Thursday March 11, 2010
This is the final blog, which is just as well as I am getting tired of typing, and am sure you are getting tired of reading. The train bringing Surbhi's mother-in-law, the new nanny and Komal's uncle was 12 hours late, but finally arrived. The train system is a total mess now, but no one is sure why. Komal's family was afraid that if they did not get her back to the village, she would no longer have their values. I certainly understand their concern. Komal will only be able to marry a village boy. If she wants to live more like this higher class, much richer family, she will be miserable. I hope it is not to late as she has been here from age 13 to 16, which is a very formidable time in a young girl's life. Are you ready for another widow horror story ? The new nanny is a 50 year old woman from a small village near Surbhi's in-laws' home town. She is the mother of five sons and four daughters. She and her husband were considered wealthy as they owned ten acres of land and many cows. However, when her husband died, her sons took everything away from her and refused to give her a home. Very hard to understand. So now her new home is here as Anugia's nanny.
We spent last evening at Shashi and Uma's home, which is very near the family home. Shashi is JP's brother's son and is our "go-to" guy. The house is smaller than the family home, but much better appointed. Instead of Uma cooking a big dinner, we all went out to Pizza Hut. The pizza was really good and the place much nicer than the American counterpart. We had to go through metal detectors and bag searches to get in. This is now common all over India as terrorism is a very real threat. This is the most time we have spent with Uma for quite a while and we were very sad to see how bad her health is. Her asthma is so bad, she can speak very little and struggles for every breath.We are so glad her new daughter-in-law, Shivangi, is there to help her in the house.
This morning we thought we had finished packing and were thankful we just got under the weight limit. But that was before the gifts started coming: sheets, clothing, beans, this and that. Indians do not take no for an answer. That is because when you are offered something here, it is polite to say "no" about nine times, while the giver keeps insisting, until you finally say "yes". This has always driven me positively nuts. So, we had to go buy another suitcase to carry all the new stuff home and repack everything again. We went to a new mall in Gurgaon for the suitcase. It was exactly like a three story mall in the US and most of the stores were the same ones in our malls. Before we could park at the mall, the car was searched, including the trunk, and we were searched as we entered the mall. I still find it difficult to believe how Gurgaon has grown. It is the new New Delhi, filled with huge buildings and companies from all over the world.
So, in three hours we will bid India farewell once more, and I will head home to my morning fire, my garden, and my mediocre knitting.
Peace,
Nadine
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Tuesday March 8, 2010
Yesterday was our last day in Varanasi. I will miss being awakened by the sounds of bells, drums and chanting. What I won't miss are the men spitting red juice from pan and urinating everywhere. Smita Bahoo gave me one last massage. She is very good and I appreciate her taking the time out of her very busy day to give me one. She keeps telling me we should move to Varanasi and live with the family. She and I have formed a close bond and will miss each other. Arun and Smita Bahoo are now in good shape. Both boys have finished their education and have started their careers. Anil and Anita Bahoo are not in good shape at all. Anil has not fully recovered from his stroke. Anita told JP that he is very depressed and is not thinking clearly. He is also very worried about having the money to marry off his two remaining daughters. JP had given him a lot of money five years ago to put into very safe investments which would have grown into enough money for the marriages. Unfortunately he, along with other men in the family, both in Varanasi and Gurgaon, made very bad investments in stocks, and half of the money was lost. It is very evident now why he is so depressed. JP and I will both take money from savings for the girls' marriages and hopefully other members of the family will help. Parents of girls face an awesome responsibility for marrying them into the best family they possibly can, and that takes money. I feel so bad for Anil and Anita Bahoo. They are such sweet people. I am also very worried about the future for the girls, especially Aradhana. She is very frail and gets terrible migraines often. I am going to send her some very high quality multi vitamins/minerals. All we can do is help as much as we are able with all these problems. The rest is up to the Universe.
Spice Airlines only allows 40 lbs. per bag, so we packed, repacked, and packed again until we got it right on the money. Continental allows about three times as much weight, so once we are in Delhi we will be OK. I went out on my perch as the water buffalo went by and bid them farewell. And so, with feet touching, bear hugging, and of course tears, we leave Varanasi for the last time on this trip.
The flight was only about one and a half hours, but cost an astounding $300 each, one way. $150 was tax ! Air India, the government airline, dresses the stewardesses (I know that is politically incorrect, but I don't know the alternative) in beautiful saris. Spice Airlines dresses their women in tight skirts to their knees and white tops. The tops kept blousing up out of the skirts and just looked plain awful. The Delhi airport is new and very modern. The last time I left India, there had been a strike and the all the people who cleaned the airport, including the bathrooms, had walked off the job. I cannot tell you how disgusting it was.
As usual the Delhi family was waiting for us with tea and snacks at the house when we arrived. It is much cooler here than in Varanasi, which was a nice surprise. The only change in the household is that today Komal's mother and uncle are coming to take her home to her village. Her father is dead and her mother and uncle want her married. They did agree, however, to get her engaged quickly, but wait two years before marrying her off, when she will be 18. Village girls are married at a very young age. As Mukesh and Surbhi take her to the airport, they will pick up Mukesh's mother and the new nanny she is bringing with her, at the same time. This was very smart planning because Anugia is very fond of her grandmother and this will help keep her mind off of Komal's departure. As we had tea, Shashank told us of seeing a foreign woman in a very short dress with no back walking on the street. This sort of thing is very upsetting to Indians and gives foreigners a bad name.
This morning we visited Jai's old architecture office and met the folks he used to work with. Their faces lit up when we told them who we were. Jai was very well liked there. They showed us a large graphic Jai had designed that hangs as you enter the first floor of the office. They said they were very proud of it and used it as the official logo of the company. It really was spectacular. While we were there, we called Jai and he spoke with some of them. We also brought a large box of Haldiram sweets for the office, which was greatly appreciated. Haldiram is the best sweet store in the country. They also sell the best food. Of course, most Indians cannot afford to eat there.
