Practice, Practice, Practice...

Oh, how I miss my wardrobe! I dream of denim and heels and clothes I want to make and awaken in the middle of the night panicking inside. Yesterday I went along with Guillaume while he did his final shopping before heading home next week, and he took me to this AMAZING place called FabIndia. Beautifully made clothes that drive me crazy with desire…and still so cheap! I didn’t buy anything, but I spent all night daydreaming about clothes. So much that I had trouble sleeping. And then I dreamt of clothes.

I have decided that for the next couple of months, I am going to try and abstain from my western materialist tendencies an only buy what I need: food/shelter/water, little necessities, classes, and experiences. Then at the end of my stay here in Mysore I will know exactly what I REALLY want because I will have had a couple of months to let my wants sort themselves out. Every time I want to buy something for myself or someone at home, I write it down in my little book. Then I forget about it. This is my process. Trying to be content with what I have.

My daily routine is looking like this: Six am to seven am, I do the Ashtanga primary series. Then breakfast, followed by adventuring, reading, or doing my laundry in my bathroom. Lunch at noon, followed by reading or napping and then Pranayama practice at four pm. Then I like to play music on a rooftop before dinner. Every couple of days, I fill a bucket with water, use it to bathe and then use the rest of the water to do my laundry. I love doing my laundry by hand. I love knowing how much water I need to clean my self and my clothes. I love that I need so little!

Last night my Rickshaw driver friend stopped by to say that he had been trying to get a hold of me but had the wrong number, and had left messages with the hotel reception that he guessed never got delivered. He said he lives right next to my yoga shala and wants me to meet his family! I was very surprised, but I still do not trust him completely. I am planning to confront him about whether or not he expects any more money from me, which is apparently usually the case with rickshaw driver “friends”. The rickshaw drivers, and shop owners, and hotel owners are all in cahoots with each other to sap westerners of their dough under the guise of “friendship”. But something in his eyes last night told me perhaps he felt otherwise.