Being Alive, Finding Peace

A philosophy they like to instill...

India is such a treat to absorb because you end up wondering how you are still alive. Wondering why you are alive at the end of the day is something to ponder. Wonderment is about the idea of seeing life anew. Keith Bellows, National Geographic says it well: "...I had been seeing the world in black and white and when brought face-to-face with India experienced everything re-rendered in brilliant Technicolor."

Illustrating this, I will tell a story: Riding in a taxi the other day to go to the marketplace (I usually walk, but I planned on buying some heavier stuff, like milk, detergent for clothes, and some drinking glasses, as well as groceries). First of all there is a shrine on every dashboard (is there a message here?) of every driver. These are much larger than any of the St. Christopher medals that used to be more prevalent in American cars and taxis (and even buses of yester year - at least in Los Angeles) while I was growing up. Shiva, Shakti, Ganesha, Hanuman, Ram, Raven, Citta,...you name them, they are all there represented in force on the dash, often with a ring of traditional marigolds around them. Lovely to look at actually. If not shrines to the gods, then there is Buddha in the Tibetan taxi driver's cars. More of them are Indian of course. Sometimes with incense burning to offer 'pujas" (rites and rituals) while we travel.

Just a few of the gods and godesses seen on the dshboardOften the taxi driver will chant, (which I like), sometimes it is the radio playing India's "Top 40" - some of it not so bad if the truth be told (sitar, and old world instruments with fab voices). Anyway, this young taxi driver decided to step on it and speed through part of the marketplace with NO margin of error, inches away from small children and women carrying infants, older feeble people with canes trying to cross, motorbikes with women in long tunics and skirts sitting 'side saddle' with a child on their laps. He was swerving around large tourist buses on a two lane highway, playing what I would call "chicken", hoping the guy 'head -on' would stop, or pull over or both. Cows, oh those lovely sacred cows, often decide to cross very slowly. Listening to the rhythm of movement, they seem to "know" when to cross. The driver dodged and grazed two of them and they were unfazed.

In the hope of slowing him down (he was chanting ), I said, "you are a good driver, but I am really not in a hurry." He replied, "no muhm, I am not a good driver, God is good." I said, "well yes, but you still need the skill to do a good job driving, and not get killed." He laughed and said chuckling "oh muhm, I have nothing to do with it, God is good, God is good!" Then I said to myself Jesus, God may be good, but I really wanna see Tom and Robert and Mike one more time. Finally I reached the market, paid him and got out of the taxi and he said,  “see muhm, God is good."  Om, Om, Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmm.................. I'm still alive, the geometrics of that ride incomprehensible, "riddles at every turn..." to borrow a phrase from Mark Twain about India.

Indian proverb~ You can never enter the same river twice.

The Indians are laid back and tolerant and hospitable. Therefore each day one gets to experience their amazing attitude towards life. I was in a quandary recently about whether to cover my gray hair or not. Here I am in the land of authenticity and acceptance: a perfect place to practice moving away from the "false self." I have had a mixture of color in my hair to sort- of "confuse the gray" as it were, for about ten years now (for some of you, if this is "TMI" and boring, I apologize).  The story will make a little more sense with a bit of detail. A little blonde, a little red, a little brown and then the salt and pepper "natural" color dispersed throughout. The gray was (is) growing out and I was developing a grayish cap over the rest of my usual mixture. Picture the crown of your head with a gray cap.  One of the nuns suggested I just shave it (that's what they do). For a day, I was getting impulses to try it :0. Then I realized there are no wigs here if it was a completely scary experience having my head shaved. If the nuns wore veils I'd give it a whirl, but alas no veils for these Buddhist nuns. After a month, I decided I would go talk to an Indian hairdresser.

The salon has one sink at the back with cold water only and four chairs. The male stylists and the women stylists all decided I needed to cover the gray. "No, gray hair isn't a good color, and besides you will look more sexy." How that is possible at age 59 I am not sure, but they assured me that they would "help keep your American look, and anyway, you look like Susan Sarandon." Now I KNEW the Indian charm and mythmaking was coming into play! Then they added "why you worried 'authentic' (as I had explained my "spiritual dilemma' about authenticity); you not authentic with gray, leave that for grandma!" I started laughing so hard, and then they added: "you can be gray in your next life madum, you can reincarnate as a gray-haired goddess if you choose."  It was hilarious, beyond funny actually. Enough character study, and material for at least a one-act (maybe two-acts) play. I decided to put off reincarnation, and let these folks with 'wisdom of the ancients' to have at it!LLetting all the cars figure out how to get around him... cuz that's the look the cow gives when the taxi honks. It is soo funny!

