The Monks of New Skete look like designer beings. The kind Bono had in mind when he said that he could never be called a man of the cloth, unless it was leather. The styling that Sean Connery had in Rising Sun, all decked out in Armani. Look at their book jacket and see these dudes, captured against a sea of green. Monk’s robes in earth colors, fabric that drapes like a dream, a well composed picture with character and movement. The height of cool. Totally befitting people who have sold millions of copies of their books on dog training.
We saw an ad for Little Lotus Hearts in a dog magazine, and were entranced with the idea. A Buddhist monastery in upstate New York – an opportunity to get Yoda blessed by a monk, a little driving adventure for us – what more could we ask for? For some reason, we were convinced that the monks of New Skete were either part of or next door to the monastery. We called, spoke to Ani Kunga who is a wonderfully benign nun with the most soothing voice I have heard in a long time, and got directions to feed into our GPS.
The directions were easy enough – Walden is the the next exit after Harriman, our favouritest place of them all – home to Woodbury Commons – the premium outlet mall that now attracts global tourists by the bus load. So, our pursuit for Buddhist bliss had the frisson of being next door to a source of guaranteed bliss – big time retail therapy at a discount.
We got there shortly after prayers had begun. The Lama Gyaltsen has the most wonderful sonorous voice, and he led the prayers with great energy and gusto. The chanting was in Tibetan and Chinese, with an English translation declaimed by a young Tibetan novitiate with a very East Coast accent.
We settled down at the back, the helpers saw us struggle with the Lotus position and got us chairs to sit on ( bless their souls forever). Every time the gongs were struck, Yoda poked his head out of his bag, causing a few of the worshippers to smile.
In Hindu pujas, the food that is to be served is offered to the Gods as ‘Neyveidya’, before it is given to the celebrants. We have been used to the Neyveidya being brought out on a silver or stainless steel platter, delicious goodies that have been cooked in pure ghee, a feast for the taste buds and catastrophe for cholesterol. The young assistant brought out Neyveidya Upstate New York style - a couple of bottles of Schweppes Ginger Ale, Tropicana Orange Juice, a basket heaped with fruit, and a huge big gift box of biscotti and Ferrero Rocher chocolate.
We wont deny it – we are very shallow people. It was obvious that we would have to make an excuse if we were invited to stay for lunch. Just one exit away was Applebee’s with ribs gleaming in their special sauce. No contest.
When the prayers were over, the Lama came over and spoke to us with great warmth and kindness. We showed him Yoda and requested a blessing. He picked him up and cuddled him in his arms, chanted a beautiful verse in Tibetan, patted him lovingly and gave him back to us.
We saw the plans for the new monastery and looked at the foundations that had already been laid. It will be a beautiful structure, set in serene surroundings and we made our small contribution to the building fund.
We were graciously invited to lunch, Mina looked at the lama and said that we were fasting that day. He twinkled back at us, fully aware that he we had ribs on our mind, and the white lie passed into the ether.
As we drove out, we had one question – where were the monks of Skete? Where were the dogs being trained? Had we totally screwed the pooch? Thank God that we had not dragooned any of our friends with the promise of a thrilling canine experience.
One look at the Little Lotus Hearts website again and all was clear. The monks were on a linked site, and New Skete was miles away from Walden. They had nothing to do with the monastery, except in their philosophy of being. And what a philosophy. The question ‘ what does it mean to be man’ led the to ‘what does it mean to be dog’. A way of life, a thriving dog breeding business, three best selling books – nirvana with a cold nose.
Over a crisp glass of Pinot Grigio and a bountiful platter or ribs we made a resolution. On our next trip to the US we would take Yoda to new Skete. Maybe they have T shirts with monks in hooded profile. Maybe I could buy a cassock and stride down the streets of Manhattan looking very cool, and just a little menacing.
Aug 08, 2009 | | Book
What kind of people go to bood readings and signings? I go, despite all the rejection slips that keep coming in, because I know that one day I too will be on a book tour, and people will line up to shake hands with Yoda. The audacity of hope!
We were seated in a Barnes and Noble in an absolute fever. Lee Child was going to be there, kicking off his 11th book.
