Hey there everybody. This is my last post about India, as I am writing it from the comfort of my very own room in San Diego. It's 5am, I'm jetlagged and cultureshocked, but I want to try to get something down while the memory of India is still fresh. It's such a different world that I'm afraid things will start to seem unreal very quickly as I adapt to life in the U.S. again. Heck, most of this weblog has probably seemed unreal to you.
When we returned from our trek in the Himalayas I decided to enroll in a 10-day Tibettan Buddhist philosophy and meditation course at Tushita Meditation Centre. The course is designed for westerners, taught by a western monk, and attended mostly by young travellers from all over the world. Each day I would rise at 5:30am, go for a vigorous walk to get the blood pumping, stretch, take a shower, meditate for 45 minutes, eat breakfast, go to philosophy lesson, do yoga, eat lunch, go to discussion section, go to another philosophy lesson, meditate again, eat dinner, and meditate once more before bed. The meditations were either "mindfulness meditations" where we concentrated on our breathing or "analytical meditations" where an Icelandic Buddhist woman would describe some topic which we were to use our meditative focus to penetrate more deeply. The topics ranged from appreciation of the preciousness of our lives to acceptance of our inevitable deaths, from controlling anger and hatred to developing love and compassion. The lessons followed the "Lam Rim," an old Tibettan distillation of the 84,000 teachings of Sakyamuni Buddha, including topics on karma and rebirth. The discussion sections were our 1-hour-per-day opportunity to talk with our classmates - the rest of the course was conducted in silence - the idea being that if you were eating, you should be only eating; if you were walking, you should be only walking; and so on. Of course, we did a lot of thinking too, which sometimes was good and sometimes not. So it goes. In the end, I took away a few good techniques for calming the mind and for developing love and compassion, two qualities that I think I could do with a little more of in the future. Buddhists define love as "wanting someone to be happy" and compassion as "wanting someone to be free of suffering." Such definitions are unconditional, meaning they come directly from the subject and are not effected by outside conditions such as the nature of the object. Thus you can love both your friends and enemies equally. The main way to develop love and compassion is to do an analytical meditation whereby you use thoughts and memories to willfully produce an intense feeling of love or compassion (such as imagining a good friend who you want to be happy, or a poor beggar who you want not to suffer), and then concentrate on that feeling as long as possible. The idea is that through your concentration you will actually reprogram your neural network so that the path to feeling love and compassion is simpler, and thus you will feel more easily in the future. I have no doubt that your mind is capable of this: there is much scientific evidence to support it. And one of the premises of Buddhism and indeed of most forms of mysticism is that your mind has a great and vastly unknown power to affect both your body and the world around you. I like to think of it in terms of E=mc2: all matter is energy, so it's really just mind energy affecting matter energy. Oh man, you say, he's really gone bonkers now. Go to India, I say. It's a very spiritual place.
Anyway, after 10-days of barely talking there were a lot of people to meet, so I spent the next two days eating and hiking with my classmates, getting to know their situations. They were amazing people - doing good work all over the world. Too soon I had to leave for Delhi, where I spent two days walking in the mornings and hiding from the heat in the afternoons. I walked about the old Mughal city of Shahjehanabad and the new British Delhi of Lutyens. In a park in Old Delhi I met some friendly Indians who invited me to their tiny house. Six of them lived, ate, and slept in a house with one room (about 10'x10') an antechamber and a toilet. They spent their time going to school, tailoring clothes, and making beadwork handicraft designs. One of them had just recently recovered from Typhoid. But despite all this, they were very happy people, and I couldn't help thinking after my Buddhist course that what really creates happiness in this world is not how much you have but how much you give. The law of karma says simply that if you love others, then they will love you, and you will be happy. Albeit it's necessary to have a little money for food and shelter, but beyond that you're better off spending more time developing a loving mind and less time developing a bulging bank account.
When I stepped off the plane from Delhi to Frankfurt and boarded the one from Frankfurt to San Francisco, I was overwhelmed by the number of westerners I saw. I thought about how lucky I was to have been born in a rich country, where my basic needs are provided for, where I have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I thought about how much happiner people would be if they only realized how lucky they were - if they only knew that it's much more effective to cultivate happiness in your mind than to seek it from the outside world.
