Gujarati Road Trip

Two Sundays ago I was watching 60 Minutes and left the room to do some work in my office.  When I came back in I glanced at the TV and the image of a pinkish red sandstone wall lining a crowded city street took me right back to the walled city of Jaipur.  A wave of emotion filled my body.  It was kind of startling.   Jaipur was the city that we started our trip in and the first week there was an incredible unforgettable leg of the journey. Just seeing it on screen unexpectedly triggered a crazy rush of happiness and then sadness, and after an hour of The Amazing Race, anger.

For those of you who do not subject yourself to reality television I will explain the show in brief; The Amazing Race pits couples (spouses, buddies, fathers and sons, coworkers etc) against each other and the clock in a dash around the world pursuing what?  Cash I suppose.  All the requisite reality archetypes are there, the controlling husband and submissive wife, the wild and crazy twenty somethings, the driven athletic sisters etc.  CBS covers their demographic bases in an attempt to appeal to every denominator low and high.  As far as reality TV goes, The Amazing Race is as upscale as it gets; it’s a far cry from the half formed drunken 20 somethings that pollute the MTV airwaves and have pushed music videos almost exclusively to the Internet.

Jaipur is a perfect stop along the way for the Amazing Racers.  It is exotic, chaotic, and packed.  The streets are a complicated tangle of traffic, livestock, pedestrians, and feral dogs.  The thought of riding a bike loaded  five feet over your head with hay is daunting indeed.  The contestants waded through the traffic, cried over the poverty (briefly), and complained about the noise.  They eventually reached the Amber Fort where they had to load up camel food into some kind of feeding troth and then hump water around like the natives.  After this they headed back into town to perform some native dances and collect Rupees from onlookers.  The leg of the race ended at another fort where a man played a nose flute and the couples celebrated another leg of the journey completed.  They then headed to the airport to dash off to their next destination.

The thing about The Amazing Race is that the contestants manage to travel the world without really seeing any of it.  The viewers of the show I suppose feel like they have seen some of the world as wellbut they haven’t even left their couches.  It reminds me a bit of Disney’s Epcot Center where some brilliant Disney folks decided that Americans would rather travel the globe in an hour and half rather than apply for visas, board international flights, and actually try to communicate with people who speak a different language than they do.  Why travel to Morroco and smell the garbage when you can buy a fez and a kick ass Cous Cous right here in Orlando?  Maybe this is why Americans have such a warped understanding of the world as a whole, most people have only experienced foreign cultures through a prepackaged and fully marketed artificial lens.

After completing their embarrassing dance ritual one pair (former NFL Cheerleaders I think) lost their cab driver and their luggage.  He disappeared for over twenty minutes.  It turned out that he had had to move his taxi because of rush hour traffic.  When they were reunited, the girls ripped in to him demanding to know where he went and why.  They gave up soon enough and ordered him to the airport, on the double.  How does this make us look?  Is the world really our gigantic obstacle course where we can touch down, order around the locals and move on all for the sake of our own entertainment?  Is this sort of attitude that perpetuates the stereotypes that Americans have unfortunately earned. Well, we keep tuning in. The Amazing Race managed to escape Jaipur without hardly mentioning the incredibly friendly and genuine nature of the people there.  The contestants didn’t really meet anyone except for the cab drivers who they bossed around and pleaded with to drive faster.  Jaipur is a city that I grew to really love over the course of an all too short eight days; unfortunately for millions of Americans the only impression they have of this incredibly complex city is the forty five minute pit stop on our race for cheap entertainment.

Fran, I meant to find you today and remind you that I was going to be showing slides in my room at 2:45 tomorrow.  I hope you can make it.

It has now been one week since I have returned from India and I’m still not sure if I am ready to write this post.  I have recovered from jet lag, which I was not a believer in until this trip.  I had slept maybe six hours in two days, yet my body insisted that it was noon and time for a walk.  I woke up a couple of times and was not sure exactly where I was; Is this Ahmedabad?  Am I in a hotel room at Mt. Abu?

