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Saturday
Jun272009
Sometimes scissors are too much of a temptation.
June 27, 2009
1. We are going on a little adventure tomorrow. I'm ready for a way out of here for a few days. It's true that we live in India, (which is adventurous) but it's also true that we rarely venture beyond walking distance, and if that, only to buy paper, go to the tailor, or get some cough drops. (Though sometimes we drop in at the local Korean restaurant.)
Tomorrow our jeep will pick us up at the nearby road. We will walk along the stony path, down the stairs, by the creekbed, and up the hill, and then off we go in the jeep to Manali. I think the journey takes 7 hours, but I don't think that's calculated for children.
2. It was quiet, today, in the Stage Carriage, until Cate asked if I had heard that Michael Jackson died. She was sitting in front of me, beside a Tibetan woman wearing the traditional chupa. The Stage Carriage is a jeep for public transportation. It has three bench seats, and doesn't drive for anything less than four people per row. It's a cozy ride, to say the least. (And it's really called a Stage Carriage.) For 10 rupees, you can hop in the Stage Carriage in McLeod Ganj and ride to Lower Dharamsala, where you can find a tailor to make you yet more children's clothes which your children will grow out of in six months.
Anyways. Suddenly the jeep was alive with discussion. The Tibetan woman beside Cate shook her head. "It's because he was trying to make himself whiter," she said. A Polish Buddhist nun in maroon robes was sitting next to me. "His music was so so beautiful. Did you like him?"
"I liked his music very much," I said. "But I think his story is very sad. He got too famous, too young."
"Yes," the Polish Buddhist nun continued, "he gave all of himself away, and had nothing left for him."
Cate was still talking with the Tibetan lady up front. "Yes, he was very young, it's very sad," she said.
"Everyone, everywhere, is sad," said the Tibetan lady.
"And did you ever see his dvds? He was such a great dancer," added the Buddhist nun.
And I shook my head. Reminiscing about Michael Jackson in India in the Stage Carriage with these two ladies was almost too much for my grip on reality to handle.
I popped over to my friend Carrien's blog to see if she had written about one special afternoon, many years ago, when we sat outside Michael Jackson's gate on top of our van, singing worship songs with gusto. (She had.) My best friend Dori had such a strong sympathy for him, and she desperately wanted to try to tell him that God loved him. We weren't allowed in, so the four of us sang with the rolling hills of Los Olivos swelling all around us. Dori also wrote him a letter. I do hope it was delivered.
3. I should have known better.
Sometimes when your husband is away and you are tired and not getting a lot of sleep and you live somewhere far from where you have lived before, you might have a small crisis and cut your hair.
But the good news is, you only cut off the bottom half. You emerge from the bathroom with a handful of dreadlocks that have been with you for almost seven years. Your neck is much cooler, but you need it cleaned up, made the same length, so you head to the barber.
You should have known better.
What part of "I just want it tidied up" sounds like "Go ahead and shave it."
I couldn't really find a good after pic, probably because it only looks different from the very back.
I should have known better, but at least I can say I've been to an Indian barber. And it's SO much cooler.
(First 3 pics taken by Becca, and the last one was taken by Chinua)
Tomorrow our jeep will pick us up at the nearby road. We will walk along the stony path, down the stairs, by the creekbed, and up the hill, and then off we go in the jeep to Manali. I think the journey takes 7 hours, but I don't think that's calculated for children.
2. It was quiet, today, in the Stage Carriage, until Cate asked if I had heard that Michael Jackson died. She was sitting in front of me, beside a Tibetan woman wearing the traditional chupa. The Stage Carriage is a jeep for public transportation. It has three bench seats, and doesn't drive for anything less than four people per row. It's a cozy ride, to say the least. (And it's really called a Stage Carriage.) For 10 rupees, you can hop in the Stage Carriage in McLeod Ganj and ride to Lower Dharamsala, where you can find a tailor to make you yet more children's clothes which your children will grow out of in six months.
Anyways. Suddenly the jeep was alive with discussion. The Tibetan woman beside Cate shook her head. "It's because he was trying to make himself whiter," she said. A Polish Buddhist nun in maroon robes was sitting next to me. "His music was so so beautiful. Did you like him?"
"I liked his music very much," I said. "But I think his story is very sad. He got too famous, too young."
"Yes," the Polish Buddhist nun continued, "he gave all of himself away, and had nothing left for him."
Cate was still talking with the Tibetan lady up front. "Yes, he was very young, it's very sad," she said.
"Everyone, everywhere, is sad," said the Tibetan lady.
