The Death Of Resurrection..

I've been quite on the blogging front for awhile now, in fact it's the longest I've gone without posting since I started sharing my incoherent ramblings a couple of years back. But in amongst the transition to a new country and a new culture and a new.. well, pretty much everything, combined with a stronger inner pull towards of a couple of other creative pursuits, carving out the time to sit and think and write has had to take a bit of a backseat. But today as I followed one of those other creative pursuits and stood in my front garden and kicked about in the dark brown soil I couldn't help but think back to my old Garden in Banaras and the stark contrast between these two locations in which I've grown. And then the flood of memories came rolling in! 

It's been almost twelve months since we packed up our lives into eight bags and left our home in Banaras for the mountains of northern Thailand and lately my nostalgia for India has been fierce. All the difficulties and disasters have been glossed over and in my mind all that now remains is an intense longing for the friends and places (and Chai!) that we left behind. For those of you who know me or followed my blogging about the Resurrection Garden you'll know how much of my life I pumped into that soil and of how much joy (and pain) it gave back, and today as those memories filled my mind my heart began to ache. And so tonight with my little ones now tucked up in their beds, I find myself sorting through old photos and writing up one final post on the Resurrection Garden as a way of getting some closure on a very special period in my life which I never felt I'd quite done up till now.

In November 2014 we returned to pack up our home in Banaras after having been back in Australia. When I left 6 months earlier there were winding paths throughout the garden to explore that were hedged in by ripe tomatoes on the vine, 7 different varieties of lettuce, marigolds in bloom, giant garlic, broccoli, kale, rainbow chard, various beets in full swing and rows upon rows of carrots just weeks away from harvest. When I returned there was this.

 

The paths were gone, the weeds were 2+ foot tall and the entire garden had become an impenetrable thicket of inedible chaos. I tried to get in deep enough to find the back path but considering the prevalence of venomous snakes on the property I soon gave up looking and returned to a safer zone to take it all in. All my hard work, all the hours I had spent transforming it, all the people who had gotten their hands dirty along side me, all of it dissipated amidst a sea of green. I was saddened but not heartbroken, I had returned well prepared for what my garden would look like after 6 months without anyone to tend to it and knowing how quickly the weeds would revel in the glory that was my much worked on soil. Before leaving it I can so clearly remember standing with one foot in the garden and one foot outside of it and reaching down with both hands to grab at the soil. The soil outside the garden was hard, lifeless and impenetrable. The soil in my garden (which was once exactly the same as that outside) was dark, rich, sweet smelling friable soil that was packed full of life. If nothing else, the feeling that accompanied seeing the outcome of so many sweaty hours of hard work that resulted in such incredible transformation will get me through any future gardening projects with the knowledge that if it was possible there, then it is truly possible anywhere.

The day before our flights the groundskeeper began to hack and slash his way throughout the back corner of the property and managed to uncover what remained of the Resurrection Garden. All that could be found in this once lush piece of Eden were the various colours of discarded plastics and shards of rubbish now scattered amidst the ruins. Aimlessly I walked it's shattered paths where now no green thing remained until the pangs of sadness that echoed in my chest grew so heavy that I slumped to the ground in the place where my garden bench - proudly constructed of an ancient and weather worn stone slab, once stood. I sat there quietly for a good while, breathing it all in for one last time, until my silent meditation was a invaded by the well known sight of a plastic bag full of my neighbour's rubbish soaring out their window, over the wall and landing squarely where my broccoli's once grew. I erupted into laughter, the kind of wild maniacal laughter usually reserved only for cartoon super villains, and as the familiar sight emerged of my many neighbours poking their heads out their windows and over rooftops to look at the odd looking foreign guy in his garden, I wiped the tears of laughter from my eyes, yelled out a final 'thankyou for your gift,' and returned to my home.

As I sort though the many photos I snapped during my time in Banaras, one of the best visuals that can sum up my journey with the Resurrection Garden has got to be the following 3 panoramics. I can so vividly recall standing in the spot these photos were taken from and timidly asking Shooksplitty Boom if she'd be willing to let me turn this area into my garden instead of her initial plan of a row of fruit trees. After she so selflessly agreed to let me rob her of her land I took this first photo so that I'd be able to remember it rightly when I looked back on it in the future.

