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!
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Gokarna & Hampi
Hi again everybody. A lot has happened since my last update, but rather than relate everything, I've decided to concentrate on the highlights: specifically, the interesting people we have met and the uniquely Indian experiences that we have encountered.
For a frame of reference, we spent a week in Gokarna, a beach town in northwestern Karnataka with a quaint little market, a handful of important Hindu temples, and a string of beautiful sandy beaches, some miles long, others tucked into little coves. The first few mornings I took to walking along one of the long beaches, where fishermen would use mango-wood canoes to set shore nets. Then children would haul in the nets, sort the fish, and take them to market. It was such a beautiful, simple way of living, and I wondered for how many centuries of mornings they had been doing it.
Gokarna is also a very holy place, and many Indians were quite fond of bathing in the ocean. For Hindus, water is the ultimate purifier, and bathing in the ocean combined with a Pooja at the temple is a great way to wash away your sins. The men generally go in their shorts, whereas the women go fully clothed (for decency). You can imagine the Indians' surprise, therefore, at seeing white women suntanning in bikinis. This occasionally causes problems, as young Indian boys frequently find themselves wandering up and down the beaches.
On one day we took a walk to two more remote beaches, which are only accessible by a narrow trail that winds along the coastal cliffs. At the farthest of these beaches we found a small homemade sailboat. Naturally I was extremely excited by this find, and bent to inspect the craft. She had a mango hull like the fishing boats, but it had been enhanced by the addition of six-inch gunwales, painted red. These seemed to be somehow sewn and glued to the main hull. The boat also had two outriggers, also painted red, and a red centerboard that fit through a hole in the bottom of the boat. To prevent the boat from sinking, a box had been built around this hole, which when sailing would fill up with water to the level of the water outside the boat. I don't have a picture of the craft, but check Kyle's blog as he might post one.
About this time we heard an angry shout from a hut farther up the beach, and when I approached I was greeted by Gur, the young suntanned long-haired Israeli first-mate, and Wolfgang, the quiet middle-aged Austrian captain. They were engaged in carving a diggeridoo, but paused long enough to answer my questions about the sailboat. As it turned out, Wolfgang was a carpenter who spent his winters in Gokarna, and he had decided to construct the craft with no previous knowledge of boat-building and no reference to any books. Amazing.
Well, we spent a few more lazy days in Gokarna and then we caught a "sleeper" bus to Hampi. I say "sleeper" because without intravenous anesthetic it is laughable to think you could sleep on any vehicle moving along Indian roads. Maybe, just maybe with the help of sleeping pills and earplugs and some calm music you'd find yourself dozing off, and then you'd have this overwhelming sensation that you were falling and you'd open your eyes and guess what? You WERE falling! Because the bus had hit a bump and now you're in the air and WHAM! you hit the bed and oh well, so much for sleeping.
Hampi, anyway, is the most beautiful place in India that I've been so far. Imagine the landscape of Joshua Tree, but with a beautiful river running through it, and the banks of the river occupied by rice-paddies, banana plantations, coconut palms, and ancient Hindu ruins. It's magical - like walking through the Ramayana. And as it turns out, this place is part of the Ramayana; it is Kiskinda, the monkey kingdom, from whence Hanuman and Sugreeva came. And it is also the former capital of a great Hindu empire (sometime around the 1500's), that was eventually destroyed by the a nearby Muslim empire (religious wars are not news, after all).
So on the second day in Kiskinda I had a little adventure. I decided to set out on my own, to see what I might see. First I climbed up some granite boulders, where I saw this view. Then I noticed this lizard and decided to stalk it as slowly and quietly as I possibly could. Well, I got this close before it ran away.
Then I went down into the next valley and attempted to cross the river but was thwarted by these guards.
Eventually I outwitted them and continued on through peanut fields and banana plantations, where (of all places) I was approached by a man a bag who was selling home-made cakes. Well, naturally I couldn't refused and ended up with one banana and one coconut. I made my way towards the Hanuman temple, which is perched on a ridge at the top of many stairs. I enjoyed the view for awhile, then found a nice overhanging boulder to crawl under and read in the shade while the midday sun passed overhead. As I was about to continue wandering I heard some voices...underneath me! Well, I thought this deserved some investigation, so I hopped down a bit and lo-and-behold - caves! Thus began an underground exploration, the highlight of which was the formation pictured below.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs I decided to cross the river to explore some ruins I had seen from the Hanuman temple. Summoning my vast knowledge of river crossing, I chose a spot where the channel was wide and fast (and thus shallow). Well, I soon learned that shallow doesn't matter much when the rocks are slippery. This isn't the best picture, but maybe you can tell that my left pant-leg is shredded, and that my clothes are soaked up to mid-torso. Thankfully, my bag didn't get wet, and I finished the crossing with it on my head.
