Monday, February 1, 2010
Everything Changes
The last reel of photos from India are up.
My head is a lot more clear about the entire experience these days, but still not entirely clear. A few things are certain: I miss the chai masala and the street food and wandering the streets. I miss the colors and the feeling of being away from home and the busy chaos of being on the frontlines of the battle between new and old. That said, I'm really happy to be home.
Home has been a little more difficult than I imagined it to be, but maybe less difficult than my last post would have suggested it would be. Yoga school and even practicing at Samadhi has become almost meaningless to me. I'm not going to keep going to class, and I'm going to let my membership of 3 years lapse. It's not that it's not a great studio filled with wonderful, loving people. It's just that my trajectory has spun and now points elsewhere. So elsewhere I go.
I'm still trying to rediscover a meaningful meditation practice, and I'm still trying to build a reliable personal yoga practice, and I'm still teaching at my house. I'm not really sweating the details though, I think these things will just evolve and resolve themselves over time. I feel magnetically drawn to my guitar and the quiet it creates in my mind, and the longer days and the first sight of cherry blossoms pull my thoughts towards my garden.
My desire to go to India and have it be meaningful launched me away from my career towards some mysterious unknown future and the experience of India pulled me back towards my old self and my old ideas and old notions of the world. I'm looking forward to a more integrated, accepting, understanding, and rational me.
I am happy to again be looking for answers instead of assuming I've found them, and I'm happy to be properly humbled by the myriad modes of human existence. I find myself a bit more cynical than I prefer, but I think the cynicism will burn off with the gray Seattle skies, as winter turns to spring.
Today, as I finally decided to leave my yoga studio behind, I find myself less cynical and more hopeful than I've been in a while. I'm grateful for all my former teachers at Samadhi and their great spirit and for all I learned in my years there. I'm grateful as well for my wonderful friends and housemates, who's mere presence in my life is enough to stave off the blues.
To those who made it this far: thanks for reading and watching. I'll be blogging about various very nerdy things at my personal site (retford.us) and I'll leave this blog to rot in the ether until some fateful day years from now when some little thing makes me revisit this whole adventure again.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Adrift
The photos are more or less non-sequitors. They don't correspond to the article. There's still one more batch to come.
It's my last night in India. The wedding was fun, beautiful, different. A truly unique experience that I feel blessed to have had. This is my 4th attempt at writing this story. It started nearly a month ago, in McLeod Ganj. I had gone to yet another terrible yoga class in India. I had been reading Jitterbug Perfume, and more than anything I suppose, I'd been traveling alone in a very foreign place for quite a while. A foreign place, that, at least in some of my circles, has many mythical notions associated with it. So I suppose, that, as I was hiking up the Himalayas (to get a better look at them), it's no surprise that I had the 'epiphany' that I had.
It started mostly as a feeling, an amplification of the disgust I'd felt at temples whilst being herded around and made to part with my money. That feeling was reverberating off of Jitterbug Perfume's Dionysian bent, all of which was bouncing through the reality of everything I saw around me. What it left in my head resembles very much what Indian cities look like - a dirty hodgepodge that a whirlwind just passed through.
I was supposed to go, very soon, to Rishikesh to go to an Ashram for one week. The week lined up well with my schedule, and it happened to be a weeklong program about the 'law of karma'. Every time I thought of the name of the program, a sick feeling welled up in my gut and all I could hear was the Brahmin man from Banares, as he was taking my 1100 rupees, telling me that the money wasn't for him, that it was good karma for me, for me. It would benefit me and my family, and we'd live long and happy lives. I heard the same thing over and over again, at temple after temple. I canceled.
So, it dawned on me that karma, as it were, and reincarnation, are just concepts that became religion because they were so useful for enforcing a social norm, one where people who were born into a role accepted their dharma, and worked to make the next life better. And then everything felt so cheap. All the yoga study, all the buddhism, the meditation. It wasn't that I really believed in reincarnation or any particular notion of Karma other than 'doing good things for others typically results in good things happening in your life, and vice-versa'. I never really believed in any cosmic enforcement of that principle - it just happens to work out that way, probably owing to evolution. But, I had allowed myself to believe in some greater order in the universe, and had allowed the possibility that the world was a more mystical place than I had made it out be. That there was some potential enlightenment waiting. And that maybe there was some universal force for love and goodness. And now, I feel like that is just the byproduct of wishful thinking.