The next stop was to visit Archana in Delhi. Trying to find the apartment took some time as Delhi is a huge city. We finally got there and were warmly welcomed by Archana, her husband, Anshuman, and their eight month old son. As a reminder, Archana is Anil and Anita's oldest daughter. She is well educated and, like the rest of her family, a lovely person. We all had been very worried about her since she had been married over four years before she was able to have a baby. This is a very big deal in India as it is the custom for women to have a child soon after they are married. Their apartment is small, but is decorated very nicely, as we knew it would be.
Tonight we have to get out all the stuff we left here on our last trip because we had no room to take it home, and figure out how to get it home this time. More packing and repacking. Two more days left in India.
Peace,
Nadine
Yesterday was our last day in Varanasi. I will miss being awakened by the sounds of bells, drums and chanting. What I won't miss are the men spitting red juice from pan and urinating everywhere. Smita Bahoo gave me one last massage. She is very good and I appreciate her taking the time out of her very busy day to give me one. She keeps telling me we should move to Varanasi and live with the family. She and I have formed a close bond and will miss each other. Arun and Smita Bahoo are now in good shape. Both boys have finished their education and have started their careers. Anil and Anita Bahoo are not in good shape at all. Anil has not fully recovered from his stroke. Anita told JP that he is very depressed and is not thinking clearly. He is also very worried about having the money to marry off his two remaining daughters. JP had given him a lot of money five years ago to put into very safe investments which would have grown into enough money for the marriages. Unfortunately he, along with other men in the family, both in Varanasi and Gurgaon, made very bad investments in stocks, and half of the money was lost. It is very evident now why he is so depressed. JP and I will both take money from savings for the girls' marriages and hopefully other members of the family will help. Parents of girls face an awesome responsibility for marrying them into the best family they possibly can, and that takes money. I feel so bad for Anil and Anita Bahoo. They are such sweet people. I am also very worried about the future for the girls, especially Aradhana. She is very frail and gets terrible migraines often. I am going to send her some very high quality multi vitamins/minerals. All we can do is help as much as we are able with all these problems. The rest is up to the Universe.
Spice Airlines only allows 40 lbs. per bag, so we packed, repacked, and packed again until we got it right on the money. Continental allows about three times as much weight, so once we are in Delhi we will be OK. I went out on my perch as the water buffalo went by and bid them farewell. And so, with feet touching, bear hugging, and of course tears, we leave Varanasi for the last time on this trip.
The flight was only about one and a half hours, but cost an astounding $300 each, one way. $150 was tax ! Air India, the government airline, dresses the stewardesses (I know that is politically incorrect, but I don't know the alternative) in beautiful saris. Spice Airlines dresses their women in tight skirts to their knees and white tops. The tops kept blousing up out of the skirts and just looked plain awful. The Delhi airport is new and very modern. The last time I left India, there had been a strike and the all the people who cleaned the airport, including the bathrooms, had walked off the job. I cannot tell you how disgusting it was.
As usual the Delhi family was waiting for us with tea and snacks at the house when we arrived. It is much cooler here than in Varanasi, which was a nice surprise. The only change in the household is that today Komal's mother and uncle are coming to take her home to her village. Her father is dead and her mother and uncle want her married. They did agree, however, to get her engaged quickly, but wait two years before marrying her off, when she will be 18. Village girls are married at a very young age. As Mukesh and Surbhi take her to the airport, they will pick up Mukesh's mother and the new nanny she is bringing with her, at the same time. This was very smart planning because Anugia is very fond of her grandmother and this will help keep her mind off of Komal's departure. As we had tea, Shashank told us of seeing a foreign woman in a very short dress with no back walking on the street. This sort of thing is very upsetting to Indians and gives foreigners a bad name.
This morning we visited Jai's old architecture office and met the folks he used to work with. Their faces lit up when we told them who we were. Jai was very well liked there. They showed us a large graphic Jai had designed that hangs as you enter the first floor of the office. They said they were very proud of it and used it as the official logo of the company. It really was spectacular. While we were there, we called Jai and he spoke with some of them. We also brought a large box of Haldiram sweets for the office, which was greatly appreciated. Haldiram is the best sweet store in the country. They also sell the best food. Of course, most Indians cannot afford to eat there.
The next stop was to visit Archana in Delhi. Trying to find the apartment took some time as Delhi is a huge city. We finally got there and were warmly welcomed by Archana, her husband, Anshuman, and their eight month old son. As a reminder, Archana is Anil and Anita's oldest daughter. She is well educated and, like the rest of her family, a lovely person. We all had been very worried about her since she had been married over four years before she was able to have a baby. This is a very big deal in India as it is the custom for women to have a child soon after they are married. Their apartment is small, but is decorated very nicely, as we knew it would be.
Tonight we have to get out all the stuff we left here on our last trip because we had no room to take it home, and figure out how to get it home this time. More packing and repacking. Two more days left in India.
Peace,
Nadine
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Sunday March 7, 2010
I'm sure you realized that the last post was from JP.
Yesterday JP and Smita Bahoo went to the homeopathic doctor located in a Sikh Gurudwara. It is donations only and is part of the social service of the Sikhs. We then went to say goodby to the Ayurvedic docs at BHU. The younger of them is the head of the Panch Karma division of the university. He is very interested in the US and asked that we exchange email addresses with him, which of course we did.
We have decided to fly from Varanasi back to Delhi as my health can't take another long train ride. It is much more expensive to fly here than in the US and the luggage weight limits are very strict. So we had to shed 30 pounds of stuff, which we managed to do. It looks like the Alchemist, The Zahir and the Witch of Portobello won't make it home. I've finished reading them all and will leave them for Arpit, who also is hooked on Paulo Coelho. Other than the books and yarn, I have only bought some small Buddhas and one larger one from Bodh Gaya for gifts.
