Back in Canada

As the title suggest I am back in Canada, reunited with my beloved family. Canada decided to greet me with snow fall, and we had a wonderful sushi dinner.

Falling Action

Well folks, barring some extraordinary event this will be my last post to you in India. I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride, I certainly did.

So what is the future of Such Strings as These? Well, I will certainly put up a post when I arrive safely in Canada, and I intend to do a bit of editing for spelling and grammar. I may put up a few more posts about reverse-culture shock if it should hit me. I’ll probably leave the blog up permanently, surrendering it to the ages.

I'd like to thank all you for following along. and to those who actually commented, you have my special thanks. This place would have been a ghost town without you, and I doubt I would have enjoyed the process very much.

Please keep me in your prayers,

Over and out.

Old Age and a Wedding

Sorry for the lack of posts or pictures recently. I've really been doing nothing of note these last weeks, and am generally gearing down (or up, depending on your perspective) for a trip around the world in a small metal canister.

I think I've entered the old age of my trip, where things have begun to seem a bit tedious in order to ease me into the next stage of my journey - going back home. It's now less than a week until I arrive, but that length seems absolutely filled with minutes and hours. As much as my time here has been amazing, I'm looking forward to going home, especially in the midst of the Canadian winter, which I've always found beautiful.

The only thing I've done recently was attend a portion of a Hindu wedding, but I didn't have my camera, nor did my roomates take many photos. Weddings here take place in the evening, and the actual ceremony doesn't start until after midnight. We arrived at about eight o'clock pm. The wedding was taking place at a hall which obviously specialized in that sort of thing. The grounds were lit up with christmas lights strung through the bushes. At the gate of the grounds, right after the parking lot was an archway, under which stood two men dressed up like some kind of traditional Indian soldiery, with massive fake moustache on their upper lips and large spears, guarding the archway. We walked down a red carpet lined with men in handsome suits and women glittering with gold in silk sarees. There was a small band playing with drums and horns. Beyond that was a dessert and tea stand, and further along the main dining area, lined with various stalls, and beyond that a massive tent with seats. At the far end of this tent was a small dais on which sat two golden thrones with plush red velvet cushions.



The colour scheme was white and orange. There was techno music playing in one corner of the tent. I was there due to a rather awkward string of association with the bride and groom - the volunteer worker for the brother-in-law of the sister of the husband of the sister of the bride. We took seats under the tent and I chatted and mused for a couple hours. Waiters would come by everynow and then offering coffee, or little snacks. One young man came by with drinks and I asked if it was chai (tea). It was coffee, so I declined, but after a few minutes the same boy came back with some other drink. I asked if it was chai, he said it was, but it was not the milk tea that I had my heart set upon. I declined, and his face seemed incredibly disapointed. I realized he must have gone off specifically to get me tea, and merely grabbed a different kind than I was hankering for. He came back several times, each time with things I didn't want. Finally, I just grabbed a coffee for his sake. It was the first coffee I've ever had.

After some time I looked up from a conversation to see the groom on his throne chatting with some other men. He was wearing a gold and red turban and a gold and red coat. He seemed fairly happy and was smiling. We had dinner, although I didn't eat much because I had eaten earlier that night. I just had some spring rolls and some saffron milk, because saffron milk sounds so exotic. It tastes like very sweet milk and has a slight yellow colouring. After we ate we got up to leave, since it was already about ten. As we were leaving we saw the bride walking towards the tent. She was dressed in a red and gold saree, and covered in gold jewelry, from bangels to a gold chain running from her nose to her ear. Her eyes were downcast, she walked slowly, surrounded by a cohort of other women and preceded by a camera man pointing his obnoxious light at her. The opposite of her jovial, relaxed groom, she looked completely timid, subdued and...well miserable.

One person in my party pointed out that this can hardly be blamed. For many women in India arranged marriages still spell the beginning of a period of servitude.

And Now the Time is Near...

Sorry I haven't posted for a while, the Internet has been down for over a week. Two new volunteers have come from Australia and so I'm once more living in the office.

