Non-Heroic Tales

Weeks ago, on a train to Varanasi I met a fascinating nun. She is a member of Ananda Marga and as part of her service she visits centers around India and the world. She invited me to the small orphanage for the day.



We took long walks in the area and came across two women adorning a beautiful sari. Through my friend, we talked about the work. Together, the women will spend one month working with the material and embellishments provided to them. They will earn a total of US $5 for one month's work; $2.50 each. This particular sari is very fine, with intricate embroidery and thousands of sequins and small beads. It will sell for over US $100.




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The next day, in the lazy heat, I took an aimless walk. When I heard music and shouts, I assumed the hubbub to be for Republic Day, a national semi-celebrated holiday that day. I snapped a few pictures from afar and got closer cautiously. One young man invited me to dance... Why not? When the music slowed, he said someone else wanted to dance with me, and then someone else... As the procession made its way down the street I found my new friends were celebrating and heading to a wedding!



It was just after noon when we reached the hotel where the wedding would be held, and I didn;t get out of there until after 10pm. It was a wonderful day- full of dancing, hours of ceremony, delicious food, and most wonderfully, new friends. I will stay with and visit the groom's family when I head to Jaipur in a couple weeks...





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In Calcutta, I had a terrible day. With a bus ticket to Bangladesh in my wallet for the next morning, I headed to the Bangladesh High Commission to procure a Visa, which I was assured to receive in one day. This was not the case once I arrived, and even though a bribe (how exciting!) got me a meeting with the woman in charge, I was quoted a prohibitively inflated fee, and left to arrange cancellation of my bus ticket for the next morning.

Later in the day, still sulking, I met a lively and rackety gentleman, Upender, who invited me to his extended family's home a couple hours south (the direction I was going). Perfect timing!



I stayed with them 5 nights, and plan on going back at least once during this trip. I bonded quickly to Upender's niece Namrata. We spent all out time together, talking, walking, cooking (well, I watched her cook and occassionally chopped vegetables). One day, it was announced that a young man and his mother from their family were coming to visit. I thought nothing of this, and was simply happy to meet more people...

Namrata said that nothing in India happens without intention and we soon discovered that Upender had, from the beginning, hoped to arrange a marriage between me and this young man!! Namrata found out as much as she could when her aunt arrived. I was deeply concerned when I heard that Upender had said something bad about me. What could it be? I always dressed conservatively, and did my best to respect their household...

With Namrata's father and aunt:


He said... He said I was clever!

According to the aunt, who thoroughly interviewed me, here are my "plus points": very fair skinned, excellent English, and well-educated. She was concerned, however, that I was clever, over-qualified for her son, and of course the fact that he speaks almost no English.

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On my next stop, my ATM card was "stolen" by a bank machine. This issue still isn't resolved, since the emergency replacement card mailed to me a couple of weeks later doesn't work! This has been my most trying event of the trip. I'm pretty lucky!

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In Visakhatnam, affectionately known as Vizag, I stayed with a wonderful family who showed me around the aging seaside town.







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After a few quiet days, I went to Tirupati, where I "saw god" (an avatar or the Lord Vishnu) at India's near-mecca. It was intense, and I had darshan (viewing) with 70,000 other people. I didn't see one other tourist there... It was very intense, and though I paid for "VIP" lines, my 4 hours waiting pale compared to the 30, or even 40+ hours some people wait. And it is harsh, the CAGED lines snake around the temple and people push and tug and scramble and fight. I managed to stay sane, but a bus ride later that day was not spared. Ask me about it sometime (language not suitable for most).

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Spent time in Bangalore after that, which was nice. There was a day trip to a small village:



...And good times with a group of modern, young Indians spent at a dance club of all places. It was nice to see another side of India/Indians.

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After all the fun, I headed to Puttaparthi, place of birth and home of bizarre, revered, afro'd guru Sai Baba... There were thousands of visitors- Indian and otherwise. It was quite strange.

More soon...

