Hey, Wanna Throw Up?

There are a lot of things that happen in India that just would not fly in the States. Riding on top of trains, referring to other cultures as “savage” in outdated anthropology articles, and traffic rules in general are all good examples. But now, I feel like I have really gone beyond the tip of this concept’s iceberg.

Some practices in yoga are dedicated to cleansing the body by cleaning intestines, sinuses, or stomach. Most of these can be done through specific poses designed to relieve constipation or clear air passages, but today in my certificate course we did something special. “Jalaneti” in yoga is when an individual cleans their sinus passages by pouring water into one nostril until it comes out of the other. We did it for the first time this morning, and although a little strange, I realize it really is not that foreign of a practice (it's like a neti-pot).  After a few unsuccessful tries in which I mostly just ended up with nose-water sputtering out of my mouth, I was finally able to get a powerful stream from left to right, and then right to left. My sinuses felt a lot better afterwards, and I was glad I did it because it turns out we’re going to be tested on how well we can shoot water through our head.

This is all very charming and light, but Jalaneti is not what this entry is about. The next thing we did would probably be viewed as insane and cult-ish back home. “Vamanadhouti”, another cleansing practice, is intended to clean the stomach.

We had all been warned about Vamanadhouti beforehand, so we walked into class mentally prepared for what was to come. In this practice, the individual drinks 5-6 glasses of lightly salted water until he or she…well…vomits.

I’m being so serious.

We all came in with an “I’m going balls to the walls and conquering this shit” attitude. (For the record, I would recommend this attitude to anyone who is going to travel in India. It really helps when you have to do things like sleep on top of a luggage rack between two suitcases while a Muslim family is staring at you. That happens more often that you’d like to think it would.) The bulimia jokes began flying and my friend Tucker even skipped the glass, picked up one of the pitchers and chugged it straight. I only got about three glasses down before my stomach started gurgling and I couldn’t take it anymore. What can I say? I’m a light weight.

It was a picture perfect moment, all of us in a line throwing up. The only thing that would have made it better is if we all had been holding hands. To us, it was something Hallmark worthy. If you’ve ever been sick at the same time as someone, either at a party or from actual illness, you know that it is a bonding experience. I remember one occasion I shared with my good friend Aaron first semester freshman year where we both got sick at the exact same time- just in different bathrooms. This picture-perfection was enhanced by the fact that our head teacher was snapping pictures of us with my friend Alexis’s disposable camera.

Our head teacher, Rao (or Grandpa as we call him), is an older balding man with a white moustache, a melodious deep voice, and a hearing aid so useless that you have to shout at him during class and completely ruin any sort of inner peace other people may have. He used to be a very talented yogi before he got into a bike accident, and now he mostly teaches us theory while another man demonstrates the physical postures. Thankfully, this unpleasant portion of his past has not killed his sense of humor. I don’t know if you were aware, but there is a science behind vomiting. You usually begin by throwing up just a little bit, and gradually each heave empties bigger and bigger quantities in your stomach. Every time one of us would let loose with a huge amount of vomit, he would laugh and take pictures of us with the camera, exclaiming gleefully,

“Good! Good! Everyone vomit together!”

At one point he got so close to my friend Jeff while he was vomiting that Jeff said he could feel Grandpa’s chin on his shoulder, while he repeated “Good, good!” in his ear much louder than necessary.

After throwing up, my friends and I immediately felt better. We took a good look at each other with our red watery eyes. Our faces were messy and we offered one another rags and water to clean ourselves. We weren’t just yoga students now- we were fucking vomit warriors. We now shared a bond that could not be understood by ordinary people. However, I wouldn’t say that I felt “cleansed”. The Jalaneti made me feel great, but this practice…not so much. We went back inside the Yoga Center where we did some post-vomiting breath exercises. Then Grandpa informed us that we “might feel strange today” because the Vamanadhouti “cleanses you from head to anus”. AKA five minutes after eating breakfast I shit a brick, and I guarantee you that within the next hour I will shit another brick. By the end of today, I will have enough bricks to build a house and a yoga mat wet with nose water to remind me of just how disgusting our bodies actually are.

Senses

When I first got to India, every aspect was sensory overload. Little things would mesmerize me and regress me into a second childhood. The sound of drumming and music seemed to float everywhere. Colors were so bright, and everything was so new. I didn’t know how to speak to anyone, didn’t even know how to use the toilets properly here. I literally had to be taught everything again. I remember walking down the street and hearing the call to prayer in the middle of the day- I thought it was a concert. It wasn’t until I heard this music day after day that I finally realized what it was. We all know what learning from experience is like, but it had been a very long time since I had to learn such basic things just by living them.

The first month every day would make me so tired. Not only from the heat and the bike rides, but from sheer sensory overload. Life is either so beautiful you want to cry, or so awful you want to do the same. There is no middle ground.

After it rains the weather releases a torrent of dragonflies and butterflies. Thousands emerge from all over the huge green campus, so much that I have to dodge them when I ride my bike to class. They flutter through the air aimlessly and make me feel like I’ve stepped into a wonderland, or a time portal where nature is preserved and development is not overwhelming. The body takes in so much when I’m at home and I never even realized it. The next time you walk down the street, think- and I mean REALLY think- about how many senses you experience, and how fast you register them. What do you smell when you walk past a gas station, or the green grass of your front lawn? How many different colored cars pass you on the street, and what kind of dog just dodged out of the way of one of them? How does the air feel? Cool, hot, heavy, light? When a car honks is it high or low pitched? What language do you suppose the man waiting for the bus was speaking? Bite into a snack and close your eyes. Is it crunchy, sweet, fried, soft?

Our senses are capable of taking in vast amounts of information without us even being conscious of it. But here in India that first month, I was quite aware of EVERYTHING. And it was exhausting. People always talk about how much more “intense” things are here. The smells, sights… But I wonder if it’s not actually more intense, just new. I wonder if my senses won’t be just as magnified when I go home, because for a few weeks, everything will be rich again.

Now when I walk to class I don’t register the sound of drums as quickly. They fade into the pulsing background of Hyderabad; muffled among the honking, shouting, and the rest of the persistent chaos that surrounds everyday life. It is a little sad that we grow so accustomed to life over time. However, I believe callousness has its place in this world; a person cannot walk around being constantly mesmerized. They would be a useless child. But sometimes, in the form of a blessing, a gust of wind will pluck leaves off of their branches, and fall into a spiraling whirlwind. The rain will release of torrent of dragonflies, and I will wake up and hear the drums again.