Article for my school... It's all so far away now.

You could see it in their eyes.  This fierce vitality, passion and exuberance to be alive.  Not the aloof and inanimate detachment I have become so accustomed to, as people walk by with their iPhones, alternating between shutting out the bustle of Boston for a quick conversation with someone somewhere far away, bumping to music that nobody can hear, or checking Facebook every ten minutes.   From the slums to the cities nestled in the sides of the Himalayan foothills, to my very campus at the University of Hyderabad, the people of India are truly alive.  The streets are deafening with the honking of melodic horns from vibrantly painted trucks and the shouts of street vendors mingling with Bollywood hits, and the bright, intricate designs of sarees and salwar kameez sprinkle even the dingiest streets with color. It is vibrancy like I’ve never seen. 

Studying and living in India changed me.  It came at a time when I was unsure of what I was doing, and I was afraid.  Afraid to fail, afraid to commit, afraid to let go. I chose India because I needed something different from anything I’ve ever known.  I also needed to escape from the reality of my own life in order to gain true perspective. Frightened but determined after the Mumbai attacks, just weeks before I was scheduled to leave, I pushed myself onto that plane in order to test my own limits in a place where I would have to battle my way through daunting encounter after daunting encounter.

It began in baby steps, immersing one toe at a time into the vast depths of another culture.  First came the stares.  Those curious, lively eyes fixed on me, inquiring, “You are from which country, madam?  Can I take your picture?” (Some had never seen such a fair complexion like mine before.) Then came the rupees.  I very quickly learned that approximately 160rs (~$3) could sufficiently fund a 14-hour train ride across the country, one share of a gloriously sketchy hotel room for three, or a 40 oz. of the Budweiser of India: Kingfisher beer (which has the thrilling tendency to spontaneously burst).   Finally came the learning curve of bargaining tactics, which is an art in itself.  With the autorickshaw drivers, I mastered the “bahut mahanga hain! (too expensive!) and pretend to walk to another driver” technique.

From there it all seems like a messy, colorful, exciting dream -- wandering around the sprawling campus with 8 stray dogs on my heels, discovering the hot spots of Hyderabad experimenting with various terrifying methods of transportation (the autorickshaw, the local bus, the railway, or my favorite, the back of a stranger’s motorbike).  I began learning the beautiful Hindi language, (“Aap kaise hain?” (How are you?)) sampling the different curries and koftas and cardamom-filled delicacies with my ever-eager fingers, and surviving the resultant explosive diarrhea in the Eastern-style toilets.  Every day was a new adventure with different discoveries, realizations, and learning.  For instance, there are no lines in India, and maps don’t work.  And personal space is going to cost you.  India is a country of contrasts, with massive gaps between the upper- and lower-caste living conditions and traditions. Although caste-discrimination has been outlawed, caste continues to play a major role in the lives of the Indian people. I experienced a major caste-related protest on campus, causing the cancellation of classes, and the sealing of the gates by angry students.  Where the country pushes forward in its scientific advances, there are major infrastructural holes holding back its progress.  The roads are terrible, and the common method of trash disposal usually involves lighting the pile of trash (or the mystery snack of a wandering cow) on fire. In Hyderabad especially, the technical hub of the country, it was common to see state-of-the-art computer engineering high rises next to a quarter-acre of slums with no running water, or a multiple amputee begging outside of a shopping mall with an IMAX theater. 

From sunrise at the very tip of India at the holy point where Gandhi’s ashes were cast into the sea, to the calm backwaters in Kerala, to riding camels in the Great Indian Desert, just 40 miles from the Pakistan border, to rafting down the holy Ganges where the Beatles made their visit in Rishikesh, I experienced as much of the beautiful culture and environment as I possibly could.  The diversity and differences across the country rival those differences between New Englanders and deep Southerners, New York City and the Rocky Mountains.  With every adventure I became more confident, less afraid of the unknown, unfamiliar challenges and learned that you must discover your own voice in order to be heard. At the end of every trip, it was wonderful to come home to Hyderabad, to my Indian friends in the art studio, to my tabla guru’s smile, and the home-cooked dishes in the hostel, ready to ride my rickety bike the two miles in 106-degree heat past the manic monkeys to Monday’s morning classes.

