Vipassana Romance... who knew?

As if I needed any more evidence that Americans are much more prone to drama (especially of the romantic sort), a New York Times article on romance at Vipassana (I can attest that this is certainly not the norm in India... although perhaps that is why they separate men and women.)

It's quite funny, really: falling in love (or rather, becoming infatuated with) with someone to whom you have never uttered a single word.  It really does highlight all the stories that we create in our own minds.

Here's the article:
"Falling in love with someone in the meditation room happens so often that some Buddhists have a name for it: the Vipassana Romance (V.R., for short)."  


The author writes about her friend: "On Day 1 she fell in love with a guy two pillows ahead of her because of the poetic way he draped his fingers. She spent hours imagining how she would seduce him. On Day 2 she planned out their wedding, deciding to serve both a vegan cake and a butter cream... By Day 4, she hated him. She deplored his hands; the fancy way he held his fingers struck her as pretentious. And just like that, her Vipassana Romance vanished."

हम तोडी तोडी हिंदी बोलते है

I have a new favorite Hindi word: टुकड़े-टुकड़े (pronounced "tookaday tookaday"), meaning "bits" (never mind that I learned it in the context of "I will tear my enemy to bits" in an Indian Aesop's fable-type tale.)  It's more that the word is just fun to say! -- the sounds themselves are something a bird or a rooster might say to another animal... or what someone might say when they're thinking ("Hmm...tookaday tookaday...")

Both Tyler and I seem to be at tipping points with our Hindi (which sounds about right, considering we leave India in two months!)  It's turned from something we should know, to something that's become innately fun...  And useful too! -- the shopwallas in Kathmandu seemed so delighted at Tyler's negotiations in Hindi/Nepali that we emerged with quite a few great deals on outdoor equipment (but that's another story in itself).

In a way, languages are also living histories, allowing you to delve deeper into the culture you're experiencing.  For instance, we were intrigued at the similarities between Nepali and Hindi, and learned this may have had something to do with high-caste Hindus (Brahmans and Kshatriyas) fleeing India in the wake of Muslim invasions in north India hundreds of years ago (and Buddhist monks fleeing India before that).  As our Hindi teacher pointed out this morning, Nepali comes from "Pali", an ancient language and means "new Pali".  It's a middle-Indo-Aryan language, whose structure remains in medieval times -- not having been changed and modernized as Hindi has, with the infusion of Persian influences.  In India, even paying attention to people's choice of words (coming from Sanskrit versus Perso-Arabic) can give you a sense of their political affiliation. 

Indirectly through Vipassana, I learned that just as Eskimos supposedly have numerous words for "snow", Hindi speakers have multiple words for "happiness" (connoting surface happiness, deep happiness/joy, excited happiness, etc.)  And on a deeper sense, no one "is" happy -- rather, one "has" happiness, connoting the fleeting nature of an abstract emotion.

Still an incredibly long way from dreaming in Hindi, but the journey continues to be wonderfully fun.

Gearing up for business school, part 2

It's a common joke that women go to business school less for an MBA, and more for an MRS degree (click here for our favorite Columbia follies video: "I'm in business school to get me my MRS; the returns on a marriage are worth the debt...").  B-school women (who typically comprise 30% of an MBA class), on the other hand, complain that "The odds are good, but the goods are odd."  

But what about business school wives (who just love the acronym, MBA = "Married But Available")? Turns out it's quite an active club.  It feels that I get lessons "from the other side" daily, with invitations ranging from fun events like wine tastings and NYC "behind the scenes" tours, to others that make it feel like a time warp to the 1950s (including cooking classes and make-up events).

Today's lesson is a link to "10 Rules for Wives", compiled by the Legal Aid Society of New York City in 1923.  Strangely, this list is not so different from the "rules" that Tyler and I were beaten over the head with during marriage preparation class in Delhi last year.  Here goes:

Don't be extravagant. Nothing appeals more strongly to a man than the prospect of economic independence.

Keep your home clean. Nothing is more refreshing to the eyes of the tired, nerve-racked worker than the sight of a well-tidied home.

