine the important facts about the visit; namely the students, but actually that had been a pretty wretched experience for Mark and I. Mark felt ill before we left, and became sick as we arrived in Raipur, so, when I was hit for a third time, it seemed irritating but inevitable. I must have caught the same bug or virus. It took me a little longer to get over that one, but I flopped back, even if ‘bounced’ back would be a little exaggerated. By the time the following weekend rolled round, I was feeling 100% and rather perky. I was bouncy for enthusiastic participation in the New Year party and the inauguration celebrations the next day. After the ceremony, I energetically delivered a presentation for our students on my experiences and learning at the NNBY convention. I had an important message to communicate and seemed to achieve this well.

Quite literally the minute I finished delivering this, as I packed away the projector and laptop, I was overcome with a wave of nausea and fatigue. I had to sit down to finish putting the equipment away but I got out my notebook and dutifully attempted to participate in our scheduled teachers meeting, to plan the content of the coming week. Feeling faint, I had to lie down instead. About ten minutes later, once again, I said goodbye to what had been a lovely lunch as I succumbed to sickness for a fourth time. Now, those who know me well will know I tend to the self-medicating. If a bit of me has not actually dropped off, I do not like to trouble myself or medical staff with my ailments. This is especially true when I am very far from any familiar healthcare providers and am not actually sure exactly how to go about accessing it. As I stared up at the spinning ceiling; however, I couldn’t help wondering if there might be something a little more to an inconvenient but apparently unrelated string of maladies. Perhaps, I thought, it was time to seek some medical advice.

Later that day, after I’d rested enough to feel like could walk, Mark and one of our more confident, English fluent students, gave up their evening, to my eternal gratitude, and came to help me find a doctor. The first place we visited, the Dr Ambedkar hospital, was closed. The rickshaw driver who had taken us then suggest and dropped us at a different clinic, which had no doctor available for another 90 minutes. Mark thought he knew where there was another place as he’d seen people queueing, so we trudged round the corner. Lo and behold, third time lucky and we were shown into an examination room to wait.

Now, I hate hospitals at the best of times, show me someone who doesn’t. This one though, so far from the familiar and perceived as it was through the haze of illness, felt like some strange new kind of hell. The old fashioned, 1950’s style wood skirting and tile design did nothing to reassure one who is accustomed to the clinical sterility of western healthcare. In my state of compromised clarity, I managed to communicate to my student, Gurudev, that I was in urgent need of a toilet and he swiftly assisted me to navigate through the dull-eyed throng of waiting patients and find one. I wasn’t expecting to be challenged though, by the sudden appearance of a member of the nursing staff who insisted I remove my trainers before going in. Apparently I wasn’t expected to be barefoot despite this, as it was considered acceptable for me to wear my student’s flip-flops. As these had been soiled by the same streets as my own trainers, I remain at a loss to explain this logic. Apparently my student also found it hilariously confusing. Thankfully we negotiated the random requirement before my system gave way yet again to another bout of self-purging and I returned gratefully to collapse on the bed that had been found for me (rather more swiftly than if I had been Indian, I imagine). In a combined attempt to distract myself, ease the boredom of my chaperones and genuinely learn more about my adopted culture, I enquired to my student as to the significance of an image on the wall of an elephant deity depicted in leaves. This didn’t get me too far though as he seemed oblivious to the details too, simply conceding that some people had all kinds of strange superstitious beliefs. This brought us on to a conversation about the morality of ridiculing other religions. Apparently Hindus and Muslims are engaged in an ancient and ongoing holy war of comic belittling of the ‘My God’s better than your God’ style, while Sikhs take the mickey out of both but people tend to leave the Buddhists alone because there isn’t much to make fun out of in logic.
We were soon joined by three medical staff and again, I wondered how common this might be or if such attention was merely caused by the arrival of an apparently exotic specimen. I was presented with an old fashioned glass thermometer to clamp under my tongue and I obediently obliged whilst trying not to think about where else it might have been. The most senior practitioner examined me vaguely whilst asking questions and making decisive statements to her colleagues with regards to a likely diagnosis. Kneading my tender abdomen as if I were to become the evening chapatti batch, she quickly concluded that I had a water infection based only upon how much I winced when pressure was applied to certain areas, an assumption that seemed way off the mark to me as it did not seem to be suggested by my symptoms. Even she seemed surprised when I replied that no, I’d not had any difficulties passing water but she remained adamant declaring; ‘Water infection and gastric bacteria!’ (or something similar) with the air of one who has just solved the last, niggling clue of the daily crossword. She scribbled a few personal notes (Mark helped with an approximate spelling of my name) and left after demanding a blood test.
Picture
May as well be in Hindi really...
I was shortly shepherded into a new room where a gentleman sat at a computer and a lady busied herself with an array of various pieces of analytical equipment, bloody bits of cotton wool swab scattered at her feet, having missed their target of a simple waste paper basket. So much for careful disposal of clinical waste. As she advanced towards my arm with the needle, 
Picture
A more salubrious part of the hospital!
Picture
That's my juices!
Picture
"Just leave your wee on the windowsill, there, that's fine, thanks..."
I recalled that at a recent visit to the blood donation centre in Manchester, just before leaving for India, the nurse had struggled to find a vein in my left arm before collapsing the one she did find, bruising me and finally admitting defeat before calling a colleague to take over, who then started on the other arm. With this in mind, I politely communicated that she might like to try the right, wondering how much I would be punctured before the required quantity was obtained. I needn’t have worried; despite the questionable surroundings, she was clearly well practiced and skilful, drawing the sample she needed quickly and without fuss. Manchester Blood Bank staff – 0. Indian Phlebotomist – 1.
I was amused by the different responses from my escorts; Mark wasn’t sure at all and said he didn’t want to look while Gurudev leaned over eagerly to get a good view. I was rather glad. It’s always easier to feel genuinely brave when you’ve got an audience to convince.

While the nurse busied herself with analysis (I was absolutely fascinated by this, it seemed like a much better system than having to wait days for it to be returned from a distant laboratory), I was handed a familiar looking plastic tub and asked to provide a urine sample. A small, wiry lady in a simple but colourful sari was called and she led me with a vice like grip that seemed only a hairs depth from bruising my arm, to an outdoor squat toilet, screened from the main waiting room by only a waist height brick wall. She further tightened her clutch and indicated for me to get on and fill my pot. Well. There are a great many cultural differences that I’m willing to experiment with. I’m learning not to depend on toilet paper. I can generally finish a meal without cutlery, even if it does include watery Maharashtrian dhal. I can wearily remember to remove my shoes when required, despite the fact that this seems to make my feet even dirtier than if I’d kept them on. There are things I draw the line at; however and I’m afraid I have not yet let go of the English conditioning that means I do not urinate whilst being watched by strangers. Maybe, if I’m desperate and it’s been a long night, I’ll accept the presence of a close female friend but that’s my limit. Cue my reliance on Gurudev once again, who was called to explain that yes, I really was able to get on with it alone and wouldn’t fall over without her support. She didn’t seem to quite follow though, and stepped back with some confusion to watch, and wait for me to get on with it anyway. Eventually she was persuaded that I could also make my own way back to the clinic, thank you and good bye. Sample in hand, I returned to the office-cum-laboratory and we waited a little longer. I was then given a printed analysis of my blood sample, which I was responsible for ferrying back to the doctor. I found this both fascinating and refreshing, it seemed like such a quick and simple system. I also enjoyed a good nosey and deduced that with a white blood cell count higher than the given normal range, my immune system had kicked in and my body was indeed fighting off some sort of infection. I felt somewhat vindicated; there was a reason I felt so ropey! I was directed to leave my little tub of wee on the windowsill for some reason and we were dismissed.
Shortly after that, we were ushered into a different consultation room, containing a remarkably expansive desk about three times bigger than the examination bed in the corner. Funnily enough, I relaxed a bit when I spotted a portrait of Dr Ambedkar on a shelf next to a small Buddha rupa. Perhaps it was just a little familiarity, perhaps it was a sense that the person who used this office was one of ‘my’ people but either way, it was a noticeable response in myself. We then observed a small room off to one side, almost like a little antechamber, that housed a variety of religious icons in a sort of multi-purpose shrine room. I know UK hospitals often have chaplains and prayer rooms hidden away somewhere but I’ve never seen or used one. I suppose this is simply another example of religion being so much closer to the surface of Indian culture. There were two other patients in this room who were being treated by a man behind the desk, a stethoscope casually slung across his shoulders as I imagine an actor might wear one in an American sitcom, just to be clear that he’s the doctor. We were invited to sit, while they continued discussing what I imagine were personal medical details without even batting an eyelid with regards to our presence. There were also several other members of the medical team in the room, who I got the impression were kept close at hand to provide not so much assistance, as an audience to this man whom, whilst I am sure was very well meaning, had possibly the biggest ego I have ever had the opportunity to encounter. The other patients eventually left and he turned his attention to me. After a string of apparently unrelated questions that I took to be simply nosy curiosity or an attempt to practise English, he decided the time had come to use his prop. I’m not quite sure how effective a stethoscope is when used over several layers of clothing and left in position for less than a second in each random location to which it is applied, but he seemed satisfied and I wasn’t about to volunteer any exposure of flesh. At this point, he spotted the top of the tattoo I have running down the middle of my back. ‘What’s this?’ he demanded suddenly. It took me a while to work out what he was referring to but I eventually realised and explained that it was Mercury; the nearest planet to the sun and the start of the diagram of the solar system tattoo that runs down my spine. After telling me that actually, I was wrong, that wasn’t the solar system because there was no Sun (!?), I was directed to the bed, where my abdomen received another pummelling. When he was satisfied, I was allowed to sit back up to be informed that it was a great thing to have the planets on my back as I was channelling their energies into my spinal chakras and drawing down great blessings from the gods. All good there then. After a regal glance at my printed results, we were instructed to go and collect the results from the urine sample. We were treated to some more theatrics upon our return and I was informed (and pleased to know) that I did not have malaria or dengue but had in fact contracted two separate infections, one of the gastric system and one of the bladder. Some scribbled prescriptions were made on my notes before the first doctor who examined me was hailed to the throne room and made to stand in front of the desk like a troublesome student before the headmaster. She was then subjected to the most undermining demonstration of arrogant criticism I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness as the doctor listed all the things she had not done properly in her treatment of me as a foreigner. I managed to hold back a physical wince but couldn’t quite stop myself from commenting as I interrupted to inform him in no uncertain terms that I had been very happy with the care I had received from her and was impressed by the nature of her bedside manner. I’ll confess, this was something of an exaggeration but I felt impressed at least that she’d accurately diagnosed a urinary tract infection with no more than a few prods and I felt the need to somehow redress the imbalance of his unfounded tirade. My comments were deflected from the force field of the super-ego with the same disdainful wrist-flick with which this poor, and one imagines long-suffering, woman was dismissed.

