Hi all! I am back in the USA, being swept right up in the fast life once again, but I can't let this blog go without speaking about Naggar and the Rohtang.
The next day, we drove up a little south of Manali up to a hill-town called Naggar, which was the old seat of the rulers of the Kullu Valley. The gov't of HP converted the stone and woodcarved castle complete with temple into a hotel...and this is where we stayed. We paid $60 for the first night, which was an astronomical cost to Navjot, but, .....it was a castle, and that price bought us a GREAT view off our balcony, in addition to the high ceilings, stone-walled bathrooms, fireplace, and dinner included.
Luckily, the next night, they put us in another room for half the price....it helped ease the tensions a little..
After taking pics of the castle, we walked up to the Roerich Museum---for Nikolai Roerich, a Russian artist who came to live in Naggar after befriending the ubiquitous, the awesome, R. Tagore. He painted many landscape portraits that reminded me so much of the Canadian Impressionist Art found in the McMichael Gallery near Toronto. Sadly, we missed the museum of the ACTUAL paintings and saw a smaller museum of his PRINTS.....that was a maddening miscommunication, coz they were closed the next day....GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
From the art museum, we wanted to walk a little more among the hills....and there was a rocky footpath leading to the place we wanted to go.....just inches away!!!!...but it was blocked by a very flimsy, unsafe, pokey 5-foot fence. Navjot made it over, but it did not look pretty at all, and since the actual path was about a 6 ft drop on a slant, I was worried about injury. I got myself all riled up in a very American, yet anti-Indian, way, as I tried to figure out a way to go over this fence. Finally, I found a workable way to hold onto a nearby pine tree as a stood on top of the fence....then I lowered myself as gracefully as possible, but tumbled sloppily on the slanted ground, but there were no injuries! YAY! GP! Then we lowered Cailin down.
On this walk we walked through apple orchards, and saw typical Himachali houses: above-ground basements used for storing hay and wood, and then the living area sat above that. The roofs were made of thick, dark blue-gray slate. Across the valley, we saw the sun set behind the tall hills, casting a blue haze over the hills, blurring all edges just a little. The path ended back on the road to the castle, and shortly after we were back on the road, we saw a real volleyball game taking place on a dirt court beneath us, on an area that used to be some kind of bus or train stand?? The players had skills too, playing 6 on 6....I had fun watching them for a few minutes.
We ate dinner at a hippie-restaurant where they played lounge music...that was kinda cool.
The next day we drove up to 13,000 ft to the Rohtang Pass. The "original" plan was to continue beyond the Rohtang and journey to Leh, a Buddhist city in eastern Kashmir.
Navjot's Guruji summed up his take on this plan: "Insanity."
At the time, I had to reassure him that we weren't doing that (though I just said we were, hahahahahahaha). Anyhow, I knew that if the opportunity was there, we would do it.
Sadly, the pass opened late, May 17th--and we needed it opened on the 14th to make it work for our entourage. THEN, the military closed one of the cities, Keylong, that we absolutely HAD to pass through to make it to Leh, so we just took a day trip to the Pass. Hm.
My guidebook stressed how important it was to leave early, because it gets really busy up there. So, off we went at 6:30am.
I think my meter is out of money. DARN..so gotta finish later. BOO!
Friday, June 12, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Drive to Manali and Hike Above Manali
Drive to Manali and Hike Above Manali
I am so wound up with the activities associated with returning home: making final visits to places I frequented, making final purchases, saying goodbyes and snapping photos. Snapping photos (always just the ladies) challenges me to snap the photos while the ladies are smiling. What typically happens is that the ladies will be smiling or giggling as they prepare for the shot, but as I push the button, they close their smile and put on a more solemn expression. Sometimes I can cajole them: "Keep the smile!" but if that doesn't seem to have an effect, and we seem to have time and the ladies haven't begun to feel awkward about posing for the photos, I will take a third, and we'll laugh some more, then I hold the camera up---then snap early---while they are still smiling. At home, people are pretty attuned to the timing of a camera, and will protest, or at least acknowledge that I have snapped early, but the people here have not objected at all. In fact, I think they prefer it to my typical habit of giving a couple of seconds to "make the look."
With this extra energy, which got me up at 5:45 this morning, after about 2 weeks of sleeping in from 7:30 to as late as 9am on a few days, I describe our drive to Manali, in Himachal.
We left around noon. At 11am we looked at the first taxi our hotel secured for us, and it was a tiny car, smaller than a Chevy Aveo. The image of four people crammed in on a long drive on a hot day pinballing around the mountains did not appeal to any of the ladies. Navjot, born Indian, would have taken an old rust-bucket, noisy, smelly, stopping-only-on-schedule, bus (with drivers that live to nauseate, accelerating through curves, slamming on brakes), and considered this tiny vehicle a luxury. The ladies won out (Girl Power!) and we switched the small digs to an SUV.
