I struggled to get out of bed. Joel knocked on the door and hurried to get me downstairs. Breakfast finished in 5 minutes and Joel had woken with a mission-Porridge.
I didn’t share his enthusiasm I went for a cup of tea and a croissant and then went off for my aveydic massage.
My shoulders retracted. Instead of the computer induced slouch I was normally accustomed to; my shoulder blades were closer together and seemed to point in a completely different direction from before. The massage was very very good.
Joel knocked on my door to go for lunch. Joel maintained a strictly “clear head policy”. Although Joel carried with him at all times a formidable intellect and a veritable library of information, his mental desktop was always clear. The impact of this for Joel was an uncluttered mind. However on a day to day basis this policy did have its drawback. Joel would think food, off we would go but our trip would be aborted as didn’t have his vouchers which he needed to pay for food. The same thing happened on the trip the shop. He was totally prepared for inaction and he didn’t notice details.
As we walked through the canteen for lunch that day, there were people everywhere wearing purple eye patches covering their right eyes. The people on the next table were all wearing maroon eye patches. “I wonder why they are wearing eye patches Joel”, I commented. “What eye patches?” was the reply.
I now had a theory as to why I had experienced some level of enlightenment and Guru Joel had not. Joel was always in a natural meditative state whereas I was in a naturally neurotic state. For Joel to meditate at Osho was not relaxing as he first had to get to the correct place at the correct time. In order to do this, conscious thought, a timetable and watch were involved. This meant Joel had to return to consciousness. For Joel this was like getting on the M25 to get to where he had already set off from. But that was Joel. He needed something more hardcore where the need for ANY mundane thought was removed.
I then had my nlp training with Premandana. Premandana was an English guy who lived in Hamburg.
“What do you know about NLP ?” he asked.
“Well all I know is what I have seen Paul McKenna do on TV” I replied.
“Ah Paul” said Premadana. They obviously knew each other well. Perhaps they were rivals. Cynical thoughts were entering my mind. Paul Mckenna must be gutted driving around in his Ferrari when he could be working in an ashram in Pune
“Why did you choose NLP” he asked. I had to answer truthfully as Paul Mckenna’s friend would know if I was lying.
“It sounded interesting and given the choice the choice of colour therapy, family constellation training, reiki and NLP; I thought NLP would have the most benefit.”
He took me through some mental exercises. Like Joel, I was also advised to go on the practioners course. However, I wasn’t a potential guru like Joel.
He took me through some mental exercises and then tried hypnosis on me. This lead to a rarther embarrassing conversation between my subconscious and Premanda. My subconscious was meant to respond to questions by the use of movements. Moving my toe signified yes touching my face signified no. I got a cramp in my ankle and an itch on my face. Premanda really wasn’t sure what my subconscious was telling him but anyway I was a new changed person, well for 45 seconds anyway.
Tonight was the night. I was going to the "evening meeting".
The “evening meeting” was the most important part of the day “an opportunity to experience alertness with no effort – the essence of the meditative experience.”
There are very strict rules for attending the evening meeting. Only white robes are permitted so I had to buy a new robe from the Osho shop. The mediation would take two hours so I also bought the meditation chair. I was ready for action.
Joel also got fully kitted up.
We were sat on the green marble floor of the auditorium. The pyramid roof was above us with circles of various colours being projected onto the triangles that formed the pyramid.
Around us were hundreds of people all dressed in white robes.
At the front of the auditorium at the left hand side was a band. Keyboards, drum kit, electric guitar…..
Then a voice appeared from the front of the stage telling us that in order not to break concentration coughing and sneezing weren’t allowed. As far as I could remember these were involuntary bodily functions so I didn’t understand how they could be banned from the auditorium, but this was definitely the case I assure you. If we couldn’t last to the end of the meeting we were also required to leave.
There was silence.
The band starting playing. The music was high energy dance music. The type of music I expected to be played at a gay night club. Everyone danced with there eyes closed. Well almost everyone. The dancing must have lasted 20 minutes. During the dancing there were 3 simultaneous shouts of “Osho”. We stopped.
We sat silently. Then it was time for “gibberish”. At this point everyone in the room had to speak in a language they did not understand. Literally just to sit and talk rubbish. The purpose of this I understood was also to empty the mind of junk. The gibberish part was over.
The large movie screen at the front of the auditorium came to life. In front us was the bagwan – Osho himself. Although he was dead I would hear the wise man himself speak. But I had a problem. The guy didn’t look like someone I was going to take advice from.
He looked like a cross between Benny from crossroads and Sue Ellen in Dallas. Let me explain. He was dressed in a woolly beanie hat. He wore a long silver grey beard. His eyes were obscured by huge purple tinted sunglasses. The sunglasses were wide at the side like those Karl Lagerfeld used to wear with gold trimings. He wore a – I don’t know how to describes it- but it had huge shoulder pads and was in shades of dark brown and caramel. On his wrist he wore a diamond bracelet. He could have a baddie in 1970’s episode of Doctor Who. He looked too ridiculous to be a serious baddie like in a James Bond film.
He walked onto the screen with cheesy music, that combined with the way the film had been shot made it look like a 1980’s Ronco infomercial. He moved slowly and sat down on a white leather throne and spoke.
The sermon had been recordered when Ronald Reagan was US president. Generally it was pretty basic stuff about if man didn’t change the world would end. I agreed with the sentiments of his words which tied in with my own beliefs. There was one profound comment that a religion based on hate would be more powerful than any nuclear weapon, considering this film was made 20 years ago I was impressed with the insight.
The movie finished and we all sat and listened to Osho. Then there was some more standing and sitting and then the bagwan told a joke. I am not sure if he recordered 365 jokes, but I am sure the same one isn’t played everyday. The joke relied on the punch line from a 1980’s commercial for coca cola. “Everything tastes better with coke”. That was it for me. This really was McDonalds. This was a total joke and the fact that I had suspended my disbelief, gone and bought another set of bloody robes and sat there not coughing or sneezing for 2 hours made me feel pissed off and slightly ridiculous”.
At last, dinner.
“Fancy a curry, Joel” the joke was wearing thin but it still amused me.
For me there was an impact of Joel’s natural meditative state. We would enter the canteen at the same time. I would have paid, found seats and would be waiting while Joel would still be contemplating which curry to have and in which amount to get and which plate to put it on. Decisions, decisions, decisions !. “How fucking long could he take ?”.What was he thinking ?
“Should I have curry,?
“No wait, I know, I will have curry instead“
There were only 6 choices but it still took him 45 minutes. I had now started to participate in the waiting for Joel while he got his fucking dinner meditation.
Osho had a great merchandising operation, books in every language, CD’s, robes, massage chairs. You could get even get a daily message sent by sms to your mobile phone. This was a truly 21st century religion. You could visualise the future direction of Osho. Osho retreats in every country, Osho theme parks and Osho cruises and Osho cola.
