Open the door to the Bangalor train station and step amongst hundreds of men and women,
          sleeping and resting, wrapped in saris and lunghis. Sitting cross legged, a skinny man
          with a turban looks up at me, a giant white colonial lady, obviously rich. 

Prakash squares down to sweep the floor with a handheld handmade broom. He hops backwards
          bringing the little pile of dirt with him. 

From under a red and yellow tent, some men emerge carrying a stretcher covered with flowers
          and held high over their shoulders. Elbows and knees our out over the edges. 

Across from Jaganmohan temple, the toe anchor on my left sandal breaks and I fund myself
         barefoot in India. 

My feet are miles long. They walk down the street. The air's full go burning cow dung. 

We tiptoe over a cement roof to an old room for urinating and defecating. 

tha kita   dhi kita   tho kita   na kita   tha kita   dhi kita   tho kita   na kita 

Can I help you Madam? 

For strength, take Bheema Shakti--it tasted like pumpkin pudding. 
Take neem oil in the neem oil in the morning before you practice---it tastes little like motor oil

A small barefoot woman in a dirty blue sari approaches while I'm waiting in line at an e-mail
         station. She holds up a tiny baby with a triangular nose and three holes for a face.

To retain the breath is to be alive without one element. 

Up the crooked wooden steps in a cement building covered with mold and mud, the women are
         cooking.

Odd what a cow must bear, tied to a pile with fifty flies gathering on her nose. Later on when it's
         cool, sashaying down the rad, tail twitching

tha kita kita thaka  tha kita thakita thaka   dhi kita kita thaka   tha kita thakita thaka   tho kita kita thaka   tha kita thakita thaka   na kita kita thaka   tha kita thakita thaka

.

Guruji shows my body into a backward wheel and then lifts me up, placing our hears beside
         each other. He laughs, "Old bodies take time to bend."

The breeze slaps the door shut. I prop it open. A woman, wrapped in a cloth, rests on her side.
         The sound of leaves brushing against each other. The horns of rickshaws.   Beautiful
         breeze full of smoke. 

Outside on the roof a mother monkey and her baby stroke each other. Yes, says Mr. Iyengar
         there are four types of love.

An old muscular man pills a cart with three huge and heavy sacks on his shoulders. He's
         trotting, his dark muscles sweating in the sun. 

There are a lot of wooden steps in this house, and some man is carrying away our vacuum
         cleaner. The cord is dragging behind him. My daughter runs up and grabs it. I'm right 
         behind her ready to fight. He looks back at us, turns, takes off his glasses and sets them
         on a shelf.   He will have this machine.   I wake up.

Maria is winding her hair in the doorway. 

A swarm of mosquitos hovers over my bed, one buzzing in my ear. 

El templo es nuestro cuerpo y yo siempre cargo mi templo. 

dhin nana kitathakka dhin na     dhin nana kitathakka dhin na
dhin nana kitathakka dhin na     dhin nana kitathakka dhin na  

.

Carrying of any weapons and/or firearms and explosives (except carrying kirpans by Sikhs) in
         the bank is prohibited

Now since major areas of Sera Monastrey are connected with good drinking water, skin and
         various other diseases can be avoided. 

If you change your environment--even just by adding a smell, a particular incense, the diet
         changes, prana changes and the mental state changes. 

There are 97,000 bulbs on the Maharaja's palace.

Mysore was the first electric city in Asia.

Two little barefoot boys hang on to the back of a large and overflowing oxen-driven cart of hay
         their legs running quickly behind them. 

Guruji rolls my curled up body back and forth nine times for the nine months of gestation.

Under the umbrella, this particular area is kept dry.

The Lambadi, a small nomadic tribe in Karnataka, sew mirrors on the fabric to scare off evil
         spirits. 

After all, if a mirror reflects nothing, what use is it?

If you pay the boys ten rupees, they'll do anything for you.

What I like best is the perverse fact that I can live here so cheaply. 

Two little boys on Sayaji Rao Road each put a dirty hand into one of mine. 

To live as healthy as you can until you lie down and die is a blessing. 

Wake up at dawn and return home at dusk. This way you can out your heart into your work. 

If woe are any, we close our eyes and chant "Om Noma Shivaya" one thousand times. If e
         are still angry, we begin again counting backwards. 

Mix jyothishmati with eight parts of oil and massage your head--a brain-clearer believed to
         promote intelligence

I hit my head in the doorway before I sit down. Sadashiva hits my shoulders with a little
         hammer. 

.

