old habits die hard

After Amritsar, we went back to Delhi for a day en route to Agra. Having done most/all of our sightseeing the first time we were in Delhi (4 days at the beginning of the trip--really enjoyed it but nothing post-worthy), we decided that we wouldn't try to squeeze more things into our 'in between' day there, but rather use it as a day of rest and recuperation.

To that end, we hung around our hotel for a good while and eventually ventured out to use the internet. While at the internet cafe, we thought, "you know, what better to do on a nothing day than see a movie!" So we looked up movie theaters in Delhi, and it wasn't long before we found what looked like utopia: Saket Select Citywalk Mall.

According to the website, it had not only a movie theater but...a Hard Rock Cafe. TGI Fridays. McDonalds. Subway. CINNABON. Having been deprived of all of the above for the past 8 months, we quickly became more excited about the food at the mall than the mall or movie itself.

The Saket Mall was...more than we expected. It was easily nicer/more amazing/fancier than any mall I've been to in the US (granted, I haven't been to many malls outside of Florida). After finding that the movie we planned on seeing, Rio, didn't start for another 3 hours, we weren't worried. In fact, that might be just enough time--just barely--to visit all the restaurants we had already been imagining.

So, the YAV India Saket Mall Progressive Dinner was born. We had appetizers at Hard Rock...entrees at TGI Fridays...dessert at Haagen Dazs. By the time we were finished, we were too full to even consider the popcorn we had so looked forward to having with our movie. The movie itself was cute, and afterwards we headed back to our hotel. It was almost like we had spent a few hours back in the US.

And therein, my friends, lies the problem. How is it that one can walk from an average Delhi street, through a gate, and into uptopia? (a materialistic, consumerist utopia, that is). Why is it that the majority of the people in Delhi probably wouldn't even be allowed through security at that mall simply because they look too poor? (We looked like dirty travelers, of course, but the sad truth is that almost anywhere in India, white skin is an all-access pass). How can I just walk into a place that is inaccessible for so many? It might just be down the road from those living in abject poverty, but for them, it is a world away. It is a place they will never see.

Let's not even talk about how much money we spent. Appetizers, dinner, dessert, and a movie. Not something the average American would necessarily do frequently in the US, but not out of reach. The prices at Saket Mall were comparable to US prices. And yet, the amount of money that I thoughtlessly spent in a matter of hours would probably feed a family for a month in Kerala. I am a product of my culture, and that type of wastefulness/excessiveness is exactly why the US disproportionately consumes so much of the world's resources; why our lifestyle is not sustainable.

To be fair, part of the reason for our over-zealousness, if you can call it that, was that when you don't have pizza for 8 months, and then you have a chance to eat pizza, you just really want the pizza, no matter the cost. Except it does. It matters.

I live a life of privilege, and I know that. While by no means rich by US standards (not even close!), I'm rich by world standards. I'm "rich enough to be poor for a year," as one fellow-YAV observed at orientation in August. I've always thought that going back to the US in July would be a HUGE culture shock, bigger than coming to India in the first place. While I still think that will be true, to some degree, our YAV India Progressive Dinner taught me that maybe it won't be so hard. Maybe old habits die hard, or not at all. A depressing thought in the midst of a year that's supposed to be about transformation, simple living, and solidarity. But the tension of the rope between 'old me' and 'new me'--the space where I think these thoughts and ask these questions--the place where I experience cognitive dissonance over old, wasteful habits--that is where hope resides.

"I don't believe in charity. I believe in solidarity. Charity is so vertical; it goes from top to bottom. Solidarity is horizontal. It respects the other person and learns from the other. I have alot to learn..." -Eduardo Galeano

the Golden Temple

One of our many stops on the all-India trip was the city of Amritsar, home to the Golden Temple. Our shortest stop on the trip, we were in Amritsar for a grand total of about eleven hours.

I didn't really know what to expect with regard to Amritsar. I had heard that the Golden Temple is quite possibly the best sight in North India, a claim that I found hard to believe given the infamy of the (at that point) still unseen Taj Mahal.

