Contradictions

The whole sidewalk and brick wall behind it were so wet it looked like it has rained. It was all urine and the stench was unbearable. I hate India. I jump on a crowded bus and, in typical Rosa Parks fashion, the conductor asks someone to give me his seat. The man happily agrees (not so Rosa-esque). I love India. I look at a motionless dog on the side of the road, then look closer and realize the pile of red beside him used to be inside him. I hate India. I ask a young woman to help me catch the right bus back to Gurgaon during a Delhi rush hour. She leads me excitedly and buys my bus ticket. I love India. At a famous lotus-shaped temple in Delhi, tourists stand in a line (yes, a line!) to go through it and see the amazing architecture. Before reaching the doors, people are pushing, shoving, and jostling the person in front of them. How can line-forming be so difficult? Volunteers ask us all to be silent when inside. This has no effect. People shout to one another, talk, and run through the aisles. I hate India. My host family greets me with warm smiles, eager ears to hear about my day, tea, and dinner when I reach home. I love India. I have to carry a used tissue around with me for hours while I walk through piles of garbage because there aren't any public trash cans. I hate India. The woman I am staying with takes me for a movie, lunch, and ice cream. She says it's all "her treat." This is only after taking me to dinner the night before, doing my laundry, and practically adopting me as a niece. I LOVE India!

I had read so much about India being a land of contradictions, but never beleived it could be this intense. I am about to head out to the malls for window-shopping and carol-singing. To get there, I will walk out of the spotless central courtyard and parking lot of the apartment complex, through a trash pile as I cross the street, around piles of cow, dog, and human waste to the mall parking lot, and again across sparkling clean pavement into the building. India has been called an "assault on the senses" and that is nothing short of the truth.

Steps Back in Time

I mentioned in the last post about feeling like I had gone back in time. I find this happening quite often. Just a few weeks ago I read a newspaper article about the controversy over advertising aimed at woman. The author questioned a man and a woman on the subject. The man said it wasn't right for companies to advertise directly to women. The women proudly said she made most purchases under 1000 rupees (21 dollars)without consulting her husband. In the States we don't think twice about gender-specific advertising. Things like Ford truck commercials during the Superbowl and Tupperware ads in Martha Stewart obviously have different markets. Who would even question that? Plus, if gender-specific advertising didn't work, it wouldn't be so prevalent. The slogan for a new scooter which states, "why should boys have all the fun?" and shows a smiling woman on a pink two-wheeler sparked this article. This wasn't the only time I felt like I was in fifties America.
Indians of similar social classes lead parallel lives. That is a huge sweeping generalization and is wrong in many cases, but right in most. In the States, if you go to a friend's house and she has the same glasses, serving utensils, or storage containers as you, it is an odd coincidence and a rarity. Here, it's the norm. The apartment where I am now (which I love, by the way- who wouldn't?) has the same silverware as the shabby apartment where I stayed in Chennai. Both orphanages and the meditation center had the same plates. Every house I have been to has the same twist-top insulated container for keeping food warm. The meditation center and the Pranic Healing Home have all the same pots and pans, serve the food with the same ladles/ rice scoops, and store the food in the same way. It's like everyone in India shops at the same store. I am again imagining the fifties when Sears was the place to shop and consumerism wasn't a big deal yet.
Another thing I like to think about is the number of people in India who are eating the same thing for dinner. In the north, I see many more choices, especially where I am in Haryana because there is Mughlai, Punjabi, and Rajasthani influence. In the south, however, you've got your sambar, your rasam, and lots of rice. I am exaggerating, of course, but I do wonder how many people in the States eat the same thing for dinner on any given weeknight, too.
The predictability of life here scares my American all-options-are-open mindset. I look at groups of schoolchildren and imagine just how they will be in 10-20 years. I wonder if that predictability feels comforting or confining. Maybe both.

