Michele Email 5/29/03
"Hi All,
Calcutta reminds me of what I imagine Havanna to be like-- old beautiful crumbling buildings, communist and political graffiti, lots of people out on the streets. The longer I am here, the more impressed and enamored I am with the place. Also, the more depressed I become.
I was initially pleasantly surprised--- the streets were crossable and I wasn't being mauled by beggars. However, on our second day here, we went to visit Nrimal Holiday, Mother Theresa's home for the Dying Destitute and it was really intense. I was not prepared to walk into a room full of cots of dying people. I also wasn't prepared to walk into a room full of cots of dying Indian people lying underneath photos of Jesus and Mother Theresa. While the services that the center provides are substantial and of quality, there seems to be something particularly hideous about this form of missionary work--- why can't there be paintings of Ganesh and Shiva and Vishnu up as well? (The center is located next to a major Hindu temple but I was told by a volunteer that there wasn't too much contact between the temple and the center.)
The next day (yesterday), we went to the Mother Home, which is the headquarters of Mother Theresa's organization-- Missionaries of Charity. (For those who don't know, she was apparently really bad ass and started her own order, complete with it's own unique nunnery-wear and all.) We visited her grave and met nuns from all over the world. I was really fascinated by the language used to describe the service that she did-- passion and thirst and all this other good stuff. It made me think about how powerful faith based work is, even if I do think it's problematic a lot of the time. It really does get shit done. I am planning on reading more about the Mother when I have a chance-- I am fascinated by her.
Speaking about mothers, I met a Dutch man who spent about 3 months at an ashram in Kerala that is run by a guru whose name is Mother. Apparently, she hugs everyone who comes to visit. And it's apparently a very peaceful place. And that brings me to a new tirade--- I can't stand westerners that are here to spend 3 months in an ashram. You want mindfullness, go walk in the slums. Who says sleeping on the streets and walking through shit isn't spiritual? There's something so hideous about people who use this country for spiritual purposes, who come here and go straight to the mountain or backwaters ashrams. Go escape in the streets. Practice meditation while dodging beggars. Go volunteer at the center for the Destitute and Dying. OK, I'll stop preaching now.
Last night, on my way to the internet center, I passed an older man that was making his bed out of newspapers on the sidewalk. When I walked back, after using the internet, he was lying down and seemed to be sleeping. I had 5 rupees in my pocket and so I placed it on his hand. He jumped, which caused me to jump, and then he saw the money and thanked me. Scott pointed out the irony-- I spend my days trying to dodge beggars only to wake up people to give them money. I get annoyed at people poking and touching me, only I poke and touch them in return.
Tomorrow, Jamie and I are going to the market and we are going to buy a lot of food and we are planning on making food packets. Early Saturday morning, we are going to go out and do "hit and runs"-- we're going to try to leave packets with folks sleeping on the street and move on quickly. The trick is not to linger afterwards. I know it's a small gesture in the face of so much poverty, but I feel like I need to do something.
Saturday we leave too-- we head home via Bangkok and will be back on the 1st of June.
Love, Michele
PS-- if there are any ashram advocates out there, I hope I have not offended you. I am just speaking about how I feel and am open to hearing different opinions."
5/31/03
5/29/03
Straws are Extremely Popular
Spicy, rich, incredible flavors and aromas. Bright colors, fresh vegetables, breads cheeses milk and teas...
Everyone drinks things very slow here. Maybe I have a problem with gulping, but one cold drink is usually not enough. The cokes here are sent from the gods. Of course, they are normal cokes, they just are cold and are not water so one is immediately drawn to their magnetic charms. Bottle hygiene is poor, but at least there is a bustling glass recycling program. Straws are extremely popular, and as such I tend to drink even faster. I do need to drink more water. It is not enough that I find myself pissing clear. However as soon as I take one sip (or gulp) of some bottled water I begin to sweat profusely. It makes complete sense that my body waits to be properly hydrated before it cools things down with liquid waste, but it is damn inconvenient.
Everything is rich and thick and oily and spicy. The spicy part I don't mind as my tastebuds left the building years ago. To get a little kick I chew on the green chilis that they provide as garnishes (they are especially tastey when doused in lime and salt). With the dishes you get to choose between Roti (light flat bread) and Rice. Sure they must eat Naan (common Indian bread served in US indian joints) somewhere but I've only seen it on the menu a few times. The rice or rotis are your only utensils if you want to be authentic.
But you've read this all before, haven't you... Oh Sahib! How I yearn for a burrito.
Let me tell you that it is difficult to enjoy indian food when one is afflicted with stomach pains and digestive issues. Then you swear at yourself for dragging Michele into pizza hut. You really didn't want to do it. It is not the taste. You never eat Pizza hut in the states, only froo froo designer slices from Arinell's, the Lane Splitter and Escape from New York. You blame it all on your parents. Too many visits to Little Ceasars. Too many orders from Domino's. But the burden is not theirs to carry, and haven't you blamed Jim and Suze enough for everything in your early twenties... The burden rests square on your shoulders.
McDonald's is not that expensive when you think about it. I'd gladly pay 20 rupies for air conditioning alone for 10 minutes and they have a McVeg burger. The french fries are true blue pure veg as well thanks to recent lawsuits and rioting. If you are lucky the restaurant will say "Pure Veg" somewhere on the menu. Most if not all Hindus are veg. I'm quite happy to add that in the Hindu world eggs are veg. Woo hoo! The phenomenon of McDonalds must plauge every progressive wannabe that comes here. I would add "weak-kneed" to my progressive description but lord knows that we are all weak in the knees, dear friends. I'm sure that even Mother Theresa would get busy with a super sized Limca, fries and a Chicken McCurry.
Really though how do you tell a nation that their idols are clay? Not the Hindu ones, of course I don't want to commit religious heresay or get myself beat up and torn down like an unfortunate mosque. I'm talking about the Western gods of hollywood, capitalism, fast food and consumer goods. Most indians that I've talked to are so happy to have access to westen food and culture. Although as much as I complain about coffee, I am so happy that there have been more sightings of Siberian snow leopords (3) than Starbucks (0). It is like those little girls that you raise to be righteous feminists who still insist on wearing dresses and playing with barbie. How to turn these protowesterners into the "riot grrls" of new world devolopment is the question. How can they take these western icons and turn them on their heads?
Eating with your hands is an altogether different issue. It is romantic to scoop rice and chapati and curry in the right while the left stays under the table. I like the idea of using my fingers as extensions of my tastebuds. Feeling the cumin and saffron and green chilis, but I get too freaked out. Sure, the utensils that you use at a restaurant are not guaranteed to be hygenic, but I just don't trust myself. I mean - I just don't trust my hands to be clean. I have too much guilt.
Last week, Michele's digestive tract was abstract and upset like a Henry Throop photocollage. Despite what the homeopathic Brits tried to sell us, Michele continued to eat like a vegan goat. Still she'll chew on whatever she finds in front of her that doesn't offend her current political and social sensibilities. There are no goats and few wandering cows in Kolkatta. I am in monkey withdrawal, but it is better to go cold turkey. We leave for Thailand then home the day after tomorrow. See you real soon.
Everyone drinks things very slow here. Maybe I have a problem with gulping, but one cold drink is usually not enough. The cokes here are sent from the gods. Of course, they are normal cokes, they just are cold and are not water so one is immediately drawn to their magnetic charms. Bottle hygiene is poor, but at least there is a bustling glass recycling program. Straws are extremely popular, and as such I tend to drink even faster. I do need to drink more water. It is not enough that I find myself pissing clear. However as soon as I take one sip (or gulp) of some bottled water I begin to sweat profusely. It makes complete sense that my body waits to be properly hydrated before it cools things down with liquid waste, but it is damn inconvenient.
Everything is rich and thick and oily and spicy. The spicy part I don't mind as my tastebuds left the building years ago. To get a little kick I chew on the green chilis that they provide as garnishes (they are especially tastey when doused in lime and salt). With the dishes you get to choose between Roti (light flat bread) and Rice. Sure they must eat Naan (common Indian bread served in US indian joints) somewhere but I've only seen it on the menu a few times. The rice or rotis are your only utensils if you want to be authentic.
But you've read this all before, haven't you... Oh Sahib! How I yearn for a burrito.
Let me tell you that it is difficult to enjoy indian food when one is afflicted with stomach pains and digestive issues. Then you swear at yourself for dragging Michele into pizza hut. You really didn't want to do it. It is not the taste. You never eat Pizza hut in the states, only froo froo designer slices from Arinell's, the Lane Splitter and Escape from New York. You blame it all on your parents. Too many visits to Little Ceasars. Too many orders from Domino's. But the burden is not theirs to carry, and haven't you blamed Jim and Suze enough for everything in your early twenties... The burden rests square on your shoulders.
McDonald's is not that expensive when you think about it. I'd gladly pay 20 rupies for air conditioning alone for 10 minutes and they have a McVeg burger. The french fries are true blue pure veg as well thanks to recent lawsuits and rioting. If you are lucky the restaurant will say "Pure Veg" somewhere on the menu. Most if not all Hindus are veg. I'm quite happy to add that in the Hindu world eggs are veg. Woo hoo! The phenomenon of McDonalds must plauge every progressive wannabe that comes here. I would add "weak-kneed" to my progressive description but lord knows that we are all weak in the knees, dear friends. I'm sure that even Mother Theresa would get busy with a super sized Limca, fries and a Chicken McCurry.
Really though how do you tell a nation that their idols are clay? Not the Hindu ones, of course I don't want to commit religious heresay or get myself beat up and torn down like an unfortunate mosque. I'm talking about the Western gods of hollywood, capitalism, fast food and consumer goods. Most indians that I've talked to are so happy to have access to westen food and culture. Although as much as I complain about coffee, I am so happy that there have been more sightings of Siberian snow leopords (3) than Starbucks (0). It is like those little girls that you raise to be righteous feminists who still insist on wearing dresses and playing with barbie. How to turn these protowesterners into the "riot grrls" of new world devolopment is the question. How can they take these western icons and turn them on their heads?
Eating with your hands is an altogether different issue. It is romantic to scoop rice and chapati and curry in the right while the left stays under the table. I like the idea of using my fingers as extensions of my tastebuds. Feeling the cumin and saffron and green chilis, but I get too freaked out. Sure, the utensils that you use at a restaurant are not guaranteed to be hygenic, but I just don't trust myself. I mean - I just don't trust my hands to be clean. I have too much guilt.
Last week, Michele's digestive tract was abstract and upset like a Henry Throop photocollage. Despite what the homeopathic Brits tried to sell us, Michele continued to eat like a vegan goat. Still she'll chew on whatever she finds in front of her that doesn't offend her current political and social sensibilities. There are no goats and few wandering cows in Kolkatta. I am in monkey withdrawal, but it is better to go cold turkey. We leave for Thailand then home the day after tomorrow. See you real soon.
5/22/03
Driving Lessons with Yochanan
Email - Michele 5/23/03
"When I was young and my father was teaching me to drive, he devised an ingenius method for turning me into a cautious driver: whenever I hit a pothole or slammed on the brakes or bumped a parked car, he would yell out the amount of dollar damage that he thought that I had caused to the car. As a result, I would often practice driving to the tune of "$200 DOLLAR DAMAGE" and "$150 DOLLAR DAMAGE" (Picture this being uttered in an extremely loud thick Hebrew accented voice.) Over time, this way of thinking was ingrained in me and I now see the relationship between cars and potholes in terms of monetary value. (Thanks Dad.)
I did not want to tell the driver who drove us to Darjeeling this, but he far exceeded the monetary value of his old van in the potholes that he hit. The entire road through the mountains was fraught with potholes and boulders and huge bumps and I was incredibly nervous. I honestly thought we might die. Jamie and I were crammed in the front seat next to the driver, without a seat belt or anything, only a Shiva icon on the dashboard and the vast tea plantations out the window for comfort. We had to stop often to let other cars going the opposite direction come through and I was afraid that we might roll backwards and off the mountain. However, and thanks to Shiva, we did make it to Darjeeling where we now are.
The ride in the van might have been harrowing but it was less morally harrowing than riding in a cycle rickshaw. Jamie and I struggle with this a lot. Cycle rickshaws are everywhere in India and everyone seems to ride them. There are tons of them and they are seen as a cheap, if not particularly fast, way of getting somewhere. However, the bikes are often old, ungreased, and rusty, and they seem bloody hard to peddle. On a hot day, you can see the rickshaw-wallah sweating and exerting great energy to get you somewhere, while you just sit there, silently, above him. It is not a very comfortable feeling at all, to feel like you are forcing someone to work very hard. However, there are pros and cons. If we don't take them, the drivers don't make money. (And do keep in mind that a bus driver in India earns 163 rupees a day.) Also, who are we to say that we find cycle rickshaws to be morally repugnant? In many cases, cycle rickshaw-wallahs are trying to save money for auto-rickshaws or taxis. And in some cases, driving a cycle rickshaw might be more economically efficient--- there's less overhead. And environmentally, cycle rickshaws don't pollute the environment. Hmmmm, am I trying to rationalize taking cycle rickshaws? Am I trying to assuage my guilt? I just know that we bargain really hard with them and then we always pay them way over the amount we've bargained for and we give them our water.
Our friend Scott told us that sometimes the wallahs pretend to be working super hard to make us feel bad. It works. "
"When I was young and my father was teaching me to drive, he devised an ingenius method for turning me into a cautious driver: whenever I hit a pothole or slammed on the brakes or bumped a parked car, he would yell out the amount of dollar damage that he thought that I had caused to the car. As a result, I would often practice driving to the tune of "$200 DOLLAR DAMAGE" and "$150 DOLLAR DAMAGE" (Picture this being uttered in an extremely loud thick Hebrew accented voice.) Over time, this way of thinking was ingrained in me and I now see the relationship between cars and potholes in terms of monetary value. (Thanks Dad.)
I did not want to tell the driver who drove us to Darjeeling this, but he far exceeded the monetary value of his old van in the potholes that he hit. The entire road through the mountains was fraught with potholes and boulders and huge bumps and I was incredibly nervous. I honestly thought we might die. Jamie and I were crammed in the front seat next to the driver, without a seat belt or anything, only a Shiva icon on the dashboard and the vast tea plantations out the window for comfort. We had to stop often to let other cars going the opposite direction come through and I was afraid that we might roll backwards and off the mountain. However, and thanks to Shiva, we did make it to Darjeeling where we now are.
The ride in the van might have been harrowing but it was less morally harrowing than riding in a cycle rickshaw. Jamie and I struggle with this a lot. Cycle rickshaws are everywhere in India and everyone seems to ride them. There are tons of them and they are seen as a cheap, if not particularly fast, way of getting somewhere. However, the bikes are often old, ungreased, and rusty, and they seem bloody hard to peddle. On a hot day, you can see the rickshaw-wallah sweating and exerting great energy to get you somewhere, while you just sit there, silently, above him. It is not a very comfortable feeling at all, to feel like you are forcing someone to work very hard. However, there are pros and cons. If we don't take them, the drivers don't make money. (And do keep in mind that a bus driver in India earns 163 rupees a day.) Also, who are we to say that we find cycle rickshaws to be morally repugnant? In many cases, cycle rickshaw-wallahs are trying to save money for auto-rickshaws or taxis. And in some cases, driving a cycle rickshaw might be more economically efficient--- there's less overhead. And environmentally, cycle rickshaws don't pollute the environment. Hmmmm, am I trying to rationalize taking cycle rickshaws? Am I trying to assuage my guilt? I just know that we bargain really hard with them and then we always pay them way over the amount we've bargained for and we give them our water.
Our friend Scott told us that sometimes the wallahs pretend to be working super hard to make us feel bad. It works. "
Michele in Varanassi/Darjeeling
Email - Michele 5/23/03
"Note: This was started a few days ago. We are currently in Darjeeling.
We are now in Varanasi, otherwise known as Benares and Kashi. It is perhaps the holiest city for Hindus and people come here to die and to be cremated on the banks of the Ganges. It is a place where Hindu rituals, from the cremation ceremony to daily pujas, are played out in extremely open public space and anyone can watch. It is a place where a walk through the old city yields countless shrine sightings and a myriad of small temples. It is also an incredibly filthy city where rubbish lies rotting on the streets and there are ample opportunities to step in cow shit (don't ask how many times I have done this, please). The Ganges, a holy river, is also India's largest garbage can and all-encompassing drain.
Last night, after sitting for about an hour and viewing the cremations (there were about 6 pyres going at once and it's a very public and very matter of fact ritual) I went back to my hotel and hung out with a really cool guy from Australia named Colin. We both were puzzling over the nature of Varanasi. Both of us had visited Jerusalem and we agreed readily that it was a very, if not the most, spiritual city. We also agreed that Varanasi did not seem particularly spiritual even though it was certainly rich with ritual. The rituals seemed mechanical and rushed; there was no outward fervor nor was there anything that seemed to be directed at the unity of man and god. There was also no demarcation of holy space-- the rituals seemed to be taking place in profane everyday space (ie, space strwen with rubbish and cow shit).
What I felt that I witnessed was in direct contrast to what is said about Hinduism in my new favorite book, the 2002 Booker Prize winner The Life of PI by Yann Martel:
"I am a Hindu because of sculptured cones of red kumkum powder and baskets of yellow tumeric nuggets, because of garlands of flowers and pieces of broken coconut, because of the clanging of bells to announce one's arrival to God, because of the whine of the reedy nadaswaram and the beating of drums, because of the patter of bare feet against stone floors down dark corridors pierced by shafts of light, because of the fragrance of incense, because of the flames of arati lamps circling in the darkness, because of bhajans being sweetly sung, because of elephants standing around to bless, because of colourful murals telling colourful stories, because of foreheads carrying, variously signified, the same word--faith."
In the morning, I discussed this all with Jamie who is very cynical about religion and who is not into theoretical religious discussions. His take on it was that it had been established, ages and ages ago as a result of Hindu mythology (ie, the actions of the gods), that Varanasi was a holy place and that the Ganges was auspicious, and as such, those timeless truths still applied. It was because of the actions of the gods that Varanasi was special, not because of the current actions of humans. And therefore, humans can continue to dump shit in the river and on their streets.
And now another word on the cremation ceremonies. If an individual is lucky enough to be cremated on the banks of the Ganges, they will not be reincarnated. For this reason, pregnant women and children under 10 are not cremated. Instead, their bodies are tied to weights and dumped into the river. Saddhus are not burned either as they are already pure. Cremation is fairly expensive and the amount of wood used on the pyres is carefully measured and kept track of. The body is first carried down to the pyre and it is doused with Ganges water. Rites are performed by a Brahmin priest. Within a matter of moments, the body is set ablaze, people move away because of the heat, and the dead person burns. Tourists are allowed to watch, but from a slight distance, and they are forbidden to take photos.
Unfortunately, schemes have been developed and there are touts that try to give tourists "tours" and then they ask for money for the wood or for people waiting to die and if one refuses to listen to them or give them money they try to shoo you away. Since I have been visiting the ghats every day since my arrival, I have had a few encounters with such touts and I can not describe how angry they make me-- to think that they have the right to tell me where I can or cannot go in such a holy place, to think that they have the nerve to ask for money for their own personal gain. And don't even get me started on the dude that tried to get us to go to his silk shop after the ghats. First stop death, next stop silk.
