❉ home made and home recorded love ❉

To bring a touch of sweetness to a rainy Tuesday and to 

show off my amazingly talented future son-in-law's song writing 

and video making skills.
{Or you can go here}

Because I can and because these two are beautiful and charming. 

In the most delightful way.

Proud mama with bragging rights.

Let's make it go viral?
Ladies and Gentlemen I present Dave Woodcock...

p.s when it starts it's silent at first...

°Ah there you are!°

As you may have guessed I've been feeling rather unbloggy but that's just because I had to catch my tail after two months absence from normal activity. Lost in a heavenly world of daily yoga practise and towards the end of my trip, committing myself to twice daily meditations I was a serene haze of gauzy wrap and landing back here was a delight and then quite quickly a mildly depressed bruise. 

Having dived straight back in to work related activity and waiting out on the edge of winter keeping warm vigil behind the hedge I am slowly becoming more acclimatised. I keep exclaiming to myself "Ah, there you are" and then realising that it's not quite me and then doing it again a few days later. "Ah, there you are" but no, it's not quite me either. I think I may have reset or changed a channel slightly within me but I can only presume that it is for the better because I am not miserable or worried; just different. 

I think there is an outline of me still on a yoga mat in India eternally practising the Ashtanga primary series. 

Which is just as well because all good intentions and self promises are kicked over the hedge here.

There is much work to do.

From headstands to leaps of faith, it's time to get cracking.

For all of you who sent me so much love and encouragement on my Indian blogging I thank you and will bring you more aspects of Indian life as you requested. It's just that I've been struggling to even look at my images. It's coming.

ȭ bubbling over or it's blubby over Ỡ

What can I possibly say?
Hello? I'm back? It's weird, I'm weird.
Holiday blues, post-trip depression? I dunno.
I'm full of stuff, ideas, drawings, writings, rearrangements of lives, 
further yoga practises, deep thoughts and sadness, full of it but there is no outlet.


I need lancing.


I'll get back to you

©®Ⓨ ⒷⒶⒷⓎ

I know what a sensitive,warm hearted, grizzling bunch you are...so don't click on the above picture to examine it closely if you are of a nervous disposition. 

This is how to stop oneself from skipping gaily along gushing about how amazing it all is.
Reality check.

 ḜɤɛɾƳƉǡŷ ƪŠ ɱaɼkℇ₮Ɖǡŷ 

At the entrance to the city market are all the fruit sellers, people just bring a basket of fruit and sit and sell them. This treasure chest of pomegranate jewels was rich and oozing with juice. The fruits here are so organic and pure and all grown by sunlight and with love. They make our mass produce in the UK look full of false promise like a dodgy good looking bloke. All looks and no substance. This fresh produce sings with energy and flavour and if it's true that we are what we eat, then this week I may turn into a pineapple. A happy juicy flavour full pineapple. A bit crooked around the edges but full of charm and personality ;-)

It seems that my 'spiritual' practise is not penetrating as deeply as I hoped, as everything goes by the by on arrival at the market. Full of poise and determination and material denial on my yoga mat...I turn into the worst kind of shopper. Faced with the Spoon Stall I am full of agony about the fact that I want every single version. Just look at them. What would you choose? Spoons for baking, serving and even spooning. My favourites are made from rosewood, I'm not sure if that's wrong or right. But do I even care? I know it's going to seem crazy when I unpack but if you ever come round for dinner or group baking sessions we are going to be well served.

This stall, and there are a few like it, worries me. Selling hair. Why? For whom? Whose hair was it? I don't like it a bit, but I do love the stallholder... can you see him? Bald as a coot. Got short of stock mate? I feel all itchy now and it makes me want short hair. Why do we covet the dead stuff that grows out of our heads? 

Just so you can appreciate the indecision and drooling that the market provokes, this is the inimitable and wonderful RoobieRoo modelling the bag selection on one stall. What is a girl to do? They are all beautiful, all cheap and made with recycled materials by local women. Good strong bags in great designs and colour combos galore. The banter and the good humour is delightful among the stallholders & customers, not like the miserable misers we have to deal with at home. They shrug and laugh and somehow with all the language barriers we seem to get by. Numbers are the same everywhere right? And one clever little fellow said I looked like Carla Bruni the other day so I adore them.

ONLY TWO WEEKS LEFT. 

I am so excited to come home and see all my loved loved ones

but so sad that this, like all good things, has to come to an end.

It's time to roll my sleeves up and get back to some serious slog.

Someone has to pay my spoon bill.