Do not permit your person to become unattractive. A slovenly wife makes a truant husband.

Do not receive attention from other men. Husbands are often jealous and some are suspicious without cause. Do not supply the cause. Friendly attentions from others may be received in a spirit of perfect innocence. When reported by the busy-body they become distorted, often criminal.

Do not resent reasonable discipline of children by their father. Mothers should not assume that all chastisement of a child by his father is severe and unjustifiable.

Do not spend too much time with your mother. You may easily, in such a way, spend too little time at home.

Do not accept advice from neighbors, or even stress too greatly that of your own family. Think for yourself. Have a plan of your own for solution of home problems. In all causes consult freely with your husband.

Do not disparage your husband.

Smile. Be attentive in little things. An indifferent wife is often supplanted by an ardent mistress.

Be tactful. Be feminine. Men, in the last analysis, are but over-grown children. They do not mind coaxing, but they resent coercion. Femininity attracts and compels them. Masculinity in the females repels.

Images of Kathmandu

I can see clearly now the rain has gone...

Perhaps the question I've gotten asked most since Vipassana is: "Are you totally blissed out?" -- or something to that effect.  And that's what's actually hardest to explain to people.  There's no bliss, no nirvana about it.

Vipassana means "to see things as they are" -- not as we want them to be, or fear they may be, or seen through the lens of our ego.  It's actually not calming or relaxing at all.  Sitting peacefully for hours each day is strangely one of the most difficult things I've ever done (although infinitely better this second time).  And the thing is, it's not even fun meditation -- the type where you contemplate life or get guided through mellow meditations about a deserted beach.

It's about the most boring thing you can imagine: watching your breath.  For hours at a time.  For 10.5 hours a day.  It's a bit like living in a monastery, with your days guided by bells and gongs (the "noble silence" rule is the most sacred of the litany of rules we must agree to prior to joining the course).  As the days progress, you start to internalize the schedule: wake up at 4am; meditate from 4:30-6:30am; breakfast at 6:30am; meditate from 8-11am; lunch at 11am; meditate from 1-5pm; snack at 5pm; meditate from 6-7pm; discourse on the technique from 7-8:30pm; meditate from 8:30-9pm; in bed by 9:30pm.  Repeat x 10 days, and throw in a day before and a day after for good measure.

For the first few days, even though we're told to focus on nothing but our breath, I gave my mind permission to wander.  After all, it was during my last ten-day course that I had an epiphany that I should stay in India and work at LifeSpring; and during my last one-day course that I decided to finally stop deferring my offer to return to consulting.  With the move back to NYC in just a few months, I could sure use another flash of brilliance for the path ahead.

Instead, I got... Bella and Edward.  Lots of them.  After my mind space of Bella and Edward was fully explored ("there are actually a lot of similarities between 'Twilight' and 'Gone with the Wind'"), my mind moved onto "Reality Bites" ("I wonder how well Ethan Hawke and Winona Rider got along in real life because they seem awfully different"), and "Black Swan" ("Now that girl could have used some Vipassana").  After pop culture, my mind moved onto food and what I wish I were eating at that moment (not helped by Tyler sending an article on an incredible foie gras restaurant in NYC on my way to Vipassana!).

At some point in Day 3, I finally had it with giving my mind free reign.  It was clear that there would be no epiphanies on life between "Twilight" and foie gras, so I finally decided to turn my attention to what we were supposed to be doing.

By Day 4, we moved on from "ana pana" (watching our breath), and now turned to sensations in our body.  Told to sit perfectly still for TWO hours, we were asked to observe the sensations on our body, moving our attention from the top of our head to our toes and back up.

I couldn't do it.  I was freezing the entire week (leave it to my poor packing to not even bring socks!), but at this new exercise, my body completely revolted.  I began sweating and feeling extremely feverish -- and couldn't help but fidget the entire time we were meant to be still as a statue.  In the discourse that evening, we learned that often either the mind or the body (or both) reacts extremely negatively at first.  In my Hyderabad course, it was definitely my mind, which kept telling me that this was for people who were "miserable" and I needed to leave ASAP (the first tenet of Buddhism is that life is misery).  This time, my mind was a bit of a bumbling idiot, but it was more docile and easier to control.  It was my body that was betraying me, with all its pains, aches, and itches.