On the other side I found some interesting river formations (remember, this is hard granite), and the ancient ruins I was seeking. I also found a sari that someone probably lost while doing laundry, which I fashioned into a turban to keep the sun out of my eyes. It almost worked.
Evening time was spent exploring and photographing the ruins, and I made it back to our lodge just as night fell and the sliver moon came out of hiding. It was a wonderful day.
The next day was also wonderful, but I've told enough stories for now. Anyway, I'm sure that Kyle will tell of it in his blog, so check there.
Love,
Josh
For a frame of reference, we spent a week in Gokarna, a beach town in northwestern Karnataka with a quaint little market, a handful of important Hindu temples, and a string of beautiful sandy beaches, some miles long, others tucked into little coves. The first few mornings I took to walking along one of the long beaches, where fishermen would use mango-wood canoes to set shore nets. Then children would haul in the nets, sort the fish, and take them to market. It was such a beautiful, simple way of living, and I wondered for how many centuries of mornings they had been doing it.
Gokarna is also a very holy place, and many Indians were quite fond of bathing in the ocean. For Hindus, water is the ultimate purifier, and bathing in the ocean combined with a Pooja at the temple is a great way to wash away your sins. The men generally go in their shorts, whereas the women go fully clothed (for decency). You can imagine the Indians' surprise, therefore, at seeing white women suntanning in bikinis. This occasionally causes problems, as young Indian boys frequently find themselves wandering up and down the beaches.
On one day we took a walk to two more remote beaches, which are only accessible by a narrow trail that winds along the coastal cliffs. At the farthest of these beaches we found a small homemade sailboat. Naturally I was extremely excited by this find, and bent to inspect the craft. She had a mango hull like the fishing boats, but it had been enhanced by the addition of six-inch gunwales, painted red. These seemed to be somehow sewn and glued to the main hull. The boat also had two outriggers, also painted red, and a red centerboard that fit through a hole in the bottom of the boat. To prevent the boat from sinking, a box had been built around this hole, which when sailing would fill up with water to the level of the water outside the boat. I don't have a picture of the craft, but check Kyle's blog as he might post one.
About this time we heard an angry shout from a hut farther up the beach, and when I approached I was greeted by Gur, the young suntanned long-haired Israeli first-mate, and Wolfgang, the quiet middle-aged Austrian captain. They were engaged in carving a diggeridoo, but paused long enough to answer my questions about the sailboat. As it turned out, Wolfgang was a carpenter who spent his winters in Gokarna, and he had decided to construct the craft with no previous knowledge of boat-building and no reference to any books. Amazing.
Well, we spent a few more lazy days in Gokarna and then we caught a "sleeper" bus to Hampi. I say "sleeper" because without intravenous anesthetic it is laughable to think you could sleep on any vehicle moving along Indian roads. Maybe, just maybe with the help of sleeping pills and earplugs and some calm music you'd find yourself dozing off, and then you'd have this overwhelming sensation that you were falling and you'd open your eyes and guess what? You WERE falling! Because the bus had hit a bump and now you're in the air and WHAM! you hit the bed and oh well, so much for sleeping.
Hampi, anyway, is the most beautiful place in India that I've been so far. Imagine the landscape of Joshua Tree, but with a beautiful river running through it, and the banks of the river occupied by rice-paddies, banana plantations, coconut palms, and ancient Hindu ruins. It's magical - like walking through the Ramayana. And as it turns out, this place is part of the Ramayana; it is Kiskinda, the monkey kingdom, from whence Hanuman and Sugreeva came. And it is also the former capital of a great Hindu empire (sometime around the 1500's), that was eventually destroyed by the a nearby Muslim empire (religious wars are not news, after all).
So on the second day in Kiskinda I had a little adventure. I decided to set out on my own, to see what I might see. First I climbed up some granite boulders, where I saw this view. Then I noticed this lizard and decided to stalk it as slowly and quietly as I possibly could. Well, I got this close before it ran away.
Then I went down into the next valley and attempted to cross the river but was thwarted by these guards.
Eventually I outwitted them and continued on through peanut fields and banana plantations, where (of all places) I was approached by a man a bag who was selling home-made cakes. Well, naturally I couldn't refused and ended up with one banana and one coconut. I made my way towards the Hanuman temple, which is perched on a ridge at the top of many stairs. I enjoyed the view for awhile, then found a nice overhanging boulder to crawl under and read in the shade while the midday sun passed overhead. As I was about to continue wandering I heard some voices...underneath me! Well, I thought this deserved some investigation, so I hopped down a bit and lo-and-behold - caves! Thus began an underground exploration, the highlight of which was the formation pictured below.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs I decided to cross the river to explore some ruins I had seen from the Hanuman temple. Summoning my vast knowledge of river crossing, I chose a spot where the channel was wide and fast (and thus shallow). Well, I soon learned that shallow doesn't matter much when the rocks are slippery. This isn't the best picture, but maybe you can tell that my left pant-leg is shredded, and that my clothes are soaked up to mid-torso. Thankfully, my bag didn't get wet, and I finished the crossing with it on my head.
