Homeward Bound

As a frequent and passionate traveler, airports exude a certain charm and allure. Entering one sends fingers of thrills down my spine and sets my stomach swirling. It’s an amazing place, where an eclectic group of people are all gathered to do the same thing: travel. I love being in the presence of people who are going places I’ve only read about. My friend Mariana says her favorite thing about airports is the loved ones waiting for you at the airport at the opposite end.

But for all its attraction, its airplanes that I love the most. When going through a dry spell of travel, in which I can usually be found working and saving as much as possible in order to embark on my next journey, I sometimes look longingly to the sky at a tiny jet slinking away. I wonder where its going, and wish I could be on it despite its destination. Taking off and landing fill me with an unparalleled exuberance, whether I am going away or coming home. 

Here's some final quotes that sum up some of my experience:

“India is just like a big, juicy fruitcake, and you must limit yourself to a slice at a time. It is killing, trying to tick off all the places [that] people and guidebooks talk about.”   

Fodor’s India Guidebook

“Foreigners were stared at in India. Somewhere in the five or more millennia of its history, the culture had decided to dispense with the casual, nonchalant gaze. By the time I came to Bombay, the eye contact ranged from an ogling gaze to a gawping, goggle-eyed glare. There was nothing malicious in it. The staring eyes that found and followed me everywhere I went were innocent, curious, and almost always friendly.”

Shantaram, Gregory David Roberts

“There are four things motorist needs in India: good brakes, good horn, good reflexes, and good luck.”

Chasing the Monsoon, Alexander Frater

“My anger and disappointment began dissipating at once. India was teaching me a passive acceptance of the inevitable that had begun to make me faintly uneasy.”

Chasing the Monsoon, Alexander Frater

Radhika on the way to the lake 

All the kids on my last day

saying goodbye

Kavya

Kavya and Roja

Chennai

This weekend, my friends Johanna, Bridgid and I took the six hour train ride from Bangalore to Chennai. Through a friend of grandmother’s, David Rajan, we were able to stay three nights in a fairly quiet residential area of the city called Anna Nagar. After three months of trying to figure out the loopholes and quagmires of Indian transportation and navigation alone in strange cities, it was refreshing to be shown around by someone acutely familiar with the city and fluent in both English and Tamil, the local language. 

David took us to two of his mission centers, both in rural towns a few hours outside of Chennai. The first is a Christian school and we were able to interact with the children. Fortunately for them, their classroom conditions and level of instruction is far superior to what the kids in my school are used to.

The second sight is currently under construction. We got to witness the grueling process of constructing a building, help cook the meal for the workers, go on a tour through the nearby village, and take a boat ride to see the fishing villages from the water. 

As we drove through the Indian country side, I was struck by how unexpectedly beautiful India is. It’s a far cry from Maryland’s abundant rivers, deciduous tress, and manicured lawns. It’s wild, lush, and is characterized by a vivid green only found in the jungle. The liquid rice paddies backdropped by the palm trees and blazing sun are entirely dissimilar from what I conventionally understand to be beautiful. This is just one example of the lesson I have been learning. Most of the things that irritated me about India were things that were simply different from what I was used to. They didn’t make sense to me because I was unfamiliar with the habits, behaviors, thought processes, and beliefs in India. But now I realize that this fact does’t necessarily make those things wrong. It takes a lot of perseverance and humility to allow your preconceived ideas to take a back seat, but refusing to do that means sacrificing the ability to truly see a place for what it is and not what you want it to be. 

“I recollect it was settled by general consent that India was quite a misrepresented country, and had nothing objectionable in it, but a tiger or two, and a little heat in the warm part of the day.” 

David Copperfield, Charles Dickens

More Videos

Week 5 & 6

Week 7

I Dare You to Move

Hampi is an ancient town that was the center of the largest Hindu empire from the 14th to 17th centuries. It was conquered by neighboring Muslim empires in 1565, leaving behind nothing but the rubble that makes Hampi so remarkable today. The mountains of rocks still exude a majesty they must have possessed in their former lives in the shapes of palaces, temples and forts. 

