Saturday, February 28, 2009
Hell Hike (but it was good)
As I've said (well actually written) before I'm back in Tiruvenamali. This town is the home of Mount Arunachalla. There is a whole story behind the mountain but I've already told it so I'm not going to waste time telling it again.
Anyways, the mountain is significant to Hindus and weird westerners alike. It's a big deal. It's also just plain old big. I didn't realize really how big it was until I began to climb it.
I'd been told that it's 800 meters, top to bottom. That is 2,640 feet.
My plan was to wake up early (5:30 am) and beat the heat. I'd been told it took about four hours to climb. This was and still is a great plan, however, it never developed past the plan stage and into the action phase.
So, instead of waking up when my alarm rang, I slept until 8:20 am. Once I showered I figured I might as well have breakfast. By the time that was all through it was 9:45 am. I was on the road.
When Indians make a pilgrimage up The Mountain they don't wear shoes. Indians are about 50 times tougher than most Westerners. They sleep on cement floors. They wipe their butt with their left hand. They don't eat beef etc. This fact has always bugged me. I like to think of myself as tough. I mean I once slept on a carpet. That is pretty bad ass, right?
Anyways, I saw an opportunity to prove my toughness. I decided I would climb up the mountain with bare feet. I have pretty tough feet and I like walking barefoot. So yeah!
Well the first hour or so wasn't all that bad. In fact it was nice. I was walking on a well maintained trail with plenty of flat stones to step on. It was in the shade and the heat wasn't so bad.
This was the mountains way of tricking me. She led me on. She got me to the point where there was no way I was gonna put my shoes on. I was gonna make it up because I'm tough.
Once I had reached that mental point of no return the mountain really began to kick my ass. First, she took away the well maintained path. Suddenly I was walking on little stones. The big rock slabs that were so nice to walk on before were few and far between.
Then, she increased the steepness. Now, instead of walking with a slight tilt forward I was practically leaning into the mountain, just to keep from becoming air born.
OK. No problem. I got this. And I did. It was fun. My legs were sore but felt strong. I was sweating, but that felt good. My feet were doing OK.
She saw this and decided to turn up the heat. Literally. The sun, which had been on the whole day, suddenly got going. The stones lost all vestiges of their night time chill and began to feel like frying pans. Soon my only way to continue was too dash from one spot of shade to another. And the spots of shade were getting harder and harder to find.
Many times I had to stick my feet into dark crevices created by rocks. There are lots of snakes in this part of India (I've seen two Cobras and a Viper!) and they love to hang out in dark crevices created by rocks. So, sticking my feet into the same dark crevice that might contain snakes was a risk. But in my mind it was either between having my feet catch fire, or maybe having them bitten by a possibly deadly snake. It was a gamble that paid off.
So I continued. I was drenched in sweat, my water bottle was almost empty, and it felt like I was holding my feet to an iron. Instead of walking I was scuttling. Using my hands and legs, just trying to dash to the next shade spot.
But I wasn't gonna give up. I didn't have a choice (actually I did, my shoes were in my bag, I'm just stubborn).
Well I made it. I finally stumbled the last little slope, and saw the giant rock that is the top of the mountain. I almost put my shoes on there, but then I realized I needed to be at the highest point to call it a success. So, I stumbled/crawled/dragged myself onto the final boulder. Which was covered in black oil. Oh my god. Suddenly it was even hotter. Black attracts heat or something like that. That rock was attracting heat and then passing it right on into my feet. I could hear them sizzling.
I put on my shoes.
The view was amazing. Really truly amazing. Breathtaking, tear jerking all of that crap. But it just couldn't compare to the feel of my sandals. I enjoyed the view, but I enjoyed my shoes just a bit more.
The descent took all of 45 minutes.
Anyways, the mountain is significant to Hindus and weird westerners alike. It's a big deal. It's also just plain old big. I didn't realize really how big it was until I began to climb it.
I'd been told that it's 800 meters, top to bottom. That is 2,640 feet.
My plan was to wake up early (5:30 am) and beat the heat. I'd been told it took about four hours to climb. This was and still is a great plan, however, it never developed past the plan stage and into the action phase.
So, instead of waking up when my alarm rang, I slept until 8:20 am. Once I showered I figured I might as well have breakfast. By the time that was all through it was 9:45 am. I was on the road.
When Indians make a pilgrimage up The Mountain they don't wear shoes. Indians are about 50 times tougher than most Westerners. They sleep on cement floors. They wipe their butt with their left hand. They don't eat beef etc. This fact has always bugged me. I like to think of myself as tough. I mean I once slept on a carpet. That is pretty bad ass, right?
Anyways, I saw an opportunity to prove my toughness. I decided I would climb up the mountain with bare feet. I have pretty tough feet and I like walking barefoot. So yeah!
Well the first hour or so wasn't all that bad. In fact it was nice. I was walking on a well maintained trail with plenty of flat stones to step on. It was in the shade and the heat wasn't so bad.
This was the mountains way of tricking me. She led me on. She got me to the point where there was no way I was gonna put my shoes on. I was gonna make it up because I'm tough.
Once I had reached that mental point of no return the mountain really began to kick my ass. First, she took away the well maintained path. Suddenly I was walking on little stones. The big rock slabs that were so nice to walk on before were few and far between.
Then, she increased the steepness. Now, instead of walking with a slight tilt forward I was practically leaning into the mountain, just to keep from becoming air born.
OK. No problem. I got this. And I did. It was fun. My legs were sore but felt strong. I was sweating, but that felt good. My feet were doing OK.
She saw this and decided to turn up the heat. Literally. The sun, which had been on the whole day, suddenly got going. The stones lost all vestiges of their night time chill and began to feel like frying pans. Soon my only way to continue was too dash from one spot of shade to another. And the spots of shade were getting harder and harder to find.
Many times I had to stick my feet into dark crevices created by rocks. There are lots of snakes in this part of India (I've seen two Cobras and a Viper!) and they love to hang out in dark crevices created by rocks. So, sticking my feet into the same dark crevice that might contain snakes was a risk. But in my mind it was either between having my feet catch fire, or maybe having them bitten by a possibly deadly snake. It was a gamble that paid off.
So I continued. I was drenched in sweat, my water bottle was almost empty, and it felt like I was holding my feet to an iron. Instead of walking I was scuttling. Using my hands and legs, just trying to dash to the next shade spot.
But I wasn't gonna give up. I didn't have a choice (actually I did, my shoes were in my bag, I'm just stubborn).
Well I made it. I finally stumbled the last little slope, and saw the giant rock that is the top of the mountain. I almost put my shoes on there, but then I realized I needed to be at the highest point to call it a success. So, I stumbled/crawled/dragged myself onto the final boulder. Which was covered in black oil. Oh my god. Suddenly it was even hotter. Black attracts heat or something like that. That rock was attracting heat and then passing it right on into my feet. I could hear them sizzling.
I put on my shoes.
The view was amazing. Really truly amazing. Breathtaking, tear jerking all of that crap. But it just couldn't compare to the feel of my sandals. I enjoyed the view, but I enjoyed my shoes just a bit more.
The descent took all of 45 minutes.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Pumpin' Iron
So, I'm back in Tiruvenamali living with some friends that I met here. One of the guys goes to the gym every other day or so. I asked if I could join him on his iron pumping visits. He said sure.