I realize that my reaction is a very western one and that to Indians, the space where people are cremated is not necessarily sacred in the sense that every day exchanges cannot take place there. I realize that I rigidly compartmentalize things in terms of good and bad, sacred and profane, holy and secular, etc. I'm very comfortable and passionate about doing this and anything else makes me uncomfortable. I'm trying to explore this for what it is, but I do know that I am NOT going to pay some tout for permission to stand and watch a public ritual.
Maybe it should not be free. Maybe someone should be paid. I don't know. All I know is that it is 110 degrees here and hotter at the burning ghat.
Thanks for reading. "
"Note: This was started a few days ago. We are currently in Darjeeling.
We are now in Varanasi, otherwise known as Benares and Kashi. It is perhaps the holiest city for Hindus and people come here to die and to be cremated on the banks of the Ganges. It is a place where Hindu rituals, from the cremation ceremony to daily pujas, are played out in extremely open public space and anyone can watch. It is a place where a walk through the old city yields countless shrine sightings and a myriad of small temples. It is also an incredibly filthy city where rubbish lies rotting on the streets and there are ample opportunities to step in cow shit (don't ask how many times I have done this, please). The Ganges, a holy river, is also India's largest garbage can and all-encompassing drain.
Last night, after sitting for about an hour and viewing the cremations (there were about 6 pyres going at once and it's a very public and very matter of fact ritual) I went back to my hotel and hung out with a really cool guy from Australia named Colin. We both were puzzling over the nature of Varanasi. Both of us had visited Jerusalem and we agreed readily that it was a very, if not the most, spiritual city. We also agreed that Varanasi did not seem particularly spiritual even though it was certainly rich with ritual. The rituals seemed mechanical and rushed; there was no outward fervor nor was there anything that seemed to be directed at the unity of man and god. There was also no demarcation of holy space-- the rituals seemed to be taking place in profane everyday space (ie, space strwen with rubbish and cow shit).
What I felt that I witnessed was in direct contrast to what is said about Hinduism in my new favorite book, the 2002 Booker Prize winner The Life of PI by Yann Martel:
"I am a Hindu because of sculptured cones of red kumkum powder and baskets of yellow tumeric nuggets, because of garlands of flowers and pieces of broken coconut, because of the clanging of bells to announce one's arrival to God, because of the whine of the reedy nadaswaram and the beating of drums, because of the patter of bare feet against stone floors down dark corridors pierced by shafts of light, because of the fragrance of incense, because of the flames of arati lamps circling in the darkness, because of bhajans being sweetly sung, because of elephants standing around to bless, because of colourful murals telling colourful stories, because of foreheads carrying, variously signified, the same word--faith."
In the morning, I discussed this all with Jamie who is very cynical about religion and who is not into theoretical religious discussions. His take on it was that it had been established, ages and ages ago as a result of Hindu mythology (ie, the actions of the gods), that Varanasi was a holy place and that the Ganges was auspicious, and as such, those timeless truths still applied. It was because of the actions of the gods that Varanasi was special, not because of the current actions of humans. And therefore, humans can continue to dump shit in the river and on their streets.
And now another word on the cremation ceremonies. If an individual is lucky enough to be cremated on the banks of the Ganges, they will not be reincarnated. For this reason, pregnant women and children under 10 are not cremated. Instead, their bodies are tied to weights and dumped into the river. Saddhus are not burned either as they are already pure. Cremation is fairly expensive and the amount of wood used on the pyres is carefully measured and kept track of. The body is first carried down to the pyre and it is doused with Ganges water. Rites are performed by a Brahmin priest. Within a matter of moments, the body is set ablaze, people move away because of the heat, and the dead person burns. Tourists are allowed to watch, but from a slight distance, and they are forbidden to take photos.
Unfortunately, schemes have been developed and there are touts that try to give tourists "tours" and then they ask for money for the wood or for people waiting to die and if one refuses to listen to them or give them money they try to shoo you away. Since I have been visiting the ghats every day since my arrival, I have had a few encounters with such touts and I can not describe how angry they make me-- to think that they have the right to tell me where I can or cannot go in such a holy place, to think that they have the nerve to ask for money for their own personal gain. And don't even get me started on the dude that tried to get us to go to his silk shop after the ghats. First stop death, next stop silk.
I realize that my reaction is a very western one and that to Indians, the space where people are cremated is not necessarily sacred in the sense that every day exchanges cannot take place there. I realize that I rigidly compartmentalize things in terms of good and bad, sacred and profane, holy and secular, etc. I'm very comfortable and passionate about doing this and anything else makes me uncomfortable. I'm trying to explore this for what it is, but I do know that I am NOT going to pay some tout for permission to stand and watch a public ritual.
Maybe it should not be free. Maybe someone should be paid. I don't know. All I know is that it is 110 degrees here and hotter at the burning ghat.
Thanks for reading. "
5/18/03
Michele in Delhi #4
Email - Michele 5/17/03
"Hi Everyone,
Jamie and I just finished doing a presentation on HIV/AIDS to the Delhi Foundation on Deaf Women, not that we're experts or anything... Yesterday, I was visiting the center and they had a list of diseases up on the board-- it was a random list that included leprosy, malaria, pimples, cough, SARS, and fever, but no AIDS. I asked them why AIDS was not on the board being that it is a huge issue in India, and they invited me to come and talk about it today. I tried to decline and they would not let me, aod so I ran off to the internet place and did mad research on AIDS and women. Thank goodness for the WHO!
It was a really interesting presentation as we were talking about the importance of condoms and when we asked them where they could find condoms, they did not know. They also said that there were no places for free testing and that they did not really talk to their partners about previous sexual experiences (since no one is supposed to have such experiences prior to marriage). I wasn't sure if they were shocked by the presentation or if it seemed relevant or what.
The Delhi Deaf Womens' Foundation is way cool by the way. There are women of all ages and it's also a craft cooperative and the women make leather products, textiles, batik, and handmade paper books. A deaf-run sweat shop! Since these women receive salaries, they're much better off than most women who are not financially independent.
I finished my dance class today and it was really cool in the end-- I think I learned a lot and I was able to (not very gracefully) perform a whole series to the Tabla. It's interesting as there are all these notes that I need to learn in order to keep in tune with the tabla and so my teacher had someone write all the notes down for me to memorize. I might try to find a Kathak class when I return although I'm not as hardcore about dance as Jamie is about music-- he's really rocking out on the harmonium and he has learned like 3-4 hindi songs and he can actually sing and play them and he sounds great. I think his teacher is super impressed with his playing. His teacher bought him a cassette of classical Indian music and he recirprocated by buying her a Lauren Hill tape. Cool, no?
Let's see, what else is up? We went back to Nizamuddin, the congested Muslim area 2 nights ago in an attempt to hear Sufi Quawwali music and it was less intimidating than it was last time. We did not get to hear any music, but it was interesting to watch peoples' behavior at the Sufi shrine and we looked around in this interesting ideological bookstore and we saw people with all kinds of disabilities on display as beggars. It's a really intense area of small alleys with sheep running through them juxtaposed with women in full black juxtaposed with the bright pink of flowers that they sell to place at the shrines. I don't feel quite at ease but I don't think I necessarily feel threatened either. I think I said in a previous email that this area is very different from the Islam that I am familiar with.
We ate muslim bread for a rupee a piece and then took a rickshaw to a fabulous icecream place where scoops are 40 rupees each. Such contrasts....
Incidentally, it really is hotter than an armpit right now and riding in a rickshaw is like having a hairdryer blowing on you.
Love, Michele "
"Hi Everyone,
Jamie and I just finished doing a presentation on HIV/AIDS to the Delhi Foundation on Deaf Women, not that we're experts or anything... Yesterday, I was visiting the center and they had a list of diseases up on the board-- it was a random list that included leprosy, malaria, pimples, cough, SARS, and fever, but no AIDS. I asked them why AIDS was not on the board being that it is a huge issue in India, and they invited me to come and talk about it today. I tried to decline and they would not let me, aod so I ran off to the internet place and did mad research on AIDS and women. Thank goodness for the WHO!
It was a really interesting presentation as we were talking about the importance of condoms and when we asked them where they could find condoms, they did not know. They also said that there were no places for free testing and that they did not really talk to their partners about previous sexual experiences (since no one is supposed to have such experiences prior to marriage). I wasn't sure if they were shocked by the presentation or if it seemed relevant or what.
The Delhi Deaf Womens' Foundation is way cool by the way. There are women of all ages and it's also a craft cooperative and the women make leather products, textiles, batik, and handmade paper books. A deaf-run sweat shop! Since these women receive salaries, they're much better off than most women who are not financially independent.
I finished my dance class today and it was really cool in the end-- I think I learned a lot and I was able to (not very gracefully) perform a whole series to the Tabla. It's interesting as there are all these notes that I need to learn in order to keep in tune with the tabla and so my teacher had someone write all the notes down for me to memorize. I might try to find a Kathak class when I return although I'm not as hardcore about dance as Jamie is about music-- he's really rocking out on the harmonium and he has learned like 3-4 hindi songs and he can actually sing and play them and he sounds great. I think his teacher is super impressed with his playing. His teacher bought him a cassette of classical Indian music and he recirprocated by buying her a Lauren Hill tape. Cool, no?
Let's see, what else is up? We went back to Nizamuddin, the congested Muslim area 2 nights ago in an attempt to hear Sufi Quawwali music and it was less intimidating than it was last time. We did not get to hear any music, but it was interesting to watch peoples' behavior at the Sufi shrine and we looked around in this interesting ideological bookstore and we saw people with all kinds of disabilities on display as beggars. It's a really intense area of small alleys with sheep running through them juxtaposed with women in full black juxtaposed with the bright pink of flowers that they sell to place at the shrines. I don't feel quite at ease but I don't think I necessarily feel threatened either. I think I said in a previous email that this area is very different from the Islam that I am familiar with.
We ate muslim bread for a rupee a piece and then took a rickshaw to a fabulous icecream place where scoops are 40 rupees each. Such contrasts....
Incidentally, it really is hotter than an armpit right now and riding in a rickshaw is like having a hairdryer blowing on you.
Love, Michele "
5/17/03
Spartan Dupatta
This may ruin the surprise, but I bought my mother a dupatta yesterday. I tried to color coordinate it with outfits that I know she has. I also did my best to make it functional for her. A green and white dupatta will go wonderful with the fall colors that she likes, mainly green and white. I'm excited because dupattas are supposed to be wonderful to wear on sunny afternoons. Indian women that I've spoken to rave that they keep the head shaded, asthetically pleasing and may at a moments notice can be converted to help the wearer look extremely mysterious. This is always a good feature when you've spilled somebody's soda or simultaneously insulted their grandmother and alma mater.
Please note that my mother and brother are both quite talented at making friends using this method at spectator sporting events. Maybe it is because she lives in Grosse Pointe, but my mother shares the indian obsession of all things plaid, so I picked not just one but two possible dupatta options for her. Of course these facts are not necessarily relevant, but they are important. Well maybe not to you, but by this point I gather that you are used to suffering through my digressions so I'm sure you won't mind another.
My brother quit his job a few days back. A fact that weighs heavy on my mind for no other reason than I've exhausted all other stories about criminal rickshaw drivers. There are a multitude of possible vocations for him to pursue, but I think he is going to try his entreprenuerial skills and create a website called www.nastybreakup.com. I'm sure that he has already reserved the URL, so maybe this advance advertisement will be all that is necessary to kick start the business. At nastybreakup.com, users may solicit expert advice for breaking up with romantic interests or they may send their soon-to-be-future ex-partner "anonymous" notice of their soon-to-be-future aspirations.
In my expert opinion, it sounds like a service that those who find themselves in arranged marriages may greatly appreciate. So we'll soon be kicking things off at nastybreakup.co.in (indian web address) for those in the subcontinent lucky enough to have internet access and an axe to grind. Folks here are much to polite and modest to take care of these much needed communications in person, so things here are as they say "ripe for the picking." We will even include a section for brides to be who have found an unrealistic dowry demanded of their families (Thanks David).
For a logo we will "borrow" the sikh logo or IkOnkar (Pronounced EkOankaar). To me nothing indicates a trustworthy business more than an Ikonkar, or anything remotely sikh-y. Is it wrong for me to love all that is sikh? Sikh men are all like the grandfather's that I never met. Their long beards and turbans exude a cuddly sexiness, that drives Michele (And I!) crazy. We do not bargain, harass or feel up any rickshaw driver that could be a sikh. I sleep soundly on all government buses with a sikh drivers and pictures of sikh gurus surrounded by flashing green and red LED lights. Michele calls it "sikhtotification." I don't know what to call it. I'm just drawn to these men... I admit it! I am not above trusting all sikhs for their religious views and practices that I know nothing about.
This has been driving me crazy since we last spoke in Amritsar, dear reader. At the golden temple, the sikh holy book (the Guru Granth Sahib) is continuously sung by sikh priests while comping chords and improvisng melodies on the harmonium. When accompanied by a tabla guru the guru granth sahib is some serious science dropped. Imagine our dismay when we learned that the beautiful cloth covering could not be used as a wall hanging and could not be purchased by non-sikhs. We were absolutely crushed.
I have begun to wear the sacred comb in my hair (not actually comb my hair with it though) and have promised not to trim my beard, ever. I have always been fond of the color orange and until I talk to the customs agent at the Kokatta international airport, I've got one of those little daggers with the nylon holster around my leg. Also, Michele and I have decided to name our first child "kahlsa," not "akivha" as she annoyingly teases. Even as we speak Guru Nanak beams over my left shoulder from Paharganj's finest internet access joint. It is good to have finally found a spiritual home. It is good to find a people to trust in the chaos of india*
* This is not necessarily an accurate statement as Deepa's parents and most of the other incredible people we've met were very trustworthy, but I should hope that you don't count on this blog for accuracy.
It is good to tie up this blog entry. I admit that I lied to you about the relevance and importance of my mother's Michigan State dupatta. I'm sorry, but Happy Mother's day (yes it is six days late) to you, mom. Jeff was in charge of the flowers. I can't take credit for them. I can only bask in the glory of his behavior. I do take credit for the indian version of the breakup website, so make note of that in your records. Also make note that we've changed the dates of our return flight and as such we will be back in San Francisco on June 1.
Please note that my mother and brother are both quite talented at making friends using this method at spectator sporting events. Maybe it is because she lives in Grosse Pointe, but my mother shares the indian obsession of all things plaid, so I picked not just one but two possible dupatta options for her. Of course these facts are not necessarily relevant, but they are important. Well maybe not to you, but by this point I gather that you are used to suffering through my digressions so I'm sure you won't mind another.
My brother quit his job a few days back. A fact that weighs heavy on my mind for no other reason than I've exhausted all other stories about criminal rickshaw drivers. There are a multitude of possible vocations for him to pursue, but I think he is going to try his entreprenuerial skills and create a website called www.nastybreakup.com. I'm sure that he has already reserved the URL, so maybe this advance advertisement will be all that is necessary to kick start the business. At nastybreakup.com, users may solicit expert advice for breaking up with romantic interests or they may send their soon-to-be-future ex-partner "anonymous" notice of their soon-to-be-future aspirations.
In my expert opinion, it sounds like a service that those who find themselves in arranged marriages may greatly appreciate. So we'll soon be kicking things off at nastybreakup.co.in (indian web address) for those in the subcontinent lucky enough to have internet access and an axe to grind. Folks here are much to polite and modest to take care of these much needed communications in person, so things here are as they say "ripe for the picking." We will even include a section for brides to be who have found an unrealistic dowry demanded of their families (Thanks David).
For a logo we will "borrow" the sikh logo or IkOnkar (Pronounced EkOankaar). To me nothing indicates a trustworthy business more than an Ikonkar, or anything remotely sikh-y. Is it wrong for me to love all that is sikh? Sikh men are all like the grandfather's that I never met. Their long beards and turbans exude a cuddly sexiness, that drives Michele (And I!) crazy. We do not bargain, harass or feel up any rickshaw driver that could be a sikh. I sleep soundly on all government buses with a sikh drivers and pictures of sikh gurus surrounded by flashing green and red LED lights. Michele calls it "sikhtotification." I don't know what to call it. I'm just drawn to these men... I admit it! I am not above trusting all sikhs for their religious views and practices that I know nothing about.
This has been driving me crazy since we last spoke in Amritsar, dear reader. At the golden temple, the sikh holy book (the Guru Granth Sahib) is continuously sung by sikh priests while comping chords and improvisng melodies on the harmonium. When accompanied by a tabla guru the guru granth sahib is some serious science dropped. Imagine our dismay when we learned that the beautiful cloth covering could not be used as a wall hanging and could not be purchased by non-sikhs. We were absolutely crushed.
I have begun to wear the sacred comb in my hair (not actually comb my hair with it though) and have promised not to trim my beard, ever. I have always been fond of the color orange and until I talk to the customs agent at the Kokatta international airport, I've got one of those little daggers with the nylon holster around my leg. Also, Michele and I have decided to name our first child "kahlsa," not "akivha" as she annoyingly teases. Even as we speak Guru Nanak beams over my left shoulder from Paharganj's finest internet access joint. It is good to have finally found a spiritual home. It is good to find a people to trust in the chaos of india*
* This is not necessarily an accurate statement as Deepa's parents and most of the other incredible people we've met were very trustworthy, but I should hope that you don't count on this blog for accuracy.
It is good to tie up this blog entry. I admit that I lied to you about the relevance and importance of my mother's Michigan State dupatta. I'm sorry, but Happy Mother's day (yes it is six days late) to you, mom. Jeff was in charge of the flowers. I can't take credit for them. I can only bask in the glory of his behavior. I do take credit for the indian version of the breakup website, so make note of that in your records. Also make note that we've changed the dates of our return flight and as such we will be back in San Francisco on June 1.
5/13/03
Michele in Shimla/Chandigarh/Haridwar
Email - Michele 5/10/03
"Hi All,
After a whirlwind last few days, we are back in Delhi. Tomorrow I start Kathak dance classes and Jamie is going to take Harmonium and Guitar classes. I am a little nervous-- the lessons are private, there's going to be a tabla accompaniment, and what if I suck? What if I trip over my dupatta or something?
The last time I wrote, we were in Shimla (British raj-era hill station) for the first day. On our second day there, we made friends with a 23 year old hash-smoking Indian boxer named Happy who was anything but happy. In fact, he spent the whole day brooding (and smoking hash) over the fact that his ex-girlfriend had just become engaged. Being high did not stop him from taking us to the Kali temple and praying fervently though. Hmmm.. Anyways, he introduced us to his friend Amit and Amit was really cool-- he was really into the Beatles and other western musicians and so he and Jamie talked music a lot (he was also into Amway, but that's another story). The four of us spent the day together roaming in these botanical gardens and then we went to eat-- it was really nice.
Happy also took ua to his house to meet his family, more specifically, the women of his family. It's interesting how in small Indian homes, the center of the home is the largest bed and people congregate on the bed at all hours. It's really nice. Unfortunately, we did not get to sit on the bed-- we sat on chairs next to the bed and smiled awkwardly and drank tea and listened to punjabi music, and Happy (who was not very happy) showed us cards that his ex-girlfriend had given him.