The last few days of the trip I wanted nothing more than to come home, sleep in my own bed, eat a variety of food (no more chipatti for a while), see my friends, family, and students.  Get back to normalcy.  Now I kind of wish that I could just keep on traveling.  I watched a beautiful sunset the other day and I thought to myself, “If I were in Jaipur I’d be taking photos right now and thinking of something clever to say about the mythic proportions of the Indian sun.”  Travel stirs you up.  Not vacations, travel.  Cruises are fine, theme parks are fun, but I prefer walking through cities and trying to meet the locals.

I am grateful to the Rotary and to Andy for the opportunity to see India up close and personal.  I will not forget the incredible people whom I had the good fortune of getting to know.  Below is a picture of the Pareek family, my hosts in Ahmedabad.  They were the exact family I needed at the tail end of this trip.  They welcomed me into their home and treated me like one of their own.  I have also posted a couple of pictures of a street school in Ahmedeabad.  Sachchidananand introduced me to a gentleman, I lost the paper with his name on it, who for the past two years volunteered six nights a week to run an evening school program for kids in one of the poorest sections of the city.  When we visited it was dinner time and the kids were having supper.  It’s inspiring to see people who do volunteer work not for accolades, or a plaque, or a tax right off.  They do things because they care.

Thanks to everyone who read and commented on my blog.  I hope that you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  I like this blogging stuff, I’ll keep you posted when I start a new one.

peace

steve

On our five hour journey from Adipur to Gandhinagar, I read an essay by George Saunders called Buddha Boy.  On assignment from GQ Magazine, Saunders travels to Nepal to witness and write about Ram Bahdur Bomjon, an eleven year old who had been meditating for seven months straight without drinking water or eating food.  After ten full months of silent, motionless endurance of the elements and hordes of curious onlookers both skeptical and convinced, the boy disappeared into the jungle.  He resurfaced several months later when police found the boy meditating in a a ditch elsewhere in Nepal.  Bomjon soon dissappered from this sight as well and was most recently seen when he emerged from the jungle near Kathmandu to address a massive audience of devotees.  He is now eighteen years old.

Coincidentally(?), we spent the morning at the Swaminarayam Akshardham, a temple and cultural complex devoted to Bagwhan Swainarayan, an asectic who lived from 1783-1830.  After the death of his parents Swaminarayan, at the age of eleven, left his village in the middle of the night.  For the next seven years he walked barefoot, over 8,000 miles, across India.  Along the way he practiced yoga, meditated, and developed a devoted following of believers. He returned home at the age of eighteen.

His  story is very much alive in Gandhidagar , the cultural complex is like a mini-mini Epcot devoted to his life and teachings.  The Temple is immaculately  carved  sandstone rivaling any  I’ve seen.  There are audio animatronic displays and shows detailing his journey.  The experience ends with an Imax film entitled Mystic India, a hollywood quality chronicle of the boy’s journey.  Flocks of Indians visit this site.  The curator said that the complex is visited by 20,000 school children yearly.  The legend continues.

So what do these coincidences mean?  Have I taken up religion?  Will I become a Buddhist?  Will I attempt a fast?  Sit motionless for an indeterminate amount of time?  Take to the hills in search of the one true path?  Probably not. I get hungry every three hours and haven’t assumed the lotus position since I was sixteen. The experience has made me think a lot about the power of the individual spirit though.   These two boys,  with their separate journeys within,  have influenced and inspired millions.  There is an undeniable power in both of their examples.  The last two days heve put what previously felt like a gruelling four weeks into a whole new perspective.

A side note:  The Akshardam that we visited today was the target of two Pakistani terrorists in 2002.  After a train car filled with Hindus was firebombed, local Hindus responded by seeking vengeance on several local Muslims.  The situation ended with the two heavily armed Pakistani Muslims entering the complex, murdering over 40 worshipers and injuring over 100 more.  Hearing my host tell this story as we walked the grounds gave me chills. It is sad and sobering that this institute with such high ideals, with the clearly expressed goal of bringing people together to worship and uplift humanity, should become a scene of more senseless violence.  I haven’t worried about terrorism once since I have been here.  It has not crossed my mind, disturbed my sleep, or influenced my actions.  If this trip has solidified anything in my mind, it is that a “war on terror” is pointless, simplemindedness at its simplest.  If we are to curb terrorism we must experience other cultures first hand, speak to one another, share ideas, learn each others stories, myths, and legends.