This afternoon JP, Anil, Bhabhi and I went to the home of JP's deceased friend, as is the custom. As we drove across town, a policeman jumped into the auto rickshaw next to the driver and began threatening him. He said another policeman had told him our driver had gone down a one way street. This was complete nonsense and was just a ruse to extort money from us. JP gave him a hundred rupees, and he jumped out of the auto rickshaw. The driver told JP he should not have given him so much: 10 rupees would have been enough. This sort of thing happens all the time in India. Many of the police are cruel and corrupt. Here you run from the police, not to them. This is another of India's very serious problems.
Anil was on his scooter, leading the way for the auto rickshaw. Before we knew it, we were in the labyrinthine alleyways of the old city. The streets kept getting narrower and narrower until we had to get out and walk the last few blocks. The house was at least 200 years old, perhaps much older. It was three stories with all rooms opening onto an open central courtyard. In one room men sat together on a rug separated by about five feet from the rug the women were sitting upon. The deceased man's son sat on a small platform apart from everyone else. He will remain separate from everyone for ten days, which is the end of the official mourning period. We sat there, JP chatting with all the men, for about an hour, were served little clay cups of tea, then left. The widow smiled and chatted with the women, but her eyes were sunken from crying. She wore a plain pale yellow sari, and her colorful glass bangles were gone.
Peace,
Nadine
I'm sure you realized that the last post was from JP.
Yesterday JP and Smita Bahoo went to the homeopathic doctor located in a Sikh Gurudwara. It is donations only and is part of the social service of the Sikhs. We then went to say goodby to the Ayurvedic docs at BHU. The younger of them is the head of the Panch Karma division of the university. He is very interested in the US and asked that we exchange email addresses with him, which of course we did.
We have decided to fly from Varanasi back to Delhi as my health can't take another long train ride. It is much more expensive to fly here than in the US and the luggage weight limits are very strict. So we had to shed 30 pounds of stuff, which we managed to do. It looks like the Alchemist, The Zahir and the Witch of Portobello won't make it home. I've finished reading them all and will leave them for Arpit, who also is hooked on Paulo Coelho. Other than the books and yarn, I have only bought some small Buddhas and one larger one from Bodh Gaya for gifts.
This afternoon JP, Anil, Bhabhi and I went to the home of JP's deceased friend, as is the custom. As we drove across town, a policeman jumped into the auto rickshaw next to the driver and began threatening him. He said another policeman had told him our driver had gone down a one way street. This was complete nonsense and was just a ruse to extort money from us. JP gave him a hundred rupees, and he jumped out of the auto rickshaw. The driver told JP he should not have given him so much: 10 rupees would have been enough. This sort of thing happens all the time in India. Many of the police are cruel and corrupt. Here you run from the police, not to them. This is another of India's very serious problems.
Anil was on his scooter, leading the way for the auto rickshaw. Before we knew it, we were in the labyrinthine alleyways of the old city. The streets kept getting narrower and narrower until we had to get out and walk the last few blocks. The house was at least 200 years old, perhaps much older. It was three stories with all rooms opening onto an open central courtyard. In one room men sat together on a rug separated by about five feet from the rug the women were sitting upon. The deceased man's son sat on a small platform apart from everyone else. He will remain separate from everyone for ten days, which is the end of the official mourning period. We sat there, JP chatting with all the men, for about an hour, were served little clay cups of tea, then left. The widow smiled and chatted with the women, but her eyes were sunken from crying. She wore a plain pale yellow sari, and her colorful glass bangles were gone.
Peace,
Nadine
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Sunday
I am in Varanasi, India. It is March 6th. It is hot here, daytime temperature reaching 90 deg F already. He was laying on the fourth step up from the Holy Ganges, which was serenely flowing by. He was in his eternal sleep. He had died just 2 hours earlier. About 10 members of the family were sitting chatting nearby.
I got the word of my cousin, Chhotu’s, death about an hour after he died from Anil, my host and my nephew during this trip to India .
The Hindu custom requires quick cremation of the dead. A half hour later I had started from Anil’s house with my late brother’s wife, my bhabhi, Shail Kumari, to join the family at this funeral.
Like most funerals, I met relatives after many years. Vibhaker (nickname “Chhotu”) was one of my many cousins. As I was growing up here several decades ago, Vibhakar was also a friend and buddy from age 10-14. We were all very poor. Sunday was our only day off, so he and I would go to the Ganges for a walk, or to a park, or walk 3-4 miles to go visit a temple.
Vibhakar was a year older than I. I last saw him 10 years ago and now he lay dead on the steps of the great river as I joined the family on those steps. This area of the river bank is called Mani-karni-ka-ghat, meaning a Ghat where death related functions are done. At this Ghat the cremation flames never end as bodies keep arriving from the city and the adjoining towns. Cremation here has divine significance. It is supposed to bring liberation from the cycle of reincarnation. After all it is the town of the Hindu God Shiva, part of the trinity of Vishnu, Brahma and Shiva. Vishnu at the top, Brahma the creator and Shiva the destroyer. Hindu’s believe that the Ganges is a celestial river which fell from the heavens to the earth and Shiva received it on his head to land it on the earth here in Varanasi.
Vibhakar’s body was wrapped in the top and bottom sheets of the bed in which he died and was brought to the river by the immediate family (his son, his brother’s sons, a grandson, etc). As they carried the body in the sheets, they chanted Ram Nam Satya Hai (the name of Rama is the truth). The wrapped body was dipped in the holy river then placed on the steps. It looked as though he were sleeping in a very tight fitting kayak made out of those sheets. I could see his face and all his toes, nothing else.
