Sunday, Feb.28, 2010
While we were sitting in one of the Upper Class Waiting Room For Women Half Filled With Men, Aradhana tired of reading her magazine, turned to me and said, "Let's talk about something to do with psychology". How's that for specificity. I have learned that the term psychology covers a wide area here, including philosophy. I suggested authenticity, and so we began discussing it: the importance of it; how difficult it is to achieve; the necessity of giving up all fear of insufficiency to achieve it; and how people are naturally drawn to others who are authentic. She agreed, giving her own friends as examples. Then she shocked me by saying she had trouble being authentic. Aradhana is so authentic she is translucent. Then I remembered a conversation we had on our last trip when she had told me her parents were always telling her to be more like her two more gregarious sisters. "I just can't do it, Dadiji, it is not me." Not wanting to get between this young woman and her parents, I suggested we take a walk on the platform and the conversation ended.
Before we left Bodh Gaya, Santosh, our driver, asked me to put his name and number into my blog in case someone who reads it may one day need a driver. I am happy to do so. He was a great driver. It costs between $25 and $30 per day to rent a cab, a little more if you want to use the air conditioner. It is well worth the money as he knows all the important places and will make sure you are safe. His number is:997-304-6190.
I have definitely adapted to India: can sleep and doze for most of a 20 hour train trip; am comfortable on the hard beds; prefer squat toilets; don't brush my teeth after every cup of chai; don't use a shower, even if one is available; don't rock for six hours after getting off of the train; and have given up underpants, just like the Indian women.
Yesterday we went back to BHU to try again at the Ayurvedic docs. Hallelujah, it was the two docs that had treated us on the last trip and actually allowed me to eat potatoes. I could have kissed them. One benefit of being different is that people remember you. And they did, right down to where we sat. So now I am on the three medicines I was originally one. On the way home JP made copies of the prescriptions so they would not be lost again. JP also bought a blood pressure monitor and battery recharger for the family here. The docs told JP not to eat yogurt, raw vegetables or fruit, and no leafy greens. He is to drink milk though. JP and Smita then went off to see her favorite homeopatic doctor to see if he could help JP's arthritis.
Later that day JP, Dadiji, and I were on the balcony when we noticed two little boys on the forth floor balcony across the street. She pointed out which of them was the "miracle baby" who had fallen from that balcony about six years ago and survived. It seems he had not escaped unscathed, but had many very serious injuries. The younger boy saw us and started waving and laughing. The miracle baby just stared at the street beneath with no affect at all. I hope he really did make a full recovery.
JP looked up Nalanda in Wikipedia and found out that in 1996 a group of countries, including India, Singapore, China, Japan, and others formed a consortium to explore the possibility of rebuilding Nalanda into another international university. How exciting.
I got sick again yesterday, same symptoms as before, but this time my arrogant immune system was completely humbled and I quickly took a Cipro.
This morning there was a loud racket on the balcony. I looked out the screened window and watched a troop of about six monkeys cavorting and eating rolled rice the women had put there to freshen in the sun. They were about two feet from the window and I watched them at close range for about twenty minutes. Amazing.
Apoorva arrived and all of us were so happy to see him. He traveled all the way from Pune (Poona) to be home for a few days at Holi. He is yet another of those sweet young Indian men. He is working in Pune and live with four other boys. They have a cook and someone who comes to clean. Both servants cost very little money. His mother, Smita bahoo, is very happy to feed her son and Dadiji insists on cooking his chapatis herself. Just like my Italian family, food is love.
Tonight is the beginning of Holi, the festival of colors. The huge pile of wood is being pulled into the middle of the street and people are offering sacred red thread, rice, water, camphor and other household burnables to the pile. JP and I do not see how that huge pile can be burnt without melting the black spaghetti of wires that hang everywhere. We will see. Eleven more days left in this trip.
Peace,
Nadine
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Sat. Feb. 27, 2010
I am back in Varanasi and able to type, so will try to catch you up.
Smita bahoo's nephew, Micky, was a great help to us. He is the son of her younger brother, not the profligate older one who blew the family fortune. He kept checking on us the whole time we stayed in Gaya. I was happy to hear that he worked for an insurance company, which is a booming business in India. Insurance means fewer destitute widows. We never did make it to the Root Institute in Bodh Gaya, so we just stayed at the Gharana Hotel in Gaya and traveled around from there. We hired a taxi for the whole three days, which was quite a luxury. The driver's name is Santosh, another great young Indian man. He was very talkative and kept JP and Aradhana laughing. As the trip went on, he decided that I was to be his dadiji on this trip, and he treated me as such. He stayed by my side the whole time, taking my hand through crowds and up and down treacherous steps.
On our way to Rajgir we passed mile after mile of farmland. I wondered how many were GMO's and how much pesticide had been dumped on them. I decided to suspend judgment on the whole matter due to my ignorance. We passed a huge dump truck filled will little kids, their heads barely peeking above the half lowered tailgate. We keep waiving to them, tickling the heck out of them. Simple pleasures in this land of simple living.
We are in the land of the Buddha now. Our first stop was the Vishwashanti (world piece)stupa. It was high up on a mountain with a long walkway around the mountain. The view was lovely, all forest and farmland. We made it two-thirds up, but could go no farther. The whole way Santosh is telling me "slow, slow", as if I had any choice in the matter. However, we could clearly see the peak where the Buddha would meditate and give talks to his followers. Here I was, following the same path the Buddha had walked. There was a ski lift which went to the top of the mountain, but it was broken. Fine with me, it looked terrifying.
Santosh is so funny. He thinks that if he speaks slowly enough, I will understand what he is saying in Hindi. Finally he tries a new tack: he is going to teach me Hindi. From then on, he tells me the name of everything in Hindi, like he really thinks I am going to remember. But like a good girl, I repeat each word after him, as he is now my teacher. Aradhana looked worse and worse as the day went on. The poor thing gets migraines from being in the sun. Of course she never told us this, I had to ask what was wrong with her.
Our next stop is the Kund. This is a hot spring with supposed curative powers, especially for skin ailments. You know I splashed tons of water all over my bumpy face, figuring this has got to work better than the meds the Ayurvedic docs gave me. The water was 120 degrees and felt wonderful. I also soaked my feet in it. The steps to the springs were very old, steep, and uneven, but Santosh had me firmly in hand, shooing other people out of the way as though I were a queen.
Then we were at Nalanda, the great Buddhist university that flourished from the fifth century until being destroyed in the twelfth century by Bakhtiyar Kilji, a Moslem invader. This is one of the great tragedies of human history. Nalanda was the first international university in the world, bringing people from all over the eastern world together to study and share ideas. All that we know of life at Nalanda comes from a Chinese student, Xuan Tsang, whose writings survived in China. There were 10,000 students here and about 2000 teachers. The library was so extensive, it took six months for the fires to go out. I think of the other great tragedy like this, the burning of the Great Library of Alexandria, which was destroyed by a Christian archbishop. Both are incalculable losses for humanity, both in the name of God. I wonder if the good religion has done really outweighs the bad. Greater minds than mine will have to decide that. Also, Sariputta, Buddha's great disciple, was born here in Nalanda. There were many visitors from all over the world while we were there, including many monks from Tibet and Thailand. Nalanda had been totally buried until 1861 when it was excavated by Alexander Cunningham. It's amazing how many of the brick structures survived, at least in part.
Next stop was the cremation site of Mahavera. Remember, he was the contemporary of Buddha who taught a more ascetic path. The shrine is in the middle of a lake, accessible by a long walkway. It is said that after his cremation, the demand for his ashes was so great, more and more dirt around it were removed, forming the lake. Aarti (last ritual of the day) was being performed in the small inner sanctum of the temple as we went through. It only had room for about 15 people, so JP and Aradhana just walked through. I stayed and chanted aarti along with the devotees. It was close enough to the Hindu aarti for me sing along. The three major precepts of Jainism are: non-violence, live and let live, love one another. They take these precepts very seriously, and often wear masks so as not to breath in and kill small flying insects.
Finally we arrive in Bodh Gaya where, on a full moon night in 632 BC, Siddhartha Gautama reached enlightenment and became the Buddha. The entire large compound is a beautiful park bedecked with flowers. There are thousands of people here, but it is very quiet. You can feel the sacredness of this place and naturally become quiet. Aradhana turns to me and says, "There is something special about this place, Dadiji". There is a long walkway around the huge temple and many people are traversing it as they softly chant. One side of the walkway is lined with prayer wheels which you turn as you walk. I turned each one, adding my own prayers for world peace. The temple is set much lower than the walkway, so you look down on the beautiful grounds surrounding the temple and the temple itself. The alter of the temple is the exact spot where the Buddha reached enlightenment. We first walked around the perimeter before going into the temple itself, which is situated, of course, under the branches of the enormous Bodhi tree. Remember, this is the descendant of the original tree that Ashoka's wife had chopped down. This temple, called the Mahabodhi Temple, was built in the eleventh century atop the one built by Ashoka in 300 BC. The original one was destroyed by invaders. As we entered the temple itself, the feeling of peace flooded through me and ,naturally, the tears came. I made my way in line to the alter itself, where I bowed my head and touched it, tears flowing the entire time. The whole compound, inside and outside the temple, was crowded with people from all over the world meditating together, a sea of monks in maroon or gold, thousands of devotees in white. I also noticed many child monks, some quite small, being watched over by their older brother monks.
After enlightenment Buddha stared at the Bodhi tree, unblinking, for one week. The place is marked by a small stupa.
Six weeks after enlightenment, the Buddha was meditating in an open area when a violent storm came up. The cobra king himself came and sheltered Buddha from the rain. JP said that Bramha, Shiva, and Indra also came to protect him. Hindus believe Buddha was an incarnation of Shiva. A large lake formed at the site and there is a statue of Buddha sitting under the cobra's protective head. The lake is called Mucalinda Lake, the abode of the snake king. A woman is feeding the hundreds of fish in the lake and we stay awhile and watch them writhing about. The energy here is much more sacred than that of Sarnath. We had tea with a man JP met through Kevin Bryan on our last trip. He is very wealthy but also very humble. He commented that my Chinese coin earrings were very auspicious. Maybe that is why I always wear them instead of the many others I have.
We ate lunch at the very fancy Sujata Hotel. It had a real Western toilet, complete with automatic flush, automatic faucets, and toilet paper !
We stopped at a Myanmar (Burma) monastery where Kevin had stayed on our last trip. It was very peaceful with a large treed courtyard. A sign informed that in order to stay there, one must abide by the five precepts of Buddhism: Abstain from killing, stealing, lying, sexual misconduct, and intoxicants. We went into the mediation hall where a man was doing extremely slow walking meditation, where one is to concentrate on every movement of every step.
We stopped at the Jay Sri Mahabodhi Viharam, where on Feb.2, 2007 the Dalai Lama enshrined relics of the Buddha, along with those of Sariputta and Mahamocallana under the statue of Buddha there. The walls are covered with paintings of scenes of the Buddha's life.
As we left Bodh Gaya for the train back to the Moghul Sarai station, Micky came to see us off.
While we were on the train, which was only one hour late, Aradhana and I spoke of this or that. I will describe the conversation about "something to do with psychology" tomorrow. She also mentioned that the government of India is passing legislation regarding the rights of homosexuals. I was very happy to hear this.
Anil was there to meet us as our train rolled into the Moghul Serai station. The trip home, which is about 12 miles, took one and a quarter hours due to the congestion. It usually takes 45 minutes. The extra delay was caused by the coming of Holi. The excitement was palpable. Tomorrow it begins, although I saw guys already covered with color.Time to try again for the Ayurvedic docs at BHU.
Peace,
Nadine
I am back in Varanasi and able to type, so will try to catch you up.
Smita bahoo's nephew, Micky, was a great help to us. He is the son of her younger brother, not the profligate older one who blew the family fortune. He kept checking on us the whole time we stayed in Gaya. I was happy to hear that he worked for an insurance company, which is a booming business in India. Insurance means fewer destitute widows. We never did make it to the Root Institute in Bodh Gaya, so we just stayed at the Gharana Hotel in Gaya and traveled around from there. We hired a taxi for the whole three days, which was quite a luxury. The driver's name is Santosh, another great young Indian man. He was very talkative and kept JP and Aradhana laughing. As the trip went on, he decided that I was to be his dadiji on this trip, and he treated me as such. He stayed by my side the whole time, taking my hand through crowds and up and down treacherous steps.
On our way to Rajgir we passed mile after mile of farmland. I wondered how many were GMO's and how much pesticide had been dumped on them. I decided to suspend judgment on the whole matter due to my ignorance. We passed a huge dump truck filled will little kids, their heads barely peeking above the half lowered tailgate. We keep waiving to them, tickling the heck out of them. Simple pleasures in this land of simple living.
We are in the land of the Buddha now. Our first stop was the Vishwashanti (world piece)stupa. It was high up on a mountain with a long walkway around the mountain. The view was lovely, all forest and farmland. We made it two-thirds up, but could go no farther. The whole way Santosh is telling me "slow, slow", as if I had any choice in the matter. However, we could clearly see the peak where the Buddha would meditate and give talks to his followers. Here I was, following the same path the Buddha had walked. There was a ski lift which went to the top of the mountain, but it was broken. Fine with me, it looked terrifying.
