CHAPTER 2 : SECTION 1

Chapter 2 - Hippie Guru Meets Dr. Bunsen Honeydew and Beaker


We rolled down Jasmine to 170th enjoying the strange dichotomy of farm houses and Indian Vedic structures all surrounded by expansive fields of corn and soybean mono-crops. Fairfield Iowa seemed an unlikely place for me to find a school called The Maharishi School for the Age of Enlightenment let alone an entire town movement towards ancient eastern spiritual practices such as yoga and meditation, yet here I was surrounded by the typical American farm land and the atypical placement of various domed structures. We were on our way to the Rukmapura Park Hotel. If I was going to Fairfield, Iowa I would not be Best Western-ing it, oh no. I wanted to see a Brahmasthan for myself.


Pulling into the parking lot of the hotel and stepping out onto the gravel parking lot one could not help but notice the silence of the country. Birds twittered can I say almost zen like without sounding too cliche? The grand and expansive Rukmapura Hotel stood stately in front of us: our home for the next 3 days. The lobby, the Brahmasthan where all things lead to and come from, the open central point, was dim and absolutely quiet. Being used to the muzak or the lobby television blaring the local news in most hotels, it was an erie relief.


No one was at the front desk, they all go home at 5pm. How lovely European, I thought. I remembered being in Florence Italy when I was 19 years old and missing Michalangelo’s Statue of David because the Italians decided to close early that day. Seems as though my Vedic hosts thought the same way. Good for them. The line, “You Americans know no pleasure” from the book Eat Pray Love ran through my mind. Perhaps the Italians missed Fairfield on their latest visit.

An envelope awaited on the front desk with “Voller” printed on the outside and a single key on the inside. Not a card, a key. How homey. Of course if there was any peace to be had at the Rukmapura Hotel it was about to end. Enter in my two children.

The Brahmasthan with its fountain in the center became a favorite streaking circle for my kids. The two queen beds were appointed the trampolines in which my daughter would jump with a thud of non-three-year old proportions. The squeals, no screeches, of my son at the jubilation of being out of the car after 8 hours was matched by my daughter to create a chorus likened to dying bats. And it lasted for three days. I could only hope the other guests were well versed in their om’s.

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We dropped off the ridiculous number of bags one brings while traveling with two small children and hungrily headed into town. If I was going to be in the Vedic City, by Brahman, I was going to eat some Indian food.

“Will the kids eat Indian food?” asked my mother.

“They’ve had samosas.” I said. “Plus, I’ve put anything and everything on their plate since they were 6 months old, so why not?”

My mother always up for an adventure said, “Ok!”

We drove down Highway 1 passing giant grain mills that interestingly neighbored a Vedic office building and turned onto Broadway into the heart of Fairfield Iowa. Stores and shops skittered past: Every Body’s Whole Foods, Thymely Solutions and Natural Remedies, The Quantum Mechanic Then we saw India Cafe, boasting its lunch buffet. The restaurant had a no frills facade with plain red letters on a white background. With children and Indian, let me tell you there is nothing better than a buffet.

“Places like this always have the best foods.” I said.

My mom laughed, “That is so true!”

We parked right next to Central Park, a small but beautiful park right in the center of the city. We entered the restaurant and were greeted by a bulletin board of city announcements.

** SUSTAINABILITY POST CAFO MEETING (CAFO meaning Concentrated Animal Feeding Operation for those on the down low of foodie knowledge)
** VEDIC LITERATURE READING - THURSDAY NIGHTS AT THE LIBRARY
**INTERNATIONAL WOMAN’S CONFERENCE - INDIGINOUS GRANDMOTHER’S CALL TO WOMEN OF THE WORLD

Ah! Did I reach my Nirvana? In Iowa? Oh those gods are tricky. I snatched a plate and began to pile it high with rice, korma, golbi, riata and tandoori such and suchs. Both of my children happily ate the smorgasborg with the tumeric stained fingers to prove it. Children tend to be a nuisance to the term dining, but my children are quite versed in eating out by now with their traveling mother that they are blessed little masticators. (Sounds like I just called my kids dinosaurs.)

The townspeople that frequented the cafe were a wonderful combination of white pony tailed men with kind, intense eyes, mixed with casual families, and groups of warm hearted friends that cooed over my very cute son. All in all the people felt mellow, intelligent and well, honestly, aware.

On my way out another bulletin board notice caught my eye.
3 BEDROOM, 2 BATH HOUSE FOR RENT - 790.
Hmmmm.....