The guru Joel was going on about objective reality. As I was enlightened from my meditation I challenged his assumptions. I didn’t agree with him. How could there be a universal reality as people perceived things in different ways. To Joel this displayed my total ignorance. The conversation ended when he used the word “fuckwit” to convince me of the validity of his superior view.
Showing posts with label diary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label diary. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
Osho Day 3
Today I would go to some of the meditation sessions.
I had my herbal tea and croissant and watched.... The symbols of westerner life that Osho was supposed to relieve you of, seem to be appearing more frequently. Mobile phones and mp3 players were starting to appear. I had seen my first lap top.
My cynicism was growing by the minute. Was I really going to sit in a room chanting with disaffected lentil eaters? I was struggling to gain enough enthusiasm to get out of the chair.
No I would go and try it. You can’t knock it until you’ve tried it so I woke up Joel and off we went.
We entered the auditorium which was a large marbled floored room with frosted windows on both sides. Above was a huge pyramid shaped roof which was supported by 4 wide circle columns.
Nadabrahma Meditation consisted of:
30 minutes of humming.
15 minutes of moving your hands around.
15 minutes of sitting still.
I went through the motions thinking that I was going to be bored shitless for the next 60 minutes but I was wrong. For me the session probably only lasted 45 minutes because I was asleep for 15 minutes, but the rest of the session went pretty quickly.
In between sleeping humming and making my hand actions I did experience something. For the first time I could remember my mind was momentarily empty. That moment might have only lasted for a matter of seconds but those seconds were great. It was like hitting the delete button on a computer and tonnes of junk had been removed from head.
We walked out the auditorium.
“Well?” said Joel.
“I felt something!” Joel turned to look at me waiting for the one liner.
“I did honestly”. Joel’s brow was furrowed and his head had tilted to one side. He was withholding further comment in case I was taking the piss.
“What about you?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he replied.
I was now into meditation. I now understood what people were talking about. I was addicted. I was enlightened and Guru Joel, had he been sitting down, would have fallen off his chair.
Half an hour later we were in the Kundalini Meditation Session.
This consisted of
15 minutes of shaking.
15 minutes of dancing
15 minutes of sitting still
15 minutes of lying down.
The Kundalini Meditation didn’t work for me. The shaking and dancing with my eyes closed made me feel like I was the only person at a rave. But, I was still ready for another try.
My simplistic views were shifting. Meditation was now good, perhaps Osho wasn’t all bad?.
If Osho was bad, why were there so many intelligent, affluent, middle class people here? Maybe I had it wrong. This was the most cosmopolitan place I had ever been. There were Russians, Romanian, Scandinavians, Chinese, Japanese, Indonesians, Americans, Brazilians, Israelis (lots and lots of Israelis), Italians, Dutch, Spaniards, French, Germans, Mexicans, Indians, New Zealanders, Australians and Turks. But none of these people were poor. The Indians were Armani Exchange wearing mobile phone carrying cappuccino drinkers.
More things were occurring to me. The people in general were very subdued. There were groups of Latin blooded people, but there was no noise, no shouting, no laughing. Why wasn’t this like club med. Then it came to me. These were seriously depressed people. I was at a Club Depressed.
We went to the outdoor cinema which was showing the “Fantastic Four”. The alternative was the outside “sitting in the dark mediation”. If the film didn’t work, we would also be doing the outdoor “sitting in the dark mediation”.
I had my herbal tea and croissant and watched.... The symbols of westerner life that Osho was supposed to relieve you of, seem to be appearing more frequently. Mobile phones and mp3 players were starting to appear. I had seen my first lap top.
My cynicism was growing by the minute. Was I really going to sit in a room chanting with disaffected lentil eaters? I was struggling to gain enough enthusiasm to get out of the chair.
No I would go and try it. You can’t knock it until you’ve tried it so I woke up Joel and off we went.
We entered the auditorium which was a large marbled floored room with frosted windows on both sides. Above was a huge pyramid shaped roof which was supported by 4 wide circle columns.
Nadabrahma Meditation consisted of:
30 minutes of humming.
15 minutes of moving your hands around.
15 minutes of sitting still.
I went through the motions thinking that I was going to be bored shitless for the next 60 minutes but I was wrong. For me the session probably only lasted 45 minutes because I was asleep for 15 minutes, but the rest of the session went pretty quickly.
In between sleeping humming and making my hand actions I did experience something. For the first time I could remember my mind was momentarily empty. That moment might have only lasted for a matter of seconds but those seconds were great. It was like hitting the delete button on a computer and tonnes of junk had been removed from head.
We walked out the auditorium.
“Well?” said Joel.
“I felt something!” Joel turned to look at me waiting for the one liner.
“I did honestly”. Joel’s brow was furrowed and his head had tilted to one side. He was withholding further comment in case I was taking the piss.
“What about you?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he replied.
I was now into meditation. I now understood what people were talking about. I was addicted. I was enlightened and Guru Joel, had he been sitting down, would have fallen off his chair.
Half an hour later we were in the Kundalini Meditation Session.
This consisted of
15 minutes of shaking.
15 minutes of dancing
15 minutes of sitting still
15 minutes of lying down.
The Kundalini Meditation didn’t work for me. The shaking and dancing with my eyes closed made me feel like I was the only person at a rave. But, I was still ready for another try.
My simplistic views were shifting. Meditation was now good, perhaps Osho wasn’t all bad?.
If Osho was bad, why were there so many intelligent, affluent, middle class people here? Maybe I had it wrong. This was the most cosmopolitan place I had ever been. There were Russians, Romanian, Scandinavians, Chinese, Japanese, Indonesians, Americans, Brazilians, Israelis (lots and lots of Israelis), Italians, Dutch, Spaniards, French, Germans, Mexicans, Indians, New Zealanders, Australians and Turks. But none of these people were poor. The Indians were Armani Exchange wearing mobile phone carrying cappuccino drinkers.
More things were occurring to me. The people in general were very subdued. There were groups of Latin blooded people, but there was no noise, no shouting, no laughing. Why wasn’t this like club med. Then it came to me. These were seriously depressed people. I was at a Club Depressed.
We went to the outdoor cinema which was showing the “Fantastic Four”. The alternative was the outside “sitting in the dark mediation”. If the film didn’t work, we would also be doing the outdoor “sitting in the dark mediation”.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Osho Day 2
Early Morning dynamic mediation started at 6.00am. I decided to plump for the early morning sleeping mediation. That brings me on to another thing that I discovered pretty early on at Osho. I though meditation was done sat cross legged on the floor, but no I was wrong. There were numerous versions at Osho. Meditation could involve sitting, standing, shouting, wailing, spinning and dancing. In fact any activity that took an hour or more could have meditative properties. Hence I had already participated in the “Waiting in the dinner queue” Mediation and “Exchange sterling into rupees” Mediation.
I got up at 12.00 and had a shower.
I met Joel for lunch. He really was going for it. He had been up at 6.00am for the dynamic mediation which involved.
