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| Hanuman the Monkey God |
April 26—We were taking bets if the pickup that Amir
arranged would be there. No, it was not. Luckily we had the address of our new digs,
and paid a guy $14 to take us there.
While Les slept off the bus ride, I caught up on email with the Wi-Fi at
The Pearl Hotel. The day was spent at
the tourist office getting our final vouchers, having lunch and arranging our
last hotel stay. I ended up the night on
the bathroom floor with my intestines cramping and finally succumbing to taking
the drugs I got for anti-diarrhea, which took 15 minutes—and I was better. It worked so well, it was scary.
Just before noon, we stopped at Mathura where Lord Krishna
was born. This place is a BIG deal. At the Katra Masjid Mosque we were able to see
a likeness of him in pink attire where people were praying and paying their
respects. At noon, a great bell sounded,
people gathered in front of Krishna and yelled something (I imagine it was,
“have a good nap, Krishna”), and they closed the curtain. We wandered about to the Kesava Deo temple
where was his actual birthplace (not as crowded as Jesus’s birthplace in Bethlehem),
and a woman gave me a bindi with yellow ochre.
The priest asked me to touch the rock and then my forehead. It was a beautiful tiny dark room. We heard men singing and playing music, and
tried not to burn our feet on the hot marble.
Before we left, people were going through a cave in an imitation
mountain and waterfall that was made out of the same things theme parks or
miniature golf scenes are made of. We
didn’t go through….
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| Les at Akbar's Gate |
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| Les at Akbar's Mausoleum Gate |
In the hottest part of the day (~110° F), we stopped at the mausoleum
for Akbar, the greatest emperor of the Mughal dynasty in the town of
Sikandra.
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| All the colorful sarees! |
It was a magnificent edifice
with tons of geometric designs made of marble and other precious stone embedded
in the sandstone. Impressive! We sat at various parts of the grassy garden
in the shade like other couples, and watched butterflies, parrots, antelopes
and large heron-like birds, and the people. I had a first: someone there referred to me as "grandmother!"
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| Gate detai |
April 28—We saw what we had been waiting for—the Taj
Mahal! An arranged guide (Mohammed) got
in the car and quickly told us all about what we could take and not take, what
to pay and what to expect. In each of
these tourist sites I was mightily frisked; I think women must carry phones and
cameras around their breasts, as that is where they check the most. The line for foreign women was very, very
short compared to the Indian women line.
Soon Mohammed had us taking a multitude of pictures as we
entered the site and later told us all about the story that made this truly
remarkable mausoleum. Clearly, the
artisans who carved the marble and inlayed the stones knew their stuff. I don’t know how they could work on such a
large scale and have it all perfectly symmetrical. We enjoyed going into the mosque where there
were little markings in the floor for each person to kneel in a line, and going
into the center of the Taj Mahal, clad with our shoe covers, where the replica
of the crypts were. Apparently the
reason they don’t let people tour the crypts downstairs anymore is because too
many people were suffocating. They don’t
let people climb the towers either because it’s a place where love-sick people
would commit suicide by jumping if they cannot marry the one they love (it's a
very loving monument). Looking out over
the river was nice too. There was a
garden and an army camp on the other side.
He said that if there was any trouble, the soldiers could shoot from
there.
As was typical of most of the guides, he stopped well before
the drop off at the train station and asked if we liked his work and if he did
a good job. This was our 2nd
cue to give him a tip. Les handed him
$20, and he gave a common response, “Is this good? “ (Is that all?)
April 29-30—We arrived in the holy city of Varanasi, and a
man came up to me to show me a text message with my name on it. Someone was there to pick us up! (Yes, Amir!) He handed us off to another guy
who had a car and who drove us to a very fancy hotel called the Surabhi
International Hotel.
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| Yummy veggie food! The rounds are stuffed potatoes. |
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| City scene of Varanasi from our roof |
Our room was enormous,
with warm water and a real shower/bathtub, toilet paper, morning newspaper, super
great food at the restaurant, and A/C.
