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"
Monday, March 17, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, March 10, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
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
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
Monday, February 25, 2008
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.
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
Sunday, February 10, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
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.
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.
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