The next day, we left Shimla and Amit insisted on driving us to Chandigargh, a city that is about 3 hours from Shimla and it is the capital of Punjab. It's an interesting city as it's the first planned Indian city and as such, it looks extremely orderly and Communistic, almost like Beijing in some ways. There's this amazing rock garden park there with sculptures made out of broken bangles--it's really awesome. The place was built by an eccentric engineer that worked for the state roads department and he used discarded concrete and other things to make the park. By the way, it was really amazing that Amit insisted on driving us as he was essentially going 2 hours out of his way to spend time with us. He insisted that the pleasure was all his and that he enjoyed it. I enjoyed it too but I still felt bad that he drove two hours out of his way for us.
Amit dropped us off at the bus stand and we got on a bus to Haridwar, one of the 7 holy Hindu cities, where pilgrims go to bathe in the Ganges as it is very clean and near the source at that point. We got on the bus at 7 and were not supposed to arrive until about 1. However, our seatmate Manoj (people are crammed 3 to a seat on Indian buses) and Jamie started talking and he invited us to spend the night with him and his family in Roorkie, which is about 20 KM from Haridwar (Ed: Please note that Michele has actually experienced positive results of Jamie talking to indians and has failed to mention so in this email - Twice!). We accepted and we got off the bus at about midnight and took a bike rickshaw to his house. Even though it was almost 1 AM, everyone was up and his mom and sister insisted that we eat a full meal and drink tea.
Manoj is 25 and he works as a systems administrator in Chandigargh and he goes home about once a month and since he is the only son, it's a big deal when he does go home. It's interesting, as he works with high technology but his family lives in a place without a computer and with an outhouse without electricity-- such a discrepency, although, it's not a potentially turbulent discrepency as Indian families are so tight and family really comes first. And since the culture is so homogenous in terms of values, material differences really don't seem to result in other, more dangerous, differences.
We finally made it to Haridwar the next morning and it was really amazing. There's a temple on the top of a hill that they have a chairlift going up to (think religous Disney World) and people from all walks of life and all parts of India were at this temple with us. It was really crowded and the crowds made it even more powerful-- people pressed together with their puja offerings, clamoring for prasad, trying to perform darshan with the different deity images, incense smoke billowing, signs of faith imprinted on peoples' foreheads-- really powerful. Even more powerful was the Ganges at sunset--- tons of people standing and kneeling on the ghats and sending flower boat offerings down the river. You look out into the river and you see these candlelit offerings heading rapidly down stream and you see people bathing and there's lots of saddhus in orange smoking hash on the sides--- wow. On our second night there, Jamie and I bought a flower boat and made an offering. The flame only lasted so long but it seemed like the boat was going to make it a significant distance, at least I hoped. It was really amazing for me to be at the Ganges after studying about it for so long, I could not help but hope that the river does wash away your sins and so that I too could become purified to some extent.
That's all for now.
Love, Michele"
"Hi All,
After a whirlwind last few days, we are back in Delhi. Tomorrow I start Kathak dance classes and Jamie is going to take Harmonium and Guitar classes. I am a little nervous-- the lessons are private, there's going to be a tabla accompaniment, and what if I suck? What if I trip over my dupatta or something?
The last time I wrote, we were in Shimla (British raj-era hill station) for the first day. On our second day there, we made friends with a 23 year old hash-smoking Indian boxer named Happy who was anything but happy. In fact, he spent the whole day brooding (and smoking hash) over the fact that his ex-girlfriend had just become engaged. Being high did not stop him from taking us to the Kali temple and praying fervently though. Hmmm.. Anyways, he introduced us to his friend Amit and Amit was really cool-- he was really into the Beatles and other western musicians and so he and Jamie talked music a lot (he was also into Amway, but that's another story). The four of us spent the day together roaming in these botanical gardens and then we went to eat-- it was really nice.
Happy also took ua to his house to meet his family, more specifically, the women of his family. It's interesting how in small Indian homes, the center of the home is the largest bed and people congregate on the bed at all hours. It's really nice. Unfortunately, we did not get to sit on the bed-- we sat on chairs next to the bed and smiled awkwardly and drank tea and listened to punjabi music, and Happy (who was not very happy) showed us cards that his ex-girlfriend had given him.
The next day, we left Shimla and Amit insisted on driving us to Chandigargh, a city that is about 3 hours from Shimla and it is the capital of Punjab. It's an interesting city as it's the first planned Indian city and as such, it looks extremely orderly and Communistic, almost like Beijing in some ways. There's this amazing rock garden park there with sculptures made out of broken bangles--it's really awesome. The place was built by an eccentric engineer that worked for the state roads department and he used discarded concrete and other things to make the park. By the way, it was really amazing that Amit insisted on driving us as he was essentially going 2 hours out of his way to spend time with us. He insisted that the pleasure was all his and that he enjoyed it. I enjoyed it too but I still felt bad that he drove two hours out of his way for us.
Amit dropped us off at the bus stand and we got on a bus to Haridwar, one of the 7 holy Hindu cities, where pilgrims go to bathe in the Ganges as it is very clean and near the source at that point. We got on the bus at 7 and were not supposed to arrive until about 1. However, our seatmate Manoj (people are crammed 3 to a seat on Indian buses) and Jamie started talking and he invited us to spend the night with him and his family in Roorkie, which is about 20 KM from Haridwar (Ed: Please note that Michele has actually experienced positive results of Jamie talking to indians and has failed to mention so in this email - Twice!). We accepted and we got off the bus at about midnight and took a bike rickshaw to his house. Even though it was almost 1 AM, everyone was up and his mom and sister insisted that we eat a full meal and drink tea.
Manoj is 25 and he works as a systems administrator in Chandigargh and he goes home about once a month and since he is the only son, it's a big deal when he does go home. It's interesting, as he works with high technology but his family lives in a place without a computer and with an outhouse without electricity-- such a discrepency, although, it's not a potentially turbulent discrepency as Indian families are so tight and family really comes first. And since the culture is so homogenous in terms of values, material differences really don't seem to result in other, more dangerous, differences.
We finally made it to Haridwar the next morning and it was really amazing. There's a temple on the top of a hill that they have a chairlift going up to (think religous Disney World) and people from all walks of life and all parts of India were at this temple with us. It was really crowded and the crowds made it even more powerful-- people pressed together with their puja offerings, clamoring for prasad, trying to perform darshan with the different deity images, incense smoke billowing, signs of faith imprinted on peoples' foreheads-- really powerful. Even more powerful was the Ganges at sunset--- tons of people standing and kneeling on the ghats and sending flower boat offerings down the river. You look out into the river and you see these candlelit offerings heading rapidly down stream and you see people bathing and there's lots of saddhus in orange smoking hash on the sides--- wow. On our second night there, Jamie and I bought a flower boat and made an offering. The flame only lasted so long but it seemed like the boat was going to make it a significant distance, at least I hoped. It was really amazing for me to be at the Ganges after studying about it for so long, I could not help but hope that the river does wash away your sins and so that I too could become purified to some extent.
That's all for now.
Love, Michele"
5/8/03
Michele in D'Sala/Shimla
Email - Michele 5/8/03
"Hi All,
On our last day in Dharamasala, Jamie and I sat outside in the Dalai Lama's compound catching the last rays of sun and watching monks play hacky sack-- they were really getting down by the way, robes flying and feet jumping. It was especially cool as we were so close to the Kalachakra temple and so such mundane activity seemed almost paradoxical. Anyways, we were sitting there when we were approached by a monk who asked us where we were from and what our names were. He sat down with us and showed us a map of where in India his monastery was located (in Maharastra). There were obvious language issues but we asked him questions about what he was doing in Dharamsala and how long he was visiting for. It seemed like a pleasant encounter and we were both excited to be talking to a monk. However, he then showed us a photo of his mother and he told us that she was very sick with Parkinsons Disease. I responded extremely empathetically as my grandmother was recently diagnosed with the same and I asked questions about whether or not she was taking meds, how long she has had it, etc. He then asked us if we wanted to donate any money to help his mother. At that point, an awkward pause occurred and we responded that "it's hard, we're sorry but we don't think that we can". After that, the three of us just sat in silence until he got up to leave and he shook our hands goodbye.
I keep on thinking about why I didn't donate, or if I did donate, how much money would have been meaningful, or how I could know that he was even telling us the truth. And then I think about how I could use money that I would have donated to go and visit my grandmother. And then I think about how we have been donating money, a little bit, but not to individuals. Is this good enough? Are we selfish bastards? It really hits me every day how much more privileged I am than the people that I meet and encounter here, and even though beggars and shoe shiners and street musicians annoy the hell out of me, that annoyance is mitigated by a certain degree of sympathy.
We've been taking a lot of government buses over the last few days as Himachal Pradesh is not well served by trains. The buses go painfully slow and they stop quite often at various bus stations. When we arrive at the bus stations, the driver promptly jumps out for however long (5-10 minutes) and us passengers are treated to a steady stream of vendors, hawkers, and musicians. We're captives as we don't know when the bus might leave. On one bus, there was a particularly earnest musician playing a simple droning string instrument. He came on board with a young girl that was there to collect tips. We put a 2 rupee coin in her tin and she moved on. She then apparently collected a 5 rupee bill from someone else, and so she came back to us to show us and ask for more money. Disgusted, I took the 2 rupee coin back. She then proceeded to hit my knee over and over again with the tin. I tried to take the 5 rupee note from her (after all, it seemed like she was offering it to me) although I did this jokingly. Finally, they left the bus and the torture session was over.
Currently, we are in Shimla, another hill station in HP that is the most British of them all. This is the place where the entire Indian government used to relocate in the summer. It's interesting--- British architecture that is crumbly and its very cool out. It reminds me a bit of Oxford only everyone is Indian. It's nice to see all the Indians out in their cold weather gear. Tonight at sunset, we climbed a steep path to the Monkey Temple. On the way up, we rented a wooden walking stick which was pitched to us as "a good thing to scare the monkeys away". We didn't really need to scare them away although they did get very close to us. They're fascinating to watch and the babies are just so cute. I wonder why we don't have monkeys in America like here. In a way, I guess they are like raccoons-- they eat food and they're nuisances.
We are staying at the YMCA here and it's cool-- kinda like a big antiquated haunted British house that's slightly musty and damp.
That's all for now. I can't believe that our trip is almost over.
Love, Michele"
"Hi All,
On our last day in Dharamasala, Jamie and I sat outside in the Dalai Lama's compound catching the last rays of sun and watching monks play hacky sack-- they were really getting down by the way, robes flying and feet jumping. It was especially cool as we were so close to the Kalachakra temple and so such mundane activity seemed almost paradoxical. Anyways, we were sitting there when we were approached by a monk who asked us where we were from and what our names were. He sat down with us and showed us a map of where in India his monastery was located (in Maharastra). There were obvious language issues but we asked him questions about what he was doing in Dharamsala and how long he was visiting for. It seemed like a pleasant encounter and we were both excited to be talking to a monk. However, he then showed us a photo of his mother and he told us that she was very sick with Parkinsons Disease. I responded extremely empathetically as my grandmother was recently diagnosed with the same and I asked questions about whether or not she was taking meds, how long she has had it, etc. He then asked us if we wanted to donate any money to help his mother. At that point, an awkward pause occurred and we responded that "it's hard, we're sorry but we don't think that we can". After that, the three of us just sat in silence until he got up to leave and he shook our hands goodbye.
I keep on thinking about why I didn't donate, or if I did donate, how much money would have been meaningful, or how I could know that he was even telling us the truth. And then I think about how I could use money that I would have donated to go and visit my grandmother. And then I think about how we have been donating money, a little bit, but not to individuals. Is this good enough? Are we selfish bastards? It really hits me every day how much more privileged I am than the people that I meet and encounter here, and even though beggars and shoe shiners and street musicians annoy the hell out of me, that annoyance is mitigated by a certain degree of sympathy.
We've been taking a lot of government buses over the last few days as Himachal Pradesh is not well served by trains. The buses go painfully slow and they stop quite often at various bus stations. When we arrive at the bus stations, the driver promptly jumps out for however long (5-10 minutes) and us passengers are treated to a steady stream of vendors, hawkers, and musicians. We're captives as we don't know when the bus might leave. On one bus, there was a particularly earnest musician playing a simple droning string instrument. He came on board with a young girl that was there to collect tips. We put a 2 rupee coin in her tin and she moved on. She then apparently collected a 5 rupee bill from someone else, and so she came back to us to show us and ask for more money. Disgusted, I took the 2 rupee coin back. She then proceeded to hit my knee over and over again with the tin. I tried to take the 5 rupee note from her (after all, it seemed like she was offering it to me) although I did this jokingly. Finally, they left the bus and the torture session was over.
Currently, we are in Shimla, another hill station in HP that is the most British of them all. This is the place where the entire Indian government used to relocate in the summer. It's interesting--- British architecture that is crumbly and its very cool out. It reminds me a bit of Oxford only everyone is Indian. It's nice to see all the Indians out in their cold weather gear. Tonight at sunset, we climbed a steep path to the Monkey Temple. On the way up, we rented a wooden walking stick which was pitched to us as "a good thing to scare the monkeys away". We didn't really need to scare them away although they did get very close to us. They're fascinating to watch and the babies are just so cute. I wonder why we don't have monkeys in America like here. In a way, I guess they are like raccoons-- they eat food and they're nuisances.
We are staying at the YMCA here and it's cool-- kinda like a big antiquated haunted British house that's slightly musty and damp.
That's all for now. I can't believe that our trip is almost over.
Love, Michele"
Michele in D'sala
Email - Michele 5/4/03
"Hi Everyone,
I'm sitting here in the Green Cyber Cafe listening to allegedly soothing music. My newly acquired Tibetan monks bag is on the bag of my chair and my Tibetan wool hat is on my head. I'm surrounded by other white folks most of whom are wearing wool Tibetan shawls. My stomach is full from Tibetan mo-mos and real coffee, and I haven't dropped a drip of sweat in 2 days. Life is good despite the fact that we are surrounded by annoying mindful people that talk about clairvoyance and sharing at dinner. (Incidentally, we ate homemade gnocci and ravioli last night at Richard Gere's favorite restaurant.)
Quite honestly, I am relieved to be in a place where Indian people might be the minority. I am relieved to not have to bargain and dodge rickshaws and cow dung in the street. McCleodGanj is a lot cleaner than most other places we've been, maybe because of the white mindful people or maybe because of the Tibetans-- not sure. It's really beautiful here with views of the Himalayas when it's not foggy/misty and we've been going on lovely walks in the hills. Yesterday, after the hellish 5 hour bus ride that we took here (which was scary by the way), we went for a nice walk to a small town called Bhagsu where there was a cold spring and a waterfall that we scampered up to. And then we walked back in the setting sun to eat at the abve mentioned restaurant.
Today we went to the Tibetan compound where the two primary temples are and the Dalai Lama's residence is. There were prayer wheels to spin and monks and nuns to gawk at. And it's really cool as they're making a kalachakra sand mandala right now which is a rare occurence-- we got to watch the monks drawing the initial lines of the mandala on the board-- it's very intricate and involved. Apparently, it's possible to get tickets to a public audience with His Holiness so we might try to do that tomorrow, to be among the hundreds that he greets everyday. There are so many institutions here for the Tibetans- clinics, schools, social service departments, welfare ministries, etc. I wonder how much support, if any, they get from the Indian government.
I want to say something else about the India-Pakistan situation and about our experience at the border a few days ago. It was really amazing to see "average" Indians from all walks of life shouting such nationalist slogans and chants. But it's really not all that surprising as the front pages of the Indian papers are always about Pakistani atrocities and the unreasonableness of the Pakistani leader. Indians are very resentful that America does not see Pakistan in the same light as to them, Pakistan is equivalent to Iraq and they are it's victims.
I also want to say that I think I reached a low point two nights ago in terms of my interactions with Indians. We arrived at a border town at about 8 PM after a crazy busride. I was tired and hungry and sick of carrying my bag and sick of walking along salivating rickshaw drivers. We met this older man who immediately latched on to us and wanted to give us advice and help us. I was immediately suspicious and wary in response. He walked us over to a restaurant and left for a few minutes; after he came back, he insisted on paying for our dinner. He then invited us out for a drink but we refused. (He said that his brothers had immigrated to Canada and as such, he really felt an obligation to foreigners.)
He was nothing but nice and courteous the whole time but I could not cease to be suspicious. And it's really a shame as after being bombarded by people with unsavory intentions in Rajastan, it's hard not to be suspicious, but as a result, I miss out on quality interactions with genuine people. After this whole experience, I was left with a feeling of shame and remorse-- I feel like I don't like the way that I relate to people here right now but at the same time, I feel like it's hard to stop being suspicious. And it really is impossible to talk to everyone who wants to talk to us.
Well that is what is up with us. We leave probably the day after tomorrow for Shimla, another hill station, and then we head back down into the heat. I think we plan to spend about 5 days in Delhi. Jamie will study music and I am thinking about taking some Kathak dancing classes (Deepa's mom inspired me!).
Love, Michele"
"Hi Everyone,
I'm sitting here in the Green Cyber Cafe listening to allegedly soothing music. My newly acquired Tibetan monks bag is on the bag of my chair and my Tibetan wool hat is on my head. I'm surrounded by other white folks most of whom are wearing wool Tibetan shawls. My stomach is full from Tibetan mo-mos and real coffee, and I haven't dropped a drip of sweat in 2 days. Life is good despite the fact that we are surrounded by annoying mindful people that talk about clairvoyance and sharing at dinner. (Incidentally, we ate homemade gnocci and ravioli last night at Richard Gere's favorite restaurant.)
Quite honestly, I am relieved to be in a place where Indian people might be the minority. I am relieved to not have to bargain and dodge rickshaws and cow dung in the street. McCleodGanj is a lot cleaner than most other places we've been, maybe because of the white mindful people or maybe because of the Tibetans-- not sure. It's really beautiful here with views of the Himalayas when it's not foggy/misty and we've been going on lovely walks in the hills. Yesterday, after the hellish 5 hour bus ride that we took here (which was scary by the way), we went for a nice walk to a small town called Bhagsu where there was a cold spring and a waterfall that we scampered up to. And then we walked back in the setting sun to eat at the abve mentioned restaurant.
Today we went to the Tibetan compound where the two primary temples are and the Dalai Lama's residence is. There were prayer wheels to spin and monks and nuns to gawk at. And it's really cool as they're making a kalachakra sand mandala right now which is a rare occurence-- we got to watch the monks drawing the initial lines of the mandala on the board-- it's very intricate and involved. Apparently, it's possible to get tickets to a public audience with His Holiness so we might try to do that tomorrow, to be among the hundreds that he greets everyday. There are so many institutions here for the Tibetans- clinics, schools, social service departments, welfare ministries, etc. I wonder how much support, if any, they get from the Indian government.
I want to say something else about the India-Pakistan situation and about our experience at the border a few days ago. It was really amazing to see "average" Indians from all walks of life shouting such nationalist slogans and chants. But it's really not all that surprising as the front pages of the Indian papers are always about Pakistani atrocities and the unreasonableness of the Pakistani leader. Indians are very resentful that America does not see Pakistan in the same light as to them, Pakistan is equivalent to Iraq and they are it's victims.