I was finally handed my notes, a prescription on the back page, and told to eat well, take rest and return the day after tomorrow. I exited with a respectful ‘Jai Bhim’ but this was not reciprocated and I was simply met with a blank stare as I was told ‘good bye’, which made me internally question the presence of the portrait of Ambedkar behind the desk. After settling my bill; 2800 rupees in total, we gratefully filed out into what passes for fresh air in Nagpur, to find the chemist. Though we’d ended up using a facility at the higher end of the healthcare costs spectrum, I reflected simultaneously how cheap it actually was (that’s around £30) and how lucky we are in the UK to have a system where the quality of your care, and indeed whether you get any at all, is not directly dictated by your financial security.
I then collected an unholy quantity of mostly unlabelled drugs, plucked from random packets with no dosage instructions, or other information from a pharmacist who seemed completely baffled by my repeated requests for more information. We filed back to the hospital and managed to get some details on how and when to take them even, if I was none the clearer on what many of them actually were. I was grateful to be collected from the city centre by Aryaketu then, and driven home to reluctantly consume some weak soup and toast in order to buffer the first dose of mystery medicine.

Thankfully, after another week or so of being very gentle with myself and one return visit at which I was prescribed another two weeks of chemical antibiotic cocktail, I am now feeling probably at my healthiest since that first bout of food poisoning knocked me for six back in November. My theory is that a strong immune system was able to deal with this initial shock and suppress but not completely irradiate the new pathogen, which then put up enough of a consistent challenge to a body gradually becoming more run down by changes in diet and environmental conditions to result in an increasing frequency of symptoms that then took ever longer to regain some control over. So in summary, I can’t say the whole ordeal was a pleasant process, but I’m now very glad I went and can enjoy both the novelty of feeling genuinely healthy again as well as the reflection of yet another unique experience afforded me by my time in this country of constant discovery!

Anyone wondering, like I, about the sterility of the thermometer, need not fear. Upon peering more closely at two jars of bright orange liquid housed on the reception desk next to a leaning pile of paperwork, I discovered that they are sterilised (one assumes between each patient) in their own separate jars labelled ‘oral’ and ‘rectal’. No room for errors there then. I feel completely comfortable with that. Ahem.
Picture
That'll keep you going...
Picture
It's all a bit serious on the return trip...
Picture
I DO NOT have Dengue! WIN! \o/
2 Comments

In With the New

15/1/2017

0 Comments

 
The New Year itself started with a flurry of activity that was completely unrelated to any coincidence of the calendar and so the whole event had come and gone with very little recognition. However, there’s a certain English phrase that goes something along the lines of ‘better late than never’ and so it was this approach that we took to the question of the student New Year party. It was, after all, only a week late, which by Indian standards of flexible scheduling is practically early. Anyway, young people rarely need an excuse for a bit of fun, or so you’d think, so we duly shared the various organisational tasks (you buy the fizzy drink, I’ll get the paper cups) and arranged to get started at 6pm on Sunday the 8th.

Now, I’ve a fair bit of experience of trying to organise teenagers into having fun and you’d be surprised how difficult it can be. Sugary snacks, music and permission to not study despite the presence of your teachers, do not a party make. There was a little of the awkward school disco about the first half an hour or so but eventually, once the drink kicked in (I’m talking sugar rush here, of course) things livened up a bit and we even got a bit of self-conscious dancing… which is, after all the best kind. However, it soon became clear that proceedings would not become any more festive of their own accord and so after a good deal of encouragement (read goading?) from both the groups, Mark and I took the floor for some self-conscious dancing of an entirely different kind. If there was ice to be broken, we were gonna smash it into oblivion.
Picture
Ready to get the party started!
Picture
A quick meeting of minds... "what about the one where you mime sticking a deckchair up your nose?"
By proving that nobody could look as ridiculous as us, hopefully everybody would feel a bit more relaxed about having a boogie themselves. I started my set with the instinctive moves of one who grew up in mosh pits and happily launched into a sequence of head banging. After some time, I allowed this to blend, seamlessly I’m sure, into the kind of lolloping pogo as performed by your average unwashed, summer festival living, dreadlocked tree hugger before realising I should branch out to include a wider audience and regressing into the kind of shoulder slinking, hip swinging sashay best demonstrated by an 80’s starlet on Top of the Pops. Miming, thankfully, was not required as there was very little Hindi on the track that had been selected for us. Which went on. And on. And on. You think the Duracell Bunny has moves? It’s got nothing on a pair of desperate foreign  teachers who are trying to work out which form of stem verb plus ‘ing’ they could tease out of some dodgy dancing for a quick revision class on Monday morning. Finally, it ended and we flopped into sweaty heaps at the side of the classroom, like one of those old toys where you push the base up and make the little wooden animal collapse. After a breather, we reconvened and surveyed the wider effects of our grooves. There was certainly more dancing, however, I couldn’t help notice that this was completely gender segregated and so I decided to introduce the concept of the conga in the hope that I might generate a current of movement and mix things up a bit. After no more than about three minutes of mild confusion, the line broke up and sure enough like oil and water, boys magnetised to the side of the room nearest the door (for a quick escape?!) and the girls to the end near the drinks table (possibly for an equally quick opportunity to be doing something other than dancing?). After a quick confluence, we decided to bring out the big guns and loaded the Locomotion onto Youtube. How, reasoned the Annabeth Brain, can a group of young girls fail to go giddy for a bit of Kylie?! Ah yes. The generation gap. The language barrier. The cultural gulf. Well, I had fun anyway. Mark then led a round of YMCA, which this was tolerated politely with much the same air of befuddled humouring before we conceded, gratefully, to the perimeter, safe in the knowledge that we had done our duty. Thankfully, from this point on, the real stars took over, and finally, though I had to accept that the centuries old tide of cultural gender separation were not going to be turned back in a single party, the embarrassment and awkwardness had given way to genuine fun.
Eventually, the party food was distributed (samosas, what English people will know as ‘Bombay mix’ and salted oily chillies) and I was encouraged to demonstrate my apparently surprising skills of eating chillies that even Indians consider too hot (who knew those days of University Food Dares would set me up so well with the skills I needed for my professional future!?). True to form, once the food was gone, so was the party spirit (food always comes last at Indian functions, it seems) and the boys slipped off into the night to catch the bus. I tried a last bit of dancing with the girls (they’re a bit non-plussed by House of Pain too, sadly) but eventually even that petered out and we were all in bed by ten!

That might sound like something of a party flop by some standards but actually it was for the best as the next day was scheduled to be equally full of jubilation. The other Aryaloka centre in Nagpur where my colleague Mark lives, and which houses the boys community, has been in an ongoing process of construction since day one. The ground floor has been open and functioning since the start but the second floor is only just finished and though we have been teaching (and in some cases living!) in it we have actually been working around a bit of a building site. Last month; however, the toilet cubicle got a door, the kitchen became functional, the impressive new shrine was installed and the shiny tiled floors were swept clear of builders dust for the last time. January then, became the month to celebrate this fact and on the 9th, we held an inauguration ceremony on the new floor.
This was attended by our students, the teachers and several local Triratna Order Members, with a dedication ceremony conducted by Shakyajata and Khemadhamma, from Australia, both of whom have been supporting Aryaloka in various ways since the conception. They each gave talks after the puja, describing their experience of the history and aspirations for the future of the institute. Mark and I were then called up. Going last is never an easy trick; your audience is feeling evermore fidgety and the previous speakers have probably made all the salient points but I fell back on my love of analogy and muttered something about people being like buildings. That’s not as bad as it sounds, the point I was trying to make was that we are built ourselves
from bricks of experience, skilfully constructed but perhaps never really finished, so we should try not to limit ourselves prematurely and remember we can always build another floor. It seemed to be well received anyway and several people approached me after the event as well as in the days following to say they had appreciated my sentiments. Of course, no celebration would be complete without full tummies and so after a few more talks from visiting order members, proceedings gave way to a very fine spread, which was enjoyed by all.
So it may not have lined up with the calendar but even if it wasn’t technically a great start to the new year, it was certainly an excellent way to start a new week! Full of promise, blossoming with potential and bubbling with joy!

