fresh coconut meat. pop rice.

i've had quite a range of indian food thus far, three weeks into india. let me see. from humble home cooking to posh hotel  and fancy resort. honest to the gods and goddesses, shiva, vishnu, parvati, laksmi, and so on and so forth, i love them all. having said that my top fave is some simple, humble home cooked food from my hostess in pune, sadhana's modest corner kitchen. what's so great about it? how about fresh, finely-grated coconut meat? i've never liked coconut meat. dry, stale, funny taste. my ayurveda advisor back in bay area says to me again and again, suk wah, you should have coconut in your food. i say, yeah, yeah, yeah and can't help rolling my eyes. so you might think when i smell something that is unmistakably coconut when sadhana is serving food i would say to myself, uc-oh. no. no. no. without a doubt it is coconut but it smells fantastic and fresh. it is a mound of fine white mash. sadhana puts a nice dollop over dal and rice. i take a spoonful and, wow, i say, this is coconut? this is coconut and how do you do it? what sadhana does is this. she shows me a simple instrument that has a small curved knife hanging. she cups the inside of the half coconut shell over it and grates and grates and grates. at any moment if she loses attention there'll be a cut on her hand. it takes quite a bit of hard work to fill up a small bowl. i'm not kidding. this finely textured coconut meat is worthy in any king's court, appropriate to be served to the gods and goddesses. it lifts a mundane dish like mung and rice to the
moon.

my fave way to have it is to spoon it over popped rice for morning meal. i'm definitely going to make this at home. so easy and so good. soak some pop rice. i can get it from an indian store. just 5 min will do. stir fry for a couple of minutes in a little ghee with popped mustard seeds, sesame, channa (a kind of small bean), cilantro. pair it with chai. wowo. i'm in heaven.

sadhana also shows me how to make a great snack. don't soak. just stir fry pop rice in a little oil with a little cumin, sesame seeds, nut bits - optional. hey, say goodbye to potato chips.

when i think i know, i know not.

here's a smarty pants episode. i think i know a bit about indian customs. after all i have had a guru, who's indian, for two decades. right? wrong. here's how it goes down. there i am in satara, india, in a museum which was created by a local maharaja. it houses an amazing collections of objects and paintings including copies of mona lisa and works of rembrant. this maharaja really traveled around the globe. so after browsing through a series of probably hundreds of elaborate and intricate paintings that depict the story of ramayana i am more than ready to...pee. a quick glance tells me my hostess is sitting on the other side of the spacious courtyard. i say to myself, hey, i can handle this, i'm just going to pee. so i go straight out of the museum and ask the security at the entrance, toilet? with gestures supplementing his english he says, go around. i think, okay, no big deal, i'll just go around. turns out i have to go around a couple of corners, almost the length and breadth of the museum. at times i am trodding unpaved mud path between knee high weeds. finally i enter a block of brick structure. it is clean. four stalls. the one furthest from me is closed. i go up to the first one, gives the half-closed door a gentle push. what do i see? a cubicle tiled wall to wall. a faucet. a tiny trench against the wall. no hole. i go to the second stall. same thing. third stall. same thing. by now i realize i have two options. turn around, seek clarification. but i am already feeling i can't hold it for the long walk back. i take a deep breath. it takes quite a bit of washing everywhere to clean up the mess.

later that evening i ask sadhana, my hostess. she says, those stalls are for people to wash their feet and even bathe before entering the museum. she is absolutely certain that the fourth stall is a latrine. i will never find out that one but i know this much. when i think i know, i know not. 

where madness and harmony coexist

you can't get a better setting to practice staying present than this. picture this. dusk. no street signs. no road lights. bustling city hub. people heading homes from work and school. peddlers determined to sell anything to anyone who's even willing to say 'no.' i mean, a battery-operated helicopter this toothpick kid is relentlessly pitching to me while i am waiting for our car to emerge from this dark hole of parking place. at one point i see this tiny motor bike navigating through a galaxy of motor bikes and roaring streams of vehicles that are incessantly honking and barely colliding into one another. seriously. so many times i think i am about to witness a car accident. then, at another point i see this family of five all tucked nice and cosy on a tiny motor bike. they come and go fast. yet i have no doubt i see they are all smiling sweetly and leaning into each other like they are having a group hug.

