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

My School

Tues Sept 13 2011

Today was my first day in my project. Another German volunteer, Nils, is working at the same school. The school is supported by an NGO, the Nisarga Foundation, but its unclear exactly how the school is being supported. The children have a few notebooks and uniforms, no text books, no tables or chairs. There are three “classrooms” but no doors so the children get up and walk wherever they want, whenever they want. Structure is a word of no importance. Nils and I were told to teach the children Kannada, the local language. Neither one of us knew that the language existed before we arrived in India, so that’s a good indication of our purpose. The kids know a few English words and really loved to sing songs with us so we did that a good part of the day. It’s nothing like I thought it would be, but I’m hoping to be able to make at least a small contribution somehow. 

Hunsur

2:40 pm Monday Sept 12 2011

I am now sitting in a hotel in Hunsur with Amandine and Mariena as we soak in our new surroundings. We just met with our project coordinator, Rohan, who is an incredibly brilliant and resourceful man who I’m sure will make my transition into India much more comfortable. The past few days have been exhilarating and have given me reasons to be both resistant to and compelled by Indian life.

Saturday the whole volunteer group took an excursion to a Shiva temple, Jog Falls, and a humongous Shiva statue. I expected to go in the temple, but our group didn’t get past the main tourist attraction which was outside: an elephant. It used it’s trunk to pat you on the head in exchange for money, which you put in the tip of its trunk. The next place we went was truly spectacular. The waterfalls were mesmerizing and full of power. The pictures can never do it justice. The last place was also very impressive. A huge Shiva, a Hindu diety, looms over the surrounding city as constant reminder. (look up what Shiva is god of)

The next day, Sunday, the other volunteers got picked up by their host families. I didn’t have to catch the bus until 8:15 pm so I basically had the day to myself to relax. do some shopping, and read. The bus took a little over ten hours so I arrived in Mysore around 6:30 am, and then into Hunsur around 12:30 pm. We got the day to relax then met with Rohan and the 4 other volunteers in Hunsur. Everyone seems to be adjusting well and eager to help us with our projects. We should all be moving in together in the next week or so.

Jog Falls

Shiva Temple

Kundapur

9:07 pm Monday Sept. 5 2011

I have completed the first leg and probably most difficult part of my journey. I landed in Mangalore airport and took a taxi to Kundapur, about two hours away. I tried to soak up my new Indian surroundings as we zipped precariously down the road, but my eyes refused to cooperate with me and stubbornly stayed shut. I arrived at Kundapur around 6 pm, took a shower, and fell asleep. The next day at 11 am my FSL program leader, Daya, picked me up and brought me to another hotel to meet with the rest of the volunteer group. FSL (Field Services and Inter-Cultural Learning) is the partner company that VFP connected me with. I will be in this hotel, Julie-yo International Hotel, for one week. There are various activities planned, including Kannada (the local language) lessons, cultural lessons, visits to schools, and excursions into the city. I have five roommates, all German girls. There is a large group of Germans, a few French, one Mexican, one Japanese, one Dane, one Portuguese and one Canadian. One French girl, Amandine, and one Portuguese girl, Mariena, are coming with me to Hunsur. Both of them have lived in Bethesda, Maryland for the past 11 years with their parents. The world is inexplicably weird sometimes.

One day we went on a guided tour of Kundapur where we got to see the FSL headquarters and rode the bus to the beach. There are lots of small shops, restaurants, etc around the city and I feel very safe walking around, much more so than I did in Costa Rica. Every day we have vegetarian meals with the group, which consists mainly of rice and some vegetables mixed with spicy sauces. While I wouldn’t go so far as to say the food is desirable, mealtime is still highly anticipated because its one of the strongest reminders that my current life is strikingly unrecognizable from my former life. It is strange and oddly rewarding to accept that whatever is on your plate must be consumed without any explanation of its contents. We eat with our hands which is both challenging, especially with rice, and freeing. All of the table manners you were scolded into learning as a child are irrelevant in India. I quite like it. Everyone sits on the floor in camaraderie, despite what language you speak, forming bonds that will sadly have to sever at the end of the week when everyone goes to their separate projects.

Speaking of, I learned more about my project this week. I will not be in an orphanage as expected and at first I was more than a little disappointed. But I am a volunteer and this week has taught me that volunteer is synonymous with flexibility and adaptability. So, instead, I will be teaching basic English to ethnic tribal children. I have no idea what their level is now or exactly what the current volunteer is doing there, but I am excited to be a part of it. The FSL leaders just bought a house for the 7 volunteers in my area. Most volunteers live with host families so we are unique in this sense. As enriching as it would be to live with an Indian family, I’m looking forward to having a little more more privacy and freedom.

the whole volunteer group

henna

school in Kundapur

Finally!

