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Neha; The Story So Far...

8/3/2017

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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
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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,
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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.
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Pakora success!
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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.
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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.
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Sangha Day – in Sickness and in Health

18/11/2016

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As many Buddhists around the world know, last Monday (November full moon) was Sangha Day. Those of you reading this who are not familiar with Buddhist terminology may like to know the word ‘Sangha’ refers to the spiritual community and is considered one of the Three Jewels of Buddhism; along with the ideal of human enlightenment (represented by the figure of the Buddha) and the teachings that enable us to achieve this state (known as the Dharma or Dhamma depending upon whether you’re using Pali or Sanskrit). Sangha Day is celebrated in November (on a ‘supermoon’ this year!), as it traditionally marks the end of the rainy season (though I’ve seen not a drop since I arrived 5 weeks ago). This then, was the day that all the monks and nuns left the shelter of their temporary communities to once again ‘go forth’ and teach the Dhamma as far and widely as possible. There were two traditional practices on this day; for the monks and nuns, confession was critical. Having been cooped up for so long during the rains, many unskillful and unkind words or actions may have slipped past even the most well-meaning practitioner and to leave these weighing on a guilty conscience was not the best way to bid your compatriots farewell, not the most honest way to begin teaching higher ideals.
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Mahendra Nagar Triratna Buddhist Centre
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Buddhist flag flying at Mahendra Nagar
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Stupa to the donor of the land at Mahendra Nagar
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The Sangha Day shrine is prepared...
For the ‘lay’ folk, dana, or giving, was important and they would make new robes for the ordained to go off in. This was partly gratitude for the teachings they had received during the season and partly to make their own contribution to helping spread the benefits of Dhamma teaching. For modern practitioners in Triratna, these activities are not so relevant but there is often the opportunity to ‘reaffirm’ the vows one made when becoming a mitra or member of the order. I had received an invitation to one such ceremony in London, but of course would be unable to go, so when I heard that Sheetal was going to a reaffirmation day at her local Triratna Centre, I was immediately keen to attend; not just as it would be my first opportunity to visit the Mahendra Nagar Centre but also to participate in the puja. It would have been an enjoyable activity in the UK but here it seemed like a really quite important thing to do. Not only would I be able to reaffirm my commitment to my own mind, I could do it publicly and let my adopted Sangha see that I was genuine in my ‘Going for Refuge to The Three Jewels’, alongside them and in the same manner that they do. As I’ve mentioned before, though there is much that is at least similar enough to feel familiar in Triratna in India there is also a lot that is really very different as well.
After we arrived at the centre, I was able to relax and enjoy watching the shrine dressing activites. Of course, we’d turned up absolutely on time to an event organized in India so we had at least 45 minutes to wait before much happened. As it turned out, things finally kicked off merely an hour and ten minutes late. I knew I was going to have difficulty following a lot of the day as it would be conducted in Marathi but thankfully, the day started with chants in Pali (which I know, whew!) and a period of Metta Bhavana meditation, which I am familiar enough with to follow the stages of sans guidance. I focused on a few people from Triratna in the UK. I feel part of both Manchester and London sanghas since my move north to south, so I had plenty of people to pick from! Such is the nature of genuine friendships I think; it doesn’t matter how distant you are, those bonds remain true, so happily you don’t really lose such friends, you just accumulate them. After this, there was a full-on talk that I actually couldn’t follow so I made time to make lesson planning notes and jot down some thoughts for myself about the nature of Sangha and the re-commitment I was about to make. Thinking about Sangha seemed especially apt in such a situation, finding myself as I was, suspended in limbo almost (if you’ll pardon the analogy from an alternative religion!) between Indian and English sanghas. Occasionally, I could grasp bits of what the speaker was discussing, especially when he began referencing the Five Precepts using the Pali terms we chant every day. Unfortunately, my studious air and feverish scribbling apparently meant everyone assumed I understood Marathi (I constantly underestimate just how scrutinized ones actions are here; if you do something, you can guarantee everyone’s not only noticed you doing it but drawn about a hundred corresponding conclusions before you’ve even finished.) This explained their confusion and disappointment when I was unable to respond to their attempts in conversation!