We sat at lunch talking to Austrian women called Tina. She looked about 30. She had been at Osho for a month. I wondered how Osho had changed her and what insights she had to share. I wondered if she had a sense of humour. I introduced Joel as he sat down
“You are brothers”,
“Yes” I replied. “But I am older by 10 minutes”
She looked at me “But we are not identical” I chipped in. She looked at my face for guidance and then smiled politely.
Tina had arrived a month ago with her boyfriend. They had separated after two weeks. He had gone off to Goa and was now back in Germany and she stayed. Tina spoke perfect English and told us about Osho. She was very pleasant but she certainly wasn’t at peace with herself. Why she at Osho ?. Her answer was her relationship with her parents and her childhood. She looked like she might cry at any moment.
If I didn’t get Osho, the Americans at the end of the table certainly didn’t get Osho.
Their conversation revolved around mobile phones and client contact software. Even I
knew these were not suitable discussion topics.
I went off for my Core Integration yoga massage. The black robe that met me was filled by an Italian woman in her mid thirties from Tuscany. She came out to work at Osho every year. The massage was excellent. It was a combination of very firm deep tissue massage and assisted yoga. My arms were pulled behind my back while the masseur’s feet were rooted firmly between my shoulder blades. I was compresses into a little ball while she put her weight on my back squeezing me into a smaller space. I drifted in an out of consciousness, but the pressure soon brought me back.
Joel returned from his NLP hypnosis. “Well”, I asked? “The guru had told Joel that he had never seen anybody complete the mental exercises in the way that Joel had done. In short Joel was exceptional and should consider getting involved in training people in NLP.” In short the Guru had told Joel that he was a Guru and needed training in order to share his wisdom.
48 hours since arrival Joel was a Guru and a disrespector.
Having missed the evening session we played Joel’s version of rummy. Joel rummy or Zen Rummy as it soon became to me, bore no resemblance to any version of rummy I had played or heard of before.
Why Zen rummy? Well as with many activities shared with Joel it required patience. He had not played the game for some time. Consequently the game changed and evolved over the course of several days, as he remembered the rules.
Dinner was spent talking with, well more listening to a German Computer programmer. He had been coming to Osho for many years, staying for months at a time. The reason for his visits – to try and resolve the problems in his life which were in essence – a serious back problem, his childhood and relationship with his parents, his job which he hated and a property deal that had turned sour leaving him burdened with an unsaleable property which was consuming 15-25% of his income. Joel listened intently for over an hour. After 45 minutes, I was struggling to stay awake and went for a walk.
We went for a coffee at the coffee bar. There we bumped into the Californian who had sold us our treatments. He told us about Osho the man and about the beliefs. He had known Osho well. He had been deported with him from Greece and had been arrested with him in America. Krishna Pram otherwise known as Jim. I was right, he was from California, but San Diego not LA. He divided his year between San Diego, Europe and Osho. He would work for a couple of months in the US, he would then live for next to nothing in Pune whilst working at Osho and would then spend some time in Europe.
This was a person who knew stuff. He could give us an insight. I listened as Joel tried to find out the essence of Osho. Pram otherwise known as Jim, tried to dazzle Joel with the concept of nothingness and the inexpressible essence of his belief. A poor choice of tactics! Joel hit back with Descartes and explained that the contradiction between consciousness and nothingness. Pram was struggling. He went for another analogy in an attempt to divert Joel. Pram was struggling. “It is not about the words Osho uses but the spaces between the words” Joel then launched himself into objectivist metaphysics. Pram was now metaphorically on the ropes. “Ah, you are very bright” said Pram submissively. This was a disciple of Osho, possible the Saint Paul of Osho and he had been philosophically mauled by my little brother. The rest of Pram’s comments mostly involved four letter words and references to the “cosmic joke” what ever that was.
I thought it about it for a while why was this affluent Rolex wearing Caifornian schlepping backwards and forwards between San Diego and Pune. What was drawing him to the place - the peace, the spiritualism. No in my view it was the opportunity to meet women.
I got up at 12.00 and had a shower.
I met Joel for lunch. He really was going for it. He had been up at 6.00am for the dynamic mediation which involved.
We sat at lunch talking to Austrian women called Tina. She looked about 30. She had been at Osho for a month. I wondered how Osho had changed her and what insights she had to share. I wondered if she had a sense of humour. I introduced Joel as he sat down
“You are brothers”,
“Yes” I replied. “But I am older by 10 minutes”
She looked at me “But we are not identical” I chipped in. She looked at my face for guidance and then smiled politely.
Tina had arrived a month ago with her boyfriend. They had separated after two weeks. He had gone off to Goa and was now back in Germany and she stayed. Tina spoke perfect English and told us about Osho. She was very pleasant but she certainly wasn’t at peace with herself. Why she at Osho ?. Her answer was her relationship with her parents and her childhood. She looked like she might cry at any moment.
If I didn’t get Osho, the Americans at the end of the table certainly didn’t get Osho.
Their conversation revolved around mobile phones and client contact software. Even I
knew these were not suitable discussion topics.
I went off for my Core Integration yoga massage. The black robe that met me was filled by an Italian woman in her mid thirties from Tuscany. She came out to work at Osho every year. The massage was excellent. It was a combination of very firm deep tissue massage and assisted yoga. My arms were pulled behind my back while the masseur’s feet were rooted firmly between my shoulder blades. I was compresses into a little ball while she put her weight on my back squeezing me into a smaller space. I drifted in an out of consciousness, but the pressure soon brought me back.
Joel returned from his NLP hypnosis. “Well”, I asked? “The guru had told Joel that he had never seen anybody complete the mental exercises in the way that Joel had done. In short Joel was exceptional and should consider getting involved in training people in NLP.” In short the Guru had told Joel that he was a Guru and needed training in order to share his wisdom.
48 hours since arrival Joel was a Guru and a disrespector.
Having missed the evening session we played Joel’s version of rummy. Joel rummy or Zen Rummy as it soon became to me, bore no resemblance to any version of rummy I had played or heard of before.
Why Zen rummy? Well as with many activities shared with Joel it required patience. He had not played the game for some time. Consequently the game changed and evolved over the course of several days, as he remembered the rules.
Dinner was spent talking with, well more listening to a German Computer programmer. He had been coming to Osho for many years, staying for months at a time. The reason for his visits – to try and resolve the problems in his life which were in essence – a serious back problem, his childhood and relationship with his parents, his job which he hated and a property deal that had turned sour leaving him burdened with an unsaleable property which was consuming 15-25% of his income. Joel listened intently for over an hour. After 45 minutes, I was struggling to stay awake and went for a walk.
We went for a coffee at the coffee bar. There we bumped into the Californian who had sold us our treatments. He told us about Osho the man and about the beliefs. He had known Osho well. He had been deported with him from Greece and had been arrested with him in America. Krishna Pram otherwise known as Jim. I was right, he was from California, but San Diego not LA. He divided his year between San Diego, Europe and Osho. He would work for a couple of months in the US, he would then live for next to nothing in Pune whilst working at Osho and would then spend some time in Europe.