On the other side I found some interesting river formations (remember, this is hard granite), and the ancient ruins I was seeking. I also found a sari that someone probably lost while doing laundry, which I fashioned into a turban to keep the sun out of my eyes. It almost worked.
Evening time was spent exploring and photographing the ruins, and I made it back to our lodge just as night fell and the sliver moon came out of hiding. It was a wonderful day.
The next day was also wonderful, but I've told enough stories for now. Anyway, I'm sure that Kyle will tell of it in his blog, so check there.
Love,
Josh
Kyle's Blog & The Coorg
Hi again everyone -
I'm in Mangalore now, on the western coast of India in the southern
part of Karnataka state. The past twelve days have been extremely
eventful, with so many sights, sounds, and thoughts that the task of
summarizing them for you is quite daunting. Luckily, my friend Kyle
is keeping a very detailed weblog of our experiences, which you can
read at http://indiainkyle.blogspot.com/
In addition to that account, I can provide you with a few of my
reflections from the last twelve days. We spent three days trekking
in the Western Ghats, the details of which you can find in Kyle's
blog. I would just like to comment on the village in which we stayed
during that trek. Imagine a landscape much like the Santa Lucia
mountains near Stanford. Now replace the oak-madrone forest with a
jungle full of big-leafed, buttress-rooted trees, wrapped in vines,
buzzing with the deafening hiss of cicadas. Along the valley bottoms,
imagine rice paddies interspersed with small gardens, bordered by
footpaths, bisected by a small creek. Above the paddies: small cement
houses, painted white with red tile roofs, surrounded by banana trees,
coffee and cardamom plants. Inside the houses: small families, no
cars. What I am trying to say is that this villiage was the most
sustainable community I have ever visited. It was not perfect, of
course - and I got only a three-day impression. But if any of you are
interested in self-reliant, sustainable communities, I highly
recommend the villiage of Cherangalla, Karnataka, in the Western
Ghats.
Other thoughts: I'm very interested in solar cookers. I think they
could do a lot for India in terms of preventing deforestation and
reducing particulate polution. I need to do further research.
This week in reading:
The Ramayana (translated by R.K. Narayan): the great Indian hero
story: a triumph of honor and strength.
The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (Tom Wolfe): the story of Ken Kesey's
Merry Pranksters and their experiments with LSD, set in a very
familiar location: Stanford, La Honda, San Francisco. How many times
did I bicycle through those towns, never suspecting what once went on?
India wears on you. People here look older than they actually are.
I'm learning a lot from this experience, but sometimes it's tough.
Other times it's exhilirating. I think every citizen of the developed
world should spend some time in a developing country - to learn how
most of the world lives.
Okay, that's all for now. Take care everybody.
-Josh
I'm in Mangalore now, on the western coast of India in the southern
part of Karnataka state. The past twelve days have been extremely
eventful, with so many sights, sounds, and thoughts that the task of
summarizing them for you is quite daunting. Luckily, my friend Kyle
is keeping a very detailed weblog of our experiences, which you can
read at http://indiainkyle.blogspot.com/
In addition to that account, I can provide you with a few of my
reflections from the last twelve days. We spent three days trekking
in the Western Ghats, the details of which you can find in Kyle's
blog. I would just like to comment on the village in which we stayed
during that trek. Imagine a landscape much like the Santa Lucia
mountains near Stanford. Now replace the oak-madrone forest with a
jungle full of big-leafed, buttress-rooted trees, wrapped in vines,
buzzing with the deafening hiss of cicadas. Along the valley bottoms,
imagine rice paddies interspersed with small gardens, bordered by
footpaths, bisected by a small creek. Above the paddies: small cement
houses, painted white with red tile roofs, surrounded by banana trees,
coffee and cardamom plants. Inside the houses: small families, no
cars. What I am trying to say is that this villiage was the most
sustainable community I have ever visited. It was not perfect, of
course - and I got only a three-day impression. But if any of you are
interested in self-reliant, sustainable communities, I highly
recommend the villiage of Cherangalla, Karnataka, in the Western
Ghats.
Other thoughts: I'm very interested in solar cookers. I think they
could do a lot for India in terms of preventing deforestation and
reducing particulate polution. I need to do further research.