In hindsight, I can tell you that the Taj Mahal is perhaps India's most...impressive sight. In the sense that if I saw a picture of the Taj Mahal next to a picture of the Golden Temple, I might find the Taj Mahal more (insert adjective here. Striking? Stunning? Aesthetically pleasing?).

But the Golden Temple is more than a sight. It's an experience, and definitely one of my favorites from the trip, at that. From the moment one walks through the shallow water (to wash your feet) into the inner compound, one can tell that there is something holy about the place. It's an incredibly moving experience to see the devoutness and solemnity with which the Sikhs bow down and pray. Surprisingly quiet given the hundreds of people inside the compound at any given time, the Golden Temple is a place, unlike the Taj Mahal, that one doesn't simply feel in awe to look at--one feels in awe to be there.

I guess I should give you a little background info and tell you that the Golden Temple is a holy place of the followers of Sikhism, most easily recognized by the turbans they wear. The fifth-largest organized religion in the world, Sikhism is monotheistic and emphasizes values of faith and justice. The Golden Temple  is "considered holy by Sikhs because the eternal guru of Sikhism, Sri Guru Granth Sahib, is always present inside it and its construction was mainly intended to build a place of worship for men and women from all walks of life and all religions to come and worship God equally" (yes, I took that from Wikipedia :)).

We arrived at the perfect time of day; it was about 5:30PM. As we stayed for over two hours, we were able to see the Golden Temple by daylight, sunset, and night, beautiful in a different way at each time.

First, we took our time walking around the perimeter of the inner complex. We then noticed that there was a huge line of people waiting to get into the temple itself. Travel-weary and not relishing the idea of standing in an interminable line, we briefly debated skipping out on seeing the inside of the temple. But the I'm-only-here-once attitude prevailed, and we waited in the line. We creeped along with the masses until finally, we were able to enter the temple.

If it had been quiet outside, it was silent inside. Everything about the interior was lavishly decorated (not surprising for a building whose exterior is pure gold, right?). A Sikh holy man (not sure what the appropriate term actually is) was in the center of the room, reading aloud sacred scriptures from a giant, ancient book, unhurriedly and with unbroken concentration. People milled about with prayer books; people sat reading prayers; there were people everywhere. It was opulent--otherworldly--awe-inspiring.

And that was just the first floor. The second floor held similar wonders, and the third was an open rooftop. Photography wasn't allowed anywhere inside the temple, and for once it was a rule that I actually felt like respecting (come on, you know you've been places where photography 'isn't allowed' but snapped a few pictures, anyway).

There was also some type of ritual in which everyone offers a food offering as they enter the temple (it's all the same--some kind of sweet). The sweet is deposited into a common vessel. As you leave the temple, each person is given a small handful of the sweet from the communal offering. There's probably some really cool symbolism/meaning to this (beyond the obvious idea of sharing) but we weren't able to find out what it was.

After seeing the temple, we went to have langar. This was the part I was most incredulous about. Supposedly, any one, at any time, can come to the Golden Temple and have langar, a free meal. How could they possibly feed all those people? What stops the whole city from coming and eating three meals a day at the Golden Temple? Don't they ever run out of food? ...just a few of the questions that were on my mind.

One enters the hall where the food is served under a Sikh scripture that says: "The lord himself is the farm, himself he grows and grinds. Himself he cooks, himself he places it on a platter and himself he eats, too. Himself he is the water, himself the toothpick, himself he offers a handful of water. Himself he calls the men to eat, himself he bids them off. Yea he to whom the lord is merciful, he makes them walk in his will."

Under that arch with the scripture are volunteers handing out plates. After those who come to eat are ushered into the hall and seated on the floor in rows, volunteers come down the lines of people ladling out food. When we were there, the meal was chapatti and dal (lentils), and a rice-based dessert. Volunteers come around multiple times with seconds and thirds; there is enough for anyone to have their fill. After finishing, we handed our plates to the volunteers in charge of washing them by the hundreds. On our way out, we passed by the volunteers who were chopping carrots for the next meal. Total, there were a few hundred volunteers working to make that meal and the next meal possible. Anyone can volunteer, at any time, just as anyone can come and eat at any time. Our only regret about being in Amritsar for such a short period of time was not being able to volunteer.