"And did you ever see his dvds? He was such a great dancer," added the Buddhist nun.
And I shook my head. Reminiscing about Michael Jackson in India in the Stage Carriage with these two ladies was almost too much for my grip on reality to handle.
I popped over to my friend Carrien's blog to see if she had written about one special afternoon, many years ago, when we sat outside Michael Jackson's gate on top of our van, singing worship songs with gusto. (She had.) My best friend Dori had such a strong sympathy for him, and she desperately wanted to try to tell him that God loved him. We weren't allowed in, so the four of us sang with the rolling hills of Los Olivos swelling all around us. Dori also wrote him a letter. I do hope it was delivered.
3. I should have known better.
Sometimes when your husband is away and you are tired and not getting a lot of sleep and you live somewhere far from where you have lived before, you might have a small crisis and cut your hair.
But the good news is, you only cut off the bottom half. You emerge from the bathroom with a handful of dreadlocks that have been with you for almost seven years. Your neck is much cooler, but you need it cleaned up, made the same length, so you head to the barber.
You should have known better.
What part of "I just want it tidied up" sounds like "Go ahead and shave it."
I couldn't really find a good after pic, probably because it only looks different from the very back.
I should have known better, but at least I can say I've been to an Indian barber. And it's SO much cooler.
(First 3 pics taken by Becca, and the last one was taken by Chinua)
Reader Comments (13)
I think it looks great! I LOVE the look of horror on Solo's face, though!
Can't wait to hear all about your new adventure!
Blessings,
Sandwich (who was thinking of you as I whipped up a chai-sugar mix to put into my coffee. Not because you drink chai coffee, but just because it is Indian and you are in India and when I think of India these days, my thoughts always bounce off of 4 places: Bangalore (son 1), Pune (son 2), your adventures and Ongole, where I am headed in January.)
The baby looks amazed!! But you just look perfectly cool . A definite success!
I remember when Christiana and John Benjamin and I rode camels in Jaiselmir. One of them was named Michael Jackson. Only in India! Hey, about 20 years ago it was very cool to have the underneath part of your hair shaved, which means that you are probably on the breaking wave of it coming back "in".
This post just makes me say WOW.
I seem to always have Bela (my second son who's about Solo's age) in that front wrap to do anything. Done it for haircuts, too! Necessary, sometimes. When I got my nose re-pierced (Laith pulled it out when I was pregnant with Bela, at night), I had him in the front wrap. Crazy.
And he is beautiful, by the way!
I think you look wonderfully fabulous. And now you can say you've been to an Indian barber.
i love your blog rae,
it looks like a sikha... a traditional indian style ... i've beendoing a myasore ashtanga yoga teacher training course so missed out on your blog for a while, but i love catching up and seeing all the lovely changes taking place.. if all goes well i may go to myasore and vrindavan and of course will have to make it to your part of the country one day soon..
you are an inspiraiton,
jai Rae!
i can picture dori singing to michael jackson in my mind..
oh and ps.. just in response to a last post.. if you havn't done excersises in year, ( which i find hard to believe because bein a mom of four is excersise and a half, but i know what you mean, like intentional time) maybe you can try a little sun salutation every day.. i do five in a row for a good heat.. before begining my now six day a week ashtanga practice.. i bet the kids would like sun salutations if they don't already know em ...
suryanamaskar A ... maybe youtube vids would help.. seems how you're in india and all it may be uplifting!
Hey, you look good....We were laughing about the journey's discussion and how you felt like it was almost surreal. Bet the haircut made your hair feel lighter as well - all that hair must be hard on your neck. Bet the barbers never cut hair with a baby in a sling before - the pictures are too cute.
Remembered you guys singing outside Michael jackson's house when I heard about his death and thinking the same thing, wondering if he took any of it in. Such a sad life. All that wealth and it certainly DID NOT bring him any happiness.
Thanks for sharing,
Now that you have short curls at the front Solo looks even more like you!
P.S. What's next? Leggings? Hehe...
That is the coolest hair cut ever. EVER!!
You look killer gorgeous girl! You can pull off a punk rock look when you want to too!! ha ha...... options! but yeah, i think it looks great! can you kiss that sweet little baby for me. i miss his sweetness. miss you
Oh Rea, you are truely beautiful!
The pictures are so precious. Sweet little guy's brain went into over drive figuring that all out. Too cute!!
At first I thought, uh oh, she is taking after me. I love the look though, and it is practical. Very nice post too, we are trying to catch up. Two weeks is a long time to be away from hearing your lovely voice.