New Delhi, Part 2:
The next morning, excited children and cooking aunties woke up the Three Musketeers on the large, nearly king-sized bed in the *guest room*: Didi, Maxima, and I. Massiji made me a cup of tea, and kindly provided lots of tasty cake-rusk. This pampering put me in an excellent mood for a boisterous environment so early in the morning....after we got home so late.
The previous evening Vinay, Didi, Maxima, Maxima's TV anchor friend, Minku, and I did a little shopping near Connaught Place in New Delhi, then, round 9pm, set out to find a place to eat dinner and have a beer (or 5). Kidding (or 3).
The first place didn't serve alcohol. Neither did the second. It was 10 PM by this time, and I was starving. To prevent myself from making a very bad impression on Vinay's family by becoming grouchy due to hunger, I bought a Miranda (kinda like Squirt) at a soda stand. A few sips of Miranda gave me new life....so I shared some of my renewing calories with the rest of the group. I remember our friend Mike List talking about how Indians share drinks.....they just pour the drink in their mouth without touching the edge to their lips. That's what this group did. We were all hungry, and everyone, except me, was determined to find a place that met our needs. (Beer!) (Good food!) (Clean!)
The third place looked like a swanky place, and it did serve alcohol! In USA I would be put off by such a place because I'd consider it too expensive, but here, when approx 45 rupees = 1 dollar, and one of the cheaper activities one can do in India is eat out, I figured we were okay. I carried in my Miranda, and wondered if the staff would make a fuss. As were seated around a large, circular table, a server started giving me grief about the Miranda. At the same instant, Vinay saw a cockroach on the floor.
I said, " I think the cockroach on the floor is a bigger problem than my Miranda."
It didn't matter. Vinay was totally grossed out. We left. The next place we trudged to looked like a sophisticated lounge/sports bar. Comfy, yet sleek sofas, leather bar stools, dim lighting, big flat- screen TV's.....it definitely had a classy look, BUT....they didn't serve alcohol. We all laughed, and I got the impression that we were thinking, in our own way, " this is a typical frustration we would have here in India."
Maxima's friend pointed us in the direction of another restaurant. We walked past the well-lit portion of Connaught Place to a darker road. Most of the businesses were closed here. An awful stench of every kind of human and animal, probably dog, waste stung our noses. When exploring cities with Indians, every time we stumble upon a dirty, smelly area, the Indian typically makes a comment about how this is the genuine look and odor of India, as if cleanliness was imposed from the west, a threat to India's most definitive cultural characteristic.
This time was no different, "Ah, Jamie, here is real India," Minku said.
Realistically, the 'real India' comments are probably more of a way for Indians to ease their own awkwardness when they have inadvertently led me into me an area which reflects the harsher realities of a poor country.....well, that's too simple, really: I think India is a country with a gigantic gap between the wealthy and the poor, which equals, overall, a poor country.
After a few minutes of nervous walking, we found a lighted sign that said, "Bonsai." We went in, and found an outdoor restaurant on a floor of marble-white gravel. We were seated on a raised platform, which had a low table lined with spacious couches on 3 sides. The establishment attempted to make this area semi-private by stringing thick white rope vertically from the bottom to the top of a wooden frame above the couches. We stayed put, ordered beer, and when we ordered food, I, still very suspicious of New Delhi food, ordered noodles and fries. Everyone else ordered delicious looking fish dishes. When they arrived, I enviously watched the rest of the group enjoy their choices. I comforted myself with the memory of Vinay's Mom's cooking.
The rope was expensive. The bill for six people came to over $200 USD. We didn't even drink that much. Oh well! We finally got to eat, relax, and enjoy each others' company.
Today, I washed a bit of laundry and hung it outside on one of their lines. Then, I took Vasundhra, Minima's 3 year old daughter, to the flat complex's strip of a playground. Vinay accompanied us and he said he remembered playing in it when he was a kid! Wow! I pushed Vasundhra on the merry-go-round, caught her when she slid down the wide metal slide, and helped her pull herself higher on the jungle-gym (and helped her ease herself back). Amidst the activity during this sunny morning, Vinay and I chatted about our childhoods, and Vinay pointed out to large brown clump attached underneath the window of flat several floors up, and a few buildings away.
"That is a bee hive," Vinay said.
"Wow, what an example of man living with nature, instead of man being the master of nature," I said, eager to make connections to my readings in intercultural communications.
Vinay pointed to a few more hives on the same building. They were the size of a cluster of twenty coconuts. I wondered if the bees kept to themselves, or if they swarmed the windows and balconies of the tenants.
Vinay was called back by Didi, and I stayed with Vasundhra. She practiced her English, and I practiced my Hindi/Punjabi. She proved to be a quicker study than I, able to understand and use the English words I used after one explanation. However, the practice still had value for me, even if I didn't learn new words. An older boy of about seven showed up, and I helped them use the see-saw. I tried showing them how to bend the knees and spring back up so their end doesn't hit the ground. Both of them practiced the knee-moving part, but I never felt they were ready to deal with the weight transfer, so I see-sawed them, and they practiced, until my arms got tired. Then we were ready to leave, and we walked towards the simple entrance, two metal poles a few feet apart. Vasundhra stepped through the opening, then doubled back and walked back into the playground. I made a soft sound implying a question, and she smiled at me, with a twinkle in her eyes, as if saying, "The joke's on you, I was trying to surprise you." In the next second, she softened her look as if to say, "just kidding," and she walked out with me again in a very docile manner. I laughed at her display of sophisticated humor, and was surprised that it came from a three-year old!
Other interesting events of the day were:
Minku and I wanted lunch before we returned to Connaught Place for shopping. As we sat down, Minku said, "Jamie, I am going to eat with my hands, okay?"
I said, almost too jovially, "Of course, please do!" I felt embarrassed, even slightly ashamed, that Minku felt the need to prepare me to see a style of eating that was natural for him, whereas I would never think to tell Minku, if he were visiting us in USA, "Minku, I am going to eat with a fork and spoon, okay?" The shameful part was that he had intuited my probable response correctly. If he just dove right into his lunch, I would have been a little taken aback, though I would have tried to carefully hide it. So, I appreciated his announcement, though I shouldn't need to hear it.
Next: I bought a table-spread. I "thought" I brought the lady down to a decent price of 400 rupees for it ($9) and even went further and offered 400 rupees for 2 spreads. Later, as Sona, Vinay's 15 year old sister, confidently announced that those spreads were 150 rupees for one, 200 max, it dawned on me that I should have offered 400 for both, then walked away. (I got better at walking away later..) So, yes, I paid double the price an Indian woman would have paid for the decorative spread. Stickin it to the whitey!
We ate at a McDonalds nearby. I just had a mocha, but it tasted like the ones at home! This place sold fish sandwiches and paneer (cheese) and veg wraps, and french fries. I paid about 65 cents for the mocha.
Finally, the moment of true hilarity: our visit to Fab India, a new store with good, overpriced, cotton clothes. It was crowded with Indians and French foreigners. Didi found a few kurtis to try on, but the line to try on clothes was long, so we waited with her and chatted. A foreigner nearby wanted to try on the clothes, but did not want to wait in the line. So, she just took off her pants IN THE OPEN, revealing thong underwear, and tried on several garments. No staff stopped her. This would have attracted attention even in USA, but I was surprised that she would try this in India. I was giggling quite obviously at her audacity, but I also watched the reactions of Vinay and Minku, both Indian. They were shocked, mortified and embarrassed, and they ended up expressing it by laughing and giggling right along with me. Didi finally got into the dressing room, and after we critiqued her choices, we turned away, and next to us stood that girl, still obliviously trying on clothes. Our group of three erupted in belly-laughter. If she wanted to be so audacious, then we might as well enjoy ourselves. I preferred that than standing with Minku and Vinay in an embarrassed silence.