I also want to say that I think I reached a low point two nights ago in terms of my interactions with Indians. We arrived at a border town at about 8 PM after a crazy busride. I was tired and hungry and sick of carrying my bag and sick of walking along salivating rickshaw drivers. We met this older man who immediately latched on to us and wanted to give us advice and help us. I was immediately suspicious and wary in response. He walked us over to a restaurant and left for a few minutes; after he came back, he insisted on paying for our dinner. He then invited us out for a drink but we refused. (He said that his brothers had immigrated to Canada and as such, he really felt an obligation to foreigners.)
He was nothing but nice and courteous the whole time but I could not cease to be suspicious. And it's really a shame as after being bombarded by people with unsavory intentions in Rajastan, it's hard not to be suspicious, but as a result, I miss out on quality interactions with genuine people. After this whole experience, I was left with a feeling of shame and remorse-- I feel like I don't like the way that I relate to people here right now but at the same time, I feel like it's hard to stop being suspicious. And it really is impossible to talk to everyone who wants to talk to us.
Well that is what is up with us. We leave probably the day after tomorrow for Shimla, another hill station, and then we head back down into the heat. I think we plan to spend about 5 days in Delhi. Jamie will study music and I am thinking about taking some Kathak dancing classes (Deepa's mom inspired me!).
Love, Michele"
5/7/03
In light of decent and well conversation - Michele has forced me to come up with a list of traveling tips for couples. I think that this sounds like a perfectly awful idea. So far we've only had minor scuffles. I think that focusing on the positive aspects of this goddamned journey will only turn them sour.
Don't look back I say... Okay, that will be rule number one.
Rule number two: Consistently schedule quiet time. It is quite okay and absolutely essential to not have to talk all the time.
Rule number three: Occasionally use separate beds. Thank shiva for monastary guest houses.
Rule number four: Buy two of everything. Otherwise you'll have squabbles over who gets the bitchin' wall hanging or the funky pink hat. Less will be hanging over your heads if things as a couple go south. The itemization and separization of stuff is much easier.
Rule number five: Pretend that you you are married. This actually makes things much easier when conversing with indians. You will most certainly have those strange conversations regarding having sex with women/men before you were married, but it reduces the odd moments. Most of them anyway.
Rule number six: Don't dwell on certain subjects too long. Let discussions regarding future employment, educational status and housing options wait until you are home...
And with that rule, dear reader, I will traverse our conversation back to something less flammable:
Michele and I never made it to Tibet. We did make it to Macleod Ganj, a beautiful hill station just north of Dharamsala in india. Mac ganj is where the exiled Tibetan government has set up shop. All things tibetan that haven't been trashed by the Chinese over the past 50 years have been moved here. Tibetan music and art work and clothing is everywhere. Images of H.H. (his holiness) the Dalai Lama are ubiquitous as are tibetan prayer flags.
Most of the migration to India from Tibet has come over the last 10 years. As such, westerners are only now starting to react to the atrocities completed by the Chinese government against tibetans. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but despite bumperstickers and benefit concerts, Tibet will never be free. It will be an incredibly expensive ordeal to buy off the chinese government. Cold hard cash is the only thing that could bring H.H. the Dalai Lama back to his home. In my opinion, the tibetans need to become more comfortable calling themselves Tibetan Indians.*
Money will talk. Maybe if there was some sort of terrorist activity in chinese tibet, then our popularly selected government could put together some sort of invasion scheme together. But the question remains: is there any oil in Tibet?
Tibet also needs a lobbying firm in Washington to help shape future policy. They must imitate the jewish lobby. Or maybe they could imitate the italians and form a tibetan mafia. They could definately do with a security force. I can see groups of buddist commandos in their maroon and mustard robes taking back their capital from the chinese occupiers.
I do like the idea of a boycott. I think that boycotting all chinese made products may be as effective as chosing not to breath air, but an olympic boycott now that is another story. Maybe we could round up all the olympic atheletes and ask them to wait another four years. Hell, we'll probably have to buy them off too with all the possible lawsuits. You know how annoying those parents of athletic kids are. Just ask Tonya Harding.
* Michele takes offense to this comment. She notes that the comment is "presumptuous" and "insensitive to the plight of the displaced tibetans." In response, I must admit to not knowing much more than a wink about the said plight. Please note that all comments I made (and will continue to make) were mere observations and opinions and do not reflect the views of all parties contibuting to this web log.
Rule number seven: Make as many non-relationship related inflammatory statements as possible (written form is preferred). These statemetns provide couples a unique opportunity to work through any underlying relationship tensions.
Don't look back I say... Okay, that will be rule number one.
Rule number two: Consistently schedule quiet time. It is quite okay and absolutely essential to not have to talk all the time.
Rule number three: Occasionally use separate beds. Thank shiva for monastary guest houses.
Rule number four: Buy two of everything. Otherwise you'll have squabbles over who gets the bitchin' wall hanging or the funky pink hat. Less will be hanging over your heads if things as a couple go south. The itemization and separization of stuff is much easier.
Rule number five: Pretend that you you are married. This actually makes things much easier when conversing with indians. You will most certainly have those strange conversations regarding having sex with women/men before you were married, but it reduces the odd moments. Most of them anyway.
Rule number six: Don't dwell on certain subjects too long. Let discussions regarding future employment, educational status and housing options wait until you are home...
And with that rule, dear reader, I will traverse our conversation back to something less flammable:
Michele and I never made it to Tibet. We did make it to Macleod Ganj, a beautiful hill station just north of Dharamsala in india. Mac ganj is where the exiled Tibetan government has set up shop. All things tibetan that haven't been trashed by the Chinese over the past 50 years have been moved here. Tibetan music and art work and clothing is everywhere. Images of H.H. (his holiness) the Dalai Lama are ubiquitous as are tibetan prayer flags.
Most of the migration to India from Tibet has come over the last 10 years. As such, westerners are only now starting to react to the atrocities completed by the Chinese government against tibetans. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but despite bumperstickers and benefit concerts, Tibet will never be free. It will be an incredibly expensive ordeal to buy off the chinese government. Cold hard cash is the only thing that could bring H.H. the Dalai Lama back to his home. In my opinion, the tibetans need to become more comfortable calling themselves Tibetan Indians.*
Money will talk. Maybe if there was some sort of terrorist activity in chinese tibet, then our popularly selected government could put together some sort of invasion scheme together. But the question remains: is there any oil in Tibet?
Tibet also needs a lobbying firm in Washington to help shape future policy. They must imitate the jewish lobby. Or maybe they could imitate the italians and form a tibetan mafia. They could definately do with a security force. I can see groups of buddist commandos in their maroon and mustard robes taking back their capital from the chinese occupiers.
I do like the idea of a boycott. I think that boycotting all chinese made products may be as effective as chosing not to breath air, but an olympic boycott now that is another story. Maybe we could round up all the olympic atheletes and ask them to wait another four years. Hell, we'll probably have to buy them off too with all the possible lawsuits. You know how annoying those parents of athletic kids are. Just ask Tonya Harding.
* Michele takes offense to this comment. She notes that the comment is "presumptuous" and "insensitive to the plight of the displaced tibetans." In response, I must admit to not knowing much more than a wink about the said plight. Please note that all comments I made (and will continue to make) were mere observations and opinions and do not reflect the views of all parties contibuting to this web log.
Rule number seven: Make as many non-relationship related inflammatory statements as possible (written form is preferred). These statemetns provide couples a unique opportunity to work through any underlying relationship tensions.
5/5/03
Good Lord! Sweet Baby Jesus!
We forgot to unpack Talula. I though I heard some sort of grunt when my bag fell from the roof of the bus. I now know who has been smoking all the hash I was planning on smuggling from Pakistan. Drat.
And to dispell and popular myths, Michele does the laundry, her's at least. I've got the special undergarments that you can wear for 6 weeks and not take off. I just pay for stuff.
Speaking of which, I am currently soliciting orders for tibetan peace flags. Please contact me so that I can get a bulk order of peace. The pricing is reasonable in quantities of 16 or more. velaparatodo@yahoo.com
Much love to the crack engineers and staff of TMP, inc. for providing the logistics and wherewithall to make this annoying website possible.
And to dispell and popular myths, Michele does the laundry, her's at least. I've got the special undergarments that you can wear for 6 weeks and not take off. I just pay for stuff.
Speaking of which, I am currently soliciting orders for tibetan peace flags. Please contact me so that I can get a bulk order of peace. The pricing is reasonable in quantities of 16 or more. velaparatodo@yahoo.com
Much love to the crack engineers and staff of TMP, inc. for providing the logistics and wherewithall to make this annoying website possible.
Dear World
On the one hand it's really cool that they haven't discovered me yet, but on the other hand it is EXTREMELY stuffy in this suitcase and only when Jamie and Michele are fast asleep (which rarely happens, if you know anything about Jamie) that I can crawl out from underneath their dirty laundry and scrounge through their garbage for bits of food. But STILL! This has been an amazing adventure, my very first stowaway experience! I was sooooooo glad I was well hidden when Michele beat up the rickshaw driver- I would have died if I'd had to look him in the eyes... but thankfully, i just got dragged along anonymously like some bag of laundry. Which I guess is what I was. Oh well. Thankfully I've eaten so little that I haven't had any digestive episodes, and I think the canvas of the laundry bag has done a good job of shielding me from SARS. Boy am I ever thankful that these guys never actually do their laundry, they just lug it around from place to place! Sure it's much heavier than it ought to be, but they're so innocent... or gullible... they think it has something to do with humidity. WTF? Oh well. Anyway it's been a great trip, wish you were here, ha ha ha. I'll tell you about some of the better quibbles I have overheard, next time. Love, Talula
5/1/03
Michele at Waga Border
Email - Michele 5/1/03
"Hi All,
Tonight, Jamie and I joined hundreds, perhaps a thousand or so (Ed: I'd be surprized if it wasn't 8 to 10 thousand), Indians at the India-Pakistan border in the north of Punjab. A spectacle takes place every night at sunset when the border gates are closed and the military touts from both side march to the gates to the tune of shouts of "VICTORY TO INDIA" and other such things, and I am not sure what was said on the Pakistani side. We sat on bleachers, in a mini-stadium in fact, that was built for this purpose, sandwiched tightly between Indian familes and young men and couples.
We waited for about an hour while the crowd warmed up (lots of flag waving and chanting) until the sun was in its proper place (or perhaps, the whistle bearing army men were sick of ordering the Indians to sit down) and the nightly ritual began. Immediately, everyone jumped to their feet and started shouting and screaming at the other side. We were told to scream as loudly as possible, so that they could hear us in Lahore (Ed: A neighboring city in Pakistan that was part of Greater Punjab in 1947. Lahore is also a city that your faithful editor refused to be dragged to by the author).
Unfortunately, it was very difficult to see due to the testosterone rush that seemed to transfix all the young men around us and make them run to the very front. Although I could not see very well, it was OK. I enjoyed looking in my binoculars at the Pakistani side and I thought three things:
1. The Pakistanis were smart to have separate seating for men and women as the women's side was calmer and it seemed like the women could see
2. It is very possible that a former neighbor of someone on the Indian side was sitting on the Pakistani side, and
3. Fifty or so years ago, it was all one country and now people are screaming threats at each other across a border. Wow.
It was an interesting thing to do and a sporting way to pass a sunset, I suppose. After taking pictures with people that we met there, our driver took us to this trippy temple where Indian women apparently go to pray to wish for babies and fertility. It's a really random, garish, and bright place and at one point, you have to crawl through a tunnel and at another point, we walked through a fake womb with a water pathway. We liked the latter so much, that we actually did this twice. Hopefully this does not mean that I am uber-fertile. Who knew religion could be so fun and user-friendly? Wouldn't it be great if Jewish temples were so interactive? There could be a wave pool where we could practice "escaping from the Egyptians" and maybe a sandpit for "40 years in the desert".
Currently, we are in Amritsar, the site of the holy Sikh Golden Temple and it is BEAUTIFUL, really really lovely. And it's really gold and it gleans in the middle of a lake, surrounded by marble courtyards. And the Sikhs that we have been meeting have been so friendly. We're actually staying in a gurudwara, one of the places where Silkh pilgrams stay. For 50 rupees (1 dollar), we have a double room, our own bathroom, and check this out-- free gecko service. I was initially concerned about this service as my interactions with geckos have been minimal but Jamie explained the virtues. He's growing on me-- he's cute and white and small (the gecko, not Jamie). He's been content to stay in the bathroom but we are trying to coax him out to explore the larger room. I'll keep you posted, if you wish.
But the Sikhs really take care of their own--- lodging, food, friendship--it's really incredible. And I am looking forward to seeing the temple tonight, in the dark. The Sikh community is really interesting, their focus on ferocity and their apparent skill at war, but at the same time, they really value honesty and integrity. And it's a really colorful and devoted community, it seems.
Jamie and I are hatching a plan to buy lots of merchandise from the Golden Temple to sell to the Sikh "India out of Khalistan" cab drivers in NY and Berkeley. We're looking for tee shirts and posters and whatever else is fit to carry. If you want to get involved, feel free to contact your local friendly Sikh cab driver and find out what kind of merchandise he would like. But make sure that it's portable and easy to carry -- no replica statues are possible.
I hope that you are all well.
Love, Michele"
"Hi All,
Tonight, Jamie and I joined hundreds, perhaps a thousand or so (Ed: I'd be surprized if it wasn't 8 to 10 thousand), Indians at the India-Pakistan border in the north of Punjab. A spectacle takes place every night at sunset when the border gates are closed and the military touts from both side march to the gates to the tune of shouts of "VICTORY TO INDIA" and other such things, and I am not sure what was said on the Pakistani side. We sat on bleachers, in a mini-stadium in fact, that was built for this purpose, sandwiched tightly between Indian familes and young men and couples.
We waited for about an hour while the crowd warmed up (lots of flag waving and chanting) until the sun was in its proper place (or perhaps, the whistle bearing army men were sick of ordering the Indians to sit down) and the nightly ritual began. Immediately, everyone jumped to their feet and started shouting and screaming at the other side. We were told to scream as loudly as possible, so that they could hear us in Lahore (Ed: A neighboring city in Pakistan that was part of Greater Punjab in 1947. Lahore is also a city that your faithful editor refused to be dragged to by the author).
Unfortunately, it was very difficult to see due to the testosterone rush that seemed to transfix all the young men around us and make them run to the very front. Although I could not see very well, it was OK. I enjoyed looking in my binoculars at the Pakistani side and I thought three things:
1. The Pakistanis were smart to have separate seating for men and women as the women's side was calmer and it seemed like the women could see
2. It is very possible that a former neighbor of someone on the Indian side was sitting on the Pakistani side, and
3. Fifty or so years ago, it was all one country and now people are screaming threats at each other across a border. Wow.
It was an interesting thing to do and a sporting way to pass a sunset, I suppose. After taking pictures with people that we met there, our driver took us to this trippy temple where Indian women apparently go to pray to wish for babies and fertility. It's a really random, garish, and bright place and at one point, you have to crawl through a tunnel and at another point, we walked through a fake womb with a water pathway. We liked the latter so much, that we actually did this twice. Hopefully this does not mean that I am uber-fertile. Who knew religion could be so fun and user-friendly? Wouldn't it be great if Jewish temples were so interactive? There could be a wave pool where we could practice "escaping from the Egyptians" and maybe a sandpit for "40 years in the desert".
Currently, we are in Amritsar, the site of the holy Sikh Golden Temple and it is BEAUTIFUL, really really lovely. And it's really gold and it gleans in the middle of a lake, surrounded by marble courtyards. And the Sikhs that we have been meeting have been so friendly. We're actually staying in a gurudwara, one of the places where Silkh pilgrams stay. For 50 rupees (1 dollar), we have a double room, our own bathroom, and check this out-- free gecko service. I was initially concerned about this service as my interactions with geckos have been minimal but Jamie explained the virtues. He's growing on me-- he's cute and white and small (the gecko, not Jamie). He's been content to stay in the bathroom but we are trying to coax him out to explore the larger room. I'll keep you posted, if you wish.
But the Sikhs really take care of their own--- lodging, food, friendship--it's really incredible. And I am looking forward to seeing the temple tonight, in the dark. The Sikh community is really interesting, their focus on ferocity and their apparent skill at war, but at the same time, they really value honesty and integrity. And it's a really colorful and devoted community, it seems.
Jamie and I are hatching a plan to buy lots of merchandise from the Golden Temple to sell to the Sikh "India out of Khalistan" cab drivers in NY and Berkeley. We're looking for tee shirts and posters and whatever else is fit to carry. If you want to get involved, feel free to contact your local friendly Sikh cab driver and find out what kind of merchandise he would like. But make sure that it's portable and easy to carry -- no replica statues are possible.
I hope that you are all well.
Love, Michele"
4/29/03
Don't Knock the Hustle
The light of the art of spanging for western rupies is slowly but surely being illuminated for me. Natural selection has passed these techniques down from generation to generation. The youngsters have refined the process and created subtle variations on the central theme. Thus, people have crazy game in india. Sometimes I find these little mental games challenging and exciting, more often the whole process drives my head into a wall.
Those who know me know that my capacity for quick strategic thinking is nill. However we'll all admit that I've managed to scrape by so far on good looks and not-so technical writing skills. I don't think it has anything to do with the literacy rates, but stuff in writing is relatively meaningless here. Ask the government. Ask the public interest litigation advocates who have to use the courts to sue those in charge to actually enforce written law.
"Friend would you like to see a factory where people are making the handicrafts you see everyday in the market?" He's suggested several other sidetrips and you've axed them all, so why not give the kid a chance. A "no-pressure" high pressure showroom follows that is dressed as a factory. No, the factory is in a village 10km from the city. The manufacturing demonstration consisted of dude dipping two different shapped camel prints in different colors and plopping them on shred of fabric. Lots of talk about the natural dyes and the spinach in the green. Wow, these people certainly have a great capacity to care.
The rugmaking joint that follows features dusty looms, "works in progress" and Rameesh who demonstrates how indian carpets are actually made. We followed through on the rugmaking trip because our driver has come clean and told us that they give him a shirt everytime he steers clients through. This sudden honesty is no doubt due to his screw up where he received the 20 rupie note from the "printmaking factory" dude in plain view.
"Friend where are you from? Canada? Yeah I like Canadians. Here take this puppet as a gift. Usually I sell them for $250. But it is yours for free because I like you... My family made the puppets. Would you like to come over for dinner and see a puppet show? Uh, I see you have other plans... Do you have anything from Canada to exchange for my gift of friendship? Any canadian money, perhaps? Oh, maybe you can just buy me a beer. Or give me 100 rupies. As you wish..."
"Do you need a guide for the mosque... No don't worry I'm not very expensive. Okay - bye. Maybe next time... (5 minutes later) Do you know what the blue lines are for? That is where they carry in the deceased to wash in the fountain prior to the funeral ceremony. Oh don't worry I'll be your guide... I'll do it for free. Would you like to come to my house for dinner later. Great i'll meet you at the steps at 8:30..."
In retrospect these schemes are not too advanced. But they are sneak attacks compared to the constant barrage of mothers and daughters and sons and fathers asking you for stuff. Anything. In pushkar, beautiful gypsy women flock to single male travelers like harpies. They hold your hand and when you look away for an instant they apply a henna tattoo. Then demand payment for their artistry.