But despite this, the teachings started to really resonate (what's funny is that I don't even remember these teachings from last time... it was as though I was just so focused on getting through the ten days!)  The core of Vipassana is around observing and more importantly, remaining equanimous and not reacting.  We are conditioned to run away from anything we consider "bad" and constantly desire anything we consider "good."  This, in dhamma teaching, is what leads to misery, as "bad" things will inevitably always happen, and we constantly crave things beyond our reach.  By focusing on sensations of the body and simply not reacting to pain, itching, or other sensations, we begin to "train" our mind at the deepest level to experience the adage: "This, too, will change."  Nothing will be "bad" forever, so there's nothing to run away from.

By the end of course, sitting perfectly still for one hour was no longer misery.  In fact, I had come to actually enjoy the meditation and even my pain, as I knew it was transient and would leave as soon as I stood up.  Perhaps the most powerful meditation was my final sitting on the last day of the course.  As I observed the sensations throughout my body, it began to feel as though my body had turned into a complex web of vibrations.  As I focused on my spinal column, I suddenly felt an incredible surge of what felt like "lightning" going up and down my body -- a wave of pure joy.  And as quickly as it came, it left.  Rather than crave for more of it, I felt like I had finally internalized that everything passes; nothing lasts forever... and was grateful for the lesson.

So what's different about me?  I'm not completely sure.  Tyler says I'm much more calm now (versus being "deer-in-headlights" after the first time)...I can certainly agree with that!  Some things are for sure.  It feels like a giant weight has been released.  It literally feels more freeing to laugh.  I still get annoyed at this, that, or the other -- but I pull myself out of it with just a few breaths.  My endurance is greater, concentration stronger, and I notice things I somehow never had before.  And there's also a lot less drama -- it's easier to just do what needs to be done and get on with life.

I think about what my friend, Ali, advised another friend who's about to go on her first course in Dharamsala:

"Realize also that throughout the 12 days, there are ups and downs.  Everyday is a new experience.  Everyday you will go deeper and deeper into yourself and confront everything that comes to you.  Do not run away from what you see, realize, understand.  Some will be good, some will be bad, some will be painful, and some will be sad."

No doubt about it, it's a bit like a lobotomy of your mind... It's a highly personal path, and the actual course is just the beginning of a life-long journey.  Don't think I'll be attaining nirvana at any point soon, but that's also not the point.  After all: It is good to have an end to journey towards, but it's the journey that matters, in the end.

Down the Rabbit Hole

You won't be hearing from me for a while.  In fact, no one will.  Literally.

I'm about to set off for a 10-day silent meditation retreat.  I did one in Hyderabad shortly after I arrived, so I thought it would be a bit poetic to do another one right before we leave India.

The funny thing is that not saying a word is actually the easiest part of this program.  You realize how much of your day is filled with sentences that don't really need to be said ("The weather's gotten much warmer, hasn't it?") 

For me, the most fascinating aspect was observing the path of my mind through this journey.  The first day, I became convinced that I left the gas on at home, and I should be allowed to talk and call my roommates to warn them.  The second day, all my mind thought about was how stupid this whole thing was, and how I should just go back to LifeSpring and be a productive member of society again.  By the third day, my mind just "snapped."  I felt it say: "Ok, fine, you win."  And then just... silence.  Wonderful silence, the kind I had never experienced before.

They call it a mental lobotomy, and in many ways, that's exactly how it feels.  Emotions and thoughts you didn't even know existed rise up... which is what tends to happen when you do nothing but sit and meditate all day.

The schedule is not for the wary: wake up at 4am.  Meditate.  Have breakfast.  Meditate.  Have lunch.  Meditate.  Have "dinner" consisting of popcorn.  In bed by 9pm.  Repeat.  You would think the days blur together, but I just remember being so keenly aware of how many days I had left.  With each passing day, there would be fewer people in the ashram, as more people would drop out.