My longtime ago pal was dead. It was my last darshan (visit) of him. He was special, even though this was a good 50+ years ago that we were buddies for 5-6 years. I was stricken with sadness and said my turn is coming soon to die too. We all die but death is still frightening. Fifty some years of history flashed in my brain.
Vibhaker (“Chhotu”- means the little one) died a perfect death. He died of a heart attack around noon, with no suffering. By 2 p.m. the body was by the river. More family gradually arrived. His only son, Sudhakar, a tall, handsome fellow about 30, was clearly shaken from his father’s sudden death, but had to be in charge of all funeral details. This Ghat is well equipped to provide all materials, fire wood, priest, labor etc. to finish the cremation in an orderly fashion. Sudhakar took a quick bath in the river, and then put on all new white cotton summer clothing, a holy thread around his shoulders and waist. His entire head had been shaved except a few long strands in the center of his scalp.. In the mean time a 10 foot long stretcher (looks like a simple ladder) arrived. This ladder was made out of twp long bamboo poles, and eight crosspieces, tied onto the bamboo poles with burlap strings. After Sudhakar was ready the family moved the body onto the ladder, which had been covered by a new white sheet. The dead man’s wet clothes (wet because the body had been dipped into the river) were removed by the family, one by one, and the body smeared with fragrant oils. Then the priest began the ritual prayers. The son placed a flower garland around his father’s neck, and red powder was sprinkled on the body. The priest was reciting his rituals in Sanskrit, a standard Hindu custom for most functions of life, death, birth, and festivals. Afterwards the son and other cousins offered marigold garlands, which were put around the neck or onto the body. Next followed rose garlands. After this some sweets were placed under the chin. I offered my flower garland to my old friend with teary eyes.
The widow of the dead man, who had been sitting with all the females 15 feet above, came down the steps very slowly. She did not appear to be in good health. She came and offered her flower garland to her dead husband, then very slowly walked to his feet, touching them with her forehead, and wept, as did we all.
By this time it was 4:30 p.m. The body was wrapped onto the ladder with the sheet underneath the body and secured to the ladder with burlap strings. Six men of the immediate family then lifted and carried the body on the ladder, using their shoulders, up about 15 steps then over about 500 feet to the cremation area. The rest of the men, about 20, followed this procession, again loudly chanting Ram Nam Satya Hai. The women (about 15) stayed behind where they had been sitting.
The cremation area is by the bank of the river, the water still a 100+ feet away. There were ten to fifteen other bodies already burning on their pyres as cows wandered through. Chhotu’s body was placed on a pyre 10 feet from the river. The pyre was 4 feet across and 4 feet high. Priest presiding, ghee (clarified butter) was poured over the body. Then more firewood was piled up 3 feet above the body. Only 5-6 family members, including Sudhakar and the priest, were near the pyre. Under Vedic chants the son lit the pyre and the flames engulfed the body. Everyone then walked up to the waiting area where we stayed for about two hours while the body burnt.
By about 7 p.m. the body and pyre had burnt down, and the son and cousins threw water on the ashes, paid their last respects, and the son returned to the waiting area. That signaled the family the funeral had ended. The son next thanked everyone for their support, and the family dispersed solemnly and slowly as the cremation staff raked the ashes into the river.
Vibhaker died at noon. By 7 p.m. not a trace of him was left. Life is gone in 7 hours. In the morning he was there, in the evening he was gone…Goodbye my friend, I will see you soon!
Jitendra, your boyhood buddy!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Friday March 5, 2010
I awoke at 5 AM to go to the bathroom, and there was the little scrub woman squatting on the floor, cleaning the dishes and pots and pans from last night's dinner. It costs so little to hire people like this, even this family can afford it. I don't think they really believe me when I say that very few Americans can afford help, and that I do all the work at home. This woman has been with this family for many years and knows me. Sometimes while I am on my perch, I see her walking by on the street. She always smiles and waves. As she scrubs away, I look at her pretty sari, gold earrings, tons of glass bangles and silver anklets. The point of looking beautiful here is very different from our culture. It has nothing to do with being better looking than other women, or with how old a woman is. It is solely because it is a woman's duty to look beautiful for her husband. That is why when her husband dies, she no longer wears bright saris or colored bangles. Also, getting old and wrinkled has nothing to do with it. The older you are the more respected you are. Indians do not believe in romantic love. Rather love grows through the commitment to one another. I think of that old couple we met on the train to Bhopal and how he still chuckled at things she was saying.
A few corrections: it was Smita's father's younger brother who squandered the family fortune when her father died young, not her brother, who was 7 at the time; the Nalanda consortium was formed in 2006, not 1996.
The other day before Apoorva left, he, JP and I went to the post office to get stamps for my postcards. Easy, right? Not quite. First we had to find the post office. Nobody seemed to know where the heck it was and we went around in circles until someone we asked really knew its location. JP went up to one of the six men sitting at the counter and asked for stamps. The guy looked around and announced that the man who sold the stamps had wandered off somewhere. He got upset and complained to his boss that the guy could not be found. We waited a bit and started to leave just as the guy appeared. We got the stamps and JP paid for them and , of course, the stamp seller had no change. This is a constant problem here. So Apoorva got in the line for the man who gave out change and finally we were done. There are two choices here: get irritated, or laugh. We laughed. There is no shortage of change here, yet everyone seems to hoard it, now including us !
We went to the gold shop with Smita Bahoo to buy the pendant for JP's bridge buddy. The workmanship of the gold here is exquisite and they only use 22k gold. Instead of locking its wealth away in banks, India places it on the bodies of its women. When Smita gets a little money, she makes a prepayment on a bangle she wants. She considers this the safest financial move she can make. She made a prepayment that day and also got credit for the purchase we made. I was glad of this as she was the one who kept going with us to the shop. The price of gold is set worldwide every day in London. The difference is that the cost of labor is so much less expensive here and also much more intricate.