I wish that every schoolchild in the world could  visit the Swaminarayam Akshardham.

I’ve been getting a lot of comments, emails, messages etc. about what an incredible adventure my India trip seems to be. Yes, I have seen the country, met the people, ate the food (although mostly in hotels), and seen sight after sight after sight. But this trip has not been all wine and roses (actually it has been a lot of roses and, sadly, no wine). This ain’t no vacation. Yesterday I was pretty much ready to sneak out of my host family’s house, flag down a disco cement truck, head towards the Gandhidam airport and board the next international flight going anywhere. Communication has been tough all month long. You think you are attending an informal breakfast and when you arrive, surprise, there is seating for fifty, a dais and microphone, a small marching band, and a garlanding ceremony. This is invariably followed by several conversations that go a little something like this:

Me: So what line of work are you in?

Rotarian X: Fourteen years. You are from?

Me: America. New York.

Rotarian X: Lovely. Your good name is?

Me: Steve Masson. You are?

Rotarian X: Myself, Shayam. How is food? You like spicey?

Me: Yes. I love Indian food. It’s delicious. (pause)

Shayam: (awkward smile pause) Obama!

Me: Yes! Obama. We love him.

Shayam: Obama.

Me: Great meeting you. Thank you for your hospitality. I’m going to go have some Lassi.

Shayam: Great my friend. Later we will take snaps with my family?

Me: Absolutely.

This type of interaction, while amusing and inevitable given this venture, can grow tiresome. I have met wonderful people. The families have been incredible. The people in Bhuj went out of their way to welcome and treat us as family. I have had great conversations and interactions with everyone that I have had time to get to know. This is my last host Niraj, seated with his parents (such a nice family). We had plenty of time to talk and actually get to know each other (Thanks Niraj). Unfortunately, much of our days are devoted to ceremonies, flag exchanges, and mysterious Rotary site visits.  But with less than a week left, I am ready for some serious me time. I’m tired of being herded, introduced, paraded, and gifted (Anyone want a plastic plaque from district 3020? I’ve got extras).

I am sure that I sound like an unappreciative little baby who misses his bed. Indian beds by the way, are rock hard torture boards with teeny tiny pillows that must be folded into eighths for a singe ounce of cush. So I will leave on a high note. This morning we visited a school for deaf and dumb children funded entirely by the Adipur Rotary club. When we walked into a classroom of eight four to five year old students, their smiles were worth all of the hassle, travel, miscommunication, and intestinal distress combined. We laughed, took photos, goofed around and pretty much ruined the instructors hope of delivering any kind of a lesson for the day. I can now say with certainty that that game where you put your hand out palm up and then pull it away just before a four year old can “give you five” is fun across all cultures. I’ve played it in America, Africa, Europe, and now Asia. Guaranteed laughs every time. Even this group knew exactly what I was saying when I repeated “Too Slow!” for minutes on end.

That’s all for now.  Tomorrow we rock on to Ahmedabad.  We are ditching the van and going Nomad.  my camel’s name? Chtauk.

With eleven days left in the trip, I have finally arrived at my first ironclad conclusion, my first moment of clarity. I will leave India understanding it less than when the trip began. How is this possible? I have learned so much. I have talked with Indian teachers, students, doctors, industrialists, artisans, and business men. I have discussed philosophy, Indian history, international relations, religion and theory. I’ve visited Indian hospitals, government schools, universities, orphanages, and clinics. I’ve been woken up by the Muslim call to prayer and watched Hindu men and women worship Ganesha just before dawn. I have felt the generosity of Indian hospitality and lived their maxim: “Guest is God.” So after a month immersed in the culture, how is it possible to come home understanding less? The answer is simple…India is complicated. Our team mantra has become “Nothing is simple in India!” I have walked through the last three weeks in an exhilirating/exhausting state of cultural confusion.