It's hard to do justice to the Golden Temple in writing; it was an incredible experience of community, of giving and taking, together. Perhaps photos make the aforementioned descriptions more relevant. One of last year's volunteers, Sarah, did some really good writing about the Golden Temple experience, especially from a theological perspective. There's a lot that could be said in that regard but frankly my little brain is too tired right now to do any higher-level analysis :) To read Sarah's account, click here.

"Anyone can count the seeds in an apple, but only God can count the number of apples in a seed." -Robert H. Schuller

the girl who rejected my orange

One of our many train journeys was supposed to begin at 7:30AM. We arrived to the station around 7, and upon checking the status of our train at the inquiry counter, were told that it wouldn't arrive until 11:30AM. The four-hour layover was the first we had encountered on our trip, so we weren't that upset because we had figured that it was bound to happen sometime.

We later found out, of course, that our train actually HAD been on time. But by the time we realized the error--that our train had come and gone--it was too late. Luckily there really was an 11:30 train that was going to our destination, too. It's just as well, however, that we had to sit around and wait, because if our train had been on time, I never would have met the girl who rejected my orange.

Jim, Maggie, and I were sitting on the ground of Platform 3. Our bags containing all our worldly possessions were haphazardly strewn about us. The station was filled with the everyday hustle and bustle of hundreds of travelers, and we got to watch the train station world--that interesting intersection of people of every class and socioeconomic status--go by for a while. The family rushing to board a moving train. The man selling chaya, tea. The homeless woman staring vacantly into the distance, clutching an undernourished, naked baby to her chest. The woman in a burqa walking next to the woman in a skirt and heels. The young boys and girls going from person to person begging for money.

It wasn't long before one of the girls approached us. I confronted the inner battle that one faces any time one is asked for money: I want to help him/her, BUT--what is this money going to be used for? To meet legitimate needs? Or for harmful/destructive purposes, like drugs or alcohol? Am I playing a role in perpetuating this person's circumstances by making it profitable for them to beg?

Furthermore, in the case of India, it is known that children are oftentimes 'employed' (indentured? forced?) to spend the day begging for money. The money they get is given to their 'employer,' and perhaps the child is allowed to keep a few rupees. Or, if not 'employed,' the money is given to their parents, maybe for real needs, maybe not. Sadly, the bottom line is that if you give money to a child...you're probably not actually giving money to the child.

As the little girl stood in front of me and held out her hand, saying something in Hindi, I was spared the ethical dilemma by the fact that I genuinely did not have any money on me at the time. I gave her my warmest smile and shook my head that no, I didn't have anything to give.

But wait--I did! I remembered that Maggie and I had purchased fruit earlier in the day, in an attempt to eat healthier (ha). It was the perfect solution: I could give her something that would be hers and hers alone to enjoy; I could give some sustenance, however small, to her tiny body.

I joyfully reached into my purse, took out the orange, and offered it to the girl.

SHE REJECTED IT.

What?!

She wasn't even very nice about it. She had to try real hard to stop herself from laughing, and gave me a look that said come on, is that really all you have to give me?

I found myself feeling rather disgruntled and thinking, well yes, it certainly is!

Now, I'm not saying that one should be skeptical of homeless people. There are so many needy people in the world, and I am 100% convinced that it is my obligation--your obligation--we are ALL obligated--to help them. This includes not only meeting their physical needs, but also treating them as known and valued human beings. I am reminded of the lyrics of a song by Joan Osborne: "What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us? Just a stranger on a bus, trying to make his way home?"

I don't for a second think that my orange would have made a huge difference in the life or well-being of that girl. But her refusal confirmed my suspicions that she was probably working for someone. It's just not fair--why doesn't she get a childhood? Why is she forced to spend hour after hour begging for money at the railway station; why does she feel that she can't take two minutes for herself to sit down and eat an orange?

The girl walked away in hopes of having better luck elsewhere. Inevitably, though, she came back (remember, we were sitting there for four hours); once again, I offered her the orange. Once again, she refused.