Next we went to the little book store in Asi for me to get a few more postcards. While there I saw a copy of Herman Hesses beautiful book Siddhartha and recalled a line from it: "The river speaks". I looked out the window overlooking that river and thought that, of course it speaks, because people have been talking to it for thousands of years.
On the way home JP bought enough of the Ayurvedic meds for both of us for six months. I'm pretty sure this is the same original medicines I had before, so I hope it works. I will have to wait to start taking it when I get home because I am not feeling well again and it makes me nauseous. He also bought a big clay jug for the family to cool water through evaporation. A simple method that has been used for millenia.
The huge Kumbh Mela is going on in Hardwar now. It happens once every 12 years and attracts millions of people. Madonna went to the last one as did members of JP's family. It celebrates the dropping of nectar by Vishnu onto four places in India. Hardwar is one of them. I cannot imagine being in a crowd that large.
Right before he left, Apoorva brought in two packages. In one was a cotton shirt for JP. In the other was a pair of shoes just like the ones he wears and I had liked so much. Happy Holi. JP gave him money as a gift, which will mean a great deal to him.
The weather is heating up and mosquitoes are proliferating. As we had walked on the ghat at Asi, we got chewed and are now scratching furiously. We leave Varanasi on Monday for three days in Gurgaon/Delhi before starting the trip home.
Peace,
Nadine
I awoke at 5 AM to go to the bathroom, and there was the little scrub woman squatting on the floor, cleaning the dishes and pots and pans from last night's dinner. It costs so little to hire people like this, even this family can afford it. I don't think they really believe me when I say that very few Americans can afford help, and that I do all the work at home. This woman has been with this family for many years and knows me. Sometimes while I am on my perch, I see her walking by on the street. She always smiles and waves. As she scrubs away, I look at her pretty sari, gold earrings, tons of glass bangles and silver anklets. The point of looking beautiful here is very different from our culture. It has nothing to do with being better looking than other women, or with how old a woman is. It is solely because it is a woman's duty to look beautiful for her husband. That is why when her husband dies, she no longer wears bright saris or colored bangles. Also, getting old and wrinkled has nothing to do with it. The older you are the more respected you are. Indians do not believe in romantic love. Rather love grows through the commitment to one another. I think of that old couple we met on the train to Bhopal and how he still chuckled at things she was saying.
A few corrections: it was Smita's father's younger brother who squandered the family fortune when her father died young, not her brother, who was 7 at the time; the Nalanda consortium was formed in 2006, not 1996.
The other day before Apoorva left, he, JP and I went to the post office to get stamps for my postcards. Easy, right? Not quite. First we had to find the post office. Nobody seemed to know where the heck it was and we went around in circles until someone we asked really knew its location. JP went up to one of the six men sitting at the counter and asked for stamps. The guy looked around and announced that the man who sold the stamps had wandered off somewhere. He got upset and complained to his boss that the guy could not be found. We waited a bit and started to leave just as the guy appeared. We got the stamps and JP paid for them and , of course, the stamp seller had no change. This is a constant problem here. So Apoorva got in the line for the man who gave out change and finally we were done. There are two choices here: get irritated, or laugh. We laughed. There is no shortage of change here, yet everyone seems to hoard it, now including us !
We went to the gold shop with Smita Bahoo to buy the pendant for JP's bridge buddy. The workmanship of the gold here is exquisite and they only use 22k gold. Instead of locking its wealth away in banks, India places it on the bodies of its women. When Smita gets a little money, she makes a prepayment on a bangle she wants. She considers this the safest financial move she can make. She made a prepayment that day and also got credit for the purchase we made. I was glad of this as she was the one who kept going with us to the shop. The price of gold is set worldwide every day in London. The difference is that the cost of labor is so much less expensive here and also much more intricate.
Next we went to the little book store in Asi for me to get a few more postcards. While there I saw a copy of Herman Hesses beautiful book Siddhartha and recalled a line from it: "The river speaks". I looked out the window overlooking that river and thought that, of course it speaks, because people have been talking to it for thousands of years.
On the way home JP bought enough of the Ayurvedic meds for both of us for six months. I'm pretty sure this is the same original medicines I had before, so I hope it works. I will have to wait to start taking it when I get home because I am not feeling well again and it makes me nauseous. He also bought a big clay jug for the family to cool water through evaporation. A simple method that has been used for millenia.
The huge Kumbh Mela is going on in Hardwar now. It happens once every 12 years and attracts millions of people. Madonna went to the last one as did members of JP's family. It celebrates the dropping of nectar by Vishnu onto four places in India. Hardwar is one of them. I cannot imagine being in a crowd that large.
Right before he left, Apoorva brought in two packages. In one was a cotton shirt for JP. In the other was a pair of shoes just like the ones he wears and I had liked so much. Happy Holi. JP gave him money as a gift, which will mean a great deal to him.
The weather is heating up and mosquitoes are proliferating. As we had walked on the ghat at Asi, we got chewed and are now scratching furiously. We leave Varanasi on Monday for three days in Gurgaon/Delhi before starting the trip home.
Peace,
Nadine
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Thursday March 4, 2010
The priest was here not just for the brother/sister puja, but for the celebration of Arun and Smita's 25th wedding aniversary. Here cousins are considered as siblings, so there were several men honoring their "sisters". Blessings of marking the forehead were given by both brothers and sisters, saris were presented to the sisters, who then put silk scarves around their brothers' necks. There is another celebration during the year when sisters tie a string around their brothers' wrists to remind them to always protect them. This puja took about 15 minutes. The "dining room" had been emptied of the little furniture that was in it and thin pads or sheets covered the floor. People crowded in covering the whole floor. Everyone was comfortably sitting cross legged on the floor. Everyone but me that is. I was sitting there, but definitely not comfortably.