Due to the untimely sickness of my digital SLR, most of these photos are stolen from colleagues' Facebook feeds! With thanks and apologies!

0 Comments

New Year, New State

12/1/2017

1 Comment

 
Picture
It is not easy to take good photos on a moving train!
With only about 12 hours turnaround between returning from the NNBY convention and heading out of Nagpur once more, the fact that it was New Year’s Eve seemed pretty academic, and actually, if it hadn’t been for the hearty cries of ‘Happy New Year’ at midnight, I think I would have been completely unaware that it was even happening. We were heading to Raipur on an 06:30 train out of Kamptee (the stop after Nagpur and a little closer to the education centre in Bhilgaon) and this would be my first experience of a different state (Raipur is in Chhattisgarh) as well as on an Indian train. The purpose of our trip was to visit the branch of Aryaloka Computer Education run by ex-Nagpurian students Satish and Sanjaya; to give them a little support and meet the students benefitting from their tuition. We were only scheduled to be there for one night; a fact I queried given the extent of the five hour train journey.  Since we were going all that way, I wondered if it would not be better to have at least two nights, maybe spend a bit more time with the students, even run a workshop or two. I was greeted with nonplussed indifference by Aryaketu who couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Five hours, he informed me patiently, is not a long train journey.
I had been told to expect delays; Indian trains, a bit like Indian everything else, do not run on time. At least, they run in their own time, a unique temporal framework that most Indians seem to tick along quite happily in synch with, but would drive most Europeans to distraction. I can’t remember if our train was due at 06:00 and arrived at 06:30 or was due at 06:30 and arrived at 07:00, which probably goes to show I am making some headway with regards to accepting a more relaxed schedule. Either way, it was only half an hour difference between the roughly predicted arrival time and the reality, which isn’t bad at all, even by British standards. I’ve certainly been delayed longer by trains in England.
I found the experience of train travel was equally a lot more pleasant than I had thought might be the case, though I expect this had a lot to do with the fact that we had bought quite expensive tickets to ride in ‘Three Tier AC’. This means the bunks stack three on top of one another (trains seem to be furnished as sleeper carriages by standard, probably due to the sheer distances involved) and the carriage has air conditioning. So, our travel wasn’t quite as swanky as ‘Two Tier AC’, but was a good deal more comfortable than ‘second class’, or even ‘general’ carriages; but then they probably
Picture
Not exactly Michael Palin... But I can pretend...
Picture
The design of that station sign looks... familiar...
Picture
Along the carriage...
don’t really need air-conditioning since there’s not usually any glass in the windows. All in all, I really quite enjoyed the train. Once I’d clambered into my drop down bunk (I’d thought I might sit up in it but this wasn’t really an option so I reclined instead), the only thing disturbing the gentle rocking of the train was the calls of various vendors passing up and down the carriage selling ‘CHAI!’, ‘DOSA!’ or, intriguingly ‘CHIPSY BISCUITS!’ Now, I’ve felt desperate for a cup of tea once in a while but I’ve never realised it could be such an urgent business as to require quite so much volume, but never mind. As for the ‘chipsy biscuits’… I’m afraid I unadventurously left those to the imagination.
Despite the minor ‘reality shift’ in terms of our departure time, we arrived in Raipur reasonably on schedule and were met by Satish, who had organised a car to take us a local order member’s home. Here, we were greeted with a far more sedate cup of chai before being served lunch. The food was very similar to what I’d been told was standard Maharashtrian fare and I enquired about the difference with Chhattisgarhi dishes. Actually, it turned out the family were Maharashtrians which explained the familiarity!

After lunch, we had a little rest before meeting a large group of students in the family’s very impressive shrine room. The young people who had come to meet with us on the first day were all ex-students and had completed their studies with Aryaloka in the previous year. We were keen to meet with them to establish how successful they had been in their post-study ambitions; had they found employment? Were they continuing in study? Had they stayed in Raipur or returned to their villages? A great many of them were still studying, either in the equivalent of English 6th Form and Further Education, still working through their 11th or 12th Standard classes, or in first, second or even third years of BA or BSc courses.

There is not currently any provision for full time study as enjoyed by our men’s and women’s communities in Nagpur, however the courses offered by Aryaloka can frequently be fitted in around other commitments. Many of the young people we spoke to on the first day had been able to find employment following the course, often in accounting departments owing to their new skills in the programme Tally, and thanks to this were able to pay their course fees and support themselves whilst studying, or in many cases, pay their course fees, support themselves and financially assist their families, also while studying. It certainly set a contrast against the British system of support during study, despite the changes and controversy in recent years. There is absolutely no expectation or assumed right to education here; there’s no doubt in any mind that it is a privilege to be valued and paid for. The other outstanding observation I made and found very touching was the readiness with which most students expressed their gratitude, not just to the institute that is Aryaloka, but personally to Shakyajata. They were quite open in sharing an awareness that without her support and tuition, they would not be enjoying the benefits of their studies, nor feeling even half as optimistic about the future.

Another heart-warming discovery was the perceived role that the Dharma study had played in their development; a majority of the group were quite clear that this was an important element in their studies that had equipped them to deal successfully with many of life’s trials and tribulations in a balanced and trouble-free way. Two groups of young women had even set up their own communities since leaving and were supporting each other in their practice. They told us that this had been a unique benefit of the Aryaloka course, which they would not have found at another education provider.
Picture
Shakyajata receiving well earned thanks!
Picture
The (not so) old students gather!
Picture
Satish outside the centre in Raipur
Picture
The tiny but much appreciated computer room!
Our schedule for the second day involved saying a grateful farewell to our hosts and their beautiful home. I was most impressed by the gardens; a roof terrace, watered by hand for at least an hour before breakfast and an equally well kept front garden with the first lawn I’ve seen since leaving England! Chhattisgarh seems wetter than Nagpur and is famous for particularly vicious mosquitoes as a result! We then took a car journey into the centre of Raipur to visit the Computer Centre and meet some current students. Sanjay and Satish again welcomed us and we were shown into a building that made me really appreciate the facilities in Nagpur. A tiny little building with not more than 6 or 7 computers and an even smaller general classroom that I think is probably used for English, when a teacher is available. We met with two groups that day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon and just as well too that it was split as we struggled to fit even half the group into the room. It was adequate though, for us to hear their stories, which sounded so very similar to many I have heard since my arrival. It struck me that it was probably not very common for anyone to ask these young people about their lives and regardless of any learning that they may or may not have received, even showing an interest in them was a
significantly beneficial act. We heard again of lives set against extreme hardship from the start. If someone is considered ‘below poverty line’ in India, by UK standards it doesn’t even bear thinking about. There is no social security. There are no food banks. There is no formal structure to any kind of social responsibility and if you are foolhardy enough to have been born to such a family then, well, you can assume you deserve all that you get. Or don’t get, in many circumstances. As well as hearing from women with impressive academic qualifications who simply need to get some kind of work, regardless of their abilities, we hear from farming families who cannot afford to stay on their farms all year round and commute to the city to scrape together something of a living outside of the growing season. We hear from youngsters whose father has become unable to work due to illness or injury and leave a family of five or six unfed and unhoused if not for the generosity of an uncle here or there. We hear from bereaved single parent families whose housewife mothers are now eking out a meagre income of 2000 rupees a month (that’s about £26) to feed, clothe and shelter their sons and daughters. We hear from these young people that their modest ambitions for the result of the education that they would simply not be able to afford from most colleges, is not to achieve high earning jobs, or social status, or houses, cars and the trappings of wealth. They simply want to learn, so they can earn enough to lift their loved ones out of poverty. I realise while I jot down their stories, trying not to do so with an air of condescension, trying not to feel as though I am engaging in ‘poverty tourism’, that there isn’t the slightest whiff of self-pity from even one of them. I hear stories of lives that would be considered reason enough to be utterly broken in England, that would be presented as tales from rock bottom, shattered families who would might give their hardships as reason, if not full justification for crime, for mental illness, for dependency on the welfare state. And yet from these perspectives I hear nothing but optimism, the belief that this opportunity, this education that they would not otherwise have access to, is perhaps the greatest gift they could have received, luck beyond all reasonable hope and all the help they need to build their futures stronger and brighter and happier for themselves and those with whom they live. It’s hard not to feel a sense of shame or embarrassment for my own historical excuses or failed motivations as I am cast into the shadows by such radiant self-determinism.
I notice too, that in the west, we seem to have developed this need to appear busy, to be seen as productive at all costs, stress becomes almost a badge of honour. If you’re working so hard, it must be admirable, you must be making a contribution to the world around you, and yet in reality, genuine productivity does not always seem to correspond proportionately to such lifestyles. In India however, I have met people who seem to think nothing whatsoever of getting up at five every morning to carry out household tasks before travelling an hour to college, then on to work and back home in the evening to study more before perhaps going to bed at midnight, on a good day. Six days a week. There is no implied martyrdom. There is no subtle expectation of impressed awe. This is simply how it must be. There is a desired goal, this is the path that leads to it and that is all there is to be said on the matter. Of course, I am coming from an outside perspective and I don’t necessarily pick up on all the finer points of communication or social interaction that might betray less stoical attitudes but still it is impressive and a lesson I can only aspire to learn from.
Our Raipur trip ended with a meal at the station before another, slightly delayed but generally comfortable journey home to Nagpur. The station fare may not have been the highest quality sustenance I have enjoyed in my time here, but I was left with enough food for thought to see me through. I found it genuinely impressive to see how Aryaloka operates in Raipur; it may be a smaller centre and not yet developed to the same degree but already the positive results of the work being carried out there are palpable and those who have benefitted are more than capable of voicing their genuine gratitude for the meaningful opportunities they have been given. That the Raipur centre is run by two ex-students from the residential courses in Nagpur also demonstrates just how far reaching the work of Young Indian Futures continues to be. It’s often easy to forget the scope of ones’ actions, it’s easy to miss taking into account anything that doesn’t happen directly in front of you and as a teacher it is common to end up wondering really just how much difference you’re making. This trip was a wonderful opportunity to realise though, just how far even small acts of positivity can spread, how a single seed of learning can germinate into fruit that not only benefits the student, but also improves the lives of those around them in so many ways.
Picture
Apparently vegan blood tastes good. Oh, the irony.
Though it was a short trip, it was an important one and it will be remembered; if not only for establishing the truth behind the reputedly fierce Chhattisgarh mosquitoes; it may have taken me nearly a fortnight to get this update written but I’ve still got some fading bites to keep the memories of Raipur alive!
1 Comment

