Hindustan

I feel as if there are worlds between these posts, galaxies of time. Delhi seems so far away, let alone the magic of Mongolian plains or Nepali children.

These past weeks (but weeks?, they are only small moments, just such bundles that convention allows me to say day, week or month) have been an exercise in humility and sometimes futility. My initial plan was just to see the Golden Temple in Amritsar.

The temple itself is a beacon of shining light in fog, at dusk, in the sunlight, at dawn. The grounds, the water, everything you can see or touch or wash your feet in, is pure and stark, but also rich, translucent, biblical in its devotion. There are also practical reasons to love the temple- free shuttle service to and from the train station, free (albeit simple) lodging and food. I should say that the Sikhs themselves are also full of this goodness, as their religion imparts on them strict rules for generosity and treatment to others. I haven't seen this in any other group as consistently.




I only stayed there one night, because as soon as I heard that the Dalai Lama was having a week-long teaching that had started two days previous, I hopped on the first bus to Dharmasala in the morning. It was an 8 hour journey, rickety and smelly, the dust of broken peanut shells in the air, mingling with fried stall food at frequent rest breaks. I'm not much for 'it was meant to be' and that type of thing, but my time in Dharmasala and its sister-town MacLeod Ganj was magical. I hopped off the bus, tired, grabbed the first hotel room from the first hotel I could find, plopped down my bag and within 15 minutes of getting off the bus I was on the street. Two local gentleman passed me as I exited the hotel... "Hi", "Hi", I said back. "How are you?", "Great!" "Want to have a beer?" "Sure."



I said yes. The two guys are young shopkeepers who peddle Kashmiri goods, Delhi silver, and themselves to rarely suspecting western women. The friendship was quick, as these types must be, and I spent time everyday with them, their friends and other westerners who flocked. I cooked, they cooked, we danced. It was like Spring Break, though I never had a proper one of those with the bikinis and booze, so this mountain hideaway is my idea of how of those things should feel.



Can't forget to mention (yikes) the reason I headed there- to hear and see the Dalai Lama. I was only successful audially, but I admit to not trying too hard because of the throngs of Tibetans and fake-Buddhist westerners. It isn't really as magical as it seems when you have to listen to a substandard English translation via headphones from an FM signal anyway. I'm still happy I went up there, though. The mountain sunsets are spectacular and I visited the Tibetan Children's Village headquarters. It was beautiful and I almost pledged my adult life to them. The next day, however, I heard scandalous tales of corruption about the very-high up guy I met with.



This is also the place where I received the first serious marriage proposal of my life. There are remnants of suspicion about his desire for a visa or money (though there was no suggestion of either), but I really cherish the feeling it gave me. The guy was a friend/co-worker of the two that invited me out the first night, and I honestly can't remember a time when someone was so fervently and desperately in need of me. Well, there was David in 8th grade, but he only showed me his devotion by pinching my butt. The relationship with the gentleman here was only platonic, and it flattered me all the more because of this.



It was so much fun there, and i even extended my stay, but soon it was time to leave. I took a couple buses and a couple trains, making a 36 hour journey to Jaipur, the capital of the Indian state Rajasthan. On the way I also visited the Golden Temple again- lucky me!




Jaipur, the 'pink city' (really, it is terracotta, orange and dusty if you're feeling bitter), is a mess, but with striking forts and museums, all disintegrating as a result of misuse and general dilapidation. I wanted to come, but i also made it impossible to skip, as it is where I asked my Seattle liaison to mail my package of Love.






Before heading out of the city, I took a sidetrip to the famous temple in Balaji. There were absolutely no tourists there, even though people are exorcised regularly (who doesn't want to see that?). Apparently, I was pretty interesting to the people there. But the star of the show was the dancing and music that magically filled the streets... Also, a cow kicked me that day, on Christmas eve, but I later heard it was a good luck omen...





So, the package... It did not arrive, even though it was overdue. I stayed in Jaipur too long, and decided to sort everything out later on... On Christmas Eve I took a 13 hour bus to Jaisalmer, a dusty desert town in Western Rajasthan, and one of the places tourists hate to miss. The touts and shopkeepers also hate to miss the tourists, so despite the small size of the place (50k), I had more annoyances and hassles than most places.








My hotel was just about ONE DOLLAR a night, which was a way to rope me in with the hope that I would go on a camel safari through the hotel. I almost did, but the package loomed over my ailing heart, and I ended up calling the post office in Jaipur everyday! One of the hotel guys (who followed me around the city like a lost puppy on his motorbike, jealous and nearly enraged when I spoke with anyone of the male sex) offered to help me get the package, so I made a couple dozen phone calls and sent few faxes- to no avail. It was so frustrating that I decided to go back to Jaipur myself and get the thing when the Good News came through. It was a 14 hour bus ride (out of the way), but when I held it in my hands I thanked some kind of spirit and my eyes watered. There is nothing like the movement of sweet fingers and delicate ink across the page in your hands. The envelope was full, mail from 23 people in 4 countries. I have read every word several times. Pen pals are nothing new to me, but these connections at this time, in this way, are simply intangible. My father, for example, is a prolific writer of letters, lengthy and witty, cute and lecturing, and though his emails ands phone calls serve some of the same purposes, seeing his handwriting did something to my solar plexus. I later realized that the package had been tampered with... Someone sent some money and someone else a comic book- both were not there. I am not sure what, if anything, else is missing. I will be able to write back everyone who wrote to me...