We went to the Delhi metro station to ride back to Rohini, in northeast Delhi. We had to go through a luggage check, and the fragile items I bought appeared to look like explosives to the police. They were wrapped in bubble wrapped and secured with masking tape. I had to unwrap the items, and go through the purse and pat-down search all over again. We waited on the platform with Minku, even though he was going home. We were all sad to part ways. However, Minku still left. At home, the friend would have just changed his or her plan and joined us. On the platform, clustered in groups, were policemen wearing beige uniforms, armed with machine guns. I told Vinay that seeing their weapons made me nervous. They also didn't seem to be watching the area. Instead, they chatted amongst themselves. I guess they planned to respond to a problem, not prevent a problem from occurring. Didi and Vinay didn't seem concerned. The ride was crowded, but smooth and air conditioned. Didi expressed relief that while the compartment was crowded, men were behaving appropriately and keeping their hands to themselves. She saw this as a sign that India was changing in a good way, and people were becoming more educated, and the relations between the sexes were perhaps a little more interactive, which, in turn, created less curiosity and less inclination towards inappropriate acts from the guys. I fully shared her reliefs, and ruefully remembered that the men on Bus 64 in Rome were slightly less proper and respectful than the men here. Here, men--and a few women-- only stared at me, the lone whitey on the subway.
I had a great time roaming Delhi with Vinay, Didi, and Minku. Thanks for the great memories!!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Interconnectedness, Part One
Interconnectedness: Strange musical events..
I find that travel reveals more instances of 'interconnectedness' of people than I would normally observe because at home I have a deeper knowledge of the people I surround myself with, personalities, routines, etc, so any synchronous connection I have with them, I usually attribute that to our deeper awareness of one another's lives, which naturally happens over continued interaction over years. First, I want to write about parallel phenomena I experience with music. Later, I'll get on to the people side of it.
This is a commentary on how I have seemingly discovered a new song, or a style of music, and, after my discovery, I seem to hear it around me in whatever environment I happen to be in. About 5 years ago, my husband Navjot introduced me to Bob Marley and Reggae. I loved it, and infused it into my music collection. Soon after, I heard reggae in many places...restaurants, stores, TV movies, most recently in a cafe in Washington DC. Was reggae always this prevalent, and I remained unaware of it until I had a personal experience with the music?
After I became a lifelong fan of Philip Glass, an American composer who created his own style based on a musical concept called minimalism, I began hearing his music in movies....he wrote the scores to the movies, "The Others" and "The Illusionist." Glass remains easily recognizable, and I liked his scores for the movies...his style fit the themes of the movies very well. Glass has been writing music for decades, and I only learned of him through a history class at MSU, and through an old CD of Alan, (our former roommate)....then Glass hits it big. It may sound like I am egotisically suggesting that my awareness of certain music brings it more into my world, even on a large scale. I am not suggesting that. I am only intrigued by the timings.
My most recent experience with this phenomena occurred when I came to India. While I was staying in Chandigarh, I bought a 2 CD collection of music by the British rock group The Police. In college I had liked the songs Synchronicity I and II, and Wrapped Around Your Finger, and this collection had those songs, AND, Do Do Do, Da Da Da and Every Little Thing She Does....other faves I got from my Mom when my uncle would make tapes of favorite songs for her. So, I listened to these songs till around April when I finally turned my attention to a few of the other songs in the collection: Driven To Tears, and Canary in a Coalmine. There are worthy elements in these songs, but they are more obscure, and I don't think I had ever heard them until I played them on my laptop in April. In early May, Navjot and I went to Himachal Pradesh. One afternoon, on a rooftop restaurant in Dharmasala, while we were waiting for our food, the speakers start plugging out Driven to Tears by the Police! In India! I had never heard that song before in my LIFE until one month earlier! The Police have a distinctive enough of a sound that if I had heard it before, I would have known it was The Police, and when I heard it on my laptop in April, I would have known if I had heard it before....so, again, I wonder....are these songs just played regularly, and I remain completely oblivious to them until I listen to them carefully? Or is there some interconnectedness between my awareness of certain music and its appearance in unexpected public places? It is probably just coincidence....not synchronicity. :)
I find that travel reveals more instances of 'interconnectedness' of people than I would normally observe because at home I have a deeper knowledge of the people I surround myself with, personalities, routines, etc, so any synchronous connection I have with them, I usually attribute that to our deeper awareness of one another's lives, which naturally happens over continued interaction over years. First, I want to write about parallel phenomena I experience with music. Later, I'll get on to the people side of it.
This is a commentary on how I have seemingly discovered a new song, or a style of music, and, after my discovery, I seem to hear it around me in whatever environment I happen to be in. About 5 years ago, my husband Navjot introduced me to Bob Marley and Reggae. I loved it, and infused it into my music collection. Soon after, I heard reggae in many places...restaurants, stores, TV movies, most recently in a cafe in Washington DC. Was reggae always this prevalent, and I remained unaware of it until I had a personal experience with the music?
After I became a lifelong fan of Philip Glass, an American composer who created his own style based on a musical concept called minimalism, I began hearing his music in movies....he wrote the scores to the movies, "The Others" and "The Illusionist." Glass remains easily recognizable, and I liked his scores for the movies...his style fit the themes of the movies very well. Glass has been writing music for decades, and I only learned of him through a history class at MSU, and through an old CD of Alan, (our former roommate)....then Glass hits it big. It may sound like I am egotisically suggesting that my awareness of certain music brings it more into my world, even on a large scale. I am not suggesting that. I am only intrigued by the timings.
My most recent experience with this phenomena occurred when I came to India. While I was staying in Chandigarh, I bought a 2 CD collection of music by the British rock group The Police. In college I had liked the songs Synchronicity I and II, and Wrapped Around Your Finger, and this collection had those songs, AND, Do Do Do, Da Da Da and Every Little Thing She Does....other faves I got from my Mom when my uncle would make tapes of favorite songs for her. So, I listened to these songs till around April when I finally turned my attention to a few of the other songs in the collection: Driven To Tears, and Canary in a Coalmine. There are worthy elements in these songs, but they are more obscure, and I don't think I had ever heard them until I played them on my laptop in April. In early May, Navjot and I went to Himachal Pradesh. One afternoon, on a rooftop restaurant in Dharmasala, while we were waiting for our food, the speakers start plugging out Driven to Tears by the Police! In India! I had never heard that song before in my LIFE until one month earlier! The Police have a distinctive enough of a sound that if I had heard it before, I would have known it was The Police, and when I heard it on my laptop in April, I would have known if I had heard it before....so, again, I wonder....are these songs just played regularly, and I remain completely oblivious to them until I listen to them carefully? Or is there some interconnectedness between my awareness of certain music and its appearance in unexpected public places? It is probably just coincidence....not synchronicity. :)
Curfew, Day 2
Today Jalandhar was given two opportunities to 'behave.' Curfew was relaxed from 8-10 am this morning and then again from 4-6pm. Navjot went to buy vegetables at around 8:30. He managed to get some vegetables, but he had to be very patient because the stand was busy with hollering people anxious to get food. I called him twice: once to see if he could get fabric softener (if the provisional shop was open) ("That is so American"--Navjot said). I could barely hear Navjot; instead I heard yells and shouts by a huge crowd--it sounded like he was at the New Year's Eve Party at Times Square. Then I "thought" Raju wanted to tell Navjot that we got milk from downstairs, but no, during the second call, he asked Navjot to buy milk, which, if I had understood better, I could have told him that I already asked him, and he said the store didn't have any.
Fortunately, our landlords knew we had no milk, so when their milk was delivered this morning, they bought an extra kg for us, around 10am. So, our house is fully stocked with our usual comforts and conveniences, except for the luxurious item of fabric softener.
At 4:30 (during the second curfew release) Navjot and I walked to Guruji's flat to visit, and see what 'curfew state' was like. Few cars were out; the people who were out were adults trying to buy fruits and vegetables. Near Guruji's house, small groups of boys were taking advantage of the light traffic with street games of cricket. We stepped around a few collections of broken glass. One high rise shopping building had an enormous pane knocked out, which made a spread of glass pieces the size of a large puddle. We also saw a group of new puppies along the street...they were cute, but Navjot was surprised that their parent hid when we walked by.