National Network of Buddhist Youth; 10th National Conference

6/1/2017

5 Comments

 
I have a habit of finding somewhat non-traditional things to do with my Christmases and 2016 was clearly never going to be an exception to that trend! Due to the rule of standard Indian planning, I wasn’t sure quite how it would conform to expected nonconformity until quite late on but, as it turned out, I was fortunate to spend the last few days of the year, from December 25th until the 31st, at the 10th annual National Network of Buddhist Youth Conference at the Triratna run Husen Tsang Retreat Centre in Bordharan. Now, having mentioned such an organisation, I would normally expect to continue my introduction with at least a summary overview of what that organisation does, but it would be far more accurate to conclude with it instead as that better reflects the reality of my experience. It really took me a whole week of observing and learning to understand for myself the importance of the body and the work it carries out.
Picture
The Stupa at Bordharan
Picture
Some (probably) non-Buddhist residents of Bordharan!
I had first heard about the event, when Aryaketu had mentioned it in the car on our way to a semi solitary retreat in Bihali at the beginning of the month. We had initially hoped to take this retreat at Bordharan, which is much closer to Nagpur, but the centre had been fully booked. My interest was immediately piqued then, not only for the prospect of another opportunity to see Bordharan, but also because the retreat would be led by Subhuti, one of Triratna’s most senior Order Members and one of founder Sangharakshita’s foremost disciples. I had listened to recordings of Subhuti’s talks online and had read some of his work too, but even though he is president of the London Buddhist Centre, as he spends up to six months of every year on multiple trips working in India, the chance to attend not just one but a whole week of his talks in person seemed a very fine Christmas present indeed. At the very least, I’d be guaranteed to understand a percentage of the programme. Although a majority of it would be in Hindi, a common language for many of the young people who would be gathering from states all across India, Subhuti gives talks in English with an interpreter.

Despite my initial enthusiasm, for a while it didn’t seem possible. Aryaketu seemed keen that I should attend, but various other people were not so sure it was a good idea;
 I was likely to be the only white face in a sea of up to 300 excited young Indians, there would be no specific provision for us delicate westerners with regards to eating and sleeping, and we were scheduled to make a 5 hour interstate train journey at 6am the day after my return to visit Raipur in Chhattisgarh. Granted, some of these very valid reservations didn’t exactly fill me with excited anticipation but I am made of tougher stuff than to be put off by potential inconvenience and it didn’t sound like the possible discomforts would come anywhere near outweighing the likely benefits. A spiritual gym session. OK, I would probably find myself flung into pseudo-celebrity status based upon my lack of melanin and the resulting assumptions; but I’ve got rather wearily used to that and have become quite practiced at polite disengagement from the requests for ‘just one selfie’ (read at least twenty selfies and the same from all said selfie takers friends) and floods of repetitive and inaccurately phrased questions (‘from where you are?’ ‘Have you what age?’ ‘Ma’am please I want your good name?’). Yes, I’d probably end up trying to sleep like a sardine on the floor with scores of excited teenage girls, but those who thought that would put me off knew nothing of my past experiences attempting to grapple a few hours kip under a wobbly paste table, far too near MetalVotze (don’t try and translate that) and a selection of unwashed body parts belonging to unknown numbers of Germans, Finns, Swedes and other random Europeans in various states of hangover replenishment at Demoscene Parties. If you’ve survived these and still managed to wake up with enough energy to complete a winning entry to the freestyle graphics competition, you can probably handle most sleeping conditions, I reckon. And as for food; I like Indian food. The five hour train journey to Raipur? Would be in an actual bed. QED.

Still, I wasn’t sure how much I could jump up and down and demand to go, especially as I would be indirectly expecting my colleagues to take on all the teaching again, but when I received an invitation from my very good friend Neha; designer, camera woman, editor and all round amazing creative whirlwind at Lord Buddha TV, who would be filming at the event, my resolve to demonstrate that ‘where there’s a will there’s a way’ became manifest and so at 10:30 on Christmas morning I was honoured to take the front seat of a car bursting with people, luggage, camera equipment and a good deal of excited metta.

I had hoped that I might be able to assist Neha; I knew she’d have a very busy schedule and though my background isn’t in media directly, I can turn my hand to the photographic if required and learn pretty fast. This modest ambition hadn’t accounted for language barriers however, and though Neha’s English is better than basic, my Marathi, like my Hindi, is non-existent and it was obviously easier for her to simply do something than explain to me what needed doing. Her brother was also helping with a second camera so actually, she was fairly well covered and I contented myself with occasional ferrying of equipment to feel useful. As such, I quickly realised that following Neha round like a duckling follows mum, whilst reassuring, was not really helping either of us. After unloading into our luxuriously sardine-free room, shared with only five other Order members, organisers and Erica, (the only other white face at the event aside from Subhuti himself!), I left Neha to her work and began to absorb the reality of the situation into which I had voluntarily plunged for the next 6 days.
My first act of settling in was to make a note of the programme for the days ahead in my diary, as listed on a printed programme I borrowed from Neha. Though subject to change, it gave me a good starting point. I also quickly realised exactly why the event was being referred to as a conference rather than a retreat! Each day started at 05:30, when we were encouraged to ‘wake up’. Tea would be served at 06:15, followed by half an hour of Chi Kung at 06:30. This preceded an hour of meditation at 07:00, with breakfast between 08:00 and 09:00. The day then really got going with the main talk (by Subhuti) at 10:00. Each day had a different, related topic; How to Think, Transformation, Equality, Social Responsibility and finally, Being an Activist, then after the 90 minute talk, we would split into discussion groups. Some days followed this with a ‘Q&A with Subhuti’ session planned before lunch at 13:00. 14:00 to 14:45 was generously scheduled as ‘rest’ before more chai and a series of ‘floating sessions’ at 15:00, which I soon learned meant somewhat impromptu study and/or discussion sessions. From 16:30 until 18:00 would be debates, panel discussions or seminars related to the theme of the day and after supper (served between 19:00 and 20:00), there were talks, presentations or celebratory activities leading up to the close with a puja at 21:30. The schedule kindly timetabled ‘sleep’ at 22:00. I began to see that the week would slip by very fast indeed.