I went to India seeking the next step in my life. For the past three years I can honestly say that there hasn't been a single day when I've been discontent. At times I've been sick, tired, angry, afraid, overworked, and a bunch of other things, but beneath it all there's always been this deep-seated, unshakeable contentment. I think it comes from enjoyment of being in the mountains, being with friends, and being with myself. But at this point I feel like I've taken enough happiness for myself, and it's time to start giving it back to other people. I can't spend my whole life flying around the world chasing mountains and making friends. Not after I've seen people that can't afford to dress themselves, let alone travel. So now it's off to Alaska to make a little money and for one last mountain hoorah, and then it's time to start contributing. I'm not sure yet what I'll do: probably something with renewable energy; and whatever I do will be a drop in the bucket; but I saw enough leaky taps in India to realize that if everybody puts more drops in than they take out, the bucket will eventually fill up. I've come to realize that there are two paths available after college: to work primarily for your own benefit or to work primarily for the benefit of others. The Buddhists would say that the latter path is the path to true happiness. So I'll leave you with a quote from the Dalai Lama:
Every day, think as you wake up:
Today I am fortunate to have woken up.
I am alive, I have a precious human life.
I am not going to waste it.
I am going to use all my energies to develop myself
To expand my heart out to others
To achieve enlightenment for the benefit of all beings.
I am going to have kind thoughts towards others.
I am not going to get angry, or think badly about others.
I am going to benefit others as much as I can.
So there you go! Thank you all for reading! I hope I will see each of you soon!
Love,
Josh
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Dharamsala & Trekking
Hello from the Himalayas! We've been in Himachal Pradesh for 2 weeks now, and man the time flies by when you're ten thousand feet high!
Spent a week in Dharamsala, home of the Tibettan Government in exile!
Bought lots of cool Tibettan stuff, including a yak's wool hat!
Also went dayhiking to a waterfall-laundromat and viewpoint-teashop!
Beyond lay the snowline, and some impassable passes,
But we wanted to trek, so we asked some questions,
And were told it was "not possible" to cross the mountains,
We would have to content ourselves with foothill fountains!
So we signed ourselves up for a week-long trek,
But no sooner had we left than our guide out-let
The existence of a lower pass, some 40k east,
Which would let us cross the formidable peaks!
In a brash decision, we abandoned one plan,
And embraced another, or my name ain't Stan.
Four buses later, plus a rumbling jeep,
We began our climb up over the peaks!
For half and two days we approached valley's head,
Drinking tea in cave huts and sleeping in cow sheds.
Eating fresh rice and dal from the guides' pressure cooker,
Washing in snow streams and looking for hookers!
On a brilliant morning the pass we did reach,
The wind was chilly, the views beyond speech.
We took some photos, the donned our rain gear,
For a sliding descent down the mountain's rear!
That night we took shelter in a little ghost town,
The wind blew hard, but we did not frown.
Instead we put our minds in helicopter mode,
And rapped off the twilight of our haunted abode.
Next day we learned of a bridge's demise,
Which meant a long walk and a train through the skies.
Over the raging Ravi river we pulled ourselves
And slept that night amidst puppy smells!
Then 'twas the last day, quick as can be,
We rose with the dawn and drank some tea.
Then we walked a few k's, past some kids with a cow,
To a quaint sunny village where a jeep we found!
The village was quiet, small, and clean,
It smelled of new wood, dung, and gasoline.
Surrounding the houses were terraced wheat fields,
Apple orchards, grazing lands, and walnut trees!
But we couldn't stay long, 'cause the jeep was waiting,
To carry us down, hopefully without fainting,
A precipitous road filled with many holes,
But we got through okay: Shiva saved our souls!
That night we spent in our guide's village,
Playing with children and drinking homemade swillage.
We awoke early to catch a long bumpy bus,
Back to Dharamsala it transported us!
So now we are here, back where we started,
This morning with our guides we parted.
In half an hour I've a Lama to meet,
So I'll say goodbye: so-long my sweets!
Spent a week in Dharamsala, home of the Tibettan Government in exile!
Bought lots of cool Tibettan stuff, including a yak's wool hat!
Also went dayhiking to a waterfall-laundromat and viewpoint-teashop!
Beyond lay the snowline, and some impassable passes,
But we wanted to trek, so we asked some questions,
And were told it was "not possible" to cross the mountains,
We would have to content ourselves with foothill fountains!
So we signed ourselves up for a week-long trek,
But no sooner had we left than our guide out-let
The existence of a lower pass, some 40k east,
Which would let us cross the formidable peaks!
In a brash decision, we abandoned one plan,
And embraced another, or my name ain't Stan.
Four buses later, plus a rumbling jeep,
We began our climb up over the peaks!
For half and two days we approached valley's head,
Drinking tea in cave huts and sleeping in cow sheds.
Eating fresh rice and dal from the guides' pressure cooker,
Washing in snow streams and looking for hookers!