People try to tell you that they make out like bandits. Kids make 800 to 1000 rupies per day on the spange. Deepak the incense vendor says that the beggar guy without legs owns a fleet of rickshaws that he leases to his neighbors. His son is a doctor, but he's stays out on the street becasue it brings in serious cash. Oh, but he's not in town anymore because another disabled man came in and cornered his market. Maybe the new guy's stump was more gruesome and infected?
I'm not sure if I buy it, though. You hear those types of rumors all the time.
Since Bombay, I don't think that I've gone one day without seeing the goddamned Om Shanti sign emblazoned on some hapless sunburned tshirt. From what I read and hear the tourist scene is less visible in Amritsar. Seeing less white people always puts me in a better mood (although there is one cute red-headed semitic girl whose company I thoroughly enjoy). Some sort of self-loathing issue says my therapist. Either way, I hope that I won't be counting Germans in the Amritsar internet cafe. You can tell them straight off by their black socks.
Those who know me know that my capacity for quick strategic thinking is nill. However we'll all admit that I've managed to scrape by so far on good looks and not-so technical writing skills. I don't think it has anything to do with the literacy rates, but stuff in writing is relatively meaningless here. Ask the government. Ask the public interest litigation advocates who have to use the courts to sue those in charge to actually enforce written law.
"Friend would you like to see a factory where people are making the handicrafts you see everyday in the market?" He's suggested several other sidetrips and you've axed them all, so why not give the kid a chance. A "no-pressure" high pressure showroom follows that is dressed as a factory. No, the factory is in a village 10km from the city. The manufacturing demonstration consisted of dude dipping two different shapped camel prints in different colors and plopping them on shred of fabric. Lots of talk about the natural dyes and the spinach in the green. Wow, these people certainly have a great capacity to care.
The rugmaking joint that follows features dusty looms, "works in progress" and Rameesh who demonstrates how indian carpets are actually made. We followed through on the rugmaking trip because our driver has come clean and told us that they give him a shirt everytime he steers clients through. This sudden honesty is no doubt due to his screw up where he received the 20 rupie note from the "printmaking factory" dude in plain view.
"Friend where are you from? Canada? Yeah I like Canadians. Here take this puppet as a gift. Usually I sell them for $250. But it is yours for free because I like you... My family made the puppets. Would you like to come over for dinner and see a puppet show? Uh, I see you have other plans... Do you have anything from Canada to exchange for my gift of friendship? Any canadian money, perhaps? Oh, maybe you can just buy me a beer. Or give me 100 rupies. As you wish..."
"Do you need a guide for the mosque... No don't worry I'm not very expensive. Okay - bye. Maybe next time... (5 minutes later) Do you know what the blue lines are for? That is where they carry in the deceased to wash in the fountain prior to the funeral ceremony. Oh don't worry I'll be your guide... I'll do it for free. Would you like to come to my house for dinner later. Great i'll meet you at the steps at 8:30..."
In retrospect these schemes are not too advanced. But they are sneak attacks compared to the constant barrage of mothers and daughters and sons and fathers asking you for stuff. Anything. In pushkar, beautiful gypsy women flock to single male travelers like harpies. They hold your hand and when you look away for an instant they apply a henna tattoo. Then demand payment for their artistry.
People try to tell you that they make out like bandits. Kids make 800 to 1000 rupies per day on the spange. Deepak the incense vendor says that the beggar guy without legs owns a fleet of rickshaws that he leases to his neighbors. His son is a doctor, but he's stays out on the street becasue it brings in serious cash. Oh, but he's not in town anymore because another disabled man came in and cornered his market. Maybe the new guy's stump was more gruesome and infected?
I'm not sure if I buy it, though. You hear those types of rumors all the time.
Since Bombay, I don't think that I've gone one day without seeing the goddamned Om Shanti sign emblazoned on some hapless sunburned tshirt. From what I read and hear the tourist scene is less visible in Amritsar. Seeing less white people always puts me in a better mood (although there is one cute red-headed semitic girl whose company I thoroughly enjoy). Some sort of self-loathing issue says my therapist. Either way, I hope that I won't be counting Germans in the Amritsar internet cafe. You can tell them straight off by their black socks.
4/26/03
Michele in Pushkar
Email - Michele 4/26/03
"Hi All,
Jamie and I are currently in Pushkar, a magical town on the edge of the Thor desert, a town of 500 temples and mountains surrounding a holy lake. It's also a town where pigs and cows share the streets with saddhus in orange and hippies in tank tops. And thankfully, there are no auto-rickshaws and few cars.
All of the guidebooks warn about overzealous priests who lure you down to the ghats and force you to perform puja and then they wrap a red string (the "Pushkar Passport") around your wrist and then demand an exhorbitant amount of money. On our first night, last night, we were accosted by a young man wearing the tell-tale "priestly" white string around his shoulder. He first offered Jamie some hash or marijuana and then when we refused, he gave us two flowers to take down to the water to wish good luck to our families on. We took the flowers and decided that it seemed like a nice gesture and so we went down to the water. As soon as we got down there, dude shows up with another older guy, holding tin plates with string and flower petals, ready to annoint us, practically forcing themselves on us. We tried to rationalize, to explain that the rituals had no meaning to us, that we were not Hindus, and that we did not want to feel pressured to perform some ritual. This had no effect. Finally, we decided to try to turn the tables on them and we blatantly offered them 5 rupees (1/10th of a dollar for a piece of string is not bad) for the "Pushkar Passport" as we figured that once we had this, we would have some respite from other priests. They refused in name but proceeded with the ritual and then became indignant when we offered 5 rupees. We told them that it was not negotiable and that we did not approve of their tactics.
What I am trying to understand though is what these priests really think. If they really think that they are benefiting us by performing these rituals, if it is purely motivated by financial gain, if they get anything religious out of it...... I am also trying to understand what Indians mean by "No Pressure" as they say that and then in the next breath, even before the next breath, there is tons of pressure to buy and visit and eat and go somewhere. It drives me crazy.
In fact, Jamie and I have a "Good Cop, Bad Cop" routine down pat. I am the bad cop and I get really pissed at people invading my space and trying to sell me stuff and so I tell them to go away, that they are being really pushy, that I am not interested, that their techniques SUCK, and Jamie then says "Hi, what's your name? I'm Jamie and this is Michele. We're sorry but we are not really interested. But give us your card and we'll come by later". And then I get all mad at Jamie for being so nice (Ed: Stay tuned dear friends, for this may be a recurring theme). We're going to try to reverse the roles but I don't think I can be a Good Cop. And I am not so sure that Jamie can be a Bad Cop, so we'll see.
But Pushkar is lovely. Today we visited temples and walked around the lake and sat in different places and stared at the ghats and the lake. And we climbed a big hill where a temple is perched to see the sunset and the brahmin came to perform sunset puja, carrying his one year old granddaughter on his shoulders. We witnessed the puja and it was beautiful and then we talked to the brahmin for a bit, about how he climbs the hill twice a day, about his granddaughter, and thankfully, he did not ask for any money or for anything from America. And right near our guesthouse is a small temple where women sit at night and sing Rajastani songs while the men sit outside and play cards and talk.
And our guest house rocks, its owned by a huge family, and the 15 year old son is the cook and we go into the kitchen with him and watch him cook (he showed us how to make eggless omelettes as no eggs are allowed in Pushkar since it is a holy place) and he and his friend have adopted Jamie and they hold his hand while they walk in the street. It's very sweet.
It's good to be in a small town. And I am looking forward to being here for a few more days.
Love, Michele"
"Hi All,
Jamie and I are currently in Pushkar, a magical town on the edge of the Thor desert, a town of 500 temples and mountains surrounding a holy lake. It's also a town where pigs and cows share the streets with saddhus in orange and hippies in tank tops. And thankfully, there are no auto-rickshaws and few cars.
All of the guidebooks warn about overzealous priests who lure you down to the ghats and force you to perform puja and then they wrap a red string (the "Pushkar Passport") around your wrist and then demand an exhorbitant amount of money. On our first night, last night, we were accosted by a young man wearing the tell-tale "priestly" white string around his shoulder. He first offered Jamie some hash or marijuana and then when we refused, he gave us two flowers to take down to the water to wish good luck to our families on. We took the flowers and decided that it seemed like a nice gesture and so we went down to the water. As soon as we got down there, dude shows up with another older guy, holding tin plates with string and flower petals, ready to annoint us, practically forcing themselves on us. We tried to rationalize, to explain that the rituals had no meaning to us, that we were not Hindus, and that we did not want to feel pressured to perform some ritual. This had no effect. Finally, we decided to try to turn the tables on them and we blatantly offered them 5 rupees (1/10th of a dollar for a piece of string is not bad) for the "Pushkar Passport" as we figured that once we had this, we would have some respite from other priests. They refused in name but proceeded with the ritual and then became indignant when we offered 5 rupees. We told them that it was not negotiable and that we did not approve of their tactics.
What I am trying to understand though is what these priests really think. If they really think that they are benefiting us by performing these rituals, if it is purely motivated by financial gain, if they get anything religious out of it...... I am also trying to understand what Indians mean by "No Pressure" as they say that and then in the next breath, even before the next breath, there is tons of pressure to buy and visit and eat and go somewhere. It drives me crazy.
In fact, Jamie and I have a "Good Cop, Bad Cop" routine down pat. I am the bad cop and I get really pissed at people invading my space and trying to sell me stuff and so I tell them to go away, that they are being really pushy, that I am not interested, that their techniques SUCK, and Jamie then says "Hi, what's your name? I'm Jamie and this is Michele. We're sorry but we are not really interested. But give us your card and we'll come by later". And then I get all mad at Jamie for being so nice (Ed: Stay tuned dear friends, for this may be a recurring theme). We're going to try to reverse the roles but I don't think I can be a Good Cop. And I am not so sure that Jamie can be a Bad Cop, so we'll see.
But Pushkar is lovely. Today we visited temples and walked around the lake and sat in different places and stared at the ghats and the lake. And we climbed a big hill where a temple is perched to see the sunset and the brahmin came to perform sunset puja, carrying his one year old granddaughter on his shoulders. We witnessed the puja and it was beautiful and then we talked to the brahmin for a bit, about how he climbs the hill twice a day, about his granddaughter, and thankfully, he did not ask for any money or for anything from America. And right near our guesthouse is a small temple where women sit at night and sing Rajastani songs while the men sit outside and play cards and talk.
And our guest house rocks, its owned by a huge family, and the 15 year old son is the cook and we go into the kitchen with him and watch him cook (he showed us how to make eggless omelettes as no eggs are allowed in Pushkar since it is a holy place) and he and his friend have adopted Jamie and they hold his hand while they walk in the street. It's very sweet.
It's good to be in a small town. And I am looking forward to being here for a few more days.
Love, Michele"
Michele in Jaipur
Email - Michele 4/23/03
"Hello Everyone,
We are now in Jaipur, the capital of Rajastan. Rajastan is a state of deserts and as such, the land is very rocky and tan. It almost reminds me of Joshua Tree in some places and in other places, it seems almost middle eastern. Allegedly to compensate for the barren surroundings, people here wear very bright clothing and so there are many women walking around in neon orange saris and bright green dupattas and all kinds of mirrored clothing. Not a bad way to cheer things up.
Today, after arriving (we almost missed the 6:10 AM train as we overslept and woke up 20 minutes before the train was scheduled to leave and frantically threw everything into our bags and found a bike rickshaw to take us to the station-- for once, the price was quickly negotated) we went to the Monkey Temple which is set in a beautiful valley about 9 KM out of the city. It is essentially a monkey party under monkey rule and there are monkeys everywhere. The first time we went in, with a bag of food, a clever monkey ripped open the bag and all the food fell out. The second time, we were more crafty and Jamie threw small amounts of food to distract them and we walked quickly to the heart of the temple; we made it in without sacrificing anything to plunder. It felt like a video game--- how to outmonkey the monkeys and make it to center of the temple unscathed. It was a really beautiful temple, very graceful and large, set into the rock, with a cold spring feeding two pools where local boys were swimming (apparentlyit's a godly bath). And I can't stress how excited I was to see the monkeys!
The following story illustrates what is so maddening about India at times-- since we were late to get to the train station this morning, we were frantically trying to find the right tracks (which is almost impossible it seems as it is just not posted, or if it is, I have no idea where). Anyways, we asked a man standing by one of the tracks where the train was. He looked at the ticket, looked at the scheduled departure time (6:10), looked at his watch and saw that it was then 6:11 and he said "Sorry, you missed it". And he did this without even looking around, he was so confident that procedure was being followed, that the train was on time, when OF COURSE it had not left yet.....People here can be so frustrating in that way, they seem to not question things at all-- maybe because there are so many ludicrous hoops that they need to jump through all the time that they can't really think critically, as if they did, they would realize that things don't make sense. But then again,maybe I am being an uber-rational western person that places too much of a value on rationality and logic. Sometimes I wonder if the way that I think might simply not apply here. OK, enough rambling.
Jaipur is one of the few places where having constricted peripheral vision has been a blessing. I am better able to ignore all the touts and tourist hounds, I can just walk with them next to me and not really know that they are there. Tunnel vision in India is an advantage at times as is being deaf-- I can't hear their promises and boasts and pleas. Jamie, on the other hand, is having a much more difficult time ignoring people, maybe this is why.
OK, I am out for now.
Love, Michele"
"Hello Everyone,
We are now in Jaipur, the capital of Rajastan. Rajastan is a state of deserts and as such, the land is very rocky and tan. It almost reminds me of Joshua Tree in some places and in other places, it seems almost middle eastern. Allegedly to compensate for the barren surroundings, people here wear very bright clothing and so there are many women walking around in neon orange saris and bright green dupattas and all kinds of mirrored clothing. Not a bad way to cheer things up.
Today, after arriving (we almost missed the 6:10 AM train as we overslept and woke up 20 minutes before the train was scheduled to leave and frantically threw everything into our bags and found a bike rickshaw to take us to the station-- for once, the price was quickly negotated) we went to the Monkey Temple which is set in a beautiful valley about 9 KM out of the city. It is essentially a monkey party under monkey rule and there are monkeys everywhere. The first time we went in, with a bag of food, a clever monkey ripped open the bag and all the food fell out. The second time, we were more crafty and Jamie threw small amounts of food to distract them and we walked quickly to the heart of the temple; we made it in without sacrificing anything to plunder. It felt like a video game--- how to outmonkey the monkeys and make it to center of the temple unscathed. It was a really beautiful temple, very graceful and large, set into the rock, with a cold spring feeding two pools where local boys were swimming (apparentlyit's a godly bath). And I can't stress how excited I was to see the monkeys!
The following story illustrates what is so maddening about India at times-- since we were late to get to the train station this morning, we were frantically trying to find the right tracks (which is almost impossible it seems as it is just not posted, or if it is, I have no idea where). Anyways, we asked a man standing by one of the tracks where the train was. He looked at the ticket, looked at the scheduled departure time (6:10), looked at his watch and saw that it was then 6:11 and he said "Sorry, you missed it". And he did this without even looking around, he was so confident that procedure was being followed, that the train was on time, when OF COURSE it had not left yet.....People here can be so frustrating in that way, they seem to not question things at all-- maybe because there are so many ludicrous hoops that they need to jump through all the time that they can't really think critically, as if they did, they would realize that things don't make sense. But then again,maybe I am being an uber-rational western person that places too much of a value on rationality and logic. Sometimes I wonder if the way that I think might simply not apply here. OK, enough rambling.
Jaipur is one of the few places where having constricted peripheral vision has been a blessing. I am better able to ignore all the touts and tourist hounds, I can just walk with them next to me and not really know that they are there. Tunnel vision in India is an advantage at times as is being deaf-- I can't hear their promises and boasts and pleas. Jamie, on the other hand, is having a much more difficult time ignoring people, maybe this is why.
OK, I am out for now.
Love, Michele"
4/20/03
Michele in Delhi #2
Dehli in Email - Michele 4/20/03
"Hello All,
Happy Easter and a happy belated Pesach. Jamie and I had a very religious day today--- we started out meeting 2 deaf folks in front of the New Delhi Free Church and then we went with them to the Delhi Deaf Friendship Club (AKA Delhi Deaf Sunday School/Social Group) for a special Easter meeting complete with a deaf mime performance about Jesus rising from the dead. After socializing for a bit (ok, 3 hours), we made our exit and went to the Ba'hai temple which was incredibly beautiful-- shaped like a lotus and surrounded by pools, it apparently looks like the Sidney Opera House-- and then after that, we went to this old Muslim quarter to visit a sufi shrine. And then, after that, we went to a rather evangelical Easter service where there was an interpreter signing away to music that sounded like something from the deep south, only in this case it was sung by Indian girls in salwar suits (they were good).
Interestingly enough, most of the deaf folks that we interacted with were Hindus who believe in Jesus. As such, they don't believe in Christan orthodoxy, but rather, in Jesus, "the man". It got a little out of hand at the evening service as people asked if they could pray for us and Jamie actually was coerced into a prayer with some woman.
How did we wind up with such a bunch, you ask? Well, Gabi was nice enough to forward me an email sent to my DRA account from the director of the Deaf Way Foundation here in Delhi who finally contacted me. We gave him a call and he invited us to come and visit the Foundation yesterday and it was COOL- its this great space where they have English and computer classes, social meetings, deaf mime troupe practices, you name it. And the director, Arun Rao, is apparently a former hippie. His daughter, Abigail (16, precocious and extremely beautiful) is deaf and so Arun got involved in deaf issues and he became one of the first interpreters in India and he started networking with deaf folks. He decided, with other deaf people, to set up the foundation and they are currently working on, among other things, a public interest litigation, on behalf of deaf folks. The PIL is extremely broad and will cover 1. allowing deaf folks to drive, 2. mandating that teachers of the deaf learn sign language, and 3. mandating an interpreter program in schools for deaf kids. I don't really know how PIL's work here but I am interested in finding out. We may meet with their lawyer tomorrow to learn more about what's up. Anyways, its really amazing to see what they are working on and I am starting, slowly, to learn some Indian Sign Language.
It was interesting today when we were in the Muslim quarter--- it is a very poor area and as such, we become pied pipers to a small stream of extremely persistent beggars. I can tell you that this is one of the most unpleasant experiences--- to have someone immediately at your side begging you for a rupee and to be absolutely unable to get them to go away. Indians are much more effective-- their shooing motions work and if they dont, they just beat the beggars or threaten to do this. We are impotent in our benign-ness. I am constantly surprised at my emotions, at how frustrated and angry I become, and how powerless I feel.
In this particular instance, we decided that we wanted to leave the area and so we went to find a rickshaw. However, we were unable to find a rickshaw that would put it on the meter (they all lie and say that the meter is not working which also makes me angry as it is such a blatant lie) and as a result, we wound up with a whole host of people surrounding us--- curious onlookers, prospective rickshaw drivers and rickshaws, and the steady stream of beggars that arrived apparently notified by some beggar radar. Finally, we found a rickshaw that was willing to do it on the meter and we took off, leaving the fracas behind. (But, since places rarely have addresses here, the driver had no clue where we were going and as such, we never made it to our destination-- the crafts museum-- but thats another story in and of itself).
