I am in love with the Indians.
I am in love with their immediate warmth. Their respect. Their yes.
With their deep brown eyes and brown thick hair and broad smiles.
With the spiritual anchor supporting everything they are and do.
And their desire to flow with me in a space in which all is right and good.
This is Ashwin. Zorba is his creation. He has thick curly hair of shoulder length that he likes to run his fingers through. He's a guru, he's a nut, open, plain-spoken, imaginative, loyal, gentle, wise and yielding. When he laughs he leans backward. It's infectious. On as many days as possible, I rise with the sun and meditate with him. Some evenings he takes me along to a street event or concert and shows me a slice of Delhi. He is teaching me how to lead a retreat center, just in case I want to have one of my own one day. He doesn't know this.
One night we began with a drummer's circle in a downtown park.
We continued on to the craft museum for chanting by a Tibetan nun and some traditional Indian dance. The Indian dancer had a quartet with her featuring a vina, the stringed instrument that Sarasvati herself is playing.
Some of Ashwin's friends joined us for a late dinner, including Brigitta, a native of Hungary who lives in Munich and performs traditional Indian dance herself. This night the food was spicier than at Zorba which I didn't realize until I'd already had a big bite full. Zoweeeee! The milky mango lassi (a yogurt drink) helped to soothe the pain.
The next night, in celebration of International Women's Day, a party was held at Zorba. A few people sang. I did I Am A Vamp and Someone to Watch over Me to give folks a taste of cabaret as nobody here knows at a what it is. Brigitta came and treated us to some Bollywood dances.
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