This was a person who knew stuff. He could give us an insight. I listened as Joel tried to find out the essence of Osho. Pram otherwise known as Jim, tried to dazzle Joel with the concept of nothingness and the inexpressible essence of his belief. A poor choice of tactics! Joel hit back with Descartes and explained that the contradiction between consciousness and nothingness. Pram was struggling. He went for another analogy in an attempt to divert Joel. Pram was struggling. “It is not about the words Osho uses but the spaces between the words” Joel then launched himself into objectivist metaphysics. Pram was now metaphorically on the ropes. “Ah, you are very bright” said Pram submissively. This was a disciple of Osho, possible the Saint Paul of Osho and he had been philosophically mauled by my little brother. The rest of Pram’s comments mostly involved four letter words and references to the “cosmic joke” what ever that was.
I thought it about it for a while why was this affluent Rolex wearing Caifornian schlepping backwards and forwards between San Diego and Pune. What was drawing him to the place - the peace, the spiritualism. No in my view it was the opportunity to meet women.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Osho My Time in Pune
The Virgin stewardess had introduced herself and taken us through the menu. Glasses of champagne and canapes had been served.
In front of us were piled our complimentary Oswald Boteng amenity kits, bags of Virgin cosmetics, duvets, water bottles, blankets and virgin sleep suits. Our chairs were ready to transform into beds at the push of a button. But still 45 minutes into the flight the penny hadn’t dropped with Joel.
All the signs were there: The subtle change of boarding pass at the gate, the attentive service, the seat that changed into a bed, the champagne, the duvets, the offer of a massage on the plane.
“Lucky we got upgraded ay, Joel”. “Upgrade, what upgrade?” came the reply.
We journeyed through the night arriving in Mumbai the following morning. We had a 4 hour wait until our connection, so we sat at the Leela Kempinski hotel until it was time to catch our connection.
My suppliers in India had told me how much the country had changed and developed. I was expecting a change of the magnitude of what I had seen in Shanghai last year.
The airport, roads and Leela hotel were all exactly as I remembered them. Mumbai still ranks alongside Dhaka for the title of worlds most awful international airport (excluding Gatwick of course).
The domestic terminal was a whole different kettle of fish. It was new, modern, light, cool, clean and airy. This definitely was not the India I had seen before.We took our Jet airlines flight and arrived in Pune 45 minutes later.
Pune airport was great. A large concrete ramshackle hut of an airport You got off the plane and stood with all the other passengers by the wing of the plane we had just arrived on. Another plane turned around 100 feet away. It was moving by the force of its engines and as it turned its engines sent a gust of hot wind which blew away the cobwebs, as well as hats and newspapers. We collected our luggage and walked through airport.
The weather in Pune was very mild sweater wearing weather.
Joel having travelled round India the previous year was ready to offer his expert advice.
“Don’t hire the tax from those guys they will rip you off”.
“What do you want to do?” I replied.
“We will get a taxi outside” said Joel. I suspended my natural urge to argue and followed. Joel had done India last year as a backpacker and was now the self appointed India expert.
He strided off towards a motorised Rickshaw.
“Sorry Joel, I am getting a taxi”, I walked off to negotiate with the rip off merchant at the taxi rank. Joel may have done Rajastan, but I had been travelling to Indian for 15 years and I wasn’t spending 15 seconds in an Indian rickshaw
“How much to Osho ?” I asked.
“250 rupees (£3.00) for non air-conditioned and 350 rupees (£4.25) for an air-conditioned car. Sir”.
“See I told you,” piped up a voice behind me”, I have stayed in Hotels in India that cost more than that” he continued.
My week with my brother was going to be a learning experience. I had to suspend my desire to immediately reject his opinions and be more sympathetic to his ways. I would be conciliatory and non confrontational, but how? I had already vetoed his proposal of the rickshaw. Then it came to me. I would order the cab without air-conditioning. That way I could compromise with him.
“No air conditioning please”, came out of my mouth .
Then another thought immediately came into my mind. Why was I was worry about spending an additionally £1.25 because of Joel’s comment? He wasn’t even paying for the taxi.
“Change that, I will have the air-conditioned car”. We jumped in the 1960’s Morris Ambassador and off we went.
” Air con please” I shouted. It wasn’t hot. Actually it was a bit chilly but I was going to prove to my brother that I knew how to get my moneys worth in India.
We got to Osho.
Outside was a hive of activity. A scrum of Caucasians in maroon robes were milling around the entrance.
Here I was. I had travelled 3000 miles and now I was about to join the ranks of the “nutters in schmuters”. What was I doing ?
We approached the Welcome Desk. “We have reservations for 2 under the name of ……….”. Having checked his records the response came straight back at us with standard Indian effiency. “NO”. No ifs, no buts, no perhaps, no rechecking of the register Just “NO”.
Eventually we were granted a temporary pass to the guest house where we staying. I was surprised – it was not what I was expecting. The inside was well styled. It was all white and minimalist. There with white marble floors, dark wood doors and contemporary looking Italian furniture. On the walls were bright abstract paintings. I was sure the rooms would be a let down.
As far as I was concerned from my travels over the last 20 years, even 5 star Indian hotel rooms consisted of badly made mock reproduction furniture and smelt of damp, mothballs and disinfectant.
I was wrong. India had changed. I entered my room. Again more white walls dark wood doors and wardrobes. The dark wood bed frame was built into a unit which was attached to wall, complete with head board and side tables. There was a natural coloured linen roller blind which covered the window and plenty of good lighting. A reading light straight out of a habitat catalogue and a caramel coloured leather chair completed the look. The bathroom was equally impressive. There was a wet room style shower, sink and toilet. The styling was so close to be being perfect except for one thing - the tiling. The floor tiles which covered the floor of the bedroom and bathroom were a puce colour. It looked the contractor screwed up and rather than wait for the correct tiles to arrive they laid them down anyway.
We unpacked and made our way out of the guest house. The campus was deserted.
A sole person was walking towards us. She told us very politely that the evening meeting was in progress and during that time, the gates were locked and as weren’t in the evening meeting we had to stay in our rooms. She escorted us back and very politely told the counter staff not to let anyone else out.
It was Osho lock down and we couldn’t escape. We couldn’t say we were kidnapped. We had volunteered to join and now we were locked in
We waited for the evening meeting to end. We got dinner and then walked across the road. We bluffed our way into the main part of the campus which we weren’t supposed to enter as we hadnt registered. We walked towards the outside plaza. Here there was a group therapy session which was being hosted by a Swiss version of “Frazier”. Watching were hundreds of people.
“Vot question vood you like to ask?” Frazier said very softly through a microphone to the man sat next to him.
“Well”, came the reply. “I want to know why since my divorce I cannot maintain a relationship”.
Frazier then asked a series questions about the man’s life. One of his daughters had died and subsequently his marriage had broken down. As far as I was concerned – game over. The man’s question had been answered. But no….. wait!
