Day 6 - Let the Cleansing Begin

Disclaimer: Do not read this post if you will get disturbed by explicit references to my colon.

After our panchkarma treatments today, the Ayurvedic Doctor gave us a concoction to drink to initiate a digestive system cleanse. Having always been interested in cleansing but never actually finding the moxie to do it, I was secretly excited and nervous at the same time. I don't know if you've seen all those crazy pictures on the internet of what can supposedly come out of your colon when you cleanse, but suffice it to say, I was uncertain of what to expect.

I felt sort of like Alice in Wonderland as the doctor gave me the drink (of warm milk, sugar, and castor oil) and handed me a pill and told me, "Just take this." I asked, "What is it?" and eyed the pills with suspicion. He repeated, "Just take it." When I realized there would be no small talk with Mr. Pill Pusher, I figured, what the heck? and took the pill. He said that in three hours, things would start to move. Was I going to get bigger or smaller? I didn't know. I set my watch.

Waiting for a drug to take action can make you feel all sorts of weird (especially when you've been fasting all day). My two new buddies on this trip, Liza and Shireen, had opposite reactions. Shireen went straight to sleep, and Liza felt like she was going to vomit. I felt nothing. I was beginning to think something was wrong with me when Cherie, another woman from our group who also felt nothing, knocked on my door. For three hours, the three of us sat and talked while who-knows-what was doing God-only-knows to our stomachs and intestines. Well, actually, Cherie and I sat and talked; Liza's body went into a fit. She started puking almost immediately. She's a thin girl, with clearly a fast metabolism, and I think the drugs just took effect on her right away and her body decided to reject them. After the vomiting seemed to settle down, she sat again and we continued chatting. We talked about things that had been on our minds back home -- our living situations, our recent relationships, our finances, our jobs. Then, suddenly, Liza started to turn green. She cupped her hand around her butt and said, "Oh My God, I need to puke and poop at the same time!" and she ran into the bathroom.

The thing about Liza, though, is that she can be feeling the worst sensation in the world, and she'll just laugh and laugh and laugh. In the middle of her simultaneous puking and pooping, she started laughing hysterically. We were laughing at her and with her so much that my eyes started to tear. I love a good belly laugh, but never in my 30 years of life have I laughed so hard that actual tears welled up in my eyes. Well, I guess it was because I just hadn't met Liza yet. This would be the first of many times I would laugh so hard that I cried on this trip.

In the midst of vomit and colon eruptions and fits of laughter, Liza realized that her butt felt like it was on fire from all the action. In a complete delirium of pain and hysteria, she lied down on the windowsill, draped herself with the curtain, and writhed and moaned and laughed at herself. I took a picture.


Slowly, one by one, everyone else began feeling the effects of the cleanse within three hours, as The Doctor foretold. Everyone except me. Cherie laughed at me as my timer went off on my watch, and yet nothing was happening to me. The leaders of our group, Soni and David, came in to check on us. They chuckled at our account of Liza's dismay (she was perking up by this time) and told me to see The Doctor to make sure everything was okay since nothing was happening.

The Doctor told me to keep drinking hot water and that eventually, things would happen. Four hours had passed, then five. In the sixth hour, Soni massaged my stomach and intestines (she knows a ton about Ayurveda and taught me how to check my pulse in my belly button and to rub my belly clockwise).

I checked on Shireen, who had been sleeping this whole time, next door, and I lied down next to her for a while. We started talking, and suddenly, I began telling her my story. I told her about my high school boyfriend who didn't treat me very well and did lots of drugs; I told her about how I developed my eating disorders then and how I never felt good enough, pretty enough, or thin enough. I told her how I went to college and met a musician with whom I fell in and out of love and then proceeded to marry anyway and then divorce shortly thereafter. I told her how I've struggled to find love since then, and that I'm currently working on simply loving myself. I was clearly experiencing verbal diarrhea instead of actual diarrhea. How ironic, I noted. But Shireen was great; she just listened and listened. Then, as if the talking had served as a catalyst, I ran to my room to use the bathroom.