I hadn't realized how foundational some of these notions had become to my present world view, and feeling them being yanked at from underneath was painful and confusing. I quickly concocted my own belief systems that had something to do with happiness being the primary goal of life, or, at least, the only goal that made any sense. But that seemed kind of forced and hollow.
This shouldn't be taken as pessimistic, it's really not. I don't feel bad, just a little baseless, adrift, as it were. I definitely have a lot of thinking and exploring to do in the coming weeks. With no enlightenment to strive for, no moksha, what? With no global underlying vibe of cosmic love, isn't the universe just so much cold space? Without that to believe in, then what?
I don't think we yet understand the power of belief, though it should be obvious as we watch people light themselves on fire in airplanes. It's powerful stuff, and you can harness it to great effect (sometimes very negative effect!) in your life. But first, you have to find something to believe in, something that makes sense.
It's my last night in India. The wedding was fun, beautiful, different. A truly unique experience that I feel blessed to have had. This is my 4th attempt at writing this story. It started nearly a month ago, in McLeod Ganj. I had gone to yet another terrible yoga class in India. I had been reading Jitterbug Perfume, and more than anything I suppose, I'd been traveling alone in a very foreign place for quite a while. A foreign place, that, at least in some of my circles, has many mythical notions associated with it. So I suppose, that, as I was hiking up the Himalayas (to get a better look at them), it's no surprise that I had the 'epiphany' that I had.
It started mostly as a feeling, an amplification of the disgust I'd felt at temples whilst being herded around and made to part with my money. That feeling was reverberating off of Jitterbug Perfume's Dionysian bent, all of which was bouncing through the reality of everything I saw around me. What it left in my head resembles very much what Indian cities look like - a dirty hodgepodge that a whirlwind just passed through.
I was supposed to go, very soon, to Rishikesh to go to an Ashram for one week. The week lined up well with my schedule, and it happened to be a weeklong program about the 'law of karma'. Every time I thought of the name of the program, a sick feeling welled up in my gut and all I could hear was the Brahmin man from Banares, as he was taking my 1100 rupees, telling me that the money wasn't for him, that it was good karma for me, for me. It would benefit me and my family, and we'd live long and happy lives. I heard the same thing over and over again, at temple after temple. I canceled.
So, it dawned on me that karma, as it were, and reincarnation, are just concepts that became religion because they were so useful for enforcing a social norm, one where people who were born into a role accepted their dharma, and worked to make the next life better. And then everything felt so cheap. All the yoga study, all the buddhism, the meditation. It wasn't that I really believed in reincarnation or any particular notion of Karma other than 'doing good things for others typically results in good things happening in your life, and vice-versa'. I never really believed in any cosmic enforcement of that principle - it just happens to work out that way, probably owing to evolution. But, I had allowed myself to believe in some greater order in the universe, and had allowed the possibility that the world was a more mystical place than I had made it out be. That there was some potential enlightenment waiting. And that maybe there was some universal force for love and goodness. And now, I feel like that is just the byproduct of wishful thinking.
I hadn't realized how foundational some of these notions had become to my present world view, and feeling them being yanked at from underneath was painful and confusing. I quickly concocted my own belief systems that had something to do with happiness being the primary goal of life, or, at least, the only goal that made any sense. But that seemed kind of forced and hollow.
This shouldn't be taken as pessimistic, it's really not. I don't feel bad, just a little baseless, adrift, as it were. I definitely have a lot of thinking and exploring to do in the coming weeks. With no enlightenment to strive for, no moksha, what? With no global underlying vibe of cosmic love, isn't the universe just so much cold space? Without that to believe in, then what?
I don't think we yet understand the power of belief, though it should be obvious as we watch people light themselves on fire in airplanes. It's powerful stuff, and you can harness it to great effect (sometimes very negative effect!) in your life. But first, you have to find something to believe in, something that makes sense.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Varanasi Rube-icon
rube
n : not very intelligent or interested in culture [syn: {yokel},
{hick}, {yahoo}, {hayseed}, {bumpkin}, {chawbacon}]
(chawbacon? really?)