It is extremely difficult to sum up or explain the montage of beauty, heartbreak, and unforgettable experience living in a place like India.  And for all of its magnificence and mystique, India definitely has its darker side.  The politicians bribe lower caste voters with color TVs and alcohol, and the Hindu-Muslim tension rears its ugly head at intervals.  But the emphasis on love, mindfulness, and passion for life overpowers those negative aspects at every turn.  In India I was able to accomplish more than I thought I was capable of, and the empowerment that comes along with independent travel is unparalleled. There finally came a point where I felt right, as the time was nearing coming home.  Like I was centered, ready and able to do anything.  And now, I am trying to apply and sustain all of that change to my life back in Boston.  That is the difficult part.  So I am doing everything I can to go back.

This May Be Goodbye, India

I’ve been saying my goodbyes to friends as they trickle out of the hostel, embarking on their post-semester adventures. Mine begins today, and I am sad to depart from this beautiful campus and from so many amazing people. It was hard packing up my art projects and shaking the hands of some of the most talented and inspiring artists I’ve met from my studio. The other day in a fit of pre-reminiscence, I snapped some pictures of my campus to show how full of life it really is. That’s really it- India is just so alive.

It’s been a crazy couple of weeks- wrapping everything up, bargaining for those last gifts for everyone, studying for finals, painting, surviving a huge bar fight, and volunteering at an AIDS orphanage. Plus packing, and mentally preparing to return back to reality, move into my dorm, begin summer classes and interview for a co-op job- all starting the day I get back.

Regardless of my inability to plan a bit of rest, I am super excited for my last trip up to the Himalayas, in a holy town called Rishikesh. It’s been visited by some band called the Beatles- you may have heard of them. The Ganges river (healing powers I hear) will be rafted, and mountains will be hiked. I hope my parents (and mystery roommates) are ready to receive one stinky, deliriously exhausted, crazily-dressed girl on May 5^th! I probably won’t have showered or slept in two days- but at least my hair has finally turned back to normal after being pink from holi.

Being in India has given me such an insight into my life and who I am. My time here has been simultaneously empowering and calming, and I have learned more in these four months than I ever could have imagined. I have realized, to a degree, many of the things that I had been afraid of, and I feel so free. I refuse to let fear of the unknown, fear of judgment, and fear of failure affect me after this. India has taught me intense patience but also has given me the confidence to demand my voice be heard. And I have discovered such an appreciation for everything and everyone that I am so lucky to have in my life. I really want to thank everybody for all of their support and patience and love while I’ve been gone, and I can’t wait to see you all soon!

New Stories, New Photos!

Right now I can hear a fellow soccer enthusiast from across the building shrieking at a assumably exciting Liverpool playoff match.  But an hour ago the real shrieking was coming from my room.  I was about to call my mother, light some incense and prepare for bed, but a large brown blur caught my eye.  It was so big I thought there was an animal in my room.  Reaching for the matches, I laid my eyes on the most gigantic spider I have ever seen.  Its body was about the size of my fingernail, and with its legs stretched out it would have probably been the size of my hand.  Dear lord.  It was hideous.

(looked kinda like this)

Somehow I managed to survive, and with my newfound appreciation for life, I figured I’d reflect on my latest array of experiences.  I am sensing my time here in Hyderabad coming to an end (maybe because of the farewell dinner tonight, with the lecture on how we may have forgotten how to speak English.  Hmmm.  Plus another confused and slightly pathetic tabla/sitar performance.) and have begun to have paranoia dreams about leaving as I sleep through the three-hour scheduled power outage every morning in the fan-less heat. The first dream entailed flying over to Paris and sleeping in a park, and another involved being kidnapped on a ferry. 

Speaking of ferries…  after traveling to the very southernmost tip of India and hopping onto a tiny fishing boat with two old men chewing pan, grinning with stained, red teeth, then touring the backwaters of Kerala on a canoe and houseboat, I took a local ferry on my way to the tea hills of Munnar.  The ferry was packed with mostly older men, with a few women aboard.  The wooden ferry, painted yellow and green, actually had lifesavers on the ceiling (which was surprising).  Small trails of ants made their way up and down the posts by the open-air windows.  We passed cormorants in palm trees on the channel banks, deafened by the motor of the vessel.  I wrote in my diary with a young girl who I later discovered was named Shrilakshmi, reading over my shoulder.  Everyone was so fascinated by us; my friend Keiko and I were playing cards, and six old men gathered behind us to watch, cheering when I threw down a good hand.  Small, but beautifully humble homes lined the waterway, and I’ve learned only about five of the million uses of palm trees to locals.  Two men, uniformed in blue, pushed us off from the ferry stop after a family embarked from the platform outside of their bright purple and white-striped cottage. Clothes hung on lines outside of every home, colors blowing in the warm, moist wind, and I picked up the scent of jasmine from the flowers in the little girl’s hair.  Following the scariest bus ride of my life and a frustratingly unbargainable taxi drive up the winding roads of the tea mountains, we arrived in Munnar, set to trek through the thousands of hectors of tea plantations. 