Feeling so relieved that my body wasn't broken and that my cleansing had finally begun, I surprised the shit out myself (pun intended) when suddenly, out of nowhere, I began balling my eyes out. Just crying and crying and crying and crying. And not the type of crying I do normally (which is either none or pretty stifled and silent). This was the type of crying I hadn't done since I was a child. The type of crying where my face looks all funny and my mouth literally becomes an upside-down, clown-faced, ridiculous pout that my sister used to try to imitate (which would always make me laugh in the midst of a fit). Here I was again, just like a child, and just like Alka in her story, and I wept and wept and wept. At first I had no idea why. Between trips to the bathroom, however, things started to come to the surface. Things I had repressed. Emotions I had stifled. Memories I hadn't let go of. Things I hadn't told anyone. Things that happened to me as a child. Things people said to me. Did to me. It all came out. My body was purging.

I cried and cried and cried, and kept repeating, "I just want to know WHY...I just want to know WHY..." I knew I sounded and looked completely ridiculous.

Alka had told us that, as we cleansed, we should just give everything up to the River, and that she would take everything away. I thought I had already done that back at the puja ceremony, but I hadn't let go of shit (sorry; can't help myself). Now, the real stuff was coming out. Alka knew that the cleansing was not just physical, as I had presumed. No no no -- the mind and body are too intertwined. It took me 30 years to realized that my intestines had been storing all the emotions I had been repressing. I knew from my yoga training that there's more serotonin in your intestines than in your brain, and that yoga helps you to tune into your "gut wisdom." What I didn't realize was that my body was literally holding on to so much emotional baggage that it had clogged up my intestines. No wonder I was three and half hours behind everyone else who was cleansing; I hadn't been ready to "let go." Physically and emotionally, I had so much I was afraid to release. Now, the floodgates were open and everything was pouring out of my heart, my soul, my head, my eyes, my gut. I mean everything.

I finally understood the true meaning of "catharsis." It was originally used as a medical term, meaning a purging or cleansing of the bowels. Then Aristotle used it metaphorically to describe what characters in tragedies undergo when they finally purge themselves of all their negative emotions and have a moment of insight. After that, Freud borrowed the term to describe the renewal that ensues from releasing past trauma in the process of psychoanalysis. Well, I had just experienced all three at once. Now I saw that it wasn't a metaphor, that the physical body and the emotional body aren't separate. They are one and the same.

Day 5 - Alka and the Nicest Cheese

On day five, the entire group met with Alka, the Assistant-to-the Guru (not Assistant-Guru) and she planted seeds in our minds about what to expect from our time at Parmanth Niketon (the name of our Ashram). She was dressed in all white and covered from head to toe; all you could see was her beautiful face and wide brown eyes that were reflecting the ecstasy of this spiritual place. When we told her we were preparing for cleansing the next day (we would have to fast until dinner and drink castor oil after our massages), she told us that we were going to be experiencing things we've never felt, and that we should just release everything to the Mighty Ganga, the River Mother who flows over every rock, obstruction, or person who enters her in the same way, revealing her unconditional love. She said whenever something came up, we should just offer it to her.

Alka also told us her story. She grew up in San Francisco in a Hindu family, and on her first trip to India, she landed in this Ashram and knew she had to give up her life in America and move here. She told us about how she got off the plane in Delhi and immediately started speaking broken-Hindi even though she had never learned Hindi in her past. When she stopped by at this Ashram on her way to four other holy sites, she met the Guru (who is ironically in the US right now, so we can't meet him), and immediately started weeping. She wept and wept all the layers of her outer self away and found true peace in his presence. From that moment, she begged him to let her stay but he refused. He told her she needed to go home and finish her karmic duty there (she was in med school at UCSF). After being home for 9 months and sending weekly emails and calling crying hysterically, he allowed her to come back. She left her family (who did not understand why she needed to be here, why she could just open an Ashram in SF) and came here and has not left since. That was six years ago.

She explained that all the "stuff" we accumulate in the West to make us happy is really just distracting us from our inner intelligence, our inner voices. Coming to India, she let go of things like a salary, car, tv, and nice shoes and she has started to connect with her inner divinity and her desire to serve others. (She has not, however, given up her cell phone, which rang three times while she was talking to us). The Ashram also houses a school for young boys (the ones next to us at Aarti, who are always immaculately dressed in saffron clothes and are very respectful), where they learn both academics and spirituality; along with the school, the ashram also provides outreach programs for Women's empowerment and environmental protection. I was sad to see that there were no girls in the school, but Alka explained that there had been girls but it caused too many complications with mixed genders, and that they were building a site for girls in the coming years. I felt a bit better knowing that.