We spent most of our time across the Tungabhadra River in on an island of small villages. With only two short days here, we avoided breaking our necks to hit the touristy spots and instead opted to try and break our necks any other way. We rented motorbikes (strictly forbidden by FSL due to India’s lax traffic rules and lack of basic safety equipment, like helmets) and cruised around Anagundi and the surrounding villages. After some minor mishaps, we maneuvered like pros through the ancient stone structures, warm breeze and mellowing sun rays inviting us to be as reckless as we pleased.

As if the adrenaline needed any more encouragement, we discovered a lake, some cliffs in the distance, and a boat driver willing to transport us. We hopped in his unusual boat, which made me think of an upside down sombrero, and paddled to the overhanging rocks. As we alternately climbed the rocks and jumped into the water several times, the thought “My mother would kill me if she knew what I was doing right now,” briefly flitted through my conscience, as it has done several times since arriving in India. But my spirit of adventure and invincibility overruled my conscience with the truth I find in this quote:

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do 

than by the ones you did. 

So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

Jurassic Park?

not too shabby

ride or die

More Taj

The Taj Mahal was constructed after Shah Jahan’s, a Mughal emperor, third wife died during the birth of their 14th child (way too many). Construction began in 1632 to commemorate his great love for her and his inconsolable grief after she died. The mausoleum was finished in 1648 and includes Persian and Mughal architecture. It’s white marble facade is one of the most imposing things I have seen and the sheer immensity is beyond impressive. Soon after it was completed, one of Shah Jahan’s greedy sons imprisoned him nearby. However, his captor generously (or maliciously) allowed his only window to face the Taj. 

Indira Ghandi

While in New Delhi, I visited Indira Ghandi’s old home which has now been turned into a museum to commemorate her and her family. She was the four time Prime Minister of India during the 1970’s and 80’s. Her accomplishments were grand, due to her political astuteness and love of India. She encouraged the progress of science, space exploration, the nationalization of banks, and turned a food shortage into a surplus. Despite her motivation to improve India, she attained many enemies. After invading a Sikh temple to suppress insurgents in 1984, she was murdered on October 31, 1984 by her Sikh body guards. I found her story intriguing because of the extreme love and severe hatred she generated in people.

This marks her last steps. The glass part is where she fell after being shot

The Tale of Two Weddings

The customs involved in a traditional Hindu Indian wedding are complicated, unique, lavish, and abundant. I had read about a few of the traditions in a novel and ever since I have hoped that one day I would get to see one first hand. Well, through India’s boundless generosity and desperate desire to adhere to my every wish, I was invited to not one but TWO Indian weddings. On the same day. And the best part... I didn’t realize they were two different weddings until I had been at the first one for two hours. As soon as this discovery was made, my friends and I immediately departed and took three buses in three hours to arrive just in time for the second wedding to end. Therefore, I was unable to witness a full Hindu ceremony at either wedding. If the situation wasn’t so hysterically ironic I would have been really disappointed. I was also finally able to wear my Indian sari, and I ate the most spectacular Indian meal, so the day wasn’t a total loss.

Surrendering to India

       India and I have a very clearly divided love/hate relationship. My previous blogs have shown both the vexing and euphoric moments that manifest in my life and the sharp contrast that defines India. I live for the sights, smells, and sounds that I know only India can provide. But then the more frustrating incidents, combined with my somewhat neurotic love of efficiency and order, radically alter my feelings toward my temporary country of residence at the drop of a hat. 

With only another month to go, I am adamantly trying to release my preconceived ideas about the right way to do things or say things and convince myself that just because an action or belief is different doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong. Getting annoyed, angry, or disheartened about something is a waste of time, and time is scarce. This is so much easier to altruistically type than to actual believe. My latest book/obsession, Shantaram, has been opening my eyes, one chapter at a time, to how futile it is to adhere to my western mentality while living here and expect to get through one day without screaming. India has existed for over 5,000 years and will most likely not change to suit my preferences. And it shouldn’t change, because that would also mean altering the characteristics that I find irresistible. Shantaram indirectly offers advice on how to cope with the subtle nuances as well as the gaping disparities between India and my comfortable life at home.  The incentives for accepting this advice, as well as for accepting the beautiful mess that is India, are plentiful and supreme.