Yoda in tow, we got there thirty minutes ahead of time, staked out our claim to prime seats and I scurried off to the Starbucks for my hit of decaf cap, and a hot choc for Mina. Next stop the sales counter, to pick up a brand new hardcover, ready for signing. Fully prepped, we sat back and took stock of the room.
The space was filling up with retired people. Half of them probably belonged to reading clubs. Some creaky bones, a couple of walking sticks, lots of solicitous ‘ are you okay dear’, ‘ can I get you something’, and a couple of testy ‘I’m fine, just leave me alones’. Book cred was also on display. ‘I’ve read all his books’,’I heard him last year, and he’s very funny’,‘Are you going to the De Lillo reading?’
Big question? What constitutes a prime seat at a signing? An earnest young book person made it clear. ‘If you want to get your book signed, please sit on this side’. A mad rush to the choice rows – this is how those ferries in Europe or the Bay of Bengal capsize. She then came around with Post Its, and wrote down how we wanted the signing personalized. All very industrial and production line.
Yoda decided to make his presence felt, and instantly got his due. I guess book readers who attend signings are also 100% dog owners. None of the usual frivolous queries about grooming, meds or food. There was a Zen-like dedication to his hisness - his essential poochness, and some loving tickling. Yoda always inspires the ‘I wish I’d brought my dog along’ reaction. Never fails.
The second wave of booklovers hit. Young busy looking people, who looked like they had just finished solving some of the world’s problems. Some rolling of eyes as they realized that all the good seats were taken. They did the NYC theater shuffle, vigorous stepping over feet, insincere apologies mumbled as they headed for the lone seat in the centre of the aisle.
Two slightly burly guys walked in, toting bags laden with books. Ah, the indie bookseller contingent. Someone had saved seats for them at the front of the signing row, and our hearts sank. At least forty books would have to be signed before anyone else got a look in. A scruffy fellow marched up with a bag full of Lee Child paperbacks – ‘I bet he’s going to sell them on E Bay’ muttered in not so sotto voce.
We were set, Lee Child marched up on time, and was charming, witty, and very very Brit. He fessed up to the usual writer’s anxiety – ‘What if the first 11 books were just a fluke?’ After a very clever reading – he took some of the dialogue and converted it into a ten second TV commercial for the book – he answered questions with flair.
We took Yoda up to him, got the raised eyebrow, exchanged some India conversation – his British agent knew the Gandhi family – and walked home clutching our freshly signed book, squabbling over who would get first dibs at reading it.
Quick cut to CUNY and a New York Times panel discussion. ‘Do we obsess to much over our dogs?’ Duh. Of course. Why else have a dog? Isn’t that the whole point? I believe that a famous Think Tank once spent some serious money and time exploring the question ‘How much is enough?’ Duh again. Remember the old graffiti ‘Wanking is not a town in China’?
We snuck Yoda in, camouflaged in his carrying case. Our fellow audience members gave us the wink and nod- they knew what was going on. I was in fear of the Uni police coming up and ejecting me from my $ 22 seat, but I needn’t have worried. The four panelists walked in, each with a dog in tow, and the afternoon was off to a great start. We let Yoda out of his case, he found a friendly group of people further along the row, curled up at their feet, and went to sleep.
Yes, we do obsess over our dogs. No, there was nothing wrong with that. The discussion was about to degenerate into a Doggy-Kumbaya set of platitudes. Then Claudia – Editor of bark magazine and creator of ‘Dog is my Co-Pilot’ took off against Cesar Millan the Dog Whisperer. ‘He has single handedly set back Animal Training by 50 years’. Wow. It’s not often that you see people on a public platform haul back and deliver the sleeve in the windpipe, but she did, and unleashed a floodgate. For a few minutes there was a distinct anti-Cesar vibe in the room. Vets and behaviorists weighed in, and you really had the sense the Poor Cesar would have been tarred, feathered and ridden out of town on a rail had he been there. Ever since I read Huck Finn, I’ve always wanted to use that phrase.