We jumped on his motorcycle and drove into the heart of Tiruvenamali. It's loud and very Indian. We parked in front of a dingy looking front of stores and walked inside. Once inside it opened up into a hallway of sorts. On either side there were shuttered shops (it was about 8:30 pm). We took a sharp right and climbed up a steep set of stairs. The walls were painted green, but the dirt on the walls made it more of a greyish green.
The stairs ended at a door. The door was open and on the other side you heard the sounds of music, grunting, talking and the banging of iron.
Yup, that is a gym.
My friend (his name is Volker) then took off his shoes. Wait. In the west you aren't even allowed in sight of a gym if you don't have shoes on. I had put on socks (the first time in 2.5 months) and put on my lace up shoes specifically for this visit. I followed his lead, regretfully untying the beautiful bow knots I had made.
And then we walked inside. It smelled terrible. Generally gyms do. But in America (at least in my experience) the smell is somewhat masked by some cheap air freshener. Not here. This was pure unadulterated man sweat. I smelled like my underwear after a long run in the sun.
The floor was green carpet. Like the walls in the stair well this green carpet was a long way from clean.
Volker signed in at the front desk. I signed up for a month long membership. This involved giving the dude behind the counter rs 150 (almost 3 dollars). He then had me write my name, age and address on a sheet of paper (it seems like everyone always wants to know your home country address, I have no idea what they are going to do with it, perhaps they will send me Christmas cards).
Then it was over. It's a far cry from signing up for a gym membership in America. Gyms in America are serious places. You have to have at least two forms of identification and they take your picture and put it on a card. Plus you have to wait seven days while they do background checks to make sure you don't do Yoga or anything sissy like that.
The gym itself was small. It was one room. The first day I went there it was packed full of Indian men. Volker and I were the only white guys there.
The machines were probably 20 years old. Or they were made out of scrap metal. They were dirty and dangerous. Using them I got grease on my hands and in my hair. At one point a fairly large metal bar almost hit me on the head (no fault of mine). Luckily for me about eight Indian guys warned me about the impending danger.
That is another thing. Everyone there wants to give you pointers. They all have a certain way of doing things and believe that you should do it the same way. Plus they all think you must be brain dead or something. They kept pointing out obvious things. I mean sure I almost drop a large metal bar on my head but hey everyone makes mistakes.
In terms of physical fitness most of the guys there were about my size or even a bit smaller. That was nice. In America when I walk into a gym I feel like a fifth grader. Massively beefy men populate American gyms. They grunt and yell and even scream sometimes. They get so pumped up on adrenaline or testosterone or whatever that sometimes I'm afraid a mass brawl is going to break out (I believe firmly in non-violence, so if a mass brawl did break out I would regrettably not be able to show these beefy men what a great fighter I am. Instead, simply to uphold my ideals, I would have to run away or hide in a locker or something).
In India it's different. Although there are some big guys they are quite a bit calmer than their American counterparts. They are also nicer and easier going. They introduce themselves and ask where you are from. They give you lots of advice and even sometimes save you from large falling bars.
Overall it was a great experience. I got to work out (something that I haven't done in 2.5 months). And I got to meet some Indian guys about my age. Although it's dirty, dingy and dangerous, I prefer it to my limited gym experiences in America.
We jumped on his motorcycle and drove into the heart of Tiruvenamali. It's loud and very Indian. We parked in front of a dingy looking front of stores and walked inside. Once inside it opened up into a hallway of sorts. On either side there were shuttered shops (it was about 8:30 pm). We took a sharp right and climbed up a steep set of stairs. The walls were painted green, but the dirt on the walls made it more of a greyish green.
The stairs ended at a door. The door was open and on the other side you heard the sounds of music, grunting, talking and the banging of iron.
Yup, that is a gym.
My friend (his name is Volker) then took off his shoes. Wait. In the west you aren't even allowed in sight of a gym if you don't have shoes on. I had put on socks (the first time in 2.5 months) and put on my lace up shoes specifically for this visit. I followed his lead, regretfully untying the beautiful bow knots I had made.
And then we walked inside. It smelled terrible. Generally gyms do. But in America (at least in my experience) the smell is somewhat masked by some cheap air freshener. Not here. This was pure unadulterated man sweat. I smelled like my underwear after a long run in the sun.
The floor was green carpet. Like the walls in the stair well this green carpet was a long way from clean.
Volker signed in at the front desk. I signed up for a month long membership. This involved giving the dude behind the counter rs 150 (almost 3 dollars). He then had me write my name, age and address on a sheet of paper (it seems like everyone always wants to know your home country address, I have no idea what they are going to do with it, perhaps they will send me Christmas cards).
Then it was over. It's a far cry from signing up for a gym membership in America. Gyms in America are serious places. You have to have at least two forms of identification and they take your picture and put it on a card. Plus you have to wait seven days while they do background checks to make sure you don't do Yoga or anything sissy like that.
The gym itself was small. It was one room. The first day I went there it was packed full of Indian men. Volker and I were the only white guys there.
The machines were probably 20 years old. Or they were made out of scrap metal. They were dirty and dangerous. Using them I got grease on my hands and in my hair. At one point a fairly large metal bar almost hit me on the head (no fault of mine). Luckily for me about eight Indian guys warned me about the impending danger.
That is another thing. Everyone there wants to give you pointers. They all have a certain way of doing things and believe that you should do it the same way. Plus they all think you must be brain dead or something. They kept pointing out obvious things. I mean sure I almost drop a large metal bar on my head but hey everyone makes mistakes.
In terms of physical fitness most of the guys there were about my size or even a bit smaller. That was nice. In America when I walk into a gym I feel like a fifth grader. Massively beefy men populate American gyms. They grunt and yell and even scream sometimes. They get so pumped up on adrenaline or testosterone or whatever that sometimes I'm afraid a mass brawl is going to break out (I believe firmly in non-violence, so if a mass brawl did break out I would regrettably not be able to show these beefy men what a great fighter I am. Instead, simply to uphold my ideals, I would have to run away or hide in a locker or something).
In India it's different. Although there are some big guys they are quite a bit calmer than their American counterparts. They are also nicer and easier going. They introduce themselves and ask where you are from. They give you lots of advice and even sometimes save you from large falling bars.
Overall it was a great experience. I got to work out (something that I haven't done in 2.5 months). And I got to meet some Indian guys about my age. Although it's dirty, dingy and dangerous, I prefer it to my limited gym experiences in America.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Alcoholic
The driver that drove me from Chennai to Vellore was named K-7. Before we dropped off my mom at the airport he spoke little. My mom and I were in the backseat and he was upfront driving. After we dropped her off, though, I moved up front. We began to talk and he told me a bit about his life.
He is 25 and has been working as a driver since he was 19. The same age I am right now. He was a small guy. Probably only weighed 110 lbs. He seemed kind, although his eyes looked hard and unhappy.
He told me that he has two younger siblings. One brother and one sister. Both are in university studying computer science (can't get much more cliché than that). He was obviously very proud of them. I asked about his parents. He said his mom was a stay at home mom and his dad worked construction. But then he told me his dad hadn't worked in the last month. I, naively, asked why.