Rubicon
n 1: the boundary in ancient times between Italy and Gaul;
Caesar's crossing it with his army in 49 BC was an act
of war
2: a line that when crossed permits of no return and typically
results in irrevocable commitment [syn: {point of no
return}]
It's probably good for me to note that all of this takes place before last week's story, photos too.
The photos this week are only tangentially related to the story. Enjoy.
Varanasi Redux
Maybe the title says it all, maybe it doesn't. I got taken. And taken good. For about 30,000 rs. I fell for the most idiotic story I've ever heard. I knew it was bullshit when I heard it, but I still believed it, if that makes any sense. I could make this story much, much longer in an attempt to save face, but that would be less fun, so, in short:
1. Nearly terrified, practically gasping for air, just off my first train ride. Varanasi is not Delhi. And Delhi was not an easy adjustment. Hotel located and occupied, I lay motionless for the better part of an hour or two. I consult my new scripture, the Lonely Planet India guidebook (it's a pretty poor source of Ultimate Wisdom, but it'll do in a pinch). It warns you about touts. And Silk shops. But not the Chai - you should really drink the chai, no matter what else you hear.
2. I depart from my hotel with the intent to head down to the Ghats. It will be another day before I make it to the Ganga. I meet 'Viki' the (male) Nepalese art student. I immediately distrust him, because I'm supposed to. But I also immediately trust him, because I'm prone to trusting people beyond reason. After some coffee he convinces me to head to the mogul district to some silk shop because he's going to buy some stuff for his family. In fact, his dad gave him some money to do so. And, as it would happen, it's my lucky day! Everything in the mogul district will be heavily discounted (50% off!) on account of some festival that I've never heard of. Work is going to stop for a month, so everybody needs money now.
3. Many obvious signs of fraud later, I'd spent 15k on silk I didn't need. I wanted it though, because I told people at home I would buy them fabric. I even briefly entertained the possibility that I had gotten a good deal. I also spent another 15k on a harmonium. It turns out that wasn't such a rip off. Then I got drunk. Really drunk. And smoked a ton of cigarettes. And tipped 'Viki' for showing me such good things.
4. Two days later I go to Sarnath and then have lunch with Ranu - the guy who owns the silk shop. We actually have a pretty good conversation and he takes me around on his motorbike a bit. I think he must've felt a bit guilty for letting Viki screw me thusly. But not too guilty. Later we're eating dinner and sitting around his shop, Viki shows up, and immediately, for some reason, I'm looking at more stuff. Which I buy. Another 10k worth. At home I start to get a sinking feeling that what I bought wasn't worth anything close to what I bought it for.
5. While walking along the ghats, I meet another guide, Avinash, who will later get a lot of money from me, but he deserves it. We go to his family's silk shop, because I say I want to. He informs me that he gets a commission there (duh!). I start looking at some things (every shop has the same stuff more or less), they show me some things and quote 400rs, which is double what one should actually pay. I paid 800 for the same thing. So I tell them my story. A guy in the shop starts gesturing rapidly and describing 'Viki', whilst getting visibly angry. 'Viki's name is not 'Viki', it 'Hassan', and he repeated his whole BS story to me almost verbatim. I felt idiotic for falling for it, but then again, I'd felt idiotic for days for falling for it. The guy says if I go back to Ranu's shop and demand my money back, I'll get it all back, 100%.
6. So I do. Ranu calls up Viki who shows up, I refer to him as 'Hassan', and demand my money back, and I get almost all of it. Ranu goes into some sob story about having a very hard time getting it all on account of some festival, which apparently was real, Bakr Eid/Eid al Adha - my money had been spent on goats (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eid_al-Adha). So I spend a bit of money on his stuff, at 25% of the price I'd previously paid. I got invited to watch the goats be slaughtered and eat them, but I declined. I also took the harmonium back, but I actually don't think I got screwed on it in retrospect, though I'm not sure *how* that is possible.
So more important to me than the money I almost lost, the money I eventually spent, and all the awesome motorcycle rides I got to take around the city, are the personal implications of this experience. Certainly there is much to be learned from this experience, and I've thought about it a lot. So I'll just try to sum it up, without a lot of blah blah.
