The Unfortunate Case of Buddha and the Bad Karma

Eventually, there comes a point in every self-respecting woman's life where she must be punished for succumbing to the lures of what shall henceforth be known as "Buddha envy".....

Buddha envy entered my life one bleak Sunday afternoon in a yoga studio in North West London. To be truthful, I'd never given the Buddha an enormous amount of thought before, but since I'd booked the flight to Thailand I'd found myself ever more captivated by the glamour and promise of all things Eastern. We came face to face after class, I staggering into the toilet cubicle, sweaty, dishevelled, yogically exhausted, whilst he stared serenely back at me from his superior position on top of the cistern. The minute I clapped eyes on his beautiful, glass carved form, blinking in the reflection of the candlelights that surrounded him, zen-like in his composure, I knew I was taking him with me.

The small matter of the sticker on the bottom of him that read "Please don't steal me, it's bad karma" did not bother me in the slightest. After all, I was only borrowing him....wasn't I?

Back at the flat, my accomplice in holiday crime has a dark shadow passing across her face. "You did what?" she says incredulously, as I pull him triumphantly from my bag. I patiently try to explain. He's a Buddha, he's coming to the Mother Land with us, just for a break, eventually he'll go back to the studio and no one will be any the wiser, it'll be fine. "Oh good fucking lord!", she shrieks. "Have you no idea what could happen? The plane will crash, we'll die! Someone will plant drugs on us, we'll end up staying in the Bangkok Hilton!"

"Don't be ridiculous" I retort. And for good measure I add these famous last words "There's no such thing as bad karma".

The problem is she's really freaked out, so not wanting to run the risk of becoming inadvertently responsible for her death or incarceration, I leave the Buddha behind. I'm relatively grateful for this once I discover on leaving Thailand, that it is a a criminal offence to export Buddha or any image of the Buddha, punishable probably by death. We return home without incident.

On our return, the single cry of "when are you taking the Buddha back?" grows in number and intensity until my ears bleed. I am the only soul in the world who does not have a problem with "stealing" a Buddha. My birthday arrives. My gift from the girls is a breathtakingly beautiful reclining silver Buddha statue, oxidised in all the right places, deliciously antique looking, but it comes with a condition. I must return the other Buddha immediately. I take my new Buddha home and lovingly place it in my house next to the borrowed glass Buddha and then head off to flatsit for a friend for a week in South London. If I don't go, the cats will starve. Surely I can take the Buddha back next week. After all, what's another week?

And here, to be frank, is where the trouble really began. From the minute those two Buddha's were in my living room, unattended, vying for power, demanding retribution and the immediate repayment of my karmic debt in a most unbuddhist way, there was no rest for me! My diary that week reads as follows:

Monday: Staggered around a bit in the dark and unfamilar surroundings of E's bedroom tonight, trying to find the lamp switch. Found it, but not before I'd smashed the lamp. Bugger! She knows I'm clumsy, but this is not a good start....

Tuesday: Iron beautiful, brand new, purple wrap shirt, really looking forward to wearing it for the first time tomorrow. A catfight breaks out near the back door. I rush to break up the fight. Return to find triangle iron shaped burn in shirt. It's ruined! Oh god...I'm so sad.

Wednesday: Hair was greasy today. Damn I've forgotton to bring my "John Frieda For Blondes" shampoo. Rooted around in E's bathroom, found some Aveda Black Malva for brunettes. It looks like tar. I'm sure it'll be fine. 15 minutes later, and OH......MY......GOD, MY HAIR HAS TURNED GREEN!!!! I thought this only happened in swimming pools? I'm bewildered. I call a friend for sympathy, but she laughs herself stupid, her parting words of comfort being "Go to bed you luscious brunette, and try not to worry!". She forgets I'm not a brunette, I'm a Martian. Start to realise the week is turning out rather badly.

Thursday: Absolutely everybody at work laughed at my hair today. Stomped out to the shops at lunchtime in a giant sulk to purchase a headscarf. Returned home, decided to cook comfort food. Roasted butternut squash in E's brand new and unused porcelain roasting tin, which splits clean in half as I take it from the oven. Oh dear....this is terrible. What on earth is going on?!

Friday: Today there was a free seat on the tube! Wondered why no-one else seemed keen to take it, normally you get knocked over in the scrum. Sit in peaceful meditation. Tomorrow is Saturday and I'm going to get my hair put right, what a relief. The headscarf is not a good look for me. God my legs feel damp, even through this winter coat. On the escalators at my stop I realise I must do the one thing I don't want to do. There is a horrified realisation dawning upon me. I must check. Place hand gingerly on damp legs, raise hand to nose. OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I AM SOAKED IN TRAMP'S PISS!!!!!!!!!! The only silver lining to this cloud is that the dry cleaner on High Holborn is holding another of my suits. It's also clean. I sprint in and change. They can't stop laughing and callously charge me double to dry clean my coat by lunchtime so I can wear it to a meeting in the afternoon. Capitalist bastards!

Saturday: On way to appointment at the hairdressers I drop into K's flat to check on her cats/post/security. All is well. I turn to leave, hoisting my bag to my shoulder and spin round to open the front door. The sound of her most sentimental picture frame, (given to her by one of her most cherished friends), smashing to the floor as it catches on my bag, rings in my ears behind me.

I am beside myself...there is clearly something very wrong in my world. Could there be such a thing as bad karma after all? Clearly, it's a risk I can no longer continue to take. I spend all afternoon shopping for replacement items and "sorry" presents, which I place strategically alongside notes of abject apology in the respective flats.

Sunday: I decide that perhaps I have laughed too long and hard in the face of Karma and Karma has opted to kick me in the arse, hard! I pick 5pm yoga class to attend and I finally return the Buddha...

Rather spookily, calms reigns supreme once more.

Let this be a lesson to you all!



© 2009 The Modern Girl