Thoughts on People

Throughout our two months at Visthar, Ambryn and had moments here and there when we grew a little anxious to get on the road. Some of our days felt a little 9-5 monotonous when we knew (unexplored) India was just out there, beyond the Visthar gate. However, we've continually been affirmed that our time there provided us with such a good foundation for our travels. We acclimated to India, reminded ourselves how the bus systems work, and had so many people on hand to process, or theorize, with about what we were encountering. We've met some really great people on the road (and here in Dharamsala, the home of the Dalai Llama, there are a lot of good people), as you always do, but we still certainly miss our friends in South India.

I could go on and on about all of them, but I thought I’d write about some of the other characters we met during our time in Bangalore. Our friend Lyola’s husband, Edison, just left his job as the chief correspondent at the Bangalore branch of the Times of India to become the editor of the Chennai (Madras) branch. This expansion makes it the biggest newspaper in the world! Edison has lived almost his entire life in Bangalore and is so knowledgeable about the city. Bangalore was largely a British city, the reason it has so many good private schools, beautiful colonial houses, etc. It was known as “the garden city” and as a “pensioner’s paradise” up until the information technology boom that happened after India began privatizing the economy (and Bangalore ended up as the hub because of it's good climate). Now, the city is drowning under its’ own expansion and uncontrolled growth. (Though the South side, which is mostly upper caste Hindu families, is quite posh. When we visited for the first time and I was awed. Oddly, it reminded me of some of the neighborhoods in South Minneaoplis, except tropical and with lots of cows in the street.) Not that many years ago the climate was ideal, but so many trees have been cut down and it has become much warmer. It’s sad. Edison has told us stories about streets his father was forbade to walk on (as an Indian) before independence. He’s also pointed out the pub in which Winston Churchill has an outstanding tab.

Edison’s grandfather was the chief in his village in Tamil Nadu, and they owned the biggest house in the area. When Gandhi (known here as Gandhiji, a term of respect and affection) stayed in their home when he traveled through during the salt march. Edison’s father was born in that same house.

We were fortunate enough to attend the 65^th wedding anniversary party of Visthar’s director, David’s, in-laws. His father-in-law was a general in the Indian Army, and began his career before independence. He has lived all over India, and seen a lot. He was a friend of India’s last viceroy. He tells the story of when Mahatma Gandhi was shot. Apparently, when the viceroy heard the news, he took a drink, and went on the radio to make an announcement. He said, “Mohandas Gandhi, the father of the nation, has been shot. By a Hindu.” He said if he had not said the second part, blood would have flowed through every street in India.

David’s in-laws are very classy people. They own a beautiful home in what was once the outskirts of the city. There is a huge, sprawling mango tree in their front yard. There are vegetable gardens, flowers, and a wide, green lawn. Their house is one of the last left, as most have been leveled and replaced with apartment buildings. Though you can still sense the peace that the British must have felt when they built the tree-lined street. One of the guests we spoke with is the father of an ambassador living in the U.S. During the course of the evening we drank beer, chatted, ate good food, and sang old songs from the 1930s. The evening ended with us singing “Amazing Grace” for the octogenarian couple, as a blessing.

Creepy Crawlies

I thought some of you may appreciate hearing about the "wildlife" I've encountered since arriving in India. The last time I was here I had the great fortune of seeing wild elephants, buffalo, several species of deer, bears.... This time, I'll share my trials and tribulations with the more household variety.

In my home: lizards, copious amounts of jumping spiders, mice (suspended above my body scampering across my thin and fragile bed net!!!), mosquitoes, beetles, moths, frogs (and possibly bed bugs?), a scorpion, and enormous spiders that I'd like to call tarantulas but I don't think they are.

In my workplace:rats, bats, mosquitoes

Outside:aggressive monkeys, snakes, bats, mosquitoes, frogs, toads, squirrels, wild mangey dogs (though I still think they're cute), feral cats, goats, sheep, camels, elephants, yaks, mongoose, hundreds of cows

p.s. I'd love to include some photos of a few of these animals but I've sworn off trying to transfer my photos onto computers in internet cafes after I lost all of my photos from Cochin and Goa...

Cochin, Goa, Delhi...Oh...