The Holiday Spirit

Hello all! I hope you are enjoying flipping through red and green magazine pages stuffed with cookie recipes, hearing those catchy Christmas tunes over and over, and not going anywhere without seeing a pine garland and lights. I haven't been experiencing too many of these things, in fact, the only sign of Christmas I had seen up to today was a street vendor wearing a pointy red and white felt hat. I'm not sure he was even aware of the holiday connection. He may have only been wearing it to keep warm. It does get pretty chilly here- especially at night.
I have made the switch from sleeping in the spare bedroom of the orphanage to living like a queen in the sixth-story apartment of a Western-style Indian family (the bathrooms come complete with toilet paper). I took the early bus from Jaipur to Delhi on Thursday. I told the conductor I needed to go to Girgaon- a satellite city about 30 km southwest of Delhi's center. The bus slowed down and threw me and my luggage off on the side of a dusty highway. I was swamped by cycle rickshaw drivers smacking the seats of their vehicle as a demanding invitation to sit down. The conductor said (translated through my new multilingual friend I was lucky enough to sit next to on the five-hour drive through the desert) my final destination was an hour's drive from where the bus was dropping me. I figured I would grab an auto at the bus stand, but ran out of ideas when I was let off. I repeated the address over and over, but only received puzzled looks and more seat-smacking. Not about to turn an hour's drive into the entire afternoon, I ignored the cycle rickshaws after receiving blank stares when I yelled, "does anyone here speak English?!"
Finally, there came a blessing in black eyeliner. A heavily-makeuped woman was passing and I desperately asked her for help. She put me in a cycle rickshaw, told me the price, said something to the driver, and was off just like she came- in a cloud of dust from the street. I was too thankful, especially after learning that the apartment was actually in walking distance from where I was. The poor driver didn't know what he was getting himself into. He was five inches shorter and half my weight peddling me, and my three bags uphill. I gave him more than double what he asked, especially because he had trouble finding the place.
I was greeted with a tray of tea and cookies by a guy I mistook for being a family member. Turns out, he is the servant who has been cleaning my room and cooking my meals everyday. The family is out of town (returning this afternoon), so I have been here alone.
Yesterday I had another adventure getting to Delhi for some sightseeing. The buses that supposedly come every five minutes showed up once in a half an hour filled to the brim with bodies. Luckily, I met a college girl also headed to Delhi, who threw me into a share cab as it slowed near us. It dropped us in South Delhi, so I took a not-so-crowded bus to Old Delhi to hit the major tourist spots. I saw the Red Fort (a lot like the Agra Fort- big, ornate, and utterly majestic) and Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India. There were prayers going on, so foreigners couldn't enter, but I got to see hundreds standing up and kneeling down in unison to a croaking voice blaring from the speaker system. On accident, I found the nice part of Delhi, where well-to-do Delhites dress in Indo-Western fashions, shop at expensive stores, and eat at funky cafes. I grabbed a paneer tikka roll at a back-alley barbecue stall and had delicious dessert at one of these cafes. I was seated with another American woman teaching in Punjab who was indulging in real cheese after going months without it. We spoke about our experiences in the country- mine in the south and hers in the north. She is living in Amritsar, famous for its large Golden Temple and conglomeration of Sikhs who pray there. I want to visit this place and may do so in my last few weeks here.
Getting home from Delhi was relatively easy. Prakash, the servant, made me a great home-cooked meal and I read myself to sleep.
This morning I decided to see Gurgaon, which consists of a busy main road stacked with fancy apartment complexes, spaceship-like malls, and numerous cinemas. Unlike Chennai, Delhi, Kerala, or any other part of India I have seen, Gurgaon's streets are mostly filled with personal cars, not auto-rickshaws or gas-guzzling Ambassador monsters. It seems like people get around by driving themselves, or taking cycle-rickshaw for short distances.
Walking around mall number 1 was very strange. Tim McGraw twanged in the background about his lover at Christmastime while I peered into shops selling beautiful pashmina scarves and sari material. Young urbanites in "this is only cool in India-" style Western clothes speaking rapid Hinglish (Hindi-English) on their cell phones sipped mocha frappes and loitered around the fake Christmas tree in the lobby. I wandered past the fifty-three people cleaning the already-spotless floors in a confused state. Once again, I felt like I had gone back in time. In this case, I was in a land where shopping malls were the new, cool thing, and every part of them from the food court to the Christmas carols were a novelty. Malls number 2, 3, and 4 were just the same. I caught myself singing aloud to "I caught mommy kissing Santa Claus" in the bookstore. Oddly enough, as my voice rose, they changed the song right in the middle to one I didn't recognize. Hmm.
Gurgaon is really a hyper-modern metropolis with all the latest fads. I asked Amrita, the girl who helped me get to Delhi, about the good restaurants here. She replied, "we really like McDonald's and Pizza Hut." I cringed.

