Today was my last day in Mysore. Before I left there were a few people I wanted to see. After waking up a little late from watching the final to the Euro Cup (Vive le France over Portugal any day), I made my way just outside the city to the suburb of Gokulam. Gokulam is, from my understanding, essentially the yoga capital of the world. Practitioners and instructors from all over the globe make their way there through out the year to learn from local instructors. It was in Gokulam I sought out Anu and Ganesh. Anu runs a small café on the roof of her beautiful home situated on a hill in Gokulam. Yoga practitioners seem to flock to her house to eat delicious vegetarian food, indulge in decadent chocolate semolina, work on their mindfulness and present state of mind while ingesting the phenomenal brownies made of what I assume was beets and hang out with her remarkably relaxed black lab. Maybe not so remarkably as the lab lives in the middle of the yoga mecca, eats what I imagine to be some of the best dog food on the planet and is surrounded by exceedingly kind yoga students all day. I enjoyed a small lunch from Anu’s roof before meeting with her and discussing the organization she helps run. Admittedly I don't currently have the name or a link to the organization's website but I can tell you what I know. She works to bring children who have been raised on the street into a boarding school and give them all the opportunities she can. The organization she partners with provides meals, vitamins, education, recreation, anything you can think of for those who have so little. When I hear from Anu again I will add in more detailed information, a website link and how you can help her organization at the bottom of this entry.
After an afternoon in Gokulam I returned to the hotel briefly before venturing out to Chamundi Hill. Chamundi Hill sits just outside Mysore and is a very holy site for Hindus. It is here, Hindu tradition has it that it was on Chamundi Hill where the goddess Chamundeswari defeated the ancient demon Mahishasura. To reach the top of the hill one must climb 1,008 steps. I had climbed Chamundi Hill in the past, three years ago. The last time I climbed it was on a day where it seemed all of Mysore turned out to race up the hill as part of a competition to build awareness on forest fires. There were people of every age range then, all wearing the same white shirt with a picture of a cow escaping the burning brush that surrounded it. This time it was a much more solitary climb. I didn't have any of my friends with me. No one to break with and catch our breath up the steep stairs. No camera crew from the local news documenting the foreigners who had travelled all the way to India just for the race up the hill. It was me, my camera, my water and my laptop. I had brought my lap top along because near the top of the hill there is a small community of people that live there. It was there three years ago where I took a detour through the village and photographed a girl and her baby brother. I was hoping to find them.
As I made my way to the top I could hear the village getting closer. Children yelling and enjoying the hot summer day. As I rounded the corner where I came face to face with the village square I saw a volley ball net had been set up and a group of ten middle school aged boys were playing a game. As I walked past them one called out to me "Hello, what is your name?" I responded with Eamon and he bobbed his head and turned back to the game. As I passed I could here another boy mocking him. I reached where I had remembered taking the picture of the girl and her brother only to find that the house I remembered was no longer there. A new house was being built in its place. Dismayed I was wondering if I'd find them or if they had become another connection I'd never see again. I decided to ask the boys playing volley ball if they recognized the girl in the picture. I called over the one who had shouted out to me and he sheepishly came over. i showed him the picture and he became very taken a back. He didn't speak much English and he was asking quite a few questions in Kannada (the predominant language in the area) and broken English that were a bit too rapid fire to comprehend. The other boys came over and saw the picture. As it turned out the girl was his sister. So they all began to speak to him in Kanarese and punching him in the arm. Teasing him for what I would rather not imagine comes out of a middle school boys mouth when a stranger from far away shows up with pictures of your sister. But I was able to explain I had met her and his brother on the day of the race three years ago and how I was looking for them to share the pictures. He shrugged it off and guided me to a house and ran off back to return to the game. I knocked on the door of where he had lead me to find no one was there. I asked a young boy in the street who looked at the picture and promptly raced around the corner beckoning me. I hastily followed him and found three women sitting on the ground. I showed my pictures to them and they became overjoyed. They were sharing stories in a language I could not understand but I can understand when a voice cracks unexpectedly and a person must clear their throat and wipe at their eyes. It turns out the siblings I had photographed were one of the woman's children. She asked for three copies of each of my pictures and I eagerly tried to explain I's mail them as soon as I got home. I didn't get a chance to meet the daughter who had had such a warm smile and was so eager to show off her brother, but my suspicion is the little boy who darted around the corner in such a flurry and lead me to the women was none other than the boy in the picture. He followed me around the rest of the time I was on the hilltop. He would lead me to the tops of houses to see the view before excitedly going off in a tangent in Kanarese and bashfully knocking things on the ground about with a long stick he had been carrying around.
It was the perfect way to end this leg of my journey. Up until now I have been following the same path I had been the last time I came to India. I had been following where Professor Mergen lead us three years ago. Even down to the hotels. But tomorrow I leave for Kerala. I have never been so far South in India. After Kerala comes Dharmsala, a mountain town home to the exiled Tibetan government in the North. From here on out I am making my own way. I couldn't think of a better way to get ready for this leg of my trip than seeing some old friends from before that I wondered if I'd ever see again.