final

*frankfurt airport, business class lounge. some time on may 8th, as i wait to take my second leg home from India*


The moon refused to chase me yesterday.
I craned to watch out my window
expecting to see it speed just behind the bus--
but the grin of that Cheshire only laughed.
And far above,
distorted and giant,
an eye winked
(a star shimmered)
and the entire sky became one face.

Tears overflow my eyes
and drip
fall
spill.

"Stop. Don't race ahead. It is still real right now."

Laugh, out loud,
and a smile cracks my freckled face--
but I can feel myself crumbling
beneath the weight of this proximity.
Will I remember the child brown and shoeless
wading through garbage and shit,
hoisting her sister on her own three year old hip?

I am a sieve.
And I am filtering--
against my will, the course from the fine--
images of the land of color and filth.
As one, it pumps as a single unit:
simultaneously the peak
and the plunge of human existence.

Should it remain fully tainted?

There is dirt in the pours of my feet,
spotting my toes
like the negative of lice on a bald black head.
Dirt in the cracks of my toenails:
scratch behind my ear and my fingers turn black.
Like ants
in my breakfast,
beads of grime roll and scamper down
my arms and legs
spill out of my navel
cascade down my face.
Pool at my elbows and knees,
collect into a river of grime and then
spills over--
rushes with white churning energy
down
down
out
and down.

Each hair stands on end
each one a vessel
for my human aqueduct to carry what memories
I have into and out of the vault of my brain.

Hair toes fingers are the deltas
from which ants dirt lizards grit
cloth color powder
plastic shit bottles
shoot in one hundred
separate
directions each landing in a place
I could call home.

My body sweats these creatures and filth
as it sifts through what has been real.
No longer absorbing dirt
I now extract an essence not my own--
or newly my own:
as such profoundly disturbing.

Crane around a brown neck to see
the familiar face of the sky--
but the moon would not run.

So what could I do but leave her behind?

I will try to move beyond the shock of these new nuances;
only, I can't find the door towards home.
Even as 1 billion heads nod
'yes, straight and over left (or right),'
no one can tell me where the best part of me landed
on that day 24 lifetimes ago
(or 5 months in my history)
when the grit ants shot from my toes.

ha! business class lounge!

Well, I am writing this on a German computer and the z and y are switched and there are funnz letters like ä and ö and ü and I cant get the 'at' szmbol to work. But, woah, what a difference this all is! I arrived at the Hyderabad airport (which is all new and fancy) early because I decided I'd rather wait at the air-conditioned airport than in my hot homestay.

I waited around for my check in time to start outside the terminal, got my last iced Eskimo from cafe coffee day, and sat, with stares and glances coming my way every minute. Apparently the windows near where I was sitting were in desperate need of intense cleaning, as were the floors because within about 10 minutes of sitting there, I had at least 3 or 4 airport workers just standing close to me, mop in hand pushing the dirt around, and window cleaners just idly rubbing the same spot over and over. BUT then I checked in and took a portal which whizzed me to another universe via the elevator down to the special lounge for important people like me (fluke, I'm flying business class). And I walk in, in my balloon pants and dirty chokos which I haven't taken off for 5 months and look around at all this food and drinks, and adamantly don't believe the server lady when she tells me everything is free of charge. This guy nearby chucked and said, something funny about that and we started chatting and I felt like I had been zapped into another world that I had forced myself to accept did not exist anymore.

And it wasn't India: it was not what I had come from, not when early yesterday I ate lunch with my host family for the last time and found 3 small ants in my rice,...not when on the way to the airport I saw a 3 year old girl walking through a pile of garbage, carrying her 1 year old sister on her hip. Not the same place that I have been living in where I take trains over night and smell and see piss and shit along the train tracks because the toilets are just holes in the train floor. Certainly not the same place as the mountains and gorgeous rivers and sprawling tea plantations, or the Taj Mahal or the wonderful decay of Kolkata. Not the height nor the depths of the India that I've seen. It was just this rich, too organized place that felt like a pod of westernization. And yet, of course, it was SO amazing to get free food and a beer and not have to worry about my bag being stolen or anything like that. And I was still in Hyderabad.

It was amazing how refreshed I felt after a really short time in that luxury. My turn around time has increased so much, so that after only an hour or two in a place less stressful, I already feel ready to get back out there into the real and hard, exciting and fast passed world of REAL India. But of course, I didn't go back out there. Instead I was shuttled from the special lounge via a separate tunnel onto the plane and sat down in my seat, looked out the window at the same image I saw when I sat on my plane going to India and suddenly felt like I was back on my ride going to India 5 months before taking off from Boston.

And then I left India.

Yesterday I cried a lot. And it was not because I was sad to be leaving India--at least I don't think it was. That was certainly not why I felt the impulse to just weep. Maybe on one level I'm sad to leave it because it means this crazy experience is finally over and now I have to go back to a normal life and somehow find a way to integrate the two together; but all that feels and felt secondary. No, I cried yesterday out of fear. Each time I thought about my family and home I just couldn't help myself. I could feel myself, at last, so close to getting back, and yet still was not there. The plane ride from Delhi to Hyderabad was so weird because the entire time I could only think about how the plane was going to blow up or crash or something would go wrong and prevent me from ever actually leaving India. I've never in my life been paranoid about flying or airplanes, but that day getting back and forth from Delhi to Hyderabad, to my homestay and back to the airport my mind was full of the worst thoughts of disasters and crashes--so much that I had to just STOP thinking or else I was going to go crazy. When I got back to my Indian home in Doyans 101 I felt so strangely like I was coming home, it was weird after all that insanity of traveling and yet all I could think about was that I was finally, FINALLY, going to my real home! I realized though, in seeing my little street, my room, the University campus and the small gate into the Guest House, just how far I'd come. How much everything in India--all that stuff that at first felt totally unmanageable and overwhelming--had become customary and doable.

The last leap was to get myself to the airport so I left early and sat on that bus and that's when I cried. Miraculously it went smoother than any other transaction I'd had yet in India, and I got to the airport at 7:30PM for my flight that left at 1AM later that night. It was so terrifying to think being so close to going home, and yet feel still so far away from it. I had been separated physically by 2 continents and 2 oceans the entire time, as well as all the plane and train rides I took, as well as all the emotional barriers necessary to make living in India possible, and yet that day before coming home I was emotionally already home really, but still JUST as far from home as I'd been all semester. There were still the oceans and land masses separating us. And it was scary because I was terrified that somehow there would be something that prevented me from ever actually getting away and finally going home. Some part of me, while living in India, had to convince myself that that was my new life--that it was permanent and real. Because, if I didn't accept it all, then I would never have come to be OK with it all. And so I convinced myself that it was all going to last forever and that there was no end in sight and that is how it was doable on some level, and accept that it was my life for the time that it was. That last day though, was so strange because I saw that it was going to end, but was still just as far from being there as I'd been the whole time. I was terrified that somehow I wouldn't end up making it home and I'd have to stay in India for longer and longer and never make it home. Only now I realize how much I had to twist and warp my mind so that I could accept that I was living in India for 5 months as it was happening.

I was sick on the plane, which was actually great for me because it kept me reminded of where I was coming from. Amidst the luxury of business class I was still confronted by what had been real: the dirt in my fingernails, the holes in my clothes, the dust in my eyes, and the grains in my teeth.

weird, because in the entire time I flew from Hyderabad to Boston I didn't smell fresh air for almost 2 days.

that's all.
peace out homeslices. it's been REALZ.

s

longest week of my life...

In the last week I have experienced more dips and highs and shifts in my own mentality towards India than in the entire 5 months that I've been here. I have a new appreciation for people who really travel in this country for an extended period of time, and suddenly I realize how lucky I was to have had Hyderbabad, as miserably as that city was, as my home base all semester. India is exhausting, as I've known since minute 1 of being here, but being able to rest and retreat into the campus of HCU and my homestay (again, despite the disappointment there, too), is crucial for maintaining any kind of sanity as a foreigner in this country.

We flew from Hyderabad on the 29th of April, after our last exam ended 4 hours before, to Kolkata, where Mallory has family. After mix ups with dates and time of arrivals, we were whisked away in a van to the house (on the way we were offered food many time, and since we are vegetarians, the only thing we ended up getting were the Indian version of Ho-hos and a GIANT litre bottle of Thumbs Up--India's coke). Had a terrifying time of driving through the streets of Kolkata at 1am and actually for the first time in my life realized and felt fully how vulnerable I am--as a woman, as a white woman, and simply as a foreigner in general. I can't write about that just yet, actually, because I can feel that the full effect of that night and the days in Kolkata actually, are still working on me, and I am still not sure what I will say about it all.

Suffice it to say, for now at least, that Kolkata is my favorite city in India, hands down. It is old and decrepid and it is falling apart at every seam. It is dusty and dirty and full to the brim with cars and taxis, autos and buses. And yet it has a charm to it, and an tradition that is entirely new. Kolkata (Calcutta as it used to be spelled) was the capital of India until like 1911 or something, and then the British shifted it to Delhi. Because of that, Kolkata is filled with old buildings and architecture that is all from British Raj era. And yet it has fallen into a such a state of decay that everything feels to be beautifully crumbling before your eyes. It was also the first city that felt walk-able that I had been to in India and I wish so badly that I had gone to school there and lived there instead of in the Tech Center of Hyderabad! Kolkata is like a game of jenga. the streets are crammed together, and one building juts out so the building next to it caves it. everything fits together so entirely, there is no open space really and it feels overflowing and like it is going to explode at the seems. it feels like an old dress that has really been worn in and is about to rip at the seems. and yet it is able to stay together. there are the sounds of life, poeple LIFE, not cars and buses like in Hyderabad. i loved it entirely.