On a brilliant morning the pass we did reach,
The wind was chilly, the views beyond speech.
We took some photos, the donned our rain gear,
For a sliding descent down the mountain's rear!
That night we took shelter in a little ghost town,
The wind blew hard, but we did not frown.
Instead we put our minds in helicopter mode,
And rapped off the twilight of our haunted abode.
Next day we learned of a bridge's demise,
Which meant a long walk and a train through the skies.
Over the raging Ravi river we pulled ourselves
And slept that night amidst puppy smells!
Then 'twas the last day, quick as can be,
We rose with the dawn and drank some tea.
Then we walked a few k's, past some kids with a cow,
To a quaint sunny village where a jeep we found!
The village was quiet, small, and clean,
It smelled of new wood, dung, and gasoline.
Surrounding the houses were terraced wheat fields,
Apple orchards, grazing lands, and walnut trees!
But we couldn't stay long, 'cause the jeep was waiting,
To carry us down, hopefully without fainting,
A precipitous road filled with many holes,
But we got through okay: Shiva saved our souls!
That night we spent in our guide's village,
Playing with children and drinking homemade swillage.
We awoke early to catch a long bumpy bus,
Back to Dharamsala it transported us!
So now we are here, back where we started,
This morning with our guides we parted.
In half an hour I've a Lama to meet,
So I'll say goodbye: so-long my sweets!
Monday, April 2, 2007
Holy Cities: Varanasi, Sarnath, Agra, Amrisar
May we be forever in the same boat,
Floating down the river of life.
Well, I've got a lot to write about this time. Since leaving Khajuraho we've been to the holiest city of the Hindus, Varanasi; the site of the Buddha's first sermon, Sarnath; the great city of the Mughals, Agra; and the religious center of the Sikhs, Amritsar. So without further ado...
Varanasi. City of Shiva. Of enchantment. And the finest merchandise this side of the river Ganges, on sale today, come on down! A beautiful city, really - the best in India, we think. Why? Partly because it's on a sacred river, which is bordered by a "boardwalk" of concrete steps called "ghats" where people bathe, wash clothing, and cremate their dead. And you can walk along these ghats at sunrise, when the pink light illuminates the old buildings by the river, and boats full of tourists drift lazily by, and you can inhale the air heavy with the ashes of dead people. It's wonderful, really. The other reason Varansi is so great is that in the old city, the streets are so narrow that cars can't get through, so there are no horns. Many an hour was spent sitting on the roof of our hotel, sipping Mango Maza, gazing out at the city, and listening to the absence of horns.
There aren't really any "sights" in Varanasi, so we spent our days walking along the ghats and through the alleyways of the city, getting lost and finding ourselves, trying not to step in the numerous fresh cow-pats. There was also classical Indian music to listen to, and Ayurvedic massages to partake of. At one point I had breakfast in a French cafe that reminded me so much of home that all of a sudden the relative poverty of India fully dawned on me, and I realized more than ever before that from a financial point of view, Westerners are the kings of the world. I decided that, true to Hindu mythology, good Kings can do one of two things: they can give up their riches and go live among the poor. Or they can use their riches and power to promote justice and balance in the world. Usually they do the latter while they're young, and the former when they're old. So that's what I'm going to do. Of course, my idea of justice and balance focuses only partially on humans and the rest on other species. :-)
That aftenoon I walked around Banares Hindu University. When I got tired I sat down in front of a building, and a few minutes later I was befriended by its residents, some Indian English majors now studying education. We talked and had tea, then headed for the University temple and sat in the grass and talked some more. It was wonderful to talk to young, middle class, educated Indians. Gave me much hope for this country, even though all they want to do is emigrate to the U.S. They shared their thoughts on philosophical matters and great English writers, and boy was it heartening stuff.
I best move on to Sarnath or I'll lose the will to write. Sarnath is a quiet town about 10km outside Varanasi. We spent only an afternoon, evening, and morning there, but it was very rewarding. We visited many Buddhist temples (Japanese, Chinese, Tibettan, and Burmese) and had the opportunity to compare their styles. We "prayed" at the Japanese temple, which consisted of beating drums in a simple pattern for 20 minutes and uttering matras we didn't understand, but it was mesmerizing. I finally found "The Snow Leopard," which I am planning to read now that we're in the Himalaya. And we stayed with two old European ladies who have lived in India more than a decade. They are Buddhists and practitioners of the Tai chi-like exercise of Falun Gong. We partook of a session, which I found much less rewarding than mountain climbing. We also stayed in their beautiful little house, slept on their straw mats, and ate their delicious food.