As I reflected on Alka's story, I thought about how it was truly her destiny and her calling to be here in India, and I envied her ability to follow her intuition so courageously. How many decisions have I made where I let my mind take over my intuition!? Always with disastrous results: being with the wrong person (intuition says: I'm not happy with him; mind says: you should be in a relationship), depression (intuition says: I want to paint, dance, and sing; mind says: you don't have time) or a stuffed belly (intuition says: I think I'm done; mind says: I want chocolate!).

I stayed after her talk to speak with Alka one-on-one. She could sense some longing in me for something more in my life, and though I thought I was just telling her how much I enjoyed her talk, she heard that I needed encouragement. She gave me a hug and said, "It's okay, just give it to the Ganga." I felt a sensation as if tears were going to well up in my eyes, but immediately shrugged it off. I don't really cry, unless I'm in a lot of physical pain or deep in self-pity. But small things, like a heart-warming climax to a movie or a thoughtful gift or a sad story just don't make me cry. I wish they did. I actually feel bad about not crying -- like the time my students in Springfield read their memoirs about the pain, the abuse, and the hopelessness they experienced, and they were all crying, but I just couldn't; or the time when I was with my Freedom Writers' cohort at the Holocaust Museum in LA, and everyone, I mean everyone, was crying, and I just couldn't.

Feeling her words resonating within me but not quite sure what to make of them, I went with my group to dinner at a local storeowner’s house. The man, Madhav, and his two brothers, Govind and Sunil, have become friends with Soni and David and helped us with transportation to Rishikesh. They invited all 11 of us to their home, where all their families live on the multiple floors. This dinner was the epitome of selfless giving. Upon our arrival, they donned us with leis made of marigolds and gave each one of us a rose. Then they gave us each cold bottled water and served a fabulous meal of daal, potatoes, the MOST delicious paneer and peas I’ve ever had, and chipatis (all served beautifully as you can see in the picture below). They kept coming around and giving us seconds and thirds until we had to be forceful and proclaim “Nei! Baas!” (“No! Enough!").

After the dinner, Soni and David reciprocated by giving them t-shirts from their yoga studio and shirts that represented Boston, in case they ever came to visit: a Patriots shirt, a UMASS shirt, and a BC shirt. When were all set to leave, they said, “Oh, one more thing…” and presented us each with a beautiful journal made of recycled paper with flowers and cilantro embedded within the pages.

Their generosity was too much for me. On the walk home, I said to Liza, one of my compatriots here, “And now they’re going to ask us for money,” and she said, “Doubt it,” but I wasn’t convinced. I mean, who is that nice? We walked home, they said goodbye, and we went to bed. I guess they are that nice.

Day 4 - Fires, Ceremonies, and Shiva

Yes, I actually took that picture. I still can't believe what a pefect conclusion that sunset over Shiva was to a soul-transforming day. Starting with 6:30 am yoga (the teacher's style is growing on me), serenaded by the sounds of monkeys jumping onto a tin roof nearby (they were testing our ability to focus on our breath amidst distraction), and ending with this sunset you see above, my fourth day in Rishikesh began to slowly open small windows into my heart and soul.

Again, I received a full panchakarma treatment, the oil massage, oil drip on forehead, and steam (always followed by this amazing Arogyam and ginger tea). I didn't realize at the time that this ritual was more than just luxurious -- it was also slowly digging deep into the tissues of my body and releasing toxins, both physical and mental. But I had no idea. I thought they were just pampering me.

That evening, we participated in two sacred Hindu rituals by the banks of the Ganga in front of the huge Shiva statue you see in the picture. (He is squashing a tiger with the power of his peaceful meditation). The first ceremony, the puja, consisted of us sitting in a circle that would soon be a fire and cluelessly following the actions of the Hindus that had decided to join this motley group of foreigners who had no idea what was going on. They were patient in their body language and didn't say a word, but their eyes kept screaming, "You MORONS!" But what could we do? Just smile and look sorry for being so dumb.

