I wake up early and head to the yoga school, I found a couple of days earlier, to my first yoga class. It is located on the first floor of an apartment building, and what I thought was their front office, is actually the class room. There is an office desk and a chair in one corner and remaining part of the floor is covered with four large but very thin mats. A girl in green traditional clothes is sitting close eyed on the floor in lotus position and a soft spoken guy with a pleasant but not really a yoga teacher appearance greets me. We settle formalities quickly and start with a lesson. He switches his attention between me and the girl very well and it feels almost like having a private lesson. I like it, except for the mat, which makes some positions pretty painful. At the end I pay the foreigner fee of Rs. 1000 ($23) for twenty five one-hour sessions, which is double of what natives pay, but still a steal, considering prices charged by American “gurus”.

No, this is not my barber

After having a masala dosa in a neighborhood restaurant, I go home to plan a visit to the Theosophical society. The society was founded in New York in 19^th century by a Russian woman and an American man on the grounds that behind all religions lies universal human need for God and that search for the truth about the world should be done from that perspective. The society's headquarters was later moved to Chennai, where it is located on a big property between two main beaches, whose main attraction is a big banyan tree, one of the three world's biggest. Banyan tree is interesting because of the ability of its branches to branch downward and dive into the ground, thus creating extensions of the root which, rather then through the trunk, feed the branches directly.

The Banyan tree

Finding the society isn't easy, despite its size and location, and the fact that nearby part of the city and everything in vicinity is named by Anne Besant, one of its presidents. I finally reach the gates a little after 11am, just to be informed that visitor's hours are 8-10am and 2-4pm, but I can go to the bookstore, which I do. The bookstore is small, but well stocked with religious, spiritual, and philosophical titles. One of the personnel is a friendly and very knowledgeable lady. I talk to her for a little while, pick “Raja Yoga” by Swami Vivekananda, “The Hidden Treasure” by Indian Nobel laureate R. Tagore, and “Universal Theosophy” by Robert Crosbie and leave.

Kind and knowledgeable bookseller

I still have a couple of hours to kill, so I take the road that follows society's southern border and merges into Besant road, which will take me to Elliot's beach. Along the road I talk to some kids and take their photos. I reach the beach at its north end, where a fisherman village is located and I proceed toward it. One fisherman was just returning from the see and, pointing to my camera, asked me where I was going. I realize that this was tsunami affected area and that he probably thinks that I want to take some misery pictures. We strike a conversation, but I don't understand much of what he is saying. At times he is very friendly, but at times he is furious. I pretend I am getting it and sympathizing with him, and hope for the best. I asked him to take a picture of him and he poses for a beautiful portrait. I take a few more pictures and we part. I go for a walk along the water and end up at the Beach Castle restaurant. After lunch, I go back to the Theosophical society and finally see the tree, which is really impressive, but there is not much else to see.

Fisherman

I saw an add in today's newspaper about a concert at a nearby college of arts, where South Indian traditional music and dance is thought, so I slowly start walking toward it, passing along the way through one of the nicest neighborhoods I've seen so far in Chennai, as well as a poor fisherman village. There are some westerners on one balcony. One of them greets me and invites me up for a drink. His name is Charles and there is five more people living in the house. They are all on one year contract here to teach English to employees of the rapidly growing call center industry. I have a beer with them and continue walking toward the college. After a few dead ends and a guard that doesn't speak English, I find my way in. The campus is huge and most of it looks like a wilderness area. When I finally reach the main cluster of buildings, nobody knows about the concert. A man that was walking around with his wife and daughter tries to help me and we start a conversation. He lived in the West for a while and we talk about differences between the cultures. He also tells me that he was dancing as a young boy, but when he wanted to pursue it farther, the master wouldn't take him as his student because he was from a lower caste. He adds how he is happy that his daughter doesn't have to face the same discrimination. I tell him how his story reminds me on a legend I read recently about a boy who wanted to learn skill of shooting with bow and arrow, but found himself in a similar situation. Then he built a doll of his master and practiced with it, pretending it's the master himself. That worked and after a while he became very skillful archer. The man new the story and told me that, after that the boy went to the master to thank him, because he felt that all the credit for his skill should go to the master. When master saw this, he requested from the boy to cut off his right hand tomb. Ouch! Good for my new acquaintance that he didn't build any dolls. I give up on the concert and go home.

Strange name for a battery shop