Back at home

Back in NYC, I couldn’t help but feel that some “magic is missing”, as my friend, Anu, put it tersely. Sure it felt good to take regular showers with clean, warm water, drying off and not feeling sticky. The ease of filling up a cup of tap when you're thirsty is convenient to say the least. Basking in the cooled air, watching the tube, and drinking a brew is numbing in a good way sometimes. But, this tame world was missing that wild magic that filled me to the brim with hot emotions everyday in India. The spice was gone. The weather was temperate. People were agreeable. New York City, once a wild and dangerous beast, is now much tamer. I felt a sense of control, a feeling that I could play in this playground and nothing would stop me.

It was obvious that my standards changed while I was away. I remember doing my laundry the day after I got back to New York. Walking to the laundromat, rules were on the fringe on my conscience. Jaywalking seemed like a joke. Sporting a soiled shirt, disheveled hair, and more than a stubble, I walked without a care. I felt rebellious and confident. Before my trip, these things weren't important to me, but they were undeniably a weight in my mind. Now I felt they were laughable, thoughts I could mock and easily ignore. But, I would start caring about them more with time. But those few days as a maverick were odd in a good way.

The permanent effects of India on me are impossible to pinpoint because the answer is not anywhere. But, I can say that I feel firmer for sure. I am fortified and ready for more: more challenges, more exposure, more traveling, more experimenting. Though my skin is thicker, the wall between the world and me is ever thinner. I want to let her readily flow in, challenge my beliefs, and confuse me. She is a great multifarious mystery, a raconteur, a bedazzler. I am her friend, an investigator, a listener, a bright-eyed observer.

Amritsar

Amritsar, Punjab, India

Sadly, we could only stay in Amritsar for just over a day. We boarded the overnight sleeper train from Delhi on Friday, checked into our hotel in Amritsar Saturday morning, and left for Delhi on Sunday afternoon, so I’d get back in time for my flight back to the States. That’s right, my adventures in India were winding down.

What Amritsar is best known for, and what I found most memorable, is the Harmandir Sahib, or Golden Temple, perhaps the most important Sikh gurdwara (place of worship in the world. What I was told by Sikhs is that the Golden Temple in Amritsar to them is comparable to the Masjid al-Haram in Mecca for Muslims. Sikh pilgrims travel from all over India and I bet farther to stay at the Golden Temple. So do non-Sikh tourists, like Peggy and me, who are also welcome to eat and sleep for free. At the gurdwara, visitors should cover their heads, take off their shoes, and wash their feet. It would be very disrespectful not to. Once inside, we are free to join an ongoing feast in the Langar, or free kitchen. The Langar was started by the first Sikh Guru, Nanak Dev Ji. It symbolizes the Sikh tenet of unconditional equality among peoples, as well as their ethical priorities: sharing, community, inclusion, and oneness of humankind. The Langar feeds an average of about 50,000 people every day. On special occasions, this number sometimes doubles. And let me tell you, the food was inexpensive and delicious. We had daal (chickpeas), sweet milky porridge, and chapatti (unleavened bread). They cook the food in gigantic vats that a you could swim in (or drown in). If not for the heat, I'd take a dip in one of those vats with my mouth wide open.

After eating, we respectfully volunteered our effort in helping wash the thousands of dirty plates, bowls, spoons, and forks that come into the dishwashing room at a steady and heavy flow. I took a quick video, let me show you:

As you might see in the video, the dirty dishes enter the dishwashing room and are systematically taken through a series of cleaning stations before coming out immaculate. I worked at the last station with other men, doing the final rinse. Peggy worked at the second soap station with other women where they give the dishes a second soapy bath. It resembled a factory assembly line.