I am sneaking this post in in between a day of vocational visits (two schools, one hospital, and a prosthetics clinic) and a night of what promises to be embarrassing traditional Gujarati folk dancing. Instead of making a half hearted attempt to elucidate the deeper societal and cultural issues that I have wrestled with over the past three weeks, I will instead recount some things that have made me laugh, shrug, and wonder over the past few days.

Yesterday, I took a photo of a statue of Gandhi. My guide informed me that “…someone had made a naughty bit of mischief and made off with Gandhi’s glasses.” Naughty mischief indeed, the bandits didn’t even leave a mark on the marble. That’s pretty hardcore, stealing Gandhi’s glasses. So much for dharma.

Indian food is unpredictable, particularly the order in which it comes. We have eaten a number of thali meals, thalis are gigantic tin plates that hold small tin bowls that waiters fill up with dish after vegetarian dish, and always there is more. Rice is generally served late in the meal. My strategy is to eat a bit, wait for the rice, swap everything all around and go to work. Dessert is served at any given moment. Spicy szechuan style mushrooms can be followed by, surprise, a wonder bread sandwich of butter and jam. Lassi, a mysterious blend of yogurt, water, salt, pepper, cumin and sugar is served at every meal. Sometimes it is salty sometimes sweet, I usually take a quick sip and then leave it alone. Meals are invariably followed by a “mouth freshener” generally fennel seeds, sugar crystals and if you’re lucky licorice covered fennel seeds that resemble dried bird crap. Tasty.

India is all about disco ornamentation. First off, polychromatic religious imagery is everywhere. Say what you want about the caste system and social justice, but Hindu icononagraphy is straight up fun. Ganesh greets you at every door, you are never far from Krishna, and public temples are everywhere and come in all shapes and sizes. We visited a Jain Temple in Deesa that was covered from floor to cieling in mirror work. It’s like worshiping in a giant game of Chinese pinball. Add in a lazer, smoke machine and some techno music, and you might just lose your mind. The ornamentation does not end there. Even the concrete trucks are discotastic. At night the runners and dashboards light up with flashing mutlicolored lights that pulse rhytmically. They are also festooned with beads and bangles, covered in psychedelic trim and hand painted on every bumper? “Horn Please!” Cement trucks.

Speaking of horns, beeping is not merely a show of frustration from angry roadragers as it tends to be in America. Beeping is merely a means of communication, an announcement of sorts in the flow of traffic. It is friendly, encouraged and incessant. Here is my favorite sign from the back of a taxi. Can you figure it out? Got me.

I must also mention the ultimate Indian non-response-response. I call it the head jiggle. Simple questions are frequently answered with a kind of side to side up and down head nod. Picture a bobblehead coming to rest. In a country of 1.4 billion people, over half of whom are illiterate, there is no such thing as certainty. Yes and no is irrelevant everything is maybe. Is it yes is it no? I have no idea! I think that i just ordered another cup of salty lassi, I’m not sure. I’ve now realized that the jiggle is essentially a deferential and positive gesture. For the first two weeks I thought that every Indian who used my camera to take a group photo thought we were some ugly Americans, because after each snapshot they wiggled their heads as if to say “ehh…whatever.”

Finally, Indian schoolchildren are the cutest little people on God’s Green Earth. They stand when you enter a room and say in a high pitched sing song “Good morning sir!” They sing the national anthem like their lives depend on it. They almost all wear rectangular bookbags that stick way out in the breeze. They tug on your shirt and ask what your name is and light up like they’re meeting Mickey Mouse when strange white people enter thir sphere. Yes, in India your average English teacher is a rock star. It’s pretty cool. See you in Ahmedebad!

Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time to write today.  I’m at an Internet cafe called Bits and Bytes in Mount Abu and at 40 Rupees an hour, this may be the day’s biggest expense.  Mount Abu is the only hill station in Rajasthan and a bit of a tourist trap.  The town has a carnival/county fair feel to it, LOTS of vacationing Indians.  We had our mid trip downtime for the last two days.  We needed the rest and a break from Roatry presentation madness.

