Return of the monsoon

Today I learnt that hareem pants are not good in a downpour – whoever said the rainy season had finished here has a lot to answer for… We were having lunch on the street with 25p man again (his pakoras are so amazing!) when we heard ominous rumbles that were definitely not emanating from our bodies – neither our bellies nor the more sinister alternative. As we headed home, the sky went a disturbing shade of dark grey, and then all hell was let loose as the storm broke, taking our breath away with its out-of-nowhere intensity – the monsoon revisited…

Ropes of water pummelled downwards whilst dust bounced upwards. Dogs and people alike rapidly retreated beneath the mighty umbrellas of the street-side tamarind trees and the smell of wet tarmac filled the air. Traffic magically disappeared, and the only things left in the open were unconcerned cows, swirling eddies of leaves and two mad Brits, who insisted on continuing the walk home regardless.

Still, it was a good excuse for a cup of chai and a chocolate brownie when we arrived back, bedraggled and shivering – I didn’t expect goose pimples in India!

This afternoon Chris tackled the city market on a mission to buy bed linen (he’ll kill me for saying so, but this is actually his dream mission – he’s drawn to soft furnishings like a moth to the light) whilst I gave an aching yogi a Thai massage (I think my massage services may be in high demand given the number of groaning yogis clutching sore muscles…). The mission was successful – check out these matching bad boys:

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Is there anything more exciting than the prospect of new sheets?!

Tomorrow is our first day off yoga in eight days – we’re very much looking forward to a lie-in, although we may still be woken by the usual 5am chorus of omms and chanting from the adjacent yoga hall (the ‘local’ yoga classes for Indians tend to start this early, to allow the lazy westerners the later slot of 6:30am) combined with the rich Welsh baritone-like warblings of the Muezzin (very different from the half-arsed nasal drone I became used to in Morocco). This ‘spiritual mash-up’ very much represents India’s religious diversity – yet another thing I love about this place, although perhaps not at that hour on our day-off…

We’re tired and achey from our yoga exploits but it’s going really well, and Vijay suggested I start working through second series next week, which made me feel both glad and a bit ‘meh’ – it’s been great focusing on primary series this week and sorting out some of my bad habits and weak spots that are so easy to brush over in my self-practice (e.g. ‘hmm, I’m not wearing the right leggings so I’ll skip gharba pindasana today’ or ‘no one will ever know if I don’t make an effort to bind in supta kurmasana’ etc) – there are no such short-cuts in Vijay’s class… But it’s time to face my nemesis of kapotasana – so bring it on I say… 😉

Anyway, we’re off to have it large tonight thanks to tomorrow’s lie-in – who knows, perhaps we might even stay up until the unheard of hour of 10pm?!

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