Karachi Yogini

Yoga for Life!

Henry Miller in the Big Sur & monsoon sky. July 27, 2011

One of the many reasons why books are incredible.  A man, whose life experience could not be more different than mine in every way, writes an autobiographical book about 2 years of his life during the 1950’s in a place called Big Sur (United States, Pacific Side) and I relate to it like he is my long lost best friend.

My mother’s best friend (since I was a child) is a fascinating woman named Abida.  She is Abida Aunty to me.  A single, divorcee, successful business woman (designs clothes) + incredibly brave, brilliant.  Someone I never would have had connected to if I had not grown up the way I was forced to in the past 2 years.

Abida aunty’s advice has given me solace on some of my darkest days.  and her bright smile, her joy in seeing my recovery, my passion, my independence renewed is one of the best gifts of returning home.

One of the other pleasures of Abida aunty is her love of obscure books.  A few months back she sent a book to me:  Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch with the strictest of instructions that i MUST read it.  Needless to say when I saw the title of this book I was least motivated to read it.  But somehow in the last minute packing for Chitral I decided to put it in my bag and thought if there was a time to read boring books it would be on holiday.  Always good for helping me sleep if nothing else.

How “never judge a book by its cover” haunted me.  the next few days while at Hindu Kush Heights I couldn’t put this book down.  Miller is fascinating.  He writes so honestly that I feel like I know him.  And he writes about mainly what seems like the mundane but addresses the kinds of questions that have been floating in my mind for so long.

So this was my prologue to one of the most powerful passages from the book that I actually marked (usually I never have the foresight to do this).  I know there are many more that I read but that just gives me an excuse to read this book again.

********

p 229-230

If there is a genuine need, it will be met.

This though, which Jean Wharton expressed over and over again, and in a hundred different ways, is one of these statements which can either be ridiculed into meaninglessness or accepted at face value and proved or disproved.  That it has proved true in my own case, innumerable times, never ceases to astonish me.  The thing to ask one’s self first of all is – are we truly aware of our real needs?  “It” knows, but not us.  “We” are usually bringing up the rear, often absent altogether.  We abdicate before the throne we might occupy is even offered to us.  There is a white charger, champing at the bit, ever ready to carry us to the most undreamed of goals. But do we mount him? Those who do leave a trail of fire behind them.

The question is, where do we want to go?  And, do we want to take our baggage with us or travel light?  The answer to the second question is contained in the first.  Wherever we go, we must go naked and alone.  We must each of us learn what no other can teach us.  We must do the ridiculous in order to touch the sublime.

Who can say what the other’s needs really are?  No one can really aid another except by urging him to move on.  Sometimes one must move on without stirring from the spot.  To detach yourself from your problems, that is the idea.  Why try to solve a problem?  Dissolve it! Bathe it in a saline solution of neglect, contempt and indifference.  Fear not to be a coward, a traitor, a renegade.  In this universe of ours there is room for all, perhaps even need for all.  The sun does not inquire about rank and status before shedding its warmth; the cyclone levels the godly and the ungodly; the government takes your tax money even though it be tainted.  Nor is the atom bomb a respecter of persons.  Perhaps that’s why the righteous are squirming so.

*******

summer is almost over.  ramzan is around the corner.  my lower back is hurting.  my allergies are here waiting for the monsoon rain to clear up the clouds.   dancing in my head for the first real rain.  sitting outside today in my garden, i suddenly started to feel the moist heat intensify.  absolute stillness for a glimpse of a second.  then felt the release of a few simple raindrops swept with the breeze.  monsoon clouds on edge, full and ominous, quiet and all encompassing.  the sun peeks through muggy and humid.

“it takes a moist heart to walk with our brothers and sisters, a moist heart to be at peace in ourselves, a moist heart to serve the people well….” – Mary Jose Hobday.

 

Sanctuary July 21, 2011

Timeless.
Space-less.
 
Bound by the
tools of imagination and intuition.
Free from the hands of desire,
this place rests
softly between
the beat of your breath.
 

(c) golshan abdmoulaie, photographer extraordinaire. thank u!