1. 'Viki' is a metaphor for anything in life that meets some immediate need but ultimately leaves one fucked. Addictions of all kinds fall into this category. So called 'co-dependent' relationships as well.
2. On some level, you are getting what you need from 'Viki'. I needed very much to not be alone in a foreign place. I wanted to feel comfortable and believing him was the easiest way to achieve this. Getting totally blot-o helped too. So did spending a lot of money.
3. The needs that lead us to embrace a 'Viki' are visceral and will cause us to ignore logic, ignore advise, and look for corroboration to support our story. All the while it feels wrong though. The feeling will eat you up inside, as it did to me. I spent hours worrying about being cheated. See, I knew I had been, but I kept trying to discount it. Cognitive dissonance, they call it.
4. We need to be vigilant when it comes to 'Viki's in our personal lives. Always it is not the Viki that is the problem though, it is the underlying unmet need. 'Viki's are only signposts that point at gaping wounds, as of yet unrecognized or not fully congnized. One can only rid oneself of the 'Viki' and keep the next one at bay by dealing with whatever the need is.
5. You're on your own for figuring out how to do that. Really, I don't know. I think it varies from thing to thing. For me, in this instance, I think direct engagement vis-a-vis traveling alone is a great way for me to deal with my shit, even if I do lose a few Rupees along the way.
Where does getting my money back factor into the lesson? It doesn't really, it was just dumb luck. I'd tell the same story whether I'd gotten it back or not. It'd just be slightly less interesting.
n : not very intelligent or interested in culture [syn: {yokel},
{hick}, {yahoo}, {hayseed}, {bumpkin}, {chawbacon}]
(chawbacon? really?)
Rubicon
n 1: the boundary in ancient times between Italy and Gaul;
Caesar's crossing it with his army in 49 BC was an act
of war
2: a line that when crossed permits of no return and typically
results in irrevocable commitment [syn: {point of no
return}]
It's probably good for me to note that all of this takes place before last week's story, photos too.
The photos this week are only tangentially related to the story. Enjoy.
Varanasi Redux
Maybe the title says it all, maybe it doesn't. I got taken. And taken good. For about 30,000 rs. I fell for the most idiotic story I've ever heard. I knew it was bullshit when I heard it, but I still believed it, if that makes any sense. I could make this story much, much longer in an attempt to save face, but that would be less fun, so, in short:
1. Nearly terrified, practically gasping for air, just off my first train ride. Varanasi is not Delhi. And Delhi was not an easy adjustment. Hotel located and occupied, I lay motionless for the better part of an hour or two. I consult my new scripture, the Lonely Planet India guidebook (it's a pretty poor source of Ultimate Wisdom, but it'll do in a pinch). It warns you about touts. And Silk shops. But not the Chai - you should really drink the chai, no matter what else you hear.
2. I depart from my hotel with the intent to head down to the Ghats. It will be another day before I make it to the Ganga. I meet 'Viki' the (male) Nepalese art student. I immediately distrust him, because I'm supposed to. But I also immediately trust him, because I'm prone to trusting people beyond reason. After some coffee he convinces me to head to the mogul district to some silk shop because he's going to buy some stuff for his family. In fact, his dad gave him some money to do so. And, as it would happen, it's my lucky day! Everything in the mogul district will be heavily discounted (50% off!) on account of some festival that I've never heard of. Work is going to stop for a month, so everybody needs money now.
3. Many obvious signs of fraud later, I'd spent 15k on silk I didn't need. I wanted it though, because I told people at home I would buy them fabric. I even briefly entertained the possibility that I had gotten a good deal. I also spent another 15k on a harmonium. It turns out that wasn't such a rip off. Then I got drunk. Really drunk. And smoked a ton of cigarettes. And tipped 'Viki' for showing me such good things.
4. Two days later I go to Sarnath and then have lunch with Ranu - the guy who owns the silk shop. We actually have a pretty good conversation and he takes me around on his motorbike a bit. I think he must've felt a bit guilty for letting Viki screw me thusly. But not too guilty. Later we're eating dinner and sitting around his shop, Viki shows up, and immediately, for some reason, I'm looking at more stuff. Which I buy. Another 10k worth. At home I start to get a sinking feeling that what I bought wasn't worth anything close to what I bought it for.