We saw another dog at the entrance to Guruji's flat. After a short visit, where we listened to their weekly family musical/religious event, we struggled to find a rickshaw to take us home, since we were nearing the 6pm curfew time. The second guy we approached took us, after giving us flak about the time. He took us the wrong way down a usually busy street, then ignored the lights (again, still in oncoming traffic lane) at the intersection at Guru Nanak Mission---not a 4-way light, like in USA, but a 6-way light. I gripped Navjot's arm like a vice-clamp as we coasted through our red light, and when we safely reached the other side, we were moving with the traffic. You may think the rickshaw driver was in a hurry, but no, after his initial statements about the time, the curfew didn't trouble his mind a bit. The rickshaw driver did this because the traffic was light enough that he felt it was reasonably safe. People did avoid us, and though I got anxious at the intersections, I didn't get angry or frightened. I did see carrion feeding on a dead dog near that intersection. I rarely see roadkill here, and that sight nauseated me. Since the rickshaw drivers are losing a lot of money due to this curfew, we paid our guy double the amount we agreed on (15 rupees (33 cents) to 30 rupees...67 cents (how do we sleep at night??)) The driver showed his appreciation by quickly and gracefully putting his hands together in a prayer clasp and touching his forefingers to his lips. I had to lay down for a while when I got home; the sight of the dead dog, and the heat left me feeling icky.
Navjot thinks that we will be under curfew for a few more days; he emphasizes patience. I would like the curfew to be lifted tomorrow. At least he is preparing me for a longer wait. I am starting to turn the wheels for some kind of alternative way of reaching New Delhi for my flight out next week...
More to come..
Fortunately, our landlords knew we had no milk, so when their milk was delivered this morning, they bought an extra kg for us, around 10am. So, our house is fully stocked with our usual comforts and conveniences, except for the luxurious item of fabric softener.
At 4:30 (during the second curfew release) Navjot and I walked to Guruji's flat to visit, and see what 'curfew state' was like. Few cars were out; the people who were out were adults trying to buy fruits and vegetables. Near Guruji's house, small groups of boys were taking advantage of the light traffic with street games of cricket. We stepped around a few collections of broken glass. One high rise shopping building had an enormous pane knocked out, which made a spread of glass pieces the size of a large puddle. We also saw a group of new puppies along the street...they were cute, but Navjot was surprised that their parent hid when we walked by.
We saw another dog at the entrance to Guruji's flat. After a short visit, where we listened to their weekly family musical/religious event, we struggled to find a rickshaw to take us home, since we were nearing the 6pm curfew time. The second guy we approached took us, after giving us flak about the time. He took us the wrong way down a usually busy street, then ignored the lights (again, still in oncoming traffic lane) at the intersection at Guru Nanak Mission---not a 4-way light, like in USA, but a 6-way light. I gripped Navjot's arm like a vice-clamp as we coasted through our red light, and when we safely reached the other side, we were moving with the traffic. You may think the rickshaw driver was in a hurry, but no, after his initial statements about the time, the curfew didn't trouble his mind a bit. The rickshaw driver did this because the traffic was light enough that he felt it was reasonably safe. People did avoid us, and though I got anxious at the intersections, I didn't get angry or frightened. I did see carrion feeding on a dead dog near that intersection. I rarely see roadkill here, and that sight nauseated me. Since the rickshaw drivers are losing a lot of money due to this curfew, we paid our guy double the amount we agreed on (15 rupees (33 cents) to 30 rupees...67 cents (how do we sleep at night??)) The driver showed his appreciation by quickly and gracefully putting his hands together in a prayer clasp and touching his forefingers to his lips. I had to lay down for a while when I got home; the sight of the dead dog, and the heat left me feeling icky.
Navjot thinks that we will be under curfew for a few more days; he emphasizes patience. I would like the curfew to be lifted tomorrow. At least he is preparing me for a longer wait. I am starting to turn the wheels for some kind of alternative way of reaching New Delhi for my flight out next week...
More to come..
Monday, May 25, 2009
A BBC written link
I found info here useful
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/8066783.stm
I realize I made a spelling error in the last blog: anymore instead of any more. I despise spelling errors, but that doesn't seem to stop me from making them. GRR.
More Mountain Trip blogs coming up, still haven't forgotton Delhi, Part 2. I've been spending a lot of time organizing, editing, and posting the 700 plus photos taken during the trip. My goal is to complete the blog before I leave for home.
More to come
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/8066783.stm
I realize I made a spelling error in the last blog: anymore instead of any more. I despise spelling errors, but that doesn't seem to stop me from making them. GRR.
More Mountain Trip blogs coming up, still haven't forgotton Delhi, Part 2. I've been spending a lot of time organizing, editing, and posting the 700 plus photos taken during the trip. My goal is to complete the blog before I leave for home.
More to come
Curfew Imposed in Jalandhar
Navjot woke me up this morning and told me that the city was under curfew. Last night, rioters in the city set fires and blocked roads into the city. This is a response to the violence that occurred at a Sikh Temple in Vienna, Austria (of all places?!?!) which left one Sikh "holy person" (minister, or, 'sant') dead and another injured. Both holy people were revered by many people in this region-the Jalandhar District, Hoshiapur, and Phagwara area.
Now, last night Navjot and I were completely unaware that fires and riots were raging in this city. They took place in another part of town--so they have happened in small areas, not city-wide.
However, protesters did manage to close the main highway from Jalandhar to New Delhi, the NH 1. The road going northwest to Pathankot (where we began our mountain adventure a couple of weeks ago) has also been closed. Three rail cars were set on fire.
The news here provides tiny amounts of information presented in a sensationalist manner, similar to, and even more extreme than, Fox News back at home. BBC News is providing more video clips than written reports, which are not loading easily onto our computers with our slow connection. 'rrrrrr'
However, the military has come in (they paraded with flags in our neighborhood around 6pm.)
The rules of curfew are: stay at home. Going out and about could get you arrested.
So, when almost all of our milk curdled (it was bought yesterday!) we couldn't get anymore. (Milk based products are not keeping well in this heat--we haven't bought one container of good yogurt since our return from the mts, either). I couldn't go to the gym today, or collect my repairs from the tailor. Navjot couldn't go to his lesson. Shops were closed too. All the sounds of zooming motorcycles and honking vehicles ceased. I observed the city twice from the rooftop today: once I took photos, and both times I only heard chirping birds!! After the 6pm military flag-parade (which I didn't see, I was told minutes after fact by my landlords) more vehicles were heard on the board, but the shops remained closed.
Raju, our cook and cleaner, worked here this morning, but will not work this evening.
We'll see if the curfew is lifted tomorrow. This afternoon, while we ate lunch, we found Police Academy 3 dubbed in Hindi on TV. This 80's cheese movie, whose characters I remember with a scary precision (I wished my mind worked this well for historical facts and more useful information) acted as a fleeting, but bizarre backdrop to this solemn, quiet situation around us.
Now, last night Navjot and I were completely unaware that fires and riots were raging in this city. They took place in another part of town--so they have happened in small areas, not city-wide.
However, protesters did manage to close the main highway from Jalandhar to New Delhi, the NH 1. The road going northwest to Pathankot (where we began our mountain adventure a couple of weeks ago) has also been closed. Three rail cars were set on fire.
The news here provides tiny amounts of information presented in a sensationalist manner, similar to, and even more extreme than, Fox News back at home. BBC News is providing more video clips than written reports, which are not loading easily onto our computers with our slow connection. 'rrrrrr'
However, the military has come in (they paraded with flags in our neighborhood around 6pm.)
The rules of curfew are: stay at home. Going out and about could get you arrested.
So, when almost all of our milk curdled (it was bought yesterday!) we couldn't get anymore. (Milk based products are not keeping well in this heat--we haven't bought one container of good yogurt since our return from the mts, either). I couldn't go to the gym today, or collect my repairs from the tailor. Navjot couldn't go to his lesson. Shops were closed too. All the sounds of zooming motorcycles and honking vehicles ceased. I observed the city twice from the rooftop today: once I took photos, and both times I only heard chirping birds!! After the 6pm military flag-parade (which I didn't see, I was told minutes after fact by my landlords) more vehicles were heard on the board, but the shops remained closed.