Frazier went to the audience selected people at random who represented the man himself, his wife and his children including his dead daughter. The bereaved man then positioned the characters as if on a chess board. Then Frazier would ask him questions about the people assembled before him. He would then ask the assembled people about how they were feeling. The man with the deceased daughter would then move the people around in front of him and Frazier.
“How do you veel ? “ He asked the woman representing the mans wife. “I feel very sad in my chest”, “Exaaaactly” said Frazier. And so the questions went on getting more and more personal and cringful. If this was a TV program you would have watched it from behind a sofa with a pained expression on your face.
Frazier continued asking questions to each of the assembled people. After every response he would knowingly reply “Exaaaaactly” as if he knew telepathically exactly what was going to be said before the words were uttered.
This was Car crash therapy, the worst excesses of Trisha or Kilroy played out live in front of 100’s of people.
I was starting to worry…….
Joel went off to bed. I walked around the resort and read the information provided. The was a wide schedule of activities which included Zennis ( yes Seriously - a cross between Tennis and Zen Buddhism) it involved music, was played while dressed in full length maroon robes, perhaps without a ball !
In front of us were piled our complimentary Oswald Boteng amenity kits, bags of Virgin cosmetics, duvets, water bottles, blankets and virgin sleep suits. Our chairs were ready to transform into beds at the push of a button. But still 45 minutes into the flight the penny hadn’t dropped with Joel.
All the signs were there: The subtle change of boarding pass at the gate, the attentive service, the seat that changed into a bed, the champagne, the duvets, the offer of a massage on the plane.
“Lucky we got upgraded ay, Joel”. “Upgrade, what upgrade?” came the reply.
We journeyed through the night arriving in Mumbai the following morning. We had a 4 hour wait until our connection, so we sat at the Leela Kempinski hotel until it was time to catch our connection.
My suppliers in India had told me how much the country had changed and developed. I was expecting a change of the magnitude of what I had seen in Shanghai last year.
The airport, roads and Leela hotel were all exactly as I remembered them. Mumbai still ranks alongside Dhaka for the title of worlds most awful international airport (excluding Gatwick of course).
The domestic terminal was a whole different kettle of fish. It was new, modern, light, cool, clean and airy. This definitely was not the India I had seen before.We took our Jet airlines flight and arrived in Pune 45 minutes later.
Pune airport was great. A large concrete ramshackle hut of an airport You got off the plane and stood with all the other passengers by the wing of the plane we had just arrived on. Another plane turned around 100 feet away. It was moving by the force of its engines and as it turned its engines sent a gust of hot wind which blew away the cobwebs, as well as hats and newspapers. We collected our luggage and walked through airport.
The weather in Pune was very mild sweater wearing weather.
Joel having travelled round India the previous year was ready to offer his expert advice.
“Don’t hire the tax from those guys they will rip you off”.
“What do you want to do?” I replied.
“We will get a taxi outside” said Joel. I suspended my natural urge to argue and followed. Joel had done India last year as a backpacker and was now the self appointed India expert.
He strided off towards a motorised Rickshaw.
“Sorry Joel, I am getting a taxi”, I walked off to negotiate with the rip off merchant at the taxi rank. Joel may have done Rajastan, but I had been travelling to Indian for 15 years and I wasn’t spending 15 seconds in an Indian rickshaw
“How much to Osho ?” I asked.
“250 rupees (£3.00) for non air-conditioned and 350 rupees (£4.25) for an air-conditioned car. Sir”.
“See I told you,” piped up a voice behind me”, I have stayed in Hotels in India that cost more than that” he continued.
My week with my brother was going to be a learning experience. I had to suspend my desire to immediately reject his opinions and be more sympathetic to his ways. I would be conciliatory and non confrontational, but how? I had already vetoed his proposal of the rickshaw. Then it came to me. I would order the cab without air-conditioning. That way I could compromise with him.
“No air conditioning please”, came out of my mouth .
Then another thought immediately came into my mind. Why was I was worry about spending an additionally £1.25 because of Joel’s comment? He wasn’t even paying for the taxi.
“Change that, I will have the air-conditioned car”. We jumped in the 1960’s Morris Ambassador and off we went.
” Air con please” I shouted. It wasn’t hot. Actually it was a bit chilly but I was going to prove to my brother that I knew how to get my moneys worth in India.
We got to Osho.
Outside was a hive of activity. A scrum of Caucasians in maroon robes were milling around the entrance.
Here I was. I had travelled 3000 miles and now I was about to join the ranks of the “nutters in schmuters”. What was I doing ?
We approached the Welcome Desk. “We have reservations for 2 under the name of ……….”. Having checked his records the response came straight back at us with standard Indian effiency. “NO”. No ifs, no buts, no perhaps, no rechecking of the register Just “NO”.
Eventually we were granted a temporary pass to the guest house where we staying. I was surprised – it was not what I was expecting. The inside was well styled. It was all white and minimalist. There with white marble floors, dark wood doors and contemporary looking Italian furniture. On the walls were bright abstract paintings. I was sure the rooms would be a let down.
As far as I was concerned from my travels over the last 20 years, even 5 star Indian hotel rooms consisted of badly made mock reproduction furniture and smelt of damp, mothballs and disinfectant.
I was wrong. India had changed. I entered my room. Again more white walls dark wood doors and wardrobes. The dark wood bed frame was built into a unit which was attached to wall, complete with head board and side tables. There was a natural coloured linen roller blind which covered the window and plenty of good lighting. A reading light straight out of a habitat catalogue and a caramel coloured leather chair completed the look. The bathroom was equally impressive. There was a wet room style shower, sink and toilet. The styling was so close to be being perfect except for one thing - the tiling. The floor tiles which covered the floor of the bedroom and bathroom were a puce colour. It looked the contractor screwed up and rather than wait for the correct tiles to arrive they laid them down anyway.
We unpacked and made our way out of the guest house. The campus was deserted.
A sole person was walking towards us. She told us very politely that the evening meeting was in progress and during that time, the gates were locked and as weren’t in the evening meeting we had to stay in our rooms. She escorted us back and very politely told the counter staff not to let anyone else out.
It was Osho lock down and we couldn’t escape. We couldn’t say we were kidnapped. We had volunteered to join and now we were locked in
We waited for the evening meeting to end. We got dinner and then walked across the road. We bluffed our way into the main part of the campus which we weren’t supposed to enter as we hadnt registered. We walked towards the outside plaza. Here there was a group therapy session which was being hosted by a Swiss version of “Frazier”. Watching were hundreds of people.
“Vot question vood you like to ask?” Frazier said very softly through a microphone to the man sat next to him.
“Well”, came the reply. “I want to know why since my divorce I cannot maintain a relationship”.
Frazier then asked a series questions about the man’s life. One of his daughters had died and subsequently his marriage had broken down. As far as I was concerned – game over. The man’s question had been answered. But no….. wait!
Frazier went to the audience selected people at random who represented the man himself, his wife and his children including his dead daughter. The bereaved man then positioned the characters as if on a chess board. Then Frazier would ask him questions about the people assembled before him. He would then ask the assembled people about how they were feeling. The man with the deceased daughter would then move the people around in front of him and Frazier.