August 2012

 
Over the coming months the amount and variety of foreign objects I pulled from the soil was staggering! The hours were long, the work was hard and the temperature was at times unrelentingly oppressive but slowly yet surely our progress began to show itself. To every traveler, friend, pilgrim and stranger who did so much as lift a finger to help within this space, I offer my most sincere and heartfelt thanks for the genuine joy your work added towards!

February 2014

 
Sandwiched between my first and last days there emerged a golden period in which one could find a thriving, productive and organic vegetable patch known as the Resurrection Garden! A true rarity in its time and place. With the first fruits of my harvest I would offer them to the families who overlooked the garden (indeed the very same ones who would 'deposit' their rubbish in amongst my tomatoes) and thereafter used them at home as well as to feed the many travelers who would come for lunch at our River Ashram. Friday afternoons became a community gardening event in which travelers from around the globe would gather to work in, around and on the garden, make music, drink chai and simply help create the beauty which was our space. I can remember planting seeds with my daughter and watching the delight in her face as she'd pull her radishes out of the ground not much more than a month later. I remember many mornings sitting with my tiny newborn son on my garden bench, the early morning mist still hanging thick in the air, the Chai mug still warm in my hand, the stinging pain of sleep deprivation still heavy on my eye lids. I remember the yelps of the Bundar (monkeys) as they dropped my half chewed vegetables and fled the scene of their crime once I had truly learned how to wield a slingshot. I even remember the plastic bag full of human poo I found crushing my tomato seedlings. And I remember standing in my garden for the last time and like everything else in Banaras had to say 'good bye.'

 

November 2014

What blows my mind most about these images is the almost identical sight of barren, littered and dead landscapes in the shots taken when I began in August 2012 and when I left in November 2014. It's almost as though Banaras has erased any evidence that I was ever there. But this doesn't bother me in the slightest, for I'll still know. I'll still know the frustration, pain, sweat, heat stroke, germination, growth, transformation, harvests, joy, peace giving, soul nourishing times I spent in that space. And really, isn't that what's most important? Even if it forever returns to nothing, I'll still know, and now you'll know too.

India Just Doesn't Love You..

 

“India just doesn’t love you man. And that’s why it hurts so much cause you love India, but no matter what you do you can’t change the fact that India just doesn’t love you. Thailand on the other hand, Thailand doesn’t care who you are, Thailand just wants to give you a hug.”

This was it. This right here was the quote of the night, the perfect summation of how I was feelings, the nugget of truth which seemed to make everything else clear. You see I was spitballing with a good friend who has also spent a number of years living in India but now lives in Thailand and it was becoming abundantly clear that he too was privy to India's dirty little secret. You see India (and Banaras especially) has this nasty little habit of not letting you go quietly, instead, it drives the boot in deep and kicks you out. I don't know why, perhaps she's upset you're leaving and so lashes out like a child who doesn't quite yet understand the depths of her own emotions or how to control them, or perhaps she wants you to carry a scar with you throughout the rest of your days so as to always remember her by. But you can ask any number of the folks who’ve gone before me and sure enough they'll have their story of woe to tell from the time they finally decided to pack up stumps and leave India. With this knowledge in mind I went into our final month with my eyes wide open and heart braced for impact. I did my best to be prepared and so I emailed friends and asked their advice on what best to do and what to avoid, I made plans with Wild Flower that allowed plenty of time to accommodate for unforeseen set backs, I even had 3 Aussie friends who came along with us just to help us with the pack up and move. But somewhere in amongst all the busyness and preparations I allowed a tiny crack in my armour to appear from which the belief that I might just get out unscathed began to leak in. Needless to say..

I was wrong.

The new Termite mound in the bedroom cupboard & the Caveman giving it hell..

