Alright, let’s get this started.
Since I’m heading back to India, now seems like a good time to dust off the old blog and get the updates flowing for you my beautiful readers.
If we were now to have one of those recap things that they have on soaps/dramas, this one might go something like this:
Cue suspenseful voiceover voice – sounding like a cross between a newsreader running out of time to give you all the details of the top story…and a middle aged man answering the phone shortly after exerting himself in… …
“previously, on George visits India…lots of Indian people stare at him, either because he’s fantastically good looking, or because he’s the only white geezer for miles around (I’m gunning for the former). He gets very good at making chai…sees some serious over-expenditure Indian wedding style…organises schoolchildren activism in protest at the failed delivery of a roller for the school cricket pitch…plays football with a drunk guy nicknamed Mr S**tfaced, who turns out to be India’s answer to an overweight, drunk cristiano ronaldo (quite why there should be any demand for such a sporting similarity is still open to debate)…His then girlfriend comes to visit…his girlfriend becomes fiancé…fiancé leaves India…George’s heart starts beating a little too quickly…George ends up in intensive care, has his heart re-started…comes home.”
That was 2009/10. It’s now the back-end of 2011. Who is this George who now heads back to India? And will he actually use the roller he exerted so much effort in getting forged last time out?
To be honest, I’ve been ineffably* blessed. I have had the opportunity to invest in myself and my beautiful fiancé this year. We have visited some extraordinary places in the search for what truly is our gift to the world. My various family members will no doubt be glad to hear that the seeking process has certainly borne fruit.
(ineffably – great word…from ineffable – ‘incapable of being expressed I words’ – is it an irony that there is a word to describe that which is incapable of being expressed in words? Or is it a paradox? any way, big up michelle for the word)
Each of us is unique among the 7 billion or so souls on this planet. Some may choose to see this as definitive proof that we are nought more than an inconsequential mote of God’s bumfluff. My preference is the conviction that we each are upon this earth with a role so special, so vital, that we alone are fit for the purpose. The truth may lie somewhere betwixt and between, but answer me this: which perspective makes you feel happier to be alive? Oh…and by the way, you get to choose which perspective you wish to live your life by!
‘GEORGE, what’s with the sententious parenthesis?’ I hear you asking. Actually, you may well be asking what a sententious parenthesis is. I include here a link for a definition of sententious: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/sententious but I’m not sure it will be of any great use if, like me, your not entirely sure what ‘pithy’ means…or for that matter what an ‘aphorism’ is.
Basically…you might be wanting to know why I strayed (a) from discussing india, and (b) from describing what the outcome has been of my seeking over the last year. In response, I’d probably respond pithily by saying, ‘why not?’
Back to the seeking and learning: building on my conviction that we each have a unique purpose…and that the means of discovering what this is is to do what we love, trusting that the path will emerge…I have arrived at a place where my passions and talents blend in various ways through the following mediums (media?): Poetry, Youth, Café (some of you may have seen my other blog – which is definitely very sententious, and probably has a fair few parentheses)
Poetry means: writing prose, poetry, performing, story-telling and synergising creativity
Youth means: all aspects of mentoring both young people and young souls, contributing the harvests of my experience for those who feel they may benefit.
Café means: Sacred sharing – creating food and spaces where people can connect with each other and can enjoy all that the word nourishment entails – spiritual, physical, mental, emotional, idyllic.
From this starting point…I am ever grateful that my path with heart seems to be emerging.
My immediate goal is to establish myself as the world’s leading personal development poet and HOST (Human Optimisation Story Teller) by the time I’m 31. I’m making good headway, since I am, to the best of my knowledge, the world’s only personal development poet. Whilst this may seem a bit of a cheat, I’m acutely aware that ploughing a fresh furrow (is that too innuendouous a metaphor to use here? Is innuendouous even a word?) presents manifold challenges of its own, not least in keeping my love and myself fed whilst the snowball of repute gathers pace and size.
Once established in my goal…I will be able to let my youth mentoring and café/sharing aspect bloom in the form of a social enterprise that combines young people keen to earn and learn with some of the most fantastic food and beverage delicacies ever to touch the mouths of awed customers – I refer of course to my pancakes and chai.
