Rhythm of simple living

The rhythm of my life is the rhythm of my daily routine. I walk to and from my tabla classes along a dirt path, past the back and front yards of Aranmula villagers, and past gardens of banana trees and coconut trees. Some houses would not look too out of place in Australia (maybe Darwin) reflecting money in the family, perhaps because a relative or family member is working somewhere in the Persian Gulf and sending money home. Other houses are very very simple, the kind we might expect in an Indian village. I walk past free range chickens and cows. Of course there are kids who call out "What is your name?" even if I've already told them. One boy yesterday was wearing a Harry Potter t-shirt. I smile at men and women who are walking past, and almost always get a smile in return. A woman in a bright sari stands at the fence of her neighbour, chatting. In one front yard a man in a dhoti is washing himself, sluicing water over himself as he washes off the soap. A motorbike drives past me on the dusty little lane. I look up at the huge leaves that surround me - so much beautiful greenery. And at night the sky can be magnificent. Later I walk on the main road that disects Aranmula - here the traffic can be heavy and dangerous, and crazy drivers of buses, cars, trucks and rickshaws try to pass each other on the wrong side of the road as they charge through the village. I choose to walk close to the autorickshaw stand because I've been making friends with the drivers - a smile, a mimed joke. I enjoy the fruits of this as rickshaw drivers now wave at me as they drive past. I walk past the barber shop and the barber waves at me. I walk past the tailor shop and he also waves. I've made a miming connection with a group of Tamil guys who must be very poor and work with very heavy labour as a demolition crew. I wave and smile at them. One small shop is the "coffee shop" - where VKV students and Aranmula locals alike buy a glass of hot sweet coffee and sit on the porch watching the traffic go by. I know there's only a surface level to all of this, and at a deeper level I am and always will be a foreigner, but I enjoy feelings of belonging here.
And then I delight in being surrounded by artists who are amazing in their creative fields. My teachers - Subhash and Ashok are both masters. My friend Santosh, the singing teacher, is a master. I've recently been getting to know the painting teacher, Anil, who is also a master.
So I have the great fortune as a rich westerner to be here and have lessons in percussion. I heard a hippie-style philosophy conversation amongst some of the students the other day, claiming that we must have good karma from a previous life to be able to afford be here, and so we should not waste the opportunity. I intensely dislike this kind of quasi Eastern thinking, but I do appreciate that I am very lucky and I am very grateful that I have the opportunity, and no I don't want to waste it. If I could finance myself, I could imagine doing this for 12 months, just staying here, continuing to learn music (or maybe I'm getting caught up in the romanticism of the moment) Selfish? Probably. But it is true that I'm happy. Of course I have waves of sadness and anxiety etc, but I am happy more consistantly than I have been for a long time. I'm not sure how this will translate when I return to Australia in 3 weeks' time. We'll see.