Problems

These wonderful people have taught me how to use a new word. "problem"...It is said with such detachment that you would think they are saying "peanut butter".

It all began when Lucie and I hired a taxi to take us to Ahmedabad from Jamnagar last weekend. "It's a five hour drive" the travel agent told me when we learned that there were no seats on the overnight train (our first choice) to Ahmedabad and you might as well take a taxi and be comfortable. ;-)

Lucie had agreed to join me in an adventure. (Lucie is a woman who is also taking this three month course in Ayurveda and is from Quebec.) When we got to the travel agent's office he said to us "THIS Friday?" as if he hadn't known it was the same date he tried to get us tickets on the train. Oh, that will be a problem. (the words drifted by my ears as a soft murmur). You see, it's the wedding season and all the weddings have to be completed by December 12th (we won't even go there) and it's also a Muslim holiday and Saturday is one day we give our drivers off, because none of them want to work. But I know the magic of Ganesha and I was already unzipping the secret compartment of my coin purse and with my probing fingers, feeling for my friend who has gotten me out of tight jams before. I felt the hard metal of my tiny friend and constant companion and brought him out of his resting place and placed him on the desk. I told the travel agent calmly, that I was sure he could find just the right person who would be willing to take us. Yes, he made a few phone calls and found Rafiq, a young Muslim man who was eager to work. We made a few sacrifices ourselves when we accepted a driver who could speak no English (no problem) and did not know Ahmedabad very well. No big problem. We knew that they usually stop and ask directions along the way anyway...hmm, so off we went at 5:30 on Friday night, with a phone call to Sarvadaman Patel, the bio dynamic farmer in Anand (who I learned about in the documentary "One Cow, One Man, One Planet"), and who had agreed to give us a tour of his farm on Saturday morning. Plus we had a reservation at the House of MG in Ahmedabad; a five star hotel. What could possibly go wrong? I can hear you laughing... YOU know it's India.

Lucie and I chatted the whole way there and occasionally looked out the window. The terrain was very similar to Jamnagar. We arrived in Ahmedabad with very little drama; despite the fact that our driver had to stop about 20 times to get directions. He would stop, go one block and then stop again. Getting back into the car he would reassure us by saying softly and confidently "no problem". Till the next block...

Eventually we made it to the House of MG and were delighted when we walked into our suite at the top of the stairs. It had a sitting room with two chairs and a swing that was twice as big as my hostel room. This room opened to our real room which had two twin beds, a desk with a wi fi connection, a large screen TV, a DVD player and a bathroom with HOT WATER...We were in heaven. There were two full length mirrors and I realized that I had not seen my whole body for a month. Small things you notice about your life...

The next morning we were out the door by 7:15 because we had been instructed to be at Bhai Kaka (the name of the bio dynamic farm in Anand) by 8:30am so that we could have a proper tour. Problem...We arrived at 11:45 am after stopping 37 times. along the way. Finally when we were 1 km from the farm the car refused to start. Even then, the driver was confident and said "no problem" when I was ready to abort and jump into a rickshaw. We all pushed the car and it started and we arrived at the farm.

The farm was absolutely wonderful. Sarvadaman and his wife Meena were like old friends and we talked for hours before we could even get off the porch. Their porch (and swing) looked out over their lush green fields. There was a quiet elegance about their place and you could tell that as much time went into admiring as working. They told us many stories of Peter Proctor and how he was keen to work and resisted the countless invitations from Sarvadaman to have afternoon naps. Poor Sarvadaman would give in and go stir some cow manure into dynamic water, longing for his afternoon nap. Only after many years did Peter finally succumb to the joys of an afternoon snooze.

Meena's garden, one which was filled with flowers and freshly mowed grass was "off limits" to Sarvadaman and his acreage was "off limits" to her. It seemed to work for them both as their relationship was easy and loving; the kind that you feel you can take deep breaths around. Meena cooked us an incredible organic lunch made with delicacies from the garden. At last it was time to view the gardens; 20 acres of bio dynamic plants. I couldn't wait...Lucie took pictures and even a video when three boys were walking a hand plow that also planted seeds in soil that was so soft it "was" like the butter Sarvadaman had talked about in the documentary. Lucie took off her shoes and walked in it and I followed. The soft brown soil gave way under my feet and was like nothing I had ever walked on. It felt alive and healing and I just knew that anything that was planted there would happily grow.