His dad is an alcoholic. In India this means he takes all the family money he can get his hands on and goes on a month long binge. Then he sobers up, goes back to work and earns enough money to do it again. Add some domestic violence and you've got the makings of a good old fashioned Indian alcoholic.
So, K-7 dropped out of school in 10th grade and started working to support his family. Now, his taxi driving job is putting both his siblings through university and supporting his mother and father. He makes rs 3,000 a month. That is about 60 U.S. Dollars. Split between five people.
K-7 said he doesn't drink. His only vice is smoking the occasional cigarette. He doesn't have a house or apartment. He sleeps in the car that he drives for his boss. He doesn't get a day off. If there is a job he takes it.
He is 25 and has been working as a driver since he was 19. The same age I am right now. He was a small guy. Probably only weighed 110 lbs. He seemed kind, although his eyes looked hard and unhappy.
He told me that he has two younger siblings. One brother and one sister. Both are in university studying computer science (can't get much more cliché than that). He was obviously very proud of them. I asked about his parents. He said his mom was a stay at home mom and his dad worked construction. But then he told me his dad hadn't worked in the last month. I, naively, asked why.
His dad is an alcoholic. In India this means he takes all the family money he can get his hands on and goes on a month long binge. Then he sobers up, goes back to work and earns enough money to do it again. Add some domestic violence and you've got the makings of a good old fashioned Indian alcoholic.
So, K-7 dropped out of school in 10th grade and started working to support his family. Now, his taxi driving job is putting both his siblings through university and supporting his mother and father. He makes rs 3,000 a month. That is about 60 U.S. Dollars. Split between five people.
K-7 said he doesn't drink. His only vice is smoking the occasional cigarette. He doesn't have a house or apartment. He sleeps in the car that he drives for his boss. He doesn't get a day off. If there is a job he takes it.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
The Grass is always greener on the other side (the skin is always darker/lighter in the other country)
If you turn on any T.V. in America most likely you will see, at some point, an advertisement for tanning lotion or oil. On the ad there will be some super hot babe or some super buff dude lathering themselves up with tanning lotion. Or they will be sliding themselves into tanning beds. Or going to Florida and tanning in the sun. The upshot is they are too white and they need to be darker.
OK, now jump on a plane and fly a couple thousand miles, land in Bombay, India, rent a cheap hotel room, and flip on the T.V. Invariably, at some point in your viewing experience, you will see an advertisement for some skin lightening product. Wait a minute. They are dark. Why would they want to be lighter? Don't they love being dark?
I guess not. The first time I went swimming with some Indian guys I met I was a bit embarrassed. I figured they would secretly be laughing at my silly white American ass. I was wrong. Instead they told me I looked like a movie star.
So, there it is. I want to be darker and they want to be lighter. In fact in India darker skinned people are usually the lower caste. All the billboard advertisements I've seen have very fair skinned 'Indian' women on them. The fact is they very well could be Western women with a good tan.
So, I guess the saying the grass is greener on the other side is apt. Except we're aren't talking about grass, we're talking about skin color. And as far as I know neither Westerners or Easterners want green skin. Although many Indians do like yellow skin.
What? Yeah. The first time I saw a woman with a yellowish face I though she was diseased. I figured she had some nasty vitamin deficiency or gangrene or something. Well it turned out yellow faces are considered attractive in women. They cover their faces in some sort of yellow paint or dust or something. Personally I think it's weird. But hey, whatever floats your boat, turns your crank or revs your engine.
So, I guess the saying beauty is in the eye of the beholder is apt. Except we aren't talking about eyes. We're talking about faces.
OK, now jump on a plane and fly a couple thousand miles, land in Bombay, India, rent a cheap hotel room, and flip on the T.V. Invariably, at some point in your viewing experience, you will see an advertisement for some skin lightening product. Wait a minute. They are dark. Why would they want to be lighter? Don't they love being dark?
I guess not. The first time I went swimming with some Indian guys I met I was a bit embarrassed. I figured they would secretly be laughing at my silly white American ass. I was wrong. Instead they told me I looked like a movie star.
So, there it is. I want to be darker and they want to be lighter. In fact in India darker skinned people are usually the lower caste. All the billboard advertisements I've seen have very fair skinned 'Indian' women on them. The fact is they very well could be Western women with a good tan.
So, I guess the saying the grass is greener on the other side is apt. Except we're aren't talking about grass, we're talking about skin color. And as far as I know neither Westerners or Easterners want green skin. Although many Indians do like yellow skin.
What? Yeah. The first time I saw a woman with a yellowish face I though she was diseased. I figured she had some nasty vitamin deficiency or gangrene or something. Well it turned out yellow faces are considered attractive in women. They cover their faces in some sort of yellow paint or dust or something. Personally I think it's weird. But hey, whatever floats your boat, turns your crank or revs your engine.
So, I guess the saying beauty is in the eye of the beholder is apt. Except we aren't talking about eyes. We're talking about faces.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Hot, Flat and Crowded
The last week or two my mom and I have been in Pondicherry. Pondi is unique as Indian towns go. It has a very European feel to it (or so I'm told). This is because the French owned the town for many many years. The streets are wider than the average Indian street and clean. There are many town houses and other 'Western' looking structures. There is even good coffee.
So, when I left Pondicherry I was a bit shocked going back into 'India'. The drive from Pondicherry to Vellore took about four hours and showed me some aspects of India that I hadn't seen before. As we got farther away from the ocean it got hotter and dryer. The towns we drove through looked more like suburbs of Chennai than anything else. We were driving on one of the main India highways. Houses were built up on either side of the busy road way. Beyond the houses it was desolate.
There was vegetation and other 'natural' things, but it was so marred by human presence. Large piles of garbage were everywhere. Huge columns of oily smoke were rising into the sky as people burned their waste. It felt like I was in hell.
And then, every 20 km, out of this desolation there would rise a giant, glistening, factory of corporate office park. We would speed by and then we would be back to desert like desolation.
The driver, who's name was K-7, asked me if I wanted to stop for lunch. We found this 'Hotel' (remember Hotel usually means restaurant). It was a three story affair with lots of tinted glass. As soon as the car slowed we were assaulted by the oppressive heat of the day. We were ushered into the 'Hotel' which was probably 15 degrees cooler than outside.
The food was good. But it made me think.
If you have money (like I do) you can escape the devastation of ecosystems (at least for a time). I can eat in air conditioned restaurants, I can drink purified water, etc. Restaurants like the one I went to will be in this world for a long time. BUT, if you don't have money. If you're the people living by the side of and interstate in a polluted and hellish landscape, you can't escape. You depend on the local water sources. So when in the heat of the summer they become even more polluted than normal you get cholera. Maybe you survive, maybe you don't.
And the poor people are contributing to the pollution. They burn rubber for light. They cut down trees for fuel. They pee in the river. They poop in the ocean. But they don't have a choice. It's not like they could turn on the lights instead of burning a rubber tire. It's not like they have a reliable source of electricity. It's not like they have a sewer system. So, who's responsibility is it?
It's ours. It's the people that can afford to get online and read this blog. We are the ones with the money, the connections and resources. We are the ones with the education. We are the ones that should be leading our world out of the nose dive we've gone into.