Best of all, the electricity would turn off about 20 times a day, but
the hotel had a generator that would keep everything cool and lit. A guide (Ashoka, sent from Amir) came to show
us around, but we wanted to sleep off the train ride, so Les asked him to come
back the next day at 1:00. The next day
we waited for him for about an hour, and when we called he said it wasn’t
convenient for him to come now, but would be there the next day at 3:30. We arranged a guide through the hotel for the
morning to take us to the ghats (steps going down into the river) along the Ganges
in a boat.
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| Sacred Ganges |
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| Our boatman (rat under floorboards) |
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| Busy and sacred ghat |
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| ...for every size shape and color |
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| I forgot to ask about the umbrellas |
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| Les and a thriving temple (red) behind him |
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| Largest cremation ghat |
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| Temple on top a colorful ghat |
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| Chanting prayers on the gha |
May 1—Amit Singh Kushwaha (guide) sent a driver to get us,
and through the streets we went toward the holy Ganges River. He got scalding hot coffee for each of us,
and we stood with the men talking politics, reading the paper and socializing
before work. We walked through the
crowds approaching the river to bathe, stopped at a platform where a priest
blessed us and gave us each a bindi (for a price), and we jumped into a simple
boat with a floor where a rat was hiding.
(The boatman sent that rat swimming at one point.) Our dock was the ghat where a king sacrificed
10 horses. It’s the most holy ghat where
we saw newlyweds—she in her dazzling red saree and he in a brilliant turban—coming
here still attached by a white scarf after their wedding. People were soaping up vigorously, dunking
themselves, pouring water over themselves, praying, playing, swimming, and
conversing. We rowed down the river and
saw more ghat that were less crowded and made by kings who wanted a second home
here by the river. Some of them were
transformed to guesthouses; some of them looked abandoned. We came to the laundry area where sheets and
clothes were laid out along the steps to dry.
Men were whipping the laundry against large, flat stones, then rinsing
again. Then we came to the small
cremation ghat. There was one big fire
burning, a large pile of logs on the shore with a man draped over it top-face
up, and men from the family were pouring sandalwood shavings and clarified
butter over the body. The man looked
very well taken care of, and would soon become ashes (except for the pelvis and
sternum) to be put into the Ganges with the rest of the millions of people
before him. Apparently, certain folks
who die like pregnant women, cannot be burned and are instead thrown in the
Ganges with a big rock to sink them, where the fish, crocodiles and turtles can
return them to the cycle of nature. Women
are not invited to the burning where the eldest son or the father lights the
pyre, for fear that she would be overcome with emotion and hurl her body on the
fire.
We turned around and rowed downstream looking at all the
colorful buildings and steps. There were
temples—one busy one with corporate advertising painted on it. We ended at the larger cremation ghat, where
there were heaps of ashes and trash piles of sheets and décor that came off the
body before cremation. The buildings
themselves looked charred and black. We
really enjoyed our time with Amit; there didn’t seem to be any hidden agendas,
and he was very informative!
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| Temple rules |
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| University Temple |
We got a call from the desk at 1:00 saying our guide was
here. Ashoka said that he couldn’t make it later to show us the evening
festivities, and that he would like to take us on a temple tour. We went with him to the University temple
where he showed us where people were giving milk, flowers, money and coconut to
the priest in a little walled in area around a pouring fountain that had a
hanging copper pot with a small hole in the bottom where water was streaming
down onto this pouring fountain. People
would touch the water and then their foreheads and receive blessings from the
priest. There were different areas where
people could read about, view the likeness of, and touch little brass feet at
the door of each god or goddess: Shiva, Vishnu, Brahma, Ganesh, and
others.
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| Toothbrushes. Chew on the stick and brush. |
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| Fish Vender cuts fish |
When we came back to get our
shoes, I didn’t have 3 rupees (I saw on a sign that each pair of shoes costs 1
rupee to guard.) —only 1 or 20. I gave the guy the 20. I had to ask for the change. He gave me 10. I pointed to the sign and indicated I needed
more change. “As you wish,” said another
man. I asked for 5 Rs. He shook his head no. Now I don’t care about the money. It’s a dime.