“Try to relax completely, and go with the experience. Just... let yourself go. 

Sometimes, in India, you have to surrender before you win.”

Shantaram, Gregory David Roberts

the antithesis of order and efficiency 

one of the many incentives - Taj Mahal in Agra

India's Gate in Delhi

Real World Hunsur

Seven strangers, thrown together, in rural India... I doubt MTV will ever make it here, but the other volunteers and I jokingly compare our lives to the “reality” show. Seven of us, from five different countries, have finally moved into a house FSL has rented for the purpose of housing volunteers as well as provide a more southern office location for FSL project coordinators. There are three bedrooms, an office/living room, one shower, one Indian toilet and one western toilet, and a shrine room where keep a jar of nutella as an offering to the numerous deities. The “kitchen” is just a smaller room with shelves. We have been promised a mini fridge, a stove, and a cooking lady, but they are still absent. 

Although we come from different countries and are at entirely different stages in our lives, we all love learning from one another and spend a lot of time laughing. We band together through the power outages, curious neighbors, a landlord who amiably barges in and out as he pleases, insect infestations, and other India woes. At the end of the day, as we chatter about our daily activities over another dinner at our favorite restaurant, Tiffani’s, the causes for complaints fade away.

our beautiful green house

my room

Child Labor School

It has occurred to me that I haven’t given an adequate description of basically my purpose for being in India. I arrived under the impression that I would be working in an orphanage. Through fate or lack of organization, whatever the guilty party may be, I ended up working for a child labor school in Annur, a village a 40 minute bus ride from Hunsur. The ethnic tribes in Karnataka, the state in which I live, have been battling for more rights, but these improvements can be crippled by their poverty and illiteracy. The Nisarga Foundation is an NGO that helps facilitate certain rights, including the education of children. It pulls children that would otherwise be working in the tobacco fields and puts them in to schools. It is a noble effort but they are still leaps and bounds away from providing a quality education. 

The teachers are severely under educated and not exactly motivated to actually conduct class on a regular basis. I am supposed to be teaching English along with the other volunteer, Nils, but most of my days are spent inside the school waiting for something to happen. As a result, I don’t have much to write home about. Nils and I have been meeting with the headmaster of the school, the director from the Nisarga Foundation, as well as other child right’s organizations to figure out some way to contribute, but nothing has materialized as of yet.

This has been a fairly frustrating experience, but through it all I have developed a rudimentary attachment to the children that promises to grow with more interaction with them. They hardly speak any English, but like all children, they are satisfied with a smile or holding hands. 

a few of my kids at a child rights meeting

sporting their new umbrellas on the way to Lake Day

Supporting Evidence

“India is magical. You must leave your need for personal space behind, for at any given moment, whether enclosed in a taxicab or exposed on the street, you will be surrounded by men, women, children, auto-rickshaws, taxis, exhaust fumes, carts, scooters, goats, cows, and the smells of samosas, jasmine, spices, manure, and trash warmed by the blazing sun. It will fill and enhance your senses. It is a portrait of life at work with apparent beauty and glaring tragedy, and it asks you to look on it all...

It will show your strands of pearls in Hyderabad, pink stone in Jaipur, beautiful white sand beaches in Goa. It will introduce you to basmati rice and curries that have been simmering for hours, pistachio ice cream, and fried doughnuts floating in sweet syrup, and it will teach you how to eat with the fingers of your right hand. It will show you how to slap dough into chapatis. It will fold its hands to say namaste as you pass by the elderly woman on the side of the road. It will impress you with its propensity for academic excellence in technology, engineering, and medicine. It taps on your window, the beautiful face of a little girl with round dark eyes and black eyelashes, clasping her fingers together and drawing them to her mouth to tell you she needs food...

