42 Things, Part Three

29. Returning to Nepal

Another visit to the children and places I loved so much the first time around was a joy. Thought the children had grown, some rocky steps became more smooth and my experiences in Asia had expanded, the place still holds magic for me.



30. Unpaid Work



31. Bangladesh






32. Safari

After some frustration in a small town dependent on tourism, I was talked into a "safari" at a close-by National Park. It turned out to be a fantastic day, and one of my absolute favorites on the Indian Subcontinent.




33. Swimming

On the way home from the safari, our guide stopped the jeep and invited us to swim in a small river. The Dutch guy I was with, Peter, was too worried about getting sick, but I had a great time! I swam in my clothes...




34. Jeep Dancing

We dried off by dancing in the back of the open jeep on the way back.

35. Gwalior




36. Rickshaws





37. Highway Spotting



38. Babas

A close relative of a friend died young and unexpectedly. I was invited to view the body at the family home and see the body off to be cremated. We waited hours for the body to finish and as the sun started to set a group of 35-40 Babas, or Holy men, descended on the temple.



40. Children






41. Chicken


42. Humanity

42 Things, Part Two

15. New Buddha

In 2005, on my way from Kathmandu into India I stopped and visited a boy lauded as the New Buddha. I was able to see him almost exactly 3 years later when he returned to the spot where he was meditating years ago to give blessings.

16. Dichotomy

At an unexpected t-shirt festival in Dhaka, Bangladesh, I was pulled aside and invited to be interviewed on the radio. Later day I saw a man begging on a sidewalk- his legs bent frontwards at the knees. They were skinny, spindly little things. I could look him in the eye, but I couldn't look at his legs.

17. Boi Mela

In January 2008 I wasted a lot of time waiting for the Boi Mela, or Book Fair, to materialize after protests and complaints about excessive pollution in years past. I was able to attend this year, seeing many of the same Bengali chitras, or artists (like the girl pictured below) I met at the fair in 2006.

18. Rahim and Baby

The reason I went to Bangladesh after having sworn it off last year was because of Rahim and Baby, a middle-aged couple from a city near the capital, Dhaka. I met them one night in Calcutta and for some reason they really wanted me to come and stay with them. So I did.

19. HOT MILK

One of the beauties of Indian travel is street delights, including piping hot sweet milk.

42 Things, Part One

1. Baptism By Fire

I went to Bangladesh- country #42. It was new and exciting and strange. Intense, to say the least. Men would leer, if they dare met my eye (or not), women were hard to find in one of the most densely populated nations, and children warmed easily(when they didn't cry). There were no dogs in the capital Dhaka; the country is over 80 percent Muslim. A taxi passenger attempted to steal my small bag from my lap while I was on a cycle rickshaw when I first arrived late at night. I went to tiny villages where old women marveled at my white skin and people crowded around me to stare while I ate, sat quietly, wrote, and even slept.



2. The Lake of the Holy Nectar

Returning to the Golden Temple and Amritsar was by far a highlight of last year. It was impossible to recognize self-imposed emotional "wounds" in a place of such grace and beauty. Of all the holy places I have been, it is by far the most peaceful.



3. Serenades

At a Cafe in Calcutta one of the staff, possibly high on genuine coffee beans (in a country of Nescafe powder), got down on one knee to sing one of the latest hits to come out of Bolloywood- a song from the Shahrukh Khan hit film Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi.

In Jessore, Bangladesh, my host's two young daughters serenaded me with a strange rendition of Britney Spear's You Drive Me Crazy.

4. Orphanange

In Allahabad, Uttar Pradesh, Ben and I came across a Muslim orphanange late one night and went back the next day to visit. Besides a tour, delicious tea and sweet children, we saw a woman talking to the director. He told us that the woman was looking to arrange a marriage for her son. After she left, I was very curious about how this was possible in a country a bride's family generally provides a sizable dowry; how could an orphan come into the possession of such a fortune? We learned local donors come together to provide saris, gold, housewares and other items for the weddings of orphan. We were shown photos of the most recent wedding- including the impressive dowry. Knowing that abandoned girls could marry and have a life was a revelation I hadn't expected...