Mallory's family is an interesting bunch. We were not sure the entire time who we were with exactly, or how Mallory is related to them and who. But we made it work in a semi-kind of way. We were staying in the house that her father grew up in, which was really amazing to be in. It felt stifling, though, because since we are both girls, and Mallory is actually a part of the family, they all have this idea that we only want to sit inside all day and that we have no interest in anything cultural except watching movies and getting married eventually (that came up a few times for Mal, which was priceless). Being with them also was hard because we just wanted to walk the city and they wanted to drive us places which takes twice as long, and they took forever to get moving. It reminded me of how my sister describes Spain, where there can only be one activity for the entire day. That is what it was like in Kolkata with Mallory's family. For instance, we didn't get out of the house to go DO something until 4:30pm...and we had said we would leave in the early morning.

Anyway, after too short a time in Kolkata, stinted somewhat by feeling boxed in by expectations, we got on a plane to Delhi where my brain exploded. I really don't like Delhi one bit. It has come a long way, in that it has traffic rules and cleaner streets, and beautiful buildings (like state capitals stuff, etc.) but other than that, it is totally filthy and over conjested and completely lacks that charm that Kolkata seemed to have. Where Kolkata has integrated itself into it's history, Delhi seems t0 have superimposed itself and its history onto a clean paper, and gone from there. It is a strange feeling.

We were exhausted and overwhelmed and so much emotional and physical strain is unbelievably taxing and Delhi is just NOT the place to try to relax. Street vendors are worse than anywhere I have been so far. To the point where if you look them sternly in the eye and saying No. (something that works quite well in many places here) in Delhi they only turn to their friends and laugh at you for losing your temper. But how can they expect me to react! that is the worst part. I can't be polite, and i can't be rude. And I can't ignore them because they follow you for 10 minutes. I hate that harsh people in a fast city like that are capable of forcing me to be become harsh myself. I hate feeling like I have to have a destination when I walk, but here that is what you have to do. If you look like you are just wondering, you are a real gonner.

We found the backpacker's heaven in Delhi, which is only nice in that there are a lot of other white people around (which in Delhi is actually reassuring, let me say). It is insanely hectic and overwhelming and not relaxing, but at least it is cheap and doable and feels somewhat safe. Delhi is full FULL of scams and people just waiting to rip us off, and it so hard to exist in that kind of environment.

We got a driver for the next day to take us and a friend we made, named Will (which was strange to have a 'Will' around), who was from Reading, England, to the Taj Mahal. We paid him too much, and he said he would turn on the AC if we paid him more, but that is just so jerky of him that we said no, because he just wanted US to pay for him to be more comfortable. and he was a terrifying driver and it took 5 hours to get there and 5 to get back and we really didn't do the Taj the best way possible. We were there during the hottest part of the day and they didn't let me pay the Indian price (even with my residency card from HCU) and so I had to pay Rs750 (which is nearly $20!!) haha that is so NOT a lot of money, but of course it seems like it is now to me... But of course, despite all these drawbacks, the Taj was spectacular. Truly and utterly amazing and so beautiful--just jaw dropping. I took lots of pictures, but words and photos have never done the job in the past, and so I won't even attempt to describe the Taj Mahal on this measly blog of mine. Go if you can, and go at sunrise or sunset and DONT go in the heat of the day.


After the Taj, we GOT OUT OF DELHI. We got to Haridwar, where the Ganges comes out of the Himalayas and now we are in Rishikesh which is the yoga and ashram capital of the world, and also where the Beatles came to write their White Album. So that's cool. We've been here for a few days now and have just been lounging as best we can. We did some yoga, we slept a lot, we went up a hike to see a waterfall. We are later going to see the ashram where the Beatles actually stayed, and our plans for the rest of the time here are to take a cooking class, do more yoga, meet up with our friends from HCU who are doing a 10 day retreat in this same town (!!), go white water rafter (?), and potentially go see the puja at Haridwar, where hundreds and hundreds of Hindu pilgrams are flocking around this time of year, to make offerings to the gods and clean themselves in the holy Ganges. We'll see how much of all that we actually do--it's so funny, because every time we travel here we have this elaborate plan to do SO many things and inevitably we change it so many times and just want to relax and take it easy.

At this point, though, I am only interested in making it through the next 4 days and getting my butt back to the US where I can sit on that money ass and watch bad TV while eating gummi bears and twizzlers, ice cream out of the pint, and where i can brush my teeth with the water right from the tap!!

I am more exhausted than I have ever been in my entire life right now. emotionally, and physically and mentally I feel just totally drained. I can't


I am so ready to come home. India has been so incredible and this blog has helped at times and been a pain in the ass at others. I love that I have documented what I have done, but it has been really interesting which experiences and thoughts are blog-able and which are not. I have really had to work through so many different mediums over the course of this trip in my attempts to come to a fuller understanding of what it is I am experiencing, or seeing, or whatever. Somedays it was painting, somedays it was poetry, somedays it was modern Amrican novelists, others it was new age yoga lessons or traditional annoying "yoga is good for the health" (a whole post needs to be for my yoga teachers and all that). Other days it was meditating, others it was thinking and talking, others it was hiking. Sometimes it was screaming, or crying, or dreaming of home.

I dreamt last night that the government got mad at me for changing my mind so many times about Europe that they took away my passport and made my mother go into hiding for trying to cheap the system (which we aren't doing). I dreamt that it all had to do with me on this quest to find the identity of my dad, and that we were flying first class around looking for him, and that there were clean showers (with stalls!) as part of flying first class.

seems indicative of where my head is right now.

That's all for now.
-S

PS:
Two things I keep forgetting to mention about India/my experience that are funny and I don't want to forget them:

1) When Tim, Arletta and I cooked our host family dinner one night, we made pasta and tomato sauce. we used some random spoons and 2 forks that we found miraculously in the house somewhere, but after about 2 minutes, Amma and everyone was eating pasta with their hands. Best moment was at the end when Amma used her hand, as always, to scoop the extra tomato sauce out of the pot onto her/my/everyone's pasta.

2) the way people pause while they talk before saying the important words of their sentences. makes it really hard and kind of makes me feel anxious because you don't know what people are going to say!

******

i can only write this once i think because it is not the kind of thing that i want to admit or think about. i am terrified of trying to explain all this--India, my brain, my thoughts, my mind, my face, my skin, my days, my classes, my homestay, my world here--to people back home. and it's scary to think about because those people back home are the reason i want to come home right now so badly, and i feel like if i can't explain it to them--to YOU, whoever YOU are--then those people won't get me anymore, or won't realize everything about me.

i adore India so much. i have loved it and hated it at times, and laughed at it and with it, and it sounds so cheesy and sappy but it is so hard to put any of it into words or thoughts or stories. how can i capture 5 months of living in this insane place, and all the things that I have thought about and done into any one story that i can tell people.

and I'm still not sure I can answer that question: Why did you come to India? I still don't know. but these things are too much to think about right now. rather, I'm only going to focus on what it feels like to be in Rishikesh right now, and what it is going to feel like to sit on my couch in Boston in 4 days, eating Ben & Jerry's.

well...

Terrible blogger that I've been the last month, it's nothing to what is about to happen. Which is that tonight I'm getting on a plane, heading to Kolkata to stay with Mallory's family, then to Delhi, to the Taj Mahal, up to the Himalayas, back to Hyderabad and then I fly out to Europe, where I prance around there for 2 weeks until the end of May.

Since last writing, mountains of things have happen, of course. I don't actually have the time to write about it all fully, but bullet points for now so that I remember it all later and can write it for real later.

1) Took the yoga exam, which lasted an entire weekend and was beyond frustrating and stupid, but I passed first class, and now I am certified yoga instructor. which hopefully sounds good at a least.

2) Wrote a billion papers and toured the coffee shops of Hyderabad to find a descent place to write them in. Discover of that excursion: coffee shops in India are not conducive for studying because they blast techno music all day long. And they only have one CD, which is just on repeat the whole time. w

3) Went on a weekend trip to visit the Ellora and Ajanta caves which are magnificent. Mind-blowing actually, that they were built/carved so long ago when I can't even imagine how you could construct them using modern equipment. It was one of my favorite places I've been to in India and I will have to devote a lot to describing it fully.

4) Went to cricket game in Hyderabad, which took over 3 hours to get to because it's India. They had brought in cheerleaders from some American football team who danced around every time Hyderabad's team (the Deccan Chargers) got a 4 or 6 (cricket is really weird but I kind of get it now actually). The cheerleaders being there were one of the most disconcerting things I've seen while being here actually because each time they got up, the guys in the crowd would just go crazy and it was just exactly why Indians have this warped view of American girls. And it was just sick looking at these girls who just LOVED the attention. Gross and messed up.

5) Went to this woman's house in Banjara Hills to learn how to cook Biryani which is this rice dish that Hyderabad is famous for. She was adorable and I loved it.

6) Sang kereoke at a "pub" one night.

7) Took some finals, finished classes and turned in papers. Am now finished with the school part of being in India and it feels absolutely amazing!

8) Got so overwhelmed with India and everything about it, that I felt like just screaming. Did scream a bit. Probably at the wrong people. Got amazing advice from my Mother and thought I didn't need it, but it turns out I did and now I am so grateful for the little sentence "do not push off when you leave".

9) Had dinner with my host family for the last 2 night and was amazed at how fun it was. Last night she got ice cream even, which was amazing.

10) Experienced what living in 107 degree heat feels like. and what sleeping in 90 degrees with no AC and oops the power goes out a lot in the summer because of the heat and so no fans...