I'm writing from Delhi, where every tout seems to think we'll gladly follow him into his non-existent official tourist office and hand over large sums of American currency. And thus, we've arrived here in one point of the "Golden Triangle" of India...a big tourist hub. We've only been here for two days and have only seen a fraction of this massive city, but all at once it feels sophisticated, vulgar, spacious, crowded, dirty, and stunning. It's India. The mustaches are also HUGE here in the North, which is very exciting.

We arrived via a 28+ hour train trip from Goa aboard the Radjhani Express. We were lucky to share a berth with some friendly college students. There was a loud, boisterous Punjabi man sitting across the aisle from us. While we were reading he would stare at us, and if we put our book down for even a minute he would strike up a conversation which resulted in displaying how knowledgeable he was. It's the kind of scene that is often replayed over and over around here. He stood out from the archetypical Indian man in that his clothes were not pressed and did not (even remotely) match, his buttons were unbuttoned almost down to his navel, and his oiled gray hair was long and shaggy. A character. Throughout the long night he loudly cleared his throat (this is putting it SO politely) and would alternately moan, sing, cough, and talk. I was feeling very unfriendly thoughts toward him as I tried to sleep and then I remembered, "You're on an overnight train to Delhi."

We only have a handful of weeks left in India...and I was reminded that this slight inconvenience is a small price to pay for this adventure.

Cochin was cozy, warm, hospitable, interesting. If I hadn't suffered a camera memory card debauchle (and lost all my photos from Cochin and Goa) at the last shoddy internet cafe I would include photos of the Star of David alongside a statue of Ganesha in "Jewtown" in Cochin. Cochin was colonized by the Portugese, Dutch, and British, and a small Jewish population remains (a fraction of a once substantial community). We visited the synogogue amongst many other interesting historic places, including the first Christian church in India, where Vasco De Gama was buried. The architecture and culture are quite unique, and so interesting. We also spent a day on Kerala's luscious backwaters. We glided along the narrow canals in our little wooden boats, past small villages of women doing their washing, men rhythmically swaying their bodies while fishing for mussels, and children splashing each other in the heat of the day. Kerala is the "land of the coconuts" and I'll spare the dramatic story and just tell you that I was the victim of one of the branches (thankfully not the fruit) falling from the sky and hitting me! (I'm fine.) Kerala also boasts a 99% literacy rate and continually democratically elects a Communist government. As the result of a land reform act of 1967 most everyone owns a small tract of land, as it was taken back from the landlords. It's a fascinating (and unbelievably beautiful) place. I'm so thankful we were able to be there for a while.

From there we moved on to Goa, to see for ourselves what all the hype is about. We thankfully arrived post tourist season which meant that we had days of almost private beaches and as long as we were shaded (and could ignore throngs of men staring at us when they came to the beach around sunset) we were quite comfortable. We ate most of our (delicious) meals right on the beach and soaked up as much of the sound of crashing waves, hot sand, and beautiful sunsets as we could. On our last night I spent a few hours engrossed in conversation with an octogenarian named Mani. An Indian (Brahmin) born man who "escaped" India in his twenties and has only been back to visit a few times since. We talked about food, books, India...all over gin and tonics, under the stars, and listening to the waves.

The Ashram and Me

I am in quiet, lovely, adorable seaside Cochin after a week at the Sivananda Ashram in the foothills of the Ghats in Southern Kerala. It was a trip.

The Sivananda Ashrams and Centers were founded by a yogi named (aptly) Sivananda, and his apostle Vishnu Devananda. These men are respected for reviving the yogic way of life, as well as recognizing the West was "ready" for yoga and spreading it all over the world. Vishnu Devananda came to Canada in 1957...he is also known as "the flying guru" because he flew an ultra-light plane over conflict zones in the world, such as the Berlin Wall, and dropped peace pamphlets and flower petals. From what I learned, I think I can really respect these men. They stressed the importance of the full spectrum of yoga (of which asanas, the postures, are just one of five parts) and of yoga's connection to spirituality, and as it were, Hinduism. What I was not prepared for was being one of many white people chanting "Hare Krishna" (and MANY others) and venerating different Hindu gods and goddesses for hours every day, in the middle of India. Sometimes I felt foolish. Sometimes I felt like I was in a Saturday Night Live sketch.