5. Sweatshirts

In Calcutta, there is a man who sells bananas on a street corner not too far from my hotel. He wears the same sweatshirt everyday- one undoubtedly discarded by a woman in Kansas and given to Goodwill in the last decade of the 20th century. It is evergreen in color; glittery gold puff-paint holly leaves surround ornate red letters that sloppily spell "SEASON'S GREETINGS".

One day, on a street geographically close but somehow very different, I saw an old man struggling to stay warm- pulling a torn plastic bag taught across his careworn shoulders.I bought him a sweatshirt, wondering if he would sell it. The next day I saw him wearing it and it was a good day.

6. Rahul

In December, on a train from Hyderabad to Kolkata, I met a wonderful man named Rahul. I sat across from him for hours before we spoke more than civilities and one-word leg-brushing apologies. I was coming from a meditation course in the South of India and after I meditated (strange on a moving, loud train...) we spoke for what seemed like most of the night. He is an officer in the Indian Air Force and teaches Yoga to interested crew most mornings. After my course I was particularly fragile and it meant the world to meet such a quick and dear friend.


7. Train Travel

India is miraculous- this is nothing new- not to me nor the hippies, gap-years or A/C-private-car travelers. No matter the traveler or the destination on the subcontinent, this is by far a highlight.





8. Iskon

On February 8, 2009, I spent a surprising day with a man I met at the Bangladesh High Commission in Calcutta (and with whom I later traveled to Bangladesh with). That night we found our way, with another traveler, Ozzie, to the surreal Hare Krishna temple in the middle of the city. Dancing, music, people in ecstacy...

9. Nagarkot

In the Kathmandu Valley, this village is perched on a small mountain. I saw my first bathtub in 11.5 months, but there wasn't enough hot water to take a bath. Breathtaking views and at least one cute dog.





10. Busy West Bengal Nights

In February I saw two wonderful live music programs and a lecture within a few packed days and nights. First, I saw Ravi Shankar perform with his daughter and other artists. A few nights later I saw a show with a variety of skilled musicians and singer, including the tabla "wonder boy". Unfortunately, the lecture was mostly in Bengla and Hindi!

11. Blanket

In Bihar, one of the poorest Indian states, I was wandering the streets one afternoon after a nice time playing and joking around with school kids. I saw a frail old man plodding along the lane. He looked sad; he looked hungry. I grabbed a 10 rupee note from my bag (about 20 cents) and walked over to him. I pressed the money into his hand "For food, Uncle" I said in Hindi. Tears formed and words came, miseries unknowable. He picked at his meager clothing and I wished I could understand everything he wanted to share. After a spell I went to a small shop nearby and purchased a large shawl/blanket for him for about $2. He cried some more and I started to cry. People gathered, he held my arm, I went on my way.

12. India

India, Nepal, India, Bangladesh, India. I don't want to leave and not know when I will return.

13. Cross Country

When Ben left the subcontinent I traveled overnight cross-country to spend his last days with him. It was great fun being so spontaneous, but also nice to see some places I'd been before but maybe wouldn't have returned to on my own. I thank him.

14. Obama

Everyone loves Obama. I ran into this little white house and popular cut-out at the Kolkata Boi Mela (Book Fair) in January, 2009.

Long Time No See

Lots to say- more very soon! Note: In the last photo, the goat is wearing an old top of mine! Apparently, it is not very difficult to clothe goats.

Tragedies: God & Family

I traveled by night train to Jodhpur, about 370 miles southwest from Delhi, India's capital. Within two hours of my arrival I had checked into a small guest house, set out for a street-side omelet and while writing in my daily journal, attracted enough attention that someone called the state newspaper, the Rajasthan Patrika...

The next day, this appeared...

(Full Article)

I ended up staying an extra day in the charming city. I loved it- despite a few people with fearful looks in response to my Hindi (slowly growing in vocabulary, quicker in confidence- but apparently not competence). The article attracted enough interest that a few families tracked me down at the guest house and invited me for meals, tea, city tours... I assumed the gist of the article would be the journal, but the author focused on a few things I said about Indian families, especially the family in Gujarat that I was heading to see. It was wonderful being in Jodhpur and it is a place I will definitely return to, but I moved on.