Picture
The Dormitory of the Privileged!
Picture
A Full Schedule...
I spent some time in the afternoon of our arrival sitting in the shrine room Stupa, enjoying the peace and glad to be once more out of chaotic Nagpur. I was more than a little disturbed at first to discover I wasn’t allowed to leave the centre, being told that if I wanted to go for a walk I was welcome to do circuits of the site, but I tried to welcome the resulting feelings of suffocation and entrapment as an opportunity to practice acceptance. Much as I didn’t like the feeling that I was in some sort of dharmic prison for a week, I didn’t want to kick up an unnecessary fuss either and given my rather unpleasant experience in the jungle near Bihali, a little part of me wondered if it might not be sensible to curb my wanderlust for a week anyway.
Picture
The Inauguration Ceremony
Picture
Installing the Buddha on the Shrine
It was as well I rested; the opening ceremony was a high energy affair with a re-enactment of one of Dr Ambedkar’s most famous acts of civil and spiritual disobedience, which clearly stimulated the already excited crowd to even stronger resolve with regards to their purpose for the week. On December 25th 1927, Dr Ambedkar had publically burned a copy of the core Hindu text, the Manu Smriti. Subhuti explained that though this was often presented as an ancient script, it was in fact relatively modern and had been written by Brahmins (Hindu high caste community), containing within it the primary justification for caste discrimination in the Hindu religion. Burning this document was one of the first public steps Ambedkar took in renouncing the religion of his birth and the entrenched injustices that so many were subjected to in its name.

I realised then that this was not ‘just’ an opportunity for young people to learn about Buddhism and meekly deepen their practice. Many of those attending this event would be children of Ambedkarites, social activists born and bred, possibly even descendants of those who were at the original mass conversion 60 years ago. Many, though not all, would be from Scheduled Caste backgrounds and if the flavour of the event (subtitled A Democratic Revolution; from Individual
to Institutions) or the language of the planned talks seemed more radical than spiritual, this was for the very good reason that many of their families would have embraced Buddhism, at least to begin with, as an exit strategy from significant disadvantage and discrimination based upon no more than the circumstances of their birth. Of course, I know by now a fair amount about the life and tireless philanthropy of Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar, but I found myself wondering for not the first time since my arrival into the Indian Sangha, if it will ever be possible for me to relate to him with such depth of feeling as an Indian from an ‘Ex Untouchable’ community. I have no wish to engage in rhetorical activities or disingenuous speech in an attempt to fit in but I don’t want to be merely an outside observer, a political tourist. I drew to mind Aryaketu’s talk at the Deekshabhoomi, in which he related to us Ambedkar’s vision for the future; an international Buddhist movement that stretches beyond local emancipation into the manifestation of global liberation, equality and fraternity. I may not have a shared history with these young people but I certainly share an ambition with them. I have not experienced the same oppression or hardships that fuelled Babasaheb and his modern followers but we certainly have a common aspiration and ultimately, I draw my inspiration from the same teacher; the Buddha. I resolved to keep these facts mentally close at hand over the coming days.
So it was that I again found myself on a fast track integration process; once more a fish out of water socially, politically, culturally and spiritually. This was heightened by the anticipated number of very curious and excitable teenagers, many of whom had never seen a white person before and thought nothing of making comments such as ‘when I first saw you I thought you were an albino because we’ve got them in our village but actually it’s OK because now I know you’re a foreigner’ (read awed emphasis on that final word). I had enjoyed a surge of confidence since my post-Bihali spiritual rebirth experience (as discussed in my last update) but I now found myself reacquainted with a more withdrawn and introverted version of myself. I did not wish to appear unfriendly and wanted to be sure I was giving a positive first impression, where it was being taken, on behalf of modern Western people (no pressure there then), but I needed to remain equally true to myself and at the time, this was a self of study, observation and introspection. I skipped around the edges of multiple social interactions, like a pebble not yet committing to the lake and tried to politely take my leave as quickly as possible.

After the first full day, I realised that participating in the afternoon events was probably not the best use of energy. As they were all in Hindi, I would understand only a tiny percentage of the material and so I was glad to carve some space for myself each afternoon while the ‘coast was clear’ for reading (I’d brought some texts), rest and yoga (I’d also brought my mat!). The daily highlight for me was without doubt the main talk by Subhuti and as I waited in the atmosphere of hushed excitement for the programme to begin on the first morning, I sensed I was not alone in this. I really felt myself to be at the ‘cutting edge’ not just of my own personal practice but of the work being done in the Triratna Buddhist Order; and at the front of the Dharma itself, as if we were at the driving edge of a weather front gradually sweeping across a landscape of change.
Picture
Lunch! A delicious, if potentially awkward social affair!
Picture
A sentiment I greatly appreciated in the first few days!
Though none of the content felt entirely new, I very much enjoyed the language of delivery (in more ways than one!) and it felt fresh regardless. I also found myself learning a lot from simply watching how Subhuti delivered his talks; a succinctly expressed core message, an economy of gesture, a deliberate utility of the necessary pause for interpretation. His talks struck an impressive balance between calm statement of fact and firm assertion of the need for action, and I felt that listening to them was like witnessing a gentle stream; soft and soothing, yet persistently unstoppable. The lightest possible touch ultimately resulting in irreversible change as concepts pooled, gathering momentum for intention to be channelled, inevitably eroding a landscape of apparently fixed socio-political conditions.
Picture
My group in discussion
Picture
A ritual JAI BHIM!
Picture
The Wonderful Group 22!

Following these main talks, we quickly gathered in our discussion groups and I was fortunate to have several people in mine who spoke some English, Prachi especially, who kindly took on the role of interpreting. Diksha, NNBY co-ordinator, and Raul facilitated the discussions and always made a point of trying to include me wherever possible. I wasn’t always able to completely follow the discussion and sensed that on occasion the translated content of what I had to contribute wasn’t entirely as substantial as the thoughts I’d tried to convey, but nevertheless, I really enjoyed the opportunity to engage with a smaller, more controlled group of convention participants. That we met over the course of the week helped too, as I could actually begin to develop a sense of individual personality in a sea of faces and deepen my friendship with them.

The first few days were definitely focused on grounding myself and settling in. I found concentration during meditation difficult; I wasn’t struggling to sit but my mind was very active, processing all the new experiential stimuli. On the third day, I found that while I was not easily maintaining my focus on the led mindfulness of breathing meditation, I was having productive thoughts nonetheless, so aware of and receptive to this diversion, I allowed the flow to take its course. I suddenly felt I understood how I could make meaningful contact with my fellow participants and open up a genuine channel of communication that wasn’t limited to tedious pleasantries or ‘cocktail party’ exchange as restricted by a very basic English education. I could see a way to demonstrate areas of commonality and hopefully even correct some misconceptions and erroneous assumptions around my apparent symbolism of Western culture. Who cares really how many brothers or sisters I have or have not got anyway!? In September, I had given a well-received talk titled ‘Why I am a Buddhist’ on a beginners weekend at the Vajrasana retreat centre in Suffolk, and though it might seem I had little to contribute to the very specific needs of these young people in terms of teachings or imparted wisdom, at the very least I could share my story (that I knew so many were keen to hear) and explain how I could see us united in a common future, even if we had travelled from diverse pasts. I realised I even had my notes from the original talk with me. Although the talk as I wrote it for the Vajrasana audience would not be appropriate, it was certainly a good starting point. As we left the meditation hall, I spoke to my roommate, Order Member and co-leader, Shraddhavajri, suggesting that I might give a speech. I already knew of course, how tight the schedule was and how carefully planned. The last thing I wanted to do was appear presumptuous but I did feel very strongly that it would be a good thing to do. I was relieved that she agreed it would be beneficial and that she would talk to the team. From this point on, I felt it was equally likely that either nothing would happen at all, or I’d be given 5 minutes to prepare for a 60 minute speech, so I erred on the side of caution and started to make some notes that afternoon.
Meeting Shraddhavajri must be recorded as one of the high points of my week, and has furnished me with yet another inspirational female figure to add to my growing collection since becoming involved with Triratna. Living and working in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, she teaches Physical Education as well as running Dharma classes, youth groups and supporting the Ordination processes of six young women. At least that’s everything I can remember. I suspect that’s only about half of it. She vividly described a talk she’d recently given on gender equality, how shocked some of her teaching colleagues had been by it and how much negative feedback she’d received in the aftermath. She’s a couple of years younger than me but by Indian standards that’s apparently very old to be unmarried. Still, she’s holding off the constant social pressure, but for how much longer she’ll manage, I’m not sure. I’ve often refused to call myself a feminist because those I have encountered in the west who describe themselves as such seem more interested in female supremacy than real gender equality, but listening to her made me realise that in India, I have absolutely no hesitation whatsoever in planting myself very squarely in a proudly feminist camp. I only wish I knew how to support such a remarkable woman, who is to my mind ploughing on in a strikingly selfless and admirable fashion to blaze a much needed trail and set a firm example to the women around her that their future need not be dictated by a default assumption of gender typical roles.
Picture
Neha; Never far from the action...
Picture
Candle lit Puja on the final night.
Picture
A rare chance to rest on the last morning!
Picture
Shraddhavajri giving an interview for LBTV
Picture
The Sangha just keeps growing...!