Lunch was a predictably delicious affair of rice, dhal, chappatis and subji and we had a full hour to eat it, which I was grateful for as previous experiences led me to assume it would be a bit of a rush! When the ceremony began, I was excited to learn it would be a Sevenfold Puja thinking I knew it well enough to follow under my breath in English; so much for that. It was completely different and I just couldn’t work out which stage we were doing beyond about the third. There was no Heart Sutra and no final mantras. Hey ho.

The actual reaffirmation involved so many people that even just this section alone took over an hour! The Mitra Ceremony involves making offerings to the shrine of a flower, some incense and a candle (representing physical impermanence, the all-pervading nature of the Dharma and the illumination of the enlightenment mind) so you can imagine that for nearly every person in attendance (Sheetal and I estimated about 150) to do this takes some time. Buddhists aren’t best known for rushing things either; it’s a bit at odds with the 'calm and mindful' job description!
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The hall is laid for meditation and puja...
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And finally, the speakers arrive on stage!
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Flowers...
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...incense...
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...and candles for the Reaffirmation Ceremony.
Sheetal was keen to know how the numbers of mitras compared with the UK but I found it so difficult to say. It certainly seemed like a greater percentage of those attending were mitras than I might expect in the UK but then it was a day for mitras and India is generally a society in which spirituality is infinitely more normalized. There are four Triratna centres just in Nagpur. Even London only has three. Comparing any aspect of India and England (and I know this is a strange analogy coming from a vegan) is a bit like comparing finest matured Stilton to processed ‘cheese food slices’. They’re sort of the same in a great many ways and yet at the same time, couldn’t be more different. Notionally, one might be qualified to have superior qualities to the other and yet there are times and places where only the ‘inferior’ will do. If that makes no sense to you then that’s fine. I’m still equally confused about really pinning down the differences between my home and adopted cultures so that makes us just about even.

That evening, I had agreed to take our community of young women round the corner to Nagaloka where the esteemed Dhammachari Lokamitra was giving a talk for Sangha Day. He has a great deal of experience in India and is one of the founding members of Triratna (or FWBO as it was) in the country so he is very much respected not just as a senior international Order Member but as one who really understands the local community here too. He spoke at length (though I know it was just a summary) on Dr Ambedkar’s approach to Dhamma, detailing his assertion that it was a way to achieve empowerment, a method for overcoming barriers between people and a key factor in effective governance. Lokamitra discussed each of these from the perspective of how we operate as a Sangha. He concluded by stating that if we are honestly practicing the Dhamma on an individual level and as a community supporting each other in our ideals, we should be an example of the most effectively functioning community possible. This in turn renders us empowered to break down barriers in society and utilise our human commonalities to facilitate the effectively radical, and not just tired old prescriptive governance that is required to really build a better world. To build the world we speak of when we greet each other ‘Jai Bhim’, and call to victory for Ambedkar’s vision of a truly equal society.
So I’d like to say that after a day of all that intense focus on Sangha, the community I live and work with, those individuals who together form one of my three key refuges in a practice that ultimately pivots on cultivating universal, selfless compassion, I’d like to say I came away overflowing with metta (loving kindness) and bursting at the seams with warm, friendly positivity. I’d like to say that because it would be appropriate, it would be ‘nice’ and it would mean I could stop writing this increasingly lengthy update; but it wouldn’t be very truthful.
Actually, I came away wondering. One of the first questions in the year one mitra study course (and one Sheetal, Shakyajata and I had recently considered in a very fruitful study session) asks which of the three jewels we feel most strongly attracted to. For myself, it’s always been Dhamma (or Dharma if I’m in UK brain).
Not just in terms of the teachings but also in another more subtle use of the word that refers to what I interpret as a universal flow of energy of which we are all a part, once we transcend our own egos. This energy, I do not believe to be unique to Buddhism. I think some religions call it God. Some people who might be broadly spiritual but not ‘religious’ per se call it ‘Mother Nature’, or even more abstractly ‘Love’. I have an inkling that physicists call it ‘Dark Matter’ and rather enjoy baffling themselves by trying to pin aspects of it down in particle accelerators. I suspect we may eventually find out it’s simultaneously all and yet none of these things. You can probably tell from this paragraph that I’m rather fond of thinking about it. So, my ‘one’ of the three (not that it’s really possible to separate them, of course) is not Sangha. Don’t get me wrong, I feel communities are critically important regardless of your culture and I spent much of my time while I qualified on an MA trying to develop ways through an Art and Design practice to strengthen community, find commonality, empower people and breakdown barriers. In terms of my spiritual life though, it’s not the most important one. And having heard and thought so much about Sangha, having been embraced so warmly into this new one, I felt really awkward about about that.