When we first walked into our home that had laid empty for six months while we were back in Australia we were hit with an immediate sense of dread. We had paid someone to come in and do a some cleaning from time to time but as with many things in Banaras it turned out to not be money well spent. The place looked like it hadn't been lived in in centuries. Mold, dirt and an inch of dust lay across the surface of everything, and I do mean everything. And then there was the termites, oooooh the termites! I went to unpack some clothes and put them away in my draw but as soon as I began to pull on the handle I knew something was amiss. Usually the wooden draws would slide out somewhat gracefully on their metal runners, but this time it didn't budge, not even a little. I tried tugging again; nothing. I tired putting my back into it; nothing. I put one foot on either side of the draw and reefed back on it with all my might; nothing. My good friend the Caveman and I ended up going at it with saws, hammers, chisels & screwdrivers for almost an hour before we got it open and then roughly another hour per draw before finally having unfettered access to our wardrobe and clothes draws (9 draws in total!!). The swelling of the wood during the monsoon coupled with the colossal infestation of termites (check out the football sized mound that was in our cupboard in the above image) had made the draws harder to get into than Fort Knox and set us way back in our packing. There it was - Kapow; right in the nuts. I figured this was it, this was Banaras' goodbye..

I was wrong.

Little Feather Deliveries..

I've been riding motorbikes in Varanasi for a number of years now and rarely, if ever, do I encourage other people to do it. My old man's been riding bikes most of his life and skill wise he may very well be a superior rider, but when he was visiting us here last year I asked him not to ride, not because I doubt his skill, but because I know he didn't understand the Indian road mentality. And if you haven't paid your dues and spent sufficient time on the roads here then how could you?

I equate the roads here to the ultimate game of Tetris except instead of the pieces only coming one at a time and only from the top - they come from every direction all at once and move in every direction with regular changes and with no notice; sounds challenging right? And in my last week of living in Banaras as I was peacefully riding through a roundabout a young kid on a bike pulled across in front of me and stopped dead in his tracks and I found myself coming off my bike for the first time. I managed to avoid the kid altogether - at the expense of hammering the brakes and fish tailing into a heap on the ground – but the kid rode away alive and I rode away with a grazed leg, bruised ego and busted rib. Surely this was it! My first and only accident! Just enough to make me grimace in pain every time I lifted anything heavy - and considering the amount of heavy lifting I was about to undertake while moving most of our worldly possession from Banaras and Pai that amounted to quite a bit of grimacing! Kapow; right in the nuts. Surely this was it, this must have been Banaras' goodbye..

Again, I was wrong.

Can always rely on Wild Flower to capture me at my best..

Within days of being back in town the first indicators of sickness were becoming apparent throughout my whole tribe. Wild flower was complaining of a nasty throat pain, little feather and wild foot both began to have a constant stream of fun pouring out of their noses and my asthma was going haywire. By the end of our first week the entire family was struck down with the flu. Needless to say, with only a short amount of time to pack up and sell the majority of our worldly possessions coupled with getting in decent time with all our friends, we had no time to lay about in bed and ride it out, there was work to be done and we had no choice but to push through it. But on our very last night in Banaras things jumped up a notch. The kids were in bed asleep and I went for one last walk along the ghats to pray for this great city and drink in the atmosphere one last time. I came across one of my favourite spots and sat upon the stairs that used to frequent and I began to experience a terrible pain in my sinus. For days the pain had been growing in intensity but as long a I didn't exert myself to hard or throw my head around to fast the pain was minimal, but tonight I was in agony! I tried to push the pain out of my mind, knowing that this was my last chance to enjoy the ghats, but a fter an hour it became unbearable...and I was forced to retreat home. I spent my final night in Banaras not with my friends, not at my favourite spot, but with my head between a towel and a pot of steaming water whilst regular blasts of pain rocketed throughout my cranium. In terms of ways to spend your final night in Banaras, this one was not on my list. Exhausted, in pain, still with plenty to do, finally this was it, this must have been Banaras' goodbye.. But as by now I'm sure you're learning, again...

I was wrong.

 

Almost everything we own in nine bags..