“How do you veel ? “ He asked the woman representing the mans wife. “I feel very sad in my chest”, “Exaaaactly” said Frazier. And so the questions went on getting more and more personal and cringful. If this was a TV program you would have watched it from behind a sofa with a pained expression on your face.
Frazier continued asking questions to each of the assembled people. After every response he would knowingly reply “Exaaaaactly” as if he knew telepathically exactly what was going to be said before the words were uttered.
This was Car crash therapy, the worst excesses of Trisha or Kilroy played out live in front of 100’s of people.
I was starting to worry…….
Joel went off to bed. I walked around the resort and read the information provided. The was a wide schedule of activities which included Zennis ( yes Seriously - a cross between Tennis and Zen Buddhism) it involved music, was played while dressed in full length maroon robes, perhaps without a ball !
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Ulpotha Day 2
"Michael". I jumped up.
I wasn't expecting to see anyone at 7.00 in the morning.
It was Cindy. "Yoga starts in half an hour".
"OK great, see you there", I replied almost without knowing what I was saying. Cindy told me there was a shortcut to the Yoga and I arranged to meet her in 10 minutes.
I walked with Cindy to the yoga. I had given up on wearing shoes.
"There is nothing here dangerous here I could step on is there?".
"Oh No............., except the snakes, you are out in the Jungle here". Great - snakes !
Morning yoga was 2 hours long. This was the serious session. There I sat in the PCYH (partially completed yoga hut) and flicked the caterpillars away from me. I was cornered by Trish and her counterparts. This time I was careful not to take Trish's yoga mat.
Where was my soul bother ? Where was Sting ? The new man, toned, bronzed, healthy devoting his time to acquire eastern knowledge and powers that would improve his health and longevity.
Then the yoga started, I got into my downward dog, warrior, dolphin, cobra.
Trish my evil nemesis stood at the front, directly in front of Jane. Now this was clearly Jane, the yoga teacher's turf. No one was going to argue with Jane here
"To the right Trish, your hips" said Jane.
"I am learning to the right" says Trish. What was this, Trish was questioning the yoga guru. No one had questioned Jane.
"No the other way" said Jane.
"No, you said right" replied Trish.
If Trish swivelled her head left or right to see what other people were doing, which I would have thought was the automatic reaction in this situation, Trish would have seen everyone else was pointing in the opposite direction. But Trish didn't flinch or turn. She looked straight at Jane, reversed her position and then added "But, you said right".
Trish was a Rotweiller of a women. If you messed with her she was liable to attack. She was travelling on her own. Presumably because she had bitten most of her friends. .After Ulpotha she was off to the
The class continued
Ginny stumbled while trying a one legged move and ended up half way across the room. "Oh Sorry" came out of her mouth in enunciated tones.
Susanna couldn't do various positions because she had a bad leg,arm,foot,finger,toe,ankle,ear or elbow.
The 2 hour class only seemed like an hour and fifty minutes.
The yoga class was coming to the end. "Right everybody, in a circle". What was this - Oh No.
Chanting !!! everyone was given a photocopied sheet from the Yoga Instructors Manual.
"Pramamberan, Travangerma, Disamberam,
"Miverangram, Pertuberangnam, Merangeram,
"Spangramam, Trisvisham, Eataaaspam,
Five minutes of chanting and mediation and at last it was over.
I walked back towards my hut and this time found the toilet and bathroom. This time I noticed tooth brushes by the sink. Some one had already laid claim to my toilet.
It was now time for breakfast which consisted of pineapple, papaya, tea and pancakes formed out of cold vermicelli filled with sweat chutney.
"Tambeele, please” the gang of 4 from NW4 were saying to one of the natives. "Tambeele Michael ?". "What the fuck was tamvbeele", I thought to myself. Tambeele I discovered was coconut. The gang of 4 were acquiring linguistic skills that would greatly help them in the future. They would return home safe in the knowledge that if they ever got lost in the Sri Lankan jungle, they could ask for a coconut.
"So Cindy, what is there to do here apart from the Yoga and the treatments" I asked.
"Plenty", she replied. "
""You can take a bicycle and ride around the tracks here" -No.
"You can take a bicycle and ride to the village which is about 2 kilometres away" - No.
"You can walk up to the temple in the hills". This sounded interesting.
"Where is it." I asked.
"It is a couple of hours walk over there" She pointed loosely in the direction of a large hill where I could see the white spire and dome of a Buddhist temple.
"How do I get there ?" I asked.
"You just follow the tracks". Bear in mind without Cindy I couldn't find the Yoga Hut. Here was a
"You can grab Gian Luca, he walked up there yesterday."
Gian Luca I discovered, spent every conceivable minute when not playing his guitar or giving his treatments, sunning himself on a rock. Was Gian Luca really going to repeat yesterdays trek again today ?
That was it there was no alternative for me reading (during daylight hours), treatments and yoga
After breakfast I had my treatment with Sean. Sean spoke very slowly and very deliberately in a very relaxed semi hypnotic way.
He spent an hour and half giving me "charbuti" massage where he used his feet to massage my body. After I got over the initial "Why I am letting this big bloke rub his feet on me" I really enjoyed the massage. It was excellent. Using his feet he could apply pressure deeply and more evenly than a regular massage.
I had lunch, ate more curry and pineapple and went to read my book before evening yoga.
Then dinner, more curry and pineapple.
We sat around after dinner Gian Luca the chiropractor got his guitar out.
"Play the beetles" shouted Susanna
"Leeedit Beeaaa Ohhhhh Leeeedit Beea", came out of Gian Luca's mouth as he strummed his guitar. Then out came Cindy
"Don't worry every one I have photocopied the words of all the Beatles songs" she said triumphantly. I prayed the stack of paper would be incinerated by a bolt of lightning.
It was an evening of Gian Luca playing, Beatles, Radiohead and Coldplay on his guitar.
"What song is that" said Trish.
"Radioooahead" said Gian Luca
"Oh I recognise it" said Trish.
"Dis isa very uncommon song, you know it".
"Of course said Trish"
Gian luca played the songs he liked repeatedly.
As it got darker the women moved closer and to Gian Luca vying with each other to hold a torch so that he could see the music, or turn a page of his song book, or rub his shoulders, in fact anything to be near Gian Luca.
Hours after hour he played and then it happened.
"Oh aaa I brokaaa string". The music would be ended, no more of Sussana's terrible voice ringing in my ears.
"Do you have any spare strings" Asked one of the gang of 4.
"Noaaa" came the response.
It was over, but then......
"I will avaaa toooa gettaaa my oddaa guitar".
Gian Luca had schlepped not one, but two guitars out to the jungle.
It started again "Inaaa times of zoro, mudda nature talka to me"
Eventually the music dyed away and I walked back to my PCH.I looked up and got a shock. I hadn't noticed, the sky on the night before. It was pitch black but full of bright, bright stars. It was like thousands of ubber torches pointing down straight at me.
