danielbaylis.ca

Dear Family and Friends,

It’s been one week doing a work-exchange in Goa, and utensils are all but a distant memory.

But don’t assume that utensils have not yet been invented in India. In the kitchen, there is a big tray of lonely forks and spoons waiting to shovel of delicious dhal mounds into my mouth. But why would I miss the opportunity to eat with my hands? It’s fun and, dare I say, even transgressive. In fact, I would love to try this technique at a fancy French restaurant back in Montreal and see what happens. I think it could be a form of performance art, n’est-ce pas?

I guess I’m just trying to roll with the locals here. You know how the old adage goes – “When in Goa, eat with your hands, white boy!”

And so I do.

Life on the yoga retreat is repetitive, yet always full of surprises. And to be honest, it’s not entirely what I was expecting. For instance, there are no yoga classes.  Which is sort of weird for yoga retreat to not have yoga. Am I right? Well, my loyal reader, it’s still considered the “off season” in post-monsoon Goa, and there are currently no guests staying at the retreat. In fact, I’m the only Westerner on site. There could be yoga, I suppose, if I motivated my lazy arse to guide myself through a practice. (But that hasn’t seemed to happen.) But instead of yoga, I have other things.

I haven’t found the deeply spiritual, communal setting that I thought I might discover. Instead I’ve been wandering the beach alone, during my downtime, and spending my working hours with the four guys (2 Indian, 2 Nepali) who are permanently employed here. Ganesh, Naresh, Suresh and Tulsi are friendly, funny and working class. And you know what? I’m kinda diggin’ the situation. Instead of asanas, I’m getting motorbike lessons. In lieu of shavasana, I’m getting personal educated on how to make chapatti. As an alternative to downward dog, I’m gettin’ down with the dogs in the kitchen. It took me a couple of days to come around to the reality of the situation, but now I appreciate the unique opportunity I have accessed, a slice of India that the average tourist doesn’t get to experience.

And that’s what this trip is all about.

*

Despite the repetitiousness of my working commitments (which has generally included painting), during my downtime, I seem to find adventure waiting ‘round each corner. Much of my most memorable moments of India thus far have been engaging with the local folks that I meet.

A typical starter conversation might unfolded like this:

Question #1: “Where you come from?”

Difficultly level of response: EASY

Answer: “Canada.”

Question #2: “What’s your job?”

Difficultly level of response: MEDIUM

I’m always at a bit of a loss to accurately summarize what I was doing before I left Canada: Online content producer for an urban tourism bureau using social media platforms to strategically penetrate into the lives of a North American English-speaking market.

But now I’ve taken leave from that job, and I’m currently in a professional ‘no-man’s-land’ of content creation with no long-term, sustainable revenue strategy. This interrogation of professional identity could be enough to inspire an existential crisis. So I offer a response that is typical of any middle-class dreamer with bohemian tendencies and a wildly under-read blog.

Answer:  “I’m a writer.”

Question #3: “You have girlfriend?”

Difficultly level of response: MEDIUM

Part of me would love to take the opportunity to highlight the heterosexist nature of the question. But something tells me that my efforts would be wasted, and perhaps unwelcomed in leisurely conversation. And maybe even culturally irrelevant. So I’ve decided upon a reply that is simple and generally elicits a bit of humor.

Answer: “I have many girlfriends.”

Bonus question:  “What caste are you?”

Difficultly level of response: HARD

This has been perhaps my favorite question. And to be fair, it has only ever been posed to me once. Yesterday, as I sat on the beach, a couple of fellows approached me and started chatting my ear off. Normally I’m a bit leery about being advanced upon, so my tone was rather short and unfriendly. But after the typical “Indian Inquiry” (see questions 1 – 3), they seemed friendly enough, so we continued to chat.

The examination of one’s “caste” is actually a question worthy of exploring.  The friendly fellow extrapolated a bit by adding, “Are you Catholic? Are you Jew? Are you Muslim?” And in my head I was thinking, “Well I’m not any of those things, no.”

So what am I?

I suppose I could provide a longwinded response that would include an analysis of class, race, level of education, access to wealth/property, physical ability, sexual orientation, gender and socio-economic status.  But ultimately I went with a simple response.

Answer: “I’m Canadian.”

*

For me, the best part of traveling is having the opportunity to engage with people from other nations and cultures. At this yoga retreat, I’m not actually practicing asanas, but the tradition of yoga goes beyond physicalities. So maybe the conversations and chapatti lessons and eating with my hands are all forms of ‘union’ or ‘divinity’ or ‘balance.’

And maybe that’s all the yoga I need?

With love from Goa,

xoxo

Daniel

PS: Motorbikes are RAD… especially when riding in rainbow flip-flops.

PSS: Today I moved across the grounds to one of the huts. I’m ten meters from the Arabian Sea, and the sound of the ocean provides the best lullaby a person could ever ask for.

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