Kerala

BUDDHA!!!

So here is what I have been up to recently: I was going to LIFE every evening and loving it. The kids were great, though hyperactive at times (to be expected), so I calmed them by telling long stories and explaining multiplication of fractions (which had immediate results on the hyperactivity).

Then, my Mom and sis showed up at the airport at 2 in the morning and we had a blast romping through the hot and humid south. We spent four days in Kerala, India’s southwestern-most state, eating fish curry and relaxing to the sounds of birds and sights of boats. Kerala is basically Tamil Nadu with the grand addition of beautiful backwaters, tons of coconuts, and the highest rate of literacy in the country. I had a fabulous time venturing to another part of the south and found it difficult to leave the lush, tropical, backwater backdrop for the madness of Chennai. But, we pulled ourselves away and soon headed to Pondicherry (with the mandatory stop in Auroville- who doesn’t love a little utopia every once in a while?) for some French-flavored fun in the quiet “ville blanche (white town)” near the beach. Mom and I took an evening stroll after a calm day only to stumble upon a hectic temple scene. Being a temple for the Lord Ganesh, there was an elephant out front who looked a bit agitated at the chaos around him. In the evenings, temples get revved-up with vendors shouting the prices of their goods (usually traditional flowers all for the same price) and families pushing to get inside. This was all of that and more. The poor guy was stamping his feet and waving his ears, yet stayed in his place near the temple entrance without any ropes or chains holding him down. I was totally fascinated, as it was the first time I had seen one up close (too close, maybe). Vendors around me sold bundles of grass for him, which he would kindly take, in return for a tap on the head. Oddly enough, this elephant also liked coins, so I dropped a few into his nostrils and he lifted his large trunk and blessed me on the head. It was the first real experience I’ve had with Hinduism and an elephant so it was momentous! An hour later, Dumbo had retired so (all jokes aside) my sister was left unblessed. The next day was a serene Sunday spent driving back to Chennai along the beach road with a stop in Mamallapuram. We checked out the stone carvings and rock temples, and strolled the streets lined with the “come, madam, just have a look” shopkeepers. With one last stop at Marina Beach in Chennai where we watched Indian families enjoying one of three activities: balloon-popping, kicking a ball, or sitting, we arrived at home and went to bed early. On their last day in town, Vidya (my friend from Pranic Healing) had us over for a large lunch and mild picture-taking. They left late at night and I was alone. I bid farewell to the kids the next day, leaving one in tears and the rest with tired hands from waving goodbye from the gate as I walked away. It was quite cute and I miss them already. I flew to Delhi the next day, almost choking when I took my first breath outside. The city may look nicer than Chennai with all the parks and grass, but it doesn’t taste any nicer! I saw the Taj Mahal and Agra Fort the next day. Both were lovely, but Agra was not. The next morning I took a strange bus ride to Jaipur, Rajasthan and was dropped on the side of the road at a rickshaw who, thankfully, took me to my pleasant hotel where I remained for most of that day, attempting to avoid aggressive selling tactics like I experienced in Agra. I did manage to get out and buy a scarf which was incredibly useful in the frigid mountains 20 km east of the city where I spent the next 11 days. That night I went to this famous resort which claims to be an authentic Rajasthani experience. I doubted that much, seeing as it was in the Lonely Planet guide and doubled as a five-star hotel. Nonetheless, all the Rajasthanis I have talked to love it and it seems to be the cool thing to do for Indian families on a casual weekend evening. It is around $5.50 for a pass which gets you into the circus of performers and a full dinner in the amazinf mud-walled dining room. Acts included children spinning on poles, contortionists bending in acute angles, a woman dancing on broken glass balancing seven pots on her head, a magician, a palmist, a fortune-teller, and a metal-worker. I rode a camel and an elephant (not at the same time) and stuffed myself on a full vegetarian Rajasthani feast. It was fabulous, enchanting, creepy, and magical all at the same time. At the end of each act (all the performers have their own small stage and people just wander from place to place) the dancers stand at the front of the stage looking longingly at the dissipating audience for tips, which I found disheartening. It also made it very awkward if I didn’t give a tip and just walked away. That was the only strange part of the experience. It really was the circus, though. The contortionists had a baby and a toddler sleeping at one end of their platform and while one wasn’t performing, she would rock the baby’s crib. It was a weird and lovely place.