While we sang the Sound of Music in the hills, our guide explained to us about the politics and religion of the state, and of course about the tea.  Kerala is the only state in India that has an alternating 5 years of Congress, then 5 years of Communism.  It also has a huge Christian population as a result of their British, Portuguese, and Dutch heritage.  It was neat to see churches in full swing on Palm Sunday, and to meet a Hindu man who casually mentioned that he “also worshipped Jesus.”  Our guide described Munnar’s traditions on Good Friday, which would entail fasting then climbing one of the many cross-topped mountains.  It sounded like a bit of a health risk to me, but very devotional nonetheless.

Back in Hyderabad, I decided it would only be appropriate to visit the nearest Catholic church in Lingampally on Easter Sunday.  It was quite an experience.  Leaving a bit late so the kids from Miami University Ohio could watch their hockey team tragically fall to Boston University, we grabbed a rickshaw to the English service in our best salwars.  Upon arrival, certain differences immediately struck me, beginning with the removal of the shoes at the door.  There were a few pews at the back, but most people sat on the floor, facing a garish, blue, heavenly mural with the crucifix at the center.  I was greeted by synthesizer drum beats and loud piano.  Women in sarees covered their heads, except for one woman in a turquoise Easter dress, which was just kind of weird.  Like all lines in India, the line for the host was more like a scramble to the front of the church.  The priest was very good, and the entire experience made me miss the religious excuse to gather with my amazing family. 

I’ve had a few interesting occurrences back on campus lately, including my friend Thomas’s attempt to hail a tractor for a ride with an almost deadly result, and a huge caste-related protest causing the cancellation of classes.

What I’ve learned: 

            -Don’t stick your arm out in front of a speeding tractor late at night, because they may not see you.  The walk up to our dorm is a long one, but not worth almost bleeding to death to avoid.

            -The caste system lives on and causes conflict even within the walls of a liberal college setting.  A Dalit medical professional in the campus health center, known to steal supplies, practice unsafely, and lead to the death of more than one student, was suspended after the poor treatment of a burned cafeteria worker (which led to the strike of the mess workers).  He has pulled the caste card, and the Dalit student union protested for an entire day, cutting off transportation in or out of the campus.  Despite his history of unethical and illegal practices, the students support him because he is of the backward caste.  The protest made it to the newspapers. 

The most recent newspapers, however, have been loaded with election coverage.  Politics in this country are fascinating.  The papers proclaim the corruption as if it’s no big thing, and it makes me wonder how much worse it is here or if we are just better at hiding it.  Politicians drive around in cars with gigantic speakers strapped to the roof, either bumping music or giving enthralling speeches in the local language.  People along the Andhra Pradesh coast and I’m sure in many other areas of India are placing their bets on the winners of the election.  And the sale of alcohol for the next three days is prohibited to prevent bribery and rioting.  Showing election coverage on TV is not allowed anymore before the polling, and with no alcohol to give to crowds, campaigning politicians are giving away millions of rupees in bribes (as well as the occasional color tv).  The money has been found stashed in ambulances and other hiding places to secretly distribute to hopeful voters.  I wonder if any bollywood stars are running.  Prime Minister Singh better watch out if Amir Kahn gets any big ideas.       

Anyways, I’ve got one more adventure planned before I book it home to America in May:

Ze great HIMALAYAS!

Discovering Rajasthan

Jodhpur

Once again, only the best highlights:

We took a half-day tour of the Bishnoi villages outside of Jodphur, where the original “Tree Huggers” once lived. Bishnoi translates to “Twenty-niners,” for the 29 rules to be followed by the people according to lord Vishnu. They highly value nature, especially animals and the local trees. When the 1730 Jodhpur Maharaja decided he needed to fell their trees to construct a new palace, a massacre of 363 Bishnois occurred, as they hugged the trees and accepted beheading as a sacrifice for the sacred wildlife.