Åℓ℮Ⅹ∀ℏⅮℯℜ ⒨©ℚÛȩȩñ

ƈƦƐāt¡ŋƓ Ș₱Ⓐ❨ξ

I've been in India for a few weeks now...I've got my daily routine, I'm institutionalised under Pushpa's care and have a lot of time to think. After all, swirling a few clothes around in a bucket is as much domesticity that I have to undertake. I climb the hot stairs to the roof to hang out my dripping items which take about an hour to dry in the fierce heat up there. I take the dried clothes to the ironing boy and he uses the cast iron 'heated with hot coals' ironing method which leaves my clothes ironed paper flat and smelling faintly of coal fires. Which I, of course, love.

Apart from a few design commitments that I can cover whilst I am here, I am reading a lot which is luxurious...although my dreams of reading to my heart's content is not that viable in the heat and my eyes (even with glasses) get tired easily. I've doodled a bit in my diary/sketchbook but I'm not feeling it. Truth is, the visual stimulation I get here is totally overwhelming. Sights and sounds galloping by. I can't precis my thoughts or visions as there are so many and I am aware that I need to get 'it' down, record what 'is' here before I'm faced with two days left and an impending feeling of desperate creative panic.

And I keep thinking, my blog, my blog, I should at least be giving something away when I am receiving so much and could channel some of it your way, dear reader...

But I'm not bothered, not bovvered at all. I'm sitting and thinking and brewing and dozing and drifting and dreaming and it's wonderful. I keep getting gripped by 'it's lazy, I'm lazy' but I watch the phrase float on by like the heavy bee that lives in the bamboo blind by my balcony. The Truth is, everybody could do with this, this luxury of time and space and drifting, many much more than me and there it flares up again, the guilt...but I don't hold onto it, I just let it goooooooooo

And this goes on a lot...stopping only for meals and freshly prepared pineapple that arrives with a strangled cry by the pineapple cart man. 

Piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnaaplllllle, pina pina pina piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnaaaaapppllle.

Full on, full-time yoga, does funny things to a girl, opening spaces that was once a mind firmly made up, stretching a brain with possibilities of space and awareness to realise it's actually okay to just 'be'. Yes, it's indulgent and luxurious and most importantly, my choice. That's what I have to remind myself as I crank into another day beginning with the most strenuous physical & mental journey I ever thought I could tackle. (Giving birth was a breeze in comparison)

And as my feet span my mat I learn each day there is a new way to be, an additional millimetre to open my heart, an extra inch to scale in my search for happiness/contentment/existence/bliss and I see it's already there. 

It was there all along.

ʱʘɱɕ ʂʬɛɛɨ ʱʘɱɕ

This is where I sleep whilst I am in India. I should have a mosquito net over my 'four poster' but there aren't too many mosquitos and having the fan on a gentle cycle seems to blow most of them off course. It feels like a horsehair mattress but is probably cotton stuffed. It's quite flat and hard and well, I get used to it. The simplicity of the whole arrangement is the appeal. I don't have to think too hard or keep up any kind of standards. My simple bed, with my little mat and a spare bed for a guest or sitting on. There is a window opposite my pillow that looks out onto my closed in balcony (see below) and a window to my left that looks out onto a coconut tree and overlooks a small aviary. I call it the birdsong view. Who wouldn't want to wake up to that?

I have a little washroom with a solar heated water tank and a western loo, a couple of buckets and a jug. And numerous pipes, taps and things that I don't know what are for.

This is the balcony from my room, it's my favourite place, could you guess that? My 'chaise longue' is an old spare bed I dragged out here and can you see my yoga mat rolled and ready? It's sunny and conducive to chats and facepacks and hair oiling and drinking chai and reading and meditation and listening and being a nosy neighbour (OMG the action is fascinating) and I can push the table back for extra yoga practise (this is rare). 

The sun streams in and I inhale yellow light and exhale lotus flowers.

And this is the heart of the house. The wondrous space that is Pushpa's kitchen. Everything is rustled up on two burners. No oven here. The sink and worktops are black marble. It's a standard Indian kitchen and I love them. They all seem to be black and white. I've not seen a variation on that theme. Some have grinding stones built in and washing clothes stones. Washing machines are rare. I sit on a little stool in here to eat my meals. Watching and learning and listening, I'm even starting to understand some of the singsong Kannada that chatters around over my head. There are always numerous women gathered here, peeling and chopping together. When they visit each other, they all start to do the chores. I love that. And you should see how glam they are for coconut grating. When they are not in their nighties, they are knockout these gals. If they weren't so shy I'd be snapping away for you.
Just a little peek at my Indian living arrangements. And these are totally luxurious of course. There are huts made of mud on the same street and huge families residing therein. I play at  living simply, there are many here who have no choice. And it's a cliche but they are so happy and friendly and relaxed. Warm & inviting & inclusive, all of them. I have a permanent sense of admiration. We have got everything and yet we are so closed. Is it the weather?
Namaste, my friends, namaste.