Raju, our cook and cleaner, worked here this morning, but will not work this evening.
We'll see if the curfew is lifted tomorrow. This afternoon, while we ate lunch, we found Police Academy 3 dubbed in Hindi on TV. This 80's cheese movie, whose characters I remember with a scary precision (I wished my mind worked this well for historical facts and more useful information) acted as a fleeting, but bizarre backdrop to this solemn, quiet situation around us.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Dharamasala
At the end of our stay in Dharamasala, we finally figured out how to access our money! YAY for that!
The drive from Dalhousie to Dharamasala went very well, despite the challenges of mountain driving. Part of this is because we took avormine to prevent motion-sickness, and because a good portion of the drive was in a valley, so our driver speeded along straight-aways more than whirling around hairpin turns. So far, I have felt really, really fortunate with my taxi driver experiences. They really have the power to make their passengers' lives heaven or hell, and ours have been kind, knowledgeable, and safe.
We chose to stay in a government run hotel, The Hotel Bhagsu, which sat in a very nice location in McLeodganj, the seat of the Tibetan government. One thing I am learning about the hotels here is that they have a way of screening their guests. If I try to arrange a stay or reserve rooms beforehand, I have been told that they cannot make reservations before-hand, and that they only have one room available, and only for one day, so when we arrive we can look at the room and see if it will be appropriate. This has happened with every hotel, except for our current residence, Naggar Castle, in Himachal Pradesh. So, we arrive at the hotel, we chat, they get a sense of our plans, who we are, and etc, and then, each time, it turns out that our room is available if we want to stay longer! Nice! Luckily, each time, we passed their 'riff-raff' or 'low-caste' test---I am not sure why they screen ppl like this, but they do, and I haven't asked them why yet, since when I am dealing with them, I still need their 'goodwill.'
Mcleodganj is a hippie-shoppers paradise. Those of you who have seen my crazy silk hat that I bought in the Village in NYC will be pleased to know it has been replaced by another wacky hat that I found here. I bought anklets, shawls, postcards (the first place I have found postcards!!) and a Tibetan painting and a colorful wall-hanging that looks like a tie, which stands for victory. I may bring this uplifting decoration to my v-ball tourneys for that extra edge, haha.
My childhood pal for life, Heather, and another midwestern champ, Cailin, joined Navjot and I, and we had great times laughing it up at meals, and also having great discussions about art, travel, culture,food, beer, bathrooms, etc...those are the travelers' topics in a nutshell. Heather and I also caught up on all kinds of stuff we never get to in USA cause we are always so busy in our own lives....that has been so much fun for me.
Our first morning in Mcleodganj I went for a walk, and I believe this walk took me to the temple that leads to the Dalai Lama...I had planned to actually enter and explore more once I had the rest of the group with me.....but we never got around to it. Another reality of travel. We did visit the Buddhist School of Dialects where the monks sat in pairs--one standing and one on the floor, and debated in Tibetan. Every time the standing monk made a good point, he clapped his hands emphatically. So we watched and heard claps popping all around us. We enjoyed that, and then we wandered to another temple within the complex (I don't have my book...darn) and the big thing we noticed there besides the colorful interior was equal-sized stacks of cookies and crackers around statues of Buddha...the monk said they were offerings. I wish I knew more about the purpose behind that.
The next afternoon we went to another Buddhist Monastery called Dip Tselongking (sp probably wrong). This monastery sat a few hundred feet below the town on a pleasant hillside, so we enjoyed the walk. We walked in on a chanting...ritual or ceremony..I am not sure....the purpose was not described in my guidebook, nor in the brochure about the monastery, nor by any of the monks, but they were a little busy....:) Anyhow, their chants were not monotone, nor were they in harmony. Some spoke the chants in a tenor voice, some baritone, and at least one really low bass, so the overall effect was kind of soothing, even though the composite effect sounded unfamiliar. The monks read the chants in small books laid out in front of them, think small choir music books...and many of the monks also played cymbals, a couple played a gong, and someone was playing perhaps a digeridoo...the gong blocked that instrument from my sight..darn.....but if you have seen the movie Seven Years in Tibet, and you can remember the music Brad Pitt's characters hears when he stumbles into Lhasa, the instrumental accompaniment to these chants sounded just like that. It was quite powerful, and very scripted. After the chanting ceremony...we walked around the temple, inside and out, and took pictures. The monks displayed a row of large butterwax sculptures which depict...guessing here....elements of their mandalas (wheel of spiritual considerations) They destroy the sculptures after a certain amount of time (Tibetan New Year?) because they'd rather not become too attached to their creations.
The following day we visited the Kangra Art Museum in Dharamasala, where we enjoyed the miniature paintings depicting human emotional experiences through the Hindu gods. The Kangra School of Miniature Painting...(guessed the title here) continues today, and we chatted with some of the artists and saw some of their work, and I should have bought that painting of the woman going to see her lover....she was wearing an orange dress, and she was stepping on a snake....showing that the snake did not scare her off from where she wanted to do. Then an author of a book of these paintings showed up, invited us upstairs to see his book, and we had a good discussion about the symbolism of the many heads, arms, and legs given to many of the Hindu gods. Basically, the numerous limbs depict possessing a great amount of power to destroy.
After the art museum we went to the Norbulinka Institute for Tibetan Handicrafts. The school is set in nicely designed stone buildings which are nestled in a Japanese-style garden. The ambiance was very peaceful. We saw artists hammering metals to make sculptures of Buddha, and we saw woodcarving work as well. The main temple looked more Japanese in design than what I have seen of Tibetan architecture. Inside sat an enormous Buddha. Heather mentioned that she saw even larger ones in Japan. I wondered just how gigantic these Buddhas can get.
These descriptions are really not adequate to convey the experience of visiting these places, within all the stuff that happens behind the cultural wall, the stuff that is so different from home: the lack of interest in keeping bathrooms clean, seeing taxi drivers and servants socializing while their customers patron the art institutes, haggling and making friends with the store-owners, and later, after telling them the Rohtang Pass was thwarting our plan to visit Leh, listening to them trying to convince us that Srinigar (in Kashmir) was safe to visit, and that they JUST let a german woman stay in one of their boathouses---yep, these store-owners all just HAPPEN to own a boathouse in Srinigar!! At least three shopkeepers gave us this story! "Wow, what a coincidence....the guy at the other shawl store ALSO has a boathouse!! AND, there is a German girl staying there too!!! I guess Kashmir IS safe!!!" Don't worry, the sarcasm was for my amusement, the only Indian to catch my kind of sarcasm worked at the resturaunt we ate at in Manali....more on Manali and Naggar later....
The drive from Dalhousie to Dharamasala went very well, despite the challenges of mountain driving. Part of this is because we took avormine to prevent motion-sickness, and because a good portion of the drive was in a valley, so our driver speeded along straight-aways more than whirling around hairpin turns. So far, I have felt really, really fortunate with my taxi driver experiences. They really have the power to make their passengers' lives heaven or hell, and ours have been kind, knowledgeable, and safe.
We chose to stay in a government run hotel, The Hotel Bhagsu, which sat in a very nice location in McLeodganj, the seat of the Tibetan government. One thing I am learning about the hotels here is that they have a way of screening their guests. If I try to arrange a stay or reserve rooms beforehand, I have been told that they cannot make reservations before-hand, and that they only have one room available, and only for one day, so when we arrive we can look at the room and see if it will be appropriate. This has happened with every hotel, except for our current residence, Naggar Castle, in Himachal Pradesh. So, we arrive at the hotel, we chat, they get a sense of our plans, who we are, and etc, and then, each time, it turns out that our room is available if we want to stay longer! Nice! Luckily, each time, we passed their 'riff-raff' or 'low-caste' test---I am not sure why they screen ppl like this, but they do, and I haven't asked them why yet, since when I am dealing with them, I still need their 'goodwill.'