It was midday when we arrived at the airport with tear stains down our cheeks, mountains of baggage loaded on our trolleys and heavy hearts. I was feeling pretty wired considering the previous night and the three flights and three days of transit that lay a head (not to mention that our taxi driver had fallen asleep at the wheel half way to the airport!! Aye aye aye!!). But we were there, we had made it over our first hurdle, our flight was in a little less than 3 hours and that would give us plenty of time to process and get any last farewells out of our system. But why then was the guy at the check in counter being so evasive with me? Why was he telling me I had to go to the Spice Jet office in the back of the airport? Why wouldn't he give me any boarding passes or any straight answers?

Wild Flower stayed with the kids and our friends while I walked into the Spice Jet office and handed over my ticket. The first guy looked at it and told me to go to the guy at the desk, the guy at the desk looked at it and told me to go to the guy I'd just spoken to, the first guy then told me to go to the check in counter.. I stared at him and demanded to know what was up. And that's when it happened. That's when I felt the warm embrace of Banaras' bootstraps as they plowed straight into the family jewels.

"I'm sorry sir. Your flight is cancelled."

Kapow.

 

The waiting game..

The adrenaline burst was instant, my mind catching up with everything that was going on might have taken just a tad longer. "When's your next flight?" I asked. "None today," was the reply, which of course is of no use to me when I have another flight out of a different city tomorrow morning. "When was it cancelled?" I sputtered. "Three days ago," came the reply. "Then why wasn't I told?!?!?" Turns out that because I had booked our flights months in advance (while we were still in Australia) they had therefore sent a text to my number in Australian to notify me that my flight from Varanasi to New Delhi had been axed.. gee, thanks! And part of booking so far in advance was so I could get this great deal they had going on excess baggage (which of course we had lots) which was now redundant. 

I burst out of the office and let Wild Flower know what had just happened. I then snuck in through the back door of the Indigo airlines office and began showing photos of my daughter to the guy at the desk (listen, if you have white daughter with blondish hair and you're traveling in Asia then do yourself a favour and have her photos handy as they can and do move mountains!!). This managed to get him to stop serving the line of about 20 people waiting in front of him and thankfully secured us some seats for a flight later that night, however it did nothing to bring down the monstrously high excess baggage fees which might mean that we'll now be eating Ramen noodles three times a day for the next five to ten years! But thankfully forty-five minutes and a whole lot of sweating bullets later I returned to my little tribe with boarding passes in hand and together we began our painfully long wait.

The waaaaaaiting game..

Two flights and twenty-four hours later and we dump our bags on the hotel floor in Bangkok. It has been a long, looooong day and the kids pass out immediately in their beds yet Wild Flower and I are still wired, still on India time and still starving. She disappears into the night looking for food for us and returns 30minutes later with a two white plastic bags and a startled expression on her face and tells me I need to sit down because "I'm not going to believe this." I sit down on the bed and feel the familiar wave of anxiety wash over me as I cover my crotch and brace myself for what I anticipate to be India's final swing. What will it be? Did we loose a bag in India? Did I leave my wallet on the plane? Has our credit card have been hacked (again!)? Wild Flower's eyes go wide in amazement and she begins saying;

"We found a little roadside place that had noodles but the people there didn't understand a word of English. We were trying to get some without any pork in it but literally nothing was getting through. Then this Thai guy who was probably in his 40's just walks in out of nowhere, starts talking to us in decent English and helps us order our food! Then we had a nice little chat with him while they were making our dinner and I told him that we were moving here from India and then when our food comes out we asked him how much it costs and get this! He says 'Don't worry about it, I've already paid for your food. Consider this a welcome to Thailand gift from me to you and your family.' Then he just turned and walked away!

Finally enjoying our back porch with friends..

So if it didn't hit home the first time let me close by repeating it again;

“Thailand doesn’t care who you are, Thailand just wants to give you a hug.”

Chhath Puja..

We've been back in ole Banaras for a little over two weeks now and it feels like our last days living in this city are all too quickly racing away. We've been insanely busy packing up our home and selling off most of the possessions we've amassed over the years, trying to schedule in enough time do decent goodbyes with friends (which I feel we're failing at), trying to not wear out the kids with all the running around (which I feel we're failing dismally at) - and of course, trying to manage all of the above with a family who have all had the flu since arriving back in town.. It's been an exhausting couple of weeks!

