It's been hard this week to say goodbye to a handful of people who have shaped my time in India so heavily. With each goodbye, I've felt a little less connected to the present, which feels foreign without so many familiar faces.
First, I bid farewell to Suzanne from Paris. The beautiful lawyer, friend, and quasi-sister taught me so much about self-growth and strength. Seeing how far she has progressed on her own internal journey during these 5 months in an unknown, uncomfortable country, brought tears to my eyes.
The next goodbye was one I had been dreading for weeks. Rebekka from Germany has survived 7 months in India, taking every circumstance as an opportunity for adventure. She is fearless. While I have cried, tried to hide from aspects of this environment that seem scary to deal with, she has dove head first into these elements and the culture. I did not use the kitchen in our home for the first 10 days I was here. Only after she arrived, showing me that the occasional lizard on the ceiling or scurrying spider won't disrupt cooking (that much), did I dare to venture into the dimly lit room.
Amma means mother. Saying goodbye to Amma, my dance instructor for the past 7 months, on Wednesday felt like a rite of passage. Amma is a short, stout woman with hips that could never afford a proper aramandi. But her face is bold and expressive, a reminder of the beautiful Bharatnatyam dancer she once was. My dance lessons with Amma have always been complemented by lessons for life. She has taught me that "it will pain", but we cannot stop and rest every time it hurts, or else our mind and body will never grow stronger. Amma has constantly nagged me to smile. When my forehead wrinkles in concentration as I practice a new dance, or my expression sags in exhaustion as Amma strikes the rapid third-speed beat of of an adavu, or step, Amma barks at me that I am depressing the audience. She has taught me that I cannot just plaster a performance smile on my face and expect anyone to buy it. "Smile from the inside."
But most of all, Amma has always reminded me that, "Dance is a gift, life is a gift. Dance is beautiful, life is beautiful."
The final goodbye of the week made me recollect my experience here, and view it in a more scrutinizing light. Virenbhai, one of the founders of Manav Sadhna, left to spend 6 months in the U.S., as he does every year. At his farewell, he reminded us that our priorities should be our personal journey, the progress of our children, and the progress of our country.
Even though I'm still in Gandhi Ashram, surrounded by the Manav Sadhna spirit, I've found myself thinking about this experience in the past tense. Being present is hard when there are empty spaces left - empty beds in my house, empty seats at prathna each morning, empty blocks of time in my schedule. Rather than filling that emptiness with an appreciation of where I am at this moment, I instead fill it with the memories of what used to be, and the excitement of what is to come.
This seems to be a recurring theme in my life. I have wasted too much time looking over my shoulder at what has passed, and squinting my eyes to see into the future that has not yet come into focus. With 18 days left here, my goal is to value and experience each moment wholly.
First, I bid farewell to Suzanne from Paris. The beautiful lawyer, friend, and quasi-sister taught me so much about self-growth and strength. Seeing how far she has progressed on her own internal journey during these 5 months in an unknown, uncomfortable country, brought tears to my eyes.
The next goodbye was one I had been dreading for weeks. Rebekka from Germany has survived 7 months in India, taking every circumstance as an opportunity for adventure. She is fearless. While I have cried, tried to hide from aspects of this environment that seem scary to deal with, she has dove head first into these elements and the culture. I did not use the kitchen in our home for the first 10 days I was here. Only after she arrived, showing me that the occasional lizard on the ceiling or scurrying spider won't disrupt cooking (that much), did I dare to venture into the dimly lit room.
Amma means mother. Saying goodbye to Amma, my dance instructor for the past 7 months, on Wednesday felt like a rite of passage. Amma is a short, stout woman with hips that could never afford a proper aramandi. But her face is bold and expressive, a reminder of the beautiful Bharatnatyam dancer she once was. My dance lessons with Amma have always been complemented by lessons for life. She has taught me that "it will pain", but we cannot stop and rest every time it hurts, or else our mind and body will never grow stronger. Amma has constantly nagged me to smile. When my forehead wrinkles in concentration as I practice a new dance, or my expression sags in exhaustion as Amma strikes the rapid third-speed beat of of an adavu, or step, Amma barks at me that I am depressing the audience. She has taught me that I cannot just plaster a performance smile on my face and expect anyone to buy it. "Smile from the inside."
But most of all, Amma has always reminded me that, "Dance is a gift, life is a gift. Dance is beautiful, life is beautiful."
The final goodbye of the week made me recollect my experience here, and view it in a more scrutinizing light. Virenbhai, one of the founders of Manav Sadhna, left to spend 6 months in the U.S., as he does every year. At his farewell, he reminded us that our priorities should be our personal journey, the progress of our children, and the progress of our country.
Even though I'm still in Gandhi Ashram, surrounded by the Manav Sadhna spirit, I've found myself thinking about this experience in the past tense. Being present is hard when there are empty spaces left - empty beds in my house, empty seats at prathna each morning, empty blocks of time in my schedule. Rather than filling that emptiness with an appreciation of where I am at this moment, I instead fill it with the memories of what used to be, and the excitement of what is to come.
This seems to be a recurring theme in my life. I have wasted too much time looking over my shoulder at what has passed, and squinting my eyes to see into the future that has not yet come into focus. With 18 days left here, my goal is to value and experience each moment wholly.
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