And to top off such a long day, on the way back from the Easter service, we came across a wedding party- groom on a horse, drums, lighting men and video camera on the prowl, and we decided to join in. Half of the party was ecstatic that we were there and they promptly and very forcefuly thew us into the moving dance pit and they made us dance with them. I felt very uncomfortable, like a random white party crasher, but they were really putting a lot of pressure on us to dance, physical pressure it seemed, and finally we became very uncomfortable by the demands and the swarm of people and we bailed out.
We were inviited by some deaf folks to attend a 4 day outdoor course in the mountains and it is very tempting although we dont have the requisite supplies really. Apparently, its government sponsored and they invited "both handicapped and normal, including deaf and dumb" to attend. Jamie definitely doesn't want to go (he would be the oldest person there) but I am tempted although I am worried about leaving him alone at the mercy of rickshaw drivers (Ed Note: Not true! It seems that our author is projecting some sort of high fallutin' abandonment complex). I don't think either of us will go.
Well thats all for now. Thanks for reading.
Love, Michele"
"Hello All,
Happy Easter and a happy belated Pesach. Jamie and I had a very religious day today--- we started out meeting 2 deaf folks in front of the New Delhi Free Church and then we went with them to the Delhi Deaf Friendship Club (AKA Delhi Deaf Sunday School/Social Group) for a special Easter meeting complete with a deaf mime performance about Jesus rising from the dead. After socializing for a bit (ok, 3 hours), we made our exit and went to the Ba'hai temple which was incredibly beautiful-- shaped like a lotus and surrounded by pools, it apparently looks like the Sidney Opera House-- and then after that, we went to this old Muslim quarter to visit a sufi shrine. And then, after that, we went to a rather evangelical Easter service where there was an interpreter signing away to music that sounded like something from the deep south, only in this case it was sung by Indian girls in salwar suits (they were good).
Interestingly enough, most of the deaf folks that we interacted with were Hindus who believe in Jesus. As such, they don't believe in Christan orthodoxy, but rather, in Jesus, "the man". It got a little out of hand at the evening service as people asked if they could pray for us and Jamie actually was coerced into a prayer with some woman.
How did we wind up with such a bunch, you ask? Well, Gabi was nice enough to forward me an email sent to my DRA account from the director of the Deaf Way Foundation here in Delhi who finally contacted me. We gave him a call and he invited us to come and visit the Foundation yesterday and it was COOL- its this great space where they have English and computer classes, social meetings, deaf mime troupe practices, you name it. And the director, Arun Rao, is apparently a former hippie. His daughter, Abigail (16, precocious and extremely beautiful) is deaf and so Arun got involved in deaf issues and he became one of the first interpreters in India and he started networking with deaf folks. He decided, with other deaf people, to set up the foundation and they are currently working on, among other things, a public interest litigation, on behalf of deaf folks. The PIL is extremely broad and will cover 1. allowing deaf folks to drive, 2. mandating that teachers of the deaf learn sign language, and 3. mandating an interpreter program in schools for deaf kids. I don't really know how PIL's work here but I am interested in finding out. We may meet with their lawyer tomorrow to learn more about what's up. Anyways, its really amazing to see what they are working on and I am starting, slowly, to learn some Indian Sign Language.
It was interesting today when we were in the Muslim quarter--- it is a very poor area and as such, we become pied pipers to a small stream of extremely persistent beggars. I can tell you that this is one of the most unpleasant experiences--- to have someone immediately at your side begging you for a rupee and to be absolutely unable to get them to go away. Indians are much more effective-- their shooing motions work and if they dont, they just beat the beggars or threaten to do this. We are impotent in our benign-ness. I am constantly surprised at my emotions, at how frustrated and angry I become, and how powerless I feel.
In this particular instance, we decided that we wanted to leave the area and so we went to find a rickshaw. However, we were unable to find a rickshaw that would put it on the meter (they all lie and say that the meter is not working which also makes me angry as it is such a blatant lie) and as a result, we wound up with a whole host of people surrounding us--- curious onlookers, prospective rickshaw drivers and rickshaws, and the steady stream of beggars that arrived apparently notified by some beggar radar. Finally, we found a rickshaw that was willing to do it on the meter and we took off, leaving the fracas behind. (But, since places rarely have addresses here, the driver had no clue where we were going and as such, we never made it to our destination-- the crafts museum-- but thats another story in and of itself).
And to top off such a long day, on the way back from the Easter service, we came across a wedding party- groom on a horse, drums, lighting men and video camera on the prowl, and we decided to join in. Half of the party was ecstatic that we were there and they promptly and very forcefuly thew us into the moving dance pit and they made us dance with them. I felt very uncomfortable, like a random white party crasher, but they were really putting a lot of pressure on us to dance, physical pressure it seemed, and finally we became very uncomfortable by the demands and the swarm of people and we bailed out.
We were inviited by some deaf folks to attend a 4 day outdoor course in the mountains and it is very tempting although we dont have the requisite supplies really. Apparently, its government sponsored and they invited "both handicapped and normal, including deaf and dumb" to attend. Jamie definitely doesn't want to go (he would be the oldest person there) but I am tempted although I am worried about leaving him alone at the mercy of rickshaw drivers (Ed Note: Not true! It seems that our author is projecting some sort of high fallutin' abandonment complex). I don't think either of us will go.
Well thats all for now. Thanks for reading.
Love, Michele"
Michele in Delhi
Email in Delhi - Michele 4/18/03
"Hi All,
We just arrived in Delhi this morning at 6 AM after a 30 plus hour train ride. It was long but it did not seem that long as 1. it was AC, and 2. I slept almost the whole way there (probably because it was AC). Arriving was a drag. I had my huge-ass bag and a huge-ass headache and as soon as we got off the train we were hounded by people that wanted to take us places or bring us something and it was annoying, to say the least. I just wanted to be left alone, to find my own damn rickshaw, to take a breath or something. Finally we told everyone to go to hell and we bought a pre-paid ticket from the government run taxi stand and we were taken to our guest house (which is apparently deep in the Israeli quarter). as I type now, the keyboard has hebrew lettering on it and there are signs all around about the seders that we missed and Kabalah classes and other such things.
We actually left Hyderabad a day later than planned as we were approached by someone who worked for the film industry and he offered us 700 rupees a piece to be extras in a film being made. He also offered to pay the fee to change the train tickets and so we took him up on the offer. Dude was a scout for "foreign, North Indian, and other extras". Anyway, so Jamie went off with him to the train station to change the tickets and I went off with these two Dutch women for coffee. It was nice to talk to someone besides Jamie and he echoed the sentiment as apparently he met another American traveller in the train station.
After changing the tickets, we went to this amazing old fort where there was a Kali/Durga temple at the very top, overlooking the city, carved in the rock. It was apparently 850 years old and it was very peaceful and very beautiful. Durga and Kali are manifestations of Devi, the female goddess and Durga in particular is interesting as she is the demon slayer-- she's black and she wears a garland of skulls. We also went on a boatride to see this really odd Buddha in the middle of a lake. It is lit up and there is buddhist music playing and it's kind of a surreal experience. Anyways, on the boatride we met this amazing polish girl who is volunteering at a government school program with vollage kids. She is teaching them English and all of her lessons have a very cool social justice slant. We met her because she was with her kids and they were all staring at us. She invited us to come back to the school with her and the kids to eat dinner with them and to see the school and the program and so we did. We ate in a completely bare room on the floor and then we went to their classroom which is also their sleeping room where they sleep on the floor on a rug. All of her lessons were based on the UN Declaration of Human Rights and she tried to get the kids to extrapolate from the declaration to their own situations. Most of them were from a small village and they were very poor. As part of a program, they are taken to the city every once in a while for a "camp", She actually invited us to come back to the village as they were leaving to go the next day and we were seriously considering it but we could not as we were booked to be movie stars the next day. The teacher, Yogata, was AMAZING. She had only graduated from high school last year and she helped form an NGO in Poland that does disability trainings and just in general, she was bad-ass. Jamie and I were very inspiired, and almost mollified by her, since she is so young and she has already done so much.
Now onto the movie shoot (if you are still reading). we got picked up at 7:30 and we were driven to Film City, a bizarre, completely artificial, over landscapped area with essentially every kind of landscape imaginable, from roman fountains to scottish hills. The movie that we were working on was, or at least the scene, was filmed in an airport so the set was set up to look like an airport. We were told, at various times, to stand in different places and to talk to each other. The rest of the time (and it was all day) we just sat and read and ate. We were with a young woman from Kurdistan who is getting her MA here, a British man, and this amazing french man who married an Indian woman and who has been living in Hyderabad for 3 years. The experience was actually really boring although it was fun to watch the Indian extras and just to experience the chaotic nature of the set. The movie is apparently called "Fool Happy" and there is no singing and dancing (damn), and they're apparently very hungry for more foreign extras, so if anyone needs a job......
After the shooting, the french guy, Michel, took us to this amazing Muslim quarter where there was a sufi shrine and cemetary. We had our bags and everything but he insisted on charging right in. It was really beautiful in the cemetary as there was a full moon and there were people sitting everywhere and there was apparently going to be sufi music but we had to leave so we could not hear it. At one point, when we were in the main hall, I was alone for a while as Michel and Jamie had to go through the mens section and I was surrounded by a sea of kids and women all staring at me, forming a thick circle, trying to talk to me, and it was really awful as all of the women were covered and so I could not read their lips, so finally I just started signing and I think they got the idea that I was unable to hear.
Well, we are now in Delhi for a few days. I will report more soon as we have internet access at the guest house. I hope you are all well.
Love, Michele"
"Hi All,
We just arrived in Delhi this morning at 6 AM after a 30 plus hour train ride. It was long but it did not seem that long as 1. it was AC, and 2. I slept almost the whole way there (probably because it was AC). Arriving was a drag. I had my huge-ass bag and a huge-ass headache and as soon as we got off the train we were hounded by people that wanted to take us places or bring us something and it was annoying, to say the least. I just wanted to be left alone, to find my own damn rickshaw, to take a breath or something. Finally we told everyone to go to hell and we bought a pre-paid ticket from the government run taxi stand and we were taken to our guest house (which is apparently deep in the Israeli quarter). as I type now, the keyboard has hebrew lettering on it and there are signs all around about the seders that we missed and Kabalah classes and other such things.
We actually left Hyderabad a day later than planned as we were approached by someone who worked for the film industry and he offered us 700 rupees a piece to be extras in a film being made. He also offered to pay the fee to change the train tickets and so we took him up on the offer. Dude was a scout for "foreign, North Indian, and other extras". Anyway, so Jamie went off with him to the train station to change the tickets and I went off with these two Dutch women for coffee. It was nice to talk to someone besides Jamie and he echoed the sentiment as apparently he met another American traveller in the train station.
After changing the tickets, we went to this amazing old fort where there was a Kali/Durga temple at the very top, overlooking the city, carved in the rock. It was apparently 850 years old and it was very peaceful and very beautiful. Durga and Kali are manifestations of Devi, the female goddess and Durga in particular is interesting as she is the demon slayer-- she's black and she wears a garland of skulls. We also went on a boatride to see this really odd Buddha in the middle of a lake. It is lit up and there is buddhist music playing and it's kind of a surreal experience. Anyways, on the boatride we met this amazing polish girl who is volunteering at a government school program with vollage kids. She is teaching them English and all of her lessons have a very cool social justice slant. We met her because she was with her kids and they were all staring at us. She invited us to come back to the school with her and the kids to eat dinner with them and to see the school and the program and so we did. We ate in a completely bare room on the floor and then we went to their classroom which is also their sleeping room where they sleep on the floor on a rug. All of her lessons were based on the UN Declaration of Human Rights and she tried to get the kids to extrapolate from the declaration to their own situations. Most of them were from a small village and they were very poor. As part of a program, they are taken to the city every once in a while for a "camp", She actually invited us to come back to the village as they were leaving to go the next day and we were seriously considering it but we could not as we were booked to be movie stars the next day. The teacher, Yogata, was AMAZING. She had only graduated from high school last year and she helped form an NGO in Poland that does disability trainings and just in general, she was bad-ass. Jamie and I were very inspiired, and almost mollified by her, since she is so young and she has already done so much.
Now onto the movie shoot (if you are still reading). we got picked up at 7:30 and we were driven to Film City, a bizarre, completely artificial, over landscapped area with essentially every kind of landscape imaginable, from roman fountains to scottish hills. The movie that we were working on was, or at least the scene, was filmed in an airport so the set was set up to look like an airport. We were told, at various times, to stand in different places and to talk to each other. The rest of the time (and it was all day) we just sat and read and ate. We were with a young woman from Kurdistan who is getting her MA here, a British man, and this amazing french man who married an Indian woman and who has been living in Hyderabad for 3 years. The experience was actually really boring although it was fun to watch the Indian extras and just to experience the chaotic nature of the set. The movie is apparently called "Fool Happy" and there is no singing and dancing (damn), and they're apparently very hungry for more foreign extras, so if anyone needs a job......
After the shooting, the french guy, Michel, took us to this amazing Muslim quarter where there was a sufi shrine and cemetary. We had our bags and everything but he insisted on charging right in. It was really beautiful in the cemetary as there was a full moon and there were people sitting everywhere and there was apparently going to be sufi music but we had to leave so we could not hear it. At one point, when we were in the main hall, I was alone for a while as Michel and Jamie had to go through the mens section and I was surrounded by a sea of kids and women all staring at me, forming a thick circle, trying to talk to me, and it was really awful as all of the women were covered and so I could not read their lips, so finally I just started signing and I think they got the idea that I was unable to hear.
Well, we are now in Delhi for a few days. I will report more soon as we have internet access at the guest house. I hope you are all well.
Love, Michele"
4/18/03
Calls and Responses
Fran 4/15/03
"Hey guys - just saw Dmitri, who said you got a little heat about your "discussion" with your driver and the 20 rp. note. I don't think people realize what it is like to be there and how it really is a cultural game on some level. My opinion is if you didn't bargain for everything people would get insulted. The social discourse would be interrupted on some level. And the actual money does not translate well into our values.
Pride, favors, all that stuff comes into play. Sounds like you are in the thick of it and are doing just fine.
Best, Fran"
Thanks for covering our back Fran! J
"Hey guys - just saw Dmitri, who said you got a little heat about your "discussion" with your driver and the 20 rp. note. I don't think people realize what it is like to be there and how it really is a cultural game on some level. My opinion is if you didn't bargain for everything people would get insulted. The social discourse would be interrupted on some level. And the actual money does not translate well into our values.
Pride, favors, all that stuff comes into play. Sounds like you are in the thick of it and are doing just fine.
Best, Fran"
Thanks for covering our back Fran! J
Michele in Hyderabad
Hyderabad in email:
Michele 4/15/03
"Hi All,
We are now currently in Hyderabad, perhaps my favorite city so far. The city has a very dominant Muslim presence and the architecture is very Islamic in style and mosques dot the landscape. It reminds me of an Indianified version of Istanbul in a way. And it is interesting how many women are in full chador. And it is also interesting how, contrary to what you might expect, they are really friendly. We climbed this monument earlier to get a good view of the city and we were approached by two chador-ed women who wanted to know where we were from. Jamie asked them where I could buy a scarf and it was actually really funny as he motioned to what they were wearing--- I wonder if they thought we wanted to deck me out in Muslim gear.
Also when we were on the tower, people wanted to take photos with us. In the past few days we have had many photos taken with different Indian families from all over. We've had a screaming two yerar old dressed in a yellow dress foisted on us by her eager father who wanted us to hold her in the picture (she would not have it) and we've been ordered to stand with elderly women for photos by other members of their family. Our policy is that if folks want to take pictures with us, we want pictures with them as well, and as such, we now have a full collection of photos with random people that we will make up stories about. It's interesting to me that people want to take photos with us. I wonder what they will say about these photos when they are developed, how they will explain the two slightly grubby white people in the pictures.
Still on the subject of photos, before leaving for our trip, I purchased a new small light waterproof camera on the advice of my photographer friend Richard. He uses it to take street photos as you can just point and shoot and the people being photographed dont know that they are being photographed. I decided to try his strategy today while we were walking in this very crowded vegetable market/free-for-all but I did not succeed as the flash went off and started a small group of little boys holding some type of green vegetable. They then proceeded to clamour around us and they followed us throughout the market. They might have wanted some payment as apparently it is customary to pay people to take photos of them.
And on the subject of little boys, we were almost attacked by 3 little boys dressed like monkey-kings who wanted us to take photos with them. They were wearing make-up and they had on fake tails and jewelry-- very very cute. This was in Hampi, a small town in Karnataka that is very famous for his ruins and its a pilgrimage site for Indians from all over South India as there is an active and large Vishnu temple there. It was a really special town---- in some ways very similar in climate and nature to Joshua Tree except that amidst the boulders were sacred ruins and statues and boddhisatvas carved in rock. There is one area called Hampi Bazaar in which people have moved in--- its cool to see people inhabiting the ruins and building on to them. In Hampi bazaar, cows and goats and monkeys and little kids roamed freely. I was really excited to see the monkeys and they were scampering up and down the temple trying to steal food and in general, just hanging out.
There was going to be a festival in Hampi in two days--- apparently people will come from all over and everyone will sleep in the streets and there will be 1000s of pilgrims. There were some early arrivals and you could sense the anticipation in the air. The pujas seemed unusually animated and they involved music playing and people were out in the streets shredding coconuts and preparing food and things. And everyone was up and about really late at night, strolling in and out of the temple. The brahmins were probably getting lots of business and the saddhu freak show was starting to arrive.
Jamie and I really liked just sitting in the temple and watching people move in and out but it was difficult to do so as we could not sit for more than 5 minutes without someone coming to ask us questions. In fact, poor Jamie was fielding questions incessantly and he continues to do so. I get out of it, maybe because I am a woman or maybe because I am deaf, or maybe because I am better at being anti-social. But he's really good at explaining what our deal is and what his father does and how much he loves India and how he does not smoke and where we have visited so far.
It would have been nice to stay in Hampi longer as it really was incredibly beautiful with the monkeys and all of the ruins (many many temple complexes and boulders strewn with sculptures) but it was so HOT. i cant remember a hotter place that ive been. and we had to sleep under a mosquito net which made it even hotter. our second day there we went on a rickshaw tour to different temples and then we sat on the roof of our hostel and read books and sweated. I was drooling over the thought of the AC train ride to Hyderabad and it was heaven-- we slept the whole 12 hours here and in fact, we were still sleeping when the train arrived in.
Hyderabad is hot but not as hot. We spent the afternoon climbing the above mentioned tower and then we went to this bazaar area where they sell things for weddings-- lots of bangle shops and sari stores and places to buy other wedding things. It was really beautiful as it was set in the old muslim quarter and as I said before, the architecture was very interesting. We also found a great bookstore and so i now have a book to read--- Rohinton Mistry's "Family Matters". Jamie got a Doestroevsky collected works book, and we both agreed on a book on Indian slums and how and why they occur.
Our train ride to Hampi was interesting as we did what we were warned not to do-- we bought tickets at the last minute on the platform and as such, we wound up in a non AC car riding with a group of 6 men on 36 hour ride to Delhi from Goa. It was fun though as the car was very crowded and very social and people were up and moving about and alternatively sleeping with their feet in someone else's crotch and the tea and snack wallahs on the train were beligerent in their sales attempts. We had a good conversation with one of the men that we were sitting with about marriage and vegetarianism. But for the second leg of the trip[, we sucked it up and paid extra money to go to the AC class and it was worth it although the relative silence was jarring after the other noisy train situation.