i don't hear anybody yelling. wherever i look i always see a face that exudes tranquility and friendliness. whenever i glance over to the driver since i am sitting next to him i honestly don't recall ever seeing him not looking calm and composed. yes, indeed. i am in the land of yoga. the atmosphere is permeating with the sense that woven into the wild and vibrant play of consciousness is the experience of quiet happiness.

hwuby says, i love india. i say, i agree, madness and harmony coexist beautifully. now i have an experience of the statement 'it blows my mind.'

why no road rage?

how many hairpin bends our driver has negotiated so far, an hour or so climbing up the nilgiris mountains in karnataka, south india. i sit in the front seat next to the driver. i don't play video games but i kind of guess this is somewhat like playing advanced level in a game  that is all about moving at high speed through hair raising traffic and road conditions. i have my ipod on govinda jaya jaya all the time. that helps because at least i don't have to be bombarded by the sustained horn everytime the driver spins through yet another almost ninety degree narrow-as-can-be turn. this is actually not a dangerous move compared to the times when moments before our car is about to make a sharp turn a huge truck that is loaded with goods like sugar canes appear from around the corner and our car is on the outside, up close to the edge. the bright side is i get to have spectacular, unobstructed vistas. i recall my great grand-guru, bhagavan nityananda, roamed south india in his younger days. i let my vision relax into the expansive lush green landscape that is shimmering in the afternoon sun. aaah. all this is my guru. all this is my guru. all this is my guru.

later i ask hwubby, have you noticed there's no road rage in india, at least the parts that we have been in so far, pune, satara, coimbatore, mysore and so on an so forth? he says, yes, there is the spirit of sharing, acceptance and surrender and totally present, whereas in america, with all due respect, it is like, i am not going to share the road with you and i am multi-tasking while driving.

it's true. scanning the environment there are so much chaos and craziness constantly unfolding and material poverty is visible and rampant. yet when i pay a little attention and look a little closer it i never fail to experience a sense of tranquility and harmony suffusing the chaos. whoever i make eye contact with i always receive a kind and sweet smile in return. whoever i interact with he/she is welcoming, patient and more than ready to share and help.

all this, all this and all this is for me to anchor myself into who and what i really am. it's never about what i have and don't have. the same state of peace and contentment and joy exist in all.