After a lazy morning we visited the Dilwara Temples.  No cameras were allowed inside so I poached this photo from a tourism site.  This complex of Jain Temples were completed during the thirteenth century and feature some of the most intricate marble carving in all of India.  In the main Temple there is a square hallway that wraps around the central altar room.  There are over fifty individual alters around the perimter.  On one door alone, I counted over 100 carved figures.  The artisanship is incredible.  In the right light, the carving is so fine that the marble seems translucent.  Tourists are ushered in in groups of thirty or so, given a tour in Hindi and then led back out.  Since we speak little Hindi, we seperated from the group and ended up having about five minute in the temple with no one else around.  It was completely quiet.  Time kind of melted away and despite the enormity of it all, I felt like had taken it in.  Peace for now. Will be entering Gujarat tomorrow after ten to twelve hours on the van.

When I was first considering participating in the Rotary Group Study Exchange Program, everyone asked the same question.  “What exactly will you be doing in India?”  My reply was always the same, “uhm, I’m not really sure.” Sixteen days into the program, I feel that I am now better equipped to answer this surprisingly difficult question.   The team,all of whom rock by the way, has presented in front of large Rotary groups, small Rotary groups, Rotaract clubs (future Rotarians), and several schools of various sizes.  The presentations are fairly straight forward.  Andy, our team leader who we have affectionately dubbed “Silverback” gives a brief overview of the Hudson Valley (our sponsoring district: Big up to the 7210), and then we talk about our professional lives, families, and interests.  This is followed by a little Q&A, a buffet dinner and that’s that.  EZ.  The schedule though is exhausting. Everyday is a nonstop program of vocational visits, sight seeing, formal and informal gatherings, and of course the obligatory four cups of tea interspersed throughout the day (India is hypercaffinated).  Downtime? Not so much.

As far as Rotary itself, I’m still trying to grasp the scope, purpose, and true nature of the organization.  It is incredibly ceremonious.  There is much ado about pins and medals, flag exchanges, mementos etc.  It often feels like they spend more time awarding each other with congratulatory plaques, patting themselves on the back, and talking about all of their good deeds, than they do actually helping their fellow man.  For now, I will reserve full comment.  I will, however shine a little light on Rotary at its best.

Today we visited Government Secondary School: Bhuwana Udaipur.  The school is situated at the outskirts of Udaipur, and serves pupils whose families  by and large work in neighboring stone mines.  Rotary Elite Udaipur selected this school as their yearly project.  Through private donations and fundraising thay have raised over $20,000 and furnished the school with a functioning computer lab.  The lab is intended to give the pupils in grades six through eight early access to computer training.  It is traditional to start computer classes in grade nine.  This will give these students a huge advantage over kids in neighboring government schools.  The picture on the right shows one of the two classes that currently meet outdoors as the construction of a new wing is completed.  The project was spearheaded by Sunil Ladha.  Sunil is the Rotary Elite president, a prominent architecht in Udaipur, and a genuinely nice guy.  My teammate Adam and I have had the good fortune of staying in his home while in Udaipur and feel like members of the family already.  The Ladhas are incredible people and I have little doubt that we will meet again.  Sunil is the guy smiling on the right in the photo below. Despite overseeing nearly forty projects simultaeneously at his arcitecture firm, his expression rarely changes.

That’s it for now, day after tomorrow we hit Mount Abu for a little R & R. On the way we are going to deliver some clothing to a community in a tribal region after that I’m going to do some laundry, visit the jain temples, get in a hike, and catch up on some sleep.  I’ll be home Superbowl Sunday.

peace

steve

We broke up our nearly seven hour trip from Jaipur to Udaipur by visiting one of the most amazing places I have ever seen, the Chittorgarh Fort.  This mountain fort is off the beaten path and is overlooked by tourists.  Our group was hesitant to even go, we had been in the car for over five hours and were antsy to meet our new host families.  What a mistake that would have been.

The guidebook I’m using refers to the fort as a a “virtually deserted ruin.” I prefer the term mythological play ground.  Chittor’s origin traces back to Bhim, one of the Pandava heroes from the Mahabarata.  Neither guidebook we are carrying, nor our host provided a clear picture of when it was built. Chittor literally springs out of legend.  This is a location waiting to happen for the next Indiana Jones film.  There is a nine story victory tower that took over ten years to build during the 14th century.