I started to find
A simple mystery
Unlock itself:
(Out) side = (in) side.
 
The moment returns to itself,
the universe turns on itself,
everything we can imagine
rests in the quiet of our heart:
A space so vast
that life exists eternally
within.
 
Catch me from falling
as I slip in my
Adho mukho (handstand).
 
Free from suffering
through movement and breath.
 

the road to hindu kush heights, chitral July 19, 2011

Filed under: And the Journey begins...,spirituality,trekking!,Uncategorized — yogini786 @ 12:30 am

In 2009 I found a yoga program in the Indian Himalayas, an ashram run by Sivananda in Uttar Kashi, and by the time I decided i wanted to go it was too late and they were full.

In Dec 2010, this time being over efficient, I signed up again for the same summer yoga teachers training and got a spot booked. Come April 2011 I sent my passport to get an Indian visa, and alas I wasn’t rejected but also wasn’t given a visa in time for me to attend the training.

Early June I started to fret about my summer plans all in disarray.  I had really wanted to go to the mountains.  It was a calling i’d been feeling now for close to 2 years, one that had no real reason, one that genuinely arose from my heart.  maybe i knew that the mountains would show me the rhythm of life.

In comes Ahmed.  Nov 2010, I was invited to a “it’s a wrap” party (where I only knew the host) and met a man in glasses having a drink who at the time worked for an innovative socially minded business company, married to a wonderful Lithuanian woman.  somehow over the course of the next few hours we had already had our first fight, first apology, and what I clearly remember from this exchange is that the end of it, Ahmed said, that I never want to lose you as a friend.

Needless to say this doesn’t happen in Karachi, especially Karachi parties often.  or it does but those friendships never materialize.  thankfully for us this one did.  Sitting with Ahmed one warm June evening up came the topic of my empty summer days which I had already planned to be off of work.  He was going to Hindu Kush Heights with his wife Neringa, and asked why don’t I join them.  and as much as I would have been welcome, I felt a bit like a third wheel, especially since they live apart most of the year as it is.  But I kept that name in mind, plus the amazing look in Ahmed’s eyes whenever he spoke of Uncle Siraj, his trek and the beauty of the Chitral valley.

Friday: Google, Hindu Kush Heights, phone number, call, Aunty Ghazala (unbeknownst to me then) and say: I’m interested in visiting HKH, I’ll be traveling alone, I hope that’s safe, and I’m really dying to go for a trek, about 4-5 days, can you accommodate me?  She said, email us and we’ll get back to you.

Friday night:  at my aunt’s house planning a yoga photo shoot with a friend, I check my email and read:

Dear Aisha
Would you be interested to join a British couple(husband and wife) on a five day trek over a 14000ft pass in Chitral in the last week of June? They are happy to have you as part of their group. Let me know and I will give details.
Siraj Ulmulk

My heart jumped into my throat.  I started to sweat, and not because of the humidity.  Is this something I could do?  Was I ready?  Oh god.  I decided to sleep on it.

I woke up the next morning and after yoga while doing my usual browsing on the web, tried to compose a reply to the above email when I receive a call from an unknown number, who turns out to be Uncle Siraj.  Within 5 minutes of checking about my age, fitness, etc and answering some of my questions I was convinced.  His voice had such a strong and caring tone to it.  I remember telling him in the first conversation, that I don’t know why but I already feel like we’re family.  Prophetic intuition I call it now!

Settled in now with the knowledge that even if nothing works out with other plans I had with friends about traveling up north, for 10-14 days I had figured out something that I knew I was meant to do.  Trek.  Mountains.  Hike.  Heights.

In comes Junaid.  I had met Junaid at various parties on the Karachi scene, and on a memorable full moon night at the beach, was the first time I remember having a real conversation with him.  I had a bit too much to drink and I was in full full moon spirits as a group of 20 of us waded in the calm sea of Karachi with moonlight shining on us.  Months later I meet him again on the beach and this time while I share my summer plans, Junaids ears perk up and he says “I’d love to do something like that. Really”.