They said they had just what I needed and they told me "it will be perfect." “We will do the roots madum to cover your gray”, they said. Now about twenty people had gathered in this tiny shop with no doors off the main square. They were asking me about Los Angeles, and why Americans and Europeans are "too concerned with being authentic." I said I just wanted to feel India for myself, and that I respect their long civilization. They smiled and said "yes we are authentic, so sure, sure madum, you will find what you are looking for and we will help you." They are so respectful and earnest.

The mixed concoction was painted to my scalp with at least three people giving direction (a tad nerve-wracking and exhausting). I saw that it was looking yellow, about the color of saffron at first. I said "yellow?" They said "yes, blonde is yellow." I said, "well, I know kind of what you mean, but not really.”  "Don't worry, it will be beautiful, you will love it”, they said and then placed me under the hair dryer for about a half hour or a bit more. Across the room I was getting thumbs up signs from the stylists and spectators who were watching this unfold. It was most embarrassing, to say the least.

Finally the moment we were all waiting for (and in hindsight, I am sorry I did not have a camera at the time, but that was the furthest thing from my mind)...*drum roll*… my hair was completely yellow!  A cross between saffron and lemon, like the cartoon Blondie's (Dagwood’s wife) hair color! Yes yellow, and personally I thought I looked like I was jaundiced, as it gave my skin a sallow cast.

They LOVED it! "We love American yellow hair, we are too dark to do that. You have beautiful white skin, and you can wear that color in your hair. We wish we were able to do that, see you can do it, and it looks beautiful."

I felt a sense of panic, and now I was truly "getting it"...hell with authenticity, I can't leave here with yellow hair. My patients, many of them monks and nuns in the hospital, wouldn't recognize me.

Finally I said, "what do you have to cover this with?". They said they had to get their manager and that they only had dark brown "this is the only thing madum." They had to dry the yellow hair first, and they asked me to do it, since they loved my new hair color and they hated to see their work covered. They said, "why madum do you want the color of our hair?" They were all black haired Hindis in the shop. I said, "anything to cover this yellow." They called in the manager, a seasoned guy who had been trained in Delhi, who entered and said, "madum, I can fix anything and everything."

He had an experienced air about himself, confident and laid back. He said, "madum just lay your head back, no worries, and he began to chant "OM SHANTI SHANTI SHANTI, OM SHANTI SHANTI SHANTI , Madum, SHANTI....” In a lovely, clear alto (strong, albeit sexy) voice. "You need peace madum", he continued, "and so while the dark color is settling in, I will chant 'Om Shanti, Shanti Shanti’ with you.”

"Let us begin NOW madum". He chanted and I chanted with him, and if I stopped even for a second, he would come over to my ear and chant  "Om shanti shanti shanti! Madum, I am trying to bring you peace: you are authentic whatever your hair color is madum, I can see your heart madum, it is a good one madum, but you need peace. Peace madum, because it doesn't matter if your hair is yellow, or brown or gray." Then he got out a little string instrument (small-mandolin looking piece) which reminded me of a hair dresser I knew as a teen, who would pull out his saxophone as my hair was drying. Raj (the Indian stylist's name) strummed as he sang "om shanti, shanti shanti” and I sang along with him. My yellow was covered, I am now a brunette and I don't care anymore. My concern soon faded under Raj's "care." The Indians, they are peaceful, and tolerant and they love elevating the person. He said "we like to make everyone at peace, we are all human beings, and Catherine I can see that you are now peaceful. I have done my job".Covered yellow!

Left in wonderment.

"An ounce of practice is worth more than a ton of preaching." Mohandas Gandhi

PS The cost of the entire day and two color jobs at the "beauty salon" as it is called here was *drum roll* 300Rs (rupees) about $6.00 US dollars.