Mcleodganj is a hippie-shoppers paradise. Those of you who have seen my crazy silk hat that I bought in the Village in NYC will be pleased to know it has been replaced by another wacky hat that I found here. I bought anklets, shawls, postcards (the first place I have found postcards!!) and a Tibetan painting and a colorful wall-hanging that looks like a tie, which stands for victory. I may bring this uplifting decoration to my v-ball tourneys for that extra edge, haha.
My childhood pal for life, Heather, and another midwestern champ, Cailin, joined Navjot and I, and we had great times laughing it up at meals, and also having great discussions about art, travel, culture,food, beer, bathrooms, etc...those are the travelers' topics in a nutshell. Heather and I also caught up on all kinds of stuff we never get to in USA cause we are always so busy in our own lives....that has been so much fun for me.
Our first morning in Mcleodganj I went for a walk, and I believe this walk took me to the temple that leads to the Dalai Lama...I had planned to actually enter and explore more once I had the rest of the group with me.....but we never got around to it. Another reality of travel. We did visit the Buddhist School of Dialects where the monks sat in pairs--one standing and one on the floor, and debated in Tibetan. Every time the standing monk made a good point, he clapped his hands emphatically. So we watched and heard claps popping all around us. We enjoyed that, and then we wandered to another temple within the complex (I don't have my book...darn) and the big thing we noticed there besides the colorful interior was equal-sized stacks of cookies and crackers around statues of Buddha...the monk said they were offerings. I wish I knew more about the purpose behind that.
The next afternoon we went to another Buddhist Monastery called Dip Tselongking (sp probably wrong). This monastery sat a few hundred feet below the town on a pleasant hillside, so we enjoyed the walk. We walked in on a chanting...ritual or ceremony..I am not sure....the purpose was not described in my guidebook, nor in the brochure about the monastery, nor by any of the monks, but they were a little busy....:) Anyhow, their chants were not monotone, nor were they in harmony. Some spoke the chants in a tenor voice, some baritone, and at least one really low bass, so the overall effect was kind of soothing, even though the composite effect sounded unfamiliar. The monks read the chants in small books laid out in front of them, think small choir music books...and many of the monks also played cymbals, a couple played a gong, and someone was playing perhaps a digeridoo...the gong blocked that instrument from my sight..darn.....but if you have seen the movie Seven Years in Tibet, and you can remember the music Brad Pitt's characters hears when he stumbles into Lhasa, the instrumental accompaniment to these chants sounded just like that. It was quite powerful, and very scripted. After the chanting ceremony...we walked around the temple, inside and out, and took pictures. The monks displayed a row of large butterwax sculptures which depict...guessing here....elements of their mandalas (wheel of spiritual considerations) They destroy the sculptures after a certain amount of time (Tibetan New Year?) because they'd rather not become too attached to their creations.
The following day we visited the Kangra Art Museum in Dharamasala, where we enjoyed the miniature paintings depicting human emotional experiences through the Hindu gods. The Kangra School of Miniature Painting...(guessed the title here) continues today, and we chatted with some of the artists and saw some of their work, and I should have bought that painting of the woman going to see her lover....she was wearing an orange dress, and she was stepping on a snake....showing that the snake did not scare her off from where she wanted to do. Then an author of a book of these paintings showed up, invited us upstairs to see his book, and we had a good discussion about the symbolism of the many heads, arms, and legs given to many of the Hindu gods. Basically, the numerous limbs depict possessing a great amount of power to destroy.
After the art museum we went to the Norbulinka Institute for Tibetan Handicrafts. The school is set in nicely designed stone buildings which are nestled in a Japanese-style garden. The ambiance was very peaceful. We saw artists hammering metals to make sculptures of Buddha, and we saw woodcarving work as well. The main temple looked more Japanese in design than what I have seen of Tibetan architecture. Inside sat an enormous Buddha. Heather mentioned that she saw even larger ones in Japan. I wondered just how gigantic these Buddhas can get.
These descriptions are really not adequate to convey the experience of visiting these places, within all the stuff that happens behind the cultural wall, the stuff that is so different from home: the lack of interest in keeping bathrooms clean, seeing taxi drivers and servants socializing while their customers patron the art institutes, haggling and making friends with the store-owners, and later, after telling them the Rohtang Pass was thwarting our plan to visit Leh, listening to them trying to convince us that Srinigar (in Kashmir) was safe to visit, and that they JUST let a german woman stay in one of their boathouses---yep, these store-owners all just HAPPEN to own a boathouse in Srinigar!! At least three shopkeepers gave us this story! "Wow, what a coincidence....the guy at the other shawl store ALSO has a boathouse!! AND, there is a German girl staying there too!!! I guess Kashmir IS safe!!!" Don't worry, the sarcasm was for my amusement, the only Indian to catch my kind of sarcasm worked at the resturaunt we ate at in Manali....more on Manali and Naggar later....
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Dalhousie
Nav and I are experiencing the mountains!! YAY! The weather here has been like fall in USA, but the sun is warmer when it shines full strength. Level ground is mainly for our convenience, so there is not much of it, just enough for a road. There are no walking trails, except for the Kalatope Wildlife Sanctuary, where we saw little wildlife, but many beautiful views. Most of the mtns here are covered in pine trees, so those of you who know of my love for pine trees can imagine how pleased I am with the surroundings! There are also many flowers n grass that would be found in Michigan, so this place reminds me a little of being up north.
We got on the 4:45 am sleeper train. The train guy for our car was a sleaze--he was allowing people on who did not have a reservation, so there were people lying in both of our berths! The audacity!! Luckily, a young family of 3 kindly didn't protest as we placed all of our luggage, and a cannon-ball shaped Jamie, onto one of their berths. Navjot was talkative with them, and we all understood that we were victims of a problem we had no hope of solving. Navjot managed to get to one of our berths and move out a mother and her daughter out (sounds heartless, but it wasn't theirs---the audacity!!--) so he could have a place to sit. This allowed me to stretch a little, and take photos of the plains of Punjab thru my little window. Later, another mom and her daughter sat on the original families' berths and just faced me. I felt they were doing this to stare at me, and I got annoyed. However, I cheerily asked to take their photo and doing that allowed me to try to make this interaction more positive. Again, the bulk of my annoyance came from the fact that they didn't have their own spots on this car! RRRRR!
Then, we arrived in Pathankot and met our taxi driver and his...? traveling buddy? The driver was this well-built road warrior with long, greasy hair and bloodshot eyes. I was really worried that he would be more insane than the Haryana bus driver I wrote about when we traveled to Shimla in 04. I tried to get him off his game of total ruthlessness, taking the constant curves at 40 mph, overtaking everyone, by expressing American style road rage at every opportunity. I had thought that maybe he would drive more slowly, carefully, then I would shut up. This approach really got on Nav's nerves, and it proved completely ineffective. The driver was totally crazy, and we really had to lean into every turn to lessen the effects of motionsickness, which we did have, despite taking the meds...they helped, but to ride a rollercoaster for two hours without stopping is a great challenge for our inner ear. And, I hate to admit it, but he was also a very competent driver: he would honk at all the hairpin turns, and we reached Dalhousie in 2 hours--30 min less than the estimates.
The Alps Resort seemed dumpy at first....but it has a fair amount of land landscaped with roses and other pretty flowers, a ping pong table and a pool table (which we haven't used) and the surroundings are very quiet and peaceful. I had some laundry done for a little over 2$.
Day 1: Walked around Bakrota Hill: GREAT MTN VIEWS....mostly pine trees and terraced farming (for potatoes!) and in the distance were snowcapped mts on one side. The other had glacial lakes.
Day 2: We walked to Panchpula, where there was a rock garden and a couple of waterfalls. Here we met our first in a long series of saffron sellers. These guys appear out of virtually nowhere, selling strands of red saffron in small steel containers.
Day 3: Khajjiar: Touristy place. A bunch of clueless people taking people parasailing. We saw a lot of crashlandings. The best part: it was for kids only. GREAT. However, it has a long, flat-ish park, surrounded by pine trees. People strolled, and cows grazed.