All I can say is thank you. I know at least a few of you had mail returned, and I am sorry for that. I still appreciate the generosity and thought very much.

I've got two more nights of long bus rides ahead of me. No big city for the start of the New Year... 16 hours into Gujarat state tonight and then I hope to get on a bus New Years Eve for the island town/island of Diu. I hear there is nothing to do there, and great seafood.

A couple days later I'll take a 24 hour bus to Bombay and maybe see some world-class museums and Bollywood in action.

EDIT: I never made that 3rd consecutive night bus. Since I started this post I was invited home by an Indian man and his family. The saga continues when I am able to find a USB connection! And look, I know it must be sickening how in love I am with all of this. Be warned, it gets worse: a woman and I discuss arranged marriages and I hold her as she cries, a village man proclaims me his daughter, a child bestows upon me the respect of a revered holy person and later cries when I leave. This is sick. This is beautiful. India is beautiful and full of love, and I'm happy.

POSTSCRIPT: I also went to McDonalds today (6 Jan 06)(McVeggie combo).

Happenings

If I can get settled, I'll post something worthwhile, including more photos! For now, though, here is a little list of little things.

* In a train station I waited (and waited- "India is great... Always late!" they say). I was facing inward, closed, cold, listening to music. An old man walked by, begging. Instinctively, I shook my head. Before he could step away I thought of my father- one of the most loving and generous people I know. I stopped the man with my hand and pulled out a 10 rupee bill- not much, 23 cents, but he thanked the sky. Turning this time and walking away I saw him rubbing his cold skinny hands. I stopped him again and gave him my fruit and my gloves. Thanks, Dad.

* A man I met in Dharmasala/MacLeod Ganj proposed to me. I think he was serious, and if so- it was a first for me. Our relationship was only platonic.

* On a train yesterday I struck a 22 hour friendship with a kind-hearted Sikh, a drunken and giggling military man and a suave young guy with 90s Western dance-pop on his mobile. Yes, I have pictures. This is why I prefer to travel overland.

I'm still waiting on the parcel of cards- here's hoping the 24th is a good day at the post office. Sunday, the 25th, they're closed. As they say, don't worry, chicken curry!

Through to Delhi

While in Nepal I head rumblings of boy in the woods who was suspected to be a reincarnation of The Buddha. It is said he has been meditating for 6 or more months without food or water. I don't believe it, but I had to see him for myself...

So, this new Buddha and scenery were the reasons for going overland into India. It was quite difficult, though the actual distance between Kathmandu and Varanasi is minuscule in Western senses, it took me several days. Most of Nepal is rural and breathtaking. When I arrived in the medium-sized town of Nijgad and stopped in the street to get my bearings I immediately got a fan club- there must have been 80-90 people surrounding me...





As soon as I could I visited the jungle where He was. Some kind local kids showed me around after the bumpy bus ride into the brush. I am not sure what I was expecting, but there was a pretty impressive set-up out there- food, souvenirs, even a couple rickshaws. It wasn't anything like aggressively huge piles of Plutos at Disneyland, but it was sure something for Nepal. I did not see any other whities there, but was told they regularly stopped by. I was allowed to get about 15 or 20 meters closer than the locals. Admittedly, I was willing to slip someone some money, but it seems my skin color was enough. This photo of him is terrible, but it is the best I took. If you're interested, a google search would be best.







The bus to the border was a fantastic ride. Again I was the only Westerner for hours, even days... I especially like the rest stops where I'm able to observe and participate in local exchanges- meals, conversation, tea... The scenery wasn't as amazing as coming into Nepal over the mountains, but it was similarly dense and lush. Getting from the border town of Birganz's city center over into India was extremely easy- as soon as I got off the bus a cycle rickshaw driver offered me a ride for 50 cents USD. This included carrying my pack to the rickshaw and waiting at both immigration offices (I ended up giving him more, as the entire journey took quite a while). It would have been easy to walk over the bridge from Birganz right into Raxaul, India- you can see the ease at this border crossing!





I had several hours to kill while I waited for my midnight train to the holy city of Varanasi. When I first got here I was really excited. I felt prepared for the intensity of the scenes and crowds from all the things I had heard and read about India. Raxual is nothing special- lots of cows and even more dust. The highlight was buying simple shoes for a tea-running small boy just outside the train station. He was one of the dozens staring at me in the late night, stall lights yellow, jingling rickshaw bells, constant chatter... I generally don't give money to children, but often small toys and in this case something bigger. He was pleased and I don't care that I probably paid too much.