11) Had a dress made from scratch by a tailor in Lingampally, a town down the road from where I live). Fiasco. Language problem: he spoke not a word of English and so we had to communicate through the usual sign language/Hindi/Telegu. Problem being we wanted him to make us a western style dress, and had him copy my friend's. But being India, obviously, meant we walked in on Tuesday, when he said it would be ready, to find the fabric lying exactly where we had left it on Friday when we asked him to make it. So we yelled and came back the next day, only to find they didn't fit right at all. So I returned the next day to find, once more, my dress in the same state I had left it...So I went to buy new fabric with a small boy who sort of spoke English and I sat in that store while the tailor made me a whole new dress and I waited for 3 hours for him to do it, because clearly each time I left he wouldn't work on it until I came back to pick it up again. This is widely ineffective, but I did it anyways. While there I had an epiphany about my time in India and everything about being here. thinking about what it means to live in this place and get used to seeing toads crushed everywhere on the road, and lizards on the walls everywhere, and ants in the houses, and people staring constantly, and people being so excited about themselves, and the whole culture of laughing at other people, but being incapable of laughing at themselves. All this I was thinking about while this poor man sat and sewed me a new dress (which he thought was a shirt because it is short...) after he had messed up the first one, when only trying his best to make something he had never made before. and he sat there and sewed for me, this white girl who is never going to come back to him, and he didn't do his other work that had to get done, and the entire time I just kept getting angry and mad and yelling and swearing and being blown away by a system that is so unproductive....but he didn't once even look at me in a mean or hostile way, he just did it. And it was so strange. Indians are so nice, and yet they are so mean, and sometimes they really surprise you with how rude they are, and other times it is incredible how easy going they can be.

What a wild experience it has all been. Now 10 more days of traveling and then off to Europe where I will have to patch together some semblance of appropriate clothing to look semi-decent and not hole-ridden and in tatters (which is how all my clothes are from being here). And I will see the Eiffel Tower, and eat cheese and drink wine, and I will dance around Paris and pretend that I am a Polish actress so we can try to get into the Cannes film festival (which is happening in Paris while we are there!!)

So so much to think and write about and still so much to see. I can't believe I'm going to the Taj Mahal and that I get to trek in the Himalayas!! I am beyond excited.

Will try to get to internet cafes along the way to post thoughts as I travel for the next month....If anyone reading this has contacts we could stay with in France or around Europe at all, let me know!

xoxo
sb

Mysore, +

Hello blogger! Yesterday was the 3 month marker on my time in India. Only a little over 1 more. It feels unreal that I've been here only 3 months. It feels like it's been much more. I'm so glad of the time I still have. And this month is going to be fun, and full of trips, to the North (to see the Ganges, the Taj Mahal, Kolkata, and the Himalayas. and MamaJ does say it right. kudos acknowledged.) Amazingly classes and projects seem to be wrapping up here, which is funny because it honestly feels like I've just started to get into what I'm learning. I still have some to go, but one of classes, for instance, isn't meeting anymore until our final at the end of April...

Many things have happened lately. Last weekend CIEE took us on another trip, all 30 of us, to Mysore and Bangalore this time. Both are places to the west of Hyderabad, and I liked them a lot, more than Hyderabad in many ways in fact. We went to a Tibetan Resettlement Community for refugees fleeing Tibet, where this man told us all about their community. Tibetans are not Indian citizens unless they officially apply for citizenship, and instead they have to reapply for visitor-settled visas each year. The community, and others like it all over India, were given a certain amount of land back when China invaded Tibet, and they have established their own schools and temples, monasteries, state and government, etc. It's so so really interesting how they have continued to have a country exist, just resettled in a totally different location, AND they are all spread out all across India. They told us how they are always thinking about going home, always seeking and reminding themselves of how they are only visiting India until they get Tibet back--that seems a weird way to put it, but literally that is the only way I can think of putting it. They are not about to "take it back, because it's all about nonviolence, so they are just waiting for China to get the hell out! it's complicated, obviously and I don't know enough about it yet. We were told that at first the fleeing Tibetans who came to India didn't want to build sturdy or good homes, or buy too much food because they thought it would go to waste since they didn't expect to be in India for too long. That was 40 years ago. And they still are waiting, just using the area given to them by the Indian government, hoping always to get to go home.

Later we went to one of their Buddhist monasteries, which is full of all Tibetan men, dressed in the traditional maroon and yellow robes, shaved heads, no shoes. Candles everywhere, temples with giant Buddha statues. It felt like a trip to a totally different country, and in a way that is what we were doing. That is the point of these resettlement communities: it is Tibet just on a different plot of land. It has the culture, the food, the religion, the people, the customs, the language, the agriculture, the buildings, all of it is Tibetan, just in India. The whole place had a wonderful feel to it, so peaceful and relaxing. Really amazing. It made me wish I had actually done thathet Buddhist monastery semester abroad in Dharmasala...but I can still do that another trip. I realized simultaneously that if I were to go live in a Buddhist monastery for 5 months I would have to change so much of the craziness in myself, and get more calm, and relaxed. And while I am sure that one day I will do that and it will be great, I'm not actually ready to give up the insanity of my mind just yet. I'm only 21. I don't need to be quiet and peaceful and one with the universe just yet. maybe later. maybe.

We also went to a temple town, saw a lot of poop on the ground, and walked around a cute, small town area in the rain. Later that day we celebrated Holi. Holi is a national holiday in India. It is not associated with any one religion, but is in fact one of the coolest spiritual festivals. During Holi all of India comes out to the streets wearing white clothes, to spray and smear each other with colored water, and to throw colors of pigment onto each other. The idea behind Holi is that by putting color on someone else you are erasing the lines of skin color that divide us. In India that is a really strong message because of the history here of so many types of people, religions, races, and groups--all living together. The belief is that if you put colors on your enemy during Holi all the past hatred between you is to be forgotten and you are to be friends from then on. I like this idea so much. It is a holiday that seems to capture what I love about how tolerant Indian culture is.

We played Holi at our hotel in the street with all us white kids, and of course locals came to "watch" but we chased them with buckets of water and some of them joined in to play with us. CIEE had organized for these traditional drummers to come and play while we played. So it was like this giant colored water fight-dance party! It was such a blast and of course, being Americans we took it probably farther than usual and starting dumping whole buckets on each other and getting the packets of color pigment and throwing the powder on each other. It was amazing.

The next day was Easter and they took us to a church in Mysore. Of course I had the wrong idea of church here. It's so ingrained in me to think of churches representing a quiet place of spirituality. WRONG. Even though I've been to a church here already, I was still shocked to find it draped in streamers, with really loud music blasting from giant speakers on the inside and outside, crazy tiny lights everywhere inside, and SO SO SO many people. and Mary wears a sari.

It was a crazy weekend of thinking about how India sees spirituality. There was the quietness of the Buddhists, a place I felt so comfortable just sitting in and thinking in quiet; there was the insanity of the Hindu temple with all the incense, flowers colored dust and pushing people with babies in their arms; and there was the equally jostling church covered in streamers, loud music blasting, and Mary in a sari. I realized how here in India religion, like everything else, is not a private affair. I think of being spiritual as this time when we can sit and think and be alone with our thoughts. But here, there are just so many people that it is unrealistic to assume that you are ever going to get a moment of quietness alone in a temple where you could 'see' GOD! that seems ridiculous actually, that such quiet contemplation could happen frequently in one of the churches or temples I've been to so far...So instead people here have at to adapt their spirituality and religion so that they are able to feel that unity with their beliefs even in 100 degree heat, with music blasting, surrounded by a hundred people all pushing to get close to the shrine.

That weekend was very auspicious. That is a favorite word in India. Everything is auspicious. But really, last weekend was a crazy combination of so many things happening at once. It was a full moon. And it was the prophet Mohammed's birthday. And it was Holi. and it was Good Friday and Easter. And it was a Jewish holiday I can't remember the name is. And it was a new year celebration in another culture I also can't remember. If that isn't auspicious, I don't know what is.

So that was the weekend. And now it's been another week, where some friends from CIEE and other university students put on the Vagina Monologues, which was amazing to watch in India. I had thought it would just be another production, but it was really remarkable to watch and hear it in the context of this country. It was the first time I've ever heard an Indian accent say the word 'vagina' which is strange in itself. It was really powerful and meant a lot that it was put on here on our campus. It had a different ring to it, femininity in the context of the VMons in INdia is like talking about something so hushed up and quiet its become habit to pretend it does not exist in any form. It was really powerful to have the topic spoken about in the open within the context of this culture.

And now it's the weekend and I did work the whole time. WHAT? Yes, homework. At coffee shops around Hyderabad, where they only serve the intense drinks--can't seem to get a simple iced coffee, and where they play techno music at full volume all day. And serve overly intense chocolate cake. India is so proud of itself when it is able to have all this stuff at once. So it does it. If you could have a coffee blended with ice and ice cream and whipped cream and chocolate syrup, WHY would you ever want a simple iced coffee???

Good question, India, good question.

9 more things about India

1) On the newest 1 rupee coin is printed a hand giving the thumbs up. On the 2 rupee coin is printed a hand giving the peace sign. There are lightshows in everything here, even in government institutions, like coinage. By this I mean that someon had to say, "Hey I have a great idea, let's put the thumbs up and peace sign on our money!" and everyone agreed.

2) Entire families ride on one motorcycle through overcrowded streets. By this, I mean: the father drives, the mother sits behind him, holding a tiny baby in her arms. Between them is a girl sleeping smushed between her parents. And sometimes, there's even another person behind the mother. This is a regular motorcycle, no bigger than any we have in the US. OR one bike with 4 grown men on it, sometimes sitting backwards to keep from falling off.