I'm happy to have had an ashram experience in India. It is so much apart of the culture here. The traditional (pre-colonial) education was that of studying with a guru (which translates to bringing light into the cave, or darkness). The effects of this are everywhere. It seems so easy for people to be elevated to a god-like status: yogis, Bollywood stars like Shah Rukh Khan, NGO directors, cricketers, prime ministers, spiritual leaders. I learned so much about the incredibly complicated, beautiful, inspiring world of yoga, and consequently, Hinduism. I met interesting people from all over the world: Investment brokers/traders who left their jobs from Ireland and Switzerland, two American girls our age who were on their way to a pancha karma (3-4 week intensive Ayruvedic cleanse) in the Tamil Nadu jungle, an Indian family with their 8 year-old daughter, and lots of other backpackers from all over the world. I also feel quite good after a week of four hours of asanas and pranayama(postures/exercises and breathing) a day, sparse, healthy vegetarian food, and hours of meditation. Also, the alarm bell went off at 5:20 and it wasn't even that hard to get up.

Both the high and low point of the week was a silent night walk we took on our last evening during satsung (like Vespers). We ended up walking right past a LARGE and brightly lit Christian revival. We walked behind the stage, then right alongside it, then all along the vast crowd of Indians listening intently while their leader shouted, "Halelujah! Thank you Jesus! Praise the Lord!" through LOUD speakers. (I often marvel that not everyone is deaf in this country.) There we were, a bunch of white people, carrying yoga mats and meditation cushions, preparing to chant "Jaya Ganesha" in the dark in India, interrupting their tent revival. They stared and I don't blame them. I think we were quite a sight. It was one of the odder moments of my life.

There is so much I appreciate about the incredibly diverse, aesthetically rich, Hindu spirituality. The religion of Ghandiji. Still, I was interested to realize how uncomfortable I was with certain beliefs. One is that of the need for humans to recognize our ability to merge with the gods (This is my simple understanding of something incredibly complicated...something that needs to be translated by teachers, another thing that is hard for me to digest, though I think it is present in all spiritualities...a struggle for me.)...involving the yogic belief of freedom: that you are able to do what you don't want to do, and that you don't have to do what you want to do. In so many ways, this makes much sense to me. I can understand how this is freeing, and I think to a certain extent, I try to push myself in these ways to be more happy. Still, I think some of life's purest, simplest joys are God-given and are to be LIVED fully, and humanly. Love, music, natural beauty, good food...this is it. For me. Like my Grandma making cinnamon rolls every Friday. I'm happy for people who find freedom in this more Hindu life, who find happiness, fulfillment. My God has to allow me to simply be human. It has to forgive, it has to involve grace. And, as it turns out, the one I was born with provides this. What a phenomenon.

It reminds me of a conversation I had with Shafi, the driver, at Visthar. (Consequently, Ambryn has said that if she were going to follow any guru, it would be Shafi. Though I don't think he would allow it.) He asked me, "Are you Christian?" (It's taken me a while to realize people aren't asking me if my name is "Christine" when they ask this.) I explained that this is my culture and tradition, my family, how I was raised, but that my beliefs are actually probably more agnostic right now. Shafi (a muslim) replied, "Not Good." He said (in broken English) that it was okay for individuals, but that it is so central to have an identity, especially for children. That you needed to know where you come from, wherever that is. He then explained that he thinks God is like a tree. There are many branches, different ways of expressing God, but all the same God. I told I thought he was right.

So, this week did actually leave me with some clearer ideas of where I come from, and where I'm at now. Interestingly enough, Ambryn and met an incredibly sweet young Catholic priest named Nadhil on the train, who chatted us up almost the whole trip to Cochin. We both felt better about the future of the church knowing he will be a priest (after he completes his 11 years of study). We talked about our families, about our personal relationships and friendships, about translation of scripture, and about the ordination of women.

I realized I'm really an "all or nothing" kind of girl. I found that if I couldn't accept the whole schbang hook, line and sinker, (and if I couldn't decide to live the rest of my days in that ashram wearing only yellow) that it was hard for me to be a part of any of it. Though, slowly I think I was able to accept what was beautiful...the RICH worship involving flames, flowers, sweets, conch blowing, chants, the centuries old wisdom, the health of the yogic way of life, the emphasis on peace...and leave what didn't jive with me. Hopefully I can continue to learn to do this with my own spirituality of origin.

I'm also hoping that this experience will give me a greater understanding of the Beat poets whom I appropriately fell in love with around the age of 20. We'll see.