I arrived at Dhammathali Vipassana Centre around lunchtime, and spoke with a few very interesting backpackers who were seeking a change of pace and relaxation. I had signed up for this ten-day meditation course about a month ago and had no idea what I was getting myself into. Here is a shortened version of the Code of Discipline for the full ten days:
1. No communication whatsoever with anyone but the teacher. Don’t even acknowledge those around you.
2. No writing, reading, or exercising of any sort (except walking).
3. No intoxicants or sexual misconduct.

That wasn’t too bad. I knew this before I came but had no idea what to do with myself during breaks. Here was the schedule:
4 AM: rise and shine!
4:30-6:30: drift in and out of sleep in the main hall while I’m supposed to be meditating
6:30-8: breakfast, followed by lingering around watching playful monkeys hit each other
8-11: listening to odd sounds of stomach from strange breakfast food while meditating 11-1: lunch and peacock-chasing (walking, of course)
1-5: daydreaming about sumptious treats I will devour when I return to the States/ meditation in main hall
5-6: Tea break- chai and porridge (a gooey mixture of cooked oatmeal, cooked rice, and bean sprouts. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sick)
6-7: meditation/ stomach cursing me
7-8:30: Goenka, the master of Vipassana meditation, guides us through life via cheap video recording
8:30-9: struggling to keep warm while meditating

A couple days of that will really have you missing the West. But, I did it and came out feeling great and with a strong interest in Buddhism. This was Buddha’s meditation technique, so Goenka talked a lot about him in the evening video session, telling inspiring stories of people who came to kill Buddha and ended up adopting his technique. I’m not going to receive enlightenment anytime soon, but it is nice to be familiar with such an ancient meditation form. It’s all about feeling the sensations on the body and eliminating cravings which will then eliminate misery. I believe in that, but have yet to start the elimination process. Maybe after this chocolate cake…

I am back in Jaipur, about to run out to buy a bus ticket for my journey back to Delhi tomorrow. I think my emotions may be calm enough to do some sightseeing in Jaipur, but I haven’t decided. If there was anything I learned from the short amount of time that I conversed with the hippie backpacker types was that being indecisive is completely acceptable and living in the moment is what it’s all about! Sorry, Mom.

I don’t want to scare you off by thinking I am now hung with dreadlocks (my hair isn’t long enough), draped in potato-sack-baggy clothes (too cold in Rajasthan), a vegan (I could never pass up a milkshake), and the epitome of all things liberal (I took economics). No, no. I just really seem to like that attitude because it is such a change from what I have known.

In other news, I met an American at the course (there were three others who were from the U.S. or were born in the U.S., two of whom were from Milwaukee!!!) who is my uncle thirty years ago. It really scared me. He looked like him, talked like him, had the same weird mannerisms and everything. I thought I should mention that in case there has been a time machine invented in the States that I haven’t heard about and my uncle went back thirty years to his nomad backpacker phase.

I promise to write again soon as I will be in access to a computer, I think. I am staying with a family outside of Delhi, which should be a great time. Hope all is well! Happy holidays!