Soon it was back to Varanasi to finish up some silk transactions with our wholesaler-merchant-friend Muhammud. He showed us some hand silk looms, which are fascinating contraptions. An Indian works them 10 hours a day for $2.50. That can buy about what $10 buys at home. But boy does he produce nice stuff! Losing my battle to be immaterial, I bought some and shipped it home. Then we were on a train to Agra.
In Agra we stayed at the home of a Servas host, Krishna Gaur (different from Guar, the Indian buffallo. Krishna looked more like a gorilla). Our room was a concrete solar oven on the roof, but we had our own kitchen, which Krishna insisted we make use of to treat him to some American food. We suggested Mexican instead and spent that evening trying to make fajitas. It turned out a little more like tostadas, since the tortillas we made weren't flexible. Also we had to use kidney beans and processed cheese. But they pretended it was good.
Next day it was off to Fathepur Sikri, a Moghul palace and mosque. We hired a guide who told us the lineage of the Moghul Kings, from (Admiral) Akbar to Jehangir to Shah Jehan (who built the Taj) to Aurangazeb. The Moghuls were an amazing military power, and no doubt would have ruled India much longer were it not for the guns, germs, and steel of the British Empire. True to form, Mughal buildings express that power (see pictures). Also of note, although Muslims, were tolerant of Hinduism and Christianity. In fact, Admiral Akbar even had a Christian and Hindu wife! Curious, I read the Wikipedia article on Islam and it turns out that it's a fairly tolerant religion. Imagine that! Islam, like all other religions, is centered around faith and moral behavior! It's only Islamic extremists, like extremists of other religions, that are confused and dangerous. I figured this was the case, but it was still nice to read it in Wikipedia (the authorative source). Highly recommended.
Next day we awoke at dawn to make the pilgrimage to the most beautiful building in the world, the Taj Mahal. To attempt to describe it here would be an atrocious insult, and pictures are only slightly better. Suffice to say that it was Shah Jehan's attempt to create Paradise on Earth, and that it comes damn close.
That night we ate Krishna's delicious Indian food, watched him down a few bottles of whisky, and listened to him rant about philosophical matters. We went to his son Vikram's workshop and saw how he inlays semi-precious stones into marble, the exact same way as it was done for the Taj.
Next morning we made french toast in our kitchen and then headed for the railway station. Seventeen hours later we arrived in Amritsar, at 4am. We were woken up by the person cleaning the train, and we stumbled out of the station and ran into a rickshaw wallah (at 4am! Don't they ever sleep?!) Turned out he was a nice man so it was okay. He got us some tea and showed us where to put our bags. Then we got on his rickshaw and he took us to the Golden Temple, gem of the Sikhs. There we stayed as dawn dawned and reflected off the white marble and dark water and gold temple. Mantras tickled our ears.
After soaking it up awhile we headed to Jallianwalla Bagh, where in 1919 a crazed British General Dyer and his crack troops opened fire on thousands of peaceful Indian demonstrators. It was a horrible embarassment to the British government, and contributed to the success of peaceful independence. Today the site has been transformed into a beautiful garden, with a small museum dedicated to some prominent figures in the massacre, and with an old brick wall full of bullet holes.
Then we initiated our long-awaited journey into the Himalayas. At the bus stand Kyle's small bag got stolen, which sucked. I was supposed to be watching it, too, and I haven't a clue what happened, so I feel bad. But he's taking it well, as a lesson in non-attachment. We're now in Dharmasala, city of the Dalai Lama in exile, and of many of his Tibettan Buddhist followers. The air is cool and the mountains covered in pine forests. We have finally found our own temple. The next month is for worship.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Pachmari & Khajuraho
Alo sir!
So we're in Khajuraho now, in northern Madha Pradesh, the heart of all that is North India. It's an oven outside so we're hanging out under the fan in the internet cafe - funny how internet cafes can be either saunas or oases.
Our last few days in Pachmari were heavenly, and we didn't want to leave. We climbed two mountains, the first approached by 1350 concrete steps and topped by a Shiva temple surrounded by tridents (Shiva's weapon) of every shape, size, and color. There were also many Rhesus monkeys there, one of which stole part of our lunch (samosas) right from under our noses. If you are unarmed, they are fearless, and will bare their teeth in a terrifying grimace when threatened. If you pick up a rock, however, they leave you alone.