Ƨɦʘʠʠʎ ɦɒɸɸɣ

Shopping in India. 

I like it but I'm only allowed a skimpy 23 kilos of it so have to be decisive and measured in my approach to acquisitions. But even if I'm not buying, I just like to see what there is. 

And how it's made, packaged and marketed.

One thing is for sure, there is loads of it.

I wanted to take you shopping in India but it's a huge subject and whilst some of you salivate over food, for others it's fabrics and there's my personal favourite ~ stationery shops, then there's haberdashery and supermarkets and market stalls and pavement sellers and door to door anything and everything. 

So, I'm thinking I'll spread this out over a few posts.

Get your grubby rupees out, we are going shopping.

This is Rashinkar's emporium. Saris in cotton and silk and polyester! 

A three floored city crammed with skyscraper piles of colour.

And noone minds unfolding a tower's worth just to show you the full range.

The counter grows higher with rivers of unfolded cloth as I ooo and aaah over embroidery and colour and textures. 

Heaven is here, in a shop.

There is a tailor in-house and this is him measuring out my cloth for a long shirt dress and a wrap around skirt. I've sketched him out my desires and he's pretty good at understanding my needs...but the choosing is agonising and he's quite adept at showing Madame the perfect solution. He's been around the block that one.

My bespoke garments will be ready in 4 days but he'll do speed making if it's required.

Me? I've got all the time in the world...

The above is a sweet little haberdashers I discovered today. 

Full of wool and cotton and needles 

and stuff in boxes that I didn't know how to ask to look inside.

No English is spoken in this part of town, most tourists aren't looking for crochet hooks. I seemed to be a novelty customer, fondling the wool and taking snaps. I puzzle a lot of Indians but they are very friendly and understanding of my curious English ways. Why on earth would Madame take photographs of our thread selection? To put it in some kind of perspective the wall to the thread shop is next to the guy's head that you can't see. He had to jump over the counter to become proprietor of all things thread. I scored three boxes of embroidery thread with approx 80 different skeins in each box at 130 rupees a box. 

That's about £1.70. 

And, if you don't want to visit the shops the shops will come to you. There are plenty of travelling salesmen who hawk their wares (I'm sounding positively Dickensian, it IS like that here) The hawkers come around the streets shouting what they are selling, fruit, veg, newspapers, milk, curd etc. The mobile garden centre is a particular favourite of mine. See above. There are often girls with pails of fresh from the cow milk and yes, they carry them on their heads. And there are loads of potholes round here. The plastic man has some really useful things. He's quite popular when he rolls through once a day. The Indian housewives love the plastic stuff. Hell, I know I shouldn't but I love the plastic stuff.

And as this is India and entirely random things happen, I bring you a picture of a painted yellow goat.

Maybe they put something in my chai, maybe I am dreaming. 

Whatever it is, I wish you were here.

℺ή ṧḁḟḀℜⅈ

It feels ages since I've been here, on the page... I've missed my blog and all of the blogs I read regularly. The internet connection is tenuous and that's if we don't have a power cut which happens three times a day. My blog reader doesn't seem to load either so I feel quite cut off,  I don't know what any of you lovely lot are up to. I am going to have to wait until I get home to catch up with all your blogginess and leave you random  'after the horse has bolted' comments.

India has me firmly in her arms. 

I have settled in to a strange little routine and a very simple existence. I am loving my 6am yoga, it's really going nicely, I'm moving deeper with more stability than I have had for a long long time. 

In turn, my thoughts are more stable and my outlook more sunny. I wash my clothes in a bucket and my shower/bath is a bucket and a jug...sometimes the water is warm, 

I'm getting good at the shock of a cold drench.

Yoga is 6 days a week so after yoga on a Saturday morning, I don't have to report for school until Monday morning which gives me an opportunity to dash off on a mini break. 

Like I need it? I know I know.

I had a couple of days away and went to stay in a river lodge to see some wild animals.

I was hoping for a glimpse of tiger but instead I saw the fuzzy horned fellow below. I also saw elephants, bison, wild boar, peacocks, monkeys and lots of pretty birds. Kingfishers are everywhere, spotted as a flash of iridescent blue and the sweet 'bee eater' as seen below.

Trundling through the forest/jungle as the sun came up was magical.

Thank you, I keep saying it, 

Thank you.

I've got tons of things to tell you about India...zillions of images 

and I'm hoping to be back here sooner rather than later.

Next time, I'm going to take you into the zany world of shopping in India.

The retail experience of a lifetime.