You will feel special, amazed, full, stirred, naive, helpless, enraged, awakened - and all in the first day. India is magical.”  

-The Scent of Water, Naomi Zacharias

“The contrast between the familiar and the exceptional was everywhere around me. A bullock cart was drawn up beside a modern sports car at a traffic signal. A man squatted to relieve himself behind the discreet shelter of a satellite dish. An electric forklift truck was being used to unload goods from an ancient wooden cart with wooden wheels. The impression was of a plodding, indefatigable, and distant past that had crashed intact, through barriers of time, into its own future.”

- Shantaram, Gregory David Roberts

sunset on the street in Goa

just a small example of the colors that pervade India

sunset in Kundapur

From Rags to Riches

      Juxtapose: To place or deal with close together for contrasting effect. Immediately after arriving in India, this word began to manifest itself in everything that met the eye. The strikingly bold crimsons, emeralds, turquoises and golds of women’s saris clash with the brown of dry, dusty, manure lined streets. The energetic, fast-paced cities like Delhi and Mumbai contrast with the tiny villages who still use ox-pulled carts for work in the fields. The alluring smells of fresh flowers, frying street food, and the spices that make India famous fight against the combination of sweaty bodies, rotting trash, and animal waste. Juxtaposition is dominate in India, but I didn’t realize it would become so apparent to me personally.

     I have been living in Hunsur, one of those rural villages with one main road and not much to see or do outside of eat or use the internet cafe. Cows, pigs, goats, chickens, dogs, and cats run rampant through the trash filled streets and nothing less than pure mayhem exists during mid day when rickshaws and people are involved. We’ve been washing our clothes in buckets, using hoses for toilets, and eating some variety of rice or bread for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We’ve lived in a cramped, dirty, cockroach hotel with an extremely fickle electrical system. I am describing this without the slightest hint of complaint or regret. On the contrary, these things have made my stay in India that much more adventurous. But I want to clearly establish an idea of my everyday reality so that you can better understand the dream world I entered into last weekend.

     My friend Mariana is Portuguese and her parents happen to be acquainted with the Portuguese consul who lives in Goa, a small but beautiful state in western India. Portugal had control over this part of India for a  couple hundred years, finally leaving in 1961, so there is a significant Portuguese influence in Goa, hence the need for a consul. He generously offered to let us stay in his house for however long we liked. As a traveler on a budget, a free place to crash is gold, so we were already ecstatic about our good luck. We had no idea what was in store. 

     Antonio, the consul, and his driver picked us up at the bus station after a grueling 16 hour bus ride (think run down school bus) and took us to his mansion on a hill overlooking Panaji, the capital city of Goa. He led us down the long hall and showed us the two rooms we would be staying in. We also had our own bathrooms, with real toilets, clean sinks, and hot showers. You have no idea what a treasure this is, but it doesn’t end there. We had servants, a butler, and a cook that made us breakfast and lunch. For dinner Antonio took us to the nicest restaurants in town, refusing our constant offers to pay for at least half. After we mentioned that we wanted to go to the beach, he took it upon himself to arrange a hotel for us in a small beach town, dinner at a restaurant his friend owns, and transportation to and from the town - all for free. I have never in my life been so dumbfounded and unable to express my gratitude. I have no idea how I stumbled on such good luck, but I can’t help but think about that frustratingly true maxim: it’s not what you know it’s who you know.

      Arambol, the beach town we stayed in, can be summarized by this quote: “The sixties have never really come to an end. They’re still going on right now in Goa.” (Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides.) Hippies galore. Which also means fun hippy stores to shop in. We shopped, sun bathed, and soaked in the party atmosphere that Goa is famous for. Basically, our lives were the exact opposite of what we had been used to the last month. Juxtaposition is a beautiful thing.

