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