But none-the-less, I'm trying to make the most of our last days here and thus trying to get the camera out as often as possible. And whilst those who know me know that mornings are not my most favourable time of the day I decided to get my sorry butt out of bed get and down to the Ghats before sunrise last week to witness Chhath Puja. 

Chhath Puja is a an ancient Hindu festival that centers around Surya (the sun god) in which participants offer puja and gifts to thank the Sun for sustaining life and to grant their wishes. Prosperity, healing, babies and other various wishes are all considered up for grabs over this four day festival in which devotional acts such as abstaining from drinking water, offering prayers at the rising and setting of the sun and prolonged standing in bodies of water are all part of package. Whilst men and women both participate in Chhat Puja, it does seem to be more of a Women's festival and with the noticeable increase of women outside of their homes it actually creates quite a different (and wonderful) atmosphere in and around this overwhelmingly man's world which is Banaras.

I hope you'll enjoy this little morsel from the feast of colour which is the Varanasi Ghats during Chaat Puja!

(And because I can't help myself I have to point out that the compression that occured when uploading these images has done some weird things with some of the colours and really brought out the vignettes. You'll have to be patient and forgive me this time round till I work out how to fix it.)

Public Enemy #1..

..The One & Only Govinda Baba..

Like most kids growing up in the West, at some point during my childhood I desperately wanted a pet monkey. From cartoons to movies, advertisements to the much loathed Totally Wild, they all seem to present a single unified message; ‘Monkeys = Fun!’ So it’s no surprise that when you first start travelling in Asia and end up in a place like Banaras where monkeys are as ubiquitous as birds, it all feels a little bit magical!

They’re in the trees, clambering along the power lines, jumping from building to building and yes, occasionally you will be squatting in the bathroom only to look up and see them watching you through the window as you go about your ‘business.’

Illusions Of Bathroom Privacy

But there comes a time when the honeymoon period comes crashing to an end and you begin to realise that they are less like the bunch of smiling, fun loving, scat singing (King Louie style) creatures in the tv dreams you’d been sold in your youth, but in fact are much closer to a pack of savage wild dogs that are brazen enough to invade your home (as we discovered one day when we foolishly left the door unlocked), become highly territorial when in heat and most terrifyingly have the advantage of being able to climb - thus giving them the high ground advantage from which to attack you from. In hindsight, perhaps seeing the Wicked Witch of the West shriek “Fly my pretties, Fly!” should have tempered my childhood illusions with something much closer to the horrifying truth!

No better example of this can I think of than the day I was leading the first group Meditations of the 2012-13 season at the River Ashram. It was monsoon and still extremely hot and humid but most of our long term community members were back in town. We’d shut down the Ashram during the hot season and most of us had taken off to the foot hills of the Himalayas to escape the brutal daily temperature highs of between 45-49°C/113-120°F… it’s worse than it sounds.. and so the Ashram had been unoccupied for almost 4 months, or so we thought.

Being the first meditation for the season we expected only a small turnout and so by the time we reached 10 or so people I got the ball rolling and we began the session. I was leading an Aggredior Divina meditation (translated from Latin as ‘Approach (the) Divine’) in which we usually spend the first 10 or so minutes in silent contemplation on our surroundings - which on this morning proved particularly poignant as it wasn’t long into our silence that I began feeling the uneasy sensation of being watched.

I opened one eye and quietly scanned the courtyard. Nothing. Just our circle of sweet hairy travellers from the far reaches of the globe, now blissing out in the early morning heat. I closed my eye and continued to focus on the meditation.

Minutes later I again felt the sensation of being watched, but this time I could also hear its source; a sound I’d come to know all too well, Bundar (Hindi for ‘monkey’). I opened one eye and looked up where sure enough, in those braches high above our heads sat two juvenile Bundar, quizzically watching the goings on down below. As they were only young and so high up I closed my eye, tried to refocus myself and offered the next instruction to the group.