Tragically, just two days after I left, over 220 people died outside a small temple in one of Rajasthan's most famous landmarks, Jodhpur's majestic Mehrangarh Fort.



In an early morning rush to send regards to God, rumors of a wall collapse caused a frenzy and 224 lives of mostly young men were lost.

Next stop was Pushkar, the grossly touristic and mildly charming home to insistent priests, sovereign cows and dozens of shopkeeps who I put in their place when they assumed I am Israeli (this is another story, but Israelis are known and widely disliked in India for being drug-abusing, loud, and promiscuous- among other things). Pushkar is one of their hangouts. Note: I have met many kind and non-drug-abusing, quiet and non-promiscuous Israelis. Pushkar is where the universe began- again, another story.




Next, Jaisalmer, the "Golden City" (read: sandy, dusty, sweltering) in far west Rajasthan when I heard the news. It was my second visit and I managed to mostly avoid the affections and hustles of commission-wrangling camel-safari sellers. I learned long ago that more than a couple hours on a camel is one of a long list of things that is better in theory than practice... However, I have been told that a good saddle and ample quilts make a big difference.







Enjoyed my time there and cut out my next destination so I could see my "family" in Gujarat sooner, who I first met New Year's Eve 2005 and visited this past March.

From Jaisalmer I took a long and hot night bus to Ahmedabad, squished into a hot cell of a sleeper pod above the regular seats... I arrived just after 4am and enjoy a cup of chai as I waited in the dark outside Bus Station No. 6 for the first possible bus to Kapadvanj. I arrived at 7am, thrilled to be there with the anticipation of spending the holiday with my family...

This is the point in the story when things start to make no sense- at least not at first...

I got to their house not long after arriving, a little worried that Rama, her husband Hitendra, and their family might be away visiting relatives to celebrate. When I walked up to the house it appeared that they were home- I saw people in the small courtyard outside the house. But it was Hitendra's mother, who I had met at a wedding when I last saw them in March... She looked tired, half draped over a low concrete wall. "Rama?" I said to her, hopeful. She started to cry.

Interlude:
In the Ramayana, one of India's great epics, Rama, a form of the god Vishnu, is saved by the monkey god Hanuman. This Rama is a male, and my Rama is actually Ramala, but I have always thought of Hanuman being associated with her. Hanuman saved Rama in the epic...

A neighbor I know well came over to me. He looked concerned, sad. "Rama..." he said, as he waved his hand, upturning his palm. Immediately I interpreted this as meaning she was gone, as in dead gone. Moments later:

"Rama... suicide."

Three weeks before Hitendra had woken up at 6am and his wife was gone. While searching for her, a man on the road said he'd seen a woman hanging not too far down a main road near their house. It was her. Rama had hung herself.

I don't know what I can say. I love her. She called me her sister and I felt a rare closeness and comfort with her. Of course the day I found out was very hard. I spoke to the children on the phone and visited Hitendra, but left town right after, as to not be a burden.

Her suicide makes sense to me. In Gujarat, the norm is arranged marriages and Rama was unhappy in hers. She was just unable to accept her role. She wanted more education and when I saw her in March she had taken on a part-time job and told me of her modest political aspirations. We spoke at great length about her marriage and family. Outside of big cities (and rare liberal families) in Gujarat, "love" marriages are largely unheard of. Children that marry for love cause great shame to their families. Additionally, parents with divorced children often disown them and have been known to commit suicide themselves because of the shame. Understanding (at least in part) the role of a dutiful wife and daughter in India, I understand why Rama hung herself.

If she had found a way to leave her town, even her state, she could very well (and most likely) end up destitute and branded a dirty, unwanted woman. After we first met on 31 December, 2005 I fantasized about "saving" her, somehow bringing her to the United States. Even if it were possible, she would probably not be allowed to bring her children and suffer being in a place where she would have little understanding and support. Her family would undoubtedly disown her, and probably prevent her children from ever seeing her again. In order to escape the next 3 or 4 decades in wifely servitude to a man she could never be connected to, she did the only possible thing she could. I'm not angry at her, and I do not think she was selfish. Strangely, I find myself angry at a god I've never believed in, Hanuman...