Neha is another of these inspirational women with whom I consider myself very privileged to have become friends and though she was busy much of the time, we did manage to sneak some moments for conversation, which further strengthened our spiritual and social bond. As well as discussing her feelings in the run up to her own wedding, a conversation I found very difficult at times, she kindly gave me a good chunk of her afternoon one day to tell me her story. Having written the life stories of Saccadhamma and Sheetal, I felt it was very important to share Neha’s. Not only is hers another tale of overcoming significant disadvantage, as an alumni of Aryaloka, it also details just how transformational the opportunities offered at the education centre can be. I knew it would be a good story but even I didn’t expect some of the details and I’m looking forward to sharing it as soon as I get a chance in the coming weeks. As a dedicated member of the Lord Buddha TV team, she is often behind the microphone when interviews are conducted but, she told me, I was the first person to ask her for an interview. That may be the case, I replied, and lucky me for getting there first, but I am absolutely sure I will not be the last. Such is Neha’s sparkling energy and selfless determination to spread the Dharma, she has found herself with the dubious privilege of being additionally stretched with the demands of being one of Subhuti’s most trusted assistants. And it is a privilege, but a hard earned one and though she clearly treasures his guidance and friendship with a great respect, this does mean she is often taking on a good deal of extra work. Without wanting to exploit her contacts or her good nature, I’d asked if it might be possible to arrange a meeting at his convenience; I didn’t want to assume special treatment, or that I’d be a priority in a busy schedule but it seemed like I would be missing an opportunity if I didn’t at least ask. True to form, she did what she could and told me that at 4pm on Thursday, I would be welcome to visit Subhuti for a chat.
Thursday turned out to be a significant day; as well as a meeting with Subhuti, I found I would be invited that evening to give my ‘Why I am a Buddhist’ talk at the opening of the scheduled Cultural Programme. I’d also spoken to co-leader, Maitriveer Nagarjuna (who I’d met briefly once before at Nagaloka) not only about the possibility of delivering a talk, but also about the appropriate content of it. He’d enthusiastically accepted the offer, telling me I could talk for 15 to 20 minutes, the same length as the original speech which seemed perfect. I planned for this to allow me some time to cover my personal background, explain how I had encountered Buddhism for very different reasons to most of the participants and then go on to finish by explaining most critically, what we had in common through the vision of Ambedkar and with the support of Triratna (though it is a distinct and separate entity, NNBY is a Triratna based organisation). I managed to remove some of the original talk, written in language that just wouldn’t have made sense to the audience, even with interpretation, to make space for the new content but then I’d added far too much more and with only my tablet, not a laptop to write on and not even any paper to scrawl over, as 4pm approached, I found my head feeling quite scrambled with all I hoped to say. I decided to leave it to one side and return to it later. I didn’t expect to spend more than a quarter of an hour or so with Subhuti so I would have plenty of time.

It’s a strange thing to meet for the first time someone with whose appearance, speech and mannerisms one has become already familiar. Such had been the depth of my engagement with Subhuti’s talks that I almost felt as though we’d already conversed and Neha had described him as having such a kind nature that I didn’t feel at all uncomfortable taking myself up to the hut behind the Stupa where he was staying with Maitriveer, another Order Member Ratnakumar, and possibly one or two others. We were soon sitting on a small, basic, concrete veranda looking out on to a jungle scene of faded teak leaves and dry grasses. To describe the scene as a riot of beige might not be wildly inaccurate but seriously undermines it and perhaps tawny, amber, gold and sienna would all better describe the colours that shone out of the winter landscape in the warmth of the late afternoon sun. I’m not sure if it was because of this complimentary contrast or because they have this colour all of their own, but it particularly occurred to me that this otherwise visually unremarkable elderly gentleman to whom I had presented myself, had a pair of the most strikingly blue eyes I’ve ever seen. If the eyes really are the windows to the soul (though of course the existence of a fixed soul is not reality to a Buddhist) his radiated a wisdom housed in such clarity and depth, yet tempered with so delicate and light hearted a demeanour it that was hard not to feel an almost instantly affectionate respect for this person that I really only knew through very indirect means. Perhaps that he reminded me slightly of one of my uncles influenced this too. It’s probably no surprise that our conversation meandered its way into the realms of art (I think I sort of summarised how I’d ended up with Triratna and where I hoped to go next, but I’m sure we enjoyed all sorts of tangents along the way) and though I’m normally cautious not to bore people by forcing them to look at photos of my art on a first meeting, he did seem so genuinely interested that before I knew it I’d pulled out my tablet and broken my own social taboo. Time is famous for its elastic properties, especially when ones experience of it is particularly pleasant, and as well as thoroughly enjoying the depth of our conversation, I was also relishing the rare opportunity to speak so fluently and with such rich subtlety of vocabulary with a fellow Brit, so one might have expected time to have flown characteristically. This wasn’t how it seemed to go though, and when I was very courteously dismissed to make allowance for his next appointment (though ‘go away please, I need a rest’ would have been an equally acceptable termination) I was neither surprised not expecting to see that a full hour had passed. I could have happily carried on chatting indefinitely and know there would have been plenty more to discuss, yet I did not feel that I had had to wind up early, or that there were unexpressed thoughts left wanting. Perhaps that is how one experiences time when a genuine presence in the moment has been achieved and it’s true to say that such was my absorption that for not one second of that hour did my mind wander to mundane musing of things that had happened earlier in the day, or anticipation of events to come later. It was, then, with mild shock that I returned to my room to find my semi-written notes for the evening talk awaiting a swift conclusion.  

Picture
Subhuti enroute from the hut to the stupa for the morning talk...
Picture
One suspects he only rarely misses a trick...
Picture
Delivering the daily talk...
Picture
Enthusiastically celebrating the 10th NNBY National Conference!
After a couple of attempts to finish it as a fully written speech that just resulted in it getting ever longer, I then started to try and summarise, but opted in the end for an A5 side of jumbled bullet points and a hefty portion of faith in my ability to communicate the crux of what I wanted to say based on how well I knew the material. No one wants to listen to someone merely read from a document anyway and so I relaxed into letting myself feel prepared enough and elected for some sunset yoga instead to clear the sudden mental chattering and re-centre myself before dinner.

When I arrived at the arena where the stage was set for the evening, Neha was already setting up the camera. She looked exhausted as she fixed me squarely in the eye and clearly stated ‘I am only here for you!’ She’d hoped for an evening off as she had no commitment to film the cultural programme, but I’d persuaded her it couldn’t do any harm to record the performances, which even if she didn’t need footage from immediately, may come in handy for future projects. She’d considered this politely, clearly still with an eye to a night of relaxation, but then I’d gone and roundly scuppered any idea of an early night by being so inconsiderate as to actually go and give a speech! I was rather selfishly glad of her presence. Though it was potentially useful for whatever I ended up muttering about to be captured on film, I was really just very grateful of the moral support that her attendance implied. Of course, I knew I would be first up that evening but I was not expecting to be suddenly called to make offerings at the shrine on stage along with Subhuti, nor to be received myself with flowers and positioned on a seat next to him!
Picture
Starting proceedings by making offerings to the shrine
Picture
It's possible that Bharti interpreted a far better speech than I gave...

If I’d not felt glad to have met him earlier that day for just about every other reason possible, I was suddenly very glad that this wasn’t our first introduction. I’d expected nothing of this part of the proceedings and as I was standing only slightly awkwardly to one side trying to work out how to participate appropriately while being urged to join in with the ritual, the gentleman acting as MC, calmly informed me that I had five minutes to speak. I equally calmly explained that I had planned for up to twenty. He didn’t seem to realise for one moment the conundrum that this presented me as he then pointed out that as I’d need to allow time for interpretation, what he meant really was that I had about two and a half. I decided to quit while I was ahead before my slot was reduced any further and placed incense on the shrine before participating in the ritual bowing and taking my seat. ‘Hello again’ is a much easier sentence when finding oneself suddenly on stage with someone than ‘nice to meet you’, and this did calm what would otherwise have been an increasingly fraught situation. ‘What are you talking about?’ Subhuti politely inquired as the audience settled. ‘Well,’ I began, ‘I was supposed to be discussing Why I am a Buddhist but I’ve just been told that the time I’d planned for has been reduced by about ninety percent.’ ‘You talk for as long as you like’ he replied, and so whilst I felt it would be a good idea to be as succinct as possible, I dispensed with an instinct to rush. I abandoned my A5 sheet of bullet points and instead began the monologue that I’d internally rehearsed in various parts throughout the preceding days.

I think I managed to get the bulk of what needed saying across by simply dispensing with my autobiography, which, whilst I’m sure my audience would have been delighted to hear, really wasn’t the most important point at all. Despite my slightly unprepared rambling, it seemed to go down well. I felt more confident when spontaneous applause erupted in response to one statement and when I returned to my seat next to Subhuti, he gently leant over and simply said ‘nice’, demonstrating perhaps more effectively than I had just done, exactly how much it’s possible to convey really very succinctly indeed. I relaxed as he then introduced the cultural night, explaining the importance of creativity and enjoyment, before our chairs were moved to the side of the stage and the stars of the night stepped up to take their places. I was relieved to be off the stage but still felt a little awkward to be sat with the lead team and was keen to reassert my position as ‘one of you’ by returning to my place in the audience as soon as possible, so I snuck back at an appropriate pause to enjoy all the performances with occasional interpretation from Neha and Raju.