Minutes later I heard them again but this time the sound felt close, too close. I quickly opened my eyes and was startled to see that they had descended from the tree and were now perched directly above us in the shade cloth which hung only a meter or so above our heads. Not only that, but they had managed to pull the seams apart and were poking their heads through the mesh to get a better look at these hairy foreigners who were quietly sitting below. Being only youngsters I figured that they posed little threat to our group and so was happy to continue to the meditation, hoping that at the very least they would keep their distance and do so quietly – yet as with most things in Banaras, it wasn’t long before I realised I was wrong.

What would have proved helpful to know at that time was that in the previous months while the ashram grounds were vacated a wandering family of Bundar had stumbled into the perfect sanctuary to set up shop and raise their young. In the eyes of these newly acquired tenants, we had basically walked into their house, put our feet up on their coffee table and made ourselves at home. Cue the inevitable turf war.

A loud metallic twang rang out through the courtyard and this time I opened both eyes and there he was; the Alpha Male, standing tall and strong on top of the metal staircase, his scar covered face jousting towards us with fierce jolts whilst baring his teeth in a display of unbridled aggression. Worse than this, he’d brought backup. Along the wall behind him stood another 5 or so Bundar which began to follow his lead, and as I turned my head to check the surroundings I discovered a further 5 or so perched atop the wall behind me. We were the victims in a textbook pincer manoeuvre, and seconds later they began to descend.

I looked around our group and immediately noticed that every person who had lived in Banaras for more than a couple of years had their eyes open and was fully aware of the encroaching madness, yet every short term traveler (obviously still in the honeymoon phase) was still silent, still with closed eyes and crossed legs and blissfully unaware of what was about to transpire. I breathed deeply and spoke loud and clear “as I count backwards from 5, slowly open your eyes and feel your awareness returning to the circle.”

“5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … NOW RUN!!”

In the shock and confusion of the following moments we scrambled to collect our possessions and retreat inside, yet the doorway closest to our group also happened to stand dangerously close to the striking range of the Alpha Male. Immediately Govinda Baba, our dearly loved 65 year old Canadian Sadhu, sprang into action. He grabbed the beautifully decorated talking stick from the centre of the circle, charged at the spiral staircase and like a crazed medieval knight wielding a broad sword swung wildly at the Alpha Male who dodged each blow with ever increasing hostility.

The Alpha Male growled at Govinda. Govinda growled back.

The Alpha Male lunged towards Govinda. Govinda thrust him back.

The Alpha Male tried again to advance. Govinda stood his ground.

As I shepherded the last traveller through the doorway and into safety I turned back to witness the sight of our white bearded, orange robed, tough as guts friend going full combat with an Alpha Male Bundar so that the rest of us dirty hippies could have safe passage. Having held back the encroaching tide of Bundar just long enough for us to clamber to safety he turned on he heals and hot footed it indoors with the rest of us – the pack of Bundar not far behind. We slammed the door shut, breathed in our safety, and burst into laughter. 

The sight of those blissfully unaware hippies, the throngs of invading Bundar descending from on high and dear ole Govinda Baba going toe to toe for twelve rounds with the Alpha Male will forever remain one of my most joyful, awe inspiring and lets face it, utterly ridiculous memories which to this day still causes me laugh out loud whenever it enters my mind.

So if you’re planning on travelling Asia any time soon and find yourself reading this and thinking “But monkeys aren’t really all that bad,” I’ll simply leave you with the advice that my ole boy Oody gave me when I was still fresh off the boat in Banaras;

“Just wait till you have your first bad experience with them… Just. You. Wait!”

The 'Best Of' Series..

..Our soon to be homeland..

As many of you already know, due to a totally unexpected turn of events our days calling the great city of Banaras ‘Home’ are soon coming to an end. This doesn’t mean that our traveling adventures are over, far from it, starting in less than 3 weeks we’ll be embarking on a whole new set of crazy adventures as we seek to establish a new home and a new life for ourselves in the mountains of Northern Thailand. That’s right.. we’ll be going back to square one in a new culture, in a new location, in a new community, in a new language.. my heart is beating faster just thinking about it!!