This week in reading:
The Ramayana (translated by R.K. Narayan): the great Indian hero
story: a triumph of honor and strength.
The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (Tom Wolfe): the story of Ken Kesey's
Merry Pranksters and their experiments with LSD, set in a very
familiar location: Stanford, La Honda, San Francisco. How many times
did I bicycle through those towns, never suspecting what once went on?
India wears on you. People here look older than they actually are.
I'm learning a lot from this experience, but sometimes it's tough.
Other times it's exhilirating. I think every citizen of the developed
world should spend some time in a developing country - to learn how
most of the world lives.
Okay, that's all for now. Take care everybody.
-Josh
Sunday, February 11, 2007
LAFTI
Why hello again folks! Double time no write. Because, you see, I
have been hangin' out with this Gandhian non-profit down in rural
Tamil Nadu, where email is far, far away. But now I'm on my way back
north, to meet Kyle in Bangalore (yay!).
So let's see...last time I emailed you was from Bombay before my
flight to Madurai. That went normal Indian-beauracratic-delay style,
then I stayed in Madurai for a day and visited Meenakshi temple, a
huge ancinet complex with lots of towers covered in brightly-painted
many-armed Hindu gods and godesses. And beneath these deities walked
black-skirted bare-chested (male) devotees who had come for the
Thanksgiving-like festival of Pongal! And there were rainbow mandalas
on the ceilings and temple elephants whose faces were painted.
Altogether quite beautiful.
The next day I caught a bus to Gandhigram and met Krishnammal and
Jaganathan, the leaders of the Gandhian organization Land for Tillers
Freedom for whom I have taught English for the last two weeks.
Gandhigram is also the site of a Rural Development University - which
teaches such practical skills as well-digging, cloth-weaving,
sanitary-engineering, etc. Gandhigram was also a great place to just
walk about in the mornings and evenings, enjoying the relatively cool
tropical air, beautiful sunsets, and friendily-staring people, some of
which invited me into their house for a snack and a cultureal
exchange!
But soon it was off to Kuther, a tiny village in Nagapattinam
district, to teach English to the hostel students. The train ride
there was CROWDED, and for the first bit I had to sit in the luggage
rack, gasping for air. But then I had an idea. Indians, with their
dark skin, don't like to sit in the sun...so they had left empty the
sunny-side doorway of the train car (whereas the shady-side doorway
was packed with people hanging out of the train). So I plopped myself
down in the doorway, lathered up with sunscreen, whipped out my CD
player and started listening to some bluegrass. The train goin'
chuga-chuga-choo-choo and the banjo goin' twangidy-twang-twang and the
harmonica goin' whoaw-whoaw and the rice-paddies flowin' by with the
mountains in the background and the wind whippin' through my hair --
my face lit up with such a smile that it confused the hell out of all
of my fellow travelers packed like sardines. After the train were two
buses and then a motorbike and by the time I finally got to Kuther and
was exhaustedly writing in my beautiful journal I realized -- hey-
it's my birthday!
The folks at Kuther were kind, but they didn't speak very good
English, and the children were in school most of the time, so it was
quite lonely and boring at times. I continued walking in the mornings
and the evenings and during the day I just read and read and read - I
finished three books and then had to start reading one all over again.
But one of the books I read was called "The Color of Freedom" and it
was the story of the lives of Krishnammal and Jagannathan.
Krishnammal came from an untouchable family but still managed to get a
college education (unheard of for any untouchable, let alone a woman).
She basically just won't quit, and she's guided by such a faith in
God that just talking to her makes me want to believe. In fact,
everybody here has a similar (if not as powerful) faith. And I want
to believe! I want to be taken by storm by an irresistably powerful
force of direction. But as yet it has failed to happen - my
personality tending, as always, towards cool-headed skepticism. Which
is okay by me - if God's so great he'll find a way to convince even
me. And in the meanwhile I am content to explore, enjoy, and try to
help others where I can.
Anyway, Jagannathan came from a more fortunate family, but abandoned
all of his worldly posessions in college and joined the Gandhian
movement. He lived in ashrams, taught poor children, joined in
non-violent protests, wore home-spun clothing...and eventually, became
a leader. Krishnammal and Jagannathan met each other and Gandhi when
he came to Madurai. After independence and Gandhi's death they joined
Vinoba Bhave, a deeply spiritual man who walked the length and breadth
of the country asking rich landlords to simply give their land to poor
people - and amazinly, beset by Gandhi's politics and Vinoba's
spirituality, they did! Only in India.