But instead of asking me for it, taking it from me feels discourteous. I resent that; and that’s the part of the
cultural exchange I don’t think I understand.
I can only assume at this point that they see me as someone who can
afford it, and they need it, and that it’s only logical that they should have
it. Why does it feel like I’m
disrespected? It’s that way when people
aren’t clear when booking tours, when taking a taxi, when entering a retail
business. “Culture Shock.”
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| Hand weaving my the Muslims |
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| Punch cards tell the loom the design |
Next we went to see the silk saree weaving process. We met another man who showed us a place
where boys were hammering punches out of some cards that would tell a loom how
to make a design in the fabric. It
reminded me of the computer cards from my youth. Next, we walked down narrow, dark hallways
where they died the fabric with vegetable dyes in hot water, and then to a
cramped area with looms. The dirt floor
had holes where the legs could hang down and work the pedals. The men tossed the bobbin back and forth as
they pushed the pedal that would change the computer card at the top of the
loom. Weaving this way is the job of the
Muslims. As we entered the “call to prayer” ensued, so we didn’t get to see
much weaving; they left to go to the mosque.
Next, the man took us to the showroom.
We sat and looked at the fabric on shelves, and he talked to us about
how the business was certified Fair Trade.
I really enjoyed seeing the process, and I thought about our weaving
teachers at Emma, and how much they would have enjoyed seeing the cards and the
whole process.
May 2—When I think about it, almost EVERYthing I see in the
street is different than home: all the animals—mangy dogs yelping in the night,
the folks sitting deep in their squalid stalls selling food, snacks, drinks,
etc., the colorful and rigged together or live transportation cramped with as
much as folks can carry or push and pull, dirt and dust rising into eyes and
through my scarf into nostrils, the mixed smells of jasmine, cow dung, incense
and sizzling spices, the sounds of call to prayer or the endless loud shocking
beeping of vehicles, the bland dress of men in button up collared shirts and
jewel-like bling-y wrappings on the women, people who approach me with “Hello,
Madame…,” and I feel so rude to ignore them, but sorry if I actually engage…the
desperation…, the head wiggle that I love so much and don’t quite understand,
the movies with coy flirtatious girls and pursuing boys and fantastic unison
dancing using eyes and faces in stylized ways, the ways the sexes intensely self-segregate,
bathing and making fires anywhere in public, physical crowding and cutting in
line, the food that has given me brand new tastes and a huge appreciation of
how varied a vegetarian diet can be, the temples and what it is like to pay
respect to something sacred along with the endless stories and gods that Hindus
know and use as references, how basic things can be, and still work—how little
one actually needs—how some don’t have 20 cents a day on which to live, the
impermanence of some trash (Yeah, India) and how permanent is the trash more
akin to mine at home, babies with heavy eye-liner to keep away “the evil eye,”
and the pace of things that still makes my head reel trying to make sense of
the chaos and etiquette. Whew, India.
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| Men in lines at the train station |
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| Monkeys at the train station |
We went to the train station about an hour early. Les stood in line to ask questions regarding
our ticket and learned about how older Indian women feel they have a right to
cut right at the beginning of a long line.
It’s another cultural tradition. Les
gave the firm elbow tradition in return.
Finally he gave up and we went around the tracks past the baby monkey
and family of cows where people helped us figure out exactly which car and seat
we had. (It wasn't on the sheet we got
from Amir.) We are thankful for the cars
that are air-conditioned. Our 4-person
berth was full of 6 people. A woman who
said that they were a family of three asked if one of us could stay in the bunk
across the hall instead. We obliged but
sat in the berth. Who were the other
two? We never really found out, and we
ended up staying the night with the family of three anyway. We ordered dinner, that came at 9:30: soup,
curry, rice, and chapattis. The water in
a bag looked strange, so we left it. It
has been quite enough food for me when we split a meal.
