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