The necessity to move came as quite a shock and as with most unforeseen circumstances that result in loss, it causes you to step back and reflect on your life and your movements over the past years. One of the ways I’ve been processing this period has been to trawl back through the terabytes of photos I’ve amassed during our travels which has brought to mind a number of truly beautiful memories - some of which I’d all but forgotten. On more than one occasion I’ve found my heart aching in my chest and a strange salty liquid amassing in corner of my eyes as I’ve reminisced about the places, friendships and experiences that I’d expected to continue being regular features in my life but am now faced with the sad reality of soon having to say good bye to. Through processing all this joy mingled with sadness, it’s prompted me to start a month long series of post which will essentially be my “Best Of…” series which kicked off last week with post #1 – I Saw Your Nipples On The Balcony. They won’t necessarily be the greatest moments, or the worst, or even the most exciting, but when I let my mind and heart open up to reflect on these past years this series reflects those memories which I treasure most and seem to force their way to the front most often.

I hope you’ll enjoy catching a glimpse into the life and times of our little tribe over these past years as we go about wrapping up this truly wild and life changing chapter of our story.

I Saw Your Nipples On The Balcony..

Our Rootop

Our first home in Banaras was the ultimate hippy pad! It was once the servant's quarters for a rich family (the landlord would swear black and blue that it was previously owned by the King of Nepal) and was just two small rooms that were built on the rooftop of a 3 story building. It was hot, dark, cramped, had no privacy, no hot water, no silence, no shower, no way to keep the dirt out, a squat toilet, you had to walk through the landlord's house to get to the front door, it was infested with rats.. ok, so essentially it was a hovel, but it was our hovel, in the city we'd spent years dreaming about living in, and we loved it. It was close to everything, overlooked an ancient religious site that was potentially thousands of years old and had one of the most amazing views of the city! And out of all the mixture of memories we have from our time living in that most wonderful of homes, one most definitely stands out above the rest; our landlord.

His name is Tiwari Ji, but we affectionately just called him "Tooza." He would love to tell you just how important he was and would remind me on an almost weekly basis that Brahmin was not just the top caste, but a Super Caste! I'd find myself half expecting him to finish that sentence by busting out a cape that he'd been hiding under his Lungi! But he and his family were a truly wonderful way to introduce us into Banarsi life and culture and the following three episodes are some of my favourite memories from those early days in Banaras that will give you a taste of the learning curve that lay before me!

Bucket Bath Bliss

 

Episode 1 - Mawiage Is Wot Bwings Us Togever

One day I was walking up the stairs to the rooftop from where we could access our house. As I reached the top I saw our landlord and his twenty-five year old son crouched down in the middle of the balcony busily working away at something that I couldn't quiet see. As I crossed the floor I saw that they were huddled over a pot plant, some scissors, a few rolls of sparkling tinsel and some tape and were busily cutting up everything into smaller bits and pieces. I awkwardly Namaste'd them and proceeded to ask what they were up to and the Son replied that it was a special day because Tulsi was getting married and they were helping her to prepare. 

In my mind, I knew that Tooza only had two sons and that one of them was already married, and also knowing that in Banaras it's not really the done thing for men to have interaction with women who aren't direct relatives, so as far as I could see there was really only one explanation.

"Oh, how exciting! Is Tulsi your cousin?" I asked.

Both men immediately stopped what they were doing. The son's jaw gaped open and he looked sideways at me with that kind of expression that makes you feel like you've just said the stupidest thing in the history of mankind. Tooza rolled his eyes and turned his back on me. The son just began to shake his head.

After standing there for what felt like an eternity with the overwhelming feeling that I had unanimously been voted the biggest fool in the country, I tried again.

"So Tulsi's not your cousin?" I asked.

"No," the son replied. "Tulsi is the pot plant."  



(If like me you needed an explanation, try here)

...Home...

Episode 2 - The Illusion Of Privacy

It was very early one morning when Wild Flower asked me if I'd pop out to a local dukan ('shop') to pick up some milk as we had run dry and our fledgling Chai addiction was demanding to be placated. The sun had crossed the horizon yet still the grey tinged darkness refused to flee and so from out of our windows the world appear glum, wet and hazy. I grabbed a bag and made my way to our front door where I sat down and leaned back against it to put my boots on.