Again, she walked away. About an hour later, she returned. She held out her hand and for the third time asked, in Hindi, for money. For the third time, I smiled and shook my head no. For the third time, I offered her the orange.

Finally, she took it.

Mind you, she didn't look pleased. Perhaps she thought that if she continued coming around I would give her money just to leave us alone. She was persistent, but so was I.

I hope that little girl enjoyed the orange. I hope she was actually able to eat it herself and didn't have to give it to someone else. I hope she will somehow, some day, come to know something better of life.

It's interesting, when you feel like you're being generous, no matter on how small of a scale, to have your generosity refused. Although maybe what she needed, I just didn't have to give?

"Usually, our concept of compassion or love refers to the feeling of closeness we have with our friends and loved ones. Sometimes compassion also carries a sense of pity. This is wrong. Any love or compassion which entails looking down on the other is not genuine compassion. To be genuine, compassion must be based on respect for the other, and on the realization that others have the right to be happy and overcome suffering, just as much as you." -The 14th Dalai Lama

Just for fun...

Here's my notes from our first day in Srinagar, Kashmir. (I kept a daily 'journal'--the entry for April 3 follows):

Met the big burly poet, Amit, at the Delhi airport. Gave us his book of poetry for one rupee ("I never give away my work for free"). It was a legit book--tried to give him more than one rupee but he refused. Strongarmed his way to getting us a taxi to the REAL airport (the one we arrived to via metro and the one IndiGo departs from are 9km apart). He wore a beret. Can we be best friends? Was from a village 100km from Delhi--said they're like 2 differet worlds. "All we have in my village are farmers and soldiers...and one poet." Arrived to Srinagar. Airport looks like a war zone...and it's COLD! Beautiful mountains, people definitely not used to seeing tourists. Went shopping at the "Sunday Market" on Residency Rd. Apparently many of the items there (clothes, shoes, etc.) are 'used'--ha. Attracted a lot of stares for not wearing 'appropriate' dress (was wearing jeans and sweatshirt--AKA my rear wasn't covered with a long top). Out Muslim friends definitely didn't appreciate it. Bought a sweater to tie around my waist--problem solved. All bought cold weather wear (it's FREEZING!) and had lunch @ Mughal Darbar Restaurant. Kashmir kehwa tea=delish! Went back to Hotel Swiss to use the internet and be in before curfew. Guy at desk (Ruuf?) is super nice/funny/helpful. Gave us an electric blanket, so hopefully we will make it through the night without freezing...!

Our first task in approaching
Another people
Another culture
Another religion
Is to take off our shoes
For the place we are approaching
Is holy.

Else we may find ourselves
Treading on another's dreams.
            -Unknown

Kashmir to Dharamsala

The landscape of the state of Kashmir is in many ways idyllic. Or, it would be, if not for the Indian army occupying it. One can almost get carried away by the fields of yellow saffron flowers flanked by the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas...until one has to step around barbed wire. Or adjust the camera shot so that the man holding an AK-47 isn't in it. Or make a mental note not to forget the curfew that the military enforces.

It's a shame, really. Such a beautiful place that is everywhere tainted with evidence of the human thirst for power; India's unwillingness to let go of a state that so desires its own freedom.

The mostly-Muslim Kashmiri people are among the nicest in India, providing you can overlook slogans drawn with a finger on the side of a car in need of washing that say things like, "Indian dogs go home." Such statements are unsurprising in light of the Indian military's propaganda on billboards with violent messages such as, "kill them, cut them, kneel not."

While in Kashmir we made several friends close to our age. One such friend was self-admittedly an arms dealer (if you're in need of any ammunition, we have his card- haha) and fervently and openly admitted that he wanted Kashmir to be free of India, regardless of the cost or lives lost. His friend, who was also present for this conversation, argued the opposite point--that he would gladly remain part of India, if only the result were peace. I think most people would especially agree with that last part--that part about peace--regardless of whether you call the entity to whom you pray at night by the name of God or Allah.

It's an unfortunate political situation that affects the people of Kashmir's daily lives. In my opinion, they are the true victims. Virtually held hostage by India, it isn't shocking that violence and civil unrest are the result.