On the way back another big thunderstorm rolled in behind us, but rather than run for shelter, we decided to brave it out in some ornamental gardens. Well, it started pouring HARD, then HAILING (in the tropics), but we donned our rain jackets and were out in the thick of it the whole time, running around like idiots, howling and summersaulting. An older Indian man gave us quite a strange look. Check Kyle's blog for pictures, as his camera is waterproof.
Two days later we were climbing again, this time up the highest mountain in central India, Doopgargh. We took cycles to the trail, stopping at a beautiful waterfall en route. The climb was easy, the view from the top sublime, the wind refreshing. We took some fun photos then went down again. At the bottom we decided to search out a gorge that Kyle had spied from the summit. En route we saw a Guar, a very large, rare ungulate with a jet black coat and white lower legs. It stared at us and we stared at it for a while, then it walked away into the bushes, leaving us amazed. We found the gorge alright, and ended up enjoying its cool humidity for a few minutes before having to race the sunset back to town. This proved more difficult than expected, as someone had let the air out of our rear bicycle tires. Apparently it's a pretty common thing to do in India, don't ask me why.
The next day it was off to Khajuraho, by bus, train, a night in a hotel, and another bus. Unfortunately I got sick on the train and ended up spending a couple hours in the toilet rocking to the rhythm of the tracks with my head in my hands. I purged my digestive tract of what felt like every ounce of fluid it contained, and was quite pale as we stumbled out of the train in Satna. Thankfully Kyle kept me warm with his sleeping bag, took care of the luggage, and bought me liquids to revive myself, and the next morning I felt much better...until we discovered that we had no cash, both our ATM cards had been cancelled for unknown reasons, and nobody changed traveler's checks in Satna. For a moment we were one of India's poor, wondering where we would get our next meal or sleep our next night. We considered which of our belongings we could pawn. Eventually though, we decided to risk travelling with me not completely recovered so we could get to Khajuraho where money changing facilities awaited. The trip proved uneventful and we were rescued from our mini-crisis.
On the way to Khajuraho Kyle met Sandeep, a 19-year old Brahmin from the local village, and also a husband and father of one. We have spent the past two days in his company, sharing our meals, visiting his home, and talking. At first I was a little suspicious but the kid has grown on me and I'm fairly sure he has no malicious intentions. He's struggling to find a job but is otherwise in a fairly good situation, by Indian standards: his father has a steady agricultural income, he has a roof over his head and a high school education.
Today we're off on Sandeep's motorbike to visit the "Pink Village." Tomorrow maybe we'll climb a nearby mountain, the following day go to the famous Khajuraho erotic temples, and then it's back to the trains for Varanasi, the holiest Hindu city on the banks of the Ganges and Sarnath, the place where the Buddha gave his first sermon. Then Agra, for the Taj Mahal, and finally northwards to the Himalayas, my own temple.
I've been thinking a lot about religion. I'm reading this book called "City of Joy", I'm constantly surrounded by religious people, and I admire very much how religion can lead people to suffer valiantly and sacrifice themselves for others in need. But so far even all this has ceased to make me a religious man. I try to give, and be selfless, but I don't think I can do what the main character of this book did, just give up the western life, settle in an Indian slum, and try to help the people there. It is not my place, and I don't have the strength. Instead, I hope to worship in my mountain temple, and help it and its denizens to survive.
I look forward to seeing you all again.
Love,
Josh
So we're in Khajuraho now, in northern Madha Pradesh, the heart of all that is North India. It's an oven outside so we're hanging out under the fan in the internet cafe - funny how internet cafes can be either saunas or oases.
Our last few days in Pachmari were heavenly, and we didn't want to leave. We climbed two mountains, the first approached by 1350 concrete steps and topped by a Shiva temple surrounded by tridents (Shiva's weapon) of every shape, size, and color. There were also many Rhesus monkeys there, one of which stole part of our lunch (samosas) right from under our noses. If you are unarmed, they are fearless, and will bare their teeth in a terrifying grimace when threatened. If you pick up a rock, however, they leave you alone.
On the way back another big thunderstorm rolled in behind us, but rather than run for shelter, we decided to brave it out in some ornamental gardens. Well, it started pouring HARD, then HAILING (in the tropics), but we donned our rain jackets and were out in the thick of it the whole time, running around like idiots, howling and summersaulting. An older Indian man gave us quite a strange look. Check Kyle's blog for pictures, as his camera is waterproof.
