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!”

That Which Locks Most Dread..

There is a silent terror that lurks in the back of every dreadlocked mind, and indeed the back of your mind is where you want it to stay! Because when that silent terror moves from simply lurking in the back of your mind to lurking on the top of your head, well, that's when you know you're in real trouble! 

We recently were enjoying some time away with our dear friends and whilst as far as we adults were concerned it was just a sweet time of filling up the love bank between us, something far more sinister was taking place between our children. At some point along the lines a silent and unknown exchange took place which would bring our deepest terror alive and into our home. Does this terror have a name I hear you ask? Why indeed it does.. Pediculus humanus capitis! That good ole blood sucking obligate extoparasite of humans... otherwise known as Nits!

Now maybe that doesn't sound too bad to you; perhaps you can remember getting them at school when you were a young or have already had to deal with you own kids getting them and so you went to the shops and picked up a bottle of something off the shelf and it stopped them dead in their tracks... but alas, you don't have dreads.. because those who do know that in dreads they are almost impossible to kill! Your locks are so tight that they have plenty of places to dig in and hide, and head lice brushes like the one pictured a little below, forget about it! I have literally met people who have had to shav their entire head, dreadies and all, after years of growth and maintenance all because they couldn't get rid of their nits and the scratching began driving them crazy. So if you're a regular person (by which I mean a poor soul without a glorious mop of Dreads) then this post is for you, so that you can sympathise with us in our terror and feel that weightiness of that which locks most dread!!

 

Day 1:   You've just put on a friend's hat/you've cuddled up close with your child whose come home from a day at school/you've laid in a bed that usually sleeps someone else/you've taken part in any number of other such seemingly innocuous activities and it's happened. A lone, solitary female Nit has found her way in amongst your magnificent head of locks.. and she has decided to stay. After cruising up and down the block a few times she decides on a location that's near to the local amenities and services and begins laying eggs - just like the Mother Alien in Aliens (which if you haven't seen yet then you are truly missing out on one of the all-time action classics). Whats interesting is that at this point you are continuing to go about your day in your normal fashion, completely oblivious to the invading species that has set up shop right next to your brain and is literally there to suck your blood! So whilst you enjoy your coffee and watch repeats of the Bachelor (not mentioning any names here *cough cough Wild Flower cough cough*) somewhere between 3 and 8 eggs are being laid right on the top of your head.

As an interesting side note and something which I only discovered during our recent ordeal, 'nits' is in fact only the name of the egg. What emerges from the egg/nit is actually called a Louse, but considering that throughout my entire life I and everyone I have known has called the adult Louse 'Nits' - I shall unashamedly continue to call them so!

Day 6:   You've continued on about your business this week completely unaware that your new neighbour is currently busy finishing up the last touches of her nursery and making sure she's happy with her birth photographer. Unlike you, she is fully aware that today is the day that will mark the homebirth of between 3 and 8 of her darling little angels. Now whilst the addition of 3-8 extra nits doesn't seem like much (and rightly so as you're still unlikely to feel anything), Mother Nit hasn't just been sitting around in her rocking chair knitting booties and complaining about stretchmarks, swollen ankles and the strains of being a single parent, oh no, she's kept herself busy this week by laying up to an additional 48 eggs, all up and down the block!

Day 8:   Your life still hasn't changed in any significant ways. Sure you might have the occasional urge to have a quick scratch, but it's nothing serious and you think nothing of it. But down on the microscopic scene things are progressing rapidly. The babies that were birthed just two days earlier have graduated from primary school and undergone their first moult whilst Mother Nit has busied herself laying up to an additional 64 eggs.

Useless Waste Of Money!!

Day 11:   Things haven't seemed to slow down in Locktown as the first high school graduation and second Moult takes place for the first generation of nits born on your scalp. But for you, the realisation is starting to emerge that you've been scratching your head a little more than usual and that occasionally at night, and particularly behind your ears, it's been itchy like all hell, but unless you happen upon a chance sighting you're more likely to just chalk it up to some dandruff.

Day 16:   Today marks a fairly significant moment in the War Of The Curls. Mother Nit who was once that trailblazing pioneer and explorer of new worlds has grown frail throughout the years (well, days..) and now lays quietly in her bed surrounded by her loved ones. Without any fanfare or commotion she quietly and very peacefully slips away from this world to enter into that great big hairball in the sky. Her first borns, filled with grief, shed their skin in a ceremonial manner for the final time and emerge as fulll grown Adult Lice (and then it starts getting all weird and Deliverance like as they start making out with their siblings). 