First, we had red powder and rice placed in the center of our foreheads and lots of flowers with which we lined the fire pit. Then, the leader began chanting and we were all given small bowls made of leaves containing dirt (most likely cow dung) and seeds. We were instructed non-verbally make a mudra with our hands and then when the leader said a specific phrase, chuck the dirt and seeds into the fire in small handfuls. This reminded me of an experience I had at Kripalu in a YogaDance class where the teacher told us to pick up scarves, imagine they were our pains and our burdens, and then chuck them into the center of the room as if it were a large fire and we were ridding ourselves of them.

So that's what I did here. Each time I threw a handful of seeds and dirt into the fire, I conjured up an image of something I wanted to get rid of, and threw it into the fire. I threw away painful memories from my childhood, I threw away all the negative things my mother had every said to me, I threw away my past anorexia, I threw away my subsequent overeating and dieting cycle, I threw every toxic substance I had ever put into my body, every toxic person I'd known. I threw away all the dysfunctional relationships I'd been in, I threw away the feelings of inadequacy, anxiety, and lethargy that have plagued me for so long. I kept digging deeper and deeper, throwing it all away, one by one, until I was done. I started to get worried that I had nothing else to throw away when the next cycle would come around, and then, miraculously the chanting was over. The ceremony had ended.



Later, I found out that the dirt and seeds were supposed to represent the negative things in our lives that, once thrown into the fire, would never germinate and sprout again. Well, how about that?! And he chanted 108 times, the same sacred number of beads on a mala (there are 108 explanations for the significance behind that number, so I won't go into that here). The ashes were then thrown into the Ganga.

We moved onto the Aarti, which is a singing and candle-lighting ceremony, an offering to the Ganga for taking away our pain. Since the leaders of our group, Soni and David, have made some friends in Rishikesh (they came here last year), they scored us front row seats at the ceremony. We were surrounded by hundreds of boys in saffron and yellow as well as other lucky folks who happened to get up front, both Hindus and tourists. Out of the crowd, one woman, dressed in all white, stood out. The expression of pure devotion on her face and the seriousness with which she sung were striking.

All the singing was beautiful, and we chanted and clapped along. Then the candle-lighting started, and all sorts of contraptions -- large candelabras to small plates to bowls full of flowers and incense -- were lit, moved in a clockwise circle, and then either passed on or placed in the Ganga.


As I witnessed all this, I felt like the glass box that had been sheltering my heart was blown open and suddenly it was free. As the sun set over Krishna, I felt the evening closing with such grace and beauty that only God could have created it. And I don't believe in God. Didn't.

Day 3 - Parmanth Ashram

After a quick breakfast of sweeeeeeeeet chai and a rice and daal combo and white (!) toast (carbs, anyone?), we had some time to digest both this light fare and our new digs. Seeing the Ashram in the daylight was breath-taking. It's luscious gardens, beautifully kept lawns (the women mow them by hand), and statues of Hindu Gods at every turn make you feel like you are in a palace.

Today was the first day of Ayurvedic Panchkarma treatment, including the most lavish massage and hot oil treatment that exists in the world. After the 90 minute session, replete with visions of myself on fire and other sundry out-of-body experiences, I felt like I was reborn. I entered the lunch room glowing, feeling that just-after-savasana feeling multiplied by about 40.

For those of you who might be interested in Panchkarma, I'll describe it here. If you really couldn't care less, proceed to the next paragraph. So, I see you stayed :). "Panch" means five and "karma" means rituals (in this case). The three rituals of today were hot oil massage, strategic oil dripping on forehead, and an intensely hot steam bath. The massage was the best I have ever had in my life. The hot oil is poured all over and my "technician" even hopped on the table at times to be able to capitalize all her strength (of which she had tons!). From your head to your toes, you are drenched with hot oil (all your hair, too) and rubbed for almost an hour. You're completely naked except for a primitive loin cloth made out of shoelace tied around your waist and thin fabric hiding your private parts (but that eventually comes off, too). The woman massages everywhere - your belly and your buttocks, your breasts and your armpits. While she was working, I just felt myself release completely. I even saw visions of fumes of toxins leaving my body. The next step was the hot oil drip on your forehead for a half an hour. This is when I truly left my body. At first, I was caught up in imaginative visualizations -- colors swirling around my body, then myself catching fire (I think because the oil was so hot), then my body was gone and I was just an observer, ebbing in and out of awareness of time and place. When that was all done, they put me in a steam closet, in which I sat on a shelf and then they closed the door. I had no idea how long I would be staying in there, but luckily my "woman" (feels cheap to call her a "masseuse" -- somehow "woman" seems better) stayed nearby and let me out once I started whimpering. Well, once I started whimpering really loudly.

