I couldn’t blog or tweet from my Ashram, so I just wrote random notes on a doc on my laptop and a bunch of shorter bits and pieces which i’m uploading ad-hoc. Ever wanted to know what goes through the head of a temporary ashramite? Well this is what what was going through mine:
There are also people wandering around drinking their own piss as well as cow piss. Apparently you can also buy a concotion that includes both cow piss and cow shit mixed together with the milk of the same cow.
Rice water is is the Kimchi of India. Or atleast in Amritapuri it is.
Amma makes her own chocolate. That means it’s spiritual and I can eat it right?
Amma told off a parent for not covering her childs ears on the beach. They might get a cold. It’s 27 degrees.
I went to the beach to seek enlightenment and came back enlightened only to the fact I put my feet in the path of fire ants.
I ate another tomato dosa. Another one. Because watery rice that burns my fingers and scalds my throat makes me want to shoot myself in the head. I wish it didn’t but it does. And that also makes me want to shoot myself in the head. Maybe someone should pass me a gun and let me get on with it.
What is it about the bonnets?
The hot guy has his hair in a topknot. He’s not really that hot is he? I mean the skirt thing I can get over, the white trousers that reveal he’s a boxers kinda guy but he has tied his hair in a topknot. Not all of it. Just the fringe.
fried bananas fried bananas fried bananas fried bananas
I walked too hard and hit a rock. I think my foot is bleeding. Serves me right for aiming for serenity. Damn rocks.
Amma left. Everyone is sad. All the old people stood on the path for about three hours to wave goodbye.
Bubbles in the canteen has turned grumps. I now think of her has Grumples. It makes me chuckle and possibly bats. I have no idea what her name is. I asked her. She smiled and gave me a fried banana.
Watched a crow steal a spoon. And someones butter. From their toast. That they were about to eat. Didn’t laugh. Well okay I did but only internally.
Like the time they put blue dust sheets that covered the second floor and one wise ass stuck pictures of penguins and polar bears on it. Because it looked like they were in antartica? I laughed.
Then I fell down a step and nearly cascaded over the wall which doesn’t have a protective grate just further to fall so you might break two legs and an arm instead of just one of each?
They served watery rice for breakfast this morning. My eyes actually produced tears.
Listening to the Libertines doesn’t go down well in an ashram. Not at all well.
You can buy the cow piss, shit, milk etc SOAP in the giftshop. Yes there is a giftshop. Of course there is.
I’ve had Britney in my head for three days. THREE DAYS of Oops I did it again, got and I cant even remember the words!
37 degrees, no breeze, no power; Shoot me in the head and throw me into the Indian ocean please.
Smoking Royals and listening to Royals. I think I just peaked.
I know its just past eleven at night because that’s when the person vomits. Every night. Same time. Weird. Bulimia?
Full on domestic on the eighth floor of an ashram. Weird. Yet normal?
So the hot man total has dropped from three. Technically one is almost surgically attached to a woman who doesn’t look like his sister so he’s dropped off the radar, meaning now there is only one.
Hot guy has gone awol. Or maybe to TRV for the program.
He’s not back. Maybe he has left forever.
How is it that lungi sounds better than dhoti? Is it just me? Lungi just is so much more relaxed…
Got darshan in my Gokarna lungi.
Hi- fived the Divine Mother. I am winning at ashramlife
Some of these swamis are HUGE
I should be on the beach. I want to be on the beach. Lying on a beach, wearing a bikini and dying my skin to the same colour as a coconut and maybe even sipping a cocktail. But alas, the ashram beach is a little different with no cocktails, no suntanning and definitely no bikinis (although I did see someone string a hammock up the other day… tsk)
My Future Husband was here at new year. With his current girlfriend. Whilst I was stood at the side of a thai motorway watching a fuzzy tv.
My room mate has been told to find almonds otherwise her life might end.
I started listening to Serial season 1 again. I am a bad person. I should be reading about Amma, or meditation or sweeping a path but instead I’m listening Sarah Koenig discuss the incarceration of Adnan Syed for the murder of Hae Min Lee. For the fifth time. And I’m still yelling at the speakers in frustration.
IT WAS JAY.
I mean, cell sites. Come on?
And I mean Undisclosed as well, seriously, Jay Wilds, He’s the man, he called Hae and then lied. Or maybe that’s libellous. I just would bet cold hard cash, which I don’t have so I cant, on the fact Adnan did not do it. He didn’t. Jay or Don.
Undisclosed makes me think Don. I mean…
The pharmacy didn’t give me the red powder for my cold, just the blue pills. I think it’s cos i’m blonde and the red powder goes on your head.
What do I miss?
I miss being with people who know me. And chorizo and spinach and kale and burgers and duvets and bed sheets and sticky sweet cocktails and hangovers and make-up and hot baths and glasses of wine and paperback books. What don’t I miss? I guess everything else and about 50% of the people I thought id miss.
Delayed arrival; because maybe the plane will be delayed in Abu Dhabi. Because maybe maybe maybe
Just saw a Swami snoozing on a bench. I didn’t think that was allowed.
In less than 72 hours I may have to wear socks. I hate socks. Possibly the worst thing about being British is socks.