Santosh is so funny. He thinks that if he speaks slowly enough, I will understand what he is saying in Hindi. Finally he tries a new tack: he is going to teach me Hindi. From then on, he tells me the name of everything in Hindi, like he really thinks I am going to remember. But like a good girl, I repeat each word after him, as he is now my teacher. Aradhana looked worse and worse as the day went on. The poor thing gets migraines from being in the sun. Of course she never told us this, I had to ask what was wrong with her.
Our next stop is the Kund. This is a hot spring with supposed curative powers, especially for skin ailments. You know I splashed tons of water all over my bumpy face, figuring this has got to work better than the meds the Ayurvedic docs gave me. The water was 120 degrees and felt wonderful. I also soaked my feet in it. The steps to the springs were very old, steep, and uneven, but Santosh had me firmly in hand, shooing other people out of the way as though I were a queen.
Then we were at Nalanda, the great Buddhist university that flourished from the fifth century until being destroyed in the twelfth century by Bakhtiyar Kilji, a Moslem invader. This is one of the great tragedies of human history. Nalanda was the first international university in the world, bringing people from all over the eastern world together to study and share ideas. All that we know of life at Nalanda comes from a Chinese student, Xuan Tsang, whose writings survived in China. There were 10,000 students here and about 2000 teachers. The library was so extensive, it took six months for the fires to go out. I think of the other great tragedy like this, the burning of the Great Library of Alexandria, which was destroyed by a Christian archbishop. Both are incalculable losses for humanity, both in the name of God. I wonder if the good religion has done really outweighs the bad. Greater minds than mine will have to decide that. Also, Sariputta, Buddha's great disciple, was born here in Nalanda. There were many visitors from all over the world while we were there, including many monks from Tibet and Thailand. Nalanda had been totally buried until 1861 when it was excavated by Alexander Cunningham. It's amazing how many of the brick structures survived, at least in part.
Next stop was the cremation site of Mahavera. Remember, he was the contemporary of Buddha who taught a more ascetic path. The shrine is in the middle of a lake, accessible by a long walkway. It is said that after his cremation, the demand for his ashes was so great, more and more dirt around it were removed, forming the lake. Aarti (last ritual of the day) was being performed in the small inner sanctum of the temple as we went through. It only had room for about 15 people, so JP and Aradhana just walked through. I stayed and chanted aarti along with the devotees. It was close enough to the Hindu aarti for me sing along. The three major precepts of Jainism are: non-violence, live and let live, love one another. They take these precepts very seriously, and often wear masks so as not to breath in and kill small flying insects.
Finally we arrive in Bodh Gaya where, on a full moon night in 632 BC, Siddhartha Gautama reached enlightenment and became the Buddha. The entire large compound is a beautiful park bedecked with flowers. There are thousands of people here, but it is very quiet. You can feel the sacredness of this place and naturally become quiet. Aradhana turns to me and says, "There is something special about this place, Dadiji". There is a long walkway around the huge temple and many people are traversing it as they softly chant. One side of the walkway is lined with prayer wheels which you turn as you walk. I turned each one, adding my own prayers for world peace. The temple is set much lower than the walkway, so you look down on the beautiful grounds surrounding the temple and the temple itself. The alter of the temple is the exact spot where the Buddha reached enlightenment. We first walked around the perimeter before going into the temple itself, which is situated, of course, under the branches of the enormous Bodhi tree. Remember, this is the descendant of the original tree that Ashoka's wife had chopped down. This temple, called the Mahabodhi Temple, was built in the eleventh century atop the one built by Ashoka in 300 BC. The original one was destroyed by invaders. As we entered the temple itself, the feeling of peace flooded through me and ,naturally, the tears came. I made my way in line to the alter itself, where I bowed my head and touched it, tears flowing the entire time. The whole compound, inside and outside the temple, was crowded with people from all over the world meditating together, a sea of monks in maroon or gold, thousands of devotees in white. I also noticed many child monks, some quite small, being watched over by their older brother monks.
After enlightenment Buddha stared at the Bodhi tree, unblinking, for one week. The place is marked by a small stupa.
Six weeks after enlightenment, the Buddha was meditating in an open area when a violent storm came up. The cobra king himself came and sheltered Buddha from the rain. JP said that Bramha, Shiva, and Indra also came to protect him. Hindus believe Buddha was an incarnation of Shiva. A large lake formed at the site and there is a statue of Buddha sitting under the cobra's protective head. The lake is called Mucalinda Lake, the abode of the snake king. A woman is feeding the hundreds of fish in the lake and we stay awhile and watch them writhing about. The energy here is much more sacred than that of Sarnath. We had tea with a man JP met through Kevin Bryan on our last trip. He is very wealthy but also very humble. He commented that my Chinese coin earrings were very auspicious. Maybe that is why I always wear them instead of the many others I have.
We ate lunch at the very fancy Sujata Hotel. It had a real Western toilet, complete with automatic flush, automatic faucets, and toilet paper !
We stopped at a Myanmar (Burma) monastery where Kevin had stayed on our last trip. It was very peaceful with a large treed courtyard. A sign informed that in order to stay there, one must abide by the five precepts of Buddhism: Abstain from killing, stealing, lying, sexual misconduct, and intoxicants. We went into the mediation hall where a man was doing extremely slow walking meditation, where one is to concentrate on every movement of every step.
We stopped at the Jay Sri Mahabodhi Viharam, where on Feb.2, 2007 the Dalai Lama enshrined relics of the Buddha, along with those of Sariputta and Mahamocallana under the statue of Buddha there. The walls are covered with paintings of scenes of the Buddha's life.
As we left Bodh Gaya for the train back to the Moghul Sarai station, Micky came to see us off.
While we were on the train, which was only one hour late, Aradhana and I spoke of this or that. I will describe the conversation about "something to do with psychology" tomorrow. She also mentioned that the government of India is passing legislation regarding the rights of homosexuals. I was very happy to hear this.
Anil was there to meet us as our train rolled into the Moghul Serai station. The trip home, which is about 12 miles, took one and a quarter hours due to the congestion. It usually takes 45 minutes. The extra delay was caused by the coming of Holi. The excitement was palpable. Tomorrow it begins, although I saw guys already covered with color.Time to try again for the Ayurvedic docs at BHU.
Peace,
Nadine
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Wed. Feb. 24, 2010
I forgot to tell you that during the last hour of our train trip to Varanasi, JP and Anil called just about every hotel in Varanasi trying to find a place for the 77 year old professor to spend the night. No luck. The train had been delayed, as usual, and it was getting late and there was a big Buddhist convention in town. He decided to go onto BHU and hoped someone would let him into one of the hostiles there for the night. We were worried about him and wished him well.
It was wonderful to be awakened again by the sounds of bells, drums and chanting from the monastery across the street from the house. I was still feeling weak and achy, so Smita Bahoo gave me a long, wonderful massage. I asked her if she would give JP's knees a massage so I could learn how to do it. She said OK. Later JP told me he had told her no, because it was never proper for a bahoo to touch a dadaji. Another one of those safeguards in this land of joint families.
We decided to go back to the Ayurvedic docs at BHU and tell them of the potato bump debacle. Unfortunately, by the time we got there, they had left for the day, so we will try again on the 27th. On the way to BHU I smiled as we passed through the streets: bulls, dogs, traffic jams, dead bodies being trotted along. Ah, my beloved Varanasi. As we traveled for those three weeks, people found it odd that I loved Varanasi so much. Most Indians don't even want to visit here because it is so crowded and dirty.
Since we had missed the docs, we walked around the campus for awhile. Then JP wanted to get chai at a canteen on campus. I tried to talk him out of it because the place is very dark and gloomy, but he really wanted chai from that place, so I went in to keep him company. Guess who was there. The professor from the train. We were so please to see him and to find out that they had been waiting for him at BHU and he had had a wonderful reception and a nice place to sleep. He gave us his card with his email and said we should email him in a few months, after his grandson taught him how to navigate email.
At the same canteen a young man came up to me and we started chatting. He asked me how to go about getting into a college in the US. I tell him the same thing I always tell young Indians: stay in India and help it grow-family life is much better here and you will be happier. He looked at me with his earnest eyes and thanked me, saying that was a very important message for him to hear.
I noticed a group of about 20 people sitting on the lawn at BHU. There was no doubt this was one of the rituals leading up to a marriage. The girl kept her head modestly covered as she touched the feet of the men of the groom's family. As she did so, each man handed her an orange piece of paper. I don't what that signified. There were also piles of boxed saris to be given to the grooms female relatives as part of the ceremony.
On the way home we stopped at the restaurant at Asi Ghat for coke and apple pie. The lawyer cum waiter was there and we greeted him warmly. Kids from all over the world are here in Asi and I am always amazed at how many beautiful faces there are in this wide world.
The next morning we head to the Moghul Serai train station for the four hour trip to Bodh Gaya.
We ended up having to wait four hours for the train to come. While we waited in the Ladies Upper Class Waiting Room, half filled with men, I noticed a poor family sitting on the platform. The mother had no front teeth, and her eyes were 3/4 closed and very cloudy. I did not know if she was blind or not until I saw her feeding one of her very small children. Her husband eyes were also almost closed and had large lumps under his lids. He was wiping the tears from the face of his small child. I started weeping and was embarrassed. It took me a minute to figure out why I was weeping. It was from gratitude for this culture of arranged marriages which allowed these two people to form a family and live a life infused with love.
Because the train was four hour late, it was dark when we reached Gaya and it was too dangerous to continue on to Bodh Gaya at night. Dacoits haunt that passageway. We had no reservations at Gaya but Smita Bahoo came to the rescue. She has a nephew who lives here and he met us at the station and delivered us to a lovely hotel where I am typing this blog. We are about to take him out to dinner for his kindness.
Peace,
Nadine
I forgot to tell you that during the last hour of our train trip to Varanasi, JP and Anil called just about every hotel in Varanasi trying to find a place for the 77 year old professor to spend the night. No luck. The train had been delayed, as usual, and it was getting late and there was a big Buddhist convention in town. He decided to go onto BHU and hoped someone would let him into one of the hostiles there for the night. We were worried about him and wished him well.
It was wonderful to be awakened again by the sounds of bells, drums and chanting from the monastery across the street from the house. I was still feeling weak and achy, so Smita Bahoo gave me a long, wonderful massage. I asked her if she would give JP's knees a massage so I could learn how to do it. She said OK. Later JP told me he had told her no, because it was never proper for a bahoo to touch a dadaji. Another one of those safeguards in this land of joint families.
We decided to go back to the Ayurvedic docs at BHU and tell them of the potato bump debacle. Unfortunately, by the time we got there, they had left for the day, so we will try again on the 27th. On the way to BHU I smiled as we passed through the streets: bulls, dogs, traffic jams, dead bodies being trotted along. Ah, my beloved Varanasi. As we traveled for those three weeks, people found it odd that I loved Varanasi so much. Most Indians don't even want to visit here because it is so crowded and dirty.
Since we had missed the docs, we walked around the campus for awhile. Then JP wanted to get chai at a canteen on campus. I tried to talk him out of it because the place is very dark and gloomy, but he really wanted chai from that place, so I went in to keep him company. Guess who was there. The professor from the train. We were so please to see him and to find out that they had been waiting for him at BHU and he had had a wonderful reception and a nice place to sleep. He gave us his card with his email and said we should email him in a few months, after his grandson taught him how to navigate email.
At the same canteen a young man came up to me and we started chatting. He asked me how to go about getting into a college in the US. I tell him the same thing I always tell young Indians: stay in India and help it grow-family life is much better here and you will be happier. He looked at me with his earnest eyes and thanked me, saying that was a very important message for him to hear.
I noticed a group of about 20 people sitting on the lawn at BHU. There was no doubt this was one of the rituals leading up to a marriage. The girl kept her head modestly covered as she touched the feet of the men of the groom's family. As she did so, each man handed her an orange piece of paper. I don't what that signified. There were also piles of boxed saris to be given to the grooms female relatives as part of the ceremony.
On the way home we stopped at the restaurant at Asi Ghat for coke and apple pie. The lawyer cum waiter was there and we greeted him warmly. Kids from all over the world are here in Asi and I am always amazed at how many beautiful faces there are in this wide world.
The next morning we head to the Moghul Serai train station for the four hour trip to Bodh Gaya.
We ended up having to wait four hours for the train to come. While we waited in the Ladies Upper Class Waiting Room, half filled with men, I noticed a poor family sitting on the platform. The mother had no front teeth, and her eyes were 3/4 closed and very cloudy. I did not know if she was blind or not until I saw her feeding one of her very small children. Her husband eyes were also almost closed and had large lumps under his lids. He was wiping the tears from the face of his small child. I started weeping and was embarrassed. It took me a minute to figure out why I was weeping. It was from gratitude for this culture of arranged marriages which allowed these two people to form a family and live a life infused with love.
Because the train was four hour late, it was dark when we reached Gaya and it was too dangerous to continue on to Bodh Gaya at night. Dacoits haunt that passageway. We had no reservations at Gaya but Smita Bahoo came to the rescue. She has a nephew who lives here and he met us at the station and delivered us to a lovely hotel where I am typing this blog. We are about to take him out to dinner for his kindness.