A small table had been set up in the front of the room where the priest sat. Smita Bahoo and Arun sat in front with everyone else behind them. Then Smita Bahoo motioned for me to come sit next to her and suddenly I was part of the puja. The priest began reciting the long prayers prescribed for the occasion while flowers, milk, ghee, red and gold thread and other things were were offered to the little statue of one of the Gods. These priest are of the Brahman cast and are educated from a very young age into the priesthood. The amount of things they have to memorize is mind boggling. Every once in a while I was handed flower petals to throw onto the altar. This went on for one and a half hours. Very interesting and beautiful and also very painful. But once again my sense of duty to this family overcame my pain, and I sat there for the whole time. JP on the other hand skedaddled out of the room as soon as he could and comfortably stood in the doorway for the whole ceremony.
The party on the roof began after the puja ended. And what a party it was. There were about 250 people there having a great time. The women, of course, looked beautiful. Most of these people are related and know each other very well. The women gathered into groups, often divided by age. The men did the same. It was very evident that these people really loved each other and were enjoying seeing each other again. The cooks were busy keeping the buffet items filled and continued cooking to keep everything fresh. Loud music and bright lights added to the festivities. Gifts were given to the couple and a three layer cake was cut. Each layer of the cake was supported by upright rolls of hard candy. The cake was one of several presents presented to the couple by Arun's coworkers and was delicious. JP gave them money which will be used for a trip to Bhopal to visit Arun's friend, Punkage. The party continued until about 1 AM.
We are ready to go with Smita to the jewelry shop to purchase a gold pendant for one of JP's bridge buddies. I'll continue later today.
Peace,
Nadine
The priest was here not just for the brother/sister puja, but for the celebration of Arun and Smita's 25th wedding aniversary. Here cousins are considered as siblings, so there were several men honoring their "sisters". Blessings of marking the forehead were given by both brothers and sisters, saris were presented to the sisters, who then put silk scarves around their brothers' necks. There is another celebration during the year when sisters tie a string around their brothers' wrists to remind them to always protect them. This puja took about 15 minutes. The "dining room" had been emptied of the little furniture that was in it and thin pads or sheets covered the floor. People crowded in covering the whole floor. Everyone was comfortably sitting cross legged on the floor. Everyone but me that is. I was sitting there, but definitely not comfortably.
A small table had been set up in the front of the room where the priest sat. Smita Bahoo and Arun sat in front with everyone else behind them. Then Smita Bahoo motioned for me to come sit next to her and suddenly I was part of the puja. The priest began reciting the long prayers prescribed for the occasion while flowers, milk, ghee, red and gold thread and other things were were offered to the little statue of one of the Gods. These priest are of the Brahman cast and are educated from a very young age into the priesthood. The amount of things they have to memorize is mind boggling. Every once in a while I was handed flower petals to throw onto the altar. This went on for one and a half hours. Very interesting and beautiful and also very painful. But once again my sense of duty to this family overcame my pain, and I sat there for the whole time. JP on the other hand skedaddled out of the room as soon as he could and comfortably stood in the doorway for the whole ceremony.
The party on the roof began after the puja ended. And what a party it was. There were about 250 people there having a great time. The women, of course, looked beautiful. Most of these people are related and know each other very well. The women gathered into groups, often divided by age. The men did the same. It was very evident that these people really loved each other and were enjoying seeing each other again. The cooks were busy keeping the buffet items filled and continued cooking to keep everything fresh. Loud music and bright lights added to the festivities. Gifts were given to the couple and a three layer cake was cut. Each layer of the cake was supported by upright rolls of hard candy. The cake was one of several presents presented to the couple by Arun's coworkers and was delicious. JP gave them money which will be used for a trip to Bhopal to visit Arun's friend, Punkage. The party continued until about 1 AM.
We are ready to go with Smita to the jewelry shop to purchase a gold pendant for one of JP's bridge buddies. I'll continue later today.
Peace,
Nadine
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Tuesday March 2, 2010
Before we left for the party, friends and relatives drifted in to put color on our foreheads and touch our feet. JP is dressed in formal white cotton pants and long top, closed with jeweled buttons. He is dressed so because he is the head of this family since his brother, Jagdish, has died. I am dressed in my fanciest suit with my gold bangles and earrings. I left my gold mangal sutra and another gold necklace in Gurgoan to be locked in the safe because I was afraid to travel on the train with them. So, Anita puts one of her gold necklaces around my neck as a bare neck is inappropriate. Their necks are considerably thinner than mine so it is uncomfortable for me, but I dutifully wear it for the party. I know they would really like me to dress in a sari, but it is just more than I can manage in this heat. All the women in the family are dressed to the nines in their silk saris and gold jewelry. Aradhana, like me, is dressed in a fancy suit. Bhabhi looks so pretty in her subdued silk sari, which is appropriate for a widow, and she puts color on me and JP as she blesses us.
The taxi is a half hour late as there are parties all over town this night as part of the Holi celebration. The party, which is hosted by Bhabhi's brother, was being held in a girl's college. When we arrived we were greeted by a young man throwing rose petals on us. This custom continued all evening until the floor was slippery with rose petals. The large room and the outside veranda were bathed in the smell of roses. I cannot imagine how many roses it took to produce that many petals. There were also many garlands of marigolds hanging everywhere. Most of the party was held outdoors under the huge, bright full moon. We estimated that there were about 400 people there total, as they came and went. The buffet was huge with the most delicious food India has to offer. The people here were actually members of one of the strands of the Agrawal clan. Bhabhi's maiden name was also Agrawal. This happens often as people marry within their own subcast. Everyone looks so beautiful. One sari is more gorgeous than the next. The Indian sense of color and design is unbelievable. I doubt if any of these people have ever spoken to an American before, but they certainly know of me and are very friendly. Movie music is blasting in the big room set with tables and I would love to get up and dance, but I am on my best behavior and just tap my foot.