We climbed to the top pausing often for photos of the intricate stone work and incredible views of the complex and town.  Here is a shot of me pausing for a moment of reflection.

The fort is dotted with temples from several different eras, a reservoir, and several memorial palaces.  Monkeys roam freely, mingling with wild pigs and sacred cows. There was no admission, no hawkers, hardly any tourists, and best of all few restrictions.  Visitors are free to touch, climb and enter any of the buildings and structures.  Too often, historical sights feel like canned experiences.  Scores of gawking tourists are shepherded from place to place until they reach the gift shop, purchase the requisite trinkets, and are shuttled to their next destination.  Not at Chittorgarh.   If you find yourself on the road between Jaipur and Udaipur, do not miss it.

We have just returned to the guest house at the International School in Jaipur. Though we only stayed here for a couple of nights, we all feel like we have returned home. The trip to Agra was pretty intense. Indian interstate travel is considerably more comfortable than what I experienced in Africa, but at times the potholes and construction brought traffic to a crawl. Indian highways are much less chaotic than city streets though you must keep your eyes open for the odd donkey cart , moped, or heading against the flow of traffic. The landscape between Jaipur and Agra is surprisingly lush. Over the course of the five and a half hour trip, we passed mile after mile of irrigated green fields. The landscape is punctuated with the occasional mountain that seems to rise out of nowhere and then disappear just as fast. The hundreds of dilapidated brick and poured concrete houses that line the roadway reveal quick glimpses into day to day rural life in Rajasthan.

Agra is an overwhelmingly impoverished city. Picture the South Bronx in the late 1970’s for miles and miles, only teaming with people, livestock, auto rickshaws, and camel carts. Garbage does not just line the streets, it fills in whole blocks. Feral dogs roam in packs. Wherever there is stopped traffic there are scores of beggars of all ages. The scope of the poverty is numbing. The air quality is an issue as well. Just before dusk the dust and carbon monoxide form a visibly toxic cloud that chokes the throat and fills the nose.

So why do tourists come here? Why are five star hotels like the Oberoi and the Trident booked solid for six months? The Taj Mahal of course.  When old Sha Jihan (Chaka Kahn), decided to build a monument to his love Mumtaz my man did not play.  It is massive.  Walking towards it I felt like I was floating and that it might disappear at any moment.  Sorry Lionel, but it makes Sacre Coeur look like a guest house.  Twenty two years to build and close to 25,000 workers, can you imagine the human suffering that went into the building of this monument?

Speaking of suffering, the hawkers, scammers, and beggars that swarm the Taj and other historical places in India are a sobering reminder about the state of our world.  They are desperate  people who do not know where their next meal will come from.  They are really no better off then the slave labor that erected the Taj Mahal 400 years ago.  While many of the hawkers and beggars operate independently, others are controlled by bosses who force them to beg and take their profits.  One particularly disturbing observation is that many of the beggars in the streets seem to have been selected (purchased) because of their striking physical beauty.  As cold as it sounds,  I generally detach from these people.  If you engage, more will show up and the begging only intensifies.  A natural reaction is to be annoyed by the persistent pleas for money or cut rate sales pitches.  This is blaming the victim.  So what do you do? I’m not sure the answer to this question.  I would hate to be just another in a long line of seemingly insensitive tourists who comes see the sights, buys the souvenirs, looks straight through the locals and  returns home to do nothing.  I guess this blog is a start.  Another resource that my fellow traveler and resident  Adam suggested is ECPAT, Ending Childhood Prostitution and Trafficking.  Seeing such pervasive exploitation of children has been one of the most difficult aspects of the trip thus far.

On a lighter and more positive note, below is a picture of the Singh family.  The Singhs are orthodox Sikhs who own several petrol stations around Agra.  At the last minute, they agreed to put us up for the night.  While the rest of my group went to another house for a dinner party, I stayed behind and got to know the family.  They were incredibly friendly and kept up the Indian tradition of treating guests like royalty.  They also have peacocks in their backyard.  How cool is that?