The greatest sadness I have is in imagining her in despair, walking to the road in the dark early morning, finding a tree, hanging herself with her dupatta (scarf). What was she thinking? That they would be better off? Was she apologizing to her children, to god? I selfishly wonder when she last thought of me. I talked to her two weeks before the suicide- told her I was coming soon, sometime. I'm sorry, Ramala. I love you.

Photos from their home...

Evening Meal

I headed out of my hotel for dinner. The congested narrow streets were dusty and noisy- filled with pilgrims, merchants, smartly dressed men and women, holy men, rickshaws, cars, auto-rickshaws, cows, dogs... The thought of a cool, clean restaurant with a big selection had me in a good mood. The one I read about in my guidebook even had an internet cafe upstairs and served pizza! When I crossed the street so I could be in the shade I noticed a boy, about 10 or 12 years old, dirty, dressed in rags, and crying. Public emotional displays in India are far uncommon. Except in cases of deep grief and the odd wailing toddler, there is too much going on for such frivolity. I looked at the boy's face a few times, a little unsure.

Gesturing in the Indian way with simultaneous crooks of the neck and wrist, I asked him "What is it?"

"I'm hungry."

"Come."

We went to a small open-fronted restaurant with signs and menus in Hindi. I made it clear that he could eat what he liked, and he had one plate of daal, cooked lentils/pulses and two chapati, tortilla-like flat rounds of bread. He turned his face away when more tears came. Hiding my own was futile. Afterwards we spent some time walking together. I bought him shoes, a couple of small things. We stood together watching a procession of bands, people dressed like gods, a horse cart full of children, as the sun set. The worst part was watching people walk into him as if he were invisible, others shoving him away from me in embarrassment, as if he were hounding me. Maybe it would have been better to ignore him altogether, as I have dozens, hundreds, thousands of times. Maybe I helped to teach him that there is some livelihood in begging, though I was the one who approached him...

I skipped dinner and walked back to my hotel.

Here, There, Somewhere Else

Amaan had his skin graft surgery on August 28. That same day I left for a week to explore some other parts of West Bengal. It was hard to go, but easier than it could have been because I knew I was coming back!

Before I say a little about the excursion, HERE is a photo of his leg about 10 days after the surgery. And HERE is a photo taken just two days after that during a dressing change. It looked great... That was a couple days ago though, and as I finally prepare to move on for good, I walked into a terrible site when I visited him today, September 12. He was crying as a surgical assistant was forcing his leg into a piece of plaster that had been used continuously over dressings. I *think* that Amaan's skin was very tight behind his knee and he was unable to fully extend. The plaster was bandaged to the bent leg and dug deep into the back of his thigh. I did what I could and I will visit him one more time this evening before going.

~~

So, last week I finally visited Darjeeling in the very North of West Bengal. It left me wanting though... The weather was terribly overcast and rainy, the people seemed bored, and I had a nightmarish experience in my hotel. I used my pepper spray, had to call the police, and a boy was sent to jail... Nevertheless, in true Indian fashion, one of my favorite mornings ever came the next morning, as I enjoyed a 3 hour, 32 kilometer (20 mile) Himilayan Railway ride.

After Darjeeling, I stopped in sleepy Murshidabad—my favorite place in India. It is historical, beautiful, rural, nearly void of tourists (when I was there this time, I saw no others), and sort of forever Sunday.

This is my rickshaw waiting to cross the river:


These school kids and I had a good time playing. Our favorite game: 1. I chase them making funny noises. 2. I pretend to be doing something else. 3. Repeat.


My rickshaw wallah took me to this cow market:


A local merchant:


These reeds will be used to make clothing:


Ruins:


Boat boys:


I "drove" this school bus for about 100 meters...


So, I am headed now to Haridwar!

When I was saying goodbye to Amaan we were both crying. Please keep him in your thoughts.