Peace,
Nadine
Monday, February 22, 2010
Tuesday, Feb. 23, 2010
I am back in Varanasi and feeling much better. I'll try to catch you up.
We took a taxi from Bhopal to Sanchi, about 46 miles away. It is a very rural and peaceful place. We saw the huge stupa constructed in 35 BC by the Emperor Ashoka in reparation for the carnage he had caused in Orissa. The stupa is situated high on a hill overlooking beautiful agrarian fields. It probably looked about the same in Ashoka's time. It is amazing how well this structure has survived after so many centuries. It was totally lost until the British rediscovered it in 1818. It is 50 feet high and 120 feet wide and has four magnificently carved gateways. Back then the Buddha was never depicted as a person. Instead, symbols were used. The lotus signified birth; bodhi tree, enlightenment; wheel, teachings; footprint and throne, his presence; and the stupa himself, Buddha. There were many school groups visiting, and I was a hit. I told a group of about 6th graders that I was from America. I then asked them where they were from. None of them got the question except one little girl who yelled, "From India". I clapped.
JP told me an interesting story about Ashoka's wife. She was very jealous of his devotion to Buddhism, so she had the bodhi tree, under which Buddha had reached enlightenment, chopped down. Luckily, Ashoka's daughter had brought a sapling from that tree to Sri Lanka, so the line was saved. I wonder how well Ashoka practiced the Buddha's teaching when he found that out. JP also mentioned that at one time kingdoms in this area were ruled by Moslem women.
Next we visited the Heliodorus pillar constructed in 140 BC by a Greek ambassador to India. Heliodorous had become a Hindu and dedicated the pillar to Vishnu. It is believed that if a person were possessed by an evil spirit, the spirit could be driven out on a full moon night and nailed to a nearby tamarind tree, along with a lime, coconut, and red thread.
I was too ill to continue, so back to bed I went while JP visited other sites. I wish I could have seen the prehistoric cave dwellings and that state of the art hospital. That evening we were to have dinner with Arun's friend, Punkage, and his wife, but I was too ill. They came to the Forrest retreat, and I was embarrassed to be in bed looking like a drowned rat. His wife is a PhD. psychology professor at a local university. I asked her if there were many birth defects caused by the Bhopal disaster. She said babies were still being born with birth defects, and they have no idea how many generations will be effected. It will probably be in the gene pool permanently.
As I dozed in bed, I turned on the TV and saw a horrifying story portrayed as a positive one. It seems a remote village had practiced female infanticide for untold generations. Now the village was marrying off its first bride. No other information was given. I don't know if the government stepped in 20 years ago, or if just some of the female babies are allowed to live. This is such a land of extremes: many female doctors and PhD.'s along with female infanticide.
We left the Forest Guest House at 3 AM to get the train back to Varanasi. I slept most of the time but was awake long enough to talk with a man sharing our compartment. He was a biologist and had hybridized the first coconut tree in India. We talked a lot about farming practices. He is for genetic engineering but very against the introduction of terminal genes into the plants. I could not figure out if he was saying terminal genes were introduced into hybridized seeds or GMO's. I always thought hybridized seeds were always terminal, meaning they could not be replanted and get the same hybridized plant. I am confused. He was adamant that the world should stand up the the big seed companies and insist no terminal genes be added to any plant so that the farmer can save seed and replant. . His life story was just a riot. He was a poor boy from Chennai, which was still Madras at that point, who had never worn anything but a dhoti in his life (15 feet of material wrapped around the waist and draped and tucked in many different ways). He was very smart and also a very good "footballer" (soccer player). He won a scholarship to BHU, JP's alma mater here in Varanasi. He borrowed a relative's small suitcase for his meager possessions and off he went. His mother told him to always keep the suitcase under his arm on the long train trip north and not put it with everyone else's suitcases. In the middle of the night the train suddenly stopped and he awoke to screams from people inside and outside of the train. The train had been attacked by a group of 30 or 40 dacoits (robbers), who had stolen everyone else's suitcase. But he had listened to his mother and his was saved. When he got to BHU he was shocked to find that people wore clothes and had shoes. So he scraped together 3 rupies to buy a pair of shorts to play his first game of soccer. He had no shoes and had never played soccer in shoes, so they let him play barefoot. He scored in his first game and he began his college education. He is now 77 and is on his way back to BHU to give a talk to the students and to honor his teacher. Beautiful story. He also mentioned that 60% of Indians are diabetic and he hopes genetic engineering will someday help them. After he got to know us better, he said he does not believe in a personage of God, just some sort of energy we do not understand. I said I agreed. He added that his son keeps telling him to keep his mouth shut about his beliefs, which is probably sage advice. He also told us that now India is 20 times the density of the US. Just imagine, for every one person you see, in India there would be 20. Mind boggling. As we traveled around the country, I could see that it is the cities that are so overcrowded. The countryside is mostly agricultural.
It is so good to be back in Varanasi. Babhi is at her alter and India passes by my perch. There is now a huge pile of branches piled across the street in preparation for Holi. I am excited and terrified at the same time. You are now caught up on my travels.. Tomorrow we head to Bodh Gaya.
Peace,
Nadine
I am back in Varanasi and feeling much better. I'll try to catch you up.
We took a taxi from Bhopal to Sanchi, about 46 miles away. It is a very rural and peaceful place. We saw the huge stupa constructed in 35 BC by the Emperor Ashoka in reparation for the carnage he had caused in Orissa. The stupa is situated high on a hill overlooking beautiful agrarian fields. It probably looked about the same in Ashoka's time. It is amazing how well this structure has survived after so many centuries. It was totally lost until the British rediscovered it in 1818. It is 50 feet high and 120 feet wide and has four magnificently carved gateways. Back then the Buddha was never depicted as a person. Instead, symbols were used. The lotus signified birth; bodhi tree, enlightenment; wheel, teachings; footprint and throne, his presence; and the stupa himself, Buddha. There were many school groups visiting, and I was a hit. I told a group of about 6th graders that I was from America. I then asked them where they were from. None of them got the question except one little girl who yelled, "From India". I clapped.
JP told me an interesting story about Ashoka's wife. She was very jealous of his devotion to Buddhism, so she had the bodhi tree, under which Buddha had reached enlightenment, chopped down. Luckily, Ashoka's daughter had brought a sapling from that tree to Sri Lanka, so the line was saved. I wonder how well Ashoka practiced the Buddha's teaching when he found that out. JP also mentioned that at one time kingdoms in this area were ruled by Moslem women.
Next we visited the Heliodorus pillar constructed in 140 BC by a Greek ambassador to India. Heliodorous had become a Hindu and dedicated the pillar to Vishnu. It is believed that if a person were possessed by an evil spirit, the spirit could be driven out on a full moon night and nailed to a nearby tamarind tree, along with a lime, coconut, and red thread.
I was too ill to continue, so back to bed I went while JP visited other sites. I wish I could have seen the prehistoric cave dwellings and that state of the art hospital. That evening we were to have dinner with Arun's friend, Punkage, and his wife, but I was too ill. They came to the Forrest retreat, and I was embarrassed to be in bed looking like a drowned rat. His wife is a PhD. psychology professor at a local university. I asked her if there were many birth defects caused by the Bhopal disaster. She said babies were still being born with birth defects, and they have no idea how many generations will be effected. It will probably be in the gene pool permanently.
As I dozed in bed, I turned on the TV and saw a horrifying story portrayed as a positive one. It seems a remote village had practiced female infanticide for untold generations. Now the village was marrying off its first bride. No other information was given. I don't know if the government stepped in 20 years ago, or if just some of the female babies are allowed to live. This is such a land of extremes: many female doctors and PhD.'s along with female infanticide.
We left the Forest Guest House at 3 AM to get the train back to Varanasi. I slept most of the time but was awake long enough to talk with a man sharing our compartment. He was a biologist and had hybridized the first coconut tree in India. We talked a lot about farming practices. He is for genetic engineering but very against the introduction of terminal genes into the plants. I could not figure out if he was saying terminal genes were introduced into hybridized seeds or GMO's. I always thought hybridized seeds were always terminal, meaning they could not be replanted and get the same hybridized plant. I am confused. He was adamant that the world should stand up the the big seed companies and insist no terminal genes be added to any plant so that the farmer can save seed and replant. . His life story was just a riot. He was a poor boy from Chennai, which was still Madras at that point, who had never worn anything but a dhoti in his life (15 feet of material wrapped around the waist and draped and tucked in many different ways). He was very smart and also a very good "footballer" (soccer player). He won a scholarship to BHU, JP's alma mater here in Varanasi. He borrowed a relative's small suitcase for his meager possessions and off he went. His mother told him to always keep the suitcase under his arm on the long train trip north and not put it with everyone else's suitcases. In the middle of the night the train suddenly stopped and he awoke to screams from people inside and outside of the train. The train had been attacked by a group of 30 or 40 dacoits (robbers), who had stolen everyone else's suitcase. But he had listened to his mother and his was saved. When he got to BHU he was shocked to find that people wore clothes and had shoes. So he scraped together 3 rupies to buy a pair of shorts to play his first game of soccer. He had no shoes and had never played soccer in shoes, so they let him play barefoot. He scored in his first game and he began his college education. He is now 77 and is on his way back to BHU to give a talk to the students and to honor his teacher. Beautiful story. He also mentioned that 60% of Indians are diabetic and he hopes genetic engineering will someday help them. After he got to know us better, he said he does not believe in a personage of God, just some sort of energy we do not understand. I said I agreed. He added that his son keeps telling him to keep his mouth shut about his beliefs, which is probably sage advice. He also told us that now India is 20 times the density of the US. Just imagine, for every one person you see, in India there would be 20. Mind boggling. As we traveled around the country, I could see that it is the cities that are so overcrowded. The countryside is mostly agricultural.
It is so good to be back in Varanasi. Babhi is at her alter and India passes by my perch. There is now a huge pile of branches piled across the street in preparation for Holi. I am excited and terrified at the same time. You are now caught up on my travels.. Tomorrow we head to Bodh Gaya.
Peace,
Nadine
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Sunday, Feb.21, 2010
I am ill so this may be very short. I threw up all night and am exhausted. I really have not been well for over two weeks and finally gave in to JP and took a Cipro. He has gone to see some sights around Bhopal but I just could not get up.
Arun did it again ! A friend of his works for the Forest Service here and got us into the Forest Service Guest House. It is high up in the woods and very quiet. Actually, all we have seen of Bhopal is quiet, clean and peaceful. It is mountainous and reminds me of Taos after a wet spring. It is also 40% Moslem. As I collapsed in bed, JP read me the account of what actually happened during the disaster here. It happened in 1984, and George Orwell never envisioned anything as terrible as this. Shortly after midnight on Dec. 3, 1984, tons of Methel Isocyanate leaked out of the Union Carbide plant here in Bhopal. People awoke with eyes and lungs burning and many tried to run. The next morning the world saw the devastation. The number of people killed varies from 4,000 to 10,000, depending on the source. All the animals were also killed and a half million people permanently sickened. It was the worse industrial accident in history. All the leaves of the trees and bushes turned black. Union Carbide paid billions in reparations. They were also ordered to pay for the building of a state of the art hospital to freely treat the half million people affected. These people will never fully recover and will need care for the rest of their lives. Research on the effects of MIC is also done there. There were many heroes in this tragedy. One railroad employee gave his life as he desperately notified all trains to divert away from Bhopal. I noticed many new developments boasting that they were "green". There is also a new, huge, environmentally green newspaper building going up. I'm sure it is all in response to what happened here.
Yesterday we went to Sanchi. There is a huge stupa there built by the Emperor Ashoka.
I am too sick to continue. At 3AM tomorrow morning we take a train back to Varanasi. If there were a flight, I would take it instead, but no luck. So you may not hear from me for a few days, but my notes are with me so I can catch you up when I recover.
Peace,
Nadine
I am ill so this may be very short. I threw up all night and am exhausted. I really have not been well for over two weeks and finally gave in to JP and took a Cipro. He has gone to see some sights around Bhopal but I just could not get up.
Arun did it again ! A friend of his works for the Forest Service here and got us into the Forest Service Guest House. It is high up in the woods and very quiet. Actually, all we have seen of Bhopal is quiet, clean and peaceful. It is mountainous and reminds me of Taos after a wet spring. It is also 40% Moslem. As I collapsed in bed, JP read me the account of what actually happened during the disaster here. It happened in 1984, and George Orwell never envisioned anything as terrible as this. Shortly after midnight on Dec. 3, 1984, tons of Methel Isocyanate leaked out of the Union Carbide plant here in Bhopal. People awoke with eyes and lungs burning and many tried to run. The next morning the world saw the devastation. The number of people killed varies from 4,000 to 10,000, depending on the source. All the animals were also killed and a half million people permanently sickened. It was the worse industrial accident in history. All the leaves of the trees and bushes turned black. Union Carbide paid billions in reparations. They were also ordered to pay for the building of a state of the art hospital to freely treat the half million people affected. These people will never fully recover and will need care for the rest of their lives. Research on the effects of MIC is also done there. There were many heroes in this tragedy. One railroad employee gave his life as he desperately notified all trains to divert away from Bhopal. I noticed many new developments boasting that they were "green". There is also a new, huge, environmentally green newspaper building going up. I'm sure it is all in response to what happened here.