William Wegman who produces abominable photographs of dogs in ridiculous poses – and has created quite a niche market for himself- showed us some slides. It’s an insult to a dog to show him mugging with a saxophone, or dressed in Victorian frills. Some people dig his stuff, and a couple in front of us proudly spoke of their Wegman collection. They were quite anxious to let me know how much they had paid for their trove.
As we left, I wondered whether Yoda was getting just too much of an eddication. He is a sentient being alright, but is all this input likely to blow his synapses? No fears. He has the ability that I envy deeply, to just turn over, go humph, and fall asleep. If there’s a subliminal process taking place, I hope that he’s picking up pointers on how to conduct himself at a reading. It’s coming Yodie, our moment in the sun is coming.
Aug 05, 2009 | | Book
‘Give your husband the 50 mill he’s asking for. You can afford it-just make the whole thing go away’. ‘Do you think I’m nuts-that’s a lot of money’. ‘Go on, do it- it’s a beautiful day’.
Ah, the joys of the overheard conversation, specially the Mad Avenue ones that are meant to be overheard. It was a beautiful day, spring had sprung, and the sidewalk cafes had put their tables out on the street. Yoda Time! The Food Inspectors’ rules don’t apply outside the restaurant – so we could take Yoda eating with us.
There were five tables out, four were taken, and we nabbed the last one. Yoda’s stroller was given to the hat check person, his bowl of water and kibble were set down under our table, and then we had time to take in our neighbors.
First, he of the 50 mill advice. A mover and shaker par excellence. The evidence largely rested on his cuff links – diamond studded with the initials HS (I think) glittering away. Secondary evidence – the obligatory blonde who was crunching on her salad and water. But above all, the cell phone constantly in motion as he dispensed koans. ‘The deal will only come together in January, so don’t spoil your summer thinking about it’.
His King Charles Cavalier sauntered over to Yoda’s water bowl and slaked his thirst. From under other tables, dogs emerged. Soon there were five dogs partaking with great gusto and amity. The watering hole scene from the Lion King! Yoda played the gracious host, making space for his guests, and watched over them with great panache. Water refills were ordered, and we turned our eye to the wine list. Natch, an afternoon like this would be incomplete without a libation.
An then, I had my ‘ Gotcha’ moment. Seated on our row, but at the far end, strategically positioned by the door was Munch. Not he of the Scream, but of Law and Order. I have discovered long ago that it is safe and not at all infra dig to fess up to a Law and Order addiction. The best folks in the world are in thrall to the Doink Doink sound. Munch – he of the saturnine face, the black shades and messenger bag- he of the multiple sightings so far all on the Upper West Side, was ensconced dog in tow, wine glass in hand just three tables away.
Mina has High/Low instincts. ‘Why don’t you get a picture of me and Munch?’ I prefer to take the blase approach to celebrity sightings, mostly from a fear of rejection. ‘Naah-I can’t just go up to him and bug him for a picture’. And that is where the whole matter rested, for a while. But good white wine has a way of loosening inhibitions. Soon I was filled with a ‘why not’ state of mind. And so I stepped up, and asked if we could take a picture.
‘Do it suddenly, and do it fast’. I have never heard instructions delivered with such crispness and clarity. Wow. Was this extempore, or had it been scripted by an agent? Do words like these just trip lightly off the tongue, or are they part of a thespian’s repertoire? Is this what they they teach you in Method School? Stanislavski Zindabad!
I scurried back to Mina, telegraphed the instructions, she picked up Yoda and went over to Munch, and they had a long natter. His dog is called Bebe. Purebred American Mutt who made nice to Yoda, while I tried to find the decisive moment. We now have two good pictures, one iffy one, and a great story.
Deed done, we got back to our tables, filled with the frisson of having gone where no man had gone before. Mr Cufflinks had just sent back his lunch – he had ordered 3 portions of the same saled, but he wanted them all on one plate. They were brought back re-plated, with gold plated apologies that he graciously accepted. He then offered one big artichoke heart to the blonde, and proceeded to chow down on the rest.
All good afternoons must come to an end. On our way home, we drove past Mr Cufflinks headed back to work, King Charles in tow. We waved out, but didn’t catch his eye. One day, someone will advise us to give someone 50 mill just to make something go away.
One day, but not today.