Raju later persuaded me to sing but I'm not posting the video of that bit. I’d been very reluctant at first as I felt I’d already had my share of the limelight and I’d earlier resisted invitations by my discussion group to read a poem. I realised though, as I sat there, that whilst I may feel uncomfortable because of it, like it or not I did represent something bigger than myself, I represented an international connection, and for young people who had perhaps never left their village before it was more important to utilise this than to try and demonstrate its lack of substance. I realised being seen to share in the event was more important than attempting to retain the illusion of dignity, so I agreed, and hacked my way through the same song I’d appeased the community girls with a couple of times; the only (appropriate) song I knew all the way through, a favourite from my teens and one that I realised as I sung it was strangely dharmic; Spaceman by 4 Non Blondes. I’m pretty sure I sang at least half of it flat but Hindi singing sounds like it’s in a different key or something to me anyway and no one seemed to mind, judging by the number of people who came up to me the following day and told me how ‘beautiful’ my singing was. Of course I suspect they’d have said that even if I’d pulled out my old party trick of gargling the Beatles ‘When I’m 64’ but I must have done something right. The most significant feedback I received; however, was from those who told me they’d felt moved, or touched by the talk, especially the comment ‘I didn’t realise someone from a different background, a foreigner, could feel the same way about things as me.’ Uh huh. There we go. Box ticked. Job done.


Picture
Taking the stage...
Picture
Finally the talking is over...
Picture
And the real party gets started!
The cultural night gave way into another chilly morning and the final day opened up ahead of us, the theme of which was ‘Being an Activist’. Perhaps it’s a coincidence, perhaps the result of skilled planning and the accumulated content of exceptional talks but I really did feel on that day that I finally had a sense of how my future contributions to the work of NNBY, and Triratna in general might pan out. Subhuti’s final talk gave guidance on the qualities of an ‘ideal’ NNBY activist, but he took pains to clarify that every member of any group, social, spiritual or political, brings their own skills and abilities to the mix and finding one’s own contributions were critical. It was in this frame of mind that I started to realise myself in context. I seem to have an ability to connect with people and to see beyond the cultural or social differences to the person beneath (at least most of the time, I still need to work on it!). I think this first became manifest before I found Buddhism, right back when I was using my arts practice to encourage strangers in UK cities to explore their perceptions of the urban spaces they shared with one another. I’m also a good teacher. This skill doesn’t always find its full potential in the obvious ways, maybe my finest hour isn’t instructing young people in how to use grammatical rules I don’t understand myself, but when I find something of value, I’m driven to share it and the Dharma is perhaps the best example of this I yet know. I also enjoy travelling. This hasn’t seemed so remarkable to me in the past, after all, I’d have thought, who doesn’t? I’ve had cause recently though, from comments made to me by various people and observations I’ve made of my fellow travellers, that actually, not everyone does. Some people do it because they need to be in a different place for some reason. I do it because I have a real thirst for exploration and I genuinely enjoy the experience (yes, even the challenging bits).

I’m not quite sure what form it will take yet, but I’m starting to see that bringing these qualities together, a desire to visit new places, an ability to connect with people from different backgrounds and to help them connect with one another as well as a deep wish to share dharmic practices, might be a really good foundation of skills that could be used in helping to realise Dr Ambedkar’s global vision for the future, within the framework of Sangharakshita’s teachings and the Triratna movement.
Picture
Picture
That might all sound a bit grand. So much the better. I’m sure Subhuti hardly needs it from me, but I couldn’t have approved more of his closing lines. It’s important to have a long term goal but to get there, we must be skilled in applying the principles of Dharma to the situation around us; the Dharma is something to be lived. The Buddha is the ideal activist, Subhuti explained, and if you want to be an ideal activist you must become more and more like the Buddha.

So then, after a week in the jungle with it, how can I describe the National Network of Buddhist Youth? In the first, most practical instance, it’s an organisation run by young people identifying as Buddhist, which seeks to make connections through common spiritual practice, spanning the different Indian states to achieve a goal of social equality and freedom from caste as inspired by the work of Dr Ambedkar.

Really though, it’s so much more than that. It’s a vehicle that empowers young people, regardless of their background to realise the confidence and tools they need to reach their full potential. It enables its members to see not just through caste distinctions but beyond them, to recognise that they are united, not divided, by something far bigger. It provides opportunities for social development, for spiritual evolution and practical skills acquisition. It’s also the biggest bunch of friendly, energetic, dynamically excited young people I think I’ve ever met and I feel quite reassured, because if the future of the Dharma Revolution really does lie (at least partly) in their hands, then it’s definitely going places.

5 Comments

Spiritual Death

20/12/2016

2 Comments

 
It seems appropriate that I come to post this entry on Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. A day when, in the ‘dead’ of winter, we find ourselves cresting the brow of the season and looking forward to the new calendar year that promises spring, as the days gradually but steadily lengthen to bring new growth. Though to a Southern Briton, ‘dead’ of winter in Central India feels more like the ‘light snooze’ of winter, it is noticeable nevertheless and I’m looking forward to the longer hours of daylight.

Non Buddhists may not be familiar with the term ‘Spiritual Death’ and when I first encountered it, I certainly found it rather strange. Thankfully, we’re all about the potential for rebirth here, so it’s not quite as fatal as it sounds. Sangharakshita, founder of Triratna, presents a cycle of spiritual development to us in the stages of Integration, Positive Emotion, Spiritual Death, Spiritual Rebirth and then Spiritual Receptivity. (If you’d like to read more about these stages for yourself, I’m sure my friends in the Manchester Sangha won’t mind me sharing this document produced by Chandana, which gives you an overview of a course that they deliver on the subject). It should be recognised that we don’t necessarily travel through these stages in a progressive fashion, and also that we continue to pass through them again, and again, right throughout our spiritual lives. I guess it’s only upon achieving enlightenment that one ends this, and indeed every other cycle.
Picture
Winter Stars; We still see Orion and Sirius here but at a different angle!
Picture
Not a scene I'll experience any time soon!
The first stage, Integration, often starts with discussions around awareness and mindfulness of yourself. You begin to realise how you behave differently in different social groups, perhaps. Maybe you experience a tension between different versions of ‘you’. You at work. You with the kids. You on a night out with your mates. This wasn’t something I felt I had a particular problem with in itself, I’ve always perceived myself as being quite a ‘straight down the line’, ‘what you see is what you get’ kind of person, but it was still a useful model to contemplate and what I did notice about myself is that I often experienced a tugging between opposing factors of my personality within myself. My actions did not quite line up with my goals. I wanted to feel better rested but wasn’t motivated to go to bed until 1 am, for example. Or perhaps how I truly feel about a situation is a little too difficult to manage in a way I’m comfortable with so I persuade myself I feel differently. “I’m totally fine! I’m taking it all in my stride!” I may believe, as those around me begin to notice the cracks appearing. Anyway, that’s a bit of background, that’s how I engaged with it when I first encountered the teaching. For me now, I see ‘integration’ as being about gathering myself; finding and discovering all the scattered impressions and experiences that form my current self and making room for them to be on the surface of who I am. A bit like going into the garden to cut some flowers and then carefully placing them in a vase so they can each be seen and play their part in the overall arrangement. Of course, the flowers don’t last and the garden itself changes over the seasons, as my learning and experiences shift, so it makes sense that it’s often necessary to revisit this stage.

The stage of Positive Emotion is, to me, the point at which these factors are comfortably balanced within myself and I begin to have more energy for others again, I can become more outward and generous with myself when I know who that self really is. And then we come to the Spiritual Death. If I might couch this in language to make it accessible to the ‘digital native’ generation, I’d say I interpret this as being a bit like the ‘Big Boss’ at the end of a computer game level. You hop along through the game nicely, defeating all the little challenges that are set up for you along the way, steadily making progress. Then, just when you think you’re really getting somewhere, just when you’re nearly there, some big bad beastie comes out of the shadows and bops you off. You reload the level. You start again. Over time, you learn how it moves, where it has weak spots and which of the carefully selected weapons you’ve been given can be most effectively deployed, but still it defeats you. It’s impossible! Finally, just when you were about to eject the cartridge (I’m old school) in disgust and buy a new game, somehow, everything falls into place and you win. You’ve completed that stage! The next level suddenly opens up before you. Of course, that brings with it all its fresh new monsters and obstacles, but you’re a stage higher. You’re more skilled. You’ve upped your game. That’s how I see Spiritual Death; despite all the struggle to get through it, I don’t seem to really know it for what it is until I look back on it, until I realise I’ve finished the level.
Picture
From the space and peace of rural Bihali...
Picture
...To the push and shove of a bustling Nagpur city centre!
I’ve had about three Spiritual Deaths since I arrived in India I think, as each time I shed a layer of preconceived self and opened up to engage more fully with the challenges presented by my new cultural landscape, or to put it more simply, as I ‘settled in’. It’s fair to say; however, that my recent experiences on retreat in Bihali were certainly the most challenging yet, on multiple levels. I think I was always going to find it difficult coming back from that retreat. Having spent two months in Nagpur city centre, the spacious peace provided by the Indian countryside would inevitably be tough to give up. Equally, I would be in unknown territory personally as I entered my third month away from home, the longest I’ve ever been away from the UK. These things would in and of themselves have flung me into a bit of a funk, I think. Post ‘holiday’ blues and mild homesickness, quite enough to be getting on with. Chuck an intensive week of spiritual self-analysis and the need to recover from sexual assault and robbery into the mix and you’ve got a heady cocktail of reasons to be operating in a severely altered state. Such it was, and having maintained to myself and others that I felt absolutely normal in the aftermath of the event itself, as the next week opened up in front of me I found I did not feel normal at all. Thankfully, my colleagues noticed and respected, (perhaps even expected) my subdued nature and kindly cooperated to give me a few days off teaching.
I wouldn’t have felt comfortable to ask for this, I even found it hard at first to accept, but I realised I needed it and I’m very glad I had it. A few days to reboot myself. Recover physically, sort things out practically (simple things like getting a new mobile are pretty complicated in India!) and just have a bit of space to integrate my recent experiences. I didn’t realise it at the time, but that was the main reason why I suddenly felt I had no motivation or confidence, no energy. It was all being used up on integrating. ‘This Life is Currently Under Repair. We Apologise for any Inconvenience Caused.’ So, I guess I had a Spiritual Death experience coming back from Bihali. A big bump back into what passes for reality. Returning to an increasingly familiar set of circumstances but with a  very new set of unfamiliar experiences to reintegrate into them, which is what I then spent the following week doing. So what about the Spiritual Rebirth? Well, you may remember I said they don’t have to go in sequential order!