Yesterday we went to Sanchi. There is a huge stupa there built by the Emperor Ashoka.
I am too sick to continue. At 3AM tomorrow morning we take a train back to Varanasi. If there were a flight, I would take it instead, but no luck. So you may not hear from me for a few days, but my notes are with me so I can catch you up when I recover.
Peace,
Nadine
Friday, February 19, 2010
Sat. Feb. 20, 2010
Once we were back in Chennai we had dinner at the very exclusive Taj Connimara Hotel. We had been there on several other trips over the years. About 10 years ago we celebrated Pongal there. Pongal is the big harvest festival in the south. JP had the fabulous Indian buffet. There was no way I could do the buffet justice, so had linguine with shrimp. After dinner we had tea on the beautiful patio and saw a performance of Bharat Natyam, the most exquisite classical South Indian dance form. During our Pongal visit here we had the buffet on this patio and saw another performance of Bharat Natyam. Jai will remember that night as he was so sick. This time the dance was less than spirited, which we could understand as no one except us was paying any attention. Dinner cost us as astounding $60. I'm sure you can see a performance of Bharat Natyam on U-Tube. My daughter, Catharine, took some lesson as a kid, but got tired of being the only non-Indian in the class. It is an extremely precise dance form where the position of eyes, neck, head tilt, and finger formations are all part of it. The dancers all have thick ropes of bells around their ankles that jangle as they stomp their feet.
The next morning we got into the auto rickshaw to go see St. Thomas Mount. There seemed to be a discussion between Mom, who had been sweeping the house/sidewalk and the driver about taking one of the little boys with us, but the driver said no, we would be gone too long. After driving about 15 minutes, the driver stopped at a gas station and filled a 12 oz. glass coke bottle with gas. Gas costs $5.00 per gallon and these little autorickshaws don't use much. We passed piles of coconuts as we drove. Coconuts are sold for the milk. When someone buys one, the guy selling them wacks the top off and gives it to the person to drink. Then the rest of the coconut is thrown away in a pile.
In 68AD St. Thomas was martyred by Rajah Mahadevan, King of Mylapuram. We went to the "Little Mount" where we entered into a small cave where St. Thomas hid for about 10 years before being killed. I was surprising moved and cried. There is a hand print in the stone that is said to be that of St. Thomas. It occurred to me that if Jesus had been here for those lost 30 years, he probably meditated in this cave, as Thomas had. We then went to St. Thomas Mount, high up overlooking the city. This is where, 10 years ago, the little nun showed me the bone of Thomas and the spearhead that killed him. The 12 stations of the cross line the very long and steep climb to the top. It was very hot and JP didn't quite make it to the top. I was determined and, with many stops to rest, made it to the top. It was different now, but still very beautiful. There were several little churches and the little Basilica which was built in 1551. There is also now a St. Thomas Babies' Home. Pope John Paul II was here in 1986. There was also a painting that was supposedly painted by St. Luke in 50 AD. As I walked down the long path, I finally heard the haunting Moslem call to prayer, the Muzzin.
We were hot and exhausted as we entered the Mian Khum Thai Restaurant. It was like walking into Heaven, cool, clean and elegant. We were immediately given two neatly wrapped cold wet cloths served on a tray. It was just wonderful. We wiped our faces and hands, then laid the cloth on the backs of our necks. Compared to Asian sensibilities, we are barbarians. Next came a tray with small dishes containing bits of roasted coconut, diced lime, ginger, onion, chilies, and peanuts, along with a pile of small green palm leaves. We put a little of the sweet palm jaggery sauce on a leaf, filled it with a little of the different items listed, rolled it up and popped it into our mouths. Divine. Coconut soup came next. Although JP and I never thought it possible, it was even better than the coconut soup at the Thai restaurant near Catharine's house in San Diego. I had Pad Thai. JP had a rice dish. Both delicious. We were then served lemongrass tea, which I immediately fell in love with. I asked the woman serving it how it was made. She said the lemongrass was crushed first and was the only ingredient. That was the most she was able to tell me as her English was very limited. I will definitely experiment and figure out if it is a decoction or an infusion.
The 24 hour train ride from Chennai to Bhopal was made worth while by the couple who sat across from us. They were in their 70's and positively charming. He was an editor of a weekly magazine dealing with social matters. This couple is the flower of Indian society. They have lived together for over 50 years and still find each other interesting. I especially loved seeing him chuckle at something or other she was saying. As the day went on, she would come sit by me and put her hand on my arm, and the friendship was sealed. They live here in Bhopal and insisted we come for tea before we leave. They were also here on that terrible day when the Union Carbide disaster happened, killing 4000 people and injuring thousands more. Somehow they both managed to get gas masks and helped as many people as they could to safety. I noticed that she called him Papa. It made me think of the the first time I met JP's family. He had failed to tell me that a woman never addresses her husband by name as this is thought to shorten his life. No wonder JP's family looked at me strangely as I called him Jitendra every three seconds. They must have thought I had married him for his money and was trying to bump him off as quickly as I could.
The driver is here to take us around Bhopal so I will close for now. I think I will be able to do a post tomorrow.
Peace,
Nadine
Once we were back in Chennai we had dinner at the very exclusive Taj Connimara Hotel. We had been there on several other trips over the years. About 10 years ago we celebrated Pongal there. Pongal is the big harvest festival in the south. JP had the fabulous Indian buffet. There was no way I could do the buffet justice, so had linguine with shrimp. After dinner we had tea on the beautiful patio and saw a performance of Bharat Natyam, the most exquisite classical South Indian dance form. During our Pongal visit here we had the buffet on this patio and saw another performance of Bharat Natyam. Jai will remember that night as he was so sick. This time the dance was less than spirited, which we could understand as no one except us was paying any attention. Dinner cost us as astounding $60. I'm sure you can see a performance of Bharat Natyam on U-Tube. My daughter, Catharine, took some lesson as a kid, but got tired of being the only non-Indian in the class. It is an extremely precise dance form where the position of eyes, neck, head tilt, and finger formations are all part of it. The dancers all have thick ropes of bells around their ankles that jangle as they stomp their feet.
The next morning we got into the auto rickshaw to go see St. Thomas Mount. There seemed to be a discussion between Mom, who had been sweeping the house/sidewalk and the driver about taking one of the little boys with us, but the driver said no, we would be gone too long. After driving about 15 minutes, the driver stopped at a gas station and filled a 12 oz. glass coke bottle with gas. Gas costs $5.00 per gallon and these little autorickshaws don't use much. We passed piles of coconuts as we drove. Coconuts are sold for the milk. When someone buys one, the guy selling them wacks the top off and gives it to the person to drink. Then the rest of the coconut is thrown away in a pile.
In 68AD St. Thomas was martyred by Rajah Mahadevan, King of Mylapuram. We went to the "Little Mount" where we entered into a small cave where St. Thomas hid for about 10 years before being killed. I was surprising moved and cried. There is a hand print in the stone that is said to be that of St. Thomas. It occurred to me that if Jesus had been here for those lost 30 years, he probably meditated in this cave, as Thomas had. We then went to St. Thomas Mount, high up overlooking the city. This is where, 10 years ago, the little nun showed me the bone of Thomas and the spearhead that killed him. The 12 stations of the cross line the very long and steep climb to the top. It was very hot and JP didn't quite make it to the top. I was determined and, with many stops to rest, made it to the top. It was different now, but still very beautiful. There were several little churches and the little Basilica which was built in 1551. There is also now a St. Thomas Babies' Home. Pope John Paul II was here in 1986. There was also a painting that was supposedly painted by St. Luke in 50 AD. As I walked down the long path, I finally heard the haunting Moslem call to prayer, the Muzzin.
We were hot and exhausted as we entered the Mian Khum Thai Restaurant. It was like walking into Heaven, cool, clean and elegant. We were immediately given two neatly wrapped cold wet cloths served on a tray. It was just wonderful. We wiped our faces and hands, then laid the cloth on the backs of our necks. Compared to Asian sensibilities, we are barbarians. Next came a tray with small dishes containing bits of roasted coconut, diced lime, ginger, onion, chilies, and peanuts, along with a pile of small green palm leaves. We put a little of the sweet palm jaggery sauce on a leaf, filled it with a little of the different items listed, rolled it up and popped it into our mouths. Divine. Coconut soup came next. Although JP and I never thought it possible, it was even better than the coconut soup at the Thai restaurant near Catharine's house in San Diego. I had Pad Thai. JP had a rice dish. Both delicious. We were then served lemongrass tea, which I immediately fell in love with. I asked the woman serving it how it was made. She said the lemongrass was crushed first and was the only ingredient. That was the most she was able to tell me as her English was very limited. I will definitely experiment and figure out if it is a decoction or an infusion.
The 24 hour train ride from Chennai to Bhopal was made worth while by the couple who sat across from us. They were in their 70's and positively charming. He was an editor of a weekly magazine dealing with social matters. This couple is the flower of Indian society. They have lived together for over 50 years and still find each other interesting. I especially loved seeing him chuckle at something or other she was saying. As the day went on, she would come sit by me and put her hand on my arm, and the friendship was sealed. They live here in Bhopal and insisted we come for tea before we leave. They were also here on that terrible day when the Union Carbide disaster happened, killing 4000 people and injuring thousands more. Somehow they both managed to get gas masks and helped as many people as they could to safety. I noticed that she called him Papa. It made me think of the the first time I met JP's family. He had failed to tell me that a woman never addresses her husband by name as this is thought to shorten his life. No wonder JP's family looked at me strangely as I called him Jitendra every three seconds. They must have thought I had married him for his money and was trying to bump him off as quickly as I could.
The driver is here to take us around Bhopal so I will close for now. I think I will be able to do a post tomorrow.
Peace,
Nadine
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Thur, Feb.18, 2010
Before we left Pondicherry, we went to the Shri Aurobindo Ashram, where he and Ma's ashes are buried. It was founded in 1926 by Aurobindo and a French woman called "The mother". The whole ashram is bedecked with plants and flowers. There was a constant flow of people into the ashram and many people sitting in meditation around the samadhi (raised platform containing the ashes). Beautiful intricate designs created in flowers covered the samadhi. All I know of Aurobindo's philosophy is his attempt to merge yoga and science. JP bought a few small books about his philosophy which I will read on the train this evening.
We also passed the ancient Sri Manakula Vinayagar Ganesha temple, complete with a baby elephant. The elephant wore silver ankle bracelets, flowers, brass bells around his neck, and sacred markings on his ears and body. For a few pennies we bought a bunch of greens for the elephant. It was trained to take the greens from your hand with its trunk, then touch your head with its trunk in blessing. It was a really great experience. We had a breakfast of pancakes which were actually thin crepes soaked in maple syrup. That darn Indian sweet tooth. Even the fennel was coated in sugar. After a meal Indians usually serve fennel seeds that clean the pallet and help digestion. Then on the bus for the four hour trip back to Chennai. The trip followed the sea as it went north, and the breeze pummeled me the whole trip. Glorious. There is so much empty land along the sea where fishing villages once stood. So sad. There are also the new hotels and spas and land for sale. I hope the people actually got some help from the money donated by the world. As we left Pondicherry I thought of the nerve of the English and French to come to India and change the names of the streets and towns: Varanasi to Banares, Chennai to Madras, Mumbai to Bombay, Puducherry to Pondicherry, Colcutta to Calcutta. It was like the Indians just did not matter at all. At least the English gave the gifts of a unifying language and trains. JP's voice is now totally gone. No infection though.
When we arrived back at the Comfort Hotel in Chennai we were warmly greeted by the staff, who now know us since we have been here so much throughout the trip. Mom across the street also recognized me and waived. Then with a smile, put her hand out for money. This woman is not a beggar, but she knows I have been interested in her family and it is just too good an opportunity to pass up. When we leave Chennai for the last time tonight, I will give her some money, mostly in reparation for having the arrogance to feel sorry for her. While JP checked in, the young staff members laughed as I plunked down on the sofa, exhausted. No more "Yes, Madam", "No, Madam". I was ordered to sit as they put all the suitcases on the lift, then ordered to "Come". Up to the room I was taken. They opened the door to the room and told me to "Sit". TV was turned on to an English channel and the air was turned on. Then I was ordered to "Rest". I was so touched. These guys know me and like me for who I am, not what I am.
Now we are about to leave to finally go to St. Thomas Mount and Cathedral, I hope. We leave at about 5PM today to take a 24 hour train trip to Bhopal, the site of that terrible Union Carbide disaster in 1984. Will write again after I recover from the long train trip.
Peace,
Nadine
Before we left Pondicherry, we went to the Shri Aurobindo Ashram, where he and Ma's ashes are buried. It was founded in 1926 by Aurobindo and a French woman called "The mother". The whole ashram is bedecked with plants and flowers. There was a constant flow of people into the ashram and many people sitting in meditation around the samadhi (raised platform containing the ashes). Beautiful intricate designs created in flowers covered the samadhi. All I know of Aurobindo's philosophy is his attempt to merge yoga and science. JP bought a few small books about his philosophy which I will read on the train this evening.