Sari is the traditional dress of Indian women. Samsara is the succession of births and deaths.
         Sanskrit is the language of the holy scripture, the veda

dhin nana   kita thakha dhinna   kitathaka dhinna   kitathakha dhinna
dhin nana   kita thakha  thinna   kitathakha dhinna kitathakha dhinna

In Bombay Tiffany, every single customer stares at me as I write in my book. 

A money opens the window, scatters my things, eats a cucumber, and drops a bottle of nail
         polish onto the street. 

.

We zoom around a horse, a cow, a rickshaw, scoot in between crowds of pedestrians, speed
         down a mudslick Mysore road and I envision my body curling into a ball before I bounce
         down the road. 

Yield and Merge. 

Viramma from Pondicherry calls her vagina a donut. 

The flute has nine holes representing the physical body with nine openings

Yes Madam
Are you all right? 
Do you want tea?

Madam, perhaps eighty percent of the people here are happy to have a baby girl.

Purusa is the soul, the lord of the body which is its abode. Pura is a fortress, castle, house, abode,
         body. Isa is the master or owner

I am a long pole with ten holes. 
A dog comes ups to me and sniffs.
I am afraid to touch him. 

I should do something.   I should do nothing. 
On the way to the temple at 6 am, I pass the dog again. Today he's quietly whimpering and
         quivering as he lay in a pile of garbage. An old man rests in a blanket in the stoop
         above him.

An enourmous black bird, a crow, I think, swoops down, claws my hair and flies up into a tree. I
         scream and the passersby laugh.
An omen. Something is dying in you. Something is born. Oh no, Miktaswami laughs. No the
         bird is just playing. He likes your hair.

When you're in your bed you say to yourself, I'm here.
Close your eyes.  When you see a red spot, peer into it. When it recedes pull it back. 

Place your heel in between your testicles and penis and you clear the channels that are
         responsible for bad dreams. 

It's like the alphabet. You can write it ABCDEF . . . or you chan change it -- as you like

dhin dhin nana   dha thin na na   dhin dhin na na   dha thin na na

A group of Indian children from another roof watch Andrey of Kiev perform the dance of Shiva.
They dance and roll with laughter.
And the fan in the sky goes round and round.

.
As instructed, I stare into the face of Vishnu
A man points at my rings and shakes his head affirmatively. I shake my head, negatively. Then
         he continues on his path, around and around the temple

It was a sign of sorrow not to have a Rangolu drawn outside your door. People think something
         inauspicious or tragic is going on. Beggars will not come to that house on such a day. 

A group of men and women form a circle
Inside, I offer twelve bananas, a mango, a coconut, yellow flowers, betel leaves, one hundred
         rupees, and my lotus seated self.

We turn to the right to avoid the woman who is drawing at the threshold, and smack, my head
         engages the window ledge.

We're so startled to see the policeman's stick lash out and hit a little boy whose back is to the
         street.

A rickshaw driver tries to charge my twenty rupees. i tell him it's hs karma, not mine and he
         laughs. I'm such a fool.
Prana flows helter-skelter within the spinal cord.

To my right a man carries a pan with hot coals, 
An old woman pulls up my sleeves.

Under a banana leaf, the sage moves close to me, whispering.
You are not the doer. All this is not here for your benefit. 

dha dhin kuta thakha thinikita   Dha dhin kuta thakha thinikita
dha dhin kuta thakha thinikita   Dha dhin kuta thakha thinikita

. 

The problem with you Americans is that you're too clean. 
An older Hindu woman on the plane wears dark brown makeup as a shadow around her eyes. I
         used to practice pranayama and asanas, but when my husband died, I stopped all that. Out
         of sadness? Yes. I'm moving to Queens. This is such a waste, he says, holding up a
         pastry in a cellophane bag. Mother Theresa used to collect all this from the airplanes and
         feed them to the poor Indian children. I'd just been thinking at she shouldn't eat these
         rolls and butter. That's why she's so heavy.

When I wake up the next morning, I take Dorothy for a walk around Tompkins Square
         Two Hair Krishna devotees make their morning circles around the elm trees. An old man
         scatters peanuts for the squirrels. The elderly Chinese men and women practice Chi
         Gong to Chinese music on a boom box. They make circles with the palms of their hands
         Some people are still asleep on the park benches and along the fences. A siren. A church
         bell. All around, the trees so familiar.

dhin nana kitataka dhinna   kitathakha dhinna   titathakha   dhinna   dhin nana
kitathankha thinna   kitathakha dhinna   ttitathakha dhinna   dhin nana kitataka dhinna
kitathakha   dhinna   kitathakha dhinna   dhin nana kitathakha thinna   kitathakha dhinna
kitathakha dhinna   kitathaka