Mysore mornings are sweetly tentative —all soft pastels before shadows, sounds, colors, and—life solidify. In those early moments near dawn, the street vendors begin their calls. My morning is not complete until I hear my favorite cry, an achingly plaintiff one. It sounds a little like "hwhaaaaai"with the sound dropping at the end. And it makes me want to go out and buy whatever this vendor is selling (which could be anything from eggplant to plastic buckets!)  

Other calls are shorter and more urgent or aggressive sounding. Sometimes you can hear three or four calls in serendipitous concert from various parts of Gokulum. It is the most beautiful way to wake up!

I've had plenty of time to enjoy these performances. On the flight over I sat next to a young guy, probably in his early teens who sneezed and blew his knows for the ENTIRE 9 hours. Since I am invincible (ha!) and healthy, I thought no problem. Oh, so wrong!

Lying in bed without a choice—for a few days was not fun, but it was a great way to step back from the energy of the "world" I have entered here. All the aches, coughing, headaches, fever certainly put me in the present moment. Grounded now, when I return tomorrow to my first class in a week, it will be without the unnecessary anxiety/energy I had before falling ill. 

 It will probably take at least a week to get back up to speed. 

Another blow to ego. 

You gotta love it. 

(I will buy something from this vendor no matter what he's selling.)

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