5. While walking along the ghats, I meet another guide, Avinash, who will later get a lot of money from me, but he deserves it. We go to his family's silk shop, because I say I want to. He informs me that he gets a commission there (duh!). I start looking at some things (every shop has the same stuff more or less), they show me some things and quote 400rs, which is double what one should actually pay. I paid 800 for the same thing. So I tell them my story. A guy in the shop starts gesturing rapidly and describing 'Viki', whilst getting visibly angry. 'Viki's name is not 'Viki', it 'Hassan', and he repeated his whole BS story to me almost verbatim. I felt idiotic for falling for it, but then again, I'd felt idiotic for days for falling for it. The guy says if I go back to Ranu's shop and demand my money back, I'll get it all back, 100%.
6. So I do. Ranu calls up Viki who shows up, I refer to him as 'Hassan', and demand my money back, and I get almost all of it. Ranu goes into some sob story about having a very hard time getting it all on account of some festival, which apparently was real, Bakr Eid/Eid al Adha - my money had been spent on goats (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eid_al-Adha). So I spend a bit of money on his stuff, at 25% of the price I'd previously paid. I got invited to watch the goats be slaughtered and eat them, but I declined. I also took the harmonium back, but I actually don't think I got screwed on it in retrospect, though I'm not sure *how* that is possible.
So more important to me than the money I almost lost, the money I eventually spent, and all the awesome motorcycle rides I got to take around the city, are the personal implications of this experience. Certainly there is much to be learned from this experience, and I've thought about it a lot. So I'll just try to sum it up, without a lot of blah blah.
1. 'Viki' is a metaphor for anything in life that meets some immediate need but ultimately leaves one fucked. Addictions of all kinds fall into this category. So called 'co-dependent' relationships as well.
2. On some level, you are getting what you need from 'Viki'. I needed very much to not be alone in a foreign place. I wanted to feel comfortable and believing him was the easiest way to achieve this. Getting totally blot-o helped too. So did spending a lot of money.
3. The needs that lead us to embrace a 'Viki' are visceral and will cause us to ignore logic, ignore advise, and look for corroboration to support our story. All the while it feels wrong though. The feeling will eat you up inside, as it did to me. I spent hours worrying about being cheated. See, I knew I had been, but I kept trying to discount it. Cognitive dissonance, they call it.
4. We need to be vigilant when it comes to 'Viki's in our personal lives. Always it is not the Viki that is the problem though, it is the underlying unmet need. 'Viki's are only signposts that point at gaping wounds, as of yet unrecognized or not fully congnized. One can only rid oneself of the 'Viki' and keep the next one at bay by dealing with whatever the need is.
5. You're on your own for figuring out how to do that. Really, I don't know. I think it varies from thing to thing. For me, in this instance, I think direct engagement vis-a-vis traveling alone is a great way for me to deal with my shit, even if I do lose a few Rupees along the way.
Where does getting my money back factor into the lesson? It doesn't really, it was just dumb luck. I'd tell the same story whether I'd gotten it back or not. It'd just be slightly less interesting.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Uttar Pradesh by 'Indian Helicopter'
200 kilometers in an auto-rickshaw.
Photos
My guide Avinash talked me into going to 'waterfall park' and 'then we go to family village'. I was somewhat hesitant, because everyone is always trying to talk you into going places. For whatever reason, I trust Avinash though. Unlike some other experiences I've had with people here, everything he says is consistent, and he seems very generous and kind and considerate. He also drives his 'helicopter' (an auto rickshaw) like a certified madman. 'How many wheels a Helicopter have?' he always asks. People always reply 'Uh, none'. 'No, no, like, attack helicopter, how many wheels they have? They have three! My rickshaw have three, they fly in air, mines flys on ground!' This, followed by some crazed driving motions and horn honkings. If you appear to be in the least bit of a hurry, he always says, 'My friend, in India we say, no hurry, no worry, no chicken, no curry, no wife, no life...' the statement goes on with a bunch of rhymes. The important part is that directly after saying that, you hop in his helicopter and he drives more aggressively than anyone I've ever seen, even in India. But he does it all as if he's not in a hurry. It's amazing, really.
