Now maybe it's just me....
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Maybe better not shared?
A passage, direct from my journal.
This is -- against my original judgment -- just too good not to share.
1.8.010
Within no more than a minute's time the entire trainload of people had lept [sic!] from their seats and vacated the train, leaving me sitting stunned, nearly alone, in the once-full car. Rushing after the crowd, streaming over the tracks to our replacement train, I leap from the platform landing and into the railway ditch where the tracks are lain. And land, both feet squarely planted ankle-deep in a thick river of human shit. Oh, India. Oh, India
Missing home,
andy
This is -- against my original judgment -- just too good not to share.
1.8.010
Within no more than a minute's time the entire trainload of people had lept [sic!] from their seats and vacated the train, leaving me sitting stunned, nearly alone, in the once-full car. Rushing after the crowd, streaming over the tracks to our replacement train, I leap from the platform landing and into the railway ditch where the tracks are lain. And land, both feet squarely planted ankle-deep in a thick river of human shit. Oh, India. Oh, India
Missing home,
andy
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Filling in the blanks
I guess the photos give away what comes next, but I thought I'd try for an intermission since I feel like I'm writing an essay. I'm reading a book by a Professor of Vedic Studies, written in the 19th century. It's a collection of lectures he gave at Cambridge to a group of students who were soon to graduate and fill positions of rulership and administration in the British colony of India. It's a fascinating peak into the minds of the British at the time. For example, he simply takes it for granted that the reader assumes all Indians to be immoral, backward people and never hopes to try and convince anybody otherwise, but only to try and persuade the students that there are some positive aspects to Indian culture, etc. Anyway, the reason that I mention it is that I think the super-formal, lecture style writing of this book has seeped into my own writing. I spent the intermission trying to break out of it, but I apologize if I didn't quite kick it. I'm trying!
In Bodhgaya, too, I was soon on intermission. The Dalai Lama was due to be in town for a five-day series of teachings. I wanted to stick around for the his arrival but the price of a room in town had begun to skyrocket so I took a quick trip back to the mountains then came back for the last few days of the DL's talks -- including a special audience for Westerns, spoken in English. The contrast between seeing him here and trying to see him in Berkeley but being kept on the other side of a wall by security (and forced to pace, not stand and listen) was absolutely astounding. In a security guard's worst nightmare, after a special address given in English for the Western attendees, he invited people to come up to the stage for a souvenir group photo in which I stood some fifteen feet from him. Tragically, I didnt have my camera with me.
First on my Bodhgaya interlude was a stop Darjeeling and then I was quickly off to the tiny state of Sikkim, wedged between Tibet, Bhutan and Nepal. You need a special permit to go there (luckily, free) so the culture has remained notably distinct from the rest of India. The dominant language is Nepali, the culture is heavily Nepali/Tibetan influenced and the people even look more Mongolian and Tibetan than Indian. All in all, I felt more like I was back in Nepal than anywhere in India and I was glad for the break. Back in the cold. But it's easy to bear the cold when returning to the beautiful and mellow Himalaya.
I'll leave off there since this has gotten so wordy. I'll try and reply to the few individual emails that I have. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to respond -- I haven't been able to email anybody, partly because finding internet has been such a bear and partly because I've spent what time I was able to get online filling out different applications and trying to rebuild a two-year-old resume for a deadline that only passed two days ago. Maybe I'll write about it later. For now I just feel like I'm in grave danger of some serious rambling and side-tracking!
If you're interested you can see thirty-some beautiful photos of the teachings that I attended by the Dalai Lama in Bodhgaya at http://dalailama.com/gallery/album/0/34
In Bodhgaya, too, I was soon on intermission. The Dalai Lama was due to be in town for a five-day series of teachings. I wanted to stick around for the his arrival but the price of a room in town had begun to skyrocket so I took a quick trip back to the mountains then came back for the last few days of the DL's talks -- including a special audience for Westerns, spoken in English. The contrast between seeing him here and trying to see him in Berkeley but being kept on the other side of a wall by security (and forced to pace, not stand and listen) was absolutely astounding. In a security guard's worst nightmare, after a special address given in English for the Western attendees, he invited people to come up to the stage for a souvenir group photo in which I stood some fifteen feet from him. Tragically, I didnt have my camera with me.