But most of us aren't. Most of us (me included) are the ones that are directly or indirectly financing the gradual destruction of our planet. We are the ones that will hide in our air conditioned rooms, until it's too late.
If we wait that long air conditioning will be the least of our worries.
I don't want to be depressing. But it's a truth that is true. We can't continue to grow the way we've been growing. Our addiction to fossil fuels is contributing to the destruction of the climate and financing terrorism. We have to find an alternative way of living.
You might ask how that isn't depressing. Well it is (at least I think so). But the potential is so great. We are at a point in history where we have the opportunity to revolutionize how we live. The generations that are alive now could be remembered as the great reformers. The great innovators. We have the chance. We have the technology. We have the money. Now we have to find that resolve.
None of these ideas are mine. I'm reading a book called: “Hot, Flat and Crowded”. It's by Thomas L. Friedman who is a journalist. It's a great book. Well written and easy to understand. And it's hopeful. It shows how if we do what we need to do we can still have comfortable middle class lives. But we can have them without destroying the earth.
It would be great if everyone had to read this book in school.
So, when I left Pondicherry I was a bit shocked going back into 'India'. The drive from Pondicherry to Vellore took about four hours and showed me some aspects of India that I hadn't seen before. As we got farther away from the ocean it got hotter and dryer. The towns we drove through looked more like suburbs of Chennai than anything else. We were driving on one of the main India highways. Houses were built up on either side of the busy road way. Beyond the houses it was desolate.
There was vegetation and other 'natural' things, but it was so marred by human presence. Large piles of garbage were everywhere. Huge columns of oily smoke were rising into the sky as people burned their waste. It felt like I was in hell.
And then, every 20 km, out of this desolation there would rise a giant, glistening, factory of corporate office park. We would speed by and then we would be back to desert like desolation.
The driver, who's name was K-7, asked me if I wanted to stop for lunch. We found this 'Hotel' (remember Hotel usually means restaurant). It was a three story affair with lots of tinted glass. As soon as the car slowed we were assaulted by the oppressive heat of the day. We were ushered into the 'Hotel' which was probably 15 degrees cooler than outside.
The food was good. But it made me think.
If you have money (like I do) you can escape the devastation of ecosystems (at least for a time). I can eat in air conditioned restaurants, I can drink purified water, etc. Restaurants like the one I went to will be in this world for a long time. BUT, if you don't have money. If you're the people living by the side of and interstate in a polluted and hellish landscape, you can't escape. You depend on the local water sources. So when in the heat of the summer they become even more polluted than normal you get cholera. Maybe you survive, maybe you don't.
And the poor people are contributing to the pollution. They burn rubber for light. They cut down trees for fuel. They pee in the river. They poop in the ocean. But they don't have a choice. It's not like they could turn on the lights instead of burning a rubber tire. It's not like they have a reliable source of electricity. It's not like they have a sewer system. So, who's responsibility is it?
It's ours. It's the people that can afford to get online and read this blog. We are the ones with the money, the connections and resources. We are the ones with the education. We are the ones that should be leading our world out of the nose dive we've gone into.
But most of us aren't. Most of us (me included) are the ones that are directly or indirectly financing the gradual destruction of our planet. We are the ones that will hide in our air conditioned rooms, until it's too late.
If we wait that long air conditioning will be the least of our worries.
I don't want to be depressing. But it's a truth that is true. We can't continue to grow the way we've been growing. Our addiction to fossil fuels is contributing to the destruction of the climate and financing terrorism. We have to find an alternative way of living.
You might ask how that isn't depressing. Well it is (at least I think so). But the potential is so great. We are at a point in history where we have the opportunity to revolutionize how we live. The generations that are alive now could be remembered as the great reformers. The great innovators. We have the chance. We have the technology. We have the money. Now we have to find that resolve.
None of these ideas are mine. I'm reading a book called: “Hot, Flat and Crowded”. It's by Thomas L. Friedman who is a journalist. It's a great book. Well written and easy to understand. And it's hopeful. It shows how if we do what we need to do we can still have comfortable middle class lives. But we can have them without destroying the earth.
It would be great if everyone had to read this book in school.
Vellore
Hey so I'm in Vellore right now. I'll have more later. It's a very busy town! I'm staying in a pretty dingy place. It smells really funky and is in the middle of town so I've been sleeping with ear plugs. The upside is that there aren't any bed bugs! So that is great. There is this giant fort in the middle of town. It's four or five hundred years old. It's very fun to explore.
I've been here two days and I've seen three other white people. I'm definately the minority. It's kind of nice. Back home I don't even think twice when I don't see a person of color for weeks on end. Here though I notice every other 'whitie' and kind of subconciously follow them, hoping to strike up a conversation (in english hopefully). I'm kind of joking, I'm also kind of serious.
Ok, well more later. The key board I'm using sucks.
I've been here two days and I've seen three other white people. I'm definately the minority. It's kind of nice. Back home I don't even think twice when I don't see a person of color for weeks on end. Here though I notice every other 'whitie' and kind of subconciously follow them, hoping to strike up a conversation (in english hopefully). I'm kind of joking, I'm also kind of serious.
Ok, well more later. The key board I'm using sucks.
Beach side boners
I've noticed throughout my time in India the mixing of Eastern and Western cultures. Walking down the street it's so obvious. There are giant billboards advertising Coke and Pepsi, right next to thousand-year-old temples. In India there are 22 recognized languages. Officially Hindu is the state language, however, in reality English is king.
Still, India has very distinct ways and traditions. Sexuality is one of these areas that is resisting foreign conquest mightily. Arranged marriages (which are technically illegal) are more common than not. Women (especially in rural areas) dress traditionally and rarely talk to men outside of the family.
Western and Eastern beliefs and practices around modesty and sexuality collide on the beaches of India. Here, western tourists wear their culturally appropriate swim wear. For men this isn't a problem, however, women have a more difficult time.
The typical bikini shows more skin than many Indians see in their entire lives (this is just what I've heard and shouldn't be taken for the absolute truth. Things are much different in big cities). So you can imagine how exciting it is for Indian men to see scantily clad western women.
The beach near Pondicherry where I've been going is an interesting sight. The ocean and beach itself are very beautiful and inviting. It's a huge tourist attraction. Additionally it is right next to Auroville, which has a large Western population. So, it's thronged with westerners.
Westerners come to swim and soak up the sun. Indians come to swim and soak up the sight of the westerners. Indian men of all ages will stand on the beach their eyes (and other things) bulging out of their heads (and other places). They have no shame when it comes to watching Western women. And it's obvious. Generally it's younger men that partake in this activity, however, I've seen middle aged men joining in too.
I feel a couple different things when I see all this. First of all I think it's pretty funny. These guys are so awkward and dorky in their lust and desire. I also think it's terrible in a way. These women can't enjoy being on the beach at all. But at the same time they should dress more modestly I suppose. I know that if I had a girlfriend and these guys were staring at her and following her around I would get kind of angry (when my mom went swimming, very modestly dressed, some guys immediately swam out into the ocean after her, I yelled at them). But then again, these girls that these guys are gawking are usually the same women I'm noticing, I'm just more discreet and less excited about it.