May 3—I got to watch how a 3-year old Sikh boy (Justraj) gets
his hair braided and wrapped. His father
so lovingly tied the square fabric in the back and wrapped the two back corners
around the bun above Justraj’s forehead and ended with a kiss.
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| Sikh Family |
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| Victoria, the shape of her building |
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| Sue at Victoria Monument |
We got to the Astoria Hotel, and it looked
pretty run down. The room was big, had
an air conditioner under the window, but the pillowcases and bathroom floor had
hair all over it. I didn’t mind the
little cockroaches that folks can’t help in a tropical place, but it didn’t
look like it had been cleaned. After a
nap and going downstairs for a meal, we asked if we could change rooms to the
new part. Yes, for twice the price. Later I asked if I could borrow a mop,
squeegee and soap to clean the bathroom.
They sent someone up and I felt much better about it. Soon it was clear that Les felt ill. We arrived at the restaurant downstairs at
8:05, he couldn’t wait while dinner was being made so I stayed for the
vegetable korma to appear. The waiter
brought me the check at 10:15. I asked
him where the vegetable korma had gone. “We don’t have korma.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I forgot.”
(I was the
only one in the
8-table restaurant.) “What can I have for dinner at this point?” “Nan?”
“Do you have anything with vegetables?” “Mixed vegetables.” 5 minutes later I had my little delicious
platter of veggies, and 3 minutes after that the kitchen went dark and was
closed. I slept with a beautiful
lightning and thunderstorm outside.
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| Les finds pupils wherever he goes! |
May 4—Les still feeling ill, so I caught up on this
journal. Later we went out to explore,
ate a lemon pancake and lassis, found a million people playing cricket in the
park, and wandered down to Queen Victoria’s monument. It was a grand, white
place with bulbous towers and huge gardens that people were enjoying in small
groups. We passed the reflection pond
with dozens of hawks roosting in a grand tree, a sidewalk with 3 geese who kept
watch and who Les entertained, then wandered toward some music. It was a rally or celebration of sorts giving
rise to the issues of killing children; which reminds me of a story our driver
told us…. He said that his wife was in labor for 3 days delivering his second
son. A woman who just delivered a
daughter asked the doctor to throw the baby out; and before he did this, the
driver’s wife said, “Please don’t; we will take her.” So the driver considers this daughter a gift
from God. Wow. It is a different world here….
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| "Contains No Fruit" ? (bottom) |
Back to the walk, we found ourselves in an
area where people were gathering. It was
growing dark; the nearly full moon rising.
Bats were out to get those nasty mosquitos. (GO BATS!) Suddenly, the old set of pipes in a barely-filled
fountain spurted water, light and music!
It was very sophisticated! Water
sprouted and spun and hurled into the night sky! Wee. A man behind us sang
along with the three songs and then it was over. We kept walking south, passing another lit
fountain with lovers—some with chaperones me thinks—all around it on the dark
benches. We crossed, looking for an
Indian fast food joint called Haldiram Bhujiwala, but we kept coming up in the
wrong place. We weren’t sure what
“dangerous” looked like either. Were
those guys drunk? What did the man who
approached Les and said, “Father,” want? What about those huge holes in the dark
sidewalk? Is there cow poo in there too?
Every time Les takes out the video
camera, 2-5 men gather round to see through the viewfinder with him; it’s
actually very funny—like an instant magnet.
We finally found the place, with a small girl sleeping and begging
(holding a metal plate) outside each door. (I gave her my clay cup filled with
leftover sauces.) A doorman let us in,
we looked through the menu and thought we would try something we’ve never heard
of from southern India, paid at the kiosk and went to the appropriate counter
to pick it up. That was quite efficient.
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| bugs on the bathroom floor. Oops |
May 5—Because I left the bathroom light on, millions of bugs
came in, touched the hot bulbs and died.
The floor and spider webs were flooded with these bugs. Live and learn.
We went to the India Museum that was right at
the end of our street, and walked into every cranny they had. We saw tons of
stone statues, mostly of gods and animals to form doorways, stupas, temple
panels and gargoyles.