Anyway, the idea behind Vinoba's and LAFTI's efforts is that, because
India is basically an agricultural nation, land distribution is the
key to social equality. But, being Gandhians, they would also like to
see India abandon the Western idea of progress in favor of simple
employment and village self-rule, etc. That, I'm afraid, is not going
to happen. India is modernizing at a ludicrous speed, causing all
sorts of environmental and social problems. If we believe classic
economics, in the end this will produce a better life for all - but
being here has made me aware that classic economics is based on the
glorification of greed, instead of on the higher morals that people
like Mahatma Gandhi challenged us all to embrace. Classic economics
assumes that people will choose what's best for them - but Gandhi
showed us that sometimes they get confused and need a little push in
the right direction.
But unfortunately, Gandhi is gone. And greed is (and always will be)
with us. So "progress" continues. And by no means am I above it. As
someone once told Gandhi, and as my own beloved Mother once told me,
"It takes many people working very hard to keep your life simple."
Who, after all, cultivates the food that I eat, makes the clothes that
I wear, flies the airplanes that spirit me away to Alaska and India?
And for now, I am unwilling to give it all up and go live in the
woods.
So what does LAFTI do? They receive donations from foreigners and the
Indian government, use them to buy land, distribute the land among the
landless poor, build brick houses to replace mud huts, run hostels so
poor children can attend school, and combat the environmentally and
socially devastating multi-national prawn-farming industry. That
industry buys up land from poor farmers, excavates it, fills it with
briny, chemical-laced water, cultivates prawns for five years during
which water is constantly pumped from the local aquifer through the
tank (where it picks up toxins and prawn-waste) and out to sea where
it kills fish and mangroves. After five years the land is an
abandoned, unusable for decades, the aquifer depleted. As a prawn
farm the land employs 1/40 the the people as it did as a rice paddy.
Most of the prawn money goes into western pockets, and all of the
prawns end up on western tables. If you could see what that industry
has done to these people, you would never eat a farmed prawn again.
Words do it no justice. This is an economic externality of the worst
scale, but because of India's beureaucratic corruption the laws
against it are not enforced. So people like Krishnammal and
Jagannathan fight, using non-violent protests, getting beaten and
arrested, until they are aged 80 and 95 respectively. As we enter an
age devoid of the contemporaries of Mahatma Gandhi, I wonder if this
work will continue. Perhaps I will try to continue it myself...but
for now the cultural and language barriers are too great...and God's
directive is still elusive. What I (and you too) can do: don't eat
farmed prawns (or for that matter, any farmed fish). Tell your
friends to do the same, and check out the LAFTI newsletter, which I
will forward.
Well, I taught the children all the English I could (given that I
speak no Tamil, and thus could only teach using actions). Eventually,
boredom got the better of me, so I decided to head up to Bangalore to
meet Kyle. And now I am stopped over in Trichy to do laundry and
visit the Rock Fort.
Thank you all for your kind replies to these emails.
Namaskaar,
Josh
have been hangin' out with this Gandhian non-profit down in rural
Tamil Nadu, where email is far, far away. But now I'm on my way back
north, to meet Kyle in Bangalore (yay!).
So let's see...last time I emailed you was from Bombay before my
flight to Madurai. That went normal Indian-beauracratic-delay style,
then I stayed in Madurai for a day and visited Meenakshi temple, a
huge ancinet complex with lots of towers covered in brightly-painted
many-armed Hindu gods and godesses. And beneath these deities walked
black-skirted bare-chested (male) devotees who had come for the
Thanksgiving-like festival of Pongal! And there were rainbow mandalas
on the ceilings and temple elephants whose faces were painted.
Altogether quite beautiful.
The next day I caught a bus to Gandhigram and met Krishnammal and
Jaganathan, the leaders of the Gandhian organization Land for Tillers
Freedom for whom I have taught English for the last two weeks.
Gandhigram is also the site of a Rural Development University - which
teaches such practical skills as well-digging, cloth-weaving,
sanitary-engineering, etc. Gandhigram was also a great place to just
walk about in the mornings and evenings, enjoying the relatively cool
tropical air, beautiful sunsets, and friendily-staring people, some of
which invited me into their house for a snack and a cultureal
exchange!
But soon it was off to Kuther, a tiny village in Nagapattinam
district, to teach English to the hostel students. The train ride
there was CROWDED, and for the first bit I had to sit in the luggage
rack, gasping for air. But then I had an idea. Indians, with their
dark skin, don't like to sit in the sun...so they had left empty the
sunny-side doorway of the train car (whereas the shady-side doorway
was packed with people hanging out of the train). So I plopped myself
down in the doorway, lathered up with sunscreen, whipped out my CD
player and started listening to some bluegrass. The train goin'
chuga-chuga-choo-choo and the banjo goin' twangidy-twang-twang and the
harmonica goin' whoaw-whoaw and the rice-paddies flowin' by with the
mountains in the background and the wind whippin' through my hair --
my face lit up with such a smile that it confused the hell out of all
of my fellow travelers packed like sardines. After the train were two
buses and then a motorbike and by the time I finally got to Kuther and
was exhaustedly writing in my beautiful journal I realized -- hey-
it's my birthday!