In a way it's a perfect example of the fundamental difference between India and the west (that I've observed). In the west everything is so hidden. People live very separate lives. We all have our own little spaces. The stuff we do show the world is usually only the clean and 'culturally appropriate' stuff. In India there simply isn't the room or money to live like this. Everyone lives next to everyone else. Love and beauty aren't hidden. Neither is shit and piss. It's all out in the open. So it makes sense that when boys see white women almost naked they don't hide their boners.
But wait, I'm going to contradict myself. Things are very out in the open in India, except some things aren't. Or, it might be more accurate to say some things are very structured while others aren't. Sexuality for instance has a very strong structure around it while defecating in public (for men at least) doesn't.
So maybe it's better to say that many things that are hidden in the west (e.g. poop, passion, power etc.) aren't hidden in India. However, those things that are structured in India are much more structured than the things that are structured in the West.
Or I could be completely wrong. What I do know is I saw some Indian boys that weren't worried about their beach side boners in the least.
Still, India has very distinct ways and traditions. Sexuality is one of these areas that is resisting foreign conquest mightily. Arranged marriages (which are technically illegal) are more common than not. Women (especially in rural areas) dress traditionally and rarely talk to men outside of the family.
Western and Eastern beliefs and practices around modesty and sexuality collide on the beaches of India. Here, western tourists wear their culturally appropriate swim wear. For men this isn't a problem, however, women have a more difficult time.
The typical bikini shows more skin than many Indians see in their entire lives (this is just what I've heard and shouldn't be taken for the absolute truth. Things are much different in big cities). So you can imagine how exciting it is for Indian men to see scantily clad western women.
The beach near Pondicherry where I've been going is an interesting sight. The ocean and beach itself are very beautiful and inviting. It's a huge tourist attraction. Additionally it is right next to Auroville, which has a large Western population. So, it's thronged with westerners.
Westerners come to swim and soak up the sun. Indians come to swim and soak up the sight of the westerners. Indian men of all ages will stand on the beach their eyes (and other things) bulging out of their heads (and other places). They have no shame when it comes to watching Western women. And it's obvious. Generally it's younger men that partake in this activity, however, I've seen middle aged men joining in too.
I feel a couple different things when I see all this. First of all I think it's pretty funny. These guys are so awkward and dorky in their lust and desire. I also think it's terrible in a way. These women can't enjoy being on the beach at all. But at the same time they should dress more modestly I suppose. I know that if I had a girlfriend and these guys were staring at her and following her around I would get kind of angry (when my mom went swimming, very modestly dressed, some guys immediately swam out into the ocean after her, I yelled at them). But then again, these girls that these guys are gawking are usually the same women I'm noticing, I'm just more discreet and less excited about it.
In a way it's a perfect example of the fundamental difference between India and the west (that I've observed). In the west everything is so hidden. People live very separate lives. We all have our own little spaces. The stuff we do show the world is usually only the clean and 'culturally appropriate' stuff. In India there simply isn't the room or money to live like this. Everyone lives next to everyone else. Love and beauty aren't hidden. Neither is shit and piss. It's all out in the open. So it makes sense that when boys see white women almost naked they don't hide their boners.
But wait, I'm going to contradict myself. Things are very out in the open in India, except some things aren't. Or, it might be more accurate to say some things are very structured while others aren't. Sexuality for instance has a very strong structure around it while defecating in public (for men at least) doesn't.
So maybe it's better to say that many things that are hidden in the west (e.g. poop, passion, power etc.) aren't hidden in India. However, those things that are structured in India are much more structured than the things that are structured in the West.
Or I could be completely wrong. What I do know is I saw some Indian boys that weren't worried about their beach side boners in the least.
Insanity
My first month and a half in India were spent in awe of the traffic. I just didn't understand how buses, rickshaws, cars, motorbikes, cows, oxen, dogs, children, men and women could all go different directions on the same small road and not collide killing everyone in sight.
Slowly my brain began to adapt. I still didn't understand. But I was just resigned to the fact that somehow it worked.
Then I rented a bicycle. Having biked a lot in the States I felt pretty comfortable biking in India. A little scary when there are two buses heading toward the same patch of road and you're in between, but no problem.
Then I rented a scooter. Ha ha. Good joke. Silly Eli on a scooter. Yeah, you wouldn't know a drive chain from a lanyard. You're right I wouldn't. But I did rent a scooter. I wish I could say I rented a motorcycle or even better a Harley Davidson. Then you would really appreciate the momentous nature of this occasion. But for me a scooter was all it took.
Some insane part of me had wanted to rent one for a long time. It's not logical or reasonable. Why would I suddenly decide to learn how to drive a scooter? In Indian traffic no less? But I did.
I got a recommendation of a good place to rent vehicles from the receptionist at our hotel and headed out ready to try my luck.
I arrived at a shabby establishment with a number of visibly deteriorating scooters and motorcycles in front. No one was around so I sat down on a filthy chair ready to wait. Finally, after perhaps 20 minutes, the proprietor of the establishment drove up on a scooter.
For one moment I contemplated asking for a motorcycle. I imagined myself racing down roads with my (suddenly) long hair tied up in a ponytail and my clearly visible tattoos warning all that I was tough. Plus there would be the Top Gun theme music playing. It would be great. But almost simultaneously I had flashbacks to all those gory driver ed videos where the entire teenage population of some small town is wiped out in one terrible motorcycle accident. So, deciding caution was the better half of valor (I don't know how this cliché applies to my situation) I rented a scooter.
To rent the motorbike I had to pay rs 150 per day. I had asked around and this seemed to be a fair price. After settling the deal and paying the owner I was ready to go. As security I gave him my Idaho drivers license. He handed me the keys and headed back into his shop. Then something occurred to me. How do you turn on a scooter? I fiddled around for a bit pushing various buttons and stomping on various levers but nothing happened. Finally, I went back into the shop and asked for a little lesson. The guy didn't even blink. He came out and showed me the basics (turning it on, turning it off, accelerating, stopping). Now, ready to go I jumped on and scooted off into traffic.
For the first hour or two it was a bit rough. Sometimes I would brake and accelerate at the same time, which confused the poor scooter to no end. But overall it went great and I made it home safely. Over a period of several days I became a better and better driver. My mom and I used the scooter to travel around Pondicherry. It allowed us to explore areas of town that we never would have gone to otherwise.
We both loved it. Then we decided to take a day trip to Chidumberam on the scooter, which sounded like a better idea than it actually was.
We left Pondicherry at 6:00 am. It was just getting light and the air was crisp and refreshing. I wore a light jacket and a scarf. Well, once we were on the road that 'crisp and refreshing air' became colder and colder. Soon both my mom and I were shivering and praying for the sun to appear. We continued on like this, never really warming up.
The drive took about two hours. It was a beautiful road going through the countryside. In the morning the traffic was light and I really enjoyed the drive.
Chidumberum itself is a dusty town that is built around a large temple complex. My mom and I were there to see the temple (which features a huge Shiva Naturaje) and just see a bit more of India before my mother headed out. We probably spent three hours there, eating at a restaurant and seeing the temple sights. We left around noon. At this point it was scorching hot. The chill of the morning was a hazy memory that was slowly being washed away in rivers of sweat.
Both my mom and I were excited to get back on the bike and head on home. Imagining a ride similar to the morning I was excited to see more of the country side during the day.