The train was expected to arrive in Varanasi at 11:30am. Due to political unrest, we were nearly TEN hours late. Nevertheless, the journey was exciting (seems I have fan clubs all over India- see photos below) and had what is probably the holiest city in the subcontinent at the end- the main home of the sacred Ganges- Varanasi.




The main thing to see is the river - a thing of beauty, as you can see, but also a thing of filth- I saw bodies being burned on the banks (being cremated there means one can escape the cycle of rebirth and ascend accordingly) and also being dumped from a boat. People wash clothes and themselves on the banks as well- in water where septic systems pour into...


















My next stop was Lucknow, a decent place, but full of hardship for me. It is still a little difficult to think about those few days. I had problems with trains, begging children, dying dogs, a pervert (a guy grabbed my backside- not the first time this happened in India, but the first time I screamed and hit someone!), hotels and rickshaw drivers. Even so, I saw some wonderful sites and had good food: (note: 'Aryan restaurant' !!??)

























Everything turned around in Agra. Upon arrival I met a wonderful Australian couple that I spent a couple of days with there and also traveled to Delhi with. The Taj Mahal was nice, but I liked Akbar's Mausoleum heaps more. The setting was beautiful- there were deer and monkeys everywhere!

Delhi is fantastic when you're in the right frame of mind. I have fun with touts, make eye contact with beggars, and sweetly demand fair prices. There are wonderful sites and museums and millions of people to enjoy and watch. I'm headed to The world Sikh capital, Amritsar, tomorrow. Thank you for the kind words, mail that came in and well wishes.

Monkeys

More soon. Words too!

Kids

I hated to leave Kathmandu and the goodbyes were terribly difficult. The night before I left I saw the children and there were many tears. One of the girls started to well up before me, and I wiped her eyes simultaneously with my thumbs. Later, as I cried, she touched my face and did the same- it was such a sweet gesture for a child- really moving. I gave the ones I am closest to letters in which the things that make them special to me were described in detail.

This leads me to some comments and questions from Sean in my last update, he said:

What is the process for hangin' out with kids, being invited to stay with people, etc? While I can believe that lots of the people you meet are really nice, how does it get to that point? Do they speak English? Are they inviting to put you up when you get off a bus, but do expect money? Are they getting something back from you? Is it related to the part of the world you're in? Are you more friendly and less guarded than me? Does your Anthro degree lend you secret Batman-style tricks that my Cultural Studies degree can only dream of?

I've always been extremely maternal and have extensive experience with children: babysitting as a kid/teen, youth camps, volunteer work at a home for children who have mothers in jail, teaching theater and art to elementary children- for pay and as a volunteer... So, that is the start of it. These children are nice, and there are nice people all over, and in every country I have been- but there is something lovely and open about the Nepalese. I have had not had the same or closely similar experiences anywhere else; including the newest addition India, I've logged 36 countries.

Maybe there was something serendipitous about the day I met them. In the morning I purchased pencils to give to kids as friendly gifts and in lieu of begging money- nearly 80 pencils with cute pink fluffy characters, red and black action figures, and rainbows... I was wandering in the city and passed a small courtyard with a dilapidated Hindu shrine. I passed it, but thought eh, I'm here, I'll stroll around... Behind it were some children playing. Pradip was leaning on a motorcycle, a dejected look on his face. I reached into my bag and asked "would you like a pencil?" He said "yes" and when other children noticed they asked for one too. I happily obliged and hellos turned into lengthy conversations about Nepali customs, my country, their schools, and other topics. A large percentage of city-dwellers in Nepal speak at least come English, and most of these children come from families that can afford 'boarding school' (private school) where English is taught. Communication was not difficult.

Children have many schemes to get money. They ask for photos and demand compensation, say they collect foreign coins or are trying to organize a football (soccer) league, etc. But these kids did not want or need anything more than my time. I think the letters I wrote were worth far more than a trinket or rupee anyhow. I did also give them small gifts, and they gave me notes and gifts as well: flowers, candles, postcards, a small wooden carving, dances and a play, a keychain, a pen... Perhaps I will sound wistful, but I feel strongly that the most compelling thing I gave was adept attention, care and love. I asked them questions and listened to the answers. I complimented their good behavior and was authoritative when they needed to be reprimanded- but positively, and never in front of their peers.

A few of the children live in homes adjacent to the courtyard and their parents noticed me right away (hard not to, a foreigner with 10-20 kids attacking her), and others heard about me as the days went on. The invitations for lunch, dinner, snacks, tea, came every visit. I promised them when I would come and I came through; I surprised them with copies of photos I took and treated them respectfully- and required respect. This carried through to their families and, of course, their cultures- not just their personalities, and I can credit my anthropological training here.

At home, I have been called intimidating (I have a good look when frightened!), standoffish and cold. It is true to some degree, I guess, but only with those I don't know- that is my way of guarding myself. With children, though, there aren't the same risks, and I am easily opened- they see it.

Next time, I'll tell you about the reincarnated Buddha, monkey attacks, beggars, the Ganges, dying dogs, train station hassles and more than you want to know about India.

Less than a week left, so pleaseplease send me Holiday Love (see previous post!)