Jodhpur Fort, overlooking the beautiful Blue City (homes painted in indigo to protect from the heat and the insects) introduced us to the beauty of Rajasthani architecture. Swooping window awnings and carved latticed walls to allow windflow, and to “allow women to look outside without the lusty stares of men.” Hmm. Gorgeous nonetheless.

A young boy approached us while we visited the blue city, and told us all about how Obama is good and Bush was very bad. His name was Viky and he took us to into his home up on a hill, and introduced us to every cousin and brother and sister. His mother made us chai, and his sisters complemented just about every piece of jewelry I was wearing.

As Rebecca and I wandered around the clock tower bazaar, we had the chance to glimpse three men playing trumpets late at night in their tiny music shop, and old women singing religious songs in their small temple. It was great to explore Jodhpur at night, to see all of its hidden surprises.

Recycled textiles are a wonderful invention by handicraftsmen all over Jodhpur and Jaipur. I found a small shop in the bazaar that featured hundreds of different cloths made from parts of women’s salwars and sarees from the villages. The village women cut up their old clothing, match the colors, and patch them together. The colors and designs are amazing, and it is so cool to imagine that all different people wore bits of a single textile for years of their life.

Bikaner

We took a two-day camel trek out of Bikaner. Laura had the funniest camel, who either farted or made a mating call every 30 seconds. The mating call consisted of blowing the inside of its throat out its mouth like a second tongue, and gurgling. Very attractive.

It was wonderful to be away from all people for a couple of days, in a country where solitude is rare. The stars were glorious at night, and I loved following tiny animal tracks in the sand. I saw giant lizards, antelopes, foxes, and vultures, and as we made our way through a small village on the way to the desert, all of the children chased our camel caravan shouting “Ta Ta!”

Jaipur

Lassiwala had the absolute hands down best lassies I have ever had. They were served in honey-comb shaped pottery, and tasted like heaven.

The pink city itself was beautiful. By law, every shop must be painted pink. It’s great.

We made good friends with an autorickshaw driver, who at one point took us to his friend’s Italian restaurant, where we were served beer from a teapot (unlicensed to serve alchy) and he told us about his life as an autodriver. His parents couldn’t afford to send him to school, as he was the youngest of 9 children. He can’t read or write, which impedes him from becoming a guide (his aspiration). He doesn’t want to get married, because he commiserates with Bob Marley by saying “No woman no cry.”

He let Laura drive the rickshaw past the lake palace. I considered trying, but I thought I would kill us all.

I later met a girl on the street in Jaipur who designs jewelry in her father’s store. She took me into her local temple on her way to work.

At one point, nearing the end of our journey, we laid down in the hotel bed to rest, and turned on the TV. On came the Amazing Race, and the contestants were headed straight to Jaipur! Go figure! It was hilarious to watch them muddle their way through Indian transportation to all of the sites we had just visited that day, and to see a newcomer's reaction to India compared to our accustomed view.

Overall, my trip put my faith in people on a bit of a roller coaster ride. Sometimes I felt like all friendship here comes with a price. Other times, I truly believed in the genuine friendliness of the people I was with. It all comes down to taking every new interaction as a fresh start, and seeing what happens. Not everyone is out to get paid, although it so often feels that way.

You know, Agra!

Watching the sun set from the beach, on the river behind the Taj Mahal, was the best and cheapest way to experience the breathtaking wonder of the world.   My friends and I sat in the cool sand and attempted broken Hindi with locals.  And wore the occasional beard.

In the late evening, it was wild to observe men on the Agra rooftops conducting a well-choreographed routine with their squads of trained pigeons.  With a series of whistles, they control a group of about 30 birds swooping through the air.  I got it on video, don’t worry.

Paneer butter masala and malai kofta.  Yum.  Cheesy, buttery goodness. 

I woke up for the sunrise back on the roof of our hotel, and loved seeing the warm light spill across the city.  Big monkeys popped out of the shadows onto the rooftops to begin their day, and about six local mosques commenced their morning call to prayer, only with a pleasantly un-synchronized two-minute delay between all of them.  

PS:

(There have been clouds in Hyderabad this week, and there have been absolutely beautiful skies.  I missed clouds!  But the heat is getting a bit outrageous, and my farmer's tan is becoming comical.)