First on my Bodhgaya interlude was a stop Darjeeling and then I was quickly off to the tiny state of Sikkim, wedged between Tibet, Bhutan and Nepal. You need a special permit to go there (luckily, free) so the culture has remained notably distinct from the rest of India. The dominant language is Nepali, the culture is heavily Nepali/Tibetan influenced and the people even look more Mongolian and Tibetan than Indian. All in all, I felt more like I was back in Nepal than anywhere in India and I was glad for the break. Back in the cold. But it's easy to bear the cold when returning to the beautiful and mellow Himalaya.
I'll leave off there since this has gotten so wordy. I'll try and reply to the few individual emails that I have. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to respond -- I haven't been able to email anybody, partly because finding internet has been such a bear and partly because I've spent what time I was able to get online filling out different applications and trying to rebuild a two-year-old resume for a deadline that only passed two days ago. Maybe I'll write about it later. For now I just feel like I'm in grave danger of some serious rambling and side-tracking!
If you're interested you can see thirty-some beautiful photos of the teachings that I attended by the Dalai Lama in Bodhgaya at http://dalailama.com/gallery/album/0/34
Word from Kolkata
So.
A lot has happened since I last had the opportunity to write so I'll try to be either concise or, more likely, try to give a few brief illustrations that I hope you'll find interesting. I'm now writing from the heart of Kolkata (the post independence, de-Anglicized name for the city that used to be Calcutta).
I left off as I arrived in Varanasi. I wish I had the words to describe this place but I'm not entirely sure it's even possible. V'nasi is, in a sense, a microcosm of India. It is to India what India is to the world and, just like India, many love it and many hate it but most develop a complicated and personal love-hate relationship with the place. The hotel where I spent most of my time was about a block removed from the part of the Ganges where a constant parade of dead bodies was carried, day and night, to their open-air funeral pyres. I don't know of anywhere else in the world where the line between life and death has been so blurred; the two so intermingled.
I've also never seen a people so obsessed with the sky. There are often more kites in the sky than the hundreds of birds, themselves being fed along the waterfront and led in enormous arks across the sky by men on rooftops, taunting them with food and scaring them off with enormous sticks and flags. The influence of the elements on people's psyche is also incredibly interesting. In most places, the earth is the dominant natural force in people's lives. So, too, the ocean or, in mountainous towns, so, too, the sky -- but always coupled with the weight of the earth below; the rock, the sand, &c. Not so in Varanasi. The thin, labyrinthine alleys, patrolled by minotaur-like bulls, make up the entire old town; all growth is upward. As I mentioned, the sky is a major influence. As is the river, the focal point of the entire town. It's virtual raison d'etre. In courts people swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and so forth with a hand placed over Ganges water. It's a big deal. And fire. Few places in the world are so dominated by fire. But unlike volcanic lands and other natural-fire type places, the constant fire here is that which I mentioned above -- the constant burning of corpses along the riverside. And so I've developed a theory that this abnormal balance of basic natural influences in people's lives is a large part of the totally unique "feeling" of V'nasi, the feeling that so many people wandering through describe as addictive. It's not uncommon for people to arrive with the intention of staying for a week and wind up spending a month or two wandering the alleys and ghats of Varanasi.
I, however, had a set date for my departure from the moment I arrived. Two weeks later I was back on the train, headed to Bodhgaya, the historical place where the Buddha finally achieved enlightenment. Here I had enrolled in a meditation course. I won't say much about it since it's so similar to the ones offered in the US.