We fuel up the rickshaw and head to National Highway 2. We go up a small dirt on ramp onto a 4 lane divided highway that crosses over the Ganga on a giant bridge that looms over Varanasi (Benares, as most people call it). Driving 70 kilometers an hour in a tiny 3 wheeled car in and out and around Indian traffic is a hell of ride. Riding on the back of a motorbike in the city is the only thing I can think of that's been more fun. Very quickly we get off the large highway and head South (I think). We're passing through some small part of India's massive agrarian infrastructure. It's a relatively peaceful and serene experience compared to the city, but everyone still drives like mad. The countryside here is beautiful as are all the farms and the small towns you pass through as you go along.
We stop for the first of many, many cups of chai tea and have some samosas. The street food here is almost universally delicious, though there have been some exceptions. Eventually we hop back in the Yellow and Green 'helicopter' and get moving. It's quite a bit more out of place here than in the city. The road is dominated by the universal Tata motors diesel trucks. Second to that is a mix of motorbikes, bicycles, SUVs, and small cars. You do see the occasional autorickshaw, but unlike ours that has only 3 people in it (Avinash's cousin Ravij is along for the ride and to take us to his sister's farming village later), most of the ones we encounter have at least 8 people. If you saw an empty auto-rickshaw, you wouldn't think this is possible, but I assure you that it is. I don't think I have any photos though.
Eventually, after taking a shortcut of Ravij's that turns out not to be such a shortcut due to an unfinished railway crossing, we make it to the 'waterfall park'. This is apparently a U.P. (Uttar Pradesh, anything government related is just abbreviated UP) or locality owned park. We pay 50rs to park the helicopter and head in on foot. When people in America picture a post apocalyptic society on the rebuild, this is what they picture. Dilapidated buildings everywhere, old playground equipment, overgrown vegetation and trash everywhere. But most of India is like this. It's not that's in not beautiful in its own way, either. We walk down a steep stairway to the waterfall, which is very beautiful, but even more crowded with trash. Government run sanitation services seem sorely under-funded in India. We find a comfy spot, crack open a few beers, play some music from Avinash's mobile and relax. Many people come up and want to get their picture taken with me. I oblige all of them, but get pictures in return. One guy from Goa insisted that we take one picture with our shirts off and flexing our muscles. I get people talking about my biceps a lot in India. It's kinda weird. Anyway, I oblige that, but don't get my own copy. I give some poor village kids some rupees, and we head out.
The village is quite a drive, but it's a beautiful one and the roads are very nice, so we make pretty good time. Along the way we stop at a small shrine on the side of the highway to offer prasada. A small man in orange robes sits happily watching the shrine. He is definitely the first man I've encountered in India that I felt was truly holy. He seemed so happy and at peace, and he just sits at the shrine, all day long. He blessed us, I asked Avinash if I could give him money, Avinash said yes, and he gratefully accepted it and said a small prayer. This is in start contrast to most of the temples in the city (except the New Vishwanath Temple on the B.H.U. campus) that are aggressively trying to take as much money from you as possible. And in very stark contrast to the Brahim man I had to pay off to get into the Golden Temple (Vishwanath Temple in Varanasi, not the one in Amritsar), who assured me I would get very good karma for giving him 1100 rs and his shrine 500rs -there are many shrines inside the golden temple, all apparently run by different families, or something.
We eventually arrive at the village after driving along a very scenic canal road. Many bridges criss cross the canal, and, like almost everything in India, they are made of brick. Each one is different. Ravij's sister isn't expecting us (though his brother-in-law does have a mobile, and we could've called), but they happily greet us. The kids stare at me and I say hi and namaste, but mostly they run away and act shy. I get a brief tour of the farm, they show me all the vegetables they are growing (quite successfully) and the brother-in-law brings me to a tree that has some berries that we eat that are apparently important in Ayurvedic medicine. Ravij's brother-in-law is also the village doctor, so when we get back a patient is waiting for him. After consulting the patient he talks to Avinash and then walks over to his motorbike and starts it. Avinash directs me to get on the bike. We go on a much bigger tour of the village.