The folks at Kuther were kind, but they didn't speak very good
English, and the children were in school most of the time, so it was
quite lonely and boring at times. I continued walking in the mornings
and the evenings and during the day I just read and read and read - I
finished three books and then had to start reading one all over again.
But one of the books I read was called "The Color of Freedom" and it
was the story of the lives of Krishnammal and Jagannathan.
Krishnammal came from an untouchable family but still managed to get a
college education (unheard of for any untouchable, let alone a woman).
She basically just won't quit, and she's guided by such a faith in
God that just talking to her makes me want to believe. In fact,
everybody here has a similar (if not as powerful) faith. And I want
to believe! I want to be taken by storm by an irresistably powerful
force of direction. But as yet it has failed to happen - my
personality tending, as always, towards cool-headed skepticism. Which
is okay by me - if God's so great he'll find a way to convince even
me. And in the meanwhile I am content to explore, enjoy, and try to
help others where I can.
Anyway, Jagannathan came from a more fortunate family, but abandoned
all of his worldly posessions in college and joined the Gandhian
movement. He lived in ashrams, taught poor children, joined in
non-violent protests, wore home-spun clothing...and eventually, became
a leader. Krishnammal and Jagannathan met each other and Gandhi when
he came to Madurai. After independence and Gandhi's death they joined
Vinoba Bhave, a deeply spiritual man who walked the length and breadth
of the country asking rich landlords to simply give their land to poor
people - and amazinly, beset by Gandhi's politics and Vinoba's
spirituality, they did! Only in India.
Anyway, the idea behind Vinoba's and LAFTI's efforts is that, because
India is basically an agricultural nation, land distribution is the
key to social equality. But, being Gandhians, they would also like to
see India abandon the Western idea of progress in favor of simple
employment and village self-rule, etc. That, I'm afraid, is not going
to happen. India is modernizing at a ludicrous speed, causing all
sorts of environmental and social problems. If we believe classic
economics, in the end this will produce a better life for all - but
being here has made me aware that classic economics is based on the
glorification of greed, instead of on the higher morals that people
like Mahatma Gandhi challenged us all to embrace. Classic economics
assumes that people will choose what's best for them - but Gandhi
showed us that sometimes they get confused and need a little push in
the right direction.
But unfortunately, Gandhi is gone. And greed is (and always will be)
with us. So "progress" continues. And by no means am I above it. As
someone once told Gandhi, and as my own beloved Mother once told me,
"It takes many people working very hard to keep your life simple."
Who, after all, cultivates the food that I eat, makes the clothes that
I wear, flies the airplanes that spirit me away to Alaska and India?
And for now, I am unwilling to give it all up and go live in the
woods.
So what does LAFTI do? They receive donations from foreigners and the
Indian government, use them to buy land, distribute the land among the
landless poor, build brick houses to replace mud huts, run hostels so
poor children can attend school, and combat the environmentally and
socially devastating multi-national prawn-farming industry. That
industry buys up land from poor farmers, excavates it, fills it with
briny, chemical-laced water, cultivates prawns for five years during
which water is constantly pumped from the local aquifer through the
tank (where it picks up toxins and prawn-waste) and out to sea where
it kills fish and mangroves. After five years the land is an
abandoned, unusable for decades, the aquifer depleted. As a prawn
farm the land employs 1/40 the the people as it did as a rice paddy.
Most of the prawn money goes into western pockets, and all of the
prawns end up on western tables. If you could see what that industry
has done to these people, you would never eat a farmed prawn again.
Words do it no justice. This is an economic externality of the worst
scale, but because of India's beureaucratic corruption the laws
against it are not enforced. So people like Krishnammal and
Jagannathan fight, using non-violent protests, getting beaten and
arrested, until they are aged 80 and 95 respectively. As we enter an
age devoid of the contemporaries of Mahatma Gandhi, I wonder if this
work will continue. Perhaps I will try to continue it myself...but
for now the cultural and language barriers are too great...and God's
directive is still elusive. What I (and you too) can do: don't eat
farmed prawns (or for that matter, any farmed fish). Tell your
friends to do the same, and check out the LAFTI newsletter, which I
will forward.
Well, I taught the children all the English I could (given that I
speak no Tamil, and thus could only teach using actions). Eventually,
boredom got the better of me, so I decided to head up to Bangalore to
meet Kyle. And now I am stopped over in Trichy to do laundry and
visit the Rock Fort.