Time Travel

Ah! This website looks as foreign as I do because I haven't written in so long. I have been to five different states in the past fifteen days and I wnt to tell you all about them. This keyboard is really hard to use, so please forgive spelling mistakes.I am writing from Jaipur, Rajasthan. I did what tourist companies call the “Golden Triangle” in three days: Delhi, Agra, Jaipur. When they say “golden” they must mean the sights, which really are great. They can’t mean any other part of the trip. I have been hassled, harassed, pushed, cheated, tormented, bothered, and jostled more in these past three days than ever in my three months here. And, yes, it had been three months. The money-makers of north India lurk on this path- quick to be your friend and lure you into their shop or hotel. Those types are easy to avoid. They won’t go far from the front of the shop. The ones that really get me, that even marred my Taj Mahal experience, are the followers. They can be kids selling pictures of a famous temple or a toothless old man handing me junk keychains. They do not let up and they will not let go of a potential buyer. They are the rickshaws slowing to a walking pace and following, begging to take me for a ride, only to reap a hefty commision from a shopkeeper when he drops me there. One little boy (who obviously still had some things to learn about street selling) followed me for more than twenty minutes trying to get me to buy some pictures. When I boarded the bus heading home, he stood outside the window, tapping the side to get my attention until we pulled away and he couldn’t keep up. You may say, “just buy it and get them to leave,” but it doesn’t work that way. You buy from one and every single one of them is on you, throwing things in your face until you can’t see in front of you. By the time I returned last night from my adventures in Agra, I had had too much India and needed a break. Allow me to explain what I’ve been up to in the past weeks and why I won’t be able to write for a while after today.
I am in Jaipur for a Vipassana meditation retreat. It begins tomorrow afternoon. I will be on a strict vegetarian diet, eating two meals a day. Dinner is tea and snacks. I will also be upholding a vow of noble silence for the duration- no communiction whatsoever unless I need to ask someone thre about my meditation, which I may be doing frequently simply to exercise my vocal cords. You may begin placing bets on the length of my stay now.
I arrived here this morning. Of course the bus driver said it would take four and a half hours when it actually took six and a half. Why do I even bother to ask anymore? The hotel where I satyed in Delhi booked my bus hre, but I guess it was full because I had the honors of riding up front in the cockpit with the driver and his sleepy assistant. I sat on a padded bench, trying to keep cool because this compartment wasn’t a/c. It was the first tme I have felt hot since I got to the north- Delhi felt quite cool compared to Chennai and Agra was downright cold. It only warmed up a bit in the afternoon.
Jaipur has some great sightseeing, but after Agra and Delhi, being a hermit in my hotel room sounds quite appealing. I saw enough on my way in to give me a good sense of the place. Jaipur looks like any other Indian city, but thrown into a blender so the streets don’t make sense (wait, do they ever?), sprinkled with a hefty dose of camels and elephants, drizzled with turban-clad Sikhs, and doused with sand. I am in the first scene of Aladdin where he steals the bread from the market of wooden carts topped with ripped pieces of cloth. That is Jaipur’s old city aka the pink city due to the reddish hue of the ancient buildings. The new city is your regular, commercalized traffic zone set amongst a backdrop of mountainous desert. In Chennai, carts pulled by water buffalo slowed traffic. Here, it is the camels.
Yesterday I was in Agra all day. I started at the beautiful Agra Fort, built by Mughal kings. It is the real thing fort, complete with a whole building for 500 mistresses, tiger pits, a moat, and columns arranged so perfectly the king could see anyone who entered. Then it was the Taj Mahal, which is far more stunning in real life than in any picture. I stood and gaped for a while, then snapped enough pictures to make you think I discovered the place. It was another one of those “can I take your photo?” kind of places, which actually means can one guy take the picture and the other get in it, then they switch. I even had a dad ask for one, shove his shy little five-year-old son next to me, and take the picture.
Actually, I have to run. I am going to a resort which doubles as an ethnic Rajasthani experience for dinner and my auto comes in five minutes. Again, excuse spelling errors, the keyboard is hard to use. More tomorrow before I go silent! :)