Heather, Navjot and I took the motion sickness medicine, Avromine. Cailin had the enviable ability to jostle about on road trips, and feel great without medicinal aid. This reminds me of a Mr. Bean skit we saw in Dalhousie: Mr. Bean gets on a roller coaster, and keeps a straight face as the ride coasts over the first hill......everyone else is screaming, yet he feels no sensations---he shushes the howling girls behind him....he even nods off before the ride is over. He probably never experienced motion-sickness either.
Since I am prone to it, I curbed all extra movements in the car, including picture-taking. After lunch at the Hilltop Restaurant, we soon turned north, and drove along mountainsides, with the Beas river flowing south over large rocks and boulders. We were in the Kullu valley, and I captivated by the scenery. Before Kullu, Heather and I talked and chatted and caught up on all kinds of info (since we were roommates back in '97) that we never get to in the States because we do not make time for it within the busyness of USA life. I hope that Navjot and Cailin were forgiving of our girl-chat session, which ended up being exclusive of them....not intentionally at all....we just realized we had a rare opportunity to fill in some gaps that have opened up over time.
Driving along the Kullu Valley, the landscape held my full attention. The mountains still looked like high hills, no snow, but with the river flowing between them, the beauty seemed even more welcoming and exotic because the forested mountains now had a life-sustaining resource: a river with clear water, looking unlike many rivers we see nowadays. I wouldn't take photos, but I thought to myself: "Never forget this.."
Towards dusk, our driver swung the wheel left, and drove right into a mountain--a tunnel! I was so surprised that the government took the time and resources to make a tunnel! It wasn't very well lit, and sheperds also used the tunnel, so we maneuvered around a few goats, and a cow, too. I felt neurotically anxious in the tunnel, it may have been two miles, and it the last thing, after living in India for nearly four months, that I expected to experience. But, India manages to show me just about everything I do not expect, so by the time we left the tunnel, I had reframed the event as inevitable.
We arrived to Manali around 8pm. We found another hotel at Johnsons: they were the only hotel that had any rooms available, but still through the same schtick as before: " we only have one room, maybe two, but only for one night." We ended up staying there for two nights, and we had two rooms, and we could have stayed longer, but the problem with Manali is that it was a massively crowded and noisy city which really put us off.
We hiked to the Hadimba Temple, basically a large, wooden, structure with slanted roofs similar to houses in Michigan. We were caught up with the locals who were attending a festival, so it was fun to be surrounded by people in festive, colorful clothing. The locals walked in loosely separated groups: male and female, with the males stopping every now and then to sing and accompany themselves on small drums, the dhols. Near the temple, we saw a few yaks, and their keepers wanted to charge us money to photograph them; I took a mental picture instead. Some boys asked Heather if they could photograph her, she said ,'No; in a friendly way. They persisted, as they always so and I stepped in and talked to them the way Navjot and I talked to the group of about 10 young men in Khajjiar who also wanted to photo me: "You see, we do not know you, we are just meeting you now. We are not comfortable giving pictures to people that we do not know well." Navjot had added: "How would you like it if we asked to photo your sisters or mothers.....we don't know them? In India, Navjot is quick to invoke the protective, honorable perceptions that men are supposed to have for the women in their families. Wasted energy: not one time did anyone say, "Gee---I never looked at it that way....I am sorry to trouble you." They have stayed right on point: "Oh please, please madam....." In Khajjiar, I asked them about 20 questions about themselves, which they all answered politely and kindly, so at the end of my 'interrogation', we allowed them to photograph Navjot and I.
The boys in Manali were a little more aggressive. Since it was more crowded, their persistence pressured us to find some trail or road away from the crowd. My book said there were trails above the temple, and we found one and exited the throng of temple-goers. A white dog accompanied us. He or she,ended up being our companion for the day. She was a street dog, very thin, and she seemed to have a bladder problem....she peed a lot in little bits here and there. We felt bad for her and encouraged her to drink water whenever she found it, and we fretted as to how we'd provide food, since we also had none for ourselves. We hiked on a rocky trail far above the town, and got great views of snowy mountains, waterfalls, and forests. Eventually we could see and hear the Beas river rushing past, far beneath us. We tried to hike to the river via an apple orchard ( apple trees were introduced to this region from outsiders...they didn't occur naturally, neither did basic veggies such as potatoes, carrots,...people ate ferns called lingeree (hard g) and other roots...) but there was a drop off which we couldn't see due to the trees, and it may have been impassable....but, we still meandered down, and ended up at a beautiful resort, where we ate a light lunch and sat in a large lawn and tried to feed the dog a roti, which it refused.