Our next step on the all-India trip, however--Dharamsala--taught me that it doesn't have to be that way.

In the 1950s Tibet was invaded by China, under the guise of helping/modernizing 'backward' Tibet. The Dalai Lama, spiritual leader of all Buddhist Tibetans, was forced to flee Tibet in 1959. The Dalai Lama and, by extension, the Tibetan governement in exile, were given refuge in Dharamsala, India. Since then, countless Tibetans have risked their lives (and many have lost their lives) attempting to flee Tibet. Dharamsala is still the home of the Tibetan government in exile, as well as the majority of the refugees.

Like the Kashmiris, political decisions made by others have dictated the lives of the Tibetans. The Tibetan/Buddhist reaction, however, is significantly different from what is happening in Kashmir. Instead of resorting to violence, they use peaceful means to try to regain their homeland. Sadly, it remains to be seen if they will ever be successful.

Easily apparent, and even more noteworthy in the face of political oppression, I would argue that Tibetans/Buddhists live a more Christian lifestyle than many Christians themselves. Central to Buddhist beliefs is the practice of compassion. It's kind of reminiscent of the whole do-unto-others-as-you-would-have-them-do-unto-you thing. Sound familiar?

While in Dharamsala, we watched a documentary about the struggles of Tibet and its people. In the documentary, a story was told about a monk who sought an audience with the Dalai Lama (who is hilarious, by the way--have you ever seen him on video??). The monk explained to the Dalai Lama how he had recently been plagued with feelings of guilt. Upon being asked about the source of his guilt, the monk replied: "I feel guilty because I fear that I am losing my compassion for the Chinese."

How often do we harp on the multitude of ways in which we have been wronged, and by who? How often do we wish those who have wronged us ill fortune; delight in their failures; resent their success? How often do we tell ourselves "it's okay for me to feel this way--I am the victim here?"

...all of these attitudes can be said to be 'normal' reactions of any logical, thinking human being who believes in the concept of 'justice,' an eye for an eye. But think of the enormous self-control--the enormous intentionality--it takes to say to oneself: not only am I not going to give in to these negative/vengeful thoughts--I am going to have compassion for the one who has wronged me. Furthermore, imagine feeling guilty when it seems that the ability to have this superhuman compassion for the one at fault is eluding you!

It is also worth remembering that in the monk's case, it was no small grievance. His country was forcibly taken from him; his culture is being systematically destroyed by the Chinese. Like him, many risked death in order to escape. Many, like the refugee who taught the cooking class that Maggie and I attended, have family still trapped in Tibet who they have not seen in fifteen or twenty years. And yet, they persist in practicing compassion.

If the Tibetans can do it, in the face of such oppression, can't we, too?

For more information about the Tibetan cause, click here. There is also widespread information on the internet about the situation in Kashmir.  

"Never give up. No matter what is going on around you, never give up. Develop the heart. Too much energy is spent developing the mind, instead of the heart. Develop the heart. Be compassionate, not just with your friends, but with everyone. Be compassionate. Work for peace, in your heart and in the world. Work for peace. And I say again, never give up. No matter what is going on around you, never give up." -The 14th Dalai Lama

incredible india

Incredible India: It's a slogan coined by the tourism department that's supposed to entice people to the subcontinent. When I first heard it, I remember thinking, well, that's unoriginal. And...convenient. It seemed as though someone had looked up adjectives that start with 'i' in order to fashion a catchy little tag line.

But here's the thing...it's true. India IS incredible.

I can say this with a good amount of certainty after the aforementioned all-India trip. I am really just in awe of this incredible country. Whoever came up with the 'Incredible India' slogan wasn't just trying to use some elementary alliteration. Au contraire, they hit the nail right on the head.

The United States is diverse in the sense that one can find all kinds of people in almost any given place. It is truly a 'melting pot,' or, a 'salad bowl' as some would prefer to call it. With the exception of small towns (like New Wilmington, where Maggie is from- ha), one can expect to encounter people of various nationalities, ethnicities, religions, etc in almost any city or state.