Kalatope Wildlife Sanctuary: A great walk, except when lazy people passed us in cars, or made a bunch of racket at the rest stop, and I even think my guidebook warned me about the loudmouths!! The final climb, to about 8200 ft, about killed me, despite my exercise n training at the gym.
Daikund Peak: This is straight above Kalatope, higher on the mtn. From the top, the snow-capped mts looked almost eye-level. Khajjiar sat way below us, a little green bowl of land admist the steep tree filled mtn sides. I preferred this look at Khajjiar to my actual visit there.
Can it get any better? No. We brought enough $ to get us started. Now, we thought a tourist town like Dalhousie would have ATMs....that work. NOPE. Dalhousie has one ATM, and it is not working for us. So, our new problem is to find a way to access our $ so we can pay our hotel and get over to Dharamasala and meet up with our other players: Cailin and Heather. Wish us luck!
We got on the 4:45 am sleeper train. The train guy for our car was a sleaze--he was allowing people on who did not have a reservation, so there were people lying in both of our berths! The audacity!! Luckily, a young family of 3 kindly didn't protest as we placed all of our luggage, and a cannon-ball shaped Jamie, onto one of their berths. Navjot was talkative with them, and we all understood that we were victims of a problem we had no hope of solving. Navjot managed to get to one of our berths and move out a mother and her daughter out (sounds heartless, but it wasn't theirs---the audacity!!--) so he could have a place to sit. This allowed me to stretch a little, and take photos of the plains of Punjab thru my little window. Later, another mom and her daughter sat on the original families' berths and just faced me. I felt they were doing this to stare at me, and I got annoyed. However, I cheerily asked to take their photo and doing that allowed me to try to make this interaction more positive. Again, the bulk of my annoyance came from the fact that they didn't have their own spots on this car! RRRRR!
Then, we arrived in Pathankot and met our taxi driver and his...? traveling buddy? The driver was this well-built road warrior with long, greasy hair and bloodshot eyes. I was really worried that he would be more insane than the Haryana bus driver I wrote about when we traveled to Shimla in 04. I tried to get him off his game of total ruthlessness, taking the constant curves at 40 mph, overtaking everyone, by expressing American style road rage at every opportunity. I had thought that maybe he would drive more slowly, carefully, then I would shut up. This approach really got on Nav's nerves, and it proved completely ineffective. The driver was totally crazy, and we really had to lean into every turn to lessen the effects of motionsickness, which we did have, despite taking the meds...they helped, but to ride a rollercoaster for two hours without stopping is a great challenge for our inner ear. And, I hate to admit it, but he was also a very competent driver: he would honk at all the hairpin turns, and we reached Dalhousie in 2 hours--30 min less than the estimates.
The Alps Resort seemed dumpy at first....but it has a fair amount of land landscaped with roses and other pretty flowers, a ping pong table and a pool table (which we haven't used) and the surroundings are very quiet and peaceful. I had some laundry done for a little over 2$.
Day 1: Walked around Bakrota Hill: GREAT MTN VIEWS....mostly pine trees and terraced farming (for potatoes!) and in the distance were snowcapped mts on one side. The other had glacial lakes.
Day 2: We walked to Panchpula, where there was a rock garden and a couple of waterfalls. Here we met our first in a long series of saffron sellers. These guys appear out of virtually nowhere, selling strands of red saffron in small steel containers.
Day 3: Khajjiar: Touristy place. A bunch of clueless people taking people parasailing. We saw a lot of crashlandings. The best part: it was for kids only. GREAT. However, it has a long, flat-ish park, surrounded by pine trees. People strolled, and cows grazed.
Kalatope Wildlife Sanctuary: A great walk, except when lazy people passed us in cars, or made a bunch of racket at the rest stop, and I even think my guidebook warned me about the loudmouths!! The final climb, to about 8200 ft, about killed me, despite my exercise n training at the gym.
Daikund Peak: This is straight above Kalatope, higher on the mtn. From the top, the snow-capped mts looked almost eye-level. Khajjiar sat way below us, a little green bowl of land admist the steep tree filled mtn sides. I preferred this look at Khajjiar to my actual visit there.
Can it get any better? No. We brought enough $ to get us started. Now, we thought a tourist town like Dalhousie would have ATMs....that work. NOPE. Dalhousie has one ATM, and it is not working for us. So, our new problem is to find a way to access our $ so we can pay our hotel and get over to Dharamasala and meet up with our other players: Cailin and Heather. Wish us luck!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Moving on to HP
Delhi Part II is coming, I hope, but tomorrow, at 3:30am, we will wake up, go to the train station, and begin our journey to Dalhousie, a hill station town in Himachal Pradesh...it is supposed to have lots of nice English style cottages and architecture due to British presence during the Raj. My landlady, and Navjot's Guru keep steering us off to the smaller surrounding towns, claiming that Dalhousie, and Dharamasala are too busy and uninteresting...and I've been taking their suggestions, so we will see how our first stops play out.
I am very excited, but I was a little sad telling the people at the gym that I will be gone for a few weeks, and telling my landlady, etc. People here give me a little bit of a hard time if I go away...it is kind of similar to what my parents would do! It is very sweet, and I feel a little sad to leave, especially since I will be returning to USA shortly after...I fly back June 4th, and I will be back in Lansing June 7th to settle in before summer school at MSU...
OK, Gotta go!
I am very excited, but I was a little sad telling the people at the gym that I will be gone for a few weeks, and telling my landlady, etc. People here give me a little bit of a hard time if I go away...it is kind of similar to what my parents would do! It is very sweet, and I feel a little sad to leave, especially since I will be returning to USA shortly after...I fly back June 4th, and I will be back in Lansing June 7th to settle in before summer school at MSU...
OK, Gotta go!
New Delhi, Part One
Soon after my arrival in New Delhi, I met the entire cast of characters with whom I would be engaging with in these next days: Massiji, Vinay's aunt, who kindly showed me her bengali cotton saris, and her daughters, Minima (to
represent the minimum number of children to have) and Maxima (to represent the maximum number to children to have). Minima I met later, she brought her children to stay for a few days. She talked with me about her beliefs in child rearing: she believes (as do many Indian women I've spoken to) that parents place too much pressure on their children to succeed academically. Because of that, she is not forcing English instruction upon her daughter, who is around 3. She will allow her daughter to receive the instruction at school. Not that her sentiments matched
her actions: if the three of us were interacting, Mom began speaking to her in English and asking that she try to use English. One morning the I took the daughter to the playground: we communicated with my elementary Punjabi/Hindi, and her elementary English. At the end of the play date, I had valuable practice with my vocabulary, but the girl had learned and used many more English words. Maxima is the independent high-achiever of the family, somehow striking a balance between functioning within the tightly-knit, interdependent Indian family, and leading
an separate life with her husband, her friends, and her work, in Mumbai. She speaks genuinely, without formal airs, so I felt more sure-footed in conversation with her, her meanings were not tied up in too many of the silent Indian cultural codes. Didi and Vinay considered her a life-boat, especially in the early days, when they did have to navigate all of those rules, dishonesties, religious encroachments, and more traditional ways of thinking with the rest of Vinay's, then later, with Didi's family. Minku, Vinay's brother, and a student in accounting, met us at the Baha'i Temple and remained with us until the following evening.
I was first introduced to Vinay's parents, his sister-n-law, Poonam, her daughter, Sonu, a shy, sweet 10 year old, and Sona, Vinay's sister, who had a little more pluck to her personality, an artist's temperament, and a good sense of humor. We had a very tasty lunch. Most of the conversation occured between Didi, Vinay, Sona, and I, with some warmth from Vinay's mother, who continued to bring in tasty dishes, especially fried eggplant, or brinjal, which tasted somewhat of a cross between a french fry and a seasoned potato chip, but they were a lighter snack, being less starchy than potatoes.