3) When I get a package here, it comes after a long time of course. When it finally reaches my hands it looks like it's been through a war. It is falling apart, and the tape is coming off. In fact, there is a stamp on it that reads "Examined" and "Free." So, at some point, my package was opened up, examined, shifted through, put back together, but then instead of re-taping it, they tie it up with knotted rope. Then (for quality purposes? security purposes?) they drip melted wax or tar (more likely tar) and stamp it over the rope--old school letter style. So I get my package and it is devastated, and and it has been tied up in rope, and each side of rope has a tar seal on it...COOL

4) The amazing names of stores (like Light and Lights), mistaken words on menus (like pouched eggs), and unbelievable pictures of terrifyingly happy children, etc.

5) The entire experience of going to the movie theater here. Movie theaters in Hyderabad are like being transported to the US but only partially. 4 or 5 floors, with subways and maybe even pizza!! and coffee and cookies and ice cream. And now it gets good: a rock climbing wall. and a check your blood pressure, your sugar levels, and your mood machines. and an LG retail store. and a Haunted House (which reads: This is a copyrighted haunted institution, on the sign). The process of ordering food, also deserves a note here. Instead of just going up to order what you want, you have to go to the other side of the room to order with the cashier and pay him. Then another man gives you your ticket and you bring it over to the other side where the food is and you hand one man the ticket, and he yells out to another man, who comes and takes the ticket. And then he gives it to the actual food man, who gets what you want, who brings it to the first man at the food counter who gives it to you. We are all convinced that this whole process is somehow a combination of two factors. One, it is efficient ONLY in the sense that it is all very organized, yet goes so far in such a classically overachieving Indian way that it all falls apart. And two, it gives more people more jobs...

6) Our adventures with ordering coffee at Cafe Coffee Day, which is a chain coffee store in India. First of all, we order 3 black coffees and 2 vegan shakes. On the menu it says: black coffee: double shot of espresso with hot water, with milk on the side; and it reads, vegan shake: milk not your thing? no problem with our non-dairy shake. So she brings us 3 espresso shots with no milk, and (get this) iced coffe with whipped cream and ice cream as the vegan shakes. So we say, these are supposed to not have milk. and she says, "o they don't have milk. they have whipped cream" oh ok. and our coffees, "no we don't have black coffee, we only have espresso shots and no you can't get milk with it" BUT IT'S A COFFEE SHOP! thanks India!!

7) KOPPHEECHAIIII KOPPHEEECHAIIII. This is what train sellers say in a nazalized voice ALL 27 hours of the train ride. This means: Coffee (which has morphed into kop-heee) and Chai (tea) together. loudly. all the time. they are trying to sell coffee and tea.

8) Hot tea in 95 degree weather

9) Adorable things that professors say by accident or mistranslated. Like, "give me a little tinkle" (call him in the phone), "the phenomenon of the hugging of the trees" (for tree-huggers), and suitable pronounced "sweetable"

Kerala, part II: Munnar

On the morning of 4 March (the most commanding day of the year, and my wonderful mother's birthday!) we woke up early, left our new Mr. Das to pile into a white 1950's looking olds-mobile (is that even a kind of car?) with Augustine (father figure number 2), our hired driver for the day. We had hired him to drive us out east from the coast towards the mountains and hill areas near the town of Munnar. He stopped along the way at various natural spots, like a waterfall (where we clmbed around huge rocks for about an hour), a spice plantation (where we saw Eucalyptus trees and ate passion fruit! Kenya!!, and tasted all sorts of spices and herbs), and many grand landscape views. Augustine was great to have because he was able to take us wherever we wanted to go, whenever we wanted to go (on top of which, the roads in Munnar and the surrounding area are so windy, being in a bus is just terrifying). Augustine took us to a homestay, owned by father figure number 3, named George. George himself came to take us in his jeep the very steep and muddy quarter of a mile from the road and his home. Our room looked out from the middle of a hill; and across the valley, there were rolling hills covered in tea plants, and beyond that, mountains. mountains mountains!

Munnar grows the tea of the world. It certainly grows a majority of India's tea, as well as much of the exported products. The tea plants are never ending: they are bright green, and all cut short and flat. Dotted within the fields are workers who spend all day walking up and down the extremely steep slopes cutting the newly grown tea leaves. Augustine took us to a tea factory, (made particularly easy to follow as it was geared for tourists) which was fascinating, because it showed how tea had been introduced to India.

We stayed with George, and for no reason except that he was amazing, George gave us an extra room for no cost! His homestay was the nicest we stayed at, and though it took some convincing, when we realized that even this "pricey" place was actually costing us $6 each a night, it became a non-question about finding a new place. The next morning we all woke up at 5:30 to watch the sun rise over the mountain across the valley and to do yoga on the roof. We were, in fact, too early for the sun at that time, and then slept through yoga time. But it was a valiant effort. At around 10am we met a new figure in our lives. His name is Joseph. He, like all these Christian named men, is an Indian, but the first and only so far, Indian to have a lisp. It was adorable. And he didn't speak much English at all. He was to be our guide up the mountain, which we decided would be our activity of the first part of the day. Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into.

There seems to be something about me and mountain climbs in foreign countries, being guided by native Christian-named men who speak poor english, with some type of speech issue (think Grandpa, Christopher, going up Mt. Kenya). And, just as Mt. Kenya was way more intense than I had ever anticipated, our hike/climb was certainly more than we thought we were getting into. We started off, 3 liters of water for 6 people for the "4 hour" hike, in our hands, all armed with nothing but the clothing we were wearing, a few cameras, and sandals. Yes, sandals for most of us. Indeed, Davita and I wore our chokos (I am true convert now, and am planning on becoming a sponsored advertiser for the wonderful brand of all purpose shoe made by the one and only Choko company). And so we began. We went up into a treehouse where we could stay for lots of money, we hiked steep inclined paths through the forest. Mallory lost her sunglasses somewhere in the jungle. we were sweating by 10 minutes in. And Joseph was leaping ahead, wearing a lungi (a cloth tied around his waste, tradition in Kerala) and cheap sandals.

Joseph needs some explaining in fact. Not only was his name Joseph. not only did he only wear a lungi and cheap sandals, not only did he have a lisp and poor english comprehension. not only was he our guide up a mountain, which turned out to not to have trails that we followed. he also jumped up vertical rocks like he had Frank's grippy toes, trotted down vertical dirt avalanches, and sprinted up waist high lemon-grass covered hills that had no foot holds, he also only had one cup of coffee all day, and he also smoked cigarettes.

So. yes, after the jungle we just went higher, and it got harder. Going through lemongrass fields/slopes, that don't have places for your feet, and then out of the tall grass, and onto the planes, where there are crop fields actually growing food on the steep side of the mountain. It looked like a normal field where crops might be grown (tho nothing was), that had just been tipped 90 degrees, and was now vertical. Still, even in the heat and my exhaustion, I do remember putting my hand into the hot, dry soil and thinking wow! that feeling of true dirt reminded me so much of all the farming I've done. It felt amazing, nothing like the way dry soil feels on dry hands, especially when you're hiking up a mountain in India! We soon realized that we had not brought enough water. not at all. Joseph took one of our empty bottles and filled with stream water that was falling down the mountain side, but we all declined, of course, knowing the dangers that unfiltered water can have on our frail American immune systems. Yet, by the time we had reached the top, all of us (except Olga) were drinking that stream water. And who knows if it has given us all a thousand and one diseases, or if it was flowing over elephant poop, but we drank it, unpurified, unfiltered, didn't even add iodine tablets (because oh right, I left mine down at George's house!). I think we're fine from the water, actually because it was probably the cleaned we could get, besides bottled or filtered of course. It was running water from a little stream and it was delicious, and somewhat murky but necessary because I think we would have all started going crazy if we hadn't had it. Needless to say, we took about 6.5 hours to do the whole hike, and were so hungry and thirsty by the time we reached the bottom, we had to take an auto the 2km back to our homestay from the base of the mountain.

The hike itself was breathtakingly beautiful. When we first got to Munnar I saw these huge mountains surrounding us on all sides, and I saw the ridges that connect the peaks together and I said, that is where I want to be. walking along those ridges. And then we were there! It is so open in Munnar, and for once you can finally see farther than just two peaks away, because there isn't that terrible pollution of the cities. It was so refreshing to be up around the peaks of the mountains for change.

The next day we hired an auto to take us to the Chinar Wildlife Sanctuary. Driving through the mountains take so much longer of course because we had to wind up and wind down, and go over and in and out and then finally we were there. Our guide's name was Bajin, he was a tribesman, who wore a full green uniform, and flipflops. He hunted down five wild elephants just by listening to the sounds of them eating in the far far distance. It was really remarkable.

We spent our last day at a beach back near Fort Cochin, which was fun--though draining because where there aren't many tourists, being at a beach is just a chance for people to stare at us more than ever. We were smart about it, but still it's exhausting when you can't really enjoy the beach because there are people just sitting on the rocks nearby doing nothing but watching us.

Getting back of course was another 27 hour train ride. It was pretty much a fiasco of feeling bombarded by people asking us "which country are you coming from?" and other the like. Many people here do not pick up on the very obvious fact that we don't want to talk to them. A perfect example was when this guy sat down on our bench on the train, squishing us all, sitting too close (because the whole idea of a "personal bubble" is not applicable here), and asks us all these questions about where we are from, what our names are, etc. We politely respond when necessary, and then (best solution we've found yet), we all pick up our books and start reading. Of course, this one guy then sits there, staring and then pokes me saying, "um sophia, um sophia. you're boring me with your reading." And I look back at him and WANT to say, "oh really? well I didn't know it was my job to entertain you!" but instead say, "o well I'm very interested in my book, so I'm going to read now." It is funny in retrospect, and even at the time, it is funny somewhat. But it is also just so draining and annoying and it never ends. It gets almost unbearable at times, to be honest.