But the very moment my back touched the door something caught my ear! In an instant I was reefed out of the illusion of privacy, and sat motionless with the knowledge that I was not alone.. and I listened. The sound was close, very close, too close. And it was repetitive; just a soft sloshing, slapping, moist sound, right near my ears. On all fours I silently turned and faced the door, my nose just inches from the wood, and knew that someone, or something, was on the other side.

Out the window above I could see the awning which overhung the front of our house by a couple of feet but nothing else, and so slowly, very slowly, I raised myself up higher and set a trajectory for the window. 

As the crown of my head reached the lower limits of the window I held my breath. I was still new to this country, still confounded daily by almost everything I saw, still aware that I had no idea what that sound was and therefore absolutely anything could have been waiting for me on the other side. 

As my eyes finally crested the window sill I peered down into the chasm below, and there he was, in all his glory; dear ole Tooza! Our elderly, bald, bushy eared landlord, sitting in the only stream of sunlight that just so happened to be falling upon our front door step, wearing nothing but a loin cloth and rubbing cooking oil all over his body. 

The soft sloshing, slapping, moist sound proceeded to eminate from our doorstep for further 25minutes.. Suffice to say our stomachs went Chai free that morning.

...Sweet Home...

Episode 3 - I Saw Your Nipples On The Balcony

It had been a busy morning in the Thundersong household as we had a big day planned at the River Ashram and Wild Flower and I had spent most of the morning hurriedly going about getting everything prepared. Some things were coming together well (ie; the pots of amazing food Wild Flower was whipping up to dish out over lunch), other things however.. not so well (ie; the sterilizing of the rubber tops of Little Feather's drink bottles which were accidently forgotten about and left in a pot of boiling water, which when the water evaporated away left the rubber to simply melt in the pot, thus filling the house with the charming and toxic aroma of charred rubber. We literally had to put the melted remains on the other side of the building just to get away from the smell!).

At some point during the flurry we put the last touches on our preparations and were finally ready to go. I put on my backpack and grabbed the large pot of food, Wild Flower hoisted Little Feather up into her sling and together we began our decent into our landlord's house which we always had to walk through whenever we wanted to enter or exit our home. Now that might sound a strange set up, and it was, but after a while you do get a tad more used to having to always walk through someone's home and when you're in a rush instead focus on how to get away with the least amount of small talk possible. But there is glaring problem here; Tooza loves small talk!

Every morning he would race to greet us and the first words out of his mouth every.single.day. would be "I heard your babu crying X number of times last night" *head wobble.* Now if you're a parent I'm sure you can imagine how joyful it makes you feel when someone says such things to you. I would occasionally find myself replying quiet sarcastically that because our daughter was in the same bed as us that we heard her crying X+1 times, but mostly I would refrain and simply return the *head wobble* and ask how his day was going.

But something different happened on this morning. As I stepped off at the bottom of the stairs he raced to greet us in his usual way but this time he did not greet us with his usual story, this time he began with a question, a question which will forever be seared in recessess of my mind! He looked past me to Wild Flower who was only a couple stairs behind and said "No milk for Babu this morning? I saw your nipples on the balcony."

My jaw hit the floor. 

My eyes grew twice their normal size.

My brain exploded. 

As I stood there too dumbstruck to say anything Wild Flower reached the base of the stairs and stood beside me. Without missing a beat she calmly and matter-of-factly replied "Oh yes, I tried to clean them in boiling water... but I burnt them."

I grabbed at the handrail to steady myself from falling.

I tried to force out words; "Did you just..?! But he said..?! How can it..?! What the..?!?!" And for a moment it seemed most plausible that I'd fallen into an alternate universe in which this scenario was so common place that people could discuss it freely whilst being completely nonchalant about it.

But then it dawned on me; Little Feather's drink bottles! The rubber tops (or 'nipples' if you will) that we'd burnt and put outside to get away from the smell..


This moment still haunts me!



We may have moved a number of times since those days back in 2011, but our first home/hovel in India and our dearest Tooza, have captured a place in our hearts and left an indelible mark on our lives which we'll never forget! ...No matter how hard I might try!