After returning to Delhi, I took Peggy out to Bukhara for dinner, a meal fit for a U.S. President (President Clinton supposedly ate there on four consecutive nights) or a Bollywood star (a funny aside: In Hindi, the word for a Bollywood star is pronounced the same way as my name. So, a lot of Indians found my name quite amusing, as would Americans if you introduced yourself with, "Hello, I am famous actor".). This restaurant has won numerous awards including the superlative “Best Indian Restaurant in the World”. It really is super good. We ate a fantastic tandoori chicken and pomfret with the best daal soup I’ve ever had.

Indian Wedding

Indian Wedding

Memta’s brother was getting married the next weekend, on Sunday, July 17^th, so in preparation, Peggy and I got henna in the Old Faridabad market.

Peggy's henna, front hand

Peggy's henna, back of hand

The henna stain just after removing the henna paste (it gets darker)

Clockwise, from top-right, Katia's, Peggy's, My, and Mike's henna

I didn't know what to expect from the wedding. I learned that the bride and groom to-be met each other only a week before the ceremony, and that they had only met in person on a couple occasions. The benefits of an arranged marriage elude me. But, it is impossible for me to see it through eyes uninfluenced by Western culture. I think young people in progressive parts of India it difficult to understand for the same reason.

It was hard to read the faces of the bride and groom. For the most part, their faces were neutral, but sometimes they almost looked bored or upset. At least their guests had a good time, merrymaking.

The groom arrives at the banquet hall

The bride walks to the alter with a bed of flowers held above her head

The bride places a ring of flowers around the groom

If this Indian wedding was traditional, then I can say that Indian wedding’s are long and replete with rites and rituals, some festive, such as dancing on the streets as an overture to the ceremony, some , such as when the bride and groom place auspicious rings of flowers on each other, and one ritual that is kind of tedious called the “Circle”.

Indian weddings are long and replete with rites and rituals, some festive, such as dancing on the streets as an overture to the ceremony, some more solemn, such as when the bride and groom place rings of flowers on each other, and some thought-provoking, such as the custom of hanging a necklace of cash on the groom. However, one particular ritual stands out for its tediousness.

The “Circle” comprises a number of rites in which a priest gives luck to the newly married couple, thereby "sealing the deal". It is long, running from about 3 to 6 AM, it captured my attention for about 30 minutes but after that it became rather repetitive and homogeneous to me. Actually, it was even painful by the end. The priest burns a lot of these little rice snacks in a small indoor fire, generating an abundance of smoke. Our eyes fight hard to keep those little rice snack particles away. It was so bad that I had to rinse my eyes with water. Anyway, I felt kind of bad for feeling bored during the Circle, that is, until I found out that sometimes Indian guests will pay the priest to "expedite" it!

"The Circle"

Pushkar and Ajmer

On Friday, July 8^th, we headed to Pushkar. I hadn’t heard of the place before but I happened upon it in Peggy’s Lonely Planet Delhi and Rajasthan edition and was intrigued by what I read. In short, Pushkar met my expectations and much more, it was a lovely and serene world, characterized by a dreamy lull that sucked me in and left me wanting more. I’m happy we could spend two days there – it may sound like a short time, but we were usually limited to one day at our weekend destination because that’s what you get when you subtract time in transport from the duration of the weekend. We took a day off (hence, the extra day) for Pushkar because it was a farther destination than Agra and Jaipur.

Peggy and I on a "sleeper bus" overnight from Delhi to Pushkar

Our hotel, "Hotel Everest"

Pushkar is a holy city for Hindus. A small, quaint town surrounding a holy lake with 52 ghats (stairs leading town to a holy bath), pilgrims from all over India trek here with the hope of washing away their sins, or perhaps just to get closer to their spiritual system. In recent years, it’s become a popular tourist destination and that was obvious. White tourists (seemed to be mostly European) were all over. Maybe it wasn’t that there were more white tourists, but rather that the ratio of white tourists to Indians was greater.