Despite not being able to raise one eyebrow I know that my first reaction was skeptical.  I had heard this now many times.  People saying they were interested in adventure, but then really being interested in just talking about adventure. (note: at the trek I learned that Junaid is the kind of person who never says he will do something unless he means it)

I decided to grill Junaid over a cup of coffee the next evening. He invited his policeman friend.  We sat at Havana, a place where you can smoke cuban cigars and order from the 3 best restaurants in town.  I’d never been before, always felt a little off limits to me.  But here we go.  After sufficient yogi grilling, which I’m sure as you can imagine is in fact just friendly conversation, Junaid decided he was in.

And then comes Mohammed (I call him Moe but he prefers Mohammed).  Trace back 21 years and the first Gulf War.  A girl named Reem Malik moves to Karachi from Kuwait, and is in my grade at the American school in Karachi.  We become instant friends.  And stay attached to the hip for the next 9 years til we graduate.  Reem and I drift apart only to reconnect again last year through skype because of our mutual interests in yoga, spirituality and healing.  Mohammed is Reem’s older brother who is also now living in Karachi after a long stint in the US.  And though I have seen Mohammed for years on and off, my clearest memory of him was in his gold rimmed glasses, squeaky voice, playing table tennis circa early 1990’s.

August 2010, I start my second semester at Szabist and teaching brand new freshies Intro to Social Sciences and on my attendance list I read the name: Mohammad Malik.  The same name jogs my memory. Months later I sent a friend request on facebook, and early June the original Mohammed Malik and I plan to catch up over a bite to eat at my favorite local cafe, The Second Floor.

The hour speeds by as we eat.  It’s my first real conversation with Mohammed, despite knowing him for more than half my life.  And ofcourse up comes my trekking trip, by now which I am excitedly sharing with everyone.  Mohammed seems genuinely interested too and also seems like he would be able to handle himself up in the mountains.  But skeptical about the arrangements.  In any case I send him the emails I have with more details about the trek from Uncle Siraj. A few days later I get an affirmative.  He’s in.

So now there are 3 karachiites, and we’ve found that the British (and Aussie) couple have another friend, George, joining them too.  Plus Uncle Siraj we are now a magical number 7.

Tom & Libby + George are the most amazing so called “foreigners” I have met in Pakistan.  In fact, there was nothing more foreign about them than a karachi yogini, dressed up like a bandit, tap dancing her way through Pakistani mountains.

I started the trip with no idea that I would have any connection to the British/Aussie contingent.  But turns out I stayed in Galle and spent 3 days with Geoffrey, Libby’s former employer in Sri Lanka. and my good friend had drinks with George when she was in Galle.  Tom & Libby had been to Ulpotha, one of my favorite places, many many times.  And they all knew Matthew, a memorable friend and massage therapist from my first visit to Ulpotha.  Small small south asian world.

Tom & Libby had met Uncle Siraj at a party in Islamabad a few months ago and instantly connected to him.  They planned this wonderful trip, which luckily somehow we all got to be part of.  And to trace how Libby and Tom got to Sri Lanka (separately) and then how they met is a story I hope they’ll both write.  Libby has written a wonderful book, Monsoon Rain and Icicle Drops that chronicles her journey to Sri Lanka and then various mountains around the world.  Inspiring, heartfelt and strong.  George who spent years traveling to Sri Lanka, did what so few people have the courage to do: changed his entire life and opened a beautiful boutique hotel down south in Galle 5 years a go.

George almost didn’t get a visa for Pakistan, Tom & Libby almost didn’t get their No Objection Certificate to trek, Mo had almost booked his tickets to Sri Lanka, Junaid similarly had plans to go the US, and of course my no show visa for India.  It was the trip that shouldn’t have been that was.