Tomorrow we leave for Delhi and this is a 26 hour train ride. And I am hoping to not stay in Delhi but rather to continue to Haridwar or somewhere else.
I hope you all are well. I promise to write individual emails soon.
Love, Michele"
Michele 4/15/03
"Hi All,
We are now currently in Hyderabad, perhaps my favorite city so far. The city has a very dominant Muslim presence and the architecture is very Islamic in style and mosques dot the landscape. It reminds me of an Indianified version of Istanbul in a way. And it is interesting how many women are in full chador. And it is also interesting how, contrary to what you might expect, they are really friendly. We climbed this monument earlier to get a good view of the city and we were approached by two chador-ed women who wanted to know where we were from. Jamie asked them where I could buy a scarf and it was actually really funny as he motioned to what they were wearing--- I wonder if they thought we wanted to deck me out in Muslim gear.
Also when we were on the tower, people wanted to take photos with us. In the past few days we have had many photos taken with different Indian families from all over. We've had a screaming two yerar old dressed in a yellow dress foisted on us by her eager father who wanted us to hold her in the picture (she would not have it) and we've been ordered to stand with elderly women for photos by other members of their family. Our policy is that if folks want to take pictures with us, we want pictures with them as well, and as such, we now have a full collection of photos with random people that we will make up stories about. It's interesting to me that people want to take photos with us. I wonder what they will say about these photos when they are developed, how they will explain the two slightly grubby white people in the pictures.
Still on the subject of photos, before leaving for our trip, I purchased a new small light waterproof camera on the advice of my photographer friend Richard. He uses it to take street photos as you can just point and shoot and the people being photographed dont know that they are being photographed. I decided to try his strategy today while we were walking in this very crowded vegetable market/free-for-all but I did not succeed as the flash went off and started a small group of little boys holding some type of green vegetable. They then proceeded to clamour around us and they followed us throughout the market. They might have wanted some payment as apparently it is customary to pay people to take photos of them.
And on the subject of little boys, we were almost attacked by 3 little boys dressed like monkey-kings who wanted us to take photos with them. They were wearing make-up and they had on fake tails and jewelry-- very very cute. This was in Hampi, a small town in Karnataka that is very famous for his ruins and its a pilgrimage site for Indians from all over South India as there is an active and large Vishnu temple there. It was a really special town---- in some ways very similar in climate and nature to Joshua Tree except that amidst the boulders were sacred ruins and statues and boddhisatvas carved in rock. There is one area called Hampi Bazaar in which people have moved in--- its cool to see people inhabiting the ruins and building on to them. In Hampi bazaar, cows and goats and monkeys and little kids roamed freely. I was really excited to see the monkeys and they were scampering up and down the temple trying to steal food and in general, just hanging out.
There was going to be a festival in Hampi in two days--- apparently people will come from all over and everyone will sleep in the streets and there will be 1000s of pilgrims. There were some early arrivals and you could sense the anticipation in the air. The pujas seemed unusually animated and they involved music playing and people were out in the streets shredding coconuts and preparing food and things. And everyone was up and about really late at night, strolling in and out of the temple. The brahmins were probably getting lots of business and the saddhu freak show was starting to arrive.
Jamie and I really liked just sitting in the temple and watching people move in and out but it was difficult to do so as we could not sit for more than 5 minutes without someone coming to ask us questions. In fact, poor Jamie was fielding questions incessantly and he continues to do so. I get out of it, maybe because I am a woman or maybe because I am deaf, or maybe because I am better at being anti-social. But he's really good at explaining what our deal is and what his father does and how much he loves India and how he does not smoke and where we have visited so far.
It would have been nice to stay in Hampi longer as it really was incredibly beautiful with the monkeys and all of the ruins (many many temple complexes and boulders strewn with sculptures) but it was so HOT. i cant remember a hotter place that ive been. and we had to sleep under a mosquito net which made it even hotter. our second day there we went on a rickshaw tour to different temples and then we sat on the roof of our hostel and read books and sweated. I was drooling over the thought of the AC train ride to Hyderabad and it was heaven-- we slept the whole 12 hours here and in fact, we were still sleeping when the train arrived in.
Hyderabad is hot but not as hot. We spent the afternoon climbing the above mentioned tower and then we went to this bazaar area where they sell things for weddings-- lots of bangle shops and sari stores and places to buy other wedding things. It was really beautiful as it was set in the old muslim quarter and as I said before, the architecture was very interesting. We also found a great bookstore and so i now have a book to read--- Rohinton Mistry's "Family Matters". Jamie got a Doestroevsky collected works book, and we both agreed on a book on Indian slums and how and why they occur.
Our train ride to Hampi was interesting as we did what we were warned not to do-- we bought tickets at the last minute on the platform and as such, we wound up in a non AC car riding with a group of 6 men on 36 hour ride to Delhi from Goa. It was fun though as the car was very crowded and very social and people were up and moving about and alternatively sleeping with their feet in someone else's crotch and the tea and snack wallahs on the train were beligerent in their sales attempts. We had a good conversation with one of the men that we were sitting with about marriage and vegetarianism. But for the second leg of the trip[, we sucked it up and paid extra money to go to the AC class and it was worth it although the relative silence was jarring after the other noisy train situation.
Tomorrow we leave for Delhi and this is a 26 hour train ride. And I am hoping to not stay in Delhi but rather to continue to Haridwar or somewhere else.
I hope you all are well. I promise to write individual emails soon.
Love, Michele"
4/15/03
Blast you, freakin' Hippies!
I'm really starting to get into this spiritual ecstasy thing. Hampi Vijayanagar, is an ancient (founded in 1336 says the book) Hindi temple city on the banks of a sacred river that is surrounded by rocky slopes and boulderstrewn hills. Take the ruined city of Tikal in Guatemala populate it masses of pilgrims, then plop it down in the middle of moonscape-spooky southwestern Utah. There is no comparison really.
Too many ruined temples to count. Apparently the Muslims whupped some ass in 1565 and made a mess of the place. Oh well...
Stone paths still line the riverbank like midwestern-city pedestrian comeback schemes (Autoworld anyone?). The stones are smoothed by the tromping of millions of barefoot pilgrims. Most ruined complexes that I've visited have been sterile restorations of previous glory. Hampi has it's history and it still a very alive religious center. People are still living in structures, playing in the streets and herding goats through beat up temples.
When we left, the preparations for a Hindi festival honoring the mariage of Shiva and Laxmi were in full swing. Villagers from the surrounding communities and eurotravelers were just starting to pour into the city. Much to the favor of the local monkey population, truckloads of bananas and coconuts were being dumped at various stalls and with wandering vendors. While some early arriving pilgrims were starting that sacred tailgate party, others were laying claim to the good seats underneath the trees and shade structures. There was that nervous energy and excitement that comes from collective-anticipation.
It was contagious. Thousands of folks will sleep in the streets over the course of the five day festival. It is going to be quite a party - I'm sure that it is raging as I write this letter. It brought back memories of dead show parking lots and burning man festivals, with kind grilled cheese sandwiches and veggie burritos. Only thing missing was the balloons of nitrous oxide.
Fortunately the lacking of nitrous is a good thing. Hampi has recently been harassed as a newish destination on the gringo trail in southern india. Hippies and ravekids from Great Britian, Germany and Israel make it here for drug induced wandering and New Year's Eve parties. It could be that the local police are easier to bribe, but I think it is the just the beauty of this place. Some of the locals aren't too fond of the travelers use of drugs and lack of modest clothing. And it does make sense. As visitors to a sacred, sacred ceremonial center folks should respect local customs, shouldn't they?
We'll see what happens. Even if they are poorly groomed and rude, travellers bring in a lot of money to this tiny city. I'd fully support a ban on illegal substances like men wearing g-strings, and what the papers call the "public teasing of women." Blast you, freakin' Hippies!
This is the off season, though. The temperature was 34 degrees Celcius (you do the math). In May it should hit 40. We're downing bottled water like it is going out of style. We were lucky not to succomb to heatstroke. Would wearing a g-string have helped? Maybe just a kind cold drink... We'll drink a coke to Jerry or Oakenfold, your pick.
Too many ruined temples to count. Apparently the Muslims whupped some ass in 1565 and made a mess of the place. Oh well...
Stone paths still line the riverbank like midwestern-city pedestrian comeback schemes (Autoworld anyone?). The stones are smoothed by the tromping of millions of barefoot pilgrims. Most ruined complexes that I've visited have been sterile restorations of previous glory. Hampi has it's history and it still a very alive religious center. People are still living in structures, playing in the streets and herding goats through beat up temples.
When we left, the preparations for a Hindi festival honoring the mariage of Shiva and Laxmi were in full swing. Villagers from the surrounding communities and eurotravelers were just starting to pour into the city. Much to the favor of the local monkey population, truckloads of bananas and coconuts were being dumped at various stalls and with wandering vendors. While some early arriving pilgrims were starting that sacred tailgate party, others were laying claim to the good seats underneath the trees and shade structures. There was that nervous energy and excitement that comes from collective-anticipation.
It was contagious. Thousands of folks will sleep in the streets over the course of the five day festival. It is going to be quite a party - I'm sure that it is raging as I write this letter. It brought back memories of dead show parking lots and burning man festivals, with kind grilled cheese sandwiches and veggie burritos. Only thing missing was the balloons of nitrous oxide.
Fortunately the lacking of nitrous is a good thing. Hampi has recently been harassed as a newish destination on the gringo trail in southern india. Hippies and ravekids from Great Britian, Germany and Israel make it here for drug induced wandering and New Year's Eve parties. It could be that the local police are easier to bribe, but I think it is the just the beauty of this place. Some of the locals aren't too fond of the travelers use of drugs and lack of modest clothing. And it does make sense. As visitors to a sacred, sacred ceremonial center folks should respect local customs, shouldn't they?
We'll see what happens. Even if they are poorly groomed and rude, travellers bring in a lot of money to this tiny city. I'd fully support a ban on illegal substances like men wearing g-strings, and what the papers call the "public teasing of women." Blast you, freakin' Hippies!
This is the off season, though. The temperature was 34 degrees Celcius (you do the math). In May it should hit 40. We're downing bottled water like it is going out of style. We were lucky not to succomb to heatstroke. Would wearing a g-string have helped? Maybe just a kind cold drink... We'll drink a coke to Jerry or Oakenfold, your pick.
Letter from Dmitri
Although the letter to the editor policy supports a one-directional flow of information, the following letter deserves an exception:
Dmitri, (Jamie's Boss 4/08/03)
"Hi Michele,
I just had to respond to this story - it sounds like you guys are having a great time, and dealing with all the bizarreness that comes from traveling in India. But do you mind a bit of unsolicited feedback?
I have to give you this because the story about the rickshaw driver kind of bothered me. First, I can't believe you actually risked a guy over 5 rupees (which is 10 cents). I mean, what exactly was the guy going to do with the extra money after he extorted it from you? Something wildly inappropriate like feeding his children? I think the whole idea of traveling in a place like India is that you let people take advantage of you in those kind of ways, because you can afford it and they can really use the money. Maybe instead of worrying about getting back your 6 cents, you should think of it more as a game - like, which one of us can be treated like a rich american and be ripped off the most. I think you should view any opportunity to dump money into the Indian economy, particularly when you are talking about such tiny amounts, as an opportunity to do a mitzvah.
But also, I think that at this particular point in history, the last thing you want to do is be viewed as an ugly American. So the guy extorts 10 cents out of you - I think you should just smile and think, I'm doing my part to improve international relations. He knows you know what he is doing, and you let him do it. Everyone wins.
On other topics - we are all really enjoying the blog and your emails. We are all fine - missing you a lot, but surviving... And the US economy is crashing and burning. Be glad you aren't here. Hope all is well. -Dmitri"
Dmitri, (Jamie's Boss 4/08/03)
"Hi Michele,
I just had to respond to this story - it sounds like you guys are having a great time, and dealing with all the bizarreness that comes from traveling in India. But do you mind a bit of unsolicited feedback?
I have to give you this because the story about the rickshaw driver kind of bothered me. First, I can't believe you actually risked a guy over 5 rupees (which is 10 cents). I mean, what exactly was the guy going to do with the extra money after he extorted it from you? Something wildly inappropriate like feeding his children? I think the whole idea of traveling in a place like India is that you let people take advantage of you in those kind of ways, because you can afford it and they can really use the money. Maybe instead of worrying about getting back your 6 cents, you should think of it more as a game - like, which one of us can be treated like a rich american and be ripped off the most. I think you should view any opportunity to dump money into the Indian economy, particularly when you are talking about such tiny amounts, as an opportunity to do a mitzvah.
But also, I think that at this particular point in history, the last thing you want to do is be viewed as an ugly American. So the guy extorts 10 cents out of you - I think you should just smile and think, I'm doing my part to improve international relations. He knows you know what he is doing, and you let him do it. Everyone wins.
On other topics - we are all really enjoying the blog and your emails. We are all fine - missing you a lot, but surviving... And the US economy is crashing and burning. Be glad you aren't here. Hope all is well. -Dmitri"
Michele in Goa
India in email:
Michel, 4/11/03 Goa
"Hi All,
Jamie and I just spent the last 3 days in idyllic splendor in Goa. We were mostly at a remote beach town in the north named Arambol and it was really beautiful. Our guesthouse was set about 1/2 kilometer away from the water and we had to walk through a field of palm trees and cows to get to it. Or the other way was through a small town lined with hippy clothing stores and restaurants serving Israeli food and pasta and watered down Indian food.
We had interesting reactions to the place. We both thought that it was incredibly beautiful-- so lush and green and we rented a scooter for two days (Jamie is very very brave) and drove around to the different beach towns and visited different places-- but we were both also repulsed by the other tourists around us. Yo, don't they know that it's just not cool to walk around in technicolor Om shirts and short sarongs anymore? Or that one does not walk around with a g-string on on an Indian beach where Indian women swim with their saris on out of modesty? Yo, hello, the rave is dead, really. (And thank goodness).
One of the most memorable scenes-- we were eating breakfast this morning at this beach shack and we noticed a cow on the beach. On closer inspection, we also noticed a blond woman in a thong doing leg lifts while a blond hippy dude in a rainbow sarong played with a happy blond kid-- all were surrounded by a pack of beach dogs. Finally, it seemed like the cow had enough and so it decided to head back to safer less sandy pastures.
There were lots of german and english tourists. We unfortunately did not meet any Israelis although that was my goal for Goa. We did eat Israeli salad but it sucked. There were lots of signs in Hebrew and the bookstore had Hebrew books.
Goa really was a breath of fresh air after Bombay. I initially thought we were never going to get out-- we couldn't even figure out where and how to get on the train but we made it to our second class sleeper compartment and I promptly fell asleep, experiencing air conditioning for the first time in ages, and when I woke up the next morning and looked out the window-- SPACE. wow. No slums, no hoards of people, no smells of shit, just space. And the Arabian sea is incredible to swim in. Warm and clean and gentle, like a giant salty bathtub.
We are currently in Panjim, the capital of Goa, a city but a smaller one. In some ways it reminds me a little of Liabon in its architecture and the way that it feels. The cathedrals help a lot. We oddly passed a store before that was devoted to all things Portugese. It didn't really seem to fit in though. It's interesting how very Christian Goa is-- there are churches everywhere and for the most part, Christian Indian women do not wear saris or salwars but they were suits. There still are many Hindu temples and shrines of course.
I would now like to comment on two comments that I received from folks re: frisking richshaw drivers for 3 rupees. First of all, I would like to comment that it was done in jest and the rickshaw driver and I were smiley all the way across. Second of all, I understand that India is a place where foreigners should expect to get ripped off and because everything is SO SO SO cheap here, it makes it more acceptable, especially because people here need the money so much more than we do, and a little goes a long way. However, I get extremely pissed when a rate is agreed on and the other party then changes his/her mind at the last minute. This isn't fair. Maybe if he/she had tried to rip us off from the very beginning, that would make it ok. However, to so blatantly do so is not cool at all. Does that make sense? It's the principle of the issue.
OK, again, the blog is at www.whiteyonthemoon.com/india.html
We will leave tomorrow for either Hampi or Hydrabad. Not sure yet. I'm itching to head north though as it is getting HOT.
Love,
Michele"
Michel, 4/11/03 Goa
"Hi All,
Jamie and I just spent the last 3 days in idyllic splendor in Goa. We were mostly at a remote beach town in the north named Arambol and it was really beautiful. Our guesthouse was set about 1/2 kilometer away from the water and we had to walk through a field of palm trees and cows to get to it. Or the other way was through a small town lined with hippy clothing stores and restaurants serving Israeli food and pasta and watered down Indian food.
We had interesting reactions to the place. We both thought that it was incredibly beautiful-- so lush and green and we rented a scooter for two days (Jamie is very very brave) and drove around to the different beach towns and visited different places-- but we were both also repulsed by the other tourists around us. Yo, don't they know that it's just not cool to walk around in technicolor Om shirts and short sarongs anymore? Or that one does not walk around with a g-string on on an Indian beach where Indian women swim with their saris on out of modesty? Yo, hello, the rave is dead, really. (And thank goodness).
One of the most memorable scenes-- we were eating breakfast this morning at this beach shack and we noticed a cow on the beach. On closer inspection, we also noticed a blond woman in a thong doing leg lifts while a blond hippy dude in a rainbow sarong played with a happy blond kid-- all were surrounded by a pack of beach dogs. Finally, it seemed like the cow had enough and so it decided to head back to safer less sandy pastures.
There were lots of german and english tourists. We unfortunately did not meet any Israelis although that was my goal for Goa. We did eat Israeli salad but it sucked. There were lots of signs in Hebrew and the bookstore had Hebrew books.
Goa really was a breath of fresh air after Bombay. I initially thought we were never going to get out-- we couldn't even figure out where and how to get on the train but we made it to our second class sleeper compartment and I promptly fell asleep, experiencing air conditioning for the first time in ages, and when I woke up the next morning and looked out the window-- SPACE. wow. No slums, no hoards of people, no smells of shit, just space. And the Arabian sea is incredible to swim in. Warm and clean and gentle, like a giant salty bathtub.
We are currently in Panjim, the capital of Goa, a city but a smaller one. In some ways it reminds me a little of Liabon in its architecture and the way that it feels. The cathedrals help a lot. We oddly passed a store before that was devoted to all things Portugese. It didn't really seem to fit in though. It's interesting how very Christian Goa is-- there are churches everywhere and for the most part, Christian Indian women do not wear saris or salwars but they were suits. There still are many Hindu temples and shrines of course.
I would now like to comment on two comments that I received from folks re: frisking richshaw drivers for 3 rupees. First of all, I would like to comment that it was done in jest and the rickshaw driver and I were smiley all the way across. Second of all, I understand that India is a place where foreigners should expect to get ripped off and because everything is SO SO SO cheap here, it makes it more acceptable, especially because people here need the money so much more than we do, and a little goes a long way. However, I get extremely pissed when a rate is agreed on and the other party then changes his/her mind at the last minute. This isn't fair. Maybe if he/she had tried to rip us off from the very beginning, that would make it ok. However, to so blatantly do so is not cool at all. Does that make sense? It's the principle of the issue.