However, like the temperature, the ride back was completely different. First of all the sun was hot. Even with the wind it was still a scorcher of a day. On top of that the traffic was thick. Every type of vehicle and animal that can navigate a cement road was. And, thirdly, the pot holes, craters and divots that had seemed so easy to navigate a few hours early, were almost impossible obstacles.
At any given time I had five different things to avoid. A typical minute of driving would go something like this: I'm driving along in 'my lane'. I avoid a pothole, then I overtake a cart being pulled by an ox. Then I'm overtaken by a motorcycle. Suddenly I hear the thunder like horn of a bus. The bus is trying to overtake me. The only problem is there is another bus going in the opposite direction. The road is narrow. As the bus comes up on my right it begins to run me off the road. So I drive off hoping we don't slide in the loose sand. The bus passes. I get back on the road. I avoid another cart. I relax for a second. There are no cars behind me. But oh wait, there is a bus coming toward me in my lane. I drive off the road again.
This is how it went for three endless hours. Thinking back on it I realized that if any one of those things that I just mentioned happened in America I would talk about it for days. I would come home and say “Oh my gosh you won't believe it! A bus passed me on a curve today!” But in India those things happened ever thirty seconds.
Driving was physically and mentally exhausting. When we finally made it home (safely) I was shaking and I kept expecting the chairs and beds to rush toward me honking their horns. Although I was completely exhausted I couldn't sleep. I had too much adrenaline in my system.
That night I returned the scooter.
Although the ride to Chidumberum wasn't easy I'm very glad I did it. And despite everything I just wrote I plan on renting a scooter again just this time I think I'll keep my motorized excursions under an hour.
Slowly my brain began to adapt. I still didn't understand. But I was just resigned to the fact that somehow it worked.
Then I rented a bicycle. Having biked a lot in the States I felt pretty comfortable biking in India. A little scary when there are two buses heading toward the same patch of road and you're in between, but no problem.
Then I rented a scooter. Ha ha. Good joke. Silly Eli on a scooter. Yeah, you wouldn't know a drive chain from a lanyard. You're right I wouldn't. But I did rent a scooter. I wish I could say I rented a motorcycle or even better a Harley Davidson. Then you would really appreciate the momentous nature of this occasion. But for me a scooter was all it took.
Some insane part of me had wanted to rent one for a long time. It's not logical or reasonable. Why would I suddenly decide to learn how to drive a scooter? In Indian traffic no less? But I did.
I got a recommendation of a good place to rent vehicles from the receptionist at our hotel and headed out ready to try my luck.
I arrived at a shabby establishment with a number of visibly deteriorating scooters and motorcycles in front. No one was around so I sat down on a filthy chair ready to wait. Finally, after perhaps 20 minutes, the proprietor of the establishment drove up on a scooter.
For one moment I contemplated asking for a motorcycle. I imagined myself racing down roads with my (suddenly) long hair tied up in a ponytail and my clearly visible tattoos warning all that I was tough. Plus there would be the Top Gun theme music playing. It would be great. But almost simultaneously I had flashbacks to all those gory driver ed videos where the entire teenage population of some small town is wiped out in one terrible motorcycle accident. So, deciding caution was the better half of valor (I don't know how this cliché applies to my situation) I rented a scooter.
To rent the motorbike I had to pay rs 150 per day. I had asked around and this seemed to be a fair price. After settling the deal and paying the owner I was ready to go. As security I gave him my Idaho drivers license. He handed me the keys and headed back into his shop. Then something occurred to me. How do you turn on a scooter? I fiddled around for a bit pushing various buttons and stomping on various levers but nothing happened. Finally, I went back into the shop and asked for a little lesson. The guy didn't even blink. He came out and showed me the basics (turning it on, turning it off, accelerating, stopping). Now, ready to go I jumped on and scooted off into traffic.
For the first hour or two it was a bit rough. Sometimes I would brake and accelerate at the same time, which confused the poor scooter to no end. But overall it went great and I made it home safely. Over a period of several days I became a better and better driver. My mom and I used the scooter to travel around Pondicherry. It allowed us to explore areas of town that we never would have gone to otherwise.
We both loved it. Then we decided to take a day trip to Chidumberam on the scooter, which sounded like a better idea than it actually was.
We left Pondicherry at 6:00 am. It was just getting light and the air was crisp and refreshing. I wore a light jacket and a scarf. Well, once we were on the road that 'crisp and refreshing air' became colder and colder. Soon both my mom and I were shivering and praying for the sun to appear. We continued on like this, never really warming up.
The drive took about two hours. It was a beautiful road going through the countryside. In the morning the traffic was light and I really enjoyed the drive.
Chidumberum itself is a dusty town that is built around a large temple complex. My mom and I were there to see the temple (which features a huge Shiva Naturaje) and just see a bit more of India before my mother headed out. We probably spent three hours there, eating at a restaurant and seeing the temple sights. We left around noon. At this point it was scorching hot. The chill of the morning was a hazy memory that was slowly being washed away in rivers of sweat.
Both my mom and I were excited to get back on the bike and head on home. Imagining a ride similar to the morning I was excited to see more of the country side during the day.
However, like the temperature, the ride back was completely different. First of all the sun was hot. Even with the wind it was still a scorcher of a day. On top of that the traffic was thick. Every type of vehicle and animal that can navigate a cement road was. And, thirdly, the pot holes, craters and divots that had seemed so easy to navigate a few hours early, were almost impossible obstacles.
At any given time I had five different things to avoid. A typical minute of driving would go something like this: I'm driving along in 'my lane'. I avoid a pothole, then I overtake a cart being pulled by an ox. Then I'm overtaken by a motorcycle. Suddenly I hear the thunder like horn of a bus. The bus is trying to overtake me. The only problem is there is another bus going in the opposite direction. The road is narrow. As the bus comes up on my right it begins to run me off the road. So I drive off hoping we don't slide in the loose sand. The bus passes. I get back on the road. I avoid another cart. I relax for a second. There are no cars behind me. But oh wait, there is a bus coming toward me in my lane. I drive off the road again.
This is how it went for three endless hours. Thinking back on it I realized that if any one of those things that I just mentioned happened in America I would talk about it for days. I would come home and say “Oh my gosh you won't believe it! A bus passed me on a curve today!” But in India those things happened ever thirty seconds.
Driving was physically and mentally exhausting. When we finally made it home (safely) I was shaking and I kept expecting the chairs and beds to rush toward me honking their horns. Although I was completely exhausted I couldn't sleep. I had too much adrenaline in my system.
That night I returned the scooter.
Although the ride to Chidumberum wasn't easy I'm very glad I did it. And despite everything I just wrote I plan on renting a scooter again just this time I think I'll keep my motorized excursions under an hour.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Road side assistance
A couple of months before we left for India we had an ant infestation in our house. We hired a bug killing company to fix the problem. They came, did their chemical killing and left. However, they left a complimentary pen. This pen appeared to be a normal pen. However, it was no normal pen. One half of the pen was actually a pen. The other half was a... screwdriver!
I immediately appropriated the 'pen'. As I was packing for India I remembered the 'pen'. I thought to myself “Wow, that would be really handy. It would fulfill two purposes. I could write and fix stuff!” Then I remembered airport security. They would never let me get through with a screwdriver. I might get shot at the gate or tackled by security guards. But I just knew I had to have that pen. So I decided to smuggle it.