Thank you all for your kind replies to these emails.
Namaskaar,
Josh
Mumbai & Matheran
Hi again everyone. Before I forget, if there is anybody who would not
like to be on this email list, please let me know. No offense taken -
I know you all have busy lives. Also, if there is anyone who I am
missing, please send me their email address or forward this email to
them and tell them to reply.
Okay, now down to business. As a disclaimer, it's very hot and
crowded in this internet cafe right now so we'll see how long I can
last.
When I left you last I was in Jaipur after Vishal's wedding trying to
figure out what the hell I'd be doing next. Well, that afternoon I
ended up on an overnight train with Britter and Shannon to Mumbai
(Indian name) / Bombay (Portugese/British name). The train was a bit
cramped but nicely air conditioned and the bed was comfortable. In
Mumbai we stayed at Vishal's dad's sports club, a very nice facility
with badmitton, cricket, and other britishy sports - plus a swimming
pool where I was approached by an Indian after a short swim and asked
whether I was a professional swimmer.
Anyway, pride aside, I spent three days in Mumbai sightseeing - we
went to the tomb of Haji Ali which is connected to the mainland by a
concrete causeway covered in street vendors and beggars all of whom
have to get off quick when the tide comes up. We also went to the
Gateway of India, an Arc-de-Triumph sort of monument erected in honor
of the british royalty, and ironically the same point through which
the last biritsh troops passed in 1947.
From there we caught a ferry
to Elephanta island, where the native Hindu fisherman many hundreds of
years ago had carved a series of caves and statues into the volcanic
rock. I hired a young local guide there who taught me many
interesting things, the best of which was the origin of Ganesh's
elephant head.
Basically, Ganesh was the son of Shiva (the destroyer) and Parvati,
and one day Parvati was in the bathroom and told Ganesh to guard the
door, which he did. Well, along came Shiva and said "Out-of-my-way!"
and Ganesh said "No, Mommy's in there!" so Shiva naturally cut off his
son's head. Well, Mommy wasn't very pleased so she sent Ganesh into
the forest and told him to come back with the head of any animal, and
he came back with an elephant head and she fixed it on his neck.
The next day we walked around some Victorian style buildings in
downtown Bombay. The story of Bombay's pretty interesting, as it used
to be a series of seven islands that have since been merged into one
long peninsula by the use of thousands upon thousands of concrete
tetrapods chucked into the ocean. Anyway, Britter and Shannon left
shortly thereafter and I perused the Rough Guide for awhile and
decided to head for Matheran, a nearby hill station that has the
remarkable feature of having banned cars from its premises (quite a
difference from Bombay, although with just as much air pollution
unfortunately). Anyhow, Matheran is atop a plateau in the Western
Ghats - the surrounding countryside looks akin to the Colorado plateau
/ canyonlands area except there's more bottomland than topland and
there's moonsoon forest instead of desert, if that makes any sense. I
stayed at Hope Hall Hotel, a wonderful establishment run by a gracious
Christian lady and her long-haired punk-rocker close-lipped
big-bellied possibly-homicidal brother (no joke). There I tried to
sleep while Monkeys gambuled across my roof and stray dogs howled at
the moon. By day I walked around the plateau or chatted with
Europeans about various strange things including $20,000 music boxes
made during 4 months of winter in the Alps and how Gandhi was a
womanizer (more later, hopefully). I also read a lot of Salman
Rushdie's Midnight's Children which combined with the heat is why I'm
writing like this.
Anyway, I am now back in Bombay and tomorrow I catch a plane to Tamil
Nadu, where I will meet with Krishnammal and the rest of LAFTI, this
organization I'm volunteering for to help untouchables get land,
shelter, and an education. I think I'll be mostly teaching English.
My health is good and I am getting less lonely than before, although I
still eagerly await Kyle's arrival.
I've been thinking lots about how to help all these poverty-stricken
people I see around. The thing is sometimes I think I might do more
harm than good by introducing my idea of "progress" into their lives.
But there's a few people who really need help, and that's the ones
that've left their villages to come to Bombay to make money and have
ended up in a slum. I think I'm gonna give this guy I met today $15
to buy a box on which to polish shoes. He came from a town in Jaipur
to Bombay in order to make money to repay the loans he took out when
his father got cancer. I quizzed him a bunch on his history and what
he plans to do with the shoe-polish box - everything I could think of
- and I don't think it's a scam. So we'll see - I'm gonna tell him to
write me a postcard every month for a year to tell me about how his
shoe-polishing is going - and if he does it then I'll know I've helped
someone and if he doesn't then I'll know I got scammed.
