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