We also passed the ancient Sri Manakula Vinayagar Ganesha temple, complete with a baby elephant. The elephant wore silver ankle bracelets, flowers, brass bells around his neck, and sacred markings on his ears and body. For a few pennies we bought a bunch of greens for the elephant. It was trained to take the greens from your hand with its trunk, then touch your head with its trunk in blessing. It was a really great experience. We had a breakfast of pancakes which were actually thin crepes soaked in maple syrup. That darn Indian sweet tooth. Even the fennel was coated in sugar. After a meal Indians usually serve fennel seeds that clean the pallet and help digestion. Then on the bus for the four hour trip back to Chennai. The trip followed the sea as it went north, and the breeze pummeled me the whole trip. Glorious. There is so much empty land along the sea where fishing villages once stood. So sad. There are also the new hotels and spas and land for sale. I hope the people actually got some help from the money donated by the world. As we left Pondicherry I thought of the nerve of the English and French to come to India and change the names of the streets and towns: Varanasi to Banares, Chennai to Madras, Mumbai to Bombay, Puducherry to Pondicherry, Colcutta to Calcutta. It was like the Indians just did not matter at all. At least the English gave the gifts of a unifying language and trains. JP's voice is now totally gone. No infection though.
When we arrived back at the Comfort Hotel in Chennai we were warmly greeted by the staff, who now know us since we have been here so much throughout the trip. Mom across the street also recognized me and waived. Then with a smile, put her hand out for money. This woman is not a beggar, but she knows I have been interested in her family and it is just too good an opportunity to pass up. When we leave Chennai for the last time tonight, I will give her some money, mostly in reparation for having the arrogance to feel sorry for her. While JP checked in, the young staff members laughed as I plunked down on the sofa, exhausted. No more "Yes, Madam", "No, Madam". I was ordered to sit as they put all the suitcases on the lift, then ordered to "Come". Up to the room I was taken. They opened the door to the room and told me to "Sit". TV was turned on to an English channel and the air was turned on. Then I was ordered to "Rest". I was so touched. These guys know me and like me for who I am, not what I am.
Now we are about to leave to finally go to St. Thomas Mount and Cathedral, I hope. We leave at about 5PM today to take a 24 hour train trip to Bhopal, the site of that terrible Union Carbide disaster in 1984. Will write again after I recover from the long train trip.
Peace,
Nadine
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
On Monday, Feb.15 we took a four hour bus trip to Pondicherry. This whole coast of India from Bubeneshwer south was hit by that terrible tsunami. We passed miles and miles of salt flats that were created by the salt water filling low lying areas. Now they are drying out and salt is being harvested from the residue. I hope that will also leave all that land arable. All along the coast are new hotels and spas. I'm sure it is good for the economy, but just like in New Orleans,, where do the poor go. Of course, in this case, the poor may not have survived.
Pondicherry, originally known as Puducherry, is just beautiful. I feel like I am in the south of France. The French came here in the 1700's, but were later dislodged by the English. These days it seems the French have taken over again. There are many French tourists here. The street names are all French. Rue this or that. There are also many Europeans who live here. We see them riding their scooters or their children coming out of schools. I think most of them live at the Aurobindo commune, Auroville, which has 1500 residents. He was a philosopher who was born in 1872 and died in 1950. He called his philosophy Integral Yoga.
We are staying at the Aurobindo Intenational Guest House, which is quite comfortable but simple. It has four floors, all open to a central courtyard filled with beautiful plants. We have a private bathroom with hot water and air conditioning. The evenings have been very cool thanks to the sea breezes, so we have not used the air conditioning. The restaurants here cater to the Europeans so are a blessed relief from the hot masala of Indian cooking. My lower GI tract is ever so thankful. It is very hot during the day unless you stay by the sea, but the mornings and evenings are glorious. I have been in a lot of pain from my shoulder and hips from too many train and bus trips, so I slept during the heat of the day. JP soldiered on seeing many of the sights the town has to offer.
People are chunky in south India, thanks to a diet of 90% rice. They are also very friendly and smile readily. Throughout this trip I have noticed many women travelers alone on a solitary adventure. This boggles my mind. My idea of a solitary adventure is trying to grow okra in the high desert.
Today we went to an Ayurvedic clinic we passed on the beach. We both had appointments there: JP for arthritis; me for potato allergy. When we were presented with the bill for the appointments and a month's worth of meds, we about fainted. It cost $120. That is an astronomical amount of money here in India and JP thinks we got scammed. It seems I am not going to get any help with my potato allergy here in India. Tomorrow we take a four hour bus trip back to Chennai. I do hate to leave this quiet respite from the hubbub of India.
Peace,
Nadine
Pondicherry, originally known as Puducherry, is just beautiful. I feel like I am in the south of France. The French came here in the 1700's, but were later dislodged by the English. These days it seems the French have taken over again. There are many French tourists here. The street names are all French. Rue this or that. There are also many Europeans who live here. We see them riding their scooters or their children coming out of schools. I think most of them live at the Aurobindo commune, Auroville, which has 1500 residents. He was a philosopher who was born in 1872 and died in 1950. He called his philosophy Integral Yoga.
We are staying at the Aurobindo Intenational Guest House, which is quite comfortable but simple. It has four floors, all open to a central courtyard filled with beautiful plants. We have a private bathroom with hot water and air conditioning. The evenings have been very cool thanks to the sea breezes, so we have not used the air conditioning. The restaurants here cater to the Europeans so are a blessed relief from the hot masala of Indian cooking. My lower GI tract is ever so thankful. It is very hot during the day unless you stay by the sea, but the mornings and evenings are glorious. I have been in a lot of pain from my shoulder and hips from too many train and bus trips, so I slept during the heat of the day. JP soldiered on seeing many of the sights the town has to offer.
People are chunky in south India, thanks to a diet of 90% rice. They are also very friendly and smile readily. Throughout this trip I have noticed many women travelers alone on a solitary adventure. This boggles my mind. My idea of a solitary adventure is trying to grow okra in the high desert.
Today we went to an Ayurvedic clinic we passed on the beach. We both had appointments there: JP for arthritis; me for potato allergy. When we were presented with the bill for the appointments and a month's worth of meds, we about fainted. It cost $120. That is an astronomical amount of money here in India and JP thinks we got scammed. It seems I am not going to get any help with my potato allergy here in India. Tomorrow we take a four hour bus trip back to Chennai. I do hate to leave this quiet respite from the hubbub of India.
Peace,
Nadine
Monday, February 15, 2010
Mon. Feb.15, 2010
The Hotel Empee has a restaurant and I ordered the English breakfast. One egg, two pieces of toast, cornflakes with milk, juice and coffee. All pretty good except the corn flakes with milk were cooked like oatmeal. The main attraction here is the ancient Meenakshi temple and Hindus are lined up for blocks to go in. All I know about Meenakshi is that she was a very beautiful and powerful goddess who had three breasts. Once she was married, however, one of the breasts would disappear, so Lord Shiva married her. Madurai is about the same size as Varanasi, and about as old. Since no one here speaks much English or Hindi, JP decided it was too difficult to get around on our own, so we took a 12 hour bus tour. I'm templed out but the Gandhi Museum was worth the whole trip to see. JP got so engrossed in it, the bus nearly left him, stopping only when I started yelling. The driver gave me two minutes to find him, and I ran through the whole museum looking for him. He was blissfully wondering around the various rooms and I had to grab his arm to get his attention. Then I had to run like a mad woman back to the bus to tell them he was coming. I could have stayed there all day, but did manage to write down some of the wonderful quotes:
"The Englishmen flourishes and acts like a sponge, drawing up riches for the banks of the Ganges and squeezing them upon the banks of the Thames" John Sullivan
And from Gandhi:
"Truth is God."
"In my opinion, non-cooperation with evil is as much a duty as cooperation with good".
"Death is our true friend, it is only our ignorance that causes us grief."
"Be not like the frog in the well. The frog knows nothing bigger or grander than its well:so are all bigots, they do not see anything better than their own creeds." Shri Ramakrishna
Madurai is where Gandhi decided to dress only in a lungi, which is about 8 feet of material, and worn by all poor men in India. The lungi Gandhi was wearing when he was shot is on display in this museum. It is a very eerie thing to see. There are Catholic churches everywhere here. One was blasting beautiful hymns over the loud speaker. The Indian Catholics are very devoted to the Blessed Mother, as am I. When I was frightened as a child, I would envision myself curled up at her feet, her cloak wrapped around me.
On Sat. Feb. 13 we took a 10 hour train ride back to Chennai and back to the Comfort Hotel. This was a much more comfortable trip where I could stretch out. By then I was on a strict diet of toast, bananas and cake. I don't even like cake but it is better than chilies or Indian deserts. I notice that the farther south we go, the more the lotus are blooming.
When we got back to the hotel, I again noticed the family living across the street. Dad and Mom were up and chatting with a bunch of friends. Then I noticed Mom was talking on a cell phone. There was a decrepit rickshaw parked across the street, and I think it is Dad's. I think he is a rickshaw walla. I also believe these folks would be shocked if they know I had been feeling sorry for them.
On Sun., Feb. 14 we took a Tamilnadu bus tour. Temples, etc. We stopped at a silk emporium where there was a display of a guy weaving a silk sari. The old wooden loom was huge and very complicated looking. I can't imagine how long it must take to weave a sari. All the women on the tour bought silk saris, averaging about $30 apiece. Another interesting place was the Beach Temple in Mahabalipuram. We had been there about 10 years ago, at which time I was not allowed to go in. Now it is more of a museum so I could go in. There were originally 7 temples chiseled out of solid rock here, but the sea has claimed all but two. I was fascinated to see how they cracked the stone. They chiseled out a small hole and hammered a piece of wood into it. Then they would pour water onto the wood. As the wood expanded, the rock cracked. We passed more and more Christian churches, cemeteries, and schools. Well done, Thomas, well done. Hindus accept all religions as part of God. One time when Jai was a baby, I was sitting with him in a stroller while JP wandered off somewhere. I think it was in Rishikesh. A Hindu holy man walked by, and assuming we were Christians, bowed to baby Jai and said, "Little Lord Jesus", then walked away.
There was a Moslem man from Bangladesh on the tour. He had come to Chennai for treatment for some ailment, so decided to see the sights. Since neither of us could go into some of the temples, we hung out and talked. He said Bangladesh is very beautiful and has the longest beach in the world. At one point only that man, a man from Singapore, and myself were on the bus, waiting for everyone else. The Moslem man (I never got his name) unwrapped a small rug and , facing east, said his prayers. It was beautiful to watch and I thanked him for the experience. I then asked him if he had yet made the Hag. And yes, he had done so last year, one of three million people who did so. At least once in the life of every Moslem, he is to follow the route taken by the Profit Mohammad from Mecca to Medina in Saudi Arabia.
The day was sweltering and I was a dripping mess. Not so the Indian women. They looked as fresh in their silk saris as they had at 6AM. Even the flowers in their hair looked fresh.
The last stop on the tour was a wide inlet of the Bay of Bengal. The boats were pretty rickety and the dock positively terrifying, but I could not give up the chance to be on water. It actually made me sad. Besides my friends, the things I miss most from Maryland are the beautiful rivers of the Upper Chesapeake Bay: The Susquehanna, the Elk, the Bohemia, the Sassafras, and the Chester.
When we got back to the hotel we were pooped. So, we bathed and vegged out in front of the TV. It was Valentine's Day and the controversy raged on about it being celebrated in India. Like JP says, it is just not in keeping with the Indian philosophy of life. But, of course, the young married women love the idea, as do the card, chocolate and flower industries. The other headline was terrible. There was a bomb blast in Pune, south of Mumbai. Nine people were killed and 40 seriously injured. The reason, of course, was the controversy over Kashmir. Right now most of it is under Indian control, but Pakistan believes it should be part of their country. How many lives have been lost over this land as well as over Palestine. I have no answers and don't even know the salient questions to ask. But I clearly hear the cries of thousands of mothers as they weep over the bodies of their dead children. Educate and empower the women!
We also see ads on TV and many signs saying "Save our tigers. There are only 1411 left". God help animals when they are in contact with humans. We also see lots of Amway signs. Chennai is a modern city with many attractive large buildings and good streets. We also smell much less sewage here. Of course, however, there are lots of huge cockroaches here. They don't bother me a lick. I am on a first name basis with lots of bugs that come to my garden, and I can tell you, a roach is a butterfly compared to the biting red ants of the high desert.
I am now in Pondicherry and in love with this French beach town. I'll be able to send a post tomorrow so good night for now.
Peace,
Nadine
The Hotel Empee has a restaurant and I ordered the English breakfast. One egg, two pieces of toast, cornflakes with milk, juice and coffee. All pretty good except the corn flakes with milk were cooked like oatmeal. The main attraction here is the ancient Meenakshi temple and Hindus are lined up for blocks to go in. All I know about Meenakshi is that she was a very beautiful and powerful goddess who had three breasts. Once she was married, however, one of the breasts would disappear, so Lord Shiva married her. Madurai is about the same size as Varanasi, and about as old. Since no one here speaks much English or Hindi, JP decided it was too difficult to get around on our own, so we took a 12 hour bus tour. I'm templed out but the Gandhi Museum was worth the whole trip to see. JP got so engrossed in it, the bus nearly left him, stopping only when I started yelling. The driver gave me two minutes to find him, and I ran through the whole museum looking for him. He was blissfully wondering around the various rooms and I had to grab his arm to get his attention. Then I had to run like a mad woman back to the bus to tell them he was coming. I could have stayed there all day, but did manage to write down some of the wonderful quotes:
"The Englishmen flourishes and acts like a sponge, drawing up riches for the banks of the Ganges and squeezing them upon the banks of the Thames" John Sullivan
And from Gandhi:
"Truth is God."