But by the end, an incredible feeling that I can't categorize as happiness... more accurate would be a sense of joy.  More to come...

Breaking down Babel

As Tyler and I struggle to remember hello and thank you in Thai (sawatdee kaa and khob-kun-ka for me; sawatdee khrab and khob-kun-krub for Tyler), I think back to a recent Economist article on "The Gift of Tongues."  Looking at what makes some people become polyglots and others... well, struggle to remember hello and thank you, the article looks at an 18th century secular saint of Bologna named Mezzofanti who was said to speak 72 languages.  When two prisoners were due to be executed, this saint learned the language in a night, heard their sins the next morning, and saved them both from the fires of hell.

Different hypotheses explain the language-learning's gift.  Some polyglots are near-autistic.  Others point to abnormal antenatal exposure to hormones.

The best part, however, comes at the end of the article (as is usually the case):

"At the end of his story, however, he finds a surprise in Mezzofanti's archive: flashcards.  Stacks of them, in Georgian, Hungarian, Arabic, Algonquin and nine other tongues.  The world's most celebrated hyperpolyglot relied on the same tools given to first-year language learners today.  The conclusion?  Hyperpolyglots may begin with talent, but they aren't geniuses.  They simply enjoy tasks that are drudgery to normal people.  The talent and enjoyment drive a virtuous cycle that pushes them to feats others simply shake their heads at, admiration mixed with no small amount of incomprehension."


Empowering, isn't it?

Deciding what to be when one grows up

And on the subject of school, a video by Seth Godin to university students at the Student Leaders Workshop.  He talks about the 1% of graduates from Harvard who become entrepreneurs, advising aspiring entrepreneurs that: "You're not going to be able to do that by continuing to do what you're good at.  The very thing that got you into school is not going to make this work...What you're gonna do instead is fail, over and over and over again... But every one of the cycles of failure is going to teach you something."

Some of my favorite parts: "What Acumen needs is competition -- good, smart competition... Acumen's goal is not to win; Acumen's goal is to change the world.  Making change is addictive... Every one of you is capable of getting into med school if you want to, but that would be a bad decision because you're signing up to be a cog in a broken system."

Most tellingly: "Doing things that matter to people will change your life forever."

The Good Life

Ten years ago, the largest class at Harvard was Ec 10 -- the Principles of Economics.  Now, I'm told it's a class on Happiness.  Just by perusing through Academic Earth (yes, I'm obsessed), it's clear to see that there's a yearning for a deeper understanding on how to live a good, happy life.

I watched my second Yale psychology video in two days, both taught by Paul Bloom.  Called "The Good Life: Happiness", this lecture ended the academic year and pulled together themes from previous lectures; looked at "does therapy really work?" (his answer, unsurprisingly, is yes); and the psychology of happiness.

I became intrigued by the idea of a happiness "baseline", which it seems that humans tend to return to needless of circumstances.  For instance, one person can win the lottery and another person can become paralyzed, both resulting in exceeding highs and lows of happiness.  However, when interviewed one year later from each instance, psychologists have found that people in both categories tend to return to the same baseline of happiness they had previously.  It seems that humans have an uncanny ability to acclimate and adjust to the new norm.

More fascinating, however, are the few areas that psychologists have found where people do not return to the same baseline.  One of these is noise.  That's incredible, really.  We can acclimate to awful traffic, bad weather, divorce, and even paralysis... yet we as humans cannot acclimate to noise.  Living next to a construction site (or in the middle of Delhi!!) continues to be a source of stress, and thus unhappiness, no matter how many days, months, or years you live there.  I'm not sure whether this makes me feel better or worse, but certainly helps to explain the rage I continue to feel every time a car honks at me at point blank.

I had a dream the other night that cars blew bubbles instead of horns... if only!

Booming Mongolia

I had to read the Economist article twice: "With just under three million people, Mongolia has a chance of becoming a Qatar or a Brunei: a country that has only a small population but almost all of it, in global terms, loaded."  Pretty incredible for a country with a $6 billion economy.