I've been thinking more and more about the trash situation here. Traditional Indian culture wraps their food and eats everything off banana leaves. This is a completely natural way of packaging and eating. In the past then, when everyone used banana leaves, throwing them away at the end wouldn't matter because they would all decompose no problem, wherever they landed. It is just with the introduction of plastic and tin and foil that the issue becomes problematic. This is all very obvious, but I think what I've realized specifically when I see the train people passing out lunches and dinners in foil containers, and then not even providing ANY means for dealing with the wasted containers, that people have continued to deal with trash as if it were still all banana leaves. But it isn't. And so all the trains every day have breakfast, lunch, and dinner, plus all snack packaging and all water bottles thrown out the windows onto the areas around the railways. I am surprised now, that there is even an inch of ground NOT covered in plastic and trash.

I'm sick of writing now.

pictures are up...more to come.

Kerala, part I: train & Fort Cochin

The moments before I stepped back into my room after the 9 day self-prescribed vacation to Southern India I just returned from, all I could think about were the critters who undoubtedly had moved back into my abode during my absence. While readers are, I am sure, sick of hearing about Frank and the rest, in addition to the fact that I am growing more accustomed to the ideas of sharing my living space with other animals of the world, I just don't feel right, posting without at least some reference to the fact that, yes, Frank had taken back his corner, and yes, ants were making their way through the cracks in the walls. I think what I like the most about the situation is the fact that I knew they would all be back because I've come to realize that without constant assertion of my presence as head of the food chain (so to speak) in my room, the animals of India are always at the doorstep (literally) of all human areas, ready to take back the spaces that were once trees and forests, but now are filled with these strange new structures, also known as houses.

I get ahead of myself completely however, because this post is actually about my recent travels, the wonders of Southern India, and how much I love living and being here right now. After turning in my (first) paper (of the semester), I left Hyderabad Central Univeristy campus around noon on Friday 29 February. (yes once more, Leap Years are fun). The process of getting to the train itself requires taking other trains and is tedious and taxing and only worth mentioning as an example of how getting around Hyderabad is more difficult than getting to the other coast of India. I don't like cities very much in this country, is really the point that I've come to realize from all this. Anyway, we boarded our train ready and eager...and then we sat. And then we ate. and sat some more. and ate some more. and sat. and slept. then we got bored. and so we practiced yoga, to the amazement of those around us and ourselves. And we flossed. and we played word games. and the Embodiment game (the form of transportation my personality best embodies is, according to Jordan, simultaneously being at the front and back of a line of people.) and we learned more about trash systems in India: coming to terms with the reality that there is none and it's actually worse to keep garbage by our seats because of ants. Instead, out the window it all goes. It breaks my heart. And frustrates me more than I can say. But much more on this later.

And so we sat and then we slept. Olga's purse was almost stolen in the night. and we ate some more. and we were asked by a man on the train, "are you communists?" no, sir, we are just friends. "oh but are you communists also?" and 27 hours later we all got off the train and we were in the hot, humid, dirty and populated city of Ernakulam, Kerala. (which, incidentally, is a communist state.)

After walking in confusion and becoming lost, we found our way aboard a ferry, headed to the island town of Fort Cochin. And, just as the Rough Guide (or Lonely Planet, if you care to make the distinction..hmhm), says, we could feel the collective sigh escape our beings, just to find ourselves in a place of relaxation. Fort Cochin is adorable. It is pretty much exactly what I think most of us had all envisioned when we pictured ourselves studying abroad in India. It is clean (by Indian standards) and is surrounding by water. It is a wonderful mix of truly feeling like a vacation spot, while still maintaining its pride and distinction as a part of the country of India. Instead of hotels or hostels, there are dozens of home stays, where families rent rooms out to travelers. It's a great system because not only did we get the homey feel of a family, we were immediately set up with a set of activities and things to do through our short-term host father (who, amazingly was named Das, which is also the name of our figurative father on campus back in Hyderabad). So the second Mr. Das was our first father figure (first in a long string of wonderful men we met on our adventures) of the Kerala trip; he gave us a tiny room (for Rs600) with only one double bed, and two extra mattresses. but only a fan and no screens and it was HOT and stuffy. Five people is a lot of bodies in one small 150sqft (?) room. In the middle of the first night I moved out into the hallway and slept on a couch, blinded by the street light outside and the flashing shrine dedicated to Jesus that would not turn off. (Besides being communist, Kerala as a state in India is also almost entirely Christian). That first night, it was Saturday night, we went walking around the town, which is the perfect size for walking and exploring. We got Aryuvedic massages (fully naked, which was definitely surprising. but, true to the sign out front "men for men, and women for women") and we bought fresh pineapple and mangoes and ate them in a park using my wonderful leatherman knife. (fyi: my two most prized processions in India from back home are my sleep-sack and my leatherman.) Nearby, the All-India National Badminton Tournament was being played inside a blue-tarp gym. I mean, why not?

Sunday we woke up early to board a bus full of white tourists (organized by Mr. Das, thank you), and headed for a day of touring the backwaters of Kerala, one of the attractions that draws tourists (both foreign and Indian) to the state. The backwaters are a series of streams and rivers that rise and sink with the tides (I think) of the oceans. They filter throughout the state and you can take boats and canoes to explore them. We spent the day at first riding in canoes through tiny streams in the middle of the jungle basically, which felt like taking a walk through someone's backyard because we were constantly passing by homes and families just leading their normal lives. The backwaters there, we were told, are used for transportation. We went on a few excursions into some of the homes, to see string being made from coconut fibers, and toured a forest to find spices and roots which are used in all the dishes we have been eating for the last 2 months. (For those interested, the green papaya is used in Aryuvedic medicine for "menstruation and the abortions." so take that, planned parenthood.) We stopped for lunch, which we ate off banana leaves, and true to both our status as Americans and as college students being offered "free" food, we ate a lot, I think to the surprise of the other tourists (who were all Germany related. And by Germany related, I mean, of course Swedish and the like. Whatever, they all have blond hair and blue eyes, and all look like they are siblings.) After lunch we spent the rest of the day sitting on a houseboat, gliding around the bigger lakes and rivers. The boats are propelled by two men, one on each end, who have long long poles, which they use their entire body weight against to pry the boat forward. Near the end, Jordan and I decided it was high time for a swim, so we jumped in. Only to discover a) only about 2 feet of water below which lay endless feet of silt and mud and grossness, and b) a super fast current. So we swam/i tried to swim to the boat, and made a big commotion (how American of us), and made it back on board. And it was so much fun. After the backwaters, we went to a local performance of the traditional Kerala dance form, called Kathakali, in Fort Cochin. The dance is a whole story told through direct hand, body, facial and leg movements that each depict specific words. It was weird, creepy even, because mostly the focus is on how the face of the performer changes from displaying one emotion to another. It was unnerving how drastically he could switch between elation and tears; yet the whole thing was so contrived and weird. i didn't like it. Afterwards, walked around Fort Cochin, discovered a coffee shop that sold iced coffee and chocolate cake. and had dinner. It was a great day.


The next day, being Monday, we decided we all wanted to just walked around the town and do whatever we wanted. Jordan and Davita, accompanied by the Russian Olga, reached out to their heritage and visited the Jewish community in Jew Town, part of Fort Cochin. Apparently it was very sad because there are only 5 Jews left in all of Cochin, and this one very old lady thought they were coming to rescue a the dying community. Meanwhile, Mallory and I spent the day painting in the studio of an artist named Desmond. We had met him the night before, on our walk around the town. Unable to resist the pull of his reggae music that floated through the warm night, we had all gone into his studio to talk with this strange, middle aged, grey bearded and long curly haired artists. Mallory and I returned to his studio that day, and sat and talked with him--about his life, and what its like being an artists and how we both want to screw the idea of a real life, and come live with him and paint for the rest of our lives. He had some really interesting things to say on the subject, not the least of which was the advice that whatever we decide to do, we must be committed to. He reminded me of that Goethe quote I love so much about commitment and hesitation. I can't remember it now, but I'll find it later.

*
Desmond paints while he smokes another joint. He shows me a window into a life of colors among heat. His studio is only about 12 sq ft. It's his gallary too. The floor is littered with paint tubes, unfinished pictures, drawing boards. On a small table close to the ground are a collection of odds and ends; including large black framed oval glasses, a single maraca, and various brushes, scraps of paper and trinkets. Light years away, Peter Tosh and Bob Marley once jammed together on a hot evening like this one. Their recorded pumping rhythms vibrate the exposed and painted (in primary colors) support beams of the ceiling. Tonight, today, those rhythms pump inside the four walls of Desmond's tiny studio; a haven of reggae and color amid the dirt and pollution of India. And that day Desmond gave us a piece of paper and some pastels and we paint a joint picture of whatever comes out of the motions of our hands. We gave the painting to Desmond, but I have a photograph of it. At the end, we spend 20 minutes all three of us looking at it from different sides, deciding what each angle looks like. We see a mermaid, and an octopus. and from one side, all we can see is a fire breathing horse jumping straight out of the picture's boarders.
*

That night, we had more chocolate cake and coffee, continued to search for the cheapest meals we could find (lowest breakfast was Rs120, which is about $3, for all five of us). And then began the sessions of joint poetry, which have filled up our time for much of these past days. Alternating writing lines, and giving only the last word of the previous line, Mallory and I (and occasionally Jordan and the others) spent hours and hours writing poems; and it doesn't matter who wrote each line. What I love about the act of writing a poem with someone else, is that it allows you to be creative, and yet surrender that creation which you produce to be affected completely by the creativity of someone else. It is a chance to produce something, and yet be totally detached from it as necessarily belonging to you--or to belonging to what you originally intended it to mean. Mallory and my creative word-plays were vibrating on the same wavelength this week. The first one we wrote, is typed out below:

There was nothing left
light-shadows filtering between faces and limbs.
Her fingers curled into my skin
a patchwork of fabric making up a being.
"Can't we stay one second longer?"
vertical thoughts pull suns from galaxies
I remember his funky shoes with the silver laces
Back down, full circle, inside of me.
I forget that I'm not supposed to forget
patterning a purple memory of sunsets.
The bell sounded and the birds dispersed.
If the birds dispersed, would the bell sound?
Yes! Those cobwebs filter through my nose.
The view from the window is beautiful
And so we sit, breathing; and we are.