I won't expand on just how I smuggled it, but it was a success. I got the 'pen' into India. Well, that pen didn't do much for the first month and a half. Occasionally I would write something with the pen, but it's true powers were never utilized.
Until two days ago.
My mom and I had just gone swimming in the Bay of Bengal and were heading back to our scooter. We noticed two boys hammering on a bicycle. They were trying to break the lock off the bike. At first I thought “Oh, those two boys are stealing someones bicycle.” I was committed to non-action. Then I saw that the younger of the two boys was crying. My assessment of the situation changed. Now I thought “Oh, that younger boy lost the key to his dad's bike and now he is totally screwed.”
At this point I was still firmly resolved not to do anything. But my mom wasn't so dedicated.
First she asked the boys if they had lost the key. The sobbing one, who was also trembling, nodded an affirmative. With my ally in non-action suddenly switching sides I began to feel the myself slipping into the situation.
And then, I remembered the 'pen'. My whole outlook on the situation completely changed. Suddenly I was filled with a desire to help these poor children. So, I walked over to the their bike, fiddled with the lock, hemmed and hawed, and pulled out the pen. The kids looked flabbergasted. A pen? What the hell was that going to do. But then I turned it into a screwdriver, their expressions didn't change.
Oh well. I then commenced to fiddle with the lock hemming and hawing. The pen turned screwdriver was useless. At this point the watchmen of a nearby business came over to see what all the commotion was about. He immediately took charge, being much older than me and a true man, he knew infinitely more about bike locks than I did.
I watched as he worked on the lock trying to pry it open in a variety of ways. Finally, happy to be able to show off my 'pen' I brandished it in front of the man's face. He grabbed it and within minutes the lock was no more. The 'pen' held up admirably. It was wrenched around in the most violent of fashions, however, it didn't break.
Yah! Another conquest. Totally. I was ready to scooter off, having done my duty as a man(kind of).
And then my mom said “Wait”. I waited. She gave the two boys rs 65 to buy a new lock.
If I were inclined to reflect on the situation (which I'm not). I would have to say that despite all the work that me and that watchmen did it wasn't really us who were the true heroes of the day. In fact there wasn't a hero of the day. There was a heroine. Without my mother's commitment to action I would have left those boys. Without our intervention the watchmen never would have helped two Indian boys. So, the true heroine is my mother. However, I didn't reflect on the situation so what the hell are you talking about? It was all me.
I immediately appropriated the 'pen'. As I was packing for India I remembered the 'pen'. I thought to myself “Wow, that would be really handy. It would fulfill two purposes. I could write and fix stuff!” Then I remembered airport security. They would never let me get through with a screwdriver. I might get shot at the gate or tackled by security guards. But I just knew I had to have that pen. So I decided to smuggle it.
I won't expand on just how I smuggled it, but it was a success. I got the 'pen' into India. Well, that pen didn't do much for the first month and a half. Occasionally I would write something with the pen, but it's true powers were never utilized.
Until two days ago.
My mom and I had just gone swimming in the Bay of Bengal and were heading back to our scooter. We noticed two boys hammering on a bicycle. They were trying to break the lock off the bike. At first I thought “Oh, those two boys are stealing someones bicycle.” I was committed to non-action. Then I saw that the younger of the two boys was crying. My assessment of the situation changed. Now I thought “Oh, that younger boy lost the key to his dad's bike and now he is totally screwed.”
At this point I was still firmly resolved not to do anything. But my mom wasn't so dedicated.
First she asked the boys if they had lost the key. The sobbing one, who was also trembling, nodded an affirmative. With my ally in non-action suddenly switching sides I began to feel the myself slipping into the situation.
And then, I remembered the 'pen'. My whole outlook on the situation completely changed. Suddenly I was filled with a desire to help these poor children. So, I walked over to the their bike, fiddled with the lock, hemmed and hawed, and pulled out the pen. The kids looked flabbergasted. A pen? What the hell was that going to do. But then I turned it into a screwdriver, their expressions didn't change.
Oh well. I then commenced to fiddle with the lock hemming and hawing. The pen turned screwdriver was useless. At this point the watchmen of a nearby business came over to see what all the commotion was about. He immediately took charge, being much older than me and a true man, he knew infinitely more about bike locks than I did.
I watched as he worked on the lock trying to pry it open in a variety of ways. Finally, happy to be able to show off my 'pen' I brandished it in front of the man's face. He grabbed it and within minutes the lock was no more. The 'pen' held up admirably. It was wrenched around in the most violent of fashions, however, it didn't break.
Yah! Another conquest. Totally. I was ready to scooter off, having done my duty as a man(kind of).
And then my mom said “Wait”. I waited. She gave the two boys rs 65 to buy a new lock.
If I were inclined to reflect on the situation (which I'm not). I would have to say that despite all the work that me and that watchmen did it wasn't really us who were the true heroes of the day. In fact there wasn't a hero of the day. There was a heroine. Without my mother's commitment to action I would have left those boys. Without our intervention the watchmen never would have helped two Indian boys. So, the true heroine is my mother. However, I didn't reflect on the situation so what the hell are you talking about? It was all me.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
Pondicherry
Feb. 3
This morning we left Tiruvenamali at 7 am We took a taxi to Pondicherry. It took about two hours. What we have seen of Pondicherry is an interesting mix of French and Indian cultures. For many years it was a French port. So, there are many French style bakeries and all the streets are called rues.
We're staying at a fairly nice guest house. It costs 800 rupees and is decently clean and has spacious rooms. It is right on the ocean.
I think I'm finally beginning to to find some sort of balance in my mind regarding my wealth when compared to the majority of Indians (and the world). Today I ate in a fancy bakery. Food and coffee cost about 250 rupees or five dollars. By American standards this is ridiculously cheap. However, In India many people make less than 80 rupees a day. In the beginning of the trip I would have felt so guilty. Today I didn't. This isn't to say that I wasn't aware of the disparity. I was. I just wasn't guilty about it.
It might seem obvious that you should enjoy what you've (or in this case what your mom) worked for etc. It's hard to understand if you haven't ever seen true poverty. The kind of poverty where people aren't necessarily able to eat. I'm no expert. I haven't been into true slums. But simply being in India exposes me on a daily basis to levels of poverty I've never seen.
So, I think I'm beginning to strike a balance. But I don't want to ever forget how lucky I am. And it's luck. I could have been born into a poor Indian family. But I wasn't. So I'm the one sitting in the nice bakery eating a croissant.
Feb. 6
So, we're still in Pondicherry. The whole reason we're here is to meet with a colleague of my dads. Her name is Sunita Sangupta and she is a professor at the University of Delhi. She is hosting us as her guests for an annual convention on spirituality in the workplace. The plan was to meet her on Feb. 4. We thought that we're staying in Auroville, which is about 6 km from Pondicherry. We decided to come to Pondicherry first, spend a night and then go to Auroville. So that is what we did. When we got to Auroville and told the driver the name of the place where we were supposed to stay, he told us it was back in Pondicherry.