Pushkar Lake

We had only one serious annoyance in Pushkar and of the fifteen thousand people there, it came from what seemed the least likely, the oxymoronic unprincipled ‘Brahmin priests’. Brahmins are the highest varna, or caste level, in the abolished (but still very much active) caste system. Anyway, these “priests” were greedy, not unlike the most foul of merchants we had dealt with in Agra and Jaipur. When we arrived, one of their “students” (more of a coconspirator, I’d say) faked politeness and invited us to see the holy Pushkar Lake and one of the famous ghats. Of course we were interested, but we had learned to be hesitant, so we asked if it would cost money for him to take us on his motorbike, or if there were other unforeseen obstacles and of course he denied any such thing. He even told us that we had to go immediately before some holy festival ended, to get good luck when we could (now in review, I doubt any special festival actually coincided). Needless to say, but I was had again! The whole thing was a stupid scam. Upon arriving to the lake, Peggy and I were rushed by different priests who insisted on giving us a prayer for good luck. We politely, but vainly, tried to refuse. And you know what came next: an in-your-face, privacy-means-nothing, aggressive, invasive, boorish attempt to take as much cash as possible from our pockets. Peggy told them she has five family members and would like to give 50 rupees. They clearly listened very well because they asked her instead for 501 rupees – 100 rupees per family member plus 1 rupee for good luck! We tried to part ways as soon as we could. Actually, I argued with a Brahmin priest in my struggle to shoo him away. He told me it was no good to argue with a priest. I asked the priest if he understood irony. I basically told him that he is a greedy, unprincipled priest. "That's irony. Greed is no good," I retorted.

After that episode, Peggy and I cooled down mentally and physically at the hotel. We took a walk around the market nearby before deciding to check out the nearby city, Ajmer, for just a few hours. Like Pushkar, Ajmer surrounds a lake. But this lake is man-made, larger than Pushkar’s, and called “Ana Sagar Lake”.

Ajmer is not touristy. I don’t recall seeing a single tourist there. Peggy and I thoroughly interested a group of teenage Indians. They were pleasant company, asking us to take photos with them, showing us their henna, asking us where we came from, and why our faces don’t look American. The latter question was posed to us regularly in India. Virtually every time an Indian asked where we are from, they expected China, Japan, or Korea, so when they got the U.S., they were puzzled. “But your face … you look Chinese,” is along the lines of how they’d respond. Sometimes we made the effort to help them solve the puzzle, other times we simply agreed and gave them what they wanted: “I am Japanese, she is Chinese”.

After meeting those people, we took a boat to a small island in Ana Sagar, where visitors drink sodas and relax with friends. It’s a peaceful little island. We sipped on sodas, enjoyed the lake prospect and inhaled the breeze. Our spirits were recharged.

After the lake, we went to the Nasiyan Jain Temple (aka the Red Temple). This was the first Jain temple we entered. Inside is a hollow two story room dedicated to a model of the Jain conception of the universe – a bizarre and fantastic idea that I can’t explain well (but if you’re interested: http://www.bbc.co.uk/religion/religions/jainism/beliefs/universe_1.shtml).

Inside Nasiyan Temple

After the Nasiyan Temple, we went back to Pushkar – about a 20 minute bus ride, only costing each of us 10 rupees (a little less than 25 US cents). We went for a walk around Pushkar Lake and dipped our feet through a few of the ghats. Mohandas “Mahatma” Gandhi’s ashes were scattered at Gandhi Ghat, which we must have walked by. I wonder if I dipped my feet in there. Now we had seen where Gandhi, the Great Soul, was cremated and where his ashes were dispersed.

On our last day in Pushkar, we took a camel safari. It was a lot of fun, but it wasn’t very informative (my guide didn’t speak English, Peggy’s did a little). It was my first time to ride a camel. They seemed to be quite gentle, like tamed horses. We could pet them while they chewed (they were always chewing), and get away with all our fingers. They were always eating, chewing, or drooling. Peggy and I were joking that my camel looked like an ugly, ill-mannered old man while hers looked regal and proper. Mine was indeed a few years older, but I don’t think that’s the only reason he looked that way. There were behaviors I don’t attribute to age: on the sand, my camel tended to lay on his side with chin down flat on the sand, Peggy’s would sit looking postured and kind of snobby with his chin up and his princely eyes staring you down.