3 things not to forget about india

are1) Yesterday I came to school in an auto rickshaw that had 3 GIANT blocks of ice in it--melting at my feet. Huge and dirty. A new kind of air conditioning system, maybe? India you're so smart. This means that not only was I riding in a tiny, yellow golf cart-like scooter/car, decked out in furry purple tiger stiped interior and ceiling covering, looking at a poster of "Bollywood Movie stars" and listening to excessively loud techno music....i was also sitting in a puddle of freezing water. go india!

2) libraries, in their essence as fundamentally based on the principles of organization, are not in any way applicable to the country of India.

3) you know how trucks and buses in the States go beeep-beeep when they back up? Here in india, all cars have (purchased? comes standard with the car? i dont know) built in songs that play when the car (ALL cars) are put into reverse. The songs are all in monotoned (ie one note at a time) and are all things like Jingle Bells and Happy Birthday. Inevitably, as the song progresses, the tune goes out and the notes get distorted.

ps. new pictures are up on picasa

Goa

Firstly, Frank is back. (!!!) It’s sad, but true. Or maybe it’s good really. I mean, he’s only a lizard and I am in India. He was here first. I am also now positive he is way more scared of me than I am of him: I found my nose 6 inches from his nose and screamed at the top of my lungs into his tiny, ugly face. I think he is now morphing into the Beethoven-type because he has probably gone deaf on my account. He will soon grow long scraggly white hair, and begin writing concertos dedicated to the memory of the recently departed Charlotte (and if you don't know who that is, I can't help you).

***

Secondly, recent adventures: Last Thursday some friends and I got onto a bus headed for Goa, a small state on the western coast of India. The bus itself was interesting: 20 hours long and smelly and hot. In all seriousness, I can't believe it didn't rattle apart. Anyway, Goa was once a Portuguese colony back in the day, so it has a different feel to it than the rest of India that I've seen so far. It is beautiful and open, breezy, with clean beaches, and really warm water, lots of green palm trees, and blue skies. We did yoga in the mornings, slept in a straw hut on the beach, ate delicious food (I now like tomatoes! huge news), bought pretty clothing, and watched the sun set while swimming in the surf. On the first day we walked up a dune onto the main beach, paid the first hut we saw for 2 nights and didn't walk down that dune until we left to go home.

I ate a pineapple with my leatherman knife (thanks Spence!) white sitting in the sand. And I went swimming in the Arabian Sea (now added to bodies of water I've touched my toes to).

But Goa, while relaxing and beautiful, is also really strange, and somewhat disconcerting. The whole state has become the hot-spot destination for extreme hippies from all over the world. Being white there isn’t special: not to Indians because there are so many other white people living there; and not to the other white people, because, well that’s where they live and I just look like a poser trying to have a nice weekend, and why would they be interested in getting to know me? While it is nice not to be stared at for a change, it place has an unfriendly, too-cool-for-you feel to it. It does not feel like a part of India. The types of clothing, the manner of behavior, the entire system itself, functions like a vacationers island paradise, not a state in India. While relaxing and beautiful and a nice break from the insanity of usual India, Goa itself is almost sickening in how cool it is, (or how cool it thinks it is). It filled with one dread-locked, tan, fit, yoga-doing hippie after another (Will you would have been sick). It felt like a new kind of pressure to look the part of this other type of being trendy. While there are elements of that world which are intriguing to me (to most people I'm sure: I mean, who doesn’t want to move to an island paradise and do yoga for the rest of their life?), I can’t help but feel that the Goan life is a cop out—that it falls short of really doing anything.

Let me explain. In my time in India so far, thoughts about what I want to do with my life are always popping into my head. I am torn between the ideas of a successful life and a happy life. And is financial stability necessary for happiness? What about a combination, please? But somehow the two (happiness and success) don’t coexist in my image of my future (though I am sure that such a combination will—no, HAS to—happen). Anyhow, I would love to jet out of all responsibilities, move to an island where I could work on a farm, teach yoga and live the rest of my life meditating on a beach. But that’s not really productive; on top of which, I don’t have the resources to make that feasibly happen. It strikes me also, that such a life, while enjoyable, is in fact extremely selfish. I have gifts to offer the world in that I have visions of ways that things can be better, and I have two hands which I can use to make those changes come true. So it is selfish to put my own yogic bliss above doing something real with my life.

This sounds preachy again. Why all my blogs are about these huge questions about my life and my future, I don't know. If someone knows how to turn that part of my brain off, please let me know. I apologize, but Goa makes me think more about all this. It is full of people who are purely enamored with the idea of peace, unity, relaxation; and it seems to have become too caught up in it’s own chill vibe; to have forgotten what it wanted to do in the first place. It is not a part of the country in which it exists. It is a bubble for white people to retreat to and forget what they left behind. It is selfish and it hogs the beauty of the west Indian coast for rich white travelers with deadlocks and tattoos instead of fanny-packs and cameras.

This is not to say that all of Goa is like this; not to mention that after 3 days I really shouldn’t be making such bold and universal statements. So Sophie, shut up...No, sorry I can't. and it's MY blog anyway, so psh. stop reading if you want.

Right. Like I say, the fundamentals of that life are intriguing to me; I guess what I find so unappealing is how the ideals of peace, harmony, and spiritual realization have become warped as they are realized in the Goan world (as I observed it). And of course, none of this is to say that I did not full heartedly love every minute I spent just lying on the beach, eating organic food, doing yoga in the sand and swimming in the ocean as the sun set. It was remarkable and lovely and I would do it again. and stay longer next time.

But I would never live there. If one day I have the means and desire to forget about the real world and move to a place where I can just relax and do my own thing, in search of the meaning of my life, I will choose a place that allows me to integrate into the world, people, culture, ideas and customs of that place; not a place that does it's best to pretend it's not part of India.

I'll be putting photos up soon, until then, I hope everyone back home is having a good end of February (it's a leap year, so all you 4 year old leap year babies, finally get to turn 5!) I miss home, both New York and Boston, and I miss the familiarity of faces that I love in those places; but this experience is wonderfully challenging and stretching and I am increasingly happier that I chose to come here.

Love from all the way over here to all the way back there (where ever your THERE is, whoever YOU are).

Om shanti
xoxoxo
sb

pondicherry, and life

We went with the whole group to Tamil Nadu, the southern most state in India, to the cities of Chennai and Pondicherry. I've put some pictures up of the trip. We saw lots of really ancient temples still active today, went to a beach (which smelled and was covered with poop. delightful!), went to an ashram, visited a school that teaches children both standard education and all types of art forms, and we visiting this place called Auroville, which is a utopian community started in the '60s in honor of Sri Autobindo--it function without money, is all communal, and is home to people from all over the world who have decided to dedicate their lives to living locally and in harmony. they drink dynamized water, which means it has been played bach and mozart to remove impure bacteria that comes from the pollution of the planet. The weekend was really fun, surprisingly since we had so many people, and we were traveling by a huge bus, all organized by CIEE. I loved getting away again from Hyderabad. and this time coming home felt great, though sad once more since it made me think of home-home. But I am so happy to be here. I am thinking about myself, and thinking about what I want to do with myself, what I really want to pursue and what seems important to me.

Everyone's first question is, 'Why India?' Here's how I feel about that: I'll tell you when I leave. As time begins to pass I am realizing small reasons--hopefully by the time I leave I will actually know why I came here. For now, besides the obvious "I want to experience another culture" answer, here's what I've realized: I am in India because I want a break to think, to grow, to smell bad, to eat curry, to watch Bollywood movies, to BE in tollywood movies (that's right, im working on it...), to listen to insane Indian pop music, to ride in dance party autos rickshaws. I am here and I am thinking more and more about what I want to get out of this process--what I want it to be like. and I am lucky because I can shape it how I want to. I can travel as much or as little as I want. I can paint every night, every day, if i want to. I could learn sitar, or dance. I could stop using a computer. I have stopped eating meat (though that is more because of avian flue, etc.) I am here and I can take a break from the life at Columbia that can be so stressful and overwhelming. I am here to take a step back and think about what I want my education at this stage of my life (whatever kind of education that even means) to be like. maybe even so i can come back and actually use Columbia--or my life for that matter--for all I can.

I see mounds and mounds of garbage everywhere--there are no trash cans in this city. none. there are more trash cans in my house and at the university than there are in all of Hyderabad probably. Even when I do put things in the trashes around where i live and go to school, the next day I see my trash out in the middle of the field or outside my house in the ditch. So what is the point? There is no recycling system in this whole country. It puts all my efforts at being as carbon neutral as possible back home in the states, into perspective. What possible good can me unplugging my coffee maker do, when here in India, plastic bags, bottles, and trash are burned everywhere. There are garbage fires everywhere--it's how they get rid of the piles of trash here. This world is so much bigger than the United States. It is polluted, and it is dirty, and there are cows on the roads, and trash on the streets. it depresses me

I found out a few days ago that the children who come running up to our cars at red lights, baby siblings in their arms, crying for money or food, are forced by 'pimp' like older kids to get money, give it to the pimp, who then does...what ever he wants with it. I also found out that sometimes beggers here will break the limbs of their children to make them more pitiable so people will give them more money. these kinds of things could never occur to me. i'm still not sure i can believe that people could actually be that terrible to one another--let alone to their children. I don't know what or how I am meant to react to these kinds of fact. They are reality.