Great George…way to crap on about yourself. What has any of this got to do with India?
Aside from the fact that writing the above about my pancakes and chai has reminded me that one of my main outcomes is to return home armed with a kick ass recipe and technical proficiency for making Dosas – Indian style crepes….I wrote the above to show that it is an upgraded George who travels to Mother India. I am clearer on my purpose…but it is always a good shout to connect with service as a means of honing what the best next steps may be – if your dreams can be fulfilled while you meet both your needs and the needs of others…then you’re onto a no-brain winner surely.
India is rightly proud of its commonly found phrase: ‘guest is god’. India takes service to a whole new level (sadly even in its incredible capacity to service corruption). Theirs is kindness and warmth we so rarely see locked within our western walls. Coming here can be seen in a selfish light: I invariably feel recharged after just a short time in India. The happiness and delight in experiencing life exhibited by the children is infectious. Furthermore, I am always given fresh mirrors in which to consider truth…and am blessed at how that fresh consideration allows me to deepen into my passion and service no matter where I may find myself.
3 days later…
One of India’s finest living exponents of its ‘guest is god’ philosophy is our current host Soni, who is the first person we call whenever we are in Delhi. We first met on our last visit to India. Fan and I stayed with her before Fan headed to the airport to return home. She was extremely kind to us then, heading out at some ungodly hour simply because we expressed a liking for Gulab Jaman – a delicious Indian sweet. On this evidence though, she was no more kind and welcoming than any of the number of kind souls we were blessed to encounter on our last trip. What marked Soni out as truly exceptional was when I found myself in hospital in Gurgaon (a satellite of Delhi, about the same distance from the city as Coventry is to Birmingham). She came to visit me while I was in intensive care before my heart was restarted and also whilst I was convalescing under observation after the procedure.
The full magnanimity of these visits did not quite hit home until I realised that to reach me she not only had to endure a 3½ hour round trip (if the traffic was good), but that she was also risking getting fired each time because to make it during visiting hours she had to leave work early. Bear I mind that I’d only met her for a total of about 6 hours prior to her showing up in intensive care bearing gifts and a beaming smile.
As I write, it is about 4.30am on Sunday morning amd Fan and I are sharing Soni’s bedroom floor. I say bedroom..but this 3m x 5m room serves as bedroom, lounge, dining room and wardrobe. As sleep seems intent on eluding me at the moment, I guess now is a good time to bring you up to speed with the highlights of our last 3 days:
We arrive into Delhi IGI airport at 3.30am on Thursday. By 4 am we have brought the most expensive tub of malteasers on the planet…but have also discovered that we don’t need to make additional embassy based enquiries regarding our Indian visa, so thus far things have balanced themselves out nicely. Now we just need to get a hotel for the night.
Our reason for needing to spend some time in delhi is that we are travelling to Myanmar in November, but as yet don’t have a visa. The plan therefore is to dump our bags at a hotel, grab a few hours rest and then head out to the embassy of Myanmar to fill in the necessary forms etc.
Oh what best laid plans! 4 ½ hours, 1 probably shiesty hotel booking agent, one pissed off taxi driver, one registered/probably shiesty tourism official and £200 later…and we finally pass out in one of the most comfy beds ever…in what is certainly one of delhi’s most expensive hotels. We feel like mice that have been batted around, chewed up and spat out in the cat’s bed, while the cat ponders what to do with us next.
We arrive that afternoon at the Myanmar embassy to discover that in their bureaucratic wisdom, the embassy have only 1½ hours per day when you can sort out visas. 10-11am is for visa applications, 4-4.30pm is for collection of visas. Luckily (we think) we have arrived just before 4pm. As if the hotel fiasco wasn’t a sufficient introduction to the timeless beauty of this great land, Mother India clearly decides we need a refresher crash course in India time. Thus at 5.00pm, with a crowd of increasingly irate natives gathering, someone finally decides to open the mousehole sized and shaped window that is our sole means of interacting with the folks who hold our visa destiny in their reticent hands. It’s one of the most frustrating and bizarre recent experiences I can recall. It’s a challenge to one’s serenity trying to keep one’s cool and discover vital information, whilst bending into a stressed position at the same time as injuriously cricking one’s neck…only to find yourself talking to the navel of the lady on the other side of the mouse hole, who clearly has no intention of bending to ensure she actually hears your questions. I don’t know who saw fit to set the mousehole at the appropriate height for yor average dwarf…but if I ever find out, I’ll be having words.