Rainbow over one of the many beautiful churches in Goa

the beach in Arambol

our night out

Check out some videos

My housemates and fellow trekking companions, Amandine and Mariana, are creating videos for each week of their gap year. India is their first stop, and afterwards they are planning on going to Indonesia, Australia, and New Zealand. Here are the first two of their videos:

Week 1


Week 2 & 3


Week 4 & 5

Living in the Moment

          There are certain stages that you reach in life in which you can reflectively look back on another part of life. Usually, it is only then that you realize the former part of your life currently in consideration was so perfectly tranquil, making it indelible to your memory. It is only after the passing of time that makes you aware that the catastrophes were mere trifles, and the moments of enjoyment were far more frequent than they originally seemed; in short, that life was simple and easy. Usually, you have no idea how much you will revert to these moments in your mind with a yearning that borders on regret and begs the questions “Why did I not stop to appreciate more?”

        Despite this human inclination, sometimes we are granted with moments in which we are entirely conscious of the remarkable chapter of life we are in. Such an epiphany happened today. Coming to India had long been my adventurous dream. It was crystalized in my mind as being exotic, mesmerizing, and enticing, and that I would finally satiate at least one of my explorative desires. After arriving here, I was still gripped by the novelty of India, but my excitement had been harshly checked by the difficulties and frustrations that you encounter while adjusting to an entirely unfamiliar country. Today I became cognizant of how much those struggles just really didn’t matter.

My friends and I set off from Hunsur to visit a Tibetan refugee settlement about an hour away. It’s main attractions were the numerous ornate monasteries, as well its rebellious attitude toward eating beef. As we cruised our way in a rickshaw to the colony, after some auspicious help from a friendly man on the bus, and took in the rolling golden corn fields with the faded blue mountains in the background, it struck me how blissful life actually is. The entire premises of a refugee settlement is based on the desire to be free and peaceful. These people escaped turmoil in their homeland and created an entirely new life with those desires at the forefront of their thoughts. Who could appreciate the concept of relishing in a tranquil moment better than refugees?

After exploring the Sera Tey Monastery and finding a hole in the wall Tibetan restaurant (that served beef!) we started backtracking our way through the corn fields on foot. The lack of cars, pollution, and noise, combined with the afore mentioned scenery, as well as the knowledge that I was doing something so entirely out of the ordinary stream of life, is what triggered me to acknowledge what a special moment was occurring. Even with all the annoyances I’ve had in the last three weeks, I fully comprehended that my life is virtually stress and problem free. I have the leisure to explore, travel, and reflect on an entirely new place, and I have three months to do it. Walking with my friends in the brilliant sunshine, breathing in the clean country air, and gazing across the vibrant fields, I knew that this was one of many moments of my life in India that my memory should earnestly savor. 

Initial Observations

1. The cows know they are treated like royalty and seem to take every opportunity to prove it as they plod across the road perfectly at their ease, and stop to ponder life in the middle of traffic.
   
   
2. Honking while driving is a way of life. As Daya says: “In the west, people honk when something’s wrong. In India, if you don’t hear honking, something’s wrong.”
3. Perhaps the most uncomfortable thing about not using toilet paper is that after you use the hose everything is always wet.
   
   
4. Germans (to avoid generalizing, I’ll say the German volunteers I have met since being in India) are both admirably and annoyingly adjustable.
   
   
5. Since eating with your hands is protocol, all restaurants have sinks strategically placed in the dining room for washing purposes.
6. Indian men make the most vile sound I’ve ever heard. It’s a mix between obnoxiously clearing their throat and violently coughing up an imaginary hairball. It’s been a rather unpleasant wake up call the past two weeks.
7. Rickshaws, also called autos or tuk tuks, are the most brilliant invention ever. Though the lack of traffic laws in India make this dwarf vehicle particularly unsafe, it is still as amusing as cruising around in a high velocity golf cart (T & K, you know what I mean.)
   
8. Indians have artfully mastered how to pour water out of a cup or bottle into their mouths without letting their lips touch the surface, which would be considered unsanitary, and without spilling a drop. The dribbles on my chin and shirt prove that I have failed to obtain this skill.
9. We are required to cover our shoulders and legs to about mid calf at all times. Although this seems a bit restricting, it is surprising how quickly I’ve gotten accustomed to dressing modestly. The other day we were in our hotel room so I was wearing gym shorts. A few male volunteers stopped by and I couldn’t help but think about how much skin I was showing.
   
