Read Online The Adventures of Bindi Girl: (2012) by Erin Reese - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Erin Reese
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believe that when we accept this process, it becomes a whole lot easier to endure, to nurse ourselves, and let it pass—no pun intended. Of course it’s important to be cautious and sensible, but it’s much, much deeper than lack of sanitation standards or cooking conditions. Rather than worrying about food poisoning at every turn (which definitely restricts one from enjoying India’s culinary discoveries), it’s easier to remember that it’s about digesting the intensity of experiences and sensory input while on the road.
Keeping all this in mind, with train ticket in hand, I bucked-up, accepting my tricky tummy. Niki and I hopped on the night train in the middle of the Holi festival. Actually, traveling smack-dab on a peak festival night made for a fairly quiet, unpacked train ride to Delhi, which was nice for a change—and good for me as I had to climb out of my upper berth several times during the night to tend to toilet needs. My little Varanasi souvenir, keeping me humble, and letting me know who’s really the boss.
“Three Trips to India”
29 th of March, Dharamsala
I was amazed at how simple and easy, how mild Delhi was after experiencing Varanasi in full-festival mode! I marveled at how far I had come since that glorious, freaky, terrifying, invigorating night I landed in Delhi five months ago—this time around, Delhi was a piece of cake!
After convalescing and recovering in Delhi an extra day, I opted to return even further north to the green, to Nature, to Dharamsala, and take it easy for my last week. From the heat of the beach, via the crucible fire of Varanasi, to the Himalaya cold; from the south India seas, via the burning ghats, to the mountains. From Shiva’s stomping grounds to the peaceful exile of HH the XIV Dalai Lama—no wonder my psyche is spinning. My body, mind, and spirit are on one hell of a wild ride and they aren’t sure which country, which religion, which food, which temperature, which internal equilibrium we’re shooting for here! But that’s what makes traveling in India what it is: special—and full of it all.
Back in November during my very first week in India, an old-time French-Canadian traveler named Paul, who has been coming to India since the mid-70’s, educated me with a very telling statement, and I’ve kept it in the back of my mind ever since. He said, “Erin, there are three trips you take to India: the one you think you’re going to have—that you plan for; the one you actually have; and the one you live through once you go back home.” Right on, brother. I hear you, and I’m mid-course. I look forward to digesting the super-sized-spoonfuls I’m currently swallowing once I’m back at home.
One pre-meltdown day in Varanasi, I remember thinking to myself, “Oh, how I love India, and She loves me right back!” This is very true—I feel nothing but embraced and cared for in this land, very “taken care of” as I surrender to Her totality. I know Mother India still loves me back, even after She’s had Shiva whip me back into shape. Goodbye, grandiosity. Hello again, humility!
The Legacy of Impermanence
2 nd of April, Rishikesh
I think of Browning’s sonnet, “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height the soul can reach…” This is how I feel about India. I am absolutely smitten with this land, Her people, Her senses, Her senses beyond the senses.
Last week in Dharamsala, I had the good fortune of seeing the Dalai Lama as he administered his annual public teachings. Ironically, I couldn’t sit still for long, even in His Holiness’ peaceful presence. My soul told me there was one more stop to make during my last week in India, so off I went for one last heart-stopping, no-sleep-’til-dawn overnight bus ride back to Rishikesh, which felt like a second home. After grueling Varanasi, it was pure healing to come back to Rishikesh, near the headwaters of the river Ganga, where the living
Keeping all this in mind, with train ticket in hand, I bucked-up, accepting my tricky tummy. Niki and I hopped on the night train in the middle of the Holi festival. Actually, traveling smack-dab on a peak festival night made for a fairly quiet, unpacked train ride to Delhi, which was nice for a change—and good for me as I had to climb out of my upper berth several times during the night to tend to toilet needs. My little Varanasi souvenir, keeping me humble, and letting me know who’s really the boss.
“Three Trips to India”
29 th of March, Dharamsala
I was amazed at how simple and easy, how mild Delhi was after experiencing Varanasi in full-festival mode! I marveled at how far I had come since that glorious, freaky, terrifying, invigorating night I landed in Delhi five months ago—this time around, Delhi was a piece of cake!
After convalescing and recovering in Delhi an extra day, I opted to return even further north to the green, to Nature, to Dharamsala, and take it easy for my last week. From the heat of the beach, via the crucible fire of Varanasi, to the Himalaya cold; from the south India seas, via the burning ghats, to the mountains. From Shiva’s stomping grounds to the peaceful exile of HH the XIV Dalai Lama—no wonder my psyche is spinning. My body, mind, and spirit are on one hell of a wild ride and they aren’t sure which country, which religion, which food, which temperature, which internal equilibrium we’re shooting for here! But that’s what makes traveling in India what it is: special—and full of it all.
Back in November during my very first week in India, an old-time French-Canadian traveler named Paul, who has been coming to India since the mid-70’s, educated me with a very telling statement, and I’ve kept it in the back of my mind ever since. He said, “Erin, there are three trips you take to India: the one you think you’re going to have—that you plan for; the one you actually have; and the one you live through once you go back home.” Right on, brother. I hear you, and I’m mid-course. I look forward to digesting the super-sized-spoonfuls I’m currently swallowing once I’m back at home.
One pre-meltdown day in Varanasi, I remember thinking to myself, “Oh, how I love India, and She loves me right back!” This is very true—I feel nothing but embraced and cared for in this land, very “taken care of” as I surrender to Her totality. I know Mother India still loves me back, even after She’s had Shiva whip me back into shape. Goodbye, grandiosity. Hello again, humility!
The Legacy of Impermanence
2 nd of April, Rishikesh
I think of Browning’s sonnet, “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height the soul can reach…” This is how I feel about India. I am absolutely smitten with this land, Her people, Her senses, Her senses beyond the senses.
Last week in Dharamsala, I had the good fortune of seeing the Dalai Lama as he administered his annual public teachings. Ironically, I couldn’t sit still for long, even in His Holiness’ peaceful presence. My soul told me there was one more stop to make during my last week in India, so off I went for one last heart-stopping, no-sleep-’til-dawn overnight bus ride back to Rishikesh, which felt like a second home. After grueling Varanasi, it was pure healing to come back to Rishikesh, near the headwaters of the river Ganga, where the living
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