"In my opinion, non-cooperation with evil is as much a duty as cooperation with good".
"Death is our true friend, it is only our ignorance that causes us grief."
"Be not like the frog in the well. The frog knows nothing bigger or grander than its well:so are all bigots, they do not see anything better than their own creeds." Shri Ramakrishna
Madurai is where Gandhi decided to dress only in a lungi, which is about 8 feet of material, and worn by all poor men in India. The lungi Gandhi was wearing when he was shot is on display in this museum. It is a very eerie thing to see. There are Catholic churches everywhere here. One was blasting beautiful hymns over the loud speaker. The Indian Catholics are very devoted to the Blessed Mother, as am I. When I was frightened as a child, I would envision myself curled up at her feet, her cloak wrapped around me.
On Sat. Feb. 13 we took a 10 hour train ride back to Chennai and back to the Comfort Hotel. This was a much more comfortable trip where I could stretch out. By then I was on a strict diet of toast, bananas and cake. I don't even like cake but it is better than chilies or Indian deserts. I notice that the farther south we go, the more the lotus are blooming.
When we got back to the hotel, I again noticed the family living across the street. Dad and Mom were up and chatting with a bunch of friends. Then I noticed Mom was talking on a cell phone. There was a decrepit rickshaw parked across the street, and I think it is Dad's. I think he is a rickshaw walla. I also believe these folks would be shocked if they know I had been feeling sorry for them.
On Sun., Feb. 14 we took a Tamilnadu bus tour. Temples, etc. We stopped at a silk emporium where there was a display of a guy weaving a silk sari. The old wooden loom was huge and very complicated looking. I can't imagine how long it must take to weave a sari. All the women on the tour bought silk saris, averaging about $30 apiece. Another interesting place was the Beach Temple in Mahabalipuram. We had been there about 10 years ago, at which time I was not allowed to go in. Now it is more of a museum so I could go in. There were originally 7 temples chiseled out of solid rock here, but the sea has claimed all but two. I was fascinated to see how they cracked the stone. They chiseled out a small hole and hammered a piece of wood into it. Then they would pour water onto the wood. As the wood expanded, the rock cracked. We passed more and more Christian churches, cemeteries, and schools. Well done, Thomas, well done. Hindus accept all religions as part of God. One time when Jai was a baby, I was sitting with him in a stroller while JP wandered off somewhere. I think it was in Rishikesh. A Hindu holy man walked by, and assuming we were Christians, bowed to baby Jai and said, "Little Lord Jesus", then walked away.
There was a Moslem man from Bangladesh on the tour. He had come to Chennai for treatment for some ailment, so decided to see the sights. Since neither of us could go into some of the temples, we hung out and talked. He said Bangladesh is very beautiful and has the longest beach in the world. At one point only that man, a man from Singapore, and myself were on the bus, waiting for everyone else. The Moslem man (I never got his name) unwrapped a small rug and , facing east, said his prayers. It was beautiful to watch and I thanked him for the experience. I then asked him if he had yet made the Hag. And yes, he had done so last year, one of three million people who did so. At least once in the life of every Moslem, he is to follow the route taken by the Profit Mohammad from Mecca to Medina in Saudi Arabia.
The day was sweltering and I was a dripping mess. Not so the Indian women. They looked as fresh in their silk saris as they had at 6AM. Even the flowers in their hair looked fresh.
The last stop on the tour was a wide inlet of the Bay of Bengal. The boats were pretty rickety and the dock positively terrifying, but I could not give up the chance to be on water. It actually made me sad. Besides my friends, the things I miss most from Maryland are the beautiful rivers of the Upper Chesapeake Bay: The Susquehanna, the Elk, the Bohemia, the Sassafras, and the Chester.
When we got back to the hotel we were pooped. So, we bathed and vegged out in front of the TV. It was Valentine's Day and the controversy raged on about it being celebrated in India. Like JP says, it is just not in keeping with the Indian philosophy of life. But, of course, the young married women love the idea, as do the card, chocolate and flower industries. The other headline was terrible. There was a bomb blast in Pune, south of Mumbai. Nine people were killed and 40 seriously injured. The reason, of course, was the controversy over Kashmir. Right now most of it is under Indian control, but Pakistan believes it should be part of their country. How many lives have been lost over this land as well as over Palestine. I have no answers and don't even know the salient questions to ask. But I clearly hear the cries of thousands of mothers as they weep over the bodies of their dead children. Educate and empower the women!
We also see ads on TV and many signs saying "Save our tigers. There are only 1411 left". God help animals when they are in contact with humans. We also see lots of Amway signs. Chennai is a modern city with many attractive large buildings and good streets. We also smell much less sewage here. Of course, however, there are lots of huge cockroaches here. They don't bother me a lick. I am on a first name basis with lots of bugs that come to my garden, and I can tell you, a roach is a butterfly compared to the biting red ants of the high desert.
I am now in Pondicherry and in love with this French beach town. I'll be able to send a post tomorrow so good night for now.
Peace,
Nadine
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Friday Feb. 12, 2010
It is still Feb. 11 in the US, so I would like to wish my grandson, Owen, a happy 10th birthday. There is nothing 'tupid about this boy. He is as bright as a shiny new penny.
On our last day in Chennai, we tried to visit St. Thomas Mount. After Jesus died the apostles scattered here and there to spread the gospel. Thomas, the doubting one, came to Chennai and founded a church here. He was later killed and buried here. There is still a thriving Christian community here. About 10 years ago we visited the mount. On top is a small church and a few buildings. JP and Jai had gone ahead, and I was wandering around when a door of one of the buildings opened a crack and a tiny nun surreptitiously motioned for me to come inside. I guess she could smell my 16 years of Catholic education. She then showed me two things. One was a piece of St. Thomas' bone. The other was the spearhead that killed him. I no longer call myself a Catholic, but seeing a bone of one of Christ's 12 apostles was amazing. The auto rickshaw driver had no English or Hindi so we had about a zillion people explain where we wanted to go. Unfortunately the message did not get through, and we ended up at the Cathedral of St. Thomas. We should have gone in but, at this point, were pretty bummed so went to the beach instead. We will have several more days in Chennai later in the trip and will visit the mount and cathedral then. The beach was crowded and the water was much farther than we thought, so we were exhausted when we got back to the hotel. One thing I noticed on the beach were many groups of Moslem women. They were in their black burkas but had their faces uncovered. They certainly did not look oppressed to me. They were laughing and having a great time. I smiled and waved to as many as I could. They giggled.
I had been observing this family who lived on the other side of the street from our hotel. Their home WAS the street and the sidewalk along it. When I first noticed them, the father was wrapped in a blanket sleeping on a small ledge. There were three little boys, ages about 7, 4, and 2. The older boy was entertaining his brothers by flicking water at them. The mother was eating her dinner of rice after having fed her family. The next morning, as our bags were being placed into the auto rickshaw that was to take us to the train station, the two year old boy crawled into the auto rickshaw. The driver and staff of the hotel knew this child well and all were playing with him. The child was dressed in a shirt and small scarf. Nothing else. When they tried to remove him from the auto rickshaw, he complained loudly. So, he came along for the ride, standing between the driver's arms, bare bottom and all.
Chennai is where the British first established a post in India in the mid 1700's. That was the beginning of the long occupation. JP insists that had the Brits not set their sites on colonizing India, they would have never let America go.
The train station was crowded with people sleeping everywhere. Strangely, there was not a coolie in sight, so we had to lug our own suitcases. I noticed several groups of nuns waiting for trains and was again reminded of St. Thomas. By the way, Indian history says that Jesus was here for at least part of those lost 30 years. I trust Indian history as accurate. The 9 hour trip from Chennai to Madurai was miserable. The only seats we could get were uppers and mine was on the side of the train with single seats. Luckily, the woman who had the lower bench did not want to lay down, so I was able to sit on the lower seat the whole trip. This was one very narrow hard seat, with no way to move around. This did not help my poor right shoulder one little bit.
We passed a Christian cemetery, the first I had seen. It reminded me of the Spanish cemeteries in Taos, minus the plastic flowers. I wonder why I have never seen a Moslem cemetery. I also noticed commuter trains marked as MEN and LADIES. India has many customs in place to protect woman. One is the custom of young women always covering their heads in the presence of a man not her husband. When the bahoos were young, I used to watch them automatically flip the end of their saris over the top of their heads when entering a room where men were. Bindu, my expert on all things dealing with Indian women, said that a girl child is never left alone with a man, even her own father. There is always an adult woman present. The explanation given is that some men are prone to "fevers". Indians may have their minds on their gods, but their feet are firmly planted on the ground.
Our hotel in Madurai is nice. They have the spray next to the Western toilet but have added another cool feature. The seat of the toilet is on a wide porcelain base. If you flip up the plastic seat, you can stand on the base, turning it into a squat toilet. There is also a TV that actually works, sometimes. I watched a few minutes of an Indian movie last night. Musical of course. It is odd, kissing is not allowed in Indian movies, yet I find the dance moves vulgar.
JP still wants me to add pictures. I still refuse. I think that the proliferation of digital cameras has taken the meaning away from pictures. Now, instead of one cherished picture, we have hundreds, and all get lost in the avalanche. I think of two examples. One is a song by the Judds: "A hundred year old photograph hangs down from the wall.......I may not know where I'm going, but I'm sure where I come from". The other is a 28 year old black and white picture of three one-year-olds: Gaurav, Surbhi, and Jai. Two fairy children and one baby Godzilla. JP's whole family remembers this picture and it is laughed about on every trip.
All the women here have long strands of fresh jasmine in their hair. You see women stringing and selling them. JP wanted me to by one, but I deferred. It would be a waste in my short white hair. Last night we ate in a rooftop hotel restaurant. Almost all were Westerners, dressed casually in pants and loose shirts. If an alien looked down on the Western women compared to Indian women with their saris, gold bangles, flowers in their hair, and gangling silver anklet bracelets, whom do you think he would judge the wealthier? And I wonder, in the great scheme of things, who is the wealthier?
I do not feel well today. The digestive problems and too many train rides have done me in so I am going to rest.
Peace,
Nadine
It is still Feb. 11 in the US, so I would like to wish my grandson, Owen, a happy 10th birthday. There is nothing 'tupid about this boy. He is as bright as a shiny new penny.
On our last day in Chennai, we tried to visit St. Thomas Mount. After Jesus died the apostles scattered here and there to spread the gospel. Thomas, the doubting one, came to Chennai and founded a church here. He was later killed and buried here. There is still a thriving Christian community here. About 10 years ago we visited the mount. On top is a small church and a few buildings. JP and Jai had gone ahead, and I was wandering around when a door of one of the buildings opened a crack and a tiny nun surreptitiously motioned for me to come inside. I guess she could smell my 16 years of Catholic education. She then showed me two things. One was a piece of St. Thomas' bone. The other was the spearhead that killed him. I no longer call myself a Catholic, but seeing a bone of one of Christ's 12 apostles was amazing. The auto rickshaw driver had no English or Hindi so we had about a zillion people explain where we wanted to go. Unfortunately the message did not get through, and we ended up at the Cathedral of St. Thomas. We should have gone in but, at this point, were pretty bummed so went to the beach instead. We will have several more days in Chennai later in the trip and will visit the mount and cathedral then. The beach was crowded and the water was much farther than we thought, so we were exhausted when we got back to the hotel. One thing I noticed on the beach were many groups of Moslem women. They were in their black burkas but had their faces uncovered. They certainly did not look oppressed to me. They were laughing and having a great time. I smiled and waved to as many as I could. They giggled.
I had been observing this family who lived on the other side of the street from our hotel. Their home WAS the street and the sidewalk along it. When I first noticed them, the father was wrapped in a blanket sleeping on a small ledge. There were three little boys, ages about 7, 4, and 2. The older boy was entertaining his brothers by flicking water at them. The mother was eating her dinner of rice after having fed her family. The next morning, as our bags were being placed into the auto rickshaw that was to take us to the train station, the two year old boy crawled into the auto rickshaw. The driver and staff of the hotel knew this child well and all were playing with him. The child was dressed in a shirt and small scarf. Nothing else. When they tried to remove him from the auto rickshaw, he complained loudly. So, he came along for the ride, standing between the driver's arms, bare bottom and all.
Chennai is where the British first established a post in India in the mid 1700's. That was the beginning of the long occupation. JP insists that had the Brits not set their sites on colonizing India, they would have never let America go.