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Lokamitra prepares to speak at Nagaloka
For the next couple of days, I felt decidedly ‘not right’. Low energy. Unable to settle down to things I felt I ought to. Unable to find motivation to do the things I felt I ought to want to do. Write a blog update about Sangha Day, for one! I decided to let myself have some time ‘doing nothing’. I’m starting to find that when I get ‘stuck’ and decide to do this, what I actually do is far from nothing. What I actually do is allow some space for the things bubbling and brewing away in my subconscious to ‘do their thing’, to coalesce, to ripen and bear fruit. I then started reading some of Bhante’s writing, ‘Conversion in Buddhism’ and ‘The Ideal of Human Enlightenment’, both pretty core texts and both with their share of comments to make about the role of Sangha. One thing that struck me in his discussion was the importance of having a community to bear witness to you at your best and, sometimes, at your worst. Funnily enough, this is one of the things I have been finding most challenging about my current situation. I’m very used to living alone. Even when I don’t live alone, I’m used to being able to take as much time as I want to myself, to work through when I’m not feeling at my best in private. To then re-emerge, feeling better, all shiny and new like a butterfly who’s just been able to do all that ugly business of mutating from a caterpillar in the safety of its cocoon and never had to make any of that public. Yet, in a home full to bursting with over 20 people, I cannot do that. Even if I go to my room, everyone in the house knows where I am. If I leave the house, people know. If I return, I am seen. If I am looking a little dishevelled, a little less tired than I might like to admit I feel or anything other than at my total best, I know it has been seen, noticed, witnessed. So much for just lying low until I feel back on top of things again.
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The Sangha Day Shrine, not all incense and flowers...
So much for quietly hiding in my shell until I’m ready to once again present the version of me that I’d like people to think I am all of the time. And this means that I cannot hide it from me either. I am living right up against the surface of myself and can’t indulge my belief that I’m just a little bit superhuman any longer, not even fleetingly. I’ve never been so aware on such a minute by minute basis of all my mundane shortcomings. Occasionally, I’ve been excruciatingly aware of some huge glaring flaws in my personality but I’ve done rather a lot of work on those thanks to several years of counselling and I find them really quite manageable these days. Until now though, I’ve never been so aware of all the tiny, trivial, apparently unimportant ways that I’m not quite as I’d like to be. I feel as if I am staring into a mirror, 24/7. Not just a mirror of my physical form either, but worse, a mirror of my inner psyche. Sound harrowing? It is. And I find that maybe this is why I am not as enamoured with Sangha as I might have thought I would, or should be. Maybe it’s all just a bit too raw, but maybe it’s exactly what I need to be doing. Six months of life at the cutting edge of my (very new) spiritual practice was never going to be all about lighting candles and arranging flowers on a shrine to the heady scent of incense and the pleasant chanting of melodic mantras.
My experience of dissatisfaction with my own mundane reality reached its peak, when in the early hours of Thursday morning, I finally had cause to really concede my belief that I’m super human. I finally had to give up my resolution that ‘this is great, I’m practically a native! I’ve got guts of STEEL I’ll never get sick in India!’ whilst deciding which end of myself to first position over a bucket. Thank goodness I had a bucket. I’ll spare you any further details but there, along with the bodily fluids I never realized were so abundant, went any last shreds of dignity and privacy in this household. The thing about having so many people living in one house is that they’re never physically distant and it’s amazing just how much a bucket can amplify the most private of noises in the complete stillness of a far from festive, truly silent night. And of course, from there on in, came the outpourings of concern, the complete eradication of a sense of privacy and the very well-meaning offers of various Indian remedies. I have learned that there is nothing like the love of an Indian grandmother, gently yet persistently plying you with Ayurvedic remedies that appear to be the equivalent of pouring melted Vics Vapour Rub into your ailing digestive tract 'because your fire's gone out', to make you quite determined to get better just as soon as possible. Unfortunately, where we encounter one kind of suffering in our immediate experience, we often compound this for ourselves by generating a load more in our felt responses to it. Buddhism describes this as the ‘second arrow’; it’s all the ways we hang onto, prolong or add to our own unhappiness. In my case this came tumbling in on me as a barrage of feelings of guilt for getting sick (maybe I ate too much, didn’t wash my hands well enough, failed to follow some sage advice about not exposing myself to various pathogens), worry about being a burden (if I can’t teach, why am I here? Am I going to make others ill? If I can’t help round the house I’m just dead weight, people will think I’m being lazy!) and embarrassment for being seen as I really am (a wet, squidgy lump of meat full of various unpleasant substances and not always best able to retain said substances where polite society traditionally considers appropriate).