Thinking back to my trip there five summers ago, I can barely envision this.  Ulaanbaatar was a wide, open, empty capital, filled with restaurants never fully stocked with all the ingredients in their menu, and buildings reminiscent of post-war socialist architecture.  Nothing of the sort of city described in the Economist: "a veritable Bangkok of the steppes -- at least if your comparators are Kabul and Mogadishu... A glitzy mall on the corner of the main Sukhbaatar Square houses the sort of establishments you come across in the better class of airport: chic boutiques, pricey restaurants, expensive watch shops and, of course, an outlet of Louis Vuitton, which sells posh luggage."

I'm in awe.  When I was there, it was a culture looking backward.  It was a people devoted to Genghis Khan, statues of whom lined Ulaanbaatar (not to mention the nation's most popular vodka).  When I met with the head of a microfinance institution headquartered in Ulaanbaatar, this CEO spoke of the challenges of microfinance in a primarily nomadic culture, many of whom are herders, like their forefathers before them.

Now, with an expected growth rate of 22.9% in 2013 (and an average of 14% a year between 2012 and 2016), all eyes are towards its future.  As the Economist writes: "Put together Mongolian supply and Chinese demand, and Mongolia will be rich beyond the wildest dreams of a population many of whom, a generation ago, saw themselves as nomadic herders."

This is the Mongolia I remember, out in the Gobi Desert, in the summer of 2007:

Amazing thinking of Louis Vuitton within any sort of vicinity to that.

A weekend in Delhi

Yesterday was delicious.  For lunch, it was a bit of a scavenger hunt for the elusive but sure-to-be-delicious "Picante", our friends' take on the Chipotle they missed so much from business school in the US.  The wild goose chase did not disappoint.  Tucked into an office block, Picante was simply delicious... Tyler went back for a second burrito!  From our end, it's been so much fun to watch them turn their consulting skills into something entrepreneurial, physical... and simply delicious.  The scale of potential business in India is often mind-blowing.  In the "little" office building they've opened up in, there are 10,000 people, with 16,000 next door... and 50,000 in the few-block radius (with tenants like Bain, GE, and Deloitte).  With Picante now open and Starbucks set to open in India this August, I'm beginning to have second-thoughts on when to leave...

Dinner was yet another wild goose chase (which happens nearly every time we go somewhere new, since logical addresses simply do not exist in Delhi... which is a step-up from Hyderabad where there were no addresses at all).  Although our friends live about ten minutes away, we drove around in circles for about half an hour... until we found our favorite chicken tikka delivery place, and asked them for directions.  Luckily for us, one of their delivery boys was heading to the same block, so we happily followed him!

Dinner at Anurag's and Kavari's was delicious... quite possibly the best butter chicken we've had (Tyler had third's!)... Good wine and great conversation, and a fun group of friends (not to mention a seven-month old baby and a giant dog).  With a dynamic group of MBAs and JD's in the room, it was interesting hearing Indians take on the future of China and the US... not to mention India.

Perhaps the most interesting was when the conversation turned to hijras, translated into "eunuchs" and refers to transgendered men dressed as women.  Fascinatingly, hijras have a place in Indian mythology, making it "auspicious" to give money to them on special events, like marriages, births, and new homes.  But lest you have to worry about finding them during these times, they will find you (against your will, and often, as we learned last night, bribing the registration office for addresses).  

Kavari told the story of a group of hijras who showed up at her house days after she registered for her baby's birth certificate.  They demanded one lakh rupees (about $2500).  When I innocently asked what happens if you don't pay them, the room laughed and replied things like: "they cause a raucous"... "they strip down naked"..."they start crying"... "they threaten to stab themselves with a knife and get blood all over your room."  

A bit surreal, to say the least.  

Luckily, Kavari was able to thwart them (although her family was not so lucky during her brother's wedding... "first they were singing... then they were crying..."  What seemed to do the trick was threatening to stab themselves, which would make a very auspicious day a very unauspicious one indeed!)  She told about her friend who just moved into her new house... when the hijras arrived, she was able to negotiate to only pay Rs 10,000 (about $250)!