Two days later we were climbing again, this time up the highest mountain in central India, Doopgargh. We took cycles to the trail, stopping at a beautiful waterfall en route. The climb was easy, the view from the top sublime, the wind refreshing. We took some fun photos then went down again. At the bottom we decided to search out a gorge that Kyle had spied from the summit. En route we saw a Guar, a very large, rare ungulate with a jet black coat and white lower legs. It stared at us and we stared at it for a while, then it walked away into the bushes, leaving us amazed. We found the gorge alright, and ended up enjoying its cool humidity for a few minutes before having to race the sunset back to town. This proved more difficult than expected, as someone had let the air out of our rear bicycle tires. Apparently it's a pretty common thing to do in India, don't ask me why.
The next day it was off to Khajuraho, by bus, train, a night in a hotel, and another bus. Unfortunately I got sick on the train and ended up spending a couple hours in the toilet rocking to the rhythm of the tracks with my head in my hands. I purged my digestive tract of what felt like every ounce of fluid it contained, and was quite pale as we stumbled out of the train in Satna. Thankfully Kyle kept me warm with his sleeping bag, took care of the luggage, and bought me liquids to revive myself, and the next morning I felt much better...until we discovered that we had no cash, both our ATM cards had been cancelled for unknown reasons, and nobody changed traveler's checks in Satna. For a moment we were one of India's poor, wondering where we would get our next meal or sleep our next night. We considered which of our belongings we could pawn. Eventually though, we decided to risk travelling with me not completely recovered so we could get to Khajuraho where money changing facilities awaited. The trip proved uneventful and we were rescued from our mini-crisis.
On the way to Khajuraho Kyle met Sandeep, a 19-year old Brahmin from the local village, and also a husband and father of one. We have spent the past two days in his company, sharing our meals, visiting his home, and talking. At first I was a little suspicious but the kid has grown on me and I'm fairly sure he has no malicious intentions. He's struggling to find a job but is otherwise in a fairly good situation, by Indian standards: his father has a steady agricultural income, he has a roof over his head and a high school education.
Today we're off on Sandeep's motorbike to visit the "Pink Village." Tomorrow maybe we'll climb a nearby mountain, the following day go to the famous Khajuraho erotic temples, and then it's back to the trains for Varanasi, the holiest Hindu city on the banks of the Ganges and Sarnath, the place where the Buddha gave his first sermon. Then Agra, for the Taj Mahal, and finally northwards to the Himalayas, my own temple.
I've been thinking a lot about religion. I'm reading this book called "City of Joy", I'm constantly surrounded by religious people, and I admire very much how religion can lead people to suffer valiantly and sacrifice themselves for others in need. But so far even all this has ceased to make me a religious man. I try to give, and be selfless, but I don't think I can do what the main character of this book did, just give up the western life, settle in an Indian slum, and try to help the people there. It is not my place, and I don't have the strength. Instead, I hope to worship in my mountain temple, and help it and its denizens to survive.
I look forward to seeing you all again.
Love,
Josh
Monday, March 12, 2007
Thoughts from Pachmari
Ok I'm back. The computer decided to eat the second half of my last
post, which was sad, but a good lesson in non-attachment. I'm in
Pachmari now, a hill station in south-central Madhya Pradesh. We're
almost out of the tropics! That was a realization Kyle and I had a
week back - almost all of India is in the tropics! "Duh," you might
say. But it's hard to believe when you're actually here at this time
of year, 'cause everything is so dry. When I think of tropics I think
of warm rain and mountainous jungles, not an arid plain. So much for
generalizations.
Anyway, for point of reference, Delhi is at about the same lattitude
as San Diego. That makes the Himalayas about equivalent to the
southern Sierra. Except twice as high. It's still quite cold and
snowy there, needless to say - but I look forward to seeing some real
mountains come April.
For now, there's the hills of Pachmari, and guess what? It rained
today! For the first time since I arrived. And it rained hard, with
thunder! I donned my raincoat and swimsuit and went outside and got
absolutely soaked. Sought refuge in a cave, where some saddhus were
smokin' a chillum' and listenin' to da thunda.
The half-post the computer ate was about Ellora and Ajanta caves.
Them's temples carved into the "living" rock. Or into a basalt cliff,
anyways. It's quite impressive - every horizontal surface made into
Buddhas or mandalas or elephants or Gods. Thousands of years old.
Carved with iron tools. An impressive display of workmanship,
religious dedication, and kingly power.
I'm beginning to think more about home. Not the location, per se, but
mainly the fact that I belong there. In India you're always aware
that you're an outsider. I'm also tiring of being a tourist - gettin'
eager to do something "productive," whatever that means.