I had expected to eat a very bland diet of bread and jam to avoid the dreaded Delhi-belly. But, after seeing and smelling the delicious Bengali food Vinay's family prepared, I chucked that plan. Well, I revised it: I ate the bland stuff if we ate out: I ate noodles and french fries at an outdoor Japanese steakhouse called Bonsai. But if the food was cooked in the home, I ate it. Rice, fried eggplant, fish, dal, aloo, flavored with the usual Indian spices, but also with kalonji, and mustard oil. Coconut ladoos (we usually eat lentil-made ladoos) were my favorite dessert.
Formality and politeness characterized the social exchanges at Vinay's parents' house. After lunch, Didi and I walked along a road of tall, block-long concrete condos/flats, turned at the corner, walked in the street under trees which were crawling with white tree bugs which fascinated me in a repulsive sense, like when I watch moving snakes. Didi urged me to keep moving, all the while filling me in on the rich history of Vinay's family, the history that takes years of learn.....I had to take it all in as rapidly as possible before we reached Vinay's aunt's house, for while the topics were not taboo in the family, the history is taken seriously; it is very personal, delicate, therefore, fairly, the members should feel comfortable enough with me to share it on their own...but that was impossible with the few days I was to spend with them. Instead, Didi helped me to 'cheat', something she has done many times before, allowing me to circumnavigate all the visits, the imprecision due to the language barrier, and stumbling over social rules that I know little of. Without slowing our pace, we ended my history lesson as we entered Massiji's house. Here, Didi and Vinay talked more freely with Massiji. Vinay encouraged us to sit in his favorite room as a child: a small, square,screened in porch just off one of the living rooms. Sitting there, we felt mild breezes
from outside, in addition to air from the ceiling fan. It did have that cozy feel, perfect for spending time chatting with good friends, and a long seat which bordered one side made a comfy nook for reading. Plus, since the room sat at the edge of the house, far away from the kitchen, TV room, and washing machine, it seemed very peaceful and quiet, the kind of room teachers try to get their students to create so they can study without distractions.
We were sitting here when I met Maxima, rushing back from a visit with her in-laws, a little flustered from living her ambitions: to be a host of New Delhi to Vinay and Didi, a doting daughter-in-law to her husband's parents, reconnecting with her New Delhi friends, and being present as an aunt, sister, and a daughter at home. Still, her voice carried a warmth, and a confidence, perhaps, that although so many events are taking place, things will fall together. This assuredness made the anxiety in her voice just a tiny layer which came through sometimes when she gently asked for a little time to collect herself. While she took a shower, I took a nap, my mind grateful for a little rest from going within a new family.
Our first excursion: the Baha'i Temple. I sat in the front seat for the first time, and Maxima drove. Didi and Vinay sat in the back.
Didi said, "Maxima is such a fantastic driver in Indian traffic. She is amazing!"
Indeed, Maxima handled New Delhi driving the with the deftness I hope I have driving at home. However, Maxima truly impressed me with her driving prowess at the
very end of the evening, when she backed her car into the parking spot, within in an inch of the concrete wall, without needing any assistance from us.
Maxima knew where the Baha'i Temple was, but the lack of signs, the one-way roads, and the roundabouts kept us driving in circles and asking directions until we eventually pulled up next to a large green lawn with symmetrical landscaping, small trees, green shrubs clipped to a rounded shape, and rectangular plots of colorful flowers, all forming a straight-edge border to the brick footpaths. From here, I could look over a long distance of greenery, something I can only do during train rides, otherwise the rest of the landscape is urbanized. The Lotus Temple sat, enormous against the horizon, like a huge white, blooming lily pad on a natural section of flat, light green, arid land.
The Baha'i religion is fairly new, and my first impression, upon hearing the speech the temple guides gave us in very polite, smooth English, was that this was a progressive religion, one that welcomes all faiths, to meditate in their temple. Inside the silent temple, surrounded by ivory marble, I indeed felt very calm and peaceful. Didi was more restless, taking me to see inscriptions tucked away in the many corner nooks. One of the inscriptions emphasized the importance of believing in God. Many others made little sense to me. I began to get the sense that there was more to the Baha'i faith than a secular practicality for a peaceful community.
This message communications this combination of secular values with supernatural acknowledgment: "The religion of God is for love and unity, make it not the cause of enmity and dissension."
I found a strong inital statement of dedication to the secular on their website (www.bahaindia.org)
The Baha'i believe in the removal of prejudice by caste, creed, religion, sex, color, race, and language via universal education and the use of the scientific method in our thinking. A true religion conforms to reason, not to the old
standards of superstition, rituals, and dogmas.
To a secular humanist like me, this sounds almost too good to be true!
And it is.
Another piece of Holy writing, found further in the website:
The divine prophets came to establish the unity of the kingdom in their hearts. All of them proclaimed the glad tidings of the divine bestowals to the world of mankind.
Divine. Not of this world. Supernatural. The word divine contradicts the positive secular focus of the religion. Why do we have such a hard time trusting someone here on this imperfect world to have a good idea without divine intervention?? Is our world really so deceitful that we must ascribe altruistic, pure intents to something that could never exist on this planet?
Sure enough, The Baha'i was conceived by a young Persian man, called, "The Bab,
meaning, "gate." He announced the appearance of the Messenger of God. After this hallmark event, add a lot of persecution by the Muslims, a wealthy guy who cheered for the underdog, and voila: The Baha'i faith is born.
It gets even better: The Baha'i are a subversive bunch: Change the system from within, brothers and sisters! Read on..
God educated humanity through Divine Manisfestations, named as: Krishna, Buddha, Abraham, Moses, Zoroaster, Jesus, and Muhammad.
These guys were the nice guys in their respective religions, though I already know Muhammad made an expanding empire with his new religion and his posse. The most recent Divine Manifestation is (that good ol' wealthy guy who rooted for the small fry who received flak for his audacity in seeing a messenger from God): Baha'u'llah.
The Divine Manisfestations had the right idea, they were trying to unite humanity, and make it one soul. Therefore, Manisfestations were good, altruistic, and thus deserving of the name, divine. HA!
I believe having supernatural origins ultimately dooms the Baha'i to the same religious baggage it seeks to eliminate; what a shame. I will credit the originality of promoting secular practices as a means for creating world peace. It almost reminds me a little of the message of the Sikh religion, that sense of: lose the baggage and get practical! Both are newer religions, which gives me a little hope we may eventually lose all the religious baggage that keeps us from absolute focus on our lives and the earth.
After spending time in the temple, we walked around the gardens, which Maxima explained were Mughal in design, and we played with the camera, taking nice pictures and silly pictures. Dusk had settled in by the time we reached Maxima's SUV. Minku and Vinay smiled a lot and both seemed peaceful and happy in each other's presence, and I continued to see this the next day too. Perhaps it was due to the relief and joy that can be experienced after renewing what was once a strong family tie, and then, almost luckily, actually experiencing the fun times similar to those of childhood. Thus, one can rediscover that one doesn't have distance themselves from most aspects of childhood experience due to disappointments or struggles; sometimes one can savour the laughter and the innocent blissful moments once more...
More to come...
represent the minimum number of children to have) and Maxima (to represent the maximum number to children to have). Minima I met later, she brought her children to stay for a few days. She talked with me about her beliefs in child rearing: she believes (as do many Indian women I've spoken to) that parents place too much pressure on their children to succeed academically. Because of that, she is not forcing English instruction upon her daughter, who is around 3. She will allow her daughter to receive the instruction at school. Not that her sentiments matched
her actions: if the three of us were interacting, Mom began speaking to her in English and asking that she try to use English. One morning the I took the daughter to the playground: we communicated with my elementary Punjabi/Hindi, and her elementary English. At the end of the play date, I had valuable practice with my vocabulary, but the girl had learned and used many more English words. Maxima is the independent high-achiever of the family, somehow striking a balance between functioning within the tightly-knit, interdependent Indian family, and leading
an separate life with her husband, her friends, and her work, in Mumbai. She speaks genuinely, without formal airs, so I felt more sure-footed in conversation with her, her meanings were not tied up in too many of the silent Indian cultural codes. Didi and Vinay considered her a life-boat, especially in the early days, when they did have to navigate all of those rules, dishonesties, religious encroachments, and more traditional ways of thinking with the rest of Vinay's, then later, with Didi's family. Minku, Vinay's brother, and a student in accounting, met us at the Baha'i Temple and remained with us until the following evening.