11:00 pm Saturday September 3, 2011

I’ve been in India approximately 5 hours and I have already lost my temper over cultural differences. In this case, airport regulations. When checking in my first 12 hour flight at JFK, I was told that I had to collect my bags and recheck in both Delhi and Bombay. A pain, but not the end of the world. It was even harder to be annoyed when the sweet Indian man at the counter asked me if I was upset after breaking the news to me. I assured him it was no problem. As luck would have it, I was the only person in my row on the plane. Unfortunately the highly anticipated bed was snatched away when a woman asked to move to the other end of the row. Still, not the end of the world, as she was very sweet, chatted with me about India and even offered to be my host if I ever came to Calcutta. I slept much better than expected (despite the poor man retching in the bathroom, which was right behind my seat) and was fed three times. I landed in Delhi and went to collect my bags but, low and behold, they weren’t on the track. This could easily have been a disaster, but again as luck would have it, all I had to do was inquire and within 20 minutes they were returned to me. So, after a few educated guesses, I was making my way from arrivals into departures to check in to my next flight and once again pass my bags over to the hands of fate. I enter a visitor center surrounded by glass panels; the only way out into the check in counters is guarded by two security officers with large guns who tell me I am not allowed to leave the area to check in until 6 hours before my flight. My flight leaves at 3:45 am and it was 6 pm. The small visitor area had a few connected chairs, no bathrooms, no food. Seriously?

Seeing as how I really didn’t have a choice in the matter, I spread my stuff out over a couple of chairs, being sure to clutch my purse in arms and put my head on top of my backpack with my laptop and camera, and took a series of short naps until 10 pm, 6 hours before my flight. I go up to the men once again and ask if its ok to go now. 

“No.”

“Why? I thought you said I could go 6 hours before?”

“11:00.”

“But, I don’t - “

“11:00.”

I am ashamed and embarrassed to write exactly how I reacted, but it was not becoming. I gathered my things and backtracked to where I had arrived, by this time desperately needing a bathroom. After finding one and then purchasing my first cup of Darjeeling tea, I’m sitting in a small cafe sipping and reflecting. 

To me, the most exciting thing about traveling is experiencing the different ways people live, including their clothes, food, jobs, family life, etc. But it is naive to think that I am always going to appreciate or admire or understand these differences. I have always had a problem with doing something that I don’t see the point of and it is exasperating to submit without understanding why it is necessary. The passage in the Bible that reads “God grant me the courage to change the things I can, the serenity to accept the things I cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference” seems a bit solemn for this example, but it is a wonderful thing to repeat before you lose your temper. 

12:05 pm Sunday Sept 4 2011

And Part II of airport nightmares begins...

After waiting ten hours at the Delhi airport, I finally boarded my plane to Mumbai at 3 am. Strangely enough I didn’t fall asleep right away but instead started a movie. At the end of the movie, I was still in Delhi. The plane was having engine problems. Finally at 5:45 am, the pilot announced that the plane was unfit for flight. We had to exit, go through customs, claim our bags, and fight our way past those nasty security guards in the visitor center to reach the Air India counter and schedule another flight to Mumbai. There was another one at 8 am, which landed at 10 am, making it impossible to catch my 11 am flight to Mangalore. After finally arriving in Mumbai I then had to find my way to Air India customer services, where I was told it was my fault I missed the flight because I didn’t ask what to do as soon as I got off the plane and that I would have to buy another flight through Kingfisher because Air India didn’t have another flight until the following day. Lovely.

Fortunately, I had learned my lesson earlier and kept my temper. They eventually put me on the Kingfisher flight without charging me. It departs at 1:45, almost 3 hours after I should have left, but I will still have enough daylight to reach my final destination of Kundapur by bus. There I can finally shower and sleep in a bed!

Another reason I was able to keep sane during this ordeal, and the reason I was using a plural pronoun in the first paragraph, is that I met a friend! Handling the occasional travel mishap is always made more bearable when you have someone to laugh with about it. Andy is a dentist from Ireland. He had spent 12 days in Agra with a renowned Indian dentist and was on his way to meet his brother in Brisbon, New Zealand. We met while waiting for our bags and audibly expressing our concerns about missing our connecting flights (as it turns out, both of us did miss them) due to the cancelled flight. Though I only spent 3 hours with him and will most likely never see him ever again, he taught me two really awesome things. First, a Hindi word that he didn’t know how to spell, so I will spell it phonetically: jugar. Of course there is no direct translation but roughly, to improvise, or as he said “an application of the mind.” He was taught this word while driving from Aggra to Delhi; there was a traffic jam because a truck had broke down on the highway. Instead of using the most efficient solution, i.e. a tow truck, there were 20 men all pushing it to the side of the road. Jugar. It’s not the right way to get things done, but it still worked because someone applied their mind in a different way. I really like it.

The second thing he taught me inadvertently. Andy’s trip to Agra was the start of a year long sabbatical that included broadening his dentistry experience, gathering research on dental implants (on which he intends to write a book), visiting his brother in New Zealand, kite surfing with his friends in Hawaii, then visiting cousins in Columbia, and hiking with his mother in Peru. Sweet life huh? The point is, I talk to a lot of people about what I’m going to do with my life after India. I’d really love to find a job, move somewhere semi-permanently, and grow some, albeit shallow, roots. But then the next minute my mind is wandering to all the far away lands I haven’t seen yet. Everyone always says, “travel now, because after you get a job you won’t be able to.” Well, Andy is living proof that that isn’t always true. Getting a job isn’t about giving up your passions. Andy found a way to combine the things he is most interested in so that he didn’t have to completely sacrifice one for the other. If someone is truly devoted to never stop exploring, they will find a way to do it.

So, what could have been a stressful, tear-inducing dilemma turned into an unlikely friendship and another lesson learned. Not the way I would have planned or preferred it, but it worked out anyway. Jugar.