After the camel safari, we headed back to Delhi via an overnight sleeper bus. When you’re moving, the sleeper buses aren’t so bad. It’s when you stop – the mosquitoes sneak in and they feast. The heat flows in and you roast.

Teaching

We took an economy non-AC bus back to Faridabad. The seats were hardly cushioned benches, and people (mostly men) packed in. In some paradoxical way, I thought this hot and stuffy cabin would provide a fresh experience. Maybe I was wrong.

The ride was okay at first. Peggy and I shared a bench, we could bare the heat, and we had ample room to adjust our bodies in our feeble quest for comfort. But things went downhill when a young man emitting a rich sour stench sat next to me. Boy, was he radiant with heat and malodors! He spread out and got comfortable with his body and limbs close. He sat closer to me than my girlfriend! I was relieved when he reached his destination, but haplessly I reluctantly received yet another stinky person, this time an old man emitting a different olfactory killing concoction. He used me as a back rest. I looked at Peggy who comfortably napped by the window, with the fresh air caught in the breeze acting as a protective field, and smiled.

Another week volunteering. Working with the slum children in the morning with Memta was different from our previous work with the Raj’s. The supplementary schooling is less structured and formal. We don’t use a curriculum but rather a lot of the time we improvise, making up simple arithmetic or English exercises that are tailored for the individual student. Our students range in age from toddlers to teenagers. There are two adult female students whom I don’t teach as their strict Muslim father doesn’t allow men in the house. Peggy works with them sometimes.

Volunteers Mike and Peggy at the morning project, the girl in yellow is Rubina, a sweet but naughty young girl with a lot of charisma. She captured all our hearts. Under the devilish grins, buried in her mocking remarks, lay one of the biggest hearts I've seen in a kid.

We also work in an afternoon project. It is also a supplementary education program designed particularly to provide the opportunity for poor children to get formal education. The teachers use English and math books, which give structure. But, the session only is an hour or two a day and school is off on rainy days because we work outside. If it were up to me, I’d keep the children longer and focus more on English than math. In India, I heard that if there’s one way out of the slums, out of abject poverty, it’s English fluency and knowledge of how to use computers, in descending order of importance. Without computers in the classroom, my objective was teaching English.

However, my lack of skill in Hindi proved to be a major hindrance. It is so difficult to explain a concept such as a pronoun or adjective or verb without spoken or written language. I could try acting out a lesson, for example, by pointing to a kid and saying, “you”, then pointing at myself and saying, “me”, but imagine being the Indian kid – would you even have an inkling that I’m trying to explain that those words can substitute for your name and my name? Of course, some words are simple to teach, such as “red”, for which pointing at a red shirt would do, or “clap”, for which clapping would do. But, obviously, one would still be severely limited. Perhaps there are better strategies for teaching English without knowledge of the student’s native language – if so, I should have done my research before volunteering. Once again, hindsight is 20/20.

Teaching arithmetic, I encountered problems I didn’t expect. For example, at the Morning Star School, I tried to teach the 3^rd and 4^th graders negative numbers. So, I drew a number line with zero in the center like this:

_____________________________

-3 -2 -1 0 +1 +2 +3

They started copying my drawing. I tried to tell them, “listen, don’t copy”, but needless to say, it was difficult without Hindi. So I tried another strategy. I drew mangoes on the board on the number line, with the “negative fruits” crossed out, but maybe I confused them more. Then, I thought of a few ways to use money to demonstrate the concept, but guessed that idea wouldn’t work well in practice. I gave up. Anyway, Soba told me later that I wasn’t supposed to teach them negative numbers. Why? I don’t know. Maybe she expected that they wouldn’t need to understand the concept in their future work.