   
10. On the other hand, I will never get used to being treated unequally due to my sex. On several occasions at our my job site, my male co-volunteer is acknowledged and given preference over me. Any questions about the English language are directed towards him even though I am the native speaker.
11. You can never go wrong with Indian “meals.” Every restaurant we’ve been too has a dish called a meal which includes rice, a crispy wonton thing, poori (fried dough - delicious), an assortment of vegetables and sauces that vary from restaurant to restaurant, yogurt, and, if you’re lucky, a sweet banana/coconut pudding. They are very cheap and very tasty.
    
    
12. For reasons beyond my understanding, there always seems to be some type of festival underway in India. There is always a reason to eat, dance, and revel in the streets. Not a bad way to live.
    
    
13. Men are highly affectionate with one another. It is not rare to see men holding hands or walking with their arms around each other. They also dress how men in America dressed in the 70’s.
14. Indian people are very curious and anxious to talk to me and the other volunteers, mainly because we are such an uncommonly pale spectacle. I half expected this, but the questions they ask us caught me off guard. In no particular order, some include:
1. “What is your father name? What is your mother name?” (When children ask, its more like “Mommy name? Daddy name?”)
2. “What God is yours?” (Meaning are you Christian, Muslim, Jewish, etc)
3. “Did you eat breakfast/lunch? What did you eat?”
4. “What is your local language?”
15. The head wobble is unique and endearing Indian maneuver that my friends and I are determined to adopt. Sometimes the meaning can be tricky to decipher, but in general it means OK or Yes. 
16. Indian women are above and beyond the most beautiful people I have ever seen. They have thick lashes framing dark eyes, and heavy, long dark hair usually plaited modestly down their backs. Stunning.
    
    
17. Haggling is the preferred economic style and I am decidedly terrible at it. It requires a ruthless desire to one up the other person, whether you are the buyer or the seller, and a tenacity that is elusive to me.

Address!

So we haven't moved in yet, but I do have our address! It takes up to two weeks for things to arrive, maybe more, so keep in this in mind if you are sending me something.

No. 3850/5
Manjunatha Extension
Hunsur Town
Mysore District - 571105
Karnataka, India

Mysore

This weekend I went to Mysore with Amandine and Mariena. It’s about an hour bus ride from Hunsur and is a much larger city with more things to do. The first place we visited was Mysore Palace. The first palace burned down and a new one was built in the early 20th century, so it had fairly new architecture (called Indo-Sarcenic) as well as electricity. It was very different than the palaces I saw in England, but in no way less grand, and it borrowed a lot from the Victorian Gothic style. The color schemes were vibrant, turquoise and gold being prominent, with lots of intricate carvings and chandeliers. There were elephant heads mounted on the wall and pictures framed in ivory tusks. Stained glass from Europe made the roof of one dome in the shape of brightly colored peacocks.

We spent the rest of the day aimlessly wandering, sampling different foods, and shopping for traditional Indian clothes. We found a little piece of home in a supermarket with everything from Oreos, frozen french fries, to Twinings tea. At night, we took a bus to the Brindavan gardens, “the pride of Mysore and a magnet for Indian tourists” (Fodor’s). It is a huge terraced garden with flowers and fountains. The point of going at night is that the fountains are illuminated by colored lights. We were expecting a peaceful place to walk around, listening to the trickle of water and Indian music, but apparently this was a party scene for some and we instead had to listen to drunken Indian men singing and yelling as they paraded around the neatly manicured sidewalks.  We had a sampler dinner from the numerous food stalls outside the gardens and made our way home. 

It was a necessary and enjoyable first outing. Though we have grown accustomed to our hotel-home, and have even fondly adopted an affectionate nickname for our hotel manager and persistent protector, its tight quarters make living a bit inconvenient. We still have about another week to go until our house is furnished and ready for living. 

Mysore Palace

typical Mysore street, complete with a rickshaw

Brindavan Gardens at night