We are told we need photocopies of our passports, confirmed tickets into and leaving Myanmar and covering letters explaining why we wish to visit the country…oh, and that we need to pay for the visas via a bankers draft.
No problem we think... roll on Friday morning we think…roll on visa success…after all, HSBC is the world’s local bank…except that in India banks open at 10am...and the world’s local bank won’t let you do a bank draft unless you have an Indian bank account.
We do what we can toward filling out the form, including discovering HSBC are not the world local bank…and paying cash to an online Indian travel agent for a return flight to Myanmar. All of which means that we miss our 10-11am window (sorry mousehole) for visa applications. Hoping that India time is still fully in effect, I head to the embassy only to be disappointed. The one bright point is that I accost someone leaving the embassy and ask about the specifics of a bankers draft. She says it’s not necessary for westerners and that we should be able to pay cash.
Feeling buoyed by this news, we head back to the embassy for the afternoon mousehole hoping that if we play the bumbling foreigner well enough, they will accept our application even though we are trying to ‘apply’ during the ‘collect’ slot. We play the bumbling foreigner well enough for the lady to take sympathy with us, but not well enough for her to let us pay cash and accept our applications. She takes a moment to explain everything we need (turns out we do need a bank draft) and says that we must return on Monday morning with everything. She then drops the bombshell that for bumbling foreigners the visa application process takes 15 days. Given that we will have only 13 working days between now and our departure for Myanmar, we are surrendered to the hope that a minor miracle will occur.
Whilst all the above was happening, we dined with Soni at Delhi’s revolving restaurant called (I think) Parvikrama. A similar restaurant in London would probably cost 30-50 quid a head. Our meal came to about 15 quid, which included an unbelievable 360 degree view of Delhi’s nightscape.
My current lack of sleep is no doubt aided by the fact that I battling through a wonderful cold/cough combination probably triggered by running in the smog and dust of delhi’s rush hour. Yesterday morning was its highpoint. I felt like I was being orally immolated with a sandpaper covered cucumber everytime I coughed. The countless people who have experienced oral sandpaper cucumber immolation are no doubt very sympathetic of my present plight.
Today (Sunday) we are going shopping so that Soni can ensure we look like proper Indians for the rest of our trip. Our shopping excursion will take place at the Select City Mall. Never have the contrasts of India’s emergence as a world power been more apparent than in the setting of this mall. It is one of the most grandiose, clean and polished retail areas I’ve ever witnessed, complete with car bomb police, metal detectors and mall cop pat downs…and yet a stone’s throw away there are tin shacks, dort roads and raw sewage in the streets. Set in the context of such contrasts, the rampant corruption of India’s officialdom is at once easier to understand and much harder to forgive. Soni tells me that around 440 000 000 000 Rupees was embezzled from funds which were earmarked for the 2010 commonwealth games, an event which was to showcase India’s arrival as a modern nation. Instead they presented to the world an unfinished athletes village and woefully substandard facilities.
I leave you for now with the (probably sententious) thought that we as a species are on the brink…and as such now is the time for greatest hope, greatest endeavour and greatest creativity. Whether it be the criminal banking cabals of the west, the Chinese closing of orphanages to ensure their Olympics ‘looked good’ or the vast corruption of India…something is very wrong with humanity’s relationship with power. Anyone who reads this can be a conscious part of getting it very right as we head into a future that is impossible to forecast.
We are constantly told we should be the change we wish to see in the world. We are rarely told how to do this. The truth is as simple as it is life-affirming:
Do What You Love.
If, for even a minute a day, you can do something that brings your soul alive and gives you an ineffable joy…you are not just serving yourself, you are serving all life in a way that no other being who has ever lived is capable of. Yes it may not be the whole answer…but it’s a pretty good place to start! J x
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