As the title suggests I am quickly coming up on the end of my Indian sojourn. In less than two weeks I will return to Canada. I'm looking forward to seeing all the people I love, and many of the beautiful features of my home. Living inland, in a flat country, and a smoggy city has really given me appreciation for the abundant natural beauties of my home. I'm dying to see a sky full of stars and hear the sound of the tide crashing against the beach.

On the other hand I'm sure there are many things I'll miss about India, from the exotic trees, to the wonderful people I've met, and the incredible job I've had. I'll probably even miss the thin layer of dust and dirt that seems to cover everything. One thing about India, at least from the perspective of an outsider, is that everything seems to have some story to tell. From the scars on the streets dogs, to the pink-painted feet of a young woman, the bright laundry hanging over a decrepit brick building and the spider-web of wrinkles on an old man's face. Perhaps its only that I'm so ill acquainted with the stories of this place, perhaps and Indian coming to Canada would feel the same way. But you also get the sense that the harshness of poverty, the dangers and extremes of life here give everything a gritty reality, and a story-like depth that is lacking in the western world.

Delhi Trip (Three)

I tried to be a little laconic about my own personal experiences in the last post, in case anyone links to it, as they did with the last Bahai conference.

After the evening of the first day of the conference we were invited to the home of a family where we spent the night. They had one of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever been in, with stylish furniture, decorations from all over the world, and most importantly many, many books. We had a very nice time visiting them, and relaxing in their home. The next day, they were kind enough to make us a wonderful breakfast.

That evening, the evening of the second day of the conference, they took us out to a nice restaurant in the Islamic section of the town. I had tandoori chicken and nan bread with rice pudding for desert. One thing I like about India is how unapologetically religious people are – something you don’t get very often in North America. The picture behind us was of the Kaaba (Islamic place of pilgrimage) and the menu had the opening line of the Qur’an in it.



After this wonderful dinner we returned to our hosts' home for a few hours until about 10:00 when we left to catch our train back to Lucknow. I’m sure you’ve all had enough train description, so I’ll just finish by saying that we got back to Lucknow feeling very tired and despite the fact that it had generally been a good trip, we fell into our house with the grateful sighs that are the privilege of every traveller.

Delhi Trip (Two)

We arrived at the Bahai Lotus Temple at about 11:40 am. The conference began earlier, at about nine I believe, but we were late because of our train. Brilliantly coloured tents had been placed around the spacious grounds, including a main tent which worked in lieu of a hall. After registering we took our seats under the main tent to listen to the talks.





Representatives from different parts of India were presenting the current state of affairs in the Bahai community, in their particular region. Unfortunately the presentations were in Hindi, and while I did have someone translate for me, I’m sure I missed a great deal of what was going on. I’m afraid because of this language gap, the entire conference remains for me, a slightly misty affair.

After the presentations we had a break during which everyone wandered about, meeting old friends and making new ones. I went up to the temple to pray, and took several photographs. After the break there was a workshop where people gathered in groups beneath the tents, and studied the letter sent on October 20th from the Universal House of Justice.





By lunch time the number of participants had swelled to above 3,000. After lunch we gathered under the main tent to listen to more talks, which focused generally on the theme of accompaniment. In the evening there was a cultural show but I didn’t attend it, since we had decided to visit some friends of Sohayl and Nicole’s, who were kind enough to board us for the evening.

The next day we arrived back at the temple a little before nine. The talks that day focused on cluster progress and the goals of the Five Year Plan. This was followed by a short break, after which there was another workshop in which we divided up by region and discussed plans for our specific clusters. After lunch there were further talks.

Again, I have to apologize for not being able to go into specifics because of the language gap. You can find out more from the conference's official site, here.

Delhi Trip (One)

We arrived at the train station at about 8:30 pm on Friday. Unfortunately I didn’t take any pictures of the station or the train, because its not a good idea to advertise your valuable goods in these places, and I’ve already had my camera stolen once.

The station is a large building, with a central hall about three stories high, and filled with people of all ages and descriptions standing about, or sleeping on thin blankets or newspapers, their heads resting on their luggage. Some have an arm or blanket thrown over their head to block out the lights and the noise, but its very remarkable that so many people can get to sleep in that centre of bustling movement. Then again, one of the things I’ve learned in India is that when you’re truly tired, you can sleep just about anywhere.