Cue a day in bed, consuming nothing but rehydration salts (I avoided further Ayurvedic doses) and reading more Bhante. I managed to get up that evening and was generously cooked a special dinner; lentils and rice cooked into a warm, salty, bland mash. Probably exactly what I needed. After a day in bed, I thought I’d get no sleep at all but I did sleep right through. I managed to drag myself kicking and screaming to the 7am puja and did a very sorry job of attempting to focus on my meditation, but still that was better than what I’d managed the day before.  Feeling better but still not great, when Shakyajata suggested ‘checking in’ after breakfast (A Triratna practice of sharing with Sangha members how you’re feeling) I really didn’t want to. I knew I had nothing nice to say. I also knew that was precisely why it was so important that I did so. Funnily enough, I had felt rather guilty during our last ‘check in’ on Saturday when others felt down or uncomfortable and I had felt really good, as if I was rubbing my happiness in their faces. Now I felt the same but for opposite reasons, guilty for ‘dragging down’ other’s good moods. Well there’s an interesting thing; you really just can’t win against yourself sometimes, eh?
And there I find a recognition; that’s what Sangha is. When you just can’t win against yourself alone, Sangha is the community of others who remind you that life is not a battle you fight against yourself, or alone in the first place. Shakyajata referred to our close working relationship as ‘a cremation ground’ when we first arived. I understood this on one level, I understood that yes, other people can help you work through and eradicate unhelpful things but now I think, I really get it.  Sangha is a community who don’t just help you flush out these impurities, but without whom you couldn’t truly tackle them at all. It’s the coming together of all the other perfectly imperfect people, some of whom are necessarily on top form, some of whom are inevitably not, at any one time. We support each other, we see the best and worst in each other, we get on with it. Sometimes, we even get on with each other, but if we don’t, we’ll use our incompatibilities as fertiliser to grow into stronger, better humans who are one step closer to our common goal together. We’re the mirror in which we see each other’s and our own flaws and foibles, because without that illumination, we can’t grasp the blemishes we need to cleanse. Sangha is the bucket that lovingly contains our midnight explosions without question yet simultaneously amplifies the embarrassing noises, so there’s no hiding from it, so we have to confront the unpleasant truths found within us, we have to empty them out and disinfect them. But whichever end we find ourselves on, whether performing the stoic job of martyrdom that is the bucket or taking the embarrassing role of sickening patient, it’s all just part of the balance of life. To refuse a sharing of these with one another denies others their own fluctuations. Being me ‘at my best’ gives others permission to be at their best too, but why should I deny others the freedom to feel not so great without judgement as well? So that Dhamma I’m so fond of, that flux of combined universal energies, flows in such a way that when I am up, another is counterbalancing this by being proportionately down and one way of seeing it is that it’s my responsibility to share my inevitable ‘meh’ days too so that this can be normalised, that others know I understand these; I have them too. That’s real understanding and community I think. It’s great to share each other’s company when we’re feeling wonderful but perhaps more important to endure ourselves in the company of others during those times when we are not.