We're learning more and more about Hinduism, and about how the caste
system and reincarnation allow people to accept their lot in life. If
they're low-caste, it means they sinned in a past life, and through
dedicated worship and self-effacement in this life they will be reborn
higher caste. An opiate for the masses. Makes social reform
difficult. On the other hand, the great Hindu epics promote good
morals like honesty and justice and frown on lust, greed, etc.
Kyle and I wrote a song a few days ago that I'd like to share. It's a
parody to the tune of "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay."
Sittin' in the Indian sun,
I'll be sittin' when the bus finally comes.
Watchin' the trucks honk in,
And I'll watch 'em honk away again.
I'm just sittin' by the side of the road,
A-waitin' a bus to Jalgaon.
Sittin' by the side of the road, wastin' time...
I left my home in Cali,
Flew right round half of the world.
Landed in a country,
Where the boys can't touch the girls.
Sittin' by the side of the road,
A-waitin' the bus to Jalgaon.
Sittin' by the side of the road, wastin' time...
Looks like nothin's gonna change,
Everything still remains the same.
You may live on a dollar a day,
But we're lookin' the other way...
The bus will come I know,
But I hope it ain't overflowin'.
Headed for Jalgaon,
Just one more stop then I'm goin' home.
Sittin' by the side of the road,
A-waitin' a bus to Jalgaon.
Sittin' by the side of the road, wastin' time...
Note to Mom: sorry, the line about coming home isn't true, it just fit
in the rhyme scheme.
Well, I gotta go. We're eating dinner tonight with a family I met
this afternoon. They're one of the smiliest, laughiest, and most
importantly un-selfconsciousest families I have met so far. I'm
really looking forward to being with them again.
If these posts seem at all paradoxical, good. That's how this country seems.
Love,
Josh
post, which was sad, but a good lesson in non-attachment. I'm in
Pachmari now, a hill station in south-central Madhya Pradesh. We're
almost out of the tropics! That was a realization Kyle and I had a
week back - almost all of India is in the tropics! "Duh," you might
say. But it's hard to believe when you're actually here at this time
of year, 'cause everything is so dry. When I think of tropics I think
of warm rain and mountainous jungles, not an arid plain. So much for
generalizations.
Anyway, for point of reference, Delhi is at about the same lattitude
as San Diego. That makes the Himalayas about equivalent to the
southern Sierra. Except twice as high. It's still quite cold and
snowy there, needless to say - but I look forward to seeing some real
mountains come April.
For now, there's the hills of Pachmari, and guess what? It rained
today! For the first time since I arrived. And it rained hard, with
thunder! I donned my raincoat and swimsuit and went outside and got
absolutely soaked. Sought refuge in a cave, where some saddhus were
smokin' a chillum' and listenin' to da thunda.
The half-post the computer ate was about Ellora and Ajanta caves.
Them's temples carved into the "living" rock. Or into a basalt cliff,
anyways. It's quite impressive - every horizontal surface made into
Buddhas or mandalas or elephants or Gods. Thousands of years old.
Carved with iron tools. An impressive display of workmanship,
religious dedication, and kingly power.
I'm beginning to think more about home. Not the location, per se, but
mainly the fact that I belong there. In India you're always aware
that you're an outsider. I'm also tiring of being a tourist - gettin'
eager to do something "productive," whatever that means.
We're learning more and more about Hinduism, and about how the caste
system and reincarnation allow people to accept their lot in life. If
they're low-caste, it means they sinned in a past life, and through
dedicated worship and self-effacement in this life they will be reborn
higher caste. An opiate for the masses. Makes social reform
difficult. On the other hand, the great Hindu epics promote good
morals like honesty and justice and frown on lust, greed, etc.
Kyle and I wrote a song a few days ago that I'd like to share. It's a
parody to the tune of "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay."
Sittin' in the Indian sun,
I'll be sittin' when the bus finally comes.
Watchin' the trucks honk in,
And I'll watch 'em honk away again.
I'm just sittin' by the side of the road,
A-waitin' a bus to Jalgaon.
Sittin' by the side of the road, wastin' time...
I left my home in Cali,
Flew right round half of the world.
Landed in a country,
Where the boys can't touch the girls.
Sittin' by the side of the road,
A-waitin' the bus to Jalgaon.
Sittin' by the side of the road, wastin' time...
Looks like nothin's gonna change,
Everything still remains the same.
You may live on a dollar a day,
But we're lookin' the other way...
The bus will come I know,
But I hope it ain't overflowin'.
Headed for Jalgaon,
Just one more stop then I'm goin' home.
Sittin' by the side of the road,
A-waitin' a bus to Jalgaon.
Sittin' by the side of the road, wastin' time...