Aug 04, 2009 | | Book
Chinese are not the only revisionists in town. Maureen Dowd reflects back with affection at the reign of Bush Sr, and Nixon has taken the world by storm on stage and in the theatres – anything is possible with the passage of time.
Idi Amin underwent his own revisionist revival, with a movie that won Forrest Whittaker his Oscar. Am amazing turn of events – there was a time when Idi Amin and Hitler were synonymous. But then, c’est la vie. Tyrants who die in exile seem to morph into teddy bears.
Amin did have a sense of humor though. He used to be carried into events on a palanquin, borne by white men with strong muscles, and even stronger survival instinct, and perhaps a few good oil concessions in their pockets. “White man’s burden” he called it. Ho, ho, ho…
We were in Cordoba, and living in a hotel right in the heart of the old city, inside the walls by the Juderia. Cobbled stones and Mina’s feet don’t always agree, so I got the brain wave of a ride in a horse carriage. There were many hansom cabs parked outside the gates, you could locate them by their smell, and I negotiated a ride at a larcenous price. The only consolation in such cases is knowing that everyone else is also being taken – I made sure to overhear the negotiations of the family right behind us.
So, off we went, Yoda in hand, safely ensconced in his carrying case. The horse took off, and Yoda sat right up, looking out with his tongue handing out. We got the usual looks from locals and tourists alike – a dog riding a horse carriage – what will they think of next? But we were too caught up looking at the houses, and into the patios to bother.
The carriage stopped outside the Manolete museum/mausoleum. He is buried in there, and the bull that sent him off has been skinned and mounted on the wall. A cautionary tale for bulls all over: if you manage to gore the greatest bull fighter of all time, expect no thanks.
After a while Yoda began to shiver and then get restless, and it was quite a tussle keeping him in the bag. I don’t know if it was the noise of the horse’s feet, or the rattling of the carriage on the stones, or just the unusual experience of being in a horse carriage. Mina and I exchanged our “this is a huge mistake” looks. But, we were trapped. Too far away from our hotel to get out and walk back, and too deep into the cab-free by lanes of the old city to even think of finding a ride back to the hotel. We gritted our teeth, hugged Yoda, and whispered what we hoped were soothing reassurances into his ear. Its okay Yodie, it’s only a few minutes more, we’re almost there, don’t worry bebop – but he was not to be consoled.
When we got off the carriage I don’t know who snorted more loudly – the horse in indignation when he realized that he had been ferrying a dog, or Yoda. He gave us the never again look, and raced off to the hotel. I ran behind him sure I was going to break a leg, or at least an ankle. Serves you right would have been Yoda’s reaction.
We’re obviously suckers for punishment. We took Yoda on the TGV from Lyons to Paris. An enormous distance, that took just two hours. Once again, this was a bad idea. As the train lurched around the first bend and took off, Yoda got upset and stayed that way till we got to Paris. When we got off the train, Yoda was in no mood to lap up the admiration that he always generates from the French. Once again, we had let him down.
We have now learned our lesson. We know for sure that there are only three forms of transportation that meet with our boy’s approval. He is fine with planes, especially after take off. He seems to prefer the 747, as indeed we do. Far more spacious, with plenty of room for him to spread out and enjoy the ride.
He is also fine with well sprung and well air conditioned cars. He would rather have the entire back seat to himself, but he is willing to grudgingly accommodate some of Mina’s shopping bags, or her handbag. He knows who the boss is, and how far she can be pushed.
But his best ride is his carrying case. He sticks his head out of the bag, stands with his front paws on the side, takes in the sights and smells, and lets the wind push his hair back in total Red Baron style. It’s got to be uncomfortable by human standards – the case is always in motion, being swung gently from front to back and sometimes from side to side. I think that he likes the idea of getting more than a dog’s eye view of the world. He is no longer on he ground, looking at people’s feet, dodging puddles and potholes, and making sure he does not get trampled. He is now at knee level, and can make eye contact as he looks up. He is more than just a four legged creature to be looked down at. He has his own rather elegant transportation. He has his elevation.
And most important, he has his faithful carrier. Moi. Idi Amin could not have done better.
Aug 03, 2009 | | Book