So, for my own part, my Sangha Day practices have finally amounted to confession, in the sense of acknowledging that I am not always quite the person I’d like others to have to be around and then dana, in the sense of my genuine commitment to give all of that person to both my spiritual community and to those I work with on a mundane, worldly level. It’s also a commitment to give all of myself to my efforts to realise my will to enlightenment for the benefit of all beings. Giving myself completely to that cause means withholding none of it. It means giving myself entirely with both my features and my flaws, my strengths and my weaknesses. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. It won’t always be pretty, it won’t always be dry or hygienic, but it will always be honest and it will always be safe in the knowledge that even when I am feeling at my least acceptable, there will always be a Sangha there ready to not just accept but to actively expect that honesty. And there I find a place to build my faith in the third jewel. Yes, I believe I can, with enough effort, eventually attain what the Buddha attained. With that faith secured, I believe wholeheartedly in the Dharma as a process for getting there. But can I trust those around me to really be there and support the whole of me on the back of three and a half decades of worldly conditioning that have taught me humans aren’t really always that trustworthy?
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An enlighteming Super-Sangha-Day-Moon!
Hmmm. Well, no, not yet. Not always. But I think this Sangha Day, I learnt why I must try. And as long as I remain mindful of that, I do, at least have faith it will enough to get me there. No, that’s not quite right. Not enough to get me there. Us. It’ll be enough to get me there with my sangha. Wherever they are in the world.
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A Festive Weekend

29/10/2016

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Though neither my hosts nor I were celebrating the Hindu festival of Diwali, it has been impossible not to notice it in recent days and this has set something of a tone for our weekend. A bit like Christmas in the UK, many things shut for a few days and taught classes did not run on Saturday. Work did not entirely stop for us though and we had a very productive teaching review meeting on Saturday morning. This was especially useful as it was the first time that Mark, Shakyajata and I had been able to make time to come together for a chat about how things were going without then having to dash into a classroom or jump on a bus back to our respective campus. Having had a week of experience teaching together and getting to know one another and both student groups a little more, this became a really useful opportunity with lots of positive decisions made. Next week is now planned just enough, not too much to eliminate flexibility, with an even distribution of teaching tasks that we each feel well able to independently plan, prepare and deliver. I’m genuinely looking forward to it, both in teaching my ‘own’ content and seeing how my two experienced colleagues manage ‘their’ particular topics. Actually, such was my enthusiasm for my tasks that I came straight away from the meeting and began preparing for my first session; a ‘test run’ of an a practical activity and the creation of a gapped worksheet that I will use alongside it to introduce new vocabulary in the context of instruction verbs. Not only was it good to ‘strike while the iron was hot’ so to speak, it also meant I could really ‘switch off’ my work head and enjoy our planned afternoon together that we had agreed after a really enjoyable Saturday evening last week.
After lunch, Mark and I strolled out for a further explore of Bhilgaon village before wandering back round to the Nagaloka Buddhist training complex. I’ve pretty much got to the point where my confidence is such that I might have done this alone but it is rather nice to have a companion when you attract curious stares and the ‘Please ma’am, just one selfie!?’ demands. Having said this, I do think that two western faces tend to attract more of this kind of attention in the first place so it’s a bit of a double edged sword! Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable hour while the others rested and our main afternoon activity of a big shopping trip could begin in earnest!
The family have received a wedding invitation for next weekend, to which we are invited by extension and so we needed (OK, I’ll be honest, wanted, but it’s a great excuse) to buy some appropriate clothes. For Mark, this entailed a smart shirt, for Shakyajata, a nice, dressy kurta (tunic over trousers) and for me… well, I’ve decided to be brave and have a go at a sari! I’ve been told they aren’t easy to walk in and I will certainly need some help getting dressed but I’m up for it. I think. One new cultural clash I shall face is that whilst I find I am sometimes resentful of being ‘made’ to swelter in long trousers and with my shoulders covered every day, it is not considered at all risqué to bare ones midriff… and of course the tiny ‘blouse’ (that I would call a crop top) I will be wearing under the sari is going to leave me more publically exposed in that area than I am accustomed to. Still, I shall get over it. If I can cope with mixed sex communal showering at German computer parties, I’m sure I can cope with showing a little bit of tummy at an Indian wedding. This is a challenge I’ve yet to face though and procuring said garments in the first place was something of a trial in its own right!