Fascinated, I researched more about hijras online.  Many hijras live in well-defined, organized communities, led by a guru.  These communities have sustained themselves over generations by "adopting" young boys who are rejected by, or flee their family of origin.  Not all are actually "eunuchs", although some do undergo an initiation rite into the hijra community to physically become a eunuch.  There is no dearth of tragic tales online about the lives of hijras in India, as ostracized individuals with few rights.

It says something about India that a few months before we leave, there is still so much more about the onion of Indian culture to peel down... In many ways, I have just as many questions about the country as when I arrived.

Student of Life

I just stumbled upon the most incredible thing this week: Academic Earth, which offers free online lectures and courses from universities such as Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Columbia, and MIT -- among many others.  Last night, Tyler and I watched a great psychology video from a Yale professor on childhood development and the development of thought.

It's an amazing leap in democratizing education (there's a Slate article on "How to go to Harvard for free").  A historian to the core, I also really like the idea of having former classes taped for later reference (I was quite surprised to see a Jeff Sachs lecture from 2007, along with the entire semester of the "Conceptual Foundations" course at SIPA!)  As the Slate reporter puts it: "Academic Earth is unexpectedly irresistible.  It's like Hulu, for nerds."

Lately, I have been feeling a lot like a student (although, incredibly, getting paid to research subjects that I find fascinating!)  Right now, I'm writing a report called: "The Role of Sustainable Businesses in Delivering Health Care for the BOP: Learning Journeys of Disruptive Models."  It's a report to inform the Sustainable Business Task Force, headed by Merck and part of the UN's Every Woman, Every Child initiative.  It's amazing fun, and a wonderful opportunity to consolidate my learnings from the last few years working with LifeSpring, and learning more about other market-based models in the global health space.

What's funny is that I find my method of writing to be much the same as in college: work on the outline first, spend an inordinate amount of time getting the title page to look just right (including colors, font size, and of course deciding on the title itself), and take lots of breaks in the middle (I never knew there were so many videos of babies and puppies on youtube).  I find myself constantly needing to delete "consultant" speak, like "incentivize", "operationalize", and "actionize."  There's an innate sense of accomplishment in seeing a blank Word document somehow morph into twenty pages in a day, and the added bonus of researching a topic I'm truly passionate about.

Maybe Tyler won't be the only one going back to school this fall...

(Only kidding, Mom and Dad!)

"As Though we were Immortal"

Just read a great travelogue on Varanasi, written by Namit Arora.  What struck me was how similar the author's experience was to ours, even though he traveled three years earlier: everything from the terrorist threat days before... through the visceral/intellectual/religious fascination of the burning ghats.

He writes:

"Curiously, a subset of Hindus ought not to be cremated here—sadhus, lepers, children under five, pregnant women, and snake-bite victims are to be consigned directly to the sacred river. Their corpses, it is said, do not need further purification by fire, so they are taken in a boat to the middle of the Ganga, tied to a stone, and sunk to the bottom, becoming food for fishes and river turtles. Some of these corpses, or parts thereof, later float up to the surface, spooking unsuspecting tourists. The liturgy of death in Varanasi is not for the squeamish...


Watching the spectacle on the burning ghats from a balcony above, I felt a liberating calm visit me, the kind that steadies and concentrates the mind. What better way to peer into nothingness and to see our common fate, laid out evocatively in the Book of Common Prayer: from earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Why, there is nothing morbid about death. It is a simple fact of life that should inform our daily choices and opinions. Yet, the greatest wonder, as Yudhisthira says in the Mahabharata, is that "each day death strikes, and we live as though we were immortal.""

Our rendez-vous in Bangkok

Planes, trains, and automobiles are just so over-rated (okay, I confess, I have a soft-spot for trains).  Bangkok has too much energy to be constrained by these generic modes of transportation.  A few highlights of on-the-go Thailand:

Here are some more pics from our long-weekend adventure in Bangkok.