I didn’t have the motivation to drag myself in to the gym for a few days after getting home. A dull old treadmill in a small, smelly, sweaty gym that lacks air conditioning isn’t exactly attractive after a few runs in the countryside (even if one of them was to get away from an attacker!) I still felt a little physically battered anyway and didn’t want to attract questions on the cause of the bruising. I was apprehensive about my first run but managed to drag myself in on Thursday, expecting it to be tough but determined to get through it. Much to my delight it was far from tough and I experienced what I consider to be an ‘ideal’ run, where I really got into ‘the zone’ and felt my body functioning as it naturally should, arms and legs hanging comfortably from my frame, working together to power my body forward in a very natural movement that really felt like what it was made for. All my component parts unified in their intent to carry out this activity, my mind, my body, performing harmoniously like a well-conditioned machine. I was using my new mobile as a music player (I love running without music when I’m outside but I find I need a boost on a treadmill!) and so I had also updated my running playlist. You know that feeling when you find a fiver you’d forgotten about in the pocket of something you’ve not worn for a while? That’s how I felt when a Guns ‘n’ Roses track I’d not listened to for a long, long time came up on shuffle. As the vibrations in my ears sent electrical impulses to my brain and through my nervous system, I felt a focus. I felt a determination. I felt a power not just in my body, running as it was with strength and momentum, but in my mind. In my self. In my being.

I realised then that a part of me had been dormant for a long while, eighteen months perhaps, or longer. Not repressed, simply not seeking active expression. My experience of leaving professional teaching had been a painful one and I’d found myself feeling very under confident, very worn down. Moving then into a brand new living and work environment had further encouraged me to take a ‘back seat’ within myself as I scouted out the strange and unfamiliar, as I worked out what was what. I think that’s very common when we encounter the novel. We step back to assess both the threats and opportunities, to define and establish a new routine. We take a little time out personally to discover what kind of ‘us’ we’re expected to be by our new social groups and colleagues and decide to what degree we will respond to this. As well as this temporary dilution of myself as a consequence of moving 200 miles and taking a complete career swerve, the Buddhist teachings I was newly following seemed to encourage this fresh mildness, this lack of assertion and perhaps that’s not a bad thing for a time. Learning to really question why I have a feeling before I express it. Deciding how helpful it really is to those around me to express it in the first place. Being careful and mindful, gentle and observant.
As I ran, I had a mental image of a younger (yet somehow older), more vibrant, more assertive ‘me’ calmly putting her hand up; she’d been observing carefully, critically but kindly, from the back of a busy room. She slowly began to move her way through the crowd to the front of the stage that is the arena of my self-awareness, moving back towards the set where the act of ‘me’ takes place publically. ‘Excuse me?’ She said, projecting her voice over Axl Rose and Slash’s best efforts. ‘I think you’ve forgotten something. You’ve forgotten to kick ass. You’ve forgotten that you do know what you’re doing. You’ve forgotten that you’re skilled and talented and effective and able. You’ve forgotten your opinions count and not only deserve to be aired but should be aired so that others can benefit from them too. That’s enough, Mouse. Time to remember the Glitter.’

After that run, after that realisation, I experienced a gradual surge of energy and confidence. Mark had mentioned feeling a bit ill and run down. We’d planned to teach together the next day but I told him to take Friday off. I knew I could cover it, and I knew I only had that energy back because he’d been covering me. Then I thought about Shakyajata, who had not only covered me during that week, but had been entirely on her own with the teaching all the week before, when Mark and I had both been on the retreat itself. She’d been hoping to get a break too but arrangements had fallen through. Suddenly, I had an idea that even if she couldn’t get out of Nagpur, she could take a break. She could have a week off. I could cover. No apprehension. No fear. No worries that I might not be ‘very good’ at delivering the content, no lack of confidence that I’d not only cope, but be able to do a good job in her absence. I even went so far as to suggest that I could lead the morning puja. I had thought about offering this before, I knew I’d enjoy it and it would give her a hand, also mixing up the sessions a bit and giving the community girls some variety. I was worried however, that my offer might be misinterpreted as arrogance, or disrespect of her experience. Suddenly however, I had the confidence to speak my truth and share the idea without fear of being misunderstood. I knew I had the confidence and ability to lead the puja, finally I also had the confidence that I could communicate this fact skilfully. I wasn’t even afraid I’d regret the offer. I’ve found in recent weeks that energy levels can be very unpredictable; vibrant and high one moment, tired and drained the next, which has made me reluctant to commit to things, yet somehow I just knew I had the capacity to see all I was offering through. I wasn’t afraid to be generous anymore because I knew I had the resources to give. I’ve no idea where that knowledge, that self-belief came from but I’m certainly not going to question it. Mark enjoyed Friday off. Shakyajata accepted and is currently taking a break in Odisha. I’m enjoying leading puja and meditation, I’ve enjoyed my teaching and I’ve even had spare energy for creative acts like writing poems.
Picture
There she is...
Picture
It's been a while.
Picture
That looks like her...
Picture
Yep. There she is.
Picture
Picture
Picture
I hadn’t written a single poem since I left the UK, but suddenly with my energies opened up and the Dharma flowing freely again, three dropped out of my head without me even much trying. I’ve had energy to volunteer some time to help proofread the Triratna Arts and Culture Catalogue. On Monday night, I had the energy to go out for dinner; on a school night! I’ve not even been hitting the snooze button and hiding in another hour of oblivion. I’ve been getting up and enjoying my day, and what’s more is that I’ve sustained this positivity for almost a week; the longest period of my Indian adventure so far. Is this starting to sound a little like Positive Emotion?

Since this discovery, I’ve further mused that the problem with making spiritual progress (or any other kind, for that matter) is that we often feel like things have got harder without realising that this in itself is a symbol of progress, not of regression. If things get easy, we plateau. Imagine you’d never run before but then started to do ten minutes on a treadmill everyday with no control over the fixed speed. It would feel hard at first but then eventually get easier. Then, imagine that one day the engineer came before you started and recalibrated the machine so it now ran half a mile an hour faster. You wouldn’t know, you’d just think ’gosh, this feels hard today’ but actually, you’d have moved your game up a stage, it would be harder because you were making progress and getting fitter.

I mentioned earlier that I have experienced real peaks and troughs in mood and energy since arriving in India. I’ve felt healthy and happy one day, but then struggled with emotional or physical wellness the next. Since this re-emergence of a part of myself though, since that Spiritual Rebirth
on the treadmill, since I remembered to kick ass, I’ve found a whole new kind of balance. I feel (so far; no room for complacency here!) as if I’ve stabilised. I think I’ve settled in to another layer of being here. I think I’ve levelled up. I think I’m kicking ass and I think this mouse might finally be once again beginning to glitter.
2 Comments
<<Previous
    ‘Magga’ is the Pali word for ‘path’.  In Buddhism, this word is often linked to the Ariya Magga, or Noble Eightfold Path, the fourth of the Four Noble Truths, which is the path to the cessation of suffering.
    ‘Mission Maggamouse’ is the latest catalogue of the adventures of Glittermouse; a visual artist and educator. It has been initiated specifically to record and share her experiences at Aryaloka Computer Education Centre, a Buddhist social project in Nagpur, offering subsidised education to some of India’s poorest and most excluded young people. As a recent Dhammamitra (mitra who has asked for of ordination) of the Triratna Buddhist Order, this activity is an important step in integrating her teaching experience with her spiritual aspirations. You can read more about Glittermouse on the ‘home’ page of this site.

    Mandala

    Categories

    All
    Aryaloka
    Celebrations
    Deekshabhoomi
    Dhamma
    Domestic Life
    Dr Ambedkar
    Nagaloka
    NNBY
    Sangha
    Teaching
    Triratna
    Young Indian Futures

    RSS Feed

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.