The train station was crowded with people sleeping everywhere. Strangely, there was not a coolie in sight, so we had to lug our own suitcases. I noticed several groups of nuns waiting for trains and was again reminded of St. Thomas. By the way, Indian history says that Jesus was here for at least part of those lost 30 years. I trust Indian history as accurate. The 9 hour trip from Chennai to Madurai was miserable. The only seats we could get were uppers and mine was on the side of the train with single seats. Luckily, the woman who had the lower bench did not want to lay down, so I was able to sit on the lower seat the whole trip. This was one very narrow hard seat, with no way to move around. This did not help my poor right shoulder one little bit.
We passed a Christian cemetery, the first I had seen. It reminded me of the Spanish cemeteries in Taos, minus the plastic flowers. I wonder why I have never seen a Moslem cemetery. I also noticed commuter trains marked as MEN and LADIES. India has many customs in place to protect woman. One is the custom of young women always covering their heads in the presence of a man not her husband. When the bahoos were young, I used to watch them automatically flip the end of their saris over the top of their heads when entering a room where men were. Bindu, my expert on all things dealing with Indian women, said that a girl child is never left alone with a man, even her own father. There is always an adult woman present. The explanation given is that some men are prone to "fevers". Indians may have their minds on their gods, but their feet are firmly planted on the ground.
Our hotel in Madurai is nice. They have the spray next to the Western toilet but have added another cool feature. The seat of the toilet is on a wide porcelain base. If you flip up the plastic seat, you can stand on the base, turning it into a squat toilet. There is also a TV that actually works, sometimes. I watched a few minutes of an Indian movie last night. Musical of course. It is odd, kissing is not allowed in Indian movies, yet I find the dance moves vulgar.
JP still wants me to add pictures. I still refuse. I think that the proliferation of digital cameras has taken the meaning away from pictures. Now, instead of one cherished picture, we have hundreds, and all get lost in the avalanche. I think of two examples. One is a song by the Judds: "A hundred year old photograph hangs down from the wall.......I may not know where I'm going, but I'm sure where I come from". The other is a 28 year old black and white picture of three one-year-olds: Gaurav, Surbhi, and Jai. Two fairy children and one baby Godzilla. JP's whole family remembers this picture and it is laughed about on every trip.
All the women here have long strands of fresh jasmine in their hair. You see women stringing and selling them. JP wanted me to by one, but I deferred. It would be a waste in my short white hair. Last night we ate in a rooftop hotel restaurant. Almost all were Westerners, dressed casually in pants and loose shirts. If an alien looked down on the Western women compared to Indian women with their saris, gold bangles, flowers in their hair, and gangling silver anklet bracelets, whom do you think he would judge the wealthier? And I wonder, in the great scheme of things, who is the wealthier?
I do not feel well today. The digestive problems and too many train rides have done me in so I am going to rest.
Peace,
Nadine
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Wed. Feb. 10, 2010
After much frustration I am able to type a new blog. Sunday was our last day in Puri. The guy in charge of cleaning our room would not do so unless JP or I stood in the door and watched him. That is the custom here. I noticed that the guy who swept and mopped the floor was not the guy who cleaned the bathroom. JP explained this was due to the different casts or sub casts of these men. Divisions of labor are strict here. JP advised me not to touch the toilet cleaner as he did very dirty work and I might catch something. I wanted to ask him just who he thought cleaned the toilets at home, but I refrained. I should add here that untouchables hold many high places in the government and are educated. There are also affirmative action programs. Still, someone has to do these dirty jobs and they are the people who have traditionally done it. We took a rickshaw to a shopping area and I noticed the rickshawwalla was wearing a shirt saying "Green Power". He also proudly pointed out a billboard saying "See Orissa with Green Power". Later in the day we had to take an auto rickshaw to a different part of the city. As I have already mentioned, there is stinking water running in some of the streets. As another autorickshaw passed us, he splashed dirty water all over my leg and shoes. I inadvertently gasped. When our driver saw what had happened, he went after the offending driver and pulled him over. Both got out and started shouting. When it escalated to shoving, I jumped out and got between then shouting STOP. I am quite capable of belting out a lot of power when necessary. They were both so shocked, they stopped shouting. I ordered them both back to their respective rickshaws and, after a few halfhearted words, we were on our way. Usually Indians are extremely tolerant when offended, but I think that because I was a Westerner changed the dynamic.
We ate lunch at the Honey Bee Bakery. I had an omelet and pancake. My stomach was so grateful. The owner of this small restaurant was wearing a shirt saying, "Let baigans be baigans". Baigans are eggplants. He explained that there are many protests against the introduction of genetically modified vegetables into India. He added that in his own small farming village, they used to grow many different vegetables. Now they only grow rice, and each year the production lessens. I told him, and a Euopean who had joined the conversation, that many Americans are also very upset by genetically modified foods, but 70% of all corn and soy grown in the US are GMO. The other guy said Europeans refuse to allow GMO's into their countries. As a gardener, this is a very upsetting subject for me. I won't even buy a hybridized seed to plant. I just won't support these companies. Now more and more seed companies are offering heirloom seeds.
As the sun began to set, we started walking down the beach, far away from the crowded part of the beach. One of the upsides of pollution are beautiful sunsets. A young woman carrying a huge basket on her head approached us. She was selling bunches of small bananas. JP told her no, he did not have the energy to carry them all the way back to the hotel. She kept kidding with him that he was "still a little strong, Baba". She was smiling ear to ear as she kept after him. Of course, he bought the bananas. Afterwards, still smiling broadly, she whispered to me, " Two minute, I sell banana to ANY man, two minute". This woman's outlandish behavior was so charming, I doubled over laughing. I have no doubt she is the top banana sales rep in her village.
We kept walking down the beach as night approached. As we got closer to the big hotels, we noticed that their were stalls set up all over the beach and hundreds of food stalls were lined up on the sidewalk. This was the Wildwood New Jersey boardwalk of my youth. Families were strolling along munching this or that. The food really looked wonderful, especially the fried fish and prawns. However, the red color of the breading denoted tons of chili powder, so I did not partake. The fresh green chillies have caused my digestive system to go on strike for about five days, so I have been living on bananas and cake. Now however, it seems some scabs have defied the pickets, and the production lines have started moving again. Indians eat totally within the seasons and, lucky me, it is green chili season.
The next day, Mon., Feb. 8 we took an auto rickshaw to the train station for a 20 hour train ride to Chennai (Madras). Chennai is the fourth largest city in India and is much further south on the Bay of Bengal. We drove down the widest street I have ever seen. It was at least 20 lanes wide, and appeared to be a favorite hangout for Brahma bulls, who were laying all over the road. JP explained this road was built for the one day each year when the three main gods from the Jagganath Temple are paraded on a huge chariot down this street. Hundreds of thousands of Hindus come for this festival, which occurs in the middle of the monsoon season. The Jagganath temple is one of the most sacred in India. It is 200 feet high and was built in 1198. As I am not allowed in, we view it from the top of an ancient looking library: something out of Indiana Jones. Six thousand people are employed caring for this temple and its gods. I watched the young Brahman priests in their white dhotis, cell phones tucked into the waistbands.
I have noticed here in Puri that their are fewer dogs, but the ones here are better fed and not limping. I guess that is because of all the food being sold on the beach and that their is far less congestion. They also seem to have the energy to form packs and defend their territory from other dogs. Luckily, they ignore people.
JP only had big bills left and needed smaller change for tips, etc. so, naturally, he went to a big bank for change. But no, this bank would not make change. Interesting. We decided to take a public bus from Puri to the train station in Bhubaneshwar. What a riot. It was an old wreck of a bus that sounded as if it was on its last legs. Naturally, it was stuffed with people, sitting, standing, hanging out the door. Picture Romancing The Stone. In the front windshield was a three gallon can holding a huge marigold plant adorning a picture of the driver's favorite god. The seats were so narrow, JP and I were crammed together and could not move. Somehow, however, a Moslem couple sat comfortably with their four small children. Indians have some miraculous way of folding themselves into tiny little packages. Heck with angels, how many Indians could fit on the head of a pin ? Unbelievably, the bus stopped here and there to pick up more people. After about 2 hours, it stopped in the middle of nowhere. We sat their for a few minutes and my woman's intuition kicked in. I asked JP to find out how much longer it was to the railroad station. Sure enough, this was the stop. Then we had to take an autorickshaw the rest of the way. Poor JP fell as he got off the bus to find the driver, but was instantly helped by several men. I have noticed that the second someone needs help, Indians instantly appear out of nowhere. We finally got an auto rickshaw and, with all our luggage stuffed into the tiny back, were off to the train station. God bless the coolies. They always know what is going on and to which platform to take us. The Bhubaneshwar station is very peaceful by comparison to others we have seen, and I am quite content to sit alone while JP tries to find out if our train is on time. A 23 year old man, who was traveling with his parents, came by and we started talking. He asked me many questions about this and that. I asked him if he would like to have a "love match". He is shocked by the question and stated,"Of course not. My job is to study and work hard. It is my parents job to find me the right wife. They are the ones with the experience". This is always the answer I get when I ask kids this question. Indian kids trust their parents implicitly. He gives me his email address and asks for mine. He wants to email weekly. I tell him I am very busy at home and suggest monthly.
Finally the train arrives and the coolie carries our bags to the correct places. I am in a compartment with three men. JP is down the hall. Both of us have upper berths. Thankfully, one of the guys in my compartment agrees to switch his lower birth for my higher one. JP is not so lucky and has to climb. About five months ago I fell and badly damaged my right shoulder. My doctor thought it would be OK, but he was wrong. It has only gotten worse. So, no way would I have been able to climb to the upper birth. We are both really worried about this as the only tickets we could get for our other train travels were almost all upper births.
Their was not doubt our train was travelling through South India. Fewer small thatched roofed villages, larger areas of agriculture. I felt I was passing through Kent Co., MD, except there were no huge tractors. I did not recognize many of the crops but did recognize the bushy cashew trees. We passed a huge river the size of the Chesapeake Bay at Kent Island. One of the guys told me it was the Godavari River. Of course, there were water buffalo and people bathing in the river and clothes drying on the ground next to the river. The water buffalo were completely submerged up to their noses. A family across from me had a darling little boy about the same age as my grandson, Gabriel. He was sitting with his mother on the lower birth, but kept calling out for Baba and Didi, which is the title you call an older sister. I again noticed how quietly Indian parents talk to their children, even when scolding. By the way, every morning, after bathing, parents line their children's eyes with kajal, soot mixed with ghee, then put a black mark onto the child's face. This is to protect the child from demons who might be jealous of the child's beauty.
The funniest part of the trip was when I pulled out my cryptogram book. The three Indian guys watched me and were hooked in about 5 minutes. I showed them a few tricks to decoding the quotes and handed them the book. The train was moving too much for me not to get a headache. I could not believe how quickly these guys were figuring out the codes. Remember, English is not their mother tongue. One or the other of them had the book throughout the whole 20 hour trip. I told them some smart Indian should publish Hindi cryptograms using quotes from the Upanishads or Tagore. They could start with just a few copied pages of crptograms and give free classes.
When we got to the Chennai station, we walked to the parking area for auto rickshaws. They were completely packed together and our driver had to push the other rickshaws out of the way an inch at a time to get his out. It was like a big Rubik's Cube. I am now sitting in our very nice room at the hotel, typing on the little Acer Aspire JP brought with him. This is a great room with fan and air conditioning. It also has two cool features I have never seen before. Next to the Western toilet is a spray hose for those not wanting to use toilet paper. What a great idea. Also, when you take the key out of its holder to leave the room, all electricity is automatically turned off. Another fantastic idea. The TV is very large and hangs on the wall. For the most part, the people here are darker than in the North. Most women wear a bouquet of fresh flowers at the beginning of their long braids. Jasmin is always included in the bouquet. We ate lunch at the Ratna Cafe near our hotel. I had plain dosa and sambar served on a banana leaf. Dosa is a thin crepe made from rice and bean flour, about a foot in diameter. Sambar is a spicy soup. It is always served with coconut chutney. I noticed again how much South Indians enjoy their food with elbows on the table, hunched over the plate, shovelling it in with their whole hands. I joyfully join them.
Tomorrow we leave for an 8 hour train trip to Madurai which is south of here.
Peace,
Nadine
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Mon. Feb. 8, 2010
On Sat. we took a 12 hour bus tour through the state of Orissa, which is on the middle east coast of India. The temperature here is like that in San Diego. It is much more rural here and not nearly so crowded. We saw signs saying "End polio now". JP said the CDC recommended polio shots for folks coming to India. We did not get them. Now I'm wondering if some of the terribly deformed and non-functioning bodies I've seen are from the effects of polio. We passed many free homeopathic clinics. The major language here is Oria, which JP does not understand, so now we are just like other tourists in India. The bus was full of middle class Indians on holiday, and I was the only non-Indian. At first they were very suspicious of me but, by the end of the day, they were laughing along with me. I was helped along by a 6 year old boy who was very friendly, once I explained that I was a dadiji. He had a little English and we had a great time chatting. We passed many cashew trees along the way. This was actually a temple tour, what else. The first one we stopped at was the Connaric Temple. We visited this temple on a trip about 10 years ago when Jai accompanied us. It is known as the Sun Temple and is in the shape of a huge chariot pulled by seven gigantic horses and 12 pairs of wheels. When built in the 12th century, it was 200 feet high. Now only 90 ft. It is one of the World Historic Sites. Surrounding the whole thing are intricately carved small vignettes depicting every conceivable sexual position for two, three, or four people. Poor Jai. Having to look at thousands of what we would consider pornographic statues with you parents, is not an 18 year old boy's idea of a good time. I'm sure you can figure out what my response was. I'm still smiling. Since we were last here, beautiful gardens have been added throughout the complex. We ate our lunch there at the canteen with a few other people from our tour. The rest had packed their lunch, which consisted of a packet of rice wrapped in leaves and tied with a string. Everyone else was done eating before we had even been served, so JP went to find out what was going on. It seems that all food for foreigners had to be prepared separately. I was very grateful. It was delicious and did not blow my head off with green chili.