We walked the gardens for hours, watching workers running after the wild peacocks; chasing them away and then picking vegetables for the market that Sarvadaman and Meena opened on Sundays. We asked if we could buy vegetables and seeds (an order that we had made up in Jamnagar from our eager classmates who knew we were coming). Sarvadaman started the flow form for us and I sat in the shallow pool, cooling my feet as the dynamic water swirled about my feet. It was one of my favorite parts of the day. By the time we got back to the house the workers had put together 6 boxes of vegetables for us. We packed them into our car and drove off happily in our taxi (that had started easily), with our vegetables, fruit, full bellies and new friendships. I felt that if we hadn't left when we did, I never would have left; I was so comfortable.

We still had one more day in Ahmedabad before heading back and I suggested that we hire a rickshaw and complete our errands in 10 % of the time. I also suggested that we take the driver along and ask him to be our bodyguard; just a slight change of job description. That way he wouldn't feel hurt or useless and we really could have a bodyguard (not that we needed one). It turned out to be a brilliant solution as the rickshaw driver gave Rafiq a guided tour of the city, taught him shortcuts and we got to arrive at our destinations in record time.

Around 3 pm we began to feel that it was time to head back to Jamnagar, so we packed up and drove off into the sunset, feeling rested, renewed and happy. We were about three hours into our trip when we heard Rafiq say "PROBLEM". Oh oh, that was a first. The usual ease that accompanied that word was missing, but still it just slipped out of his mouth, drifted into the air and was gone. The car slowed to a stop about an hour short of Rajkot. Lucie and I got out and sat on what seemed like a small temple and I wondered what God had in store for us. The night was warm, cars were zooming by, the moon was almost full and there were two bright stars shining through the branches of the tree above us. A few motorcycles were turning at the intersection where we were sitting and the dark crossroad felt like it emptied into a small village. Then we heard the CRASH...A large truck that was coming from the road that crossed the highway on the other side was hit by one of the zooming cars on the highway. I asked Rafiq to call the police, which he immediately did (we needed no English for that) and people from the village began to pour onto the highway. The driver was not hurt, and the car was immediately surrounded by about 20 or 30 young men. The driver of the truck pulled behind our own crippled car and went to join the gathering scene. We sat watching it all unfold; wondering if we were to have any part in the scene, being eye witnesses and all. At one point I found a man who spoke English, told him we had seen the accident and if we were needed we could be found on the bench under the tree. He never returned, nor did the police. No problem we were told. Was it karma??? This might remain one of those burning questions...

At one moment (Scott would have loved that moment; I did) the energy shifted. The tension in the air dissolved; we could feel it across the highway and now the attention slowly shifted TO US... Men began to gather around and miraculously the women came to sit next to us. It was a nice balance and we were silently grateful.

Rafiq summoned us as we were told that the bus that had pulled in front of our crippled taxi was owned by the same company as the taxi and was waiting for us. The carpet was getting ready to fly...We were effortlessly lifted up and out of that scene and into the next (with our suitcases, but WITHOUT our 6 boxes of vegetables). We were seated on the front seats of the bus with the driver and his buddies. Their laughing, animated voices carried us high above the traffic until we got to Rajkot and then along with the bus load of wedding guests from Ahmedabad, we got off the bus and into a waiting car. We had no idea who they were, those three men who were in the front seat, but thought "no problem" we can trust this magic carpet and besides we have Ganesha in my coin purse if we needed to bring out extra help.

The two men got dropped off somewhere in Rajkot and Lucie and I were delivered back at our hostel in Jamnagar at midnight.

The next day the 6 boxes of vegetables and the rest of our treasures arrived at our hostel, the plants a bit less than their vibrant selves, which had no doubt been driven there by Rafiq. And the problem? Well, it has drifted back into the ethers, waiting for the next soul to reach out and catch it.