When I realized all these incredible gigantic coincidences I felt that the universe which at most times feels so random has some specific design.   has something that connects all of us all the time, even when we don’t see it or accept it.  its the eternal paradox: being the master of our destinies while accepting all these elements in life, which are out of our immediate control, bring us to where we are in this present moment.

only family can see each other like this!

love at first trek, what a wonderful family the seven of us had for those 10 days.  And for me the best and most amazing part was how we shared everything.  and how i have a good feeling we’re going to trek again together.  i feel protective almost and a little bit in awe that everything happened as it did.  and yet there is so much I can’t share or will never know about all our individual journeys which led us to this beautiful and unique meeting place, called Hindu Kush Heights and the Shah Jinali Pass.

Thank you Uncle Siraj for sharing your beautiful home with us.  Without you none of this would have even begun to be possible.

Opened up The Sufi Book of Life and serendipitously landed on this quote to finish this post: 36.  Al-Ali.  Experiencing Life at Its Peak.  When you are guided to this pathway, take the opportunity to feel yourself at the peak of everything, including letting any thought of your self disappear.  Real ecstasy is one of life’s rare gifts.  Sometimes – especially when we’re not expecting or seeking it – one of life’s “peak experiences” can transform our whole view of life in a radical way.   

 

chitrali at heart. July 14, 2011

Filed under: And the Journey begins...,poetry,trekking!,Uncategorized — yogini786 @ 12:12 am

Your task is not to seek love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it – Rumi

it was hard to start this post.  a part of me feels the pressure to create something that could live up to my first experience in the mountains, and that also the mountains in pakistan.

the most consistent emotion i had while being tucked in the mountains of chitral was of gratitude.  it would begin in the base of my belly and swell my heart.  it would fill my face and eyes.  it would be my only prayer only thought.  thank you thank you thank you.

being back in karachi, settled into my home again, checking facebook, email, meeting with friends,  the last few weeks feel like a dream that lasted months though it was exactly 20 days.

these are some of the life lessons i learned while trekking the mountains:

– its best to look a little bit less than 2 steps ahead to keep perfect balance.  looking anywhere else could very likely spell doom

– walking up or down the slopes, most important to find your own pace and take it easy, or as the locals guided me, “baji, aram say!”

– its very effortful to climb up.  it hurt to breathe, the hamstrings (back of thighs) work overtime, and need breaks.

– relatively easier to climb down in some ways, as long as you’re not looking down at your feet.  but also very easy to slip.  and funnily while going down much more likely to hold my breath!

– and a straight path (in terms of how we see a straight line) doesn’t exist.  the best way to get to the destination going up or down is to zig zag.  need i say more?

shift that

hin-ju (name in chitrali of a beautiful tree that grows in the wild with pink flowers)

in a japanese zen garden.

find myself peeking at the marvels of God.

a slice inside a fortress of granite.

where water flows through to greet our hands

I’m tempted to recount every detail of the trip, like I have been to all my family and friends since I arrived yesterday.  But there is just too much that will get lost in quantifying what we did, especially in the 4 days and nights that we were out trekking.

every day was like having a mini experience of life.  i know i became wiser just by traveling the way we did.  on foot.  up and down what feels like dozens of mountains.  reaching 14000 ft, and then enticed by the snow going a little higher.  sleeping at night with my strange fear of zoes (cow like animals) charging my tent.  meditating on silent rocks.  praying by streams.  laughing loud.  listening to stories of all kinds.  contemplating questions from spirituality to blister aids.  and muddling up lots of words (attributed to the altitude).  making lifelong friends.  opening and receiving while giving whatever came naturally.

being in the rough but gracious terrain of mountains, i wonder why we constantly want life to be easy.  why we want things to just work out without having to work at it.  why we find it so hard to trust that as long as we pay attention to the present moment that the future will take care of itself.

there are so many things i haven’t found answers for, and in some ways being close to such magnificent displays of beauty, synchronicity naturally created, I felt no need to look for any.  I was just happy to have food, friends, eyes, feet, legs, timely bowel movements, and a heart that could take in all that I witnessed.  now i feel ready to multiply the love i received.  hope you’re ready karachi.

dedicated to : Hindu Kush Heights, SUM,  MM, JI, George, Libby, Tom, Ishaq, Niazi, Faizi, the porters (especially the one who loved single malt whiskey), and the donkeys that helped carry our loads.