maharaj tai tai

what is this?  where am i? let me back up a little. as i type this i am cooped up in a cubicle in an internet cafe in pune, india. not from my computer. how long have i been in india? feels like lifetimes when it's, really, the fifth day. we're staying in this nice, airy and spacious apartment on the fourth floor. a roof-top terrace outside the bedroom. my hostess, sadhana, says, people ask me, who are these people from america staying in your daughter's apartment, her classmates in university? graduate school? her colleagues? or relatives? i say, no, no, no, my daughter says i go to see their house for renting, we talk, they are such good people, you'll like them, mother. just like that we end up staying with this wonderful family. i must confess when kanchan, sadhana's daughter, shows up at my door i was scratching my head and pulling hair trying to figure out how to get to satara to visit my brahmin priest, vivek, the person in white garb who is between me and hwubby in the pix. satara is six to seven hours by car from mumbai and pune is midway between them. that much i know. since i don't know anyone in pune i think i have to go straight to satara from mumbai. i have no idea how to do that. how do i get a trustworthy driver who knows how to get to where i want to go and at a reasonable price? not to mention i have a hard time trying to understand english with a heavy indian accent. i am sure the indian on the other end of the line feels the same about understanding english with chinese accent. at one point when i am feeling exasperation spilling over my eyeballs i say to myself and hwubby, maybe it is not meant to be to visit the brahmin's school. hwubby says, but you want to go to vivek's school. i do. vivek is a much loved and respected brahmin priest. he has dedicated his life to preserving and spreading the ancient, timeless and timely wisdom and teachings of vedas, the hindu scriptures, the equivalent of torah in judaism, only two thousand years older. he sets up this school, takes in young boys. they live and study with him. they milk cows, look at stars and planes, and learn the scriptures. it is a way of life. they live and breathe the teachings. it moves me to tears to see these little children loudly reciting the sutras that have endured thousands of years with their fresh and vibrant young voices. so, yes, i do want to visit vivek's school. it is always wonderful and marvelous to be around people who are into the upliftment of humanity and to do it with so much joy. yes, vivek is a lot of joy to be with. so you can't imagine how thrilled i am when kanchan offers me, practically a stranger in her life, to stay in her home in pune. and check this out. her mother, sadhana, has a car and driver whose sister lives in satara. so he knows his way around. on top of all this, it turns out sadhana and vivek has connections that go way back. when vivek was doing advanced studies he went to benares and stayed with someone in sadhana's family. his teacher likes to play with sadhana the little girl. vivek therefore knows all of sadhana's family in benares. what does all this mean? i am reaping the benefits. hwubby and i are being taken care of like maharaj. i have anointed myself to be a maharaj tai tai. tai tai is the chinese name for a wife who is used to being pampered and spoiled. i have no problem with that. we have a sublime time in vivek's school. he and six brahmin priests perform a beautiful ritual to bless hwubby's forthcoming book. we are divinely happy and grateful.

fishballs. un-ding-able

fai uncle says, what do you want to eat, western food? i say, no way, this is aberdeen, i have to have fishball fun. he says, all-rai, let's go to the cave. i'm not kidding. this place started long, long ago in a hill hole in aberdeen, the fishing village. now it's two stores connected by a hole in the wall. no frill furnishing. at lunchtimes and weekends the place is jam packed. it is tucked inside a narrow alleyway, barely enough for a hybrid to move through. people drive all the way from downtown for their fishballs. and they don't disappoint. move over, gefilte fish. they have really humble beginnings. the milky white meat is a hodge podge of small fish that are not worthy to be sold on their own. so fishermen, probably their hard-working wives, chop them up. somewhere along the line the technique of kneading fish meat is developed. when done properly, voila, ugly duckling is transformed into swan. the texture is resilient and bouncy. it tastes like mild and gentle ocean. balls that hop and pop in the mouth. it goes fantastically well with flat rice noodle, fun, in a broth of fish bones and head. sprinkled with green onion and preserved veggi this is a dream lunch in a bowl for me. hong kong chinese have a way of blending english and cantonese. so i say this fishball is un-ding-able ---it's so good that you can't beat this.

hong kong. breakthrough.

from the get go don't get me wrong. hong kong is, if not the most, right up there on the list of most dynamic and vibrant and amazing places in the world. this pearl of the east can electrify you, dazzle you and rocket you straight out to deep space where planets and galaxies are being created and destructed nonstop as i type. i ask my aunt, where is the street where grandpa's laundromat was? she says, the street name is there but the street is no more. i say, what do you mean, i do know in hong kong we tear down and rebuild all the time but the whole street? she says, yeah, the whole street, even i don't recognize anything and it's still building and rebuilding. i'm not exaggerating when i say i can see a subway stop on every street. move over, starbucks. now, what am i getting at? o yes, people. so many people. people on the move. i have yet to see a person in hong kong that stands still for a moment. by the way, hwubby says, i have never seen so many fancy footwear. and they go about so fast i feel this background anxiety that someone would just stamp on my foot and just walk on. to the next sumptuous meal. to the next fancy shop. to the next deal. when the stop light turns green waves of people would roam into the street. several times i look around taking in these smart, on the move people and i recall these words from the poem breakthrough.


millions of lives ca be lived.
but for what purpose if there's no breakthrough

is my life all about making money? gathering fame? sucking attention? acquiring things? obviously i didn't feel so. or else i would not have left cause there's no better place on earth to make money. i mean m. o. n. e. y.