******
It is becoming ever more frustrating being a woman in this country. I feel the restrictions on my sex from all sides. I can't make eye contact with men that i see; I certainly can't smile at them. I can't make friends with Indian guys, and women seem aloof and uninterested. I can't bike to school, but my house-mate Tim, can. I can't travel anywhere alone, but all the guys on my program can. I can't even go to the nearest town, or into Hyderabad on an exploration-adventure by my self, but the guys can. A few nights ago a couple of us went out to dinner with some Indian guys we met at a bar one night. They were really nice, but so disgustingly wealthy that I could barely believe it. One of them is getting 3 planes at the end of the month and, would we like him to fly us around India? (i mean sure, but what kind of question IS that??) I can't help feeling like these guys, rather than being interested in anyway in who I actually am even getting to know, becoming my friend, are only interesting in impressing me with massive displays of money and influence. It feels so wrong, when we step however briefly, into the world of the rich of the rich within India because that world is just so over the top wealthy. Even trying to compare or rationalize, or believe even, that THAT world is coexisting with the one where children's arms are being broken to make a few extra rupees each day, is horrifying, unbelievable...what it is really I don't know exactly, but it is certainly something that feels wrong and unfair beyond the limits of my normal brain activity.

*****

love to all.

City Adventures

My life in India is beginning to feel comfortable (as comfortable as I can imagine it being, I mean). I live in a beautiful house, in a sunny room. I get breakfast and dinner made for me each day, and I live 3 minutes from campus. I'm doing yoga every day, I go running around campus, and...I'm really sick of curry. That is besides the point though; because the point is that I am really lucky to be here, and although there are parts of it that are totally overwhelming at first, it usually seems to always work out some way. I sit each day on my balcony and write or talk to people at home. And I can feel some things changing: it is winter here and I'm feeling cold when it gets below 75F. I have the urge to go to the left side of the road when I bike. My boogers are black when i go into the city and I'm okay with that. The roads suddenly don't seem so crazy, I can sleep through the sounds of night usually, and I'm growing to feel comfortable with the bugs and spiders of my room.

Yet, Frank Lloyd Wright is a perfect example of how there are changes, and yet I'm still quite prissy at heart. As attached as I had become to him, he was becoming a problem. I had grown used to him and had resigned myself to the idea that he was going to live in the corner farthest away from my bed and that was that. However, one night I decided to watch him once I turned my light off and realized he was doing laps around my head while I was sleeping. Not okay. He could stay in one corner, but he can't have free reign of my room at night. I think Arletta got sick of hearing me cry out about how I was going to get rid of him (but not doing it) so she came in and took a towel, grabbed Frank and threw him out the door. Frank is gone!! So it seems there was a part of me, and still is I guess, who would be willing to let him live in my room, and yet there is always going to be that part of me that just needs to have some kind of wall between the bugs and creatures of this world and my bed, however holey that wall is (as is hole-filled).

(Of course, the next day I came home to find a 3 inch hornet in my room. We proceeded to freak out (all three of us this time) as we opened doors with long poles and tried desperately to coax the hornet outside. Finally we went downstairs and told Amma, who came upstairs to investigate, saw it, started laughing at us, removed her shoe and smacked the hornet against the wall. All in about 2 minutes.)

****
A few days ago our program took us to see a movie. The movie theater was like walking back to the States, except that the tickets cost $1.50 and you got free popcorn and a drink with it; and there is an intermission in the middle of the movie. We saw a really great movie, called Taare Zameen Par, which means "Stars on Earth" in Hindi. The movie had no subtitles, so understanding it was really hard, but I got some of it, and it was understandable even without words. It was really interesting as an experience to see a movie without understanding the words that people are speaking and only get the story from the visual. It is about a little boy who has dyslexia and yet also about India and the places, lives, and positions that a boy or man can have within this country. I really loved it.

****
Yesterday a few of us went into Hyderabad to explore some more. This is truly the biggest city I have ever seen. It's the 5th largest in India, which is terrifying because the idea of something bigger is not possible in my mind. At the center of the city is the lake, Hussain Sagar, which separates the old city, Secunderabad, from the new city, Hyderabad. We went to a the modern art museum (which was really amazing) and a planetarium (which was adorably Indian in how excited it was about itself). There are some hills at the center of the whole city, near the lake, where the Hindu temple Birla Mandir stands, looking out onto the lake. The area around the temple feels totally different from the rest of the city. You have to walk up steeply inclined, narrow streets, filled with various vendors and stores, all winding in and out of one another. When you reach the top, you must deposit your shoes, all cell phones and all cameras before being allowed into the temple itself. The temple is actually really new, and incredibly beautiful. It is all white marble, and is dedicated to Lord Venkatesawara (I don't know who that is actually.) All along the outer walls are engraved depictions of stories from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, and each of the main gods of Hinduism has their own shine where people daily come to pray and just sit. The views from the top of the temple are spectacular, and it from here that I first really saw how gigantic Hyderabad actually us.

It is not a city in the way a US city is: that is, there aren't tall sky scrapers, or business districts, or large apartments in one congregated area, instead the city is just an expanding mass of small streets and junctions that all have the same kind of stores: bike repair, fruit stands, home appliances, book stores, restaurants, hotels. As the city has grown in recent years from all the tech companies from the US that build their corporate centers here, the city is expanding out towards where my university is. High-Tech city, as it is called, is the area around where we live, holds all the tech centers and corporate buildings. Apart from this area, Hydereabad is just a giant village, full of thousands of little streets, the same stores, and tons and tons of people. From above it all, it was incredible to look down and have it all appear to work so smoothly. Looking out from the temple was so peaceful, and the city seemed to function, flow, and work below me. And then I rememered, immediately almost, the chaos of the city at the street level: the smells, the cows, the dirt, trash, dogs, people, cars and buses. From above it seems to work, but living in it, my host father really did get it right: Hyderabad is like a broken ant hill.

We sat and watched the sun set, I said goodbye to the sun, giving him up for the night to you all back in the states. It is such a cool and weird thought to realize that, as the sun was setting for me last night, it was rising for you all at that exact moment. To look out and realize that out and down was home is weird and quite amazing. And then we realized that the sun had set, not below the horizon line, but a good distance above it: the sun set into a thick layer of pollution and haze that lies between the sky and the ground. It was so strange to feel so peaceful, to be living in this moment of real beauty and life, and then be reminded so strikingly of humanity and our impact on our world. I've never seen the product of mankind's waste and pollution so apparent and obvious before.

Looking around at the city that I am living in I got another taste of what Indian life is like: that is, an entire country of people who actively believe and live their religion each day. The temple was full of people all come to worship, pray, and just sit above the chaos of the city and enjoy the sunset. The thing I love so much about Hinduism so far is how welcoming it is, how open it is to people who believe different things. The religion is so incredibly accepting of all other faiths, it feels like an affirmation of the idea of unity of humanity, within a structured religion. I really love it. A perfect example of this: walking around the temple are carvings of the ancient texts and stories of Hinduism, depicting stories of heroes and battles, lessons of life and self realization; across a small walkway are three panels, each dedicated to the teachings of other great thinkers: the words of Confucius on one, Judaism and the 10 commandments on another, and Christianity and Jesus' words on the last. Standing proud in the middle of the lake way below is a statue of Buddha, and off in the distance are the Muslim Qutub Shai Tombs, where the ancient Muslim rulers and their wives are buried. This city is so alive with the idea that all religions speak a common language of spirituality. This seems unique to Hinduism, at least in my limited experience with it and other religions. Where else would you find the writings of Jesus, Moses, Confucius, Buddha, the Koran, and Rama all in one place on the top of a hill, than in a Hindu temple in Hyderabad looking out as the sun sets into pollution. This country so full of dichotomies and contrasts.

Maybe I am romanticizing it all, but at least on first impression it feels great to see a culture that keeps its religion so central to daily life, and to have that religion accept all people regardless of how they believe. It feels like the solution to religious conflicts (and what conflicts aren't religious at their core?) that people have searched for for so long. I've run away with my thoughts, but it feels good to find something like this.

Frank LLoyd Wright, et al.

Frank Lloyd Wright is living on my walls. He is a 5 inch lizard (or other reptile creature). He is brown, has black eyes, and is very ugly. I first encountered Frank Lloyd Wright last night as I was brushing my teeth. Three minutes later, I met his girlfriend, Charlotte, who was a spider and who is, coincidentally, now dead. I stepped on her.

Theoretically, I don't mind Frank Lloyd Wright; in practice, however, I hate him. He is invading my personal space and I feel the need to demonstrate my dominance over him by way of flashy displays of territorial control. These include kicking the door repeatedly to scare him away, watching him out of the corner of my eye while pretending to not watch him, and jumping on my bed each time I discover him in a new location. I can't help thinking that he will fall on my face in the middle of the night or poop all over my clothes. Of course, I prefer to know exactly where he is at all times, rather than not see him. Out of side means he could be falling on my face.

Frank Lloyd Wright has a cousin who lives downstairs in the kitchen. His cousin is nameless and is a salamander undoubtedly because he has lost his tail once already and is in the process of growing it back. Cool. Too bad Frank is not as cool. Frank is not a salamander and is ugly.

Also in attendance in my room, though briefly (I hope) was the mouse (who was really a rat, but I refused to call him so). He was only renting for a day, and though we barricaded him into the bathroom, he mysteriously disappeared through alternative routes by the next day. He did not pay room or board.