The Sun is setting red-orange into the ever smoky Indian Horizion, lighting the greens and yellows and whites of the vegetation, contrasting against the red-orange clay soil. It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. We come across a many villagers, he stops each time and greets them, they greet me, and he tries as best he can to explain what they do to me. We take some 'kha-ni' of which I know nothing except that it is, as the Dr. said 'Indian drug'. It's actually just a particular preparation of chewing tobacco with lime, but having never chewed tobacco before, I had no idea. Eventually we stop for chai at a tiny 'market' in the village. At this point 40 or 50 people are crowded around me all staring directly at me. This sounds uncomfortable, but it's not really. I try to take the time to look at everyone individually while we are trying to talk about where I'm from, what I do, and whether or not I'm married. Eventually they insist that I take pictures, so I took pictures in a circle all the way around me. It's getting pretty dark, so we head back.
Once I get back I'm motioned into the family's clay house, where we sit cross legged on rice bags on the floor. We eat a simple but amazingly delicious meal of small roti-like breads and a green chile potato dish of some kind, illuminated by kerosene lanterns. I drink the water (they say to only drink bottled water in India), because it seem like the thing to do. It's getting really late, but the village people want to talk, so we talk some more, I take turns asking them their names and horribly mispronouncing them to great throngs of laughter. Eventually I realize I can show them pictures on my laptop, so I get that out and show them a couple of shots of various things in America. At this point I have wide eyed kids on all sides of me pressing into me and pointing at my screen. They all knew the word 'laptop' though, so it's not like it was a total novelty.
It was really time to go, so I say good bye, and we hit the road. The drive back is cold and long and I arrive at the Rahul Guest house tired and sore, but happy.
Photos
My guide Avinash talked me into going to 'waterfall park' and 'then we go to family village'. I was somewhat hesitant, because everyone is always trying to talk you into going places. For whatever reason, I trust Avinash though. Unlike some other experiences I've had with people here, everything he says is consistent, and he seems very generous and kind and considerate. He also drives his 'helicopter' (an auto rickshaw) like a certified madman. 'How many wheels a Helicopter have?' he always asks. People always reply 'Uh, none'. 'No, no, like, attack helicopter, how many wheels they have? They have three! My rickshaw have three, they fly in air, mines flys on ground!' This, followed by some crazed driving motions and horn honkings. If you appear to be in the least bit of a hurry, he always says, 'My friend, in India we say, no hurry, no worry, no chicken, no curry, no wife, no life...' the statement goes on with a bunch of rhymes. The important part is that directly after saying that, you hop in his helicopter and he drives more aggressively than anyone I've ever seen, even in India. But he does it all as if he's not in a hurry. It's amazing, really.
We fuel up the rickshaw and head to National Highway 2. We go up a small dirt on ramp onto a 4 lane divided highway that crosses over the Ganga on a giant bridge that looms over Varanasi (Benares, as most people call it). Driving 70 kilometers an hour in a tiny 3 wheeled car in and out and around Indian traffic is a hell of ride. Riding on the back of a motorbike in the city is the only thing I can think of that's been more fun. Very quickly we get off the large highway and head South (I think). We're passing through some small part of India's massive agrarian infrastructure. It's a relatively peaceful and serene experience compared to the city, but everyone still drives like mad. The countryside here is beautiful as are all the farms and the small towns you pass through as you go along.
We stop for the first of many, many cups of chai tea and have some samosas. The street food here is almost universally delicious, though there have been some exceptions. Eventually we hop back in the Yellow and Green 'helicopter' and get moving. It's quite a bit more out of place here than in the city. The road is dominated by the universal Tata motors diesel trucks. Second to that is a mix of motorbikes, bicycles, SUVs, and small cars. You do see the occasional autorickshaw, but unlike ours that has only 3 people in it (Avinash's cousin Ravij is along for the ride and to take us to his sister's farming village later), most of the ones we encounter have at least 8 people. If you saw an empty auto-rickshaw, you wouldn't think this is possible, but I assure you that it is. I don't think I have any photos though.