Snacks

Boys in Calcutta:

Awesome Goat:

Woman in Varanasi:

With a Friend:

Orphanage Boys:

Typical Varanasi:

MOTHER!:

Girl in Green:

Diseased Dog:

Mmm, Chicken Internet:

SUPER SUPER SUPER:

Happy Boy:

Pintu Egg Shop:

Cold Lime Water:

Loving India

I think a lot about why, exactly, I love India.

I've shooed away tiny, coal black children begging at my feet. I have ignored them, averted my eyes. I have denied pennies to a nearly blind man without fingers (leprosy). There are so many things I love here— the shy faces and smiles of the people I see on the street, the majestic temples, colorful markets, the exciting rail travel and generosity of strangers. I never know what a day will bring me. But if I let myself confront this, if I let my eyes open enough to the conditions around me so much of the time, will I be able to see anything else?

I see people on the side of the road constantly, sitting on burlap sacks with 20 small bananas or 200 lbs. of potatoes, or fresh bunches of coriander. I think about how hard they work, if they have ever owned shoes, and that, if they sell everything laid out on the sack or cart, they would not have enough to have the lunch I had. I see men with their cycle rickshaws and I know they often sleep on the small seats that barely fit two people, living with one set of clothes—a threadbare white t-shirt and longi (sarong) and sometimes a scarf.

Does it just make me feel good about my own comfortable life to see so much constant struggle and unrelenting hardship? Am I looking at Indians relatively (is that even possible?), or am I projecting and seeing them as beautiful in their dark-skinnedness, in their hard work. Are they noble savages, so pure in desire, so poor and dirty, the lines in their faces bottomless with meaning. Or are they just like all of us, doing what they can, with handfuls of sin, wanting more, never truly happy? Maybe I see them as good, as better, noble, because as I write this half of India lives on less in a year than I have in my wallet. Are they better in my eyes (but not so much that I would switch places—this is the essence of viewing the noble savage—so close to life, close to the earth, natural, so alive and real, but disgusting and raw, pitiful, sad, worth starting an NGO for to ease the guilt…)?

I had a couple of awful days. An ATM machine stole my card, and I have completed just ten percent of my travels—I need that card! The rain soaked my clothing as I tried, ultimately in vain, to have the bank retrieve and return my card.

As I originally wrote these notes on paper, I could see a woman that had just asked me for money walk away. She was begging, and probably belongs to an owner, who promises her flimsy shelter and regular meals of rice for the small coins she can take in. Her left arm is severely burned, so bad that it is permanently bent at the elbow. Her fingerless and thumbless hand is useless. A dirty toddler with hair that may have never been washed followed behind her, and when s/he was too slow, she stuck a finger in the child's dreaded hair and pulled. The begging woman carried a piece of paper showing proof of her HIV positive status as tested by the Orissa state government counseling and testing services.

I am not responsible for her, but my bad day felt like a joke. Was it really bad? I had cried about my day, about the frustration of dealing with a government-run bank in India. My clothes were mostly dry by the time I wrote about this, and I will arrange to have a new card sent (at Visa's expense) to an upcoming destination. This isn't a problem, it is an inconvenience.

Have I had real problems? The kind I see everyday here? Is this why I love India? Is it like an amusement park of extreme poverty and I get to go home at the end of the year and take a hot shower and drink clean tap water and order a pizza while a movie downloads on my computer, and sleep in a comfortable bed? I don't know, really. Of course I don't feel I'm patronizing Indians by visiting the country, but I catch myself, and this is embarrassing to admit, being grateful that I get to leave, that I can again go back to living as if these things don't happen in the world I live in. I'm only a visitor.

Am I doing anything for anyone? I guess I'm not obligated, but am I making it worse? Is it ridiculous for me to think I could do something to help? Is it pretentious to think some of the people I see need help? Are there ways to give that are genuine? Am I looking to feel like a saint, to relieve some of the stress I feel seeing people with so little? I have no idea.