So, as you can see we had to turn around. But it wasn't quite that simple. Unbeknown to us, until the day of, there was a general strike in the state of Tamil Nadu on Feb. 4. The strike was going to last from 6 am To 6 pm The strike was called because of the situation in Sri Lanka. The government of Sri Lanka and the Tamil Tigers are fighting (and have been fighting for 30 years). Although by all accounts the Tamil Tigers are nearly defeated they are still putting up a lot of resistance. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, many, many civilians are being killed. Including ethnic Tamils. Angry about the deaths of Tamils, many Indians are calling for the Indian government to intercede. In support of the endangered civilians and in defiance of the government a strike was called.
So. My mom and I stumble into this political mess. All we want is a ride to Auroville. First we asked various rickshaw drivers how much it would cost to go to Auroville. They all said rs 300. Normally this same ride would cost maybe rs 100. No cabs were in operation because of the strike. Resisting having to pay that much we called some friends who were in Auroville. They had a private car (and driver, if you own a car you have a driver, you don't drive) that we hoped could pick us up. Again we were rejected. Apparently the driver believed it was too dangerous to drive because of mobs and other 'rowdies'.
So, we were stuck. Thinking we had to go to Auroville immediately (to meet Sunita) we bit the bullet and hired a rickshaw. The ride was short and uneventful. Upon arriving in Aurovill (and realizing our mistake) we decided to wait until 6 pm. to return to Pondi.
Auroville is a large township that was founded by the Mother. The Mother was a spiritual teacher. She had a vision of an international city where men and women of all types come together and live in harmony. Auroville is the expression of her vision. It's a huge city with its own infrastructure and everything. While it isn't 100 percent independent of the rest of the world it's close.
It sure was odd walking around Auroville. It's huge and completely different than what I've become used to in India. We weren't the minority anymore. I'm glad that I got to see parts of it but I'm glad I don't live there.
So, 6 pm finally roles around. We get a rickshaw back into Pondi (we pay rs 100) and find our new hotel. We didn't (and don't) have to pay for our rooms. The conference itself is interesting. It features many different speakers (mostly Indian, although some Westerners). While some of the talks are a little hard to understand, generally the English is very good.
The hotel at which the conference is being held is on the outskirts of town and is amazingly plush. You walk into the hotel and the center is hollow, like a big water bottle. Two elevators shaped like golden bullets ascend and descend. There are murals depicting a European city. They even have mannequins standing on fake balconies smiling. It's quite bizarre and a little creepy. Everything is painted gold and everything gleams. There is a rooftop pool, complete with a fake rock landscape. But like I said the conference is interesting. One part of me thinks “What the hell am I doing in a conference in India? I should be exploring India.” and then another part thinks “Wow! I'm in a conference in India. Exploring India”.
This morning we left Tiruvenamali at 7 am We took a taxi to Pondicherry. It took about two hours. What we have seen of Pondicherry is an interesting mix of French and Indian cultures. For many years it was a French port. So, there are many French style bakeries and all the streets are called rues.
We're staying at a fairly nice guest house. It costs 800 rupees and is decently clean and has spacious rooms. It is right on the ocean.
I think I'm finally beginning to to find some sort of balance in my mind regarding my wealth when compared to the majority of Indians (and the world). Today I ate in a fancy bakery. Food and coffee cost about 250 rupees or five dollars. By American standards this is ridiculously cheap. However, In India many people make less than 80 rupees a day. In the beginning of the trip I would have felt so guilty. Today I didn't. This isn't to say that I wasn't aware of the disparity. I was. I just wasn't guilty about it.
It might seem obvious that you should enjoy what you've (or in this case what your mom) worked for etc. It's hard to understand if you haven't ever seen true poverty. The kind of poverty where people aren't necessarily able to eat. I'm no expert. I haven't been into true slums. But simply being in India exposes me on a daily basis to levels of poverty I've never seen.
So, I think I'm beginning to strike a balance. But I don't want to ever forget how lucky I am. And it's luck. I could have been born into a poor Indian family. But I wasn't. So I'm the one sitting in the nice bakery eating a croissant.
Feb. 6
So, we're still in Pondicherry. The whole reason we're here is to meet with a colleague of my dads. Her name is Sunita Sangupta and she is a professor at the University of Delhi. She is hosting us as her guests for an annual convention on spirituality in the workplace. The plan was to meet her on Feb. 4. We thought that we're staying in Auroville, which is about 6 km from Pondicherry. We decided to come to Pondicherry first, spend a night and then go to Auroville. So that is what we did. When we got to Auroville and told the driver the name of the place where we were supposed to stay, he told us it was back in Pondicherry.
So, as you can see we had to turn around. But it wasn't quite that simple. Unbeknown to us, until the day of, there was a general strike in the state of Tamil Nadu on Feb. 4. The strike was going to last from 6 am To 6 pm The strike was called because of the situation in Sri Lanka. The government of Sri Lanka and the Tamil Tigers are fighting (and have been fighting for 30 years). Although by all accounts the Tamil Tigers are nearly defeated they are still putting up a lot of resistance. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, many, many civilians are being killed. Including ethnic Tamils. Angry about the deaths of Tamils, many Indians are calling for the Indian government to intercede. In support of the endangered civilians and in defiance of the government a strike was called.
So. My mom and I stumble into this political mess. All we want is a ride to Auroville. First we asked various rickshaw drivers how much it would cost to go to Auroville. They all said rs 300. Normally this same ride would cost maybe rs 100. No cabs were in operation because of the strike. Resisting having to pay that much we called some friends who were in Auroville. They had a private car (and driver, if you own a car you have a driver, you don't drive) that we hoped could pick us up. Again we were rejected. Apparently the driver believed it was too dangerous to drive because of mobs and other 'rowdies'.
So, we were stuck. Thinking we had to go to Auroville immediately (to meet Sunita) we bit the bullet and hired a rickshaw. The ride was short and uneventful. Upon arriving in Aurovill (and realizing our mistake) we decided to wait until 6 pm. to return to Pondi.
Auroville is a large township that was founded by the Mother. The Mother was a spiritual teacher. She had a vision of an international city where men and women of all types come together and live in harmony. Auroville is the expression of her vision. It's a huge city with its own infrastructure and everything. While it isn't 100 percent independent of the rest of the world it's close.
It sure was odd walking around Auroville. It's huge and completely different than what I've become used to in India. We weren't the minority anymore. I'm glad that I got to see parts of it but I'm glad I don't live there.
So, 6 pm finally roles around. We get a rickshaw back into Pondi (we pay rs 100) and find our new hotel. We didn't (and don't) have to pay for our rooms. The conference itself is interesting. It features many different speakers (mostly Indian, although some Westerners). While some of the talks are a little hard to understand, generally the English is very good.
The hotel at which the conference is being held is on the outskirts of town and is amazingly plush. You walk into the hotel and the center is hollow, like a big water bottle. Two elevators shaped like golden bullets ascend and descend. There are murals depicting a European city. They even have mannequins standing on fake balconies smiling. It's quite bizarre and a little creepy. Everything is painted gold and everything gleams. There is a rooftop pool, complete with a fake rock landscape. But like I said the conference is interesting. One part of me thinks “What the hell am I doing in a conference in India? I should be exploring India.” and then another part thinks “Wow! I'm in a conference in India. Exploring India”.
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