Lastly in my room, though in numbers certainly not leastly, is Ant Colony Number 134 who inhabits the top shelf of my bookcase and travels in marching formation from the ceiling hole to the hole in the corner of the shelf. They seem to be carrying materials upwards. I suspect they are building the Antilian Pyramids on our roof.

Outside is a different story. It appears that the Montague-Capulet feud, perpetuated by the Jets and Sharks, has found new roots in the dog gangs that patrol the streets of Doyans Gated Community, Gachibowli, Hyderabad, India. Sunning themselves by day, the 30 or so dogs of our neighborhood by night have serious bones to pick (har har) with each other. It sounds like territorial mayhem, barking competitions, and whimpering practice all at once, each night from around 3-6am.

In addition are the mooing-barking cows. Unsurprisingly, there are lots of cows here. The cows of America who complain of bad housing should come over to India where they are literally seen as God. At night the cows like to express their godly status through loud bark-moos. Also they have become used to cars and people and like to stand--or even better, sit--in the middle of the roads. Of all obstacles, either moving or stagnant, cows have the ultimate right of way on the roads of India.

Let's not forget about the wild boars that travel in packs around campus, eating whatever remains in the burning garbage heaps.

Such is an account of the animals I encounter in my life here on a daily basis. Please stay tuned for more fun adventures with Frank Lloyd Wright, now in mourning for the recently deceased Charlotte.

Warangal & Vijayawada

It has been a while since I've written anything. Last week we were shopping for classes (if they were happening at all) and this week we begin going to class for real. Classes are really interesting here because in the beginning of the semester a class might or might not meet depending on the professor yet we have no way of finding that out. So we end up just going to the class room and waiting for hours and only to realize that class is clearly not happening. Hopefully all will work itself out eventually. I'm trying really hard to approach all problems I face with an Indian attitude: that is, just going with the flow and seeing where I end up. This is so different from back home though, that it really does take active mind control NOT to try to fix each problem and plan everything out. Through the process of dealing with classes it has become so apparent how dependent we are to schedules and rules in that they give us a structure and guidelines that here just are either unimportant, or unnecessary. Anyways, if nothing else it is good lesson for me in self control and relaxation.

Now for this past weekend...

The stars have aligned themselves so that today is the Sankranti kite flying festival in India. School was cancelled yesterday and today (maybe tomorrow too...who knows really. That's how it works here.) so last Friday we decided to take advantage of our time off and go exploring the area around Hyderabad. Because of the festival all trains outside Andhra Pradesh were booked so, putting all our faith in the writers of the "Rough Guide" and "Lonely Planet" guide books, eight of us jumped on a 3 hour train heading northeast to a town called Warangal. We had all hoped that during this weekend adventure we would be able to get out of the city and see some beautiful nature and countryside. While we definitely got away from Hyderabad and did see some open spaces, it is becoming ever more clear to me why people say this country is overpopulated. Beyond the city, areas are less populated but by no means are the small towns in the country empty or really small for that matter. Taking trains is interesting in itself of course because you literally have to elbow and shove your way onto the train the second it stops (though many people prefer to run and jump onto the train as it is pulling into the station, I opted out of that option). If you don't get on quickly enough you end up standing for the entire train ride, packed really like sardines. And it's hot. (side note: of course this is actually the winter here, so the best part is that while we are all sweating our butts off, the Indians around us are all bundled up in sweaters and even a few coats. It is probably about 90 here right now at the hottest par of the day, fyi.) Anyway, trains are also an awesome way also to see the countryside. It really felt amazing to get out of the polluted city and see what the landscape of India really looks like, even if I was smashed against smelly Indians for 3 hours. Luckily we found a spot on the floor of the train which was right next to a window, which ended up being a fantastic seat to see the country fly by.

Once in Warangal we found a nice hotel (total for everyone costing a staggering 600 rupees, which is about $16...) and went in search of the Thousand Pillared Temple, (which the town is famous for). The temple was really beautiful, though not exactly what we had imagined since it was in the middle of the city. We happened to arrive at the temple at the same time as a group of school kids on a field trip (at least, I presume it was something like this). I need to preface this part of the story with a few important facts about being a white traveler in India. The best way I can describe it is something close to a celebrity. Walking around everywhere to anywhere, groups of Indians just follow us. Everyone stops what they are doing to stare, and when we stop to sit, a crowd of spectators form a mass around us just watching and staring. It is exhausting and it makes you feel like an animal in a cage. I would say about 25 times each day (at least) people come up and ask to take photos with us. It is really hard to deal with because while you know they are just interested in you, by the end of a day of staring and pictures, it is really hard to be nice about it. So, in the temple that first day, the schools kids all stopped and stared, then got bolder and came near us, giggled and laughed, dared each other to touch us, and then started asking for photos. We were literally squashed up against a corner of the temple with a crown of about 150 kids all talking and touching and flashes. It was really overwhelming and made appreciating the actual temple really hard because I just wanted to get out of there. Luckily we managed to have a few minutes at the end after the kids had left to really see it. It is a Hindu temple dating to 1163 and dedicated to Shiva, one of the three main Hindu gods. I will be putting picture of everything later today.

We walked around Warangal's streets which are packed with street vendors as always and vendors with fresh fruit and strings of flowers. The next morning (Saturday) we got back on a train and went southeast now to about 4 hours to Vijayawada where we stayed for two nights. Both Waragnal and Vijayawada are not hugely known for either their monuments or temples so finding the important places was definitely a challenge. The eight of us were had planned the weekend all on our own so it really was up to us to find places to eat and places to sleep that were safe and comfortable. Eating here when traveling is tricky because we can't eat street food because it our stomachs aren't used to the spices and also we don't have the immune systems to fight off some of the germs/parisites that live in dirty street food. This means we can only drink bottled water and eat at nice restaurants where food is prepared for us right then. Luckily nice restaurants here are insanely cheap so it was not a problem, but I can say that I'm getting sick of curries, rice and daal and could REALLY go for a salad with uncooked veggies right about now!!

In Vijayawada we took a rikshaw out to the Amaravatti buddhist cave temples which are absolutely gorgeous. It dates back to the 6th century AD and is a multi-leveled temple that has been carved into the rock of a mountain. There are sculptures and pillars and the views are amazing. It seems that all rural India grows bananas and corn. We spent all afternoon there just sitting and relaxing, looking out at the Krishna river and the mountains that surround Vijayawada. Sadly, there is so much pollution even out in the country that there is never a "clear" day as we would say, it is always hazy and foggy and you can never see more than a few miles or so into the distance because of the smog. When we were leaving a group a school kids (less this time) was leaving as well and their teacher offered to give us a ride back into the city with them. None of the kids spoke English but we managed to communicate things like names and we sang songs for each other. They were so excited to have us on their bus and wanted lots of pictures. It turned out that the bus dropped us off actually farther from the city than we had been and so we got onto a public bus, only to realize 45 minutes later that we had gone the extra loop around a mountain. We did finally make it home, but it was perfectly Indian day in that when we asked if the bus was going to town, the driver said yes, except that actually that bus had to first finish it's round going the opposite direction and then turn around and go back...like I say, it is just a different way of life here.

Sunday we took a bus 2 hours into the countryside in search of a Buddhist temple. When we got there we realized it was actually in ruins, but there was a museum and small replica of what was once one of the founding places of the Buddhist religion. There were scultures dating back to the 2nd century BC, which was really cool. We ended up just coming back soon after, eating dinner, and going to bed while watching Jurassic Park dubbed in Hindi. We planned on taking a 6:45 AM train the next morning, so we had to get there at 5:45 to get seats, but the train was delayed...for 4 hours. We finally got back to campus outside of Hyderabad at 5pm...12 hours after we had woken up to start traveling. It was really exhausting.

I rode on a motorcycle into the city to get my cell phone fixed (which it isn't). I actually closed my eyes and prayed that I would not die. I am not kidding about that.

Coming back to Hyderabad and getting out of the city to the campus was so much better than i thought it would be. Just walking onto campus was so nice because suddenly people weren't staring at us and it wasn't over crowded. When I finally came home to my house I got such a great surprise because they finally finished all the construction and so I got to unpack and make my room my own. It has really made me feel great to realize that this place really does feel a like my home here in India. The trip itself was a grand success for half and somewhat of a let down for half. We planned it very last minute and as a trip to just get out of Hyderabad and see some of India I think we did a really great job, for cheap too! It was mostly successful because we got to see other parts of the country around where we are living, to see how the trains work, and realize how intense traveling is going to be. It also just made me so grateful for the oasis I do have of my room, my house, the university, and the people at CIEE.

There are a lot of things about India that I do not love and there are equally many things that I immediately or am growing to love very much. The beauty of the landscape is indisputable, and yet the pollution covers so much of what we could once see that it is hard to look out at a mountain range and know that it probably goes on for miles, but only be able to see one or two mountains. It is also hard to drive through the country and in one flash see a group of farmers sweating in the sun, deformed children tap you on the leg asking for money as they shuffle along the ground on their hands, or blind beggars call out to you. I know that 2 ruppees is nothing to me, and yet I can't give to these poor people because when I do, instead of leaving me alone since I am white, they just come after me for the rest of the day following us wherever we go and calling out more and more. There was a moment when we were walking through the streets in Vijayawada and a group of small boys cam running up to us, grabbing at our things, at our food and water, at our cameras. It was all i could do to just get them off of me and all I could think was how easily they could have brought me literally to the ground if they had tried. It was really scary and so sad because I want to help out the hungry and sick that I see all around me every day here, and yet their desperation has led them to desperate measures that terrify tourists. It is a hard country to live in day to day and I am growing to understand some of the contradictions that are present in everyday life. It takes time and a lot of energy to understand another culture and a lot of patience not to judge it based only on the negatives.