God it's hot. What else? I don't know....I think that's the
highlights. Goodbye for now, good friends, I'll write you again in a
week.
-Josh
like to be on this email list, please let me know. No offense taken -
I know you all have busy lives. Also, if there is anyone who I am
missing, please send me their email address or forward this email to
them and tell them to reply.
Okay, now down to business. As a disclaimer, it's very hot and
crowded in this internet cafe right now so we'll see how long I can
last.
When I left you last I was in Jaipur after Vishal's wedding trying to
figure out what the hell I'd be doing next. Well, that afternoon I
ended up on an overnight train with Britter and Shannon to Mumbai
(Indian name) / Bombay (Portugese/British name). The train was a bit
cramped but nicely air conditioned and the bed was comfortable. In
Mumbai we stayed at Vishal's dad's sports club, a very nice facility
with badmitton, cricket, and other britishy sports - plus a swimming
pool where I was approached by an Indian after a short swim and asked
whether I was a professional swimmer.
Anyway, pride aside, I spent three days in Mumbai sightseeing - we
went to the tomb of Haji Ali which is connected to the mainland by a
concrete causeway covered in street vendors and beggars all of whom
have to get off quick when the tide comes up. We also went to the
Gateway of India, an Arc-de-Triumph sort of monument erected in honor
of the british royalty, and ironically the same point through which
the last biritsh troops passed in 1947.
From there we caught a ferry
to Elephanta island, where the native Hindu fisherman many hundreds of
years ago had carved a series of caves and statues into the volcanic
rock. I hired a young local guide there who taught me many
interesting things, the best of which was the origin of Ganesh's
elephant head.
Basically, Ganesh was the son of Shiva (the destroyer) and Parvati,
and one day Parvati was in the bathroom and told Ganesh to guard the
door, which he did. Well, along came Shiva and said "Out-of-my-way!"
and Ganesh said "No, Mommy's in there!" so Shiva naturally cut off his
son's head. Well, Mommy wasn't very pleased so she sent Ganesh into
the forest and told him to come back with the head of any animal, and
he came back with an elephant head and she fixed it on his neck.
The next day we walked around some Victorian style buildings in
downtown Bombay. The story of Bombay's pretty interesting, as it used
to be a series of seven islands that have since been merged into one
long peninsula by the use of thousands upon thousands of concrete
tetrapods chucked into the ocean. Anyway, Britter and Shannon left
shortly thereafter and I perused the Rough Guide for awhile and
decided to head for Matheran, a nearby hill station that has the
remarkable feature of having banned cars from its premises (quite a
difference from Bombay, although with just as much air pollution
unfortunately). Anyhow, Matheran is atop a plateau in the Western
Ghats - the surrounding countryside looks akin to the Colorado plateau
/ canyonlands area except there's more bottomland than topland and
there's moonsoon forest instead of desert, if that makes any sense. I
stayed at Hope Hall Hotel, a wonderful establishment run by a gracious
Christian lady and her long-haired punk-rocker close-lipped
big-bellied possibly-homicidal brother (no joke). There I tried to
sleep while Monkeys gambuled across my roof and stray dogs howled at
the moon. By day I walked around the plateau or chatted with
Europeans about various strange things including $20,000 music boxes
made during 4 months of winter in the Alps and how Gandhi was a
womanizer (more later, hopefully). I also read a lot of Salman
Rushdie's Midnight's Children which combined with the heat is why I'm
writing like this.
Anyway, I am now back in Bombay and tomorrow I catch a plane to Tamil
Nadu, where I will meet with Krishnammal and the rest of LAFTI, this
organization I'm volunteering for to help untouchables get land,
shelter, and an education. I think I'll be mostly teaching English.
My health is good and I am getting less lonely than before, although I
still eagerly await Kyle's arrival.
I've been thinking lots about how to help all these poverty-stricken
people I see around. The thing is sometimes I think I might do more
harm than good by introducing my idea of "progress" into their lives.
But there's a few people who really need help, and that's the ones
that've left their villages to come to Bombay to make money and have
ended up in a slum. I think I'm gonna give this guy I met today $15
to buy a box on which to polish shoes. He came from a town in Jaipur
to Bombay in order to make money to repay the loans he took out when
his father got cancer. I quizzed him a bunch on his history and what
he plans to do with the shoe-polish box - everything I could think of
- and I don't think it's a scam. So we'll see - I'm gonna tell him to
write me a postcard every month for a year to tell me about how his
shoe-polishing is going - and if he does it then I'll know I've helped
someone and if he doesn't then I'll know I got scammed.
God it's hot. What else? I don't know....I think that's the
highlights. Goodbye for now, good friends, I'll write you again in a
week.
-Josh
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