This evening is the big party on the roof of the house to celebrate Arun and Smita Bahoo's 25th wedding anniversary. The house has been a beehive of activity all day. They are expecting about 200 people to come. Chairs, trays, plates, cups, etc. have been delivered and trucked up the very steep steps to the roof. The cooks are here beginning to chop vegetables for the big buffet. Ladies of the family are gathered together chatting in one room, men doing the same in the other. Honey, Micky's sister, who is very adept at mahendi, is painting Smita's hands and feet with intricate designs. In another room three people are filling paper boxes with different candies for a puja which will be performed before the party begins. The Hindu priest has just arrived. I was sorry to see that he is not the same young priest I had met before. I had had a good conversation with him on our last trip.
JP's niece is here and tells us of her brother who had a fancy shop in the hotel that was struck by terrorists several years ago in Mumbai. He had just closed his shop and headed home. By the time he got there, it was all over the news that terrorists had taken over the hotel. He was in shock. Everyday on the news we hear of another bombing somewhere in India. Is anyplace immune ?
Today is also Bhayya Duja, in which brothers honor their sisters. That is why the priest is here. Another way this culture has solidified family relationships. Traditionally brothers give their sisters a sari as part of the celebration. Guests are about to arrive.
Peace,
Nadine
Before we left for the party, friends and relatives drifted in to put color on our foreheads and touch our feet. JP is dressed in formal white cotton pants and long top, closed with jeweled buttons. He is dressed so because he is the head of this family since his brother, Jagdish, has died. I am dressed in my fanciest suit with my gold bangles and earrings. I left my gold mangal sutra and another gold necklace in Gurgoan to be locked in the safe because I was afraid to travel on the train with them. So, Anita puts one of her gold necklaces around my neck as a bare neck is inappropriate. Their necks are considerably thinner than mine so it is uncomfortable for me, but I dutifully wear it for the party. I know they would really like me to dress in a sari, but it is just more than I can manage in this heat. All the women in the family are dressed to the nines in their silk saris and gold jewelry. Aradhana, like me, is dressed in a fancy suit. Bhabhi looks so pretty in her subdued silk sari, which is appropriate for a widow, and she puts color on me and JP as she blesses us.
The taxi is a half hour late as there are parties all over town this night as part of the Holi celebration. The party, which is hosted by Bhabhi's brother, was being held in a girl's college. When we arrived we were greeted by a young man throwing rose petals on us. This custom continued all evening until the floor was slippery with rose petals. The large room and the outside veranda were bathed in the smell of roses. I cannot imagine how many roses it took to produce that many petals. There were also many garlands of marigolds hanging everywhere. Most of the party was held outdoors under the huge, bright full moon. We estimated that there were about 400 people there total, as they came and went. The buffet was huge with the most delicious food India has to offer. The people here were actually members of one of the strands of the Agrawal clan. Bhabhi's maiden name was also Agrawal. This happens often as people marry within their own subcast. Everyone looks so beautiful. One sari is more gorgeous than the next. The Indian sense of color and design is unbelievable. I doubt if any of these people have ever spoken to an American before, but they certainly know of me and are very friendly. Movie music is blasting in the big room set with tables and I would love to get up and dance, but I am on my best behavior and just tap my foot.
This evening is the big party on the roof of the house to celebrate Arun and Smita Bahoo's 25th wedding anniversary. The house has been a beehive of activity all day. They are expecting about 200 people to come. Chairs, trays, plates, cups, etc. have been delivered and trucked up the very steep steps to the roof. The cooks are here beginning to chop vegetables for the big buffet. Ladies of the family are gathered together chatting in one room, men doing the same in the other. Honey, Micky's sister, who is very adept at mahendi, is painting Smita's hands and feet with intricate designs. In another room three people are filling paper boxes with different candies for a puja which will be performed before the party begins. The Hindu priest has just arrived. I was sorry to see that he is not the same young priest I had met before. I had had a good conversation with him on our last trip.
JP's niece is here and tells us of her brother who had a fancy shop in the hotel that was struck by terrorists several years ago in Mumbai. He had just closed his shop and headed home. By the time he got there, it was all over the news that terrorists had taken over the hotel. He was in shock. Everyday on the news we hear of another bombing somewhere in India. Is anyplace immune ?
Today is also Bhayya Duja, in which brothers honor their sisters. That is why the priest is here. Another way this culture has solidified family relationships. Traditionally brothers give their sisters a sari as part of the celebration. Guests are about to arrive.
Peace,
Nadine
Monday, March 1, 2010
Mon. March 1, 2010
Last night, under a bright, full moon, Holi began with the lighting of the huge bonfire across the street. We watched from the balcony as it grew and people began to gather. They touch their foreheads and lips as they pass the fire, which is sacred. Our faces began to burn from the heat. One man has a bucket of water from which he sprinkles water onto the fire to control it. No hoses here. Little children look at the fire with awe, as do I, and the black spaghetti does not melt. As the fire continues to slowly burn, more families come to do puja and passersby continue to bless themselves as they go by.
The whole family gathered for dinner and stayed to chatter and laugh about this or that, enjoying each others company. I don't understand what they are saying, but it does not matter. I just enjoy the warmth and love in the room. In the US we have many paths to happiness. Here it is just one, the family, and for these people, it works. Fires like this are burning all over the city and I can hear the firecrackers from every direction.
This morning we were awakened by groups of young boys armed with little water pistols filled with wet color, looking for their next victim. They are already covered in color. People are coming to the burnt out fire, blessing themselves with the sacred ash and making offerings. This is boy's fun only. No girls are seen. The groups of boys continue to roam the street, beating pieces of metal and hollering. It is a little frightening, reminding me of Lord of the Flies, Logan's Run, and Children of the Corn. All of them deal with what happens when children develop their own societies with no adult input.