Sunday August 7

• Do you work for one of the Tibetan Organizations here?

• No, I’m the Chinese killer

This was one of the fun interactions I had today. I think you can guess which one was me.

Actually, maybe not. Ahahaha

Traveling alone is funny. You become so much more aware of human interactions around you, the people staring at you, and well, people suddenly become more comfortable letting out their weirdness in your company. Wait, I think I’ve always tended to bring out the more odd personality traits in people, so maybe it’s just me.

While I was having breakfast/lunch at Yak Tibetan Restaurant, 3 Tibetan monks stared at me while I flipped through a human rights publication, in the hopes of educating myself on the situation of Tibetan refugees in Mcleod Gange. Not sure if they were just curious why the Asian girl was traveling alone or if they were trying to figure out if I was from China. Probably the latter.

At least once a year, people in Mcleod Gange burn all things from China. A Muslim merchant let this slip out while I was shopping for jewelry in his shop. I still need to confirm this with another source, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a lot of animosity toward Chinese people here. There are tons of stalls in the area selling documentaries about Tibetan refugees and crimes committed by the Chinese gov (it’s like heaven for me because I LOVE documentaries). Most people think I’m Nepali, Thai, Taiwanese, Japanese, or Korean up in the north, so I am fortunate enough to hear some of the uncensored anger.

The Chinese killer came in after the monks left. He was full of energy and sat at the table opposite mine. Though we were sitting at different tables, we were facing each other with no obstructions. He thought he met me before in Tibet. I said no, I’ve never been there. Then he asked if I was Taiwanese, Korean, or Japan. No, no, no was my response. I said I was from the United States, but my family is from China. Then the above conversation took place.

I’m pretty sure he was kidding. Though I was slightly uncomfortable when he repeated his joke about having killed Chinese people, he wasn’t really a zealot. When I told him that the Chinese government tortured and oppressed even their own people, he listened with an open mind. When I told him that the Chinese government censors their media and that 100% of the Chinese people probably wouldn’t support the government’s practices in Tibet if they knew all the facts, he nodded in agreement. Overall it was a pretty interesting conversation. He told me about how the Chinese have completely overpowered the Tibetans in population size (10 million versus 6 million). I learned that all of the major businesses in Tibet are Chinese owned and that attempts by Tibetans to move above middle class economic status is quashed by the government. Tibetan intellectuals, rebels, and successful businessmen are “disappeared” without a trace. If students protest, teachers are punished for fomenting rebellion. It’s like the Cultural Revolution all over again.

In various publications available in the restaurant, I learned that the Tibetans are fighting for their livelihood. The Chinese government is requiring that education should all be through Mandarin and are actively reducing the availability of courses on Tibetan culture or language. Linguists believe that if this is strictly enforced, the Tibetan language can become obsolete within 2 generations. Initially, I didn’t really understand why the Dalai Lama and Tibetan people would invest so much energy into fighting this education policy. Of all the human rights violations committed against their people, should this really be the priority?

Yes. There are words and phrases in a language that reflect the unique ideas of the culture. For instance, in Chinese, there is a phrase called “joe wren” which directly translates to “be human”. Whenever I did something socially inappropriate as a kid (in Chinese standards), my mom always asked me if I didn’t know how to “joe wren”. Knowing how to “be human” is of utmost importance. It’s a wonderful compliment if someone says you know how to “joe wren”. It means you’re civilized, a good person, and live life correctly. Honestly, this is probably a fragment of what this phrase really means, but my Chinese is also pretty horrible.

Basically what I’m trying to get to is, extinguishing a language might actually be the most efficient way to erase a culture. If future generations of Tibetans can’t understand the complexities of their ancestral language, how can they appreciate the ideas conveyed in their ancient literature? Sanskrit, Chinese, and Tibetan have the largest and most unique bodies of literature in the world. There is so much to lose. For both the Tibetans and the world.

Interesting day.