--- Intermission ---
A testament to the enduring capability of foot power and another reminder of the abject poverty all around, Kolkata is one of the last places where you still see an abundance of foot-powered rickshaws. There's a guy in front of my hotel who can be found either sitting or sleeping on/under his rickshaw at all hours of the day. Unlike many of his fellow rickshaw "drivers," I've never actually seen this fellow pulling anybody.
A view from the hills: the peak at the top right of this photograph, named Katchenjunga (sp?), is the third-tallest peak in the world. Here, it's a slightly fake looking backdrop to the mountain city of Darjeeling.
Despondent looks from a guy in an aisle of many others, just like him, selling these fuzzy hand puppets who squeal and fire their tongues into the air when you squeeze your hands. The men selling the things in question, staring at each other squealing all day, by noon all look like they want to kill themselves.
A peak from the back of an enormous tent of His Holiness the Dalai Lama in a mid-lecture pose.
A lot has happened since I last had the opportunity to write so I'll try to be either concise or, more likely, try to give a few brief illustrations that I hope you'll find interesting. I'm now writing from the heart of Kolkata (the post independence, de-Anglicized name for the city that used to be Calcutta).
I left off as I arrived in Varanasi. I wish I had the words to describe this place but I'm not entirely sure it's even possible. V'nasi is, in a sense, a microcosm of India. It is to India what India is to the world and, just like India, many love it and many hate it but most develop a complicated and personal love-hate relationship with the place. The hotel where I spent most of my time was about a block removed from the part of the Ganges where a constant parade of dead bodies was carried, day and night, to their open-air funeral pyres. I don't know of anywhere else in the world where the line between life and death has been so blurred; the two so intermingled.
I've also never seen a people so obsessed with the sky. There are often more kites in the sky than the hundreds of birds, themselves being fed along the waterfront and led in enormous arks across the sky by men on rooftops, taunting them with food and scaring them off with enormous sticks and flags. The influence of the elements on people's psyche is also incredibly interesting. In most places, the earth is the dominant natural force in people's lives. So, too, the ocean or, in mountainous towns, so, too, the sky -- but always coupled with the weight of the earth below; the rock, the sand, &c. Not so in Varanasi. The thin, labyrinthine alleys, patrolled by minotaur-like bulls, make up the entire old town; all growth is upward. As I mentioned, the sky is a major influence. As is the river, the focal point of the entire town. It's virtual raison d'etre. In courts people swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and so forth with a hand placed over Ganges water. It's a big deal. And fire. Few places in the world are so dominated by fire. But unlike volcanic lands and other natural-fire type places, the constant fire here is that which I mentioned above -- the constant burning of corpses along the riverside. And so I've developed a theory that this abnormal balance of basic natural influences in people's lives is a large part of the totally unique "feeling" of V'nasi, the feeling that so many people wandering through describe as addictive. It's not uncommon for people to arrive with the intention of staying for a week and wind up spending a month or two wandering the alleys and ghats of Varanasi.
I, however, had a set date for my departure from the moment I arrived. Two weeks later I was back on the train, headed to Bodhgaya, the historical place where the Buddha finally achieved enlightenment. Here I had enrolled in a meditation course. I won't say much about it since it's so similar to the ones offered in the US.
--- Intermission ---
A testament to the enduring capability of foot power and another reminder of the abject poverty all around, Kolkata is one of the last places where you still see an abundance of foot-powered rickshaws. There's a guy in front of my hotel who can be found either sitting or sleeping on/under his rickshaw at all hours of the day. Unlike many of his fellow rickshaw "drivers," I've never actually seen this fellow pulling anybody.
A view from the hills: the peak at the top right of this photograph, named Katchenjunga (sp?), is the third-tallest peak in the world. Here, it's a slightly fake looking backdrop to the mountain city of Darjeeling.
Despondent looks from a guy in an aisle of many others, just like him, selling these fuzzy hand puppets who squeal and fire their tongues into the air when you squeeze your hands. The men selling the things in question, staring at each other squealing all day, by noon all look like they want to kill themselves.
A peak from the back of an enormous tent of His Holiness the Dalai Lama in a mid-lecture pose.
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