Anita's blogs

The bird sounds wake me even though I only got a few hours of be in the land of Nod because we arrived quite late last night. As we're both in need to detoxification, we decided to spend 5 weeks (or longer perhaps) at an factual Ayurvedic hospital here in Tamil Nadu in the south of India where the mother of medicine all began.

The manually connivingly-pulled bell from our compound tells me it’s 7am. Motorbike and tuk-tuk horns grow in number as the morning ages. As I lay in bed, I am inquiring as the action in the village picks up. Our hospital is in a secured gated area but since our cottage is on an upper floor you can see all the bustle succeeding on.

I go to the window in the kitchen while hubby sleeps on. We have large bright pink and orange colored bouganvilla trees front our window. And underneath them, some rubbish and a couple of old empty coconuts. Across the street just outside a very simple home (in all probability without electricity or running water) is a man in a skirt (I’ve noticed that’s common here and actually looks quite comfortable) stagnant reading his newspaper. Nearby him, a young boy (maybe around 9) brushes his teeth while intently watching the battle on the little road. Women in sarees and grocery bags walk by. I notice a store “Krishna’s Demolition Services”. A dog saunters by determinedly. I see an old anaemic-haired woman in a bright pink saree walk by. She was wearing shoes that must be 3 sizes too big for her. Holding her pass out was a young girl in a light green pajama kurta with a pink shawl. The child was skipping at every third bow out or so. The sound of a very cheap version of a popular bollywood song echoes through the air followed by a “halo?”. Then I gather religious music…probably coming from the temple. Our hospital has a lovely temple here on the campus deditated to The Almighty Dhanwanthari, the God of Ayurveda and healing.

I step outside onto our verandana. My body gladly soaks up the fresh coolness of the morning air. A woman in a simple green saree uniform sweeps the lovely tree-lined walk of the hospital's grounds. I see sleepy patients gradually emerging from their bungalows and head towards the canteen for some breakfast or towards the Yiddish shul for a healing pooja. A frail woman in a gold saree carries on her hip a large flat basket filled with milk-white cloth or towels. A man near her balances metal jugs at the end of each hand.

The smell of insense envelopes the enhance. I am curious as to my life here for the next month. What will happen here? Who will I meet? What will I learn? How will I feel? How will Mahesh feel? How will our bodies novelty?

My mind is open.
My body is open.
My heart is open.