We had decided that after catching the bus into town, we would be able to find all our purchases on Dr Ambedkar Road, one of the main shopping areas and also the site of the Saturday market. This would have been busy enough on any regular Saturday but on the Diwali weekend it was even more so. Imagine Oxford Street on Christmas Eve. Now imagine that the pavements have been removed so the pedestrians and vehicles are trying to share the same thoroughfare. Now add a row of market stalls in between the shop fronts and the constantly jostling pedestrian/traffic mash. Remove observation of traffic laws and pedestrian crossings. Add smog and a liberal sprinkling of agitated hooting. Add more of both of those. OK. Now you might be starting to get an idea of the sensory overload that is a shopping trip on Dr Ambedkar Road on a normal Saturday. Square that for Diwali.
We managed to find Mark’s shirt and my sari (as well as a rather lovely scarf for Shakyajata) in an ‘emporium’, which is sort of like a rather basic (and slightly confusing) department store. To choose the sari, we were invited to sit on chairs at a kind of low stage, upon which a salesman would liberally spill great lengths of rich fabric from their plastic wrappers, plucking them from a shelf behind him when asked. I began to despair; I don’t like shopping at the best of times and there were so many possibilities. Of course, my eye kept roving to the ones that were way outside of my price limit and I was aware that my indecision was not just draining my time but also that of my fellow shopping buddies and the patient salesman. “How about this one?” No. “How about that one?” No. “This one perhaps?” Hmmmm… No. “Ah. How about that one, there, the turquoise one with gold embroidery and a flash of red trim? And how much?” Finally, I’d found the one! Fortified by my mercifully brief rummage, I even managed to spot a dress I rather liked the look of and added that to my purchases, which were confusingly whisked away by the separate retailers as soon as I’d agreed to buy them. Sheetal didn’t seem concerned by this though so I went along with it, watching in interest as the items were scanned and then dropped into a big chute! I was presented with two slips of paper, one for each garment, that I was required to take to a desk downstairs for checkout. On presenting the slips to the cashier, you pay (My debit card worked! Result!), before having your slip stamped; but you are not yet furnished with your purchases until you have visited a second desk, where your items are retrieved by another worker on presentation of your payment receipt. I’m sure there’s some logic to it somewhere but it seemed like an unnecessarily drawn out process to my mind. If that appeared to have exhausted me, I needed to forget it because we weren’t even near finished. I still needed to buy a ready-made blouse (the sari fabric comes with a bit extra attached for you to make your own but unfortunately (or maybe for the best) Sheetal’s sewing machine is not working. I also needed a petticoat to wear under the sari. And to think some women wear these every day! These were thankfully a little simpler to get and I even managed to haggle 50 Rupees off the blouse while Mark located some strawberry flavour Kellogg’s cornflakes and Shakyajata found a kurta and trousers that she liked. Fighting our way up and down Dr Ambedkar Road was a trial however and by the time we stopped by a sweet stall for Mark to go inside and buy some paneer (cheese), we were all exhausted and really ready for some supper!
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Vegan Food Fail #1 - Quite tasty with cheese bombs eliminated!
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Shakyajata Enjoys her Pizza...
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...whilst Mark anticipates breakfast!
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A Packed Dhamma Class!
On Sunday, we have a two hour Dhamma class; Buddhist teaching led by Shakyajata. This is mostly for the students but Mark and I can join in as Sheetal translates into Hindi. This week, the young men came out on the bus to join us and it was really nice to see both groups together, though it did mean the shrine room was bursting at the seams and became almost unbearably stuffy. I confess, I slunk out early; sometimes it is useful to recap basic things you are familiar with but I felt my time would be better spent not draining anymore oxygen from the cramped space so I slightly ashamedly took myself off for a spot of yoga in my room instead. After lunch, we sought some shady outside space at Nagaloka again. We are very lucky to have a local green area, something I’ve become really aware of since Mark’s arrival and residence in the city centre. He’s certainly keen to spend time a little further out of the city when he can. We whiled away a pleasant two to three hours just chatting about not very much at all before heading back for the evening puja and meditation, but the highlight of the afternoon was a very close up view of a Grey Langur monkey, who seemed completely unperturbed by our presence despite our attempts to attract his attention!