The next stop was Bubeneshwar, the capital of Orissa. I remembered well the beautiful Japanese Peace Pagoda, erected in the 1970's that sits atop a high mount, overlooking the whole fertile valley. It was still early enough that the fog had not totally dissipated, and I felt I was in a dream. The history of this place is very interesting. The great Emperor Ashoka was the first person to unite India under one ruler. However, the king of Assam refused to join, so there was a terrible battle here: "The rivers ran red with blood". Ashoka won the battle, but was so distraught by the bloodshed he had caused, he became a Buddhist. JP could not manage the many steps up to the stupa, so I went alone, circling the stupa and bowing at each of the huge statues of Buddha as I passed them. I was the only non-Indian again. A guide-monk noticed my behavior and came up to me. He was astounded to learn that I was a student of Buddhism in America. He gave me fresh marigold flowers to place at the Buddha's feet, then asked me to bless him. I kept telling him that I was a nobody, but he continued to insist and was drawing a crowd. So I put my hand on his head and said, "May the wisdom of the Buddha be with you". Then put my hand on his heart and said, "May the compassion of the Buddha be with you". He was very pleased and gave me one last marigold to keep with me always, and off I went back down the stairs. On the way out of the complex, JP and I each had a glass of freshly squeezed sugar cane juice with lime. It was just delicious.
The next stop was the 900 year old Lingaraj temple. I was not allowed in this temple, so waited outside while JP went in, watching two young boys scrubbing the stone lions guarding the entrance with Tide.
Next came the 2100 year old Jain monestery and temple, the Udayagir and Khandagiri caves. Jainism came on the scene at about the same time as Buddhism, but being a very ascetic way of life, did not appeal to the people as did Buddha's Middle Path. It was founded by Mahavira. There are 33 caves in all, and I simply cannot imagine how long it took to carve these out of the rock.
The last stop was the Nandankanan Nature Park. This is basically a zoo. The Indians are proud that the animals are not in cages. Rather, they are in large yards. I just wanted to cry. Huge white tigers should not be kept in large yards. On the other hand, the Indians loved seeing the animals and I cannot expect India to afford a San Diego Wild Animal Park. The one animal I won't forget is the one huge buzzard they had. It was curled up on the ground and at first I thought it was a good size dog. Then it raised it's huge head a looked directly at me. It seemed to me it was pleading for help. Tears welled up again. The guide explained that these birds are almost extinct and JP and I both thought of the plight of the Parsi's and their dead. What have we done, what have we done ?
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Sun., Feb. 7, 2010
Where the heck do I start. On Feb. 4 we left Varanasi with a huge bag of food the bahoos made for us. As we left the house, both bahoos bent to touch my feet. I pulled them up and gave each a huge bear hug. We left from the Mughal Serai station, which is where we arrived. The coolie carries all our luggage on his head and is pleased when I indicate that he is very strong. As we wait for the train, I notice an old woman (yes, that again) who is paler skinned than I. She is dressed in rags and is violently scratching her torso. This poor woman was not born white. She is the victim of some ravaging disease. My one day cold is gone, so my immune ego is mollified. Because we arrived and left the station during the day, we have seen no rats. At night the tracks are literally wall to wall rats. This is actually an example of a symbiotic relationship at work. The rats dispose of all the offal from the train toilets, thus keeping down infection. I notice a young man missing half of one arm. I was so pleased to see him walk by with the swagger of youth. His arm may be missing, but his young ego seems intact.
I have always loved trains. One of my happiest memories is taking the train from Wilmington, DE to Philadelphia with my dear Aunt Nettie. We would always eat lunch at the Horn and Hardart Restaurant where I could put my dimes into the slot under the tiny window holding my choice. This seemed like magic to little me. Trains also always remind me of my parents. They received quite of bit of money on their wedding day and had planned to spend it seeing America by train. They were to spend their first night in North Carolina, but got off instead in Newark, DE, about a half hour away from Wilmington. They immediately went to a hotel. It appears they had had enough of virginity. They ended up traveling across America for four months. When they finally arrived back at the Wilmington station, my father had to hock his watch for cab fair home.
Once we were settled on the train, JP and I start to talk to the three men who are sitting with us. One turns out to have been a member of Parliament for 20 years. JP said this is like being a senator in the US. The three men were very impressed. I was just annoyed by his yelling into his phone every two minutes. The other two guys were inspectors for the train system. One of them was very interested in my opinions on all sort of things. I answered him as best I could: No, US is not trying to take over the world; No, the Communist party is not strong in the US; No, the great majority of Americans did not want the Iraq or Afghanistan wars and yes, there were rallies; No, American husbands are not all lazy, they work hard to support their families, although it is certainly harder for Indian husbands to support their families. As we travel Southeast the scene begins to change. We were now passing through rural India. Thatched roof villages, people bathing in rivers, little streams, or hyacinth covered ponds. Picturesque, but I can't help thinking of all the snakes that must be swimming around with the people. Little shrines everywhere. The vegetable fields here are divided into small plots, many no bigger than my garden. Each is surrounded by a low dirt wall, obviously for irrigation. There are no huge machines here, just many small hands. Every once in a while we would see a man holding a plow driven by bullocks. JP and I still disagree about the so called "green revolution". He says it was good for India. I say tell that to the thousands of farmers who killed themselves because they lost their farms when they could not buy the chemicals and hybridized seeds. I just had to laugh at the plight of a young woman who was trying her best to untangle her six goats. They were all on ropes and in a big knot. Every time she would untangle one, another would hop over. The problem was that the three male goats would not stop trying to mount the three female ones. She was getting ticked so started tossing the little goats like cats. Finally she got the mess to a point where she could none too gently drag them home. After about an hour our three companions reached their stops and we had the compartment all to ourselves. We were disappointed when the pantry car only had teabags instead of chai. Then we quickly remembered our last train trip where there was no pantry car, and suddenly the bag tea tasted just fine. Our gratitude was repaid at the next stop when a tea walla came onto the train with real chai served in the wonderful 3 oz. clay cups. We ordered the pantry car dinner, which was very good. Unfortunately, half of it contained potatoes which I will not touch. The Ayurvedic meds have made my potato allergy much worse. After taking it for three weeks, I decided to experiment and ate about two tablespoons of potatoes in a soup Anita bahoo had made. Instead of one or two potato bumps that I normally would have gotten, I got NINE. I feel like a Dalmatian. JP said he could hardly see them. Blindness or kindness I know not. On this particular train I have a choice of an Indian or Western toilet. I choose the Indian. Trying to pee into a little hole on a moving train is an experience not to be missed.
The next morning we arrive in Puri, which is on the Bay of Bengal. We stayed again in the Hotel Puri, but everything else was totally different. There are hotels everywhere now and the shopping district is beautiful. The shops are very clean and well stocked. What made us especially happy was the realization that this is now a resort town for middle class Indians that can afford a vacation. This middle class did not exist before. You were either rich or poor. How great to see the emergence of a middle class. There were many people on the beach. Men and kids in shorts, women in saris. No beach bunnies here. Camels for hire walk up and down the beach.The beach is very clean but, as we walk along the pavement overlooking the beach, the smell makes us cross the street. There are open manhole covers lining the top of the beach. It terrifies me for there are tons of little kids on the beach. Indian mothers, however, are ever vigilant. India's big problem is not garbage, it is human waste. The food here is much hotter than in the north, and my stomach is rebelling. For dinner we stopped at a fish and chips place and I had two pieces of delicious fish. I have given up fish ever since I learned, through one of my many podcasts, that 90% of the fish in the oceans are gone. I justify it here knowing that Indians do not over consume anything, including fish. As we walk along we see small displays of fish just caught, their eyes bright and plump. There are also 8 inch prawns and huge crabs. People here in the south eat with their hands, their WHOLE hands, not just their fingers. Northern Indians find this disgusting. I think it probably brings more enjoyment to the food as more senses are involved. They eat with great gusto, then hold their right hand with their left, like it does not belong to them, until they can wash it. All restaurants have sinks available. The next day we took a 12 hour bus tour of Orissa (the state we are in) which I will tell you about tomorrow.
Peace,
Nadine
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Wed., Feb. 3, 2010
Last evening as I was standing at my perch, I noticed two teenage boys, smiling and gesticulating broadly. It took me a minute to realize they were using sign language and having a grand old time. Speaking of disabilities, I'm sure you have noticed my use of the word crippled. This is very deliberate. "Physically challenged" is an inappropriate sugar-coated euphemism for what these people endure. Although there is no sense of self pity here, it hurts me to think how easily many of these people could have been helped in our country. It looks to me like many of these people were damaged during the birthing process. I see terribly bowlegged people here and I think of my son, Robby. He was a chunky baby and walked very early, causing his legs to bow badly. Special shoes with a bar connecting them to sleep in, and problem fixed. Here is a quick recap on how I am doing:
Head: Although there is constant, unrelenting noise around me, I feel that I am in Maxwell Smart's Cone of Silence. I finally figured out it was due to my inability to understand the language, allowing my mind to wander elsewhere. This drives JP nuts because he will be talking to me for a minute or two before I realize I am being addressed.
Eyes: Getting new glass in my sunglasses did not cost $30 as we had estimated. It was $5. Even though the sun is very bright, I find that I do not want anything between my eyes and the sites of India, so I squint.
Nose: The horrible air pollution as we get stuck in yet another traffic jam finally did my nasal passages in. I got a terrible cold that lasted all of 24 hours. I am very arrogant about my good immune system, and take it as a personal affront when I get a cold.
Throat: Thankfully, I am not coughing much. Last visit I got the worse cough of my life and really did wish I could just die. The constancy of it was terrible. They called the doctor who came to the house and fixed me right up.
Arms: These are the only parts of my body that stick out of the sheets, and these tiny mosquitoes take advantage. About 30 years ago India tried to eradicate mosquitoes by heavily spraying with DDT. Now, of course, we have mosquitoes immune to everything science can throw at them. I remember reading years ago that the milk of all mothers contain traces of DDT. Dear God, what have we done.
Heart: I made the mistake a few days ago of taking the Ayurvedic blood pressure meds at the same time I took the Allopathic and Chinese. Big mistake. My blood pressure dropped precipitously and I was like a wet noodle. I heard my grandson, Owen, saying as he had when he was little, "That's 'tupid, Grandmom". Smita bahoo to the rescue. She brought me salt water to drink, and the BP went back up. She also said that to bring BP down, I should drink a little sugar water.
Digestive system: Doing quite well, thank you. It took three weeks, but I am now used to Indian bacteria.
Knees: Still loudly complaining, but since they are connected to the rest of the body, not much they can do.
JP wanted some pure cotton shirts because it is starting to get hot. Smita bahoo took us to the shop of a relative, the father of the boy who mysteriously died. JP said no, I should not give him my condolences, and should not mention it at all. I follow the rules of the culture and say nothing. JP and Smita made it very clear he wanted only pure cotton. Vijaya assured us the two chosen were all cotton. We foolishly trusted him. When we got home we looked and felt them more closely, and realized one probably had no cotton in it at all. The other seemed to be a 65/35 blend. No inside tags here. Whether he thought they were cotton or was just used to saying what the person wanted to hear, we don't know. In this culture, buyer beware is an understatement. JP just wanted to let it go. Scrappy Smita bahoo said no, she was taking them back. Now remember, taking something back to a store is not like hopping in the car to go to Walmart. First she has to argue with a rickshaw walla for five minutes to get a fair price, then breath in exhaust for 45 minutes, then, risking life and limb, cross the street to the store. I agree with JP, not worth it.
Speaking of crossing the street, I'm getting pretty good at it, as long as Smita bahoo is holding my hand and pulling me along. The trick seems to be willing yourself to be flat, then slipping through traffic.
We went to the Hanuman temple yesterday. Hanuman is the beloved monkey god who is Lord Rama's right hand man in the epic Ramayana. This is a very sacred temple for Hindu's. And, as it was Tuesday, Lord Hanuman's day, was mobbed. Shouts of Hanuman Ki Jai, rung out. Of course there are hoards of monkeys here. This temple was bombed by terrorists about three years ago and was closed for six months. It was a devastating blow to the people here.
Our last stop for the day was back to BHU so JP could walk the halls of the chemistry department here, as he had spent so much time here as an undergrad. He said it had somehow changed and looked very antiquated, yet was also the same. I suggested that it had not changed at all, but that he had. He agreed.
This will be my last blog for a day or two. Tomorrow morning we leave for a 20 hour train trip southeast to Puri, then onto Chennai. We will be gone from Varanasi for about three weeks and are a little nervous, especially about train schedules. Wish us luck.
Peace,
Nadine
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