After a shower and a vegan lunch (yes, I am suddenly coffee, meat, and mostly dairy free), I walked around Rishikesh by myself despite advice not to. Everyone else wanted to nap, but I was too rejuvenated after my treatment to sleep. So I walked the streets with all the pilgrimagers and festival-goers. The streets are just as dirty as Delhi; there is cow shit (and possibly human shit?) everywhere. But, with the raging sacred river and all the people clad in orange, you just accept it along with the territory and just try not to step in any. After looking at some Ganesh statues and mala beads for sale, I returned unscathed just in time for the evening yoga class at the ashram. Unlike Elizabeth Gilbert's ashram in Eat, Pray, Love, this one (Parmanth) doesn't stress mediation and prayer starting at 4 am, but it does have morning and evening yoga classes.

For my yoga dorks out there, I will say that even though I dropped into a deep savasana where I felt I was floating in the Ganges (literally, the fans became the sound of the river and my mat was a raft), I really did not like the sequencing of that class. We started seated, doing various Kundalini up-and-down-inhale-and-exhale exercises I wasn't warmed up enough for, then did savasana, then chanted (oh! we chanted the one I learned in teacher training, "Sa-ha vavatu."), then did 4 sun salutations, then another savasana (at this point I was wishing I had just practiced on my own), then more chanting, then back bends, then forward bends, (my teacher back home would not be pleased!) then shoulderstand, more savasana, more chanting. Then we did gate and side-gate, then savasana for the last time. At the end of class, Shireen (one of the women on this trip with me) asked, "Was this a Kundalini class?" to which the teacher responded curtly, "No, we don't do Kundalini here. This was Hatha yoga." Yet another reason I like Vinyasa!

As I type this, another troupe of orange boys is marching by chanting, "Bol-Bum! Bum-Bum!" They are really serious with their religious fervor! Actually, when I was looking for the internet cafe I'm currently sitting in, a local (in western clothing) man, probably about 20, who works in the family restaurant during busy times (like this festival, or Mela) and is a trekking guide in Ladakh the rest of the time, told me that many of the people here are smoking the Bob Marley. I asked if this was something Shiva would condone, and he said that they are not here for Shiva, but for the scene, for something to do. That seems like an awful long walk just to toke in all orange clothing (and while carrying a decorative pole with water balanced on both sides), but, hey, these folks don't have things like Facebook and blogs to consume their time.

What they do have, though, is this energetic river lined by trees that are absorbing a gorgeous fuchsia sunset to the right, and mountains covered in lush green "jungle" (David, one of the group leaders says there's elephants and tigers in there!) to the left. Palm trees, statues of Shiva, and the sound of tablas are in every direction. This place is rife with kinetic and spiritual energy, and I am so happy to have landed here.

Day 2 - From Delhi to Rishikesh

Oh no...not another crazy driver!

For those of you who read our India blog two years ago, you might recall my last post about the driver who took us to Agra and almost forgot to take us back to the airport. After driving past all the signs to Indira Gandhi Airport and taking back roads to several different abandoned stores and warehouses, where he got out of the car to talk to some strange man and then got back in without explanation, I was pretty much completely convinced that he was going to sell us as sex slaves and I would be chained in a basement and tortured before I ever saw daylight again. My panic was only allayed when Aurora started yelling at him that we were getting late for our flight, "You said '5 more minutes' 2 hours ago!!!!!" Then he finally decided to turn around and -- for whatever reason -- drop us off in front of our departing terminal. After this entire debacle, one might think that I would never get in another car with a driver who speaks mostly Hindi again.

But I did.