JP gave all the married women in the household the silk saris Smita Bahoo had picked out for them. Saris are an integral part of Indian culture and have been so for thousands of years. Even Smita Bahoo, who certainly is not wealthy, has 60 of them.
Arun leaves to go with about 50 friends to the other side of the river where they will have their own Holi celebration. Apoorva also goes to "play Holi" with his friends. Before he left Apoorva told me of the Holi Jai Chacha (uncle) and his friend, Jesse, spent in Varanasi two years ago. I am going to break my own rule about no pictures, and ask Jai to import pictures of that Holi into the blog, so watch for them. Apoorva said Jesse got the worst of it because he was obviously a Westerner. By 10 AM every boy and man are totally covered in color. Even two poor little boys down the street, who do not have water pistols, are playing Holi by filling their cups with colored water and throwing it at boys who pass. Their aim is terrible and they don't actually hit anyone, but it does not seem to matter. They are so excited they are actually bouncing up and down. It is so wonderful to see how much fun a human being can have with so little. A woman walks by, touches a calf lying in the road, and blesses herself. Everything is sacred here, as it is everywhere as we live in a sacred universe. The difference is that these people know and honor it. The sound of the monks across the street chanting mingles with the shouts of the boys: a cacophony of joyous sounds. Apoorva came home around noon, totally black with color. He is now sitting outside the bathroom, scrubbing the color from his body. It will take a few days for all of it to fade. Of course tonight everyone will be throwing dry color. Arpit and Anupria are celebrating at Archana's house in Delhi.
Because it is Holi, the little scrub woman is not coming today to clean the lunch and dinner dishes. Every other day she is here very early and later in the day, squatting by the faucet outside of the bathroom, scrubbing the pots and pans with ash. She then piles all the clean dishes and pans into two huge wire baskets and puts one into Anita's kitchen and one into Smita's. While Anita Bahoo sweeps and mops on her hands and knees, Bhabhi and I shell peas which is old ladies work. Tonight we are to go to a big party at the house where Bhabhi was raised, now owned by her parent's grandsons. Tomorrow there is to be a big party here on the roof to celebrate Arun and Smita Bahoo's 25 wedding anniversary.
Peace,
Nadine
Last night, under a bright, full moon, Holi began with the lighting of the huge bonfire across the street. We watched from the balcony as it grew and people began to gather. They touch their foreheads and lips as they pass the fire, which is sacred. Our faces began to burn from the heat. One man has a bucket of water from which he sprinkles water onto the fire to control it. No hoses here. Little children look at the fire with awe, as do I, and the black spaghetti does not melt. As the fire continues to slowly burn, more families come to do puja and passersby continue to bless themselves as they go by.
The whole family gathered for dinner and stayed to chatter and laugh about this or that, enjoying each others company. I don't understand what they are saying, but it does not matter. I just enjoy the warmth and love in the room. In the US we have many paths to happiness. Here it is just one, the family, and for these people, it works. Fires like this are burning all over the city and I can hear the firecrackers from every direction.
This morning we were awakened by groups of young boys armed with little water pistols filled with wet color, looking for their next victim. They are already covered in color. People are coming to the burnt out fire, blessing themselves with the sacred ash and making offerings. This is boy's fun only. No girls are seen. The groups of boys continue to roam the street, beating pieces of metal and hollering. It is a little frightening, reminding me of Lord of the Flies, Logan's Run, and Children of the Corn. All of them deal with what happens when children develop their own societies with no adult input.
JP gave all the married women in the household the silk saris Smita Bahoo had picked out for them. Saris are an integral part of Indian culture and have been so for thousands of years. Even Smita Bahoo, who certainly is not wealthy, has 60 of them.
Arun leaves to go with about 50 friends to the other side of the river where they will have their own Holi celebration. Apoorva also goes to "play Holi" with his friends. Before he left Apoorva told me of the Holi Jai Chacha (uncle) and his friend, Jesse, spent in Varanasi two years ago. I am going to break my own rule about no pictures, and ask Jai to import pictures of that Holi into the blog, so watch for them. Apoorva said Jesse got the worst of it because he was obviously a Westerner. By 10 AM every boy and man are totally covered in color. Even two poor little boys down the street, who do not have water pistols, are playing Holi by filling their cups with colored water and throwing it at boys who pass. Their aim is terrible and they don't actually hit anyone, but it does not seem to matter. They are so excited they are actually bouncing up and down. It is so wonderful to see how much fun a human being can have with so little. A woman walks by, touches a calf lying in the road, and blesses herself. Everything is sacred here, as it is everywhere as we live in a sacred universe. The difference is that these people know and honor it. The sound of the monks across the street chanting mingles with the shouts of the boys: a cacophony of joyous sounds. Apoorva came home around noon, totally black with color. He is now sitting outside the bathroom, scrubbing the color from his body. It will take a few days for all of it to fade. Of course tonight everyone will be throwing dry color. Arpit and Anupria are celebrating at Archana's house in Delhi.
Because it is Holi, the little scrub woman is not coming today to clean the lunch and dinner dishes. Every other day she is here very early and later in the day, squatting by the faucet outside of the bathroom, scrubbing the pots and pans with ash. She then piles all the clean dishes and pans into two huge wire baskets and puts one into Anita's kitchen and one into Smita's. While Anita Bahoo sweeps and mops on her hands and knees, Bhabhi and I shell peas which is old ladies work. Tonight we are to go to a big party at the house where Bhabhi was raised, now owned by her parent's grandsons. Tomorrow there is to be a big party here on the roof to celebrate Arun and Smita Bahoo's 25 wedding anniversary.
Peace,
Nadine
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)