The Diwali holiday continues into the beginning of the new week and so we have no classes tomorrow but we have instead planned a picnic trip to the Deekshabhoomi for both the young men and young women's groups. It’ll be the first time I’ve visited the place in daylight and without a crush of people thronging to celebrate the conversion anniversary (See Friday Night at the Deekshabhoomi) so I’m looking forward to the trip for that reason, as well as to spend some social time with the students. Fingers crossed the hired van turns up on time and gets us there. Normally when arranging a student trip, knowing we’d be going by coach would be a significant relief but I somehow have an inkling that in India, it’ll not be perhaps quite so straight forward. It’s certain to be an adventure though, whatever happens and I’m sure there’ll be more stories to tell very soon!
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Mad Dogs and English Women

17/10/2016

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The Daily Chapatti Batch!
After teaching and later consuming yet another delicious lunch involving far too many chapattis, batch cooked at least once a day by Sheetal, who had even thought ahead to leave some for us as she would be out all day, a lull descended upon the house. Those of school age were out and learning. The girls were deep in their own academic activity with Vaishali, Aryaketu’s sister in law and Aryaloka’s computing teacher, up in the classroom. The rest of the family were either attending a staff training day at Indora or being of retirement age were resting from the midday heat, as was sensible Shakyajata. And I was feeling better. Whether it was a cold or an initial reaction to the dusty air, I’ll probably never know but with a less runny nose and an end to the sore throat, I was also finally feeling that any lingering jetlag had pretty much receded. I then realised that I had yet to venture forth alone.  Usually, I like to get out and about independently as soon as possible when I am in a foreign place. On this occasion though, I have been aware that any accidental social faux pas or unintended breach of cultural code may not only reflect badly on me but could potentially cause difficulties for my hosts. I will be around for longer than the couple of weeks I’d normally be in any area for, and I’m probably pretty recognisable so I’ve felt more need for tact, diplomacy and taking time to allow myself a gentle introduction to the geographical and social spaces in which I shall be living. Even so, this afternoon seemed like a pretty good opportunity to start spreading my wings a bit so I left a note explaining my absence and wandered out into the village.
I probably picked a really good time of day because although the temperature had barely begun to dip from the noon battering, there wasn’t much traffic to avoid nor probing stares to neutralise with optimistic congenial smiling. I strolled past a few people lounging in front of shops, the occasional conversation drifted out of shady houses. Even the mangy-looking feral dogs were crashed out in the dusty heat, while cows snuffled at the side of the road beside them, small black pigs occasionally joining in. Brightly coloured saris hung over baked brick walls to dry, chickens strutted nowhere in particular, yet very purposefully and upon spotting a fruit barrow being wheeled clunkily past a lady washing rice on her doorstep, I began to wonder if I might have been accidentally sucked into one of the National Geographic photographs I used to enjoy looking at as a child. Much like one of the strangely leggy chickens, I realised that although I was heading down the road with an apparent focus, I hadn’t thought much about where I was going beyond ‘out of the house’. Noticing that I was on the same route we’d taken previously towards Nagaloka, this then became my destination and I realised I would be finally able to get a good look at the Walking Buddha in daylight. I explored the site quite a bit more and discovered a garlanded statue of Ambedkar too, before bumping into a neighbour whom I had met a couple of months back at the London Buddhist Centre (it’s a small world; at least in Triratna!). After swapping contact details, I continued my amble and found that since I had the time and space for them, all manner of reflections were coming to mind.
I became particularly aware of how much I had enjoyed teaching earlier in the day and I found myself thinking how often it is that you don’t notice problems until they are removed; a bit like when you suddenly become aware that an annoying noise or nagging pain has stopped, without having been consciously that aware of it before. Such are some features of my current teaching experience in comparison to that UK system in which I had become so uncomfortably institutionalised. There is firstly, a much more flexible approach to time. “Better to be a little late than too early!” I was told by Shakyajata when I was about to leap from the couch five minutes before we were teaching. Indians themselves often refer to Indian Stretchable Time (as opposed to the more scientifically formal Indian Standard Time!) and while Westerners may find this frustrating, a less rigid approach to timing (this novelty watch design explains pretty well) does allow a much more perceptive degree of response to the people and situations around you. Is it a little too hot today? No worries, we’ll start class a bit later, when everyone will be more comfortable.