I was first introduced to Vinay's parents, his sister-n-law, Poonam, her daughter, Sonu, a shy, sweet 10 year old, and Sona, Vinay's sister, who had a little more pluck to her personality, an artist's temperament, and a good sense of humor. We had a very tasty lunch. Most of the conversation occured between Didi, Vinay, Sona, and I, with some warmth from Vinay's mother, who continued to bring in tasty dishes, especially fried eggplant, or brinjal, which tasted somewhat of a cross between a french fry and a seasoned potato chip, but they were a lighter snack, being less starchy than potatoes.
I had expected to eat a very bland diet of bread and jam to avoid the dreaded Delhi-belly. But, after seeing and smelling the delicious Bengali food Vinay's family prepared, I chucked that plan. Well, I revised it: I ate the bland stuff if we ate out: I ate noodles and french fries at an outdoor Japanese steakhouse called Bonsai. But if the food was cooked in the home, I ate it. Rice, fried eggplant, fish, dal, aloo, flavored with the usual Indian spices, but also with kalonji, and mustard oil. Coconut ladoos (we usually eat lentil-made ladoos) were my favorite dessert.
Formality and politeness characterized the social exchanges at Vinay's parents' house. After lunch, Didi and I walked along a road of tall, block-long concrete condos/flats, turned at the corner, walked in the street under trees which were crawling with white tree bugs which fascinated me in a repulsive sense, like when I watch moving snakes. Didi urged me to keep moving, all the while filling me in on the rich history of Vinay's family, the history that takes years of learn.....I had to take it all in as rapidly as possible before we reached Vinay's aunt's house, for while the topics were not taboo in the family, the history is taken seriously; it is very personal, delicate, therefore, fairly, the members should feel comfortable enough with me to share it on their own...but that was impossible with the few days I was to spend with them. Instead, Didi helped me to 'cheat', something she has done many times before, allowing me to circumnavigate all the visits, the imprecision due to the language barrier, and stumbling over social rules that I know little of. Without slowing our pace, we ended my history lesson as we entered Massiji's house. Here, Didi and Vinay talked more freely with Massiji. Vinay encouraged us to sit in his favorite room as a child: a small, square,screened in porch just off one of the living rooms. Sitting there, we felt mild breezes
from outside, in addition to air from the ceiling fan. It did have that cozy feel, perfect for spending time chatting with good friends, and a long seat which bordered one side made a comfy nook for reading. Plus, since the room sat at the edge of the house, far away from the kitchen, TV room, and washing machine, it seemed very peaceful and quiet, the kind of room teachers try to get their students to create so they can study without distractions.
We were sitting here when I met Maxima, rushing back from a visit with her in-laws, a little flustered from living her ambitions: to be a host of New Delhi to Vinay and Didi, a doting daughter-in-law to her husband's parents, reconnecting with her New Delhi friends, and being present as an aunt, sister, and a daughter at home. Still, her voice carried a warmth, and a confidence, perhaps, that although so many events are taking place, things will fall together. This assuredness made the anxiety in her voice just a tiny layer which came through sometimes when she gently asked for a little time to collect herself. While she took a shower, I took a nap, my mind grateful for a little rest from going within a new family.
Our first excursion: the Baha'i Temple. I sat in the front seat for the first time, and Maxima drove. Didi and Vinay sat in the back.
Didi said, "Maxima is such a fantastic driver in Indian traffic. She is amazing!"
Indeed, Maxima handled New Delhi driving the with the deftness I hope I have driving at home. However, Maxima truly impressed me with her driving prowess at the
very end of the evening, when she backed her car into the parking spot, within in an inch of the concrete wall, without needing any assistance from us.
Maxima knew where the Baha'i Temple was, but the lack of signs, the one-way roads, and the roundabouts kept us driving in circles and asking directions until we eventually pulled up next to a large green lawn with symmetrical landscaping, small trees, green shrubs clipped to a rounded shape, and rectangular plots of colorful flowers, all forming a straight-edge border to the brick footpaths. From here, I could look over a long distance of greenery, something I can only do during train rides, otherwise the rest of the landscape is urbanized. The Lotus Temple sat, enormous against the horizon, like a huge white, blooming lily pad on a natural section of flat, light green, arid land.
The Baha'i religion is fairly new, and my first impression, upon hearing the speech the temple guides gave us in very polite, smooth English, was that this was a progressive religion, one that welcomes all faiths, to meditate in their temple. Inside the silent temple, surrounded by ivory marble, I indeed felt very calm and peaceful. Didi was more restless, taking me to see inscriptions tucked away in the many corner nooks. One of the inscriptions emphasized the importance of believing in God. Many others made little sense to me. I began to get the sense that there was more to the Baha'i faith than a secular practicality for a peaceful community.
This message communications this combination of secular values with supernatural acknowledgment: "The religion of God is for love and unity, make it not the cause of enmity and dissension."
I found a strong inital statement of dedication to the secular on their website (www.bahaindia.org)
The Baha'i believe in the removal of prejudice by caste, creed, religion, sex, color, race, and language via universal education and the use of the scientific method in our thinking. A true religion conforms to reason, not to the old
standards of superstition, rituals, and dogmas.
To a secular humanist like me, this sounds almost too good to be true!
And it is.
Another piece of Holy writing, found further in the website:
The divine prophets came to establish the unity of the kingdom in their hearts. All of them proclaimed the glad tidings of the divine bestowals to the world of mankind.
Divine. Not of this world. Supernatural. The word divine contradicts the positive secular focus of the religion. Why do we have such a hard time trusting someone here on this imperfect world to have a good idea without divine intervention?? Is our world really so deceitful that we must ascribe altruistic, pure intents to something that could never exist on this planet?
Sure enough, The Baha'i was conceived by a young Persian man, called, "The Bab,
meaning, "gate." He announced the appearance of the Messenger of God. After this hallmark event, add a lot of persecution by the Muslims, a wealthy guy who cheered for the underdog, and voila: The Baha'i faith is born.
It gets even better: The Baha'i are a subversive bunch: Change the system from within, brothers and sisters! Read on..
God educated humanity through Divine Manisfestations, named as: Krishna, Buddha, Abraham, Moses, Zoroaster, Jesus, and Muhammad.
These guys were the nice guys in their respective religions, though I already know Muhammad made an expanding empire with his new religion and his posse. The most recent Divine Manifestation is (that good ol' wealthy guy who rooted for the small fry who received flak for his audacity in seeing a messenger from God): Baha'u'llah.
The Divine Manisfestations had the right idea, they were trying to unite humanity, and make it one soul. Therefore, Manisfestations were good, altruistic, and thus deserving of the name, divine. HA!
I believe having supernatural origins ultimately dooms the Baha'i to the same religious baggage it seeks to eliminate; what a shame. I will credit the originality of promoting secular practices as a means for creating world peace. It almost reminds me a little of the message of the Sikh religion, that sense of: lose the baggage and get practical! Both are newer religions, which gives me a little hope we may eventually lose all the religious baggage that keeps us from absolute focus on our lives and the earth.
After spending time in the temple, we walked around the gardens, which Maxima explained were Mughal in design, and we played with the camera, taking nice pictures and silly pictures. Dusk had settled in by the time we reached Maxima's SUV. Minku and Vinay smiled a lot and both seemed peaceful and happy in each other's presence, and I continued to see this the next day too. Perhaps it was due to the relief and joy that can be experienced after renewing what was once a strong family tie, and then, almost luckily, actually experiencing the fun times similar to those of childhood. Thus, one can rediscover that one doesn't have distance themselves from most aspects of childhood experience due to disappointments or struggles; sometimes one can savour the laughter and the innocent blissful moments once more...
More to come...
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