Eventually, after taking a shortcut of Ravij's that turns out not to be such a shortcut due to an unfinished railway crossing, we make it to the 'waterfall park'. This is apparently a U.P. (Uttar Pradesh, anything government related is just abbreviated UP) or locality owned park. We pay 50rs to park the helicopter and head in on foot. When people in America picture a post apocalyptic society on the rebuild, this is what they picture. Dilapidated buildings everywhere, old playground equipment, overgrown vegetation and trash everywhere. But most of India is like this. It's not that's in not beautiful in its own way, either. We walk down a steep stairway to the waterfall, which is very beautiful, but even more crowded with trash. Government run sanitation services seem sorely under-funded in India. We find a comfy spot, crack open a few beers, play some music from Avinash's mobile and relax. Many people come up and want to get their picture taken with me. I oblige all of them, but get pictures in return. One guy from Goa insisted that we take one picture with our shirts off and flexing our muscles. I get people talking about my biceps a lot in India. It's kinda weird. Anyway, I oblige that, but don't get my own copy. I give some poor village kids some rupees, and we head out.
The village is quite a drive, but it's a beautiful one and the roads are very nice, so we make pretty good time. Along the way we stop at a small shrine on the side of the highway to offer prasada. A small man in orange robes sits happily watching the shrine. He is definitely the first man I've encountered in India that I felt was truly holy. He seemed so happy and at peace, and he just sits at the shrine, all day long. He blessed us, I asked Avinash if I could give him money, Avinash said yes, and he gratefully accepted it and said a small prayer. This is in start contrast to most of the temples in the city (except the New Vishwanath Temple on the B.H.U. campus) that are aggressively trying to take as much money from you as possible. And in very stark contrast to the Brahim man I had to pay off to get into the Golden Temple (Vishwanath Temple in Varanasi, not the one in Amritsar), who assured me I would get very good karma for giving him 1100 rs and his shrine 500rs -there are many shrines inside the golden temple, all apparently run by different families, or something.
We eventually arrive at the village after driving along a very scenic canal road. Many bridges criss cross the canal, and, like almost everything in India, they are made of brick. Each one is different. Ravij's sister isn't expecting us (though his brother-in-law does have a mobile, and we could've called), but they happily greet us. The kids stare at me and I say hi and namaste, but mostly they run away and act shy. I get a brief tour of the farm, they show me all the vegetables they are growing (quite successfully) and the brother-in-law brings me to a tree that has some berries that we eat that are apparently important in Ayurvedic medicine. Ravij's brother-in-law is also the village doctor, so when we get back a patient is waiting for him. After consulting the patient he talks to Avinash and then walks over to his motorbike and starts it. Avinash directs me to get on the bike. We go on a much bigger tour of the village.
The Sun is setting red-orange into the ever smoky Indian Horizion, lighting the greens and yellows and whites of the vegetation, contrasting against the red-orange clay soil. It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. We come across a many villagers, he stops each time and greets them, they greet me, and he tries as best he can to explain what they do to me. We take some 'kha-ni' of which I know nothing except that it is, as the Dr. said 'Indian drug'. It's actually just a particular preparation of chewing tobacco with lime, but having never chewed tobacco before, I had no idea. Eventually we stop for chai at a tiny 'market' in the village. At this point 40 or 50 people are crowded around me all staring directly at me. This sounds uncomfortable, but it's not really. I try to take the time to look at everyone individually while we are trying to talk about where I'm from, what I do, and whether or not I'm married. Eventually they insist that I take pictures, so I took pictures in a circle all the way around me. It's getting pretty dark, so we head back.
Once I get back I'm motioned into the family's clay house, where we sit cross legged on rice bags on the floor. We eat a simple but amazingly delicious meal of small roti-like breads and a green chile potato dish of some kind, illuminated by kerosene lanterns. I drink the water (they say to only drink bottled water in India), because it seem like the thing to do. It's getting really late, but the village people want to talk, so we talk some more, I take turns asking them their names and horribly mispronouncing them to great throngs of laughter. Eventually I realize I can show them pictures on my laptop, so I get that out and show them a couple of shots of various things in America. At this point I have wide eyed kids on all sides of me pressing into me and pointing at my screen. They all knew the word 'laptop' though, so it's not like it was a total novelty.
It was really time to go, so I say good bye, and we hit the road. The drive back is cold and long and I arrive at the Rahul Guest house tired and sore, but happy.
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