The Mahabodhi Temple at Bodhgaya stands on the site where 2500 years ago the Buddha meditated on the excesses of life and a balanced approach to it, achieving enlightenment under the bodhi tree. The 3rd c temple complex and tranquil gardens, in great condition, house a tree from the cutting of the Bodhi tree in Anaradapura (Sri Lanka), which in turn was a clipping from the original.

So in such a sacred place I, in all my wisdom, decided to take on a 10 day silent Vipassana meditation course. I’ve learnt a lot about myself traveling these past 7 months and it occurred to me it could be an opportunity to order some thoughts. That, and to learn to sit still for a while.

From the moment I arrived at the walled complex I could sense that everything here moved very, very slowly. Perhaps, that is, at normal speed. I diligently rose the next morning at 4:00am with the rest of the students, the majority Indians. Sitting cross-legged so as not to point my feet at anyone, my legs quickly deadened. The method was to sit, still, eyes closed, cross-legged, and observe only your breath. Or as the tape recorder occasionally relayed in a laborious drone, “breathing in through the left nostril… or through the right nostril… or perhaps through both nostrils sim-ul-tan-iously… you’re bound to be successful…” When the mind wanders and you catch yourself thinking thoughts, the technique requires you to bring back your focus to observe your breathing again. Here I learnt the true length of an hour and the real length of a day.

By the evening I had observed not just my own breathing but also an uneasiness about sitting out the course. The almost total lack of instruction, or even the aim of the technique left me a little bewildered. I stacked up a list of reasons to leave. And so I did.

The next day at lunchtime I approached the Guru, who spoke no English so he called an assistant, and stated I wish to leave. A slow-mo conversation played out – a battle of who could be more patient with the other’s perspective. He didn’t ask my reasons for wanting to leave, as I knew he wouldn’t, so I didn’t offer them. But I was told I couldn’t leave until I had completed the 10 days, to which I expressed my free will. The response was that it could be ‘dangerous’ (unspecified) to leave and that I should give the course another day. The corollary of this argument was that the longer you stay, the more ‘dangerous’ leaving would be. Expressing my clarity of my own reasons he resigned to let me go. After one and half days in motionless silence I felt like I was running like a fugitive. In the middle of nowhere I hitched to a nearby town.

No probs. I was dropped at Gaya station and attempted to book a train out that night. The pace was a circus. I bounced from one window to another (a typical Indian bureaucratic process), one queue to get a form, another to get the train number, queuing at the wrong window… In all 5 windows pointed me away until at the front of my final window, the key to my onward ticket, a wooden board was slapped up in front of my face – at 2:00pm the day was over.

Perhaps I was in a dangerous mood. The bloke behind the board probably couldn’t believe his eyes when this white Sahib knocked down the board and unleashed a volley of insults on the incompetency and unhelpfulness of the station agents. It must’ve been a good show because a possi of Indians behind me seemed to back me up. I got some attention, was authorized to see the supervisor, and from this gentlemen at least got the name of the train I wanted and the time it was to depart. No further bookings could be made because the system had shut down nationwide. I could only buy a third class ticket just before the train leaves.

On my evening Rickshaw back to the station I met a Japanese man who was a new practicing Buddhist. This great little encounter filled in all the gaps for me about Vipassana as I probed away with my little questions, not telling him I was a Vipassana fugitive.

Too often in India an act of kindness is taken advantage of. We picked up an Indian man on the trip and allowed him a free trip to the bus station after taking us to the train station. Of course, the rickshaw man, already fleecing a huge fee from us and in cahoots with his countryman, made a big time detour first and left me buying a 3rd ticket just a minute before departure. The presence of my Buddhist friend helped me maintain some calm, but not without giving the driver a few words in his language of what I though of that stunt. 3rd class is classless; it doesn’t even guarantee you a seat. People lye across the floors like in the station terminals. I found the conductor and upgraded to 2nd class air-conditioned, the highest class I’ve traveled on in India. It cost me, but at least with a good nights sleep I could hope to arrive in Calcutta next morning in good spirits.

***

My list of Reasons In no particular order

-It wasn’t my time – meaning as good an idea as it was to stop in this sacred place to do a meditation course, I wasn’t in myself ready to stop. I wanted to see Calcutta and North East India, and if I headed to Nepal after the course as I intended I wouldn’t have time left to visit here.

-I was wrong to have expectations, but expectations I had. I knew others who had done the course and described the environment.

-Here the grounds were barren, like the state, walled in, not in my mind conjusive to meditation.

-Further when you weren’t meditating in the hall you were required to sit in the darkness of your room so neither light nor the wind could disrupt your concentration. The rooms even made an authentic clang like a cell when the door opens.

-My legs hurt

-Again, back to my first reason, I wasn’t ready to stop.

***

In defense of the course, I did get an introduction to Vipassana meditation, which I have practiced since. Vipassana means literally ‘to see things as they really are’. I might need to try a shorter course to overcome the weakness of my mind and my western insistence on explanations. Sit, be still, and see things in the presence of the moment.

Varanasi, the holiest place in India, where a drop of Ganges water can wash away your sins, where dying here offers Moksha (escape from the cycle of birth and death), where all the maddest, most intense elements of India wash together. If Varanasi was my first stop in India it’s fair to say it’d have blown my friggin head off.

Our Rickshaw wouldn’t take us any further towards the ghats. The town was a riot of colour, stained by the assalts of hundreds of men (and a few bold women). The morning of the Holi festival had left buildings and signs splattered and people covered head to toe in neon powder pigment. Even the sacred cow had been walloped with paint. The Dutchies and I left Mahoba station at midnight to arrive in Varanasi that morning, in time to get amongst it. But curse our luck, trapped on the train we were delayed 5 hours, by which time the shinanegans were over. The streets in the aftermath were nearly deserted. Dejected, I lay down my paint guns and surrendered to the guesthouse.
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I think I’ll keep this one short and sweet. After all, I was only here one day and you don’t need me to give you a play by play on all the erotica. We’ve got pictures for that. First, a warning. Content may offend some prudes, and kids, don’t try this at home.

Why all the sex at the temples of Kahajuraho? One theory goes that the Tantric images depict the gratification of the baser instincts, one way to transcend the evils of the world and attain enlighenment. Not a bad way to do it, I’m sure we all agree. However it would be an exageration to imply that these temples, a premiere tourist attraction, are stacked with 10th Century Karmasutra. Commonly they depict gods and nymphs, men and women, daily life and war. Of course sex is part of it. The fun, as it turned out for Sebastian, Mareke and I, was looking for it.
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Orcha, (meaning ‘Hidden Place’) is like another world. It hardly feels discovered. Only a few thousand people live here, with one main street in the town. A fortified island on the Betwa River that runs past this sleepy township used to guard three 17th Century palaces of a powerful Rajput kingdom. Around the complex firetrees ignite the countryside with orange blossoms. The air inside is cool and blissfully peaceful.

There are plenty of dark nooks and crannies to explore on the multifloored Jehangir Mahal. I found the perfect balcony, right on the top floor behind a carved screen that looked out across the river and temples on the other side. I chewed through ‘Vernon God Little’ the most achingly funny read. Indian Ringneck parakeets played around the area, but the big vultures were my eye’s favourite prey. On the far end of a ledge was a vulture’s nest. Mummy was massive, and probably defensive, so with a 10metre drop down I didn’t get too close. The next day I got my chance when an Indian man led the Canadians (Solange and Dan, who had unexpectedly shown up) and I to a back entrance to a little window. Mother and chick, nuzzling, just a few metres away.
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