The dog gave me valuable practice in speaking Punjabi, because it followed my one-word orders enough that I really felt like it understood me. I called it "Dog" (but we also called it Santa's Little Helper), because I needed practice saying kuta correctly. I told it to "Come here (Aja)," "Stop, (Basji)" "Come here" (Ithay Aja) and "There (Othay)" and when it obeyed, which was fairly often, I said, "Very Good (bohut-atcha)" and "Well Done (Shaabash)". I found this unexpected interaction very amusing and fun. The dog let us go when we reached a park-like area near the river back in town.
We had an interesting evening. Heather and I got a massage, where we experienced a little 'reflexology,' The memorable part for me was when the area between my thumb and forefinger was pressed, and this felt painful!! It turned out that this area (according to the masseuse) reflected the state of the shoulders and neck, which usually pain me, because I naturally store tension there, and because I play a lot of volleyball.
Later, I watched a full Hindi movie, Kuch-Kuch Hota Hai (Something is Happening), a comedy-love-story. Although I have spent lots of time with Indians in the past 8 years, this was the first time I watched all the song-and-dance sequences that are found in Bollywood films. Cailin inspired me to watch this movie in its complete form, it is one of her favorites, and I learned why. The movie is over-the-top cheesy, and the dance numbers augment that aspect, leaving us giggling and laughing, while Navjot snoozed. The best part, for me, is when the guy, Shahrukh Khan, is sitting in a classroom, an over-confident college student, wearing a bright blue and orange speedo shirt, unzipped halfway, sporting a gold chain with a pendant of the word 'cool.' This movie out-cheesed every USA movie made in the 1980s, but somehow we still managed to get caught up in the love story, too. Go Bollywood!
The next morning we went to a more peaceful place: Naggar Castle.
I am so wound up with the activities associated with returning home: making final visits to places I frequented, making final purchases, saying goodbyes and snapping photos. Snapping photos (always just the ladies) challenges me to snap the photos while the ladies are smiling. What typically happens is that the ladies will be smiling or giggling as they prepare for the shot, but as I push the button, they close their smile and put on a more solemn expression. Sometimes I can cajole them: "Keep the smile!" but if that doesn't seem to have an effect, and we seem to have time and the ladies haven't begun to feel awkward about posing for the photos, I will take a third, and we'll laugh some more, then I hold the camera up---then snap early---while they are still smiling. At home, people are pretty attuned to the timing of a camera, and will protest, or at least acknowledge that I have snapped early, but the people here have not objected at all. In fact, I think they prefer it to my typical habit of giving a couple of seconds to "make the look."
With this extra energy, which got me up at 5:45 this morning, after about 2 weeks of sleeping in from 7:30 to as late as 9am on a few days, I describe our drive to Manali, in Himachal.
We left around noon. At 11am we looked at the first taxi our hotel secured for us, and it was a tiny car, smaller than a Chevy Aveo. The image of four people crammed in on a long drive on a hot day pinballing around the mountains did not appeal to any of the ladies. Navjot, born Indian, would have taken an old rust-bucket, noisy, smelly, stopping-only-on-schedule, bus (with drivers that live to nauseate, accelerating through curves, slamming on brakes), and considered this tiny vehicle a luxury. The ladies won out (Girl Power!) and we switched the small digs to an SUV.
Heather, Navjot and I took the motion sickness medicine, Avromine. Cailin had the enviable ability to jostle about on road trips, and feel great without medicinal aid. This reminds me of a Mr. Bean skit we saw in Dalhousie: Mr. Bean gets on a roller coaster, and keeps a straight face as the ride coasts over the first hill......everyone else is screaming, yet he feels no sensations---he shushes the howling girls behind him....he even nods off before the ride is over. He probably never experienced motion-sickness either.
Since I am prone to it, I curbed all extra movements in the car, including picture-taking. After lunch at the Hilltop Restaurant, we soon turned north, and drove along mountainsides, with the Beas river flowing south over large rocks and boulders. We were in the Kullu valley, and I captivated by the scenery. Before Kullu, Heather and I talked and chatted and caught up on all kinds of info (since we were roommates back in '97) that we never get to in the States because we do not make time for it within the busyness of USA life. I hope that Navjot and Cailin were forgiving of our girl-chat session, which ended up being exclusive of them....not intentionally at all....we just realized we had a rare opportunity to fill in some gaps that have opened up over time.
Driving along the Kullu Valley, the landscape held my full attention. The mountains still looked like high hills, no snow, but with the river flowing between them, the beauty seemed even more welcoming and exotic because the forested mountains now had a life-sustaining resource: a river with clear water, looking unlike many rivers we see nowadays. I wouldn't take photos, but I thought to myself: "Never forget this.."