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The Walking Buddha at Nagaloka
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Statue of Dr Ambedkar at Nagaloka
Does the person you are with right now need some more time or attention from you? OK, go ahead and give it, everyone else will understand if you are not there quite yet. From an academic culture where not being at least 10 minutes early for your class is tantamount to publicly declaring your inefficiency as a teacher, this is indeed a relief. That’s not to excuse tardiness or suggest a lack of care, simply to recognise that things should get done when it’s best for them to get done, not because the clock hands have reached a certain position. The clock is a guide, not a dictator, a tool used to help people synch their lives, not to bind them and everything seems to flow in a far more natural, almost delicate fashion as a result, if only one can let go of Western cultural biases. Equally, having carried out an hour of successful class, rediscovering the feeling that I really could teach people things and feeling energised as a result, I suggested to Shakyajata that we could carry on. ‘Shall we swap pairs again and have another practice?’ I asked enthusiastically. She considered this politely before responding ‘Hmmmm, no. They will get tired and confused. We have done enough.’ And so class ended; with smiles, not sighs. Feeling we’d achieved the one step forward without having pushed on until the point of two steps back. Finishing a class without feeling like I’d drained every last drop of energy and enthusiasm from myself and my students was an almost entirely new experience and for not the first time I equated teaching with theatre when I reminded myself of the phrase “Leave them wanting more!” So I have learned the value of ‘when’ and ‘enough’.
In recent days I have been comparing my native society with those few observations I have so far made in my adopted one and feel that the biggest difference is in the area of need. Indian poverty is financial but the UK is clearly not fully satisfied, despite its comparative riches. I believe the UK to be experiencing an epidemic of emotional poverty, with mental ill health on the increase, suicide rates sadly spiralling. Political fracturing is simply a symptom of wider social alienation; our family units have crumbled, an unrealistic emphasis is placed on romantic and sexual liaisons, which we use to demand impossible things of one another and we find ourselves increasingly isolated. Indian families and friendships seem to be at the core of daily life, and while I recognise that this is not without its pitfalls (it can easily become oppressive, especially for women) it does seem to provide a structure and support that is palpably absent from many UK lives. Spirituality is also far more present in the Indian society, be that Hindu, Sikh, Jain, Buddhist, Christian, Muslim, whatever. It is safe to assume that an individual is in some way engaged in religious practice, which is more important than which teaching exactly one uses to go about it, as opposed to a British approach where secularism is pretty much assumed as standard, a religious conviction perhaps an interestingly unexpected piece of personal data.
Such were my musings as I continued exploring beyond the boundaries of the Nagaloka complex and back out on to the good old Kamptee Road, finding an alternative route back to the house which ended my constitutional in a neat loop. Though I noticed a steady increase in the amount of traffic coming into the village as schools ended their day, all was just as calm as I had left it at home and I was back just in time for a cup of tea and a chat with Shakyajata, who was feeling rejuvenated after resting. We discussed amongst other things, the content of the evening puja and Dhamma class, sipped spiced black tea and watched a nesting dove patiently incubating her clutch in the nest above the fuse box.
Later that day, as I enjoyed the sunset and star rise from the gentle motion of the swing chair while it cradled me in an evening breeze, I realised that I may finally be learning how to do nothing. In the West, we almost obsessively fill every minute with some kind of activity, even if that activity is passively consuming during our leisure time. We are so loathe to simply be with our thoughts and sit in our experience without some form of distraction, yet it occurred to me today, almost like a revelation, that when there is not anything you have to do then you do not actually have to do anything. The universe truly is a construction of our mind and the way we describe our experiences to ourselves is critical. ‘Sitting on the balcony of a Buddhist colony in India, listening to children playing in Hindi’ seems like quite an idyllic way to spend an evening; however, in my mind, the parallel experience back home might read something like ‘sitting on the balcony of an housing estate in London, listening to kids screaming like cockneys’, which wouldn’t be half so pleasant. Really however, the differences are minimal so I shall make a point of reminding myself that I alone am responsible for my interpretation of the world around me as I process my awareness and translate my experience into feelings.
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A lone pedestrian on the Kamptee Road...
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Meeting a neighbour on the way home...
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Home, sweet home!
Even when the novelty of my new environment wears off, as it is certain to do, I still have the capacity to notice reality from a perspective that enables me to recognise the inherent joy that is existence. Especially when I’m watching the sunset whilst swinging in the evening breeze on the balcony of a Buddhist colony in India!
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    ‘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.

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