Wild Flower's Experiment; The Manhattan Project

Day 18:   The mobile phones of every midwife begins producing a cacophony of ringtones as all of the Female first generation natives of your head have finished their final Lamaze class and begin laying eggs. And this dear friends, is what they will continue to do every.single.day. until they die some 16 or so short days later. You, on the other hand, have become aware that something is up as you can't go more than a couple of hours without feeling the overwhelming need to scratch like a crazy man (or woman). A detailed exploration of your roots reveals the worst fears have come to fruition; you have nits. You explore the scalps of those in your home, they are also colonised. As the full implications of this begin to dawn on you and the realization of your Leprosy-esk status in society sinks in, you start scrambling to get your hands on something, anything that might do away with these vile invaders but soon you come crashing back down to reality with the revelation that the only product you know actually works on dreads needs to be imported from the UK! Salvation, you realise, is almost a month away! 

You walk aimlessly in the backstreets and lane ways.. you remove your infected clothing and don sackcloth and ashes.. you sit in the dust.. you weep!

Delacet: Salvation In A Bottle

Day 31:   It's been one month since the invasion and colonisation first began. The beachhead was formed, reinforcements arrived, supply lines were established and a highly sophisticated network of trenches now keeps the invaders mobile and protected. You are tired and weary. Your scalp is itchy, really itchy, always, constantly and unceasingly itchy! You find yourself randomly yelling insults at inanimate objects, but you tell yourself it's ok, because deep down you know it was really the bookshelf's fault, not yours. The various store bought potions and lotions may have worked on your children but they've failed dismally at stopping the flow of opposition on your mane. 

At that moment you feel an icy chill shoot down your spine because you crunched the numbers (yeah, I really did!) and realise that you could potentially have as many as 16 new nits born on you that day, another 24 currently undergoing their first moult, a further 40 on their second moult, a devastating 128 full grown adults set up homes, and a catastrophic grand total of 4,352 eggs that have been laid on you since the invasion first began!! You run to the calendar where the dark clouds of dread envelope you as you realise that you'll still be waiting another 18 days before the postman arrives with your cure. You slump into a deep depression and drag your tired feet back into the lounge room where you open the floodgates and let the bookshelf know what you really think of him!  

Day 33:   Your significant(ly more attractive) other is hunched over the laptop but in the flash of an eye stands bolt upright and exclaims that she's had a brain wave! She's in too much of an excited fluster to explain anything but instead disappears in a puff of smoke only to return an hour later with a bag of groceries which you assume are for dinner, but they're not for dinner.. and considering the bag only contained Apple Cider Vinegar, Coconut Olive and Cling Wrap you're in no way disappointed. She disappears into the bathroom and you follow. She lays out the plan and it rocks your socks off! It turns out that the active ingredient in the product your still waiting to arrive is basically Vinegar, and so by some fairly liberal application of Apple Cider Vinegar (which essentially strips the Louse of their ability to grip tightly to you) followed by Coconut Oil (which is apparently used in plenty of hair products these days but has the added benefit of suffocating your attackers!!) then wrapping your head in glad wrap for the evening (to hold it all in place as well as attract members of the opposite sex.. so hot..) you launch another offensive against the ever encroaching hoard!

Day 49:   Your initial blitz worked! And even though nothing can kill the eggs without also taking out your hair follicles as collateral damage, on the morning after your assault every moving thing atop your resplendent head was dead! In the days since you deployed your version of the Manhattan Project you have felt signs that you're on the verge of acceptance back into the broader community. The contamination warning signs and quarantine tape hasn't quite been removed from the front of your house but you've noticed birds have begun to perch in your backyard once more. Sure people still won't come near you, but it's a start. Now even though the eggs that were laid previous to the initial fallout have continued to hatch, none of them have reached maturity and thus are unable to reproduce, but it's then that you hear it! Your heart begins to race, your palms get sweaty, the knocks continue to echo down the hall as you race to the front door and there he stands! The postman, wearing a Hazmat suit and baring a package from the UK that's addressed to you! You grab it, race to the bathroom, and breath deeply; for it is there that you will make your stand! It is here you will deliver the final blow! 

Delacet had arrived. The war is over. You return to society. You are Nit free.

My final word to you today is this; and be honest now, just how many times did you catch yourself scratching your head while reading this post?

When A Violent Riot Explodes Outside Your House..

 

This morning there was a loud knock on my front door. You can imagine my surprise when I opened the door to find a mob of masked Bandits (baring a striking resemblance to what I imagine the outcome of a drunken mistake between the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and the Wiggles would look like) brandishing light sabres and trench clubs on my door step.

They demanded Mitai (Indian Sweets) but when I refused things turned sour.
 

Threats started to be made and from there things escalated quickly. Within minutes violence broke out, yet peculiarly against each other and not against me, but this is Banaras so I don't try to understand all the 'how's and 'why's' of this place.

As the violence grew more intense and wide spread, the cute girl riot police were sent into action. She seemed to enjoy beating the rioters but was forced to retreat due to the overwhelming numbers of the mob. Thankfully the violence subsided and the mob disbanded around sundown when their Mother's called them in for dinner.

Total Fatalities:             0
Total Causalities:          0
Total Scraped Knees:    3