This time I crawled under my mosquito net worried about snakes instead of evil spirits. Who was I going to call if a snake crawled into my hut?
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Ulpotha Day 1
Day 1
"Dont leave any clothes on the floor or the termites will eat them," said Cindy the Kiwi. "Me and Steve are just helping out. Sorry I have to rush off I am going to a funeral," Cindy had been at Ulpotha for a month and was already going to a funeral.
Well, my room or what I would describe as a PCH (partially completed hut) was an unusual structure. It consisted of a back wall. Two side walls which went from the back to three quarters of the way to the front. Two large gaps around 3 feet wide, rising from floor to ceiling separated the side walls from the two posts that supported the roof at the front of the hut. The roof was a standard inverted V shape which was thatched with leaves. The front of the hut was completely open with the exception of a cane roll up curtain. I was separated from the jungle by nothing at the sides and a curtain at the front. My PCH was painted in a coffee colour with Sri Lankan murals in grey and orange.
The features of my hut were as follows: A bed, pillows, sheet, blanket, mosquito net, cupboard, a box of matches, a muslin covered terracotta
pot, a coconut shell (to be used as a cup), 3 oil burning lamps and of course the essential incense sticks and burner. My accommodation was completely devoid of a mini bar, fridge, toilet, sink, running water, electricity - I didn’t even have 3 walls. The one luxury I had was the hammock outside the PCH.
Before Cindy rushed off she showed me the toilet and shower which was a 3 minute walk along various dirt paths, over bridges, behind trees until we reached a group of more 3 PCH's. In the centre of this group were vertical strips of dark wood, arranged to create a circular cubicle. Inside was a tree with a wide piece of cane which pointed down at a 45 degree angle. This was the shower. The toilet was a proper toilet with an enamel base and wooden seat. There was also enamel sink and proper taps. What a relief, but then next to the toilet I noticed a huge terracotta pot. My mind raced, had Sri Lanka imported Greek plumbing technology, toilets that looked like toilets, only they didn't function properly in the flushing department.
I walked over to the house, which was the centre of the village, to meet the other guests and to find out the timings for the activities. It took about 15 minutes in the daylight. There was no map or sign post but finding the house was pretty easy. I passed a huge lizard of some sort on the way.
It was time for lunch and the various guests assembled for lunch. Outside in a Sri Lanka style pagoda, a mat was laid on the floor. Various terracotta coloured bowls containing vegetarian curry, Dahl and popadoms were laid on the down on the mat . Lunch was an informal affair. The people got there food and sat on cushions on the low walls of the pagoda. There I met the therapists and other guests.
I met:
Jane the yoga instructor who was a cross between a young serious Joyce
Grenfield and a very trim Nigella Lawson with bad skin. "Laughing is good in yoga" said Jane, but nobody laughed in any of Jane’s yoga classes.
Gian Luca the chiropractor from Verona and his body guard Sean. Gian Luca was a typical Italian. He made his ethnic clothing look like something out of an Armani brochure. He had played in a band in Italy for 10 years before heading off to San Marino to learn to be a chiropractor.
Sean was a bald, muscular bloke from Queen Park. In his former career he been a licensing manager at Microsoft but gave up his career when he found out he had diabetes. He had spent years traveling around India and training in Kerala to give Charbutti (massage done with feet instead of hands)
There was Marco, a Turk who had been working for an American company and ended up owning a factory in the south of the Island, his Swedish wife Christina and their two perfect Aryan daughters aged two and five. The eldest child spoke English with the most perfect Sri Lankan accent.
There was Ginny the farmer’s wife from Wiltshire. By her annunciated tones I would assume she was the wife of a "Gentleman" farmer.
There was Susanna and Jill, barristers who both lived in Hackney and
specialised in Child care cases. Jill was nice but Susanna loved the sound of her own voice and was well on her way to becoming a crotchety old women.
There was Vareen one of the owners, a smooth, suave Sri Lankan owner who had "popped" in for the weekend having previously been checking his other projects and holidaying in Havana. Vareen was very laid back. "Well we decided to keep this place as long as it doesn’t create any headaches, we only keep it open a couple months of year. We could make a lot more money out of this place but we don’t really want any hassle." Vareen had been taking fashion advice from Gian Luca or had been buying his sarongs from Armani. His girlfriend was equally laid back. A divorced Canadian who had lived in Colombo for the last 15 years, she currently worked as a wedding photographer "to pay the bills". She was so laid back that she had partially lost the power to communicate. A low volume, unpunctuated noise came out of her mouth from which only the occasional word or group of words was understandable. After saying "sorry" or "pardon", I gave up trying to understand her and just nodded.
Then there was a group of 4 women (2 separate groups of 2). A cosmopolitan group, all in the same age group, these women had come from all over north London. They had traveled half away across to the Sri Lankan jungle to meet carbon copies of themselves who lived not three miles down the road.
Then there was Trish, but more of Trish later.
After lunch I wondered around and around and around. The place was huge. All the paths looked the same just dirt and more dirt, pools of water, paddy fields. I couldn’t find the house, my PCH, I couldn’t find any thing. I just walked until eventually I bumped into someone who took me back to my hut.
I read my book outside my PCH and then went for the evening yoga session. As I was probably expecting I was the only man in the class. I took a mat from the pile and waited at the back of the class. "Excuse me, that’s my mat" said Trish. "Sorry", I weakly replied. I did my yoga and returned to my hut without incident.
I was prepared for my trip to Ulpotha. I had a good collection of books to read .As it got too dark to read in my hut I decided to move to the "House". Unfortunately, not only was electricity missing from the huts, it was missing from the entire village and there was nothing brighter than a candle for miles. I couldn’t read after dusk. What was I going to do. ?
Dinner was a similar affair to lunch except with Tea to finish.
Surely there was some form of entertainment? There was :
Gian Luca had brought his guitar from Italy. He had been learning the flute when he was younger but discovered that he couldn’t play Metalica on the flute so he switched to the guitar. All evening Gian Luca strummed his guitar and played the guests requests.
Susanna (who loved the sound of her own voice) sang along to every song all evening even when she didn’t know the words. She also sang louder than any one else and completely out of tune. I wasn't the only person to notice this. "Susanna you don’t know any of the words" said someone, hopefully prompting her to stop. "Well he should play something we all know, play the Beatles Gian Luca". Then it got worse. Susanna did her solo which started off with "Hey Jude, don’t be a prune.....". I couldn't listen to this anymore, but what other choice did I have - sit in my hut on my own in the dark?.So it went on and on. Eventually the music stopped and everyone went to bed.
I walked back to my hut. Here I was alone in the jungle. As I walked I was reminded of the horror film "The Village" about people rejecting technological advances to live in some bygone utopian time. But it in "The village" they had doors and windows to project themselves from evil. I had my Gucci wash bag.
"Dont leave any clothes on the floor or the termites will eat them," said Cindy the Kiwi. "Me and Steve are just helping out. Sorry I have to rush off I am going to a funeral," Cindy had been at Ulpotha for a month and was already going to a funeral.