 

A Moment in Delhi

Only days before leaving for my big trip up north, I resigned to visit the health center on campus, despite my bad habit of ignoring my parents’ good advice.  I had made a decent recovery from that special time in the library, but I wasn’t able to fully shake the mystery sickness.  I tried eating Sunday night Chinese, and relapsed.  Laying awake late at night after finishing a paper, running to the bathroom every 3 minutes, I started feeling short of breath and a bit dizzy.  I hit up the infirmary instead of giving a presentation the next day, was admitted, and laid down next to a student with hideous burns all over his arm.  The health center was quite the contrast to the medical care I’m used to.  I staggered around for a while looking for a receptionist or something, and was eventually pointed into a curtained room where a woman recorded my woes and sent me into the emergency unit.  Picture a nurse in a white saree sticking an IV into you without gloves or handwashing, then being given pretty pills in the hand that you just had to make real use of in the Indian bathroom with no toilet paper or soap with the other hand out the door connected to the IV.  This is all a bit graphic, but trust me when I say I am omitting the worst of it. 

Arriving in Delhi, I hoped it wasn’t a poor life decision to be traveling for 9 days after the whole ordeal.  Luckily I started feeling much better after a day or two.  My friends and I had a real whirlwind tour of the major northern cities, and got a great taste of north Indian culture.  Instead of listing everything we did and saw, I’ll just give a description of a few of the most memorable moments from each place, starting with Delhi.

Delhi

After watching a huge parade travel down the main street, we lost ourselves in an amazing bazaar down an alleyway, which sold everything from beads to saree borders to festival decorations to felt jewelry displays.  There were fabrics upon fabrics, kitchen supplies, spices and perfumes.  Amid the bustle of the narrow alleys, bicycle rickshaws with large loads of goods were constantly yelling at us to get out of their way.  They really sneak up on you compared to the putting, beeping autorickshaws, known as “tuk-tuks” in some places because of these characteristic noises.  In the bazaar we happened upon the most beautiful street of tiny, stacked homes I have ever seen.  Like a solace in the center of a never-ending market of shouting and selling and squeezing past strangers, the street had three people walking down it.  Lined with pink and yellow and turquoise apartments with intricately carved and painted doorways and potted flowers and plants on every doorstep, the street gave us a chance to catch our breath and see the understated beauty that could be hidden anywhere here in India.

I ate at my first Indian McDonalds in Delhi.  It smelled exactly the same.  (Beefless, of course)

A pigeon found its way into the huge, silent Lotus temple, where everybody was meditating in the quiet cool.  The marble temple is shaped like a giant lotus flower, with high ceilings, large windows, and rafters curving down to the floor.  The pigeon had no place to land, and I followed it with my eyes as it flew in circles around and around, confused.  The temple workers were so strict about peacefulness, that they even asked parents with crying children to leave.  Their silence was disrupted, however, with the loud smack of the pigeon on one of the large glass windows.  The thud echoed throughout the airy temple, and I had to stifle a laugh.  The bird was okay, don’t worry.

I also bought a beard in Delhi, which would come in handy in making our Taj Mahal pictures a bit different from everyone else’s.

Our 6-hour bus from Delhi to Agra made a stop in the middle of the countryside at a small collection of food stands.  I needed to use the bathroom, and it took me a while to realize that the pink, roofless, concrete box was the ladies’ lav.  There were two-foot high partitions between the “stalls,” and everything just drained out a hole in the wall at the back, but the floor was basically flat.  An old woman came in with me, and chattered to me in Hindi while I tried to figure out how to not pee on my feet.  After all this time she made me wonder if I’ve been using Indian toilets backwards.  Maybe that’s what she was trying to tell me.  Unfortunately my Hindi’s not THAT good yet.

I’ve digressed again, however- Sorry!   Delhi was a neat old city, more metropolitan and complete than Hyderabad with its half-finished buildings.  

HOLI.

There's so much I'd like to say about Holi.  It's a fantastic Hindu holiday celebrating the coming of spring and referring back to a Religious story about the burning of the demon Holika by a devotee of the god Vishnu.  The holiday celebrates colors, and people used to throw handfuls of crushed-flower powder at their friends in order to protect them from summer sicknesses like chicken pox, but now most of the powders have slightly harmful chemicals in them, which is a bit ironic.  Potential health risks aside, Holi transcends caste, skin color and gender -related social constraints.  The village people were some of the first to attack us Americans, and boys and girls attacked each other brutally.  I got egged.  

I wish I could say more but I just threw up all over the library bathroom.  I put up tons of photos, though, so you should get a great depiction of the holiday. Ugh. Bed.