OK, again, the blog is at www.whiteyonthemoon.com/india.html
We will leave tomorrow for either Hampi or Hydrabad. Not sure yet. I'm itching to head north though as it is getting HOT.
Love,
Michele"
4/7/03
Michele in Mumbai #3
Mumbia in Email - Michele, 4/7/03
"Hi All,
Last night Jamie and I went to see a Bollywood movie. The movie theater was this huge megaplex, Bombay style, slightly shabby and run down but also glamorous. The theater was HUGE and had, I believe, over 1000 seats. We couldn't even get into the balcony seating section as it was sold out. So we sat in the stalls, in funky reclining chairs, and spent 3 hours watching the most hilariously cheesy movie with hundreds of other folks. I think that we laughed at different parts than they did though. And after the film, it was BEDLAM--- everyone rushing to auto rickshaws, a huge cow meeting place on the sidewalk (with over 6 cows just hanging out on the streeet), and in general, it was chaos. The movie was cool-- girls with plastic boobs changing outfits every 3 minutes, darkskinned Indians as the villians, bad bangra dancing, you get the idea.
Today we took the train to go to the Gandhi museum in Bombay. At one point, a huge mass of people ran onto the train and almost crushed us. I now understand the importance of Ladies cars. I have never been so physically close to a stanger before in my life. It's interesting to ride the trains, how everyone hangs off the side, hoiw it might be one of the few times when people here have some space (the space being the tracks and the air and the wind). There will be 5-6 people hanging out of one door together at times, paced like sardines.
We were also jumped on by spiritual beggars who anointed us with red paint, gave us strings, and a marigold, and then demanded money. We refused to give them money, and instead offered them the marigold back, but they refused that, so we reached a friendly impasse, walked away, and promptly removed the ink from our foreheads. We had a similar experience when we walked into a temple and the brahmin there gave us sugar wafers and flowers from the deity, and i felt really bad as i did not quite know what to do with them at all.
last night, after the movie, we took a richshaw to the waterfront in bandra to walk around and get some coffee (there are boogie coffee places here and its a dilemma sometimes, do we spend 45 rupees ((less than a dollar)) on a cup of coffee, or on two dinners?). Anyways, the rickshaw driver told us it was 15 rupees but we only had a 20. After we gave him 20, he changed his mind and said it was 20 and that he had no change, so we started yelling at him, he motioned like was going to go, and then i grabbed onto the richshaw and wouldnt let him go. Finally, he took 3 rupees out of his pocket and said that it was all he had left. I demanded to frish his pocket, he let me, and he was right, or at least he was not carrying the money in his shirt pocket, and i wasnt going to go into his pants. We were going to give him a 2 rupee tip anyways, so it was all good, I guess. And what is 2 rupees? it's really hard to know exactly.
The Gandhi museum was really nice-- there was a preserved room where Gandhi stayed when he was in Bombay and lots of photos. There was also a school in the museum for little slum children, where they are first taught about cleanliness, we were informed by the teachers. They looked clean to us. Now, we're going to walk around, get something to eat, and then say goodbye to the deaf posse and get ready to get on the train to Goa.
I hope that you are all well. Feel free to ask me any questions that you might have.
Love, Michele"
"Hi All,
Last night Jamie and I went to see a Bollywood movie. The movie theater was this huge megaplex, Bombay style, slightly shabby and run down but also glamorous. The theater was HUGE and had, I believe, over 1000 seats. We couldn't even get into the balcony seating section as it was sold out. So we sat in the stalls, in funky reclining chairs, and spent 3 hours watching the most hilariously cheesy movie with hundreds of other folks. I think that we laughed at different parts than they did though. And after the film, it was BEDLAM--- everyone rushing to auto rickshaws, a huge cow meeting place on the sidewalk (with over 6 cows just hanging out on the streeet), and in general, it was chaos. The movie was cool-- girls with plastic boobs changing outfits every 3 minutes, darkskinned Indians as the villians, bad bangra dancing, you get the idea.
Today we took the train to go to the Gandhi museum in Bombay. At one point, a huge mass of people ran onto the train and almost crushed us. I now understand the importance of Ladies cars. I have never been so physically close to a stanger before in my life. It's interesting to ride the trains, how everyone hangs off the side, hoiw it might be one of the few times when people here have some space (the space being the tracks and the air and the wind). There will be 5-6 people hanging out of one door together at times, paced like sardines.
We were also jumped on by spiritual beggars who anointed us with red paint, gave us strings, and a marigold, and then demanded money. We refused to give them money, and instead offered them the marigold back, but they refused that, so we reached a friendly impasse, walked away, and promptly removed the ink from our foreheads. We had a similar experience when we walked into a temple and the brahmin there gave us sugar wafers and flowers from the deity, and i felt really bad as i did not quite know what to do with them at all.
last night, after the movie, we took a richshaw to the waterfront in bandra to walk around and get some coffee (there are boogie coffee places here and its a dilemma sometimes, do we spend 45 rupees ((less than a dollar)) on a cup of coffee, or on two dinners?). Anyways, the rickshaw driver told us it was 15 rupees but we only had a 20. After we gave him 20, he changed his mind and said it was 20 and that he had no change, so we started yelling at him, he motioned like was going to go, and then i grabbed onto the richshaw and wouldnt let him go. Finally, he took 3 rupees out of his pocket and said that it was all he had left. I demanded to frish his pocket, he let me, and he was right, or at least he was not carrying the money in his shirt pocket, and i wasnt going to go into his pants. We were going to give him a 2 rupee tip anyways, so it was all good, I guess. And what is 2 rupees? it's really hard to know exactly.
The Gandhi museum was really nice-- there was a preserved room where Gandhi stayed when he was in Bombay and lots of photos. There was also a school in the museum for little slum children, where they are first taught about cleanliness, we were informed by the teachers. They looked clean to us. Now, we're going to walk around, get something to eat, and then say goodbye to the deaf posse and get ready to get on the train to Goa.
I hope that you are all well. Feel free to ask me any questions that you might have.
Love, Michele"
4/6/03
Michele in Mumbai #2
Mumbai in email, Michele 4/6/03
"Hi All,
It's been a while since I last wrote, mainly because we've been pretty busy interacting with all the deaf folks and orgs and also, because it has been extremely exhausting and difficult to navigate Bombay-- the idea of wandering around LOOKING for something is extremely hard to imagine. Wandering around is hard enough, so much so, that we can only do about 3 hours at a time and then we need to return to Bandra, to the school. We are very very lucky to be staying at the school as we have a dedicated group of wonderful deaf Indians who want to do things with us and its a great home base. Over the last 3 days, we have spent a lot of time at the school, interacting with students and meeting the director, and we also met these two awesome deaf-blind young men and we went to visit them at their school and met their director. I think that was the best experience for me so far, as they were so excited to have us there and they showed us all of their equipment and they've set up a mini-Braille press company. It's amazing as they have really really GOOD technology and they are able to get stuff done and the vocational training is really good. The director of the school is this 75 year old Parsi woman, Beroz Vacha, and she is all about total communication and admitting students whenever they show up and basically meeting people where they are at. It was really refreshing to meet her.
Getting to the school, just so you know, was an ordeal. For the most part there are no addresses here and so you are told generally where things are. So we took a cab there and the driver needed to stop 4 times and figure out where we were and Indians give TERRIBLE directions-- vague arm motions, and we went around in circles. And driving, just so you know too, is an adventure in and of itself. I can't even describe how very scary and chaotic it is. Anyways, the school was located in an area with some temples and it was a fairly nationalistic area-- we ate lunch in the Hindu Hotel and Zamir and his brother (two deaf-blind men) came to meet us there to have coffee with us. And then to head back, the 4 of us held hands, curving in the traffic. It was really cool. I can barely cross the street, in fact, Jamie needs to drag me across, so I can't even fathom how they do it. The funniest (and sweetest) thing ever is watching Jamie interact with deaf-blind folks-- he's never really done it before and they were all so excited to meet us, and at one point, he had 2 men trying to talk to him, one on each hand. Really funny. I'm getting better at tactile communication, and it really helps that they all know ASL/ Signed English.
Meeting the director at the National Institute for Hearing Handicapped was not that fun-- he made me really angry with his excuses for why shit isnt being done (India is so so so so poot, blah blah blah) and he was just a useless oralist bureaucrat in a way. But I am torn as I do understand that this is a place where basic needs for the vast majority of the people are not met, and that people here need to take shits in the street as they have no plumbing, and it's a place where slums are everywhere and roads are not paved, etc, but at the same time, I do see the need for a special directed effort towards advancing the rights of people with disabilities, but then again, how can I just say "people with disabilities" as opposed to all people?
Two nights ago, Jamie and I were walking through a slum area to get back to the campus. We walked by two women who were walking a small girl who apparently had CP. She was very slowly and awfully trodding along, thanks to them using sticks to pull her up. Jamie commented that he thought it was really fucked up, similar to people covering their mouths to get deaf kids to hear, and I said that I agreed, but that I also thought that in a way, this girl couldnt have a chair as the roads were nonexistent-- she NEEDED to walk in a way. There is no space here really to have a disability unless you want your disability to be a means of begging-- a different type of empowerment altogether. Making profit out of the spectacle.
Speaking of spectacles, we are very much one. We've seen only a handful of white folks since we've been here and it's been really amusing so far to sit somewhere or walk somewhere and feel everyone gaping at us. I've started making faces at the most obvious oglers. We were on the train with Gopal, a deaf man from the center, heading to Chowpatty Beach, and we were signing away, and EVERYONE was so blatantly ogling us. It was pretty intense. And it's really impossible to stand around somewhere without a small army of people coming to gather around us-- child beggars, average oglers, touts, etc. There are people who want to help, there are people who want to stare, and there are people that just have nowhere else to go.
Back to disability issues--- it's interesting to see how pro-sign the deaf community is here and how similar they are to American deaf folks, especially in the whole "deaf-pride" thing. Gallaudet is being held up as being mecca by so many of these folks. And their thinking is very simplistic and not very politically savvy and theyre not really thinking about total communication. And they blame everything on the government. I need to learn more about the government and what's up before I can judge though.
We have seen some interesting political things though-- political parties are very mass-based--- we saw a rally in motion-- folks riding around on a pick-up truck waving political banners. And the Indian Sign Languge sign for Pakistan is the same sign as the sign for virus. Interesting, huh?
We've been eating very well and for very cheaply. Lots of fried food in the house and lots of coke. I think we both live in fear of getting sick but thankfully it hasnt really happened yet. As for shopping, we went yesterday to a mega bazaar and much to everyone's amusement, I made Jamie model some Salwar Kameez fabrics for me. I am currently waiting for an outfit that I am having tailored---its bright orange and very cool. Jamie bought a few cotton shirts and some ties.
I can't really stress how exhausting it is to ride the trains and just to get anywhere here. I am hoping that the other cities and the small villages that we go to are not as overwhelming. It is cool to ride trains as everyone hangs out of them and there are moments of grim beauty in this. Even buying the train tickets to Goa (we leave tomorrow night on the overnight express) was overwhelming with everyone directing us to the tourist quota line and trying to tell us something else. Finally, we snuck onto the travel agents line and paid an extra 30 rupees, about 24 cents.
Tonight we are going to see a Bollywood film and we are also hoping to meet up with Deepa's parents at some point. We tried to call them but they were not home. We also hope to meet up with some of our deaf friends at some point today, we'll see.
OH! Very interesting-- we met this opportunistic deaf man (who basically ordered us to come visit him and the grilled us on access issues for 2 hours)-- he went to Gallaudet and currently he "exports" web sites that are section 508 compativle (or so he claims) and he wants to try to set up a video interpreting service. He has this wonderful girl that interprets for him although she has only been signing for 2 months. He is convinced that he can get her RID certified in 6 months and I was trying to explain to him how this was absolutely impossible and he didnt want to hear it. Anyways, Jamie was trying to talk to him about setting up meetings with other folks in technology here who do web design to discuss access issues and Alok, the man, wouldnt hear it as he wants to be the only one who does "accessible" web design. I use quotes as in fact, we do not even know that his sites, as flashy as they are, were accessible. The idea of ADA compliant websites being made in India and interpreting being done in India is very interesting.
Jamie and I have so far been getting along surprisingly well-- beautifully in fact. There have been no fights at all, only some tense moments when one of us needed a bit of space but we've been making lots of jokes and I feel like we've been very compatible in our travels. He's been so helpful in terms of dragging me across the street (literally) and interpreting and meeting folks--- I just hope I havent been a drag for him (literally, again :))
Ok, well, thanks for reading. I hope to hear from you all soon. Tomorrow, Goa, and then after that, Hampi, and then after that, probably north to Hardiwar. We'll see.
Love, Michele"
"Hi All,
It's been a while since I last wrote, mainly because we've been pretty busy interacting with all the deaf folks and orgs and also, because it has been extremely exhausting and difficult to navigate Bombay-- the idea of wandering around LOOKING for something is extremely hard to imagine. Wandering around is hard enough, so much so, that we can only do about 3 hours at a time and then we need to return to Bandra, to the school. We are very very lucky to be staying at the school as we have a dedicated group of wonderful deaf Indians who want to do things with us and its a great home base. Over the last 3 days, we have spent a lot of time at the school, interacting with students and meeting the director, and we also met these two awesome deaf-blind young men and we went to visit them at their school and met their director. I think that was the best experience for me so far, as they were so excited to have us there and they showed us all of their equipment and they've set up a mini-Braille press company. It's amazing as they have really really GOOD technology and they are able to get stuff done and the vocational training is really good. The director of the school is this 75 year old Parsi woman, Beroz Vacha, and she is all about total communication and admitting students whenever they show up and basically meeting people where they are at. It was really refreshing to meet her.
Getting to the school, just so you know, was an ordeal. For the most part there are no addresses here and so you are told generally where things are. So we took a cab there and the driver needed to stop 4 times and figure out where we were and Indians give TERRIBLE directions-- vague arm motions, and we went around in circles. And driving, just so you know too, is an adventure in and of itself. I can't even describe how very scary and chaotic it is. Anyways, the school was located in an area with some temples and it was a fairly nationalistic area-- we ate lunch in the Hindu Hotel and Zamir and his brother (two deaf-blind men) came to meet us there to have coffee with us. And then to head back, the 4 of us held hands, curving in the traffic. It was really cool. I can barely cross the street, in fact, Jamie needs to drag me across, so I can't even fathom how they do it. The funniest (and sweetest) thing ever is watching Jamie interact with deaf-blind folks-- he's never really done it before and they were all so excited to meet us, and at one point, he had 2 men trying to talk to him, one on each hand. Really funny. I'm getting better at tactile communication, and it really helps that they all know ASL/ Signed English.
Meeting the director at the National Institute for Hearing Handicapped was not that fun-- he made me really angry with his excuses for why shit isnt being done (India is so so so so poot, blah blah blah) and he was just a useless oralist bureaucrat in a way. But I am torn as I do understand that this is a place where basic needs for the vast majority of the people are not met, and that people here need to take shits in the street as they have no plumbing, and it's a place where slums are everywhere and roads are not paved, etc, but at the same time, I do see the need for a special directed effort towards advancing the rights of people with disabilities, but then again, how can I just say "people with disabilities" as opposed to all people?
Two nights ago, Jamie and I were walking through a slum area to get back to the campus. We walked by two women who were walking a small girl who apparently had CP. She was very slowly and awfully trodding along, thanks to them using sticks to pull her up. Jamie commented that he thought it was really fucked up, similar to people covering their mouths to get deaf kids to hear, and I said that I agreed, but that I also thought that in a way, this girl couldnt have a chair as the roads were nonexistent-- she NEEDED to walk in a way. There is no space here really to have a disability unless you want your disability to be a means of begging-- a different type of empowerment altogether. Making profit out of the spectacle.
Speaking of spectacles, we are very much one. We've seen only a handful of white folks since we've been here and it's been really amusing so far to sit somewhere or walk somewhere and feel everyone gaping at us. I've started making faces at the most obvious oglers. We were on the train with Gopal, a deaf man from the center, heading to Chowpatty Beach, and we were signing away, and EVERYONE was so blatantly ogling us. It was pretty intense. And it's really impossible to stand around somewhere without a small army of people coming to gather around us-- child beggars, average oglers, touts, etc. There are people who want to help, there are people who want to stare, and there are people that just have nowhere else to go.
Back to disability issues--- it's interesting to see how pro-sign the deaf community is here and how similar they are to American deaf folks, especially in the whole "deaf-pride" thing. Gallaudet is being held up as being mecca by so many of these folks. And their thinking is very simplistic and not very politically savvy and theyre not really thinking about total communication. And they blame everything on the government. I need to learn more about the government and what's up before I can judge though.
We have seen some interesting political things though-- political parties are very mass-based--- we saw a rally in motion-- folks riding around on a pick-up truck waving political banners. And the Indian Sign Languge sign for Pakistan is the same sign as the sign for virus. Interesting, huh?
We've been eating very well and for very cheaply. Lots of fried food in the house and lots of coke. I think we both live in fear of getting sick but thankfully it hasnt really happened yet. As for shopping, we went yesterday to a mega bazaar and much to everyone's amusement, I made Jamie model some Salwar Kameez fabrics for me. I am currently waiting for an outfit that I am having tailored---its bright orange and very cool. Jamie bought a few cotton shirts and some ties.
I can't really stress how exhausting it is to ride the trains and just to get anywhere here. I am hoping that the other cities and the small villages that we go to are not as overwhelming. It is cool to ride trains as everyone hangs out of them and there are moments of grim beauty in this. Even buying the train tickets to Goa (we leave tomorrow night on the overnight express) was overwhelming with everyone directing us to the tourist quota line and trying to tell us something else. Finally, we snuck onto the travel agents line and paid an extra 30 rupees, about 24 cents.
Tonight we are going to see a Bollywood film and we are also hoping to meet up with Deepa's parents at some point. We tried to call them but they were not home. We also hope to meet up with some of our deaf friends at some point today, we'll see.
OH! Very interesting-- we met this opportunistic deaf man (who basically ordered us to come visit him and the grilled us on access issues for 2 hours)-- he went to Gallaudet and currently he "exports" web sites that are section 508 compativle (or so he claims) and he wants to try to set up a video interpreting service. He has this wonderful girl that interprets for him although she has only been signing for 2 months. He is convinced that he can get her RID certified in 6 months and I was trying to explain to him how this was absolutely impossible and he didnt want to hear it. Anyways, Jamie was trying to talk to him about setting up meetings with other folks in technology here who do web design to discuss access issues and Alok, the man, wouldnt hear it as he wants to be the only one who does "accessible" web design. I use quotes as in fact, we do not even know that his sites, as flashy as they are, were accessible. The idea of ADA compliant websites being made in India and interpreting being done in India is very interesting.
Jamie and I have so far been getting along surprisingly well-- beautifully in fact. There have been no fights at all, only some tense moments when one of us needed a bit of space but we've been making lots of jokes and I feel like we've been very compatible in our travels. He's been so helpful in terms of dragging me across the street (literally) and interpreting and meeting folks--- I just hope I havent been a drag for him (literally, again :))
Ok, well, thanks for reading. I hope to hear from you all soon. Tomorrow, Goa, and then after that, Hampi, and then after that, probably north to Hardiwar. We'll see.
Love, Michele"
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