Crows and custard apples

At home, in charming East London, we often talk about the habits of the crows throughout the night, the squawking and how they can keep the "wimin" at the front of the house awake. Also, one of my favourite things to do at home, is buy apples from the fruit stall on roman road. This is because I like to make sure there it's lots of nice apples for us all to eat, that the fruit bowl is abundant and we are nourished. The man at the fruit stall also flirts outrageously with me.

In Mumbai, there are lots and lots of noisy crows, lined on the windowsills, squawking together, like they are getting a round in down at the Queen Vic, having a good old jolly together. There is also this apple I have discovered in India. The wonderfully, succulently, creamily delicious CUSTARD APPLE! Oh me, oh my, and it is certainly not the fruit stall holder enticing me into this playful love affair.

India is fascinating, busy, slow, fast, beautiful, dirty, smelly, noisy, hot, inspiring, challenging.

The last few days have been a mixture of experiences. I have been holding tightly on, battling through, to affirm my tiring self view of unfaltering independence and self sufficiency. What comes with this is an inability to sleep, and whilst squeezed into room 4 of the Salvation Army hostel in Mumbai, with 7 other lively, messy, creative circus artists, I have earnestly wrestled with the mindfulness of breathing mediation practice to try and get a wink of sleep. 

Yesterday, I gazed whimsically out the window, on the beginning of our 12 hour train journey. The sun was setting and I had Phillip glass playing through my iPod. I realsied that I am living out a deep wish of mine. For some moments I was in a movie, with the wind blowing though my hair, sipping sickly sweet chai tea, and writing in my journal. Perfect! Then darkness set in I needed the toilet and I saw Malcolm the mouse and his mate scurry past the toilet door, I went back to my sleeper and decided to listen to a talk about spiritual death by Jnanavaca (often I listen to talks by him and maitreyebhandu back home if I can't get to sleep, and it sends me right off) and I managed to slowly nod off as he encouraged the audience at the London Buddhist centre to "let go".

3am and it's time to get up, I stretch, huff, puff, internally moan at all the ridiculous organisational decisions I think everyone else is making in order to alight the train at gokarna road, and I wish I was in my cosy bed in London with the people I love around me (FYI. I also regularly internally moan about loved ones, and later realise the pain I cause myself. If only I could "let go", "spiritually die" with a little bit more grace and humility, and what not, life would be much easier. So the Buddhists say). I was wishing I was alone. I was wishing to be with the familiar, with my loved ones. The bumpy tuk tuk ride (a sweet chech republic guy called Yoseph, squeezed into our one, after he helped us alight the train with hula hoops and fire toys, he was also hoping to squeeze into our huts, we had to send the poor bloke to the beach with a torch)  they took us to the namaste yoga farm, filled with idyllic bamboo huts and tree house bedrooms, and the soundscape of waves ebbing and flowing in the distance, but  it was 5am  in the morning, and I couldn't hide my frustration from these new team members any longer. So I silently flung my limbs around like a teenager, and continued to grumpily wish for solitude and familiar faces.

This morning I sat and realised, there is no way I could have gone through the last few days alone. We all need each other. Simple as that. And these are the people I am with. Like It or lump it. And as I began to accept this, I could see the Sweet hearted, patient, generous, accepting people that they all are.  A small insight after a painful night of wanting something other than what I had. Perhaps I have successfully died spirtually....... Who knows? Ordain me now please, give me a funny name please!!! However, this isn't the point is it, so I prefer to see myself as growing downwards (as a dear friend has shared with me) passing through the depths of my gremlins and if it gets too tough, I'm going to buy myself a custard apple........or two.