We met some people who were coming with us and then moved to the platform. The platform smells of urine and is crowded with people and shops selling everything from pillows, to watches, to inflatable toys. As we stood waiting for our train a white bull walked through the crowd, heading right towards us. We all hurriedly stepped aside and the bull’s horn nudged a man standing nearby. He gave out yelp of surprise (the bull didn’t hurt him) and jumped back. The bull continued on sedately, and began eating from a large garbage can.

Before long the train arrived and we climbed on. We were in sleeper coaches that would carry us overnight to Delhi. There were no compartments separated by doors, just alcoves with six bunks in them. Because initially, only Nicole was going to Delhi, our seating arrangement was rather haphazard. Nicole and I were sleeping in one ‘alcove’ while the kids and Sohayl were supposed to sleep in a different coach. While Nicole and I were in our seats Sohayl came and told us that their coach was full of drunk soldiers who had sealed off the doors. So the kids and Sohayl ended up staying in our coach, and doubling up with their cousins who were just a few alcoves over from us.

I grabbed one of the middle bunks and lay, staring out the little window. The train rattled and swayed. The darkness outside was punctuated by orange lights in the distance, and the backs of lonely buildings. I love riding trains, just for that sensation that you are travelling through the world, without really being a part of it, like an invisible observer seeing all the parts of the world you would never see from the streets. The combination of the train’s antiseptic tube lights, the darkness beyond the barred window with its grimy lintel, and these orange oases makes you feel like you’re in some kind of ghost caravan floating through the desert. There is the back of a two-story building, some kind of office or outpost, with a chain link fence and a row of cloudy windows on the second story. A green light is slowly blinking behind one of these windows and there is a vague outline of couches, and perhaps a man. The building is lit by orange flood lights. What was that place? Who worked or lived there? What does he do? What does he want from life?

Inside the train there is a study of people. A young woman with three small children takes a seat. She’s dressed in a bright yellow and orange saree, with rings on her fingers and toes, the bottom of her feet dyed pink, a piercing through her nose. A young man in army fatigues, a black toque and red bicycling gloves lies on a top bunk with his hands behind his head, silent and aloof. A soldier walks passed with a submachine gun dangling over his shoulder, and his stomach dangling over his belt. An old lady swaddled in shawls peers at me through her glasses. A moth lands on my notebook. The train rattles, sways and rolls.

Every now and then the train stopped at a station somewhere and the coach doors opened to let a few passengers on. Some have bunks reserved, and others are just riding to another stop nearby. Just as the train started rolling away from one station, a woman’s voice wass heard shouting, “Please, please!” There’s some conversation in Hindi, she pleads, and finally they let her on. I can’t understand what she’s saying, but I can hear that she’s close to tears. That tone of voice is international.

Rolled up in a sleeping bag, with my backpack as my pillow, I began to fall in and out of sleep, awoken by peoples’ voices, the tramp of feet or the tea man making his rounds shouting, “Chai Chaiye!”

At six in the morning I woke up a little more firmly. The train was supposed to be in Delhi by six, but it was three hours late – a common occurrence in India. People began to wake up and slowly the sun rose over the Indian countryside.

Across from our alcove sat the old swaddled lady and a young man in his twenties or early thirties, obviously her son. Together they sat staring at the countryside through the window, when suddenly the man leaned forward and rested his head on his mother’s chest. It was very touching, and somehow sad.

A little later on two beggars jumped on the train at one of the stops and moved from alcove to alcove singing a song and jingling their cup of coins.

Finally at about nine we arrived at the Delhi station. We had a quick breakfast and took a bus to the Lotus Temple. It was a beautiful, sunny day with a cool breeze, the perfect weather really, and it put me in a great mood.

Here's the Delhi railway station.



Here's the famous India Gate.




Here I’ll end this particular post. The last time I wrote about that big regional conference in Lucknow, the post was apparently sent around as a report of the conference. I don’t actually mind that, but I’d like to separate my own reflections and experience from strict conference coverage.