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| Under an Ancient Doorway: India Museum |
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| Dog Kisses
|
One of my
favorites was a bed-sized footprint of Buddha.
One area had panels that depicted all kinds of scenes, from a group
using an elephant to pull a man’s tooth, to scenes with gods dancing on bodies
they’ve killed. Another room featured
taxidermy animals and reconstructed skeletons.
I liked looking to see which ones had fused sacrums. I loved the cervical spine of the giraffe,
and the hole where the dolphins spew air and water. The extremely tall legs and short body of the
elephant seemed weird. In jars were
freak babies: a goat with 8 legs, a two-headed sheep and a few normal looking
human fetuses. Another room showed an
endless amount of mineral specimens and another a collection of ancient mollusk
fossils. They had a room that featured
paintings that was pretty filthy--too bad.
An Egyptian room had a real mummy, explanations of how they built the
pyramids, and I loved the lists of each of the god (water, air, earth, sun and
a number of others).
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| Les's Deity Gene: God of Entertainment |
I imagined that the
Hindus could correlate some of their deity to the Egyptians. Another curious display was a series of cases
with indigenous people from all over India.
There were life-sized models of what the people looked like doing some
typical thing like fishing or grinding grain, wearing appropriate costume, and
a description of their habitat and culture as of the census of 1961. Some African-looking people made homes in trees
were polygamist, and were watchful that no one took advantage of the women.
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| Mother Teresa's Tomb |
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| Quote |
After a quick lunch, we hired a tuk-tuk to take us to Mother
Teresa’s mission. We agreed on 100Rs,
but (as in typical style) the man begged us for more as we left, yelling that
he was a poor man. As we went through
the streets we saw chickens being killed and plucked, meat hanging in their
stalls, men getting a shave, and dirty, poor people sitting against the
buildings. Mother Teresa’s tomb was very
peaceful, with “I DO NOTHING HE DOES IT ALL” written in orange flower petals on
top. We went upstairs to see her simple
bedroom. (How did she get up those stairs when she was so old?) Downstairs was a collection of her words,
photos, background, notes, peace prizes, sandals and dinner bowl, and other
assorted things. I admire her tenacity
and faith. Wow! How she suffered and maintained the vision of
Jesus’s love throughout her life! I had
no idea just how many fingers of outreach she had started and developed. With all that in place, still there are
plenty of poor in the city. I wonder
what it was like back when people were dying in the street everywhere.
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| Bindis from the ghats |
We hired
a rickshaw (a man with no shoes running through the streets with us in a light
cart) to bring us back to the hotel for $2.
I went between feeling as I was causing this man physical pain, and
giving him a job for 20 minutes that could feed his family for a couple of
days. Les already thought he’d give him
more before he asked for more than his fare.
After Les gave him more rupees, he said that he needed boxes for his
feet and to please give him more. We had
to walk away from him pleading for more.
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| Jasmine in my hair |
We went to dinner at the Blue Sky Café and had “Vegetable
Tarka” (Tarka is the name of our dog).
It was delicious! We met Jannell,
an American world traveler and blogger, and did the tourist chat with her. It was so nice to talk with like
tourists. I also met some women at
Mother Teresa’s place who were learning about and volunteering to help women
get out of the prostitution cycle and the sex slavery trap. I told them about Emma Willard’s “Slave No
More” club and our efforts in Vietnam to connect with girls rescued from the
sex slave world.
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| Les is a dandy |
May 6—We woke at 3AM and took a car to the airport. Now that the streets were relatively empty of
cars, we could see how many people actually slept in the streets. I was surprised to find MANY more than I
expected. Every raised platform, be it
an entrance to a building, vegetable market stalls or parked flatbed truck had
people (and dogs) sleeping there. There
were also lots of people who had opened cot springs and were sleeping on the
sidewalk on these “beds.” I saw only one
with a mosquito net folded over him. I
also saw folks working with jackhammers and sledge hammers breaking up a cement
road barefoot and in sarongs.
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| A garden in every cranny. Imagine that in the US! Now THAT'S Progress! |
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