India is diverse in a different way. In India, upon entering a new state, one might feel that one is in a different country altogether. Each state has its own language and is very unique compared to others. The population within any given state (with the exception of large, cosmopolitan cities like Delhi or Mumbai) is quite homogenous; cross a state line and cross into a different world. Language, style of dress, food, social norms, religion--all elements of culture--are drastically different from state to state. Kashmir is a Muslim state, while Kerala has the biggest Christian majority of any state. Someone from Tamil Nadu can't communicate with someone from Uttar Pradesh (unless they both happen to know some English). Goa is a Portuguese-influenced wild card. There is snow in Himachal Pradesh; Rajasthan is all desert. Foods in the south are rice-based; foods in the north are wheat-based. The saree, a garment found in most of India, is worn completely different in the north than in the south. The differences go on and on...

It is this diversity that I find so incredible about India. It's just vast, all that India contains. And at the risk of sounding like I'm being paid to write this (I'm not, I assure you), I think that India is a place that every person should visit. It has something to teach everyone.

In many ways a land of contrasts--a land of extremes--it was in those 'in between' places, caught among two or more opposing realities, that I found myself learning something or wondering at (meaning, being in wonderment at) this incredibly vast, incredibly diverse, incredibly beautiful place. The following posts will be some reflections on those contrasts; those 'in between' places.

"Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful, for beauty is God's handwriting." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

annddd we're back!

Well HELLO THERE!

It has certainly been a while. Happy Easter, friends.

I write to you from the home of my site coordinator, Thomas John Achen. It is good to be home!!

Maggie, Jim, and I arrived yesterday from our all-India trip. If you recall, my last post was written just as we were about to leave. Three and a half weeks later, here we are again!

When we arrived to Thomas John Achen’s house yesterday, he, Betty Kochamma, and Binu weren’t home. They knew we would arrive in their absence, however, so we had already been given instructions by Achen: “The key will be in the flowerpot; please hose yourselves off before going inside.”

The last part was said in jest, of course. Achen was referring to the fact that after traveling around North India for almost a month, who knows what dirt/microbes/etc one might have on oneself. Surprisingly, minus the fact that none of us had any clean clothes left, I really don’t feel that we were all that dirty upon our return. Nevertheless, our first order of business was to shower, and it felt amazing to be clean. To be home.

So how was the trip?!?!, you ask?

In a word: awesome. I have a lot to say about it, but I’ll start with a brief synopsis of our itinerary/what we did:

March 31-April 2: Delhi. Saw the Red Fort, Connaught Circle, Qutb Minar, Bahai Lotus Temple, Jama Masjid, Safdarjung’s Tomb, and the India Gate.

April 3-5: Srinagar, Kashmir. Saw Sri Shankracharya Temple, several Mughal Gardens, Tulip Gardens, and Gulmarg.

April 6: Jammu, Kashmir. This was more of just a stopover while in transit to Dharamsala.

April 7-9: Dharamsala (McLeod Gang). Home of the Tibetan Government in exile. Took a Tibetan cooking class, saw the Dalai Lama’s Temple, and went horseback riding.

April 10: Amritsar. Toured the Golden Temple and had langar.

April 11: Delhi. Had a ‘recovery day.’

April 12-13: Agra. Saw the Taj Mahal by sunrise, Agra Fort, Baby Taj, and the Taj Mahal by sunset.

April 14-16: Jaipur. Walked around the ‘Old City’ and saw the Monkey Temple, City Palace, and Hawa Mahal (Palace of the Winds).

April 17-18: Bikaner. Saw Junagarh (the Bikaner Fort) and went on an overnight camel safari into the Rajasthan desert.

April 19: 26 hour train ride from Bikaner to Mumbai.

April 20-23: Goa. Stayed at Palolem Beach; relaxed and played in the ocean.

April 24: Arrived home to KERALA! :)

I know that’s a really boring account and doesn’t really tell you much. But for photos of all of the corresponding adventures, click here, and here. The photos—especially the captions—will give you a better idea of what, exactly, we did, as well as the context.

In my next post, I’ll give more of a narrative account of some of the more noteworthy places/people/events. Stay tuned!

"The more I traveled the more I realized that fear makes strangers of people who should be friends." -Shirley MacLaine