Towards dusk, our driver swung the wheel left, and drove right into a mountain--a tunnel! I was so surprised that the government took the time and resources to make a tunnel! It wasn't very well lit, and sheperds also used the tunnel, so we maneuvered around a few goats, and a cow, too. I felt neurotically anxious in the tunnel, it may have been two miles, and it the last thing, after living in India for nearly four months, that I expected to experience. But, India manages to show me just about everything I do not expect, so by the time we left the tunnel, I had reframed the event as inevitable.
We arrived to Manali around 8pm. We found another hotel at Johnsons: they were the only hotel that had any rooms available, but still through the same schtick as before: " we only have one room, maybe two, but only for one night." We ended up staying there for two nights, and we had two rooms, and we could have stayed longer, but the problem with Manali is that it was a massively crowded and noisy city which really put us off.
We hiked to the Hadimba Temple, basically a large, wooden, structure with slanted roofs similar to houses in Michigan. We were caught up with the locals who were attending a festival, so it was fun to be surrounded by people in festive, colorful clothing. The locals walked in loosely separated groups: male and female, with the males stopping every now and then to sing and accompany themselves on small drums, the dhols. Near the temple, we saw a few yaks, and their keepers wanted to charge us money to photograph them; I took a mental picture instead. Some boys asked Heather if they could photograph her, she said ,'No; in a friendly way. They persisted, as they always so and I stepped in and talked to them the way Navjot and I talked to the group of about 10 young men in Khajjiar who also wanted to photo me: "You see, we do not know you, we are just meeting you now. We are not comfortable giving pictures to people that we do not know well." Navjot had added: "How would you like it if we asked to photo your sisters or mothers.....we don't know them? In India, Navjot is quick to invoke the protective, honorable perceptions that men are supposed to have for the women in their families. Wasted energy: not one time did anyone say, "Gee---I never looked at it that way....I am sorry to trouble you." They have stayed right on point: "Oh please, please madam....." In Khajjiar, I asked them about 20 questions about themselves, which they all answered politely and kindly, so at the end of my 'interrogation', we allowed them to photograph Navjot and I.
The boys in Manali were a little more aggressive. Since it was more crowded, their persistence pressured us to find some trail or road away from the crowd. My book said there were trails above the temple, and we found one and exited the throng of temple-goers. A white dog accompanied us. He or she,ended up being our companion for the day. She was a street dog, very thin, and she seemed to have a bladder problem....she peed a lot in little bits here and there. We felt bad for her and encouraged her to drink water whenever she found it, and we fretted as to how we'd provide food, since we also had none for ourselves. We hiked on a rocky trail far above the town, and got great views of snowy mountains, waterfalls, and forests. Eventually we could see and hear the Beas river rushing past, far beneath us. We tried to hike to the river via an apple orchard ( apple trees were introduced to this region from outsiders...they didn't occur naturally, neither did basic veggies such as potatoes, carrots,...people ate ferns called lingeree (hard g) and other roots...) but there was a drop off which we couldn't see due to the trees, and it may have been impassable....but, we still meandered down, and ended up at a beautiful resort, where we ate a light lunch and sat in a large lawn and tried to feed the dog a roti, which it refused.
The dog gave me valuable practice in speaking Punjabi, because it followed my one-word orders enough that I really felt like it understood me. I called it "Dog" (but we also called it Santa's Little Helper), because I needed practice saying kuta correctly. I told it to "Come here (Aja)," "Stop, (Basji)" "Come here" (Ithay Aja) and "There (Othay)" and when it obeyed, which was fairly often, I said, "Very Good (bohut-atcha)" and "Well Done (Shaabash)". I found this unexpected interaction very amusing and fun. The dog let us go when we reached a park-like area near the river back in town.
We had an interesting evening. Heather and I got a massage, where we experienced a little 'reflexology,' The memorable part for me was when the area between my thumb and forefinger was pressed, and this felt painful!! It turned out that this area (according to the masseuse) reflected the state of the shoulders and neck, which usually pain me, because I naturally store tension there, and because I play a lot of volleyball.
Later, I watched a full Hindi movie, Kuch-Kuch Hota Hai (Something is Happening), a comedy-love-story. Although I have spent lots of time with Indians in the past 8 years, this was the first time I watched all the song-and-dance sequences that are found in Bollywood films. Cailin inspired me to watch this movie in its complete form, it is one of her favorites, and I learned why. The movie is over-the-top cheesy, and the dance numbers augment that aspect, leaving us giggling and laughing, while Navjot snoozed. The best part, for me, is when the guy, Shahrukh Khan, is sitting in a classroom, an over-confident college student, wearing a bright blue and orange speedo shirt, unzipped halfway, sporting a gold chain with a pendant of the word 'cool.' This movie out-cheesed every USA movie made in the 1980s, but somehow we still managed to get caught up in the love story, too. Go Bollywood!
The next morning we went to a more peaceful place: Naggar Castle.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
New Delhi, Part 2
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!!
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!!
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.
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