Note to Mom: sorry, the line about coming home isn't true, it just fit
in the rhyme scheme.
Well, I gotta go. We're eating dinner tonight with a family I met
this afternoon. They're one of the smiliest, laughiest, and most
importantly un-selfconsciousest families I have met so far. I'm
really looking forward to being with them again.
If these posts seem at all paradoxical, good. That's how this country seems.
Love,
Josh
Friday, March 9, 2007
Bijapur and trains
Hello again everyone! I'm in Jalgaon now, in northern Mahrastra. Not that that means much to you. Or to me, for that matter - all Indian towns being essentially the same: dirty concrete buildings, sprawling markets, diesel rickshaw fumes, lots of honking horns, billboard advertisements, and of course, throngs of people. Plus the occaisonal cow, or park, or ancient ruin.
Kyle finally made it out of Karnataka! Our last stop in that state was Bijapur, where we walked around the city to some mosques and a fabulous vegetable market. Unfortunately, Kyle got an intestinal illness - but he still made it to the Golgumbaz's dome where we sat 100ft apart and whispered to each other. No joke - amazing accoustics. Made me think of Electric Kool-Aid and variable lag.
Then we had quite a train journey. Hopped a local from Bij to Shol (-apur for both: must mean town or something, kind of like -abad). Arrived at 2pm - next train was at 6. Kyle was feeling low, so we checked into the "retiring room." Definitely a British concept - to put a hotel in a train station. Especially since our room was about the size of your average American restaurant, with only two beds, a 30 foot ceiling, almirahs, beauraus, and mirrors on the walls, western toilet and water heater (both luxuries), immacuately clean...all for a whopping price of $5. We read and slept and juggled.
Next train was a sleeper to Manmad. 6pm to 6am. In Manmad we hung out on the station floor watching people sleep, slip on the polished tile, and go to and from trains carrying all sorts of strange stuff. Then I got into an argument with the phone man and we had to retreat to platform 4. We waited for our next and final train that was supposed to come at 9:30. Then at 10:30. Then two trains showed up at the same time going to the same place (maybe?) and we didn't know which one to get on and there were people everywhere and eventually we picked the one that was going the right direction but it turned out the other one reversed its direction (take that!) and we were crowded in with the throngs for 2 hours. Oh well. This is India. We got there. You always do. Eventually.
Aside: people in trains and buses here look SO miserable. Often times they put their heads in their hands, or just look at you and frown. Sometimes they fall asleep - don't ask me how, and next thing you know you're about to be a pillow and then snap, they lean back the other way. The problem, I think, stems from the fact that they don't bring any entertainment with them - walkmans may be a bit pricey, but certainly they could bring a magazine or cards or something!
Kyle finally made it out of Karnataka! Our last stop in that state was Bijapur, where we walked around the city to some mosques and a fabulous vegetable market. Unfortunately, Kyle got an intestinal illness - but he still made it to the Golgumbaz's dome where we sat 100ft apart and whispered to each other. No joke - amazing accoustics. Made me think of Electric Kool-Aid and variable lag.
Then we had quite a train journey. Hopped a local from Bij to Shol (-apur for both: must mean town or something, kind of like -abad). Arrived at 2pm - next train was at 6. Kyle was feeling low, so we checked into the "retiring room." Definitely a British concept - to put a hotel in a train station. Especially since our room was about the size of your average American restaurant, with only two beds, a 30 foot ceiling, almirahs, beauraus, and mirrors on the walls, western toilet and water heater (both luxuries), immacuately clean...all for a whopping price of $5. We read and slept and juggled.
Next train was a sleeper to Manmad. 6pm to 6am. In Manmad we hung out on the station floor watching people sleep, slip on the polished tile, and go to and from trains carrying all sorts of strange stuff. Then I got into an argument with the phone man and we had to retreat to platform 4. We waited for our next and final train that was supposed to come at 9:30. Then at 10:30. Then two trains showed up at the same time going to the same place (maybe?) and we didn't know which one to get on and there were people everywhere and eventually we picked the one that was going the right direction but it turned out the other one reversed its direction (take that!) and we were crowded in with the throngs for 2 hours. Oh well. This is India. We got there. You always do. Eventually.
Aside: people in trains and buses here look SO miserable. Often times they put their heads in their hands, or just look at you and frown. Sometimes they fall asleep - don't ask me how, and next thing you know you're about to be a pillow and then snap, they lean back the other way. The problem, I think, stems from the fact that they don't bring any entertainment with them - walkmans may be a bit pricey, but certainly they could bring a magazine or cards or something!
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