We all did. After about 7 hours of shopping in Chandani Chowk, the market in Old Delhi (where I purchased a few shirts so I'd look more like a local), we all piled all our stuff ontop of two Toyotas and, with only a walkie-talkie to connect us, embarked on the back roads to Rishikesh. Why back roads, you ask? Because there's a HUGE Shiva festival going on there, with 1.5 million pilgrimagers from remote villages (read: they've never seen a western woman by herself on the street before) who are traveling to gather water from the sacred Ganges River and bring it back home. Some walk 200-300 km, up to 100km without stopping. So, they've closed the major roads to allow all these people to walk, leaving our two drivers to navigate back roads that they do not recognize. Our 6 hour drive to Rishikesh with an hour stop for dinner turns into an 11 hour drive with a stop for tea and biscuits (where we were thronged by about 30 Indian teenage boys wearing orange t-shirts and shorts who wanted so badly for us to take their picture).



Luckily, I've already experienced the mayhem of Indian "truck stops" and roads, so the two-lanes-turned-into-four-and-a-half and the two cars both passing other vehicles in opposing directions at the same time and the random cow that decides to cross the road and the stopping for NO apparent reason and turning off the engine just because and the incessant honking of our driver do not faze me at all. Not at all.

We arrive in Rishikesh at 2am. I do not know how Karen's mother, Julia, age 74 (this is her first time in India) has handled sitting in the front seat while our driver played chicken for 11 hours and is now sitting on the back of a motorscooter as she leaves her luggage with strange men with who supposedly have a luggage-ferry and is carried over a long suspension bridge that crosses the raging Ganges River. All I know is we're hungry, we're tired, and all around us, Indians in all-orange (the most holiest of colors, we're told) are screaming a chant that sounds like "Balabutagum Bol Bum" "Bum-Bum!" "Bum-Bum!" at the top of their lungs. I did not know they would continue this chant into the wee hours of the morning, nor did I realize how much I would appreciate that I packed ear plugs.

This adventure has started off with lots of sitting amongst hustle and bustle. I wonder when we'll start screaming, "Bum-Bum!" ourselves.

Day 1 - Arrival in Delhi

Sarah Goes to India...again!

Note to the Reader: I've been in India three days now, traveling with a group of 11 people from a Cambridge yoga studio. It was supposed to be 12 people, my sister being the 12th, but the Indian Consulate had other plans for her. Right now I'm in Rishikesh, which is our main destination. This is the first day I've found internet access, but I wanted to give my fullest account of Delhi, so I'm rewinding back in time for my first two posts...Enjoy!

Day 1 in Delhi

The last time I was in Delhi was when I received a grant to travel to India and study the impact of globalization. We spent most of our time in a region of the Himalayas, in a beautiful land called Ladakh. I went with two other teachers from my school, Lindsay and Aurora, and we started and our trip in Delhi (mostly because of the Indira Gandhi Airport). Returning to Delhi now, two two years later, I realize Delhi is just not the same without Lindsay and Aurora by my side. Well, that's not entirely true: it smells the same. When I exited the airport, all I could smell was INDIA. As we got closer and closer to Delhi, the scent became more distinct, and I could tease it apart into the unique interplay of urine, poori, spices, cow shit, and IBO (Indian Body Odor). I'm not sure if the severity of the smell is simply less offensive with each trip, or if it's merely because I was expecting it to be worse than it was (or remember it being worse than it was), but it's actually tolerable this time around.

As we drive towards our hotel, Tara Palace, (not quite as nice as the second hotel Aurora and I found in Pahagranj) in the dark, I'm reminded of when I came two years prior, and it's interesting to note the things I've remembered and the things I've forgotten. I remembered the yellow and green rickshaws; I had forgotten about the men sleeping in their carts on the side of the road. I remembered the garbage on the street, but forgot just how much of it there was. I remembered the stray cows on the road, but forgot about the rabid-looking dogs.

Realizing that you sometimes need to return to something to fully appreciate it, and reminding myself how quickly the human brain will romanticize the past and block out what's uncomfortable, I feel so grateful and lucky to be back in India -- for this lesson alone. India makes you confront who you are on a very deep level -- it's hard to squat in a dirt outhouse with a bout of diarrhea and not feel incredibly, unbearably, vulnerably human.

Even though so much has stayed exactly the same -- the colors, the humidity, the obsessive and unnecessary HONKING -- so much is also different; namely, me. Two years ago, I was still caught up too much in myself -- in my health (or lack thereof), my emotions, my whims, my past, my stories -- in a way that didn't allow me to disappear into my surroundings, meld with the energy around me, and feel true empathy and compassion and the bliss that ensues from letting go. I think I've grown so much since then, and I feel like a different person now.