Well, my room or what I would describe as a PCH (partially completed hut) was an unusual structure. It consisted of a back wall. Two side walls which went from the back to three quarters of the way to the front. Two large gaps around 3 feet wide, rising from floor to ceiling separated the side walls from the two posts that supported the roof at the front of the hut. The roof was a standard inverted V shape which was thatched with leaves. The front of the hut was completely open with the exception of a cane roll up curtain. I was separated from the jungle by nothing at the sides and a curtain at the front. My PCH was painted in a coffee colour with Sri Lankan murals in grey and orange.
The features of my hut were as follows: A bed, pillows, sheet, blanket, mosquito net, cupboard, a box of matches, a muslin covered terracotta
pot, a coconut shell (to be used as a cup), 3 oil burning lamps and of course the essential incense sticks and burner. My accommodation was completely devoid of a mini bar, fridge, toilet, sink, running water, electricity - I didn’t even have 3 walls. The one luxury I had was the hammock outside the PCH.
Before Cindy rushed off she showed me the toilet and shower which was a 3 minute walk along various dirt paths, over bridges, behind trees until we reached a group of more 3 PCH's. In the centre of this group were vertical strips of dark wood, arranged to create a circular cubicle. Inside was a tree with a wide piece of cane which pointed down at a 45 degree angle. This was the shower. The toilet was a proper toilet with an enamel base and wooden seat. There was also enamel sink and proper taps. What a relief, but then next to the toilet I noticed a huge terracotta pot. My mind raced, had Sri Lanka imported Greek plumbing technology, toilets that looked like toilets, only they didn't function properly in the flushing department.
I walked over to the house, which was the centre of the village, to meet the other guests and to find out the timings for the activities. It took about 15 minutes in the daylight. There was no map or sign post but finding the house was pretty easy. I passed a huge lizard of some sort on the way.
It was time for lunch and the various guests assembled for lunch. Outside in a Sri Lanka style pagoda, a mat was laid on the floor. Various terracotta coloured bowls containing vegetarian curry, Dahl and popadoms were laid on the down on the mat . Lunch was an informal affair. The people got there food and sat on cushions on the low walls of the pagoda. There I met the therapists and other guests.
I met:
Jane the yoga instructor who was a cross between a young serious Joyce
Grenfield and a very trim Nigella Lawson with bad skin. "Laughing is good in yoga" said Jane, but nobody laughed in any of Jane’s yoga classes.
Gian Luca the chiropractor from Verona and his body guard Sean. Gian Luca was a typical Italian. He made his ethnic clothing look like something out of an Armani brochure. He had played in a band in Italy for 10 years before heading off to San Marino to learn to be a chiropractor.
Sean was a bald, muscular bloke from Queen Park. In his former career he been a licensing manager at Microsoft but gave up his career when he found out he had diabetes. He had spent years traveling around India and training in Kerala to give Charbutti (massage done with feet instead of hands)
There was Marco, a Turk who had been working for an American company and ended up owning a factory in the south of the Island, his Swedish wife Christina and their two perfect Aryan daughters aged two and five. The eldest child spoke English with the most perfect Sri Lankan accent.
There was Ginny the farmer’s wife from Wiltshire. By her annunciated tones I would assume she was the wife of a "Gentleman" farmer.
There was Susanna and Jill, barristers who both lived in Hackney and
specialised in Child care cases. Jill was nice but Susanna loved the sound of her own voice and was well on her way to becoming a crotchety old women.
There was Vareen one of the owners, a smooth, suave Sri Lankan owner who had "popped" in for the weekend having previously been checking his other projects and holidaying in Havana. Vareen was very laid back. "Well we decided to keep this place as long as it doesn’t create any headaches, we only keep it open a couple months of year. We could make a lot more money out of this place but we don’t really want any hassle." Vareen had been taking fashion advice from Gian Luca or had been buying his sarongs from Armani. His girlfriend was equally laid back. A divorced Canadian who had lived in Colombo for the last 15 years, she currently worked as a wedding photographer "to pay the bills". She was so laid back that she had partially lost the power to communicate. A low volume, unpunctuated noise came out of her mouth from which only the occasional word or group of words was understandable. After saying "sorry" or "pardon", I gave up trying to understand her and just nodded.
Then there was a group of 4 women (2 separate groups of 2). A cosmopolitan group, all in the same age group, these women had come from all over north London. They had traveled half away across to the Sri Lankan jungle to meet carbon copies of themselves who lived not three miles down the road.
Then there was Trish, but more of Trish later.
After lunch I wondered around and around and around. The place was huge. All the paths looked the same just dirt and more dirt, pools of water, paddy fields. I couldn’t find the house, my PCH, I couldn’t find any thing. I just walked until eventually I bumped into someone who took me back to my hut.
I read my book outside my PCH and then went for the evening yoga session. As I was probably expecting I was the only man in the class. I took a mat from the pile and waited at the back of the class. "Excuse me, that’s my mat" said Trish. "Sorry", I weakly replied. I did my yoga and returned to my hut without incident.
I was prepared for my trip to Ulpotha. I had a good collection of books to read .As it got too dark to read in my hut I decided to move to the "House". Unfortunately, not only was electricity missing from the huts, it was missing from the entire village and there was nothing brighter than a candle for miles. I couldn’t read after dusk. What was I going to do. ?
Dinner was a similar affair to lunch except with Tea to finish.
Surely there was some form of entertainment? There was :
Gian Luca had brought his guitar from Italy. He had been learning the flute when he was younger but discovered that he couldn’t play Metalica on the flute so he switched to the guitar. All evening Gian Luca strummed his guitar and played the guests requests.
Susanna (who loved the sound of her own voice) sang along to every song all evening even when she didn’t know the words. She also sang louder than any one else and completely out of tune. I wasn't the only person to notice this. "Susanna you don’t know any of the words" said someone, hopefully prompting her to stop. "Well he should play something we all know, play the Beatles Gian Luca". Then it got worse. Susanna did her solo which started off with "Hey Jude, don’t be a prune.....". I couldn't listen to this anymore, but what other choice did I have - sit in my hut on my own in the dark?.So it went on and on. Eventually the music stopped and everyone went to bed.
I walked back to my hut. Here I was alone in the jungle. As I walked I was reminded of the horror film "The Village" about people rejecting technological advances to live in some bygone utopian time. But it in "The village" they had doors and windows to project themselves from evil. I had my Gucci wash bag.
Fortunately I was well prepared for the Jungle
I had read the notes and bought the best high technology torch available. It had 300% of the power of a normal torch but small and easy to handle. I had the Porsche 911 of the torch world, the uber torch. Unfortunately I didn't have any sandals.
I got to my PCH crawled under mosquito net and got into bed. I lay there making contingency plans. What if I got “
I lay in my bed listening to the sounds of the jungle, the wind, the crickets and whatever else was out there.
Surprisingly I fell asleep quickly and the next thing I knew dawn was breaking.
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