Such Strings as These

Back in Canada

2008-12-21T00:20:00.001-08:00

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

2008-12-18T18:23:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-14T07:44:00.000-08:00

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...

2008-12-07T21:52:00.000-08:00

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)

2008-11-30T22:25:00.000-08:00

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)

2008-11-27T22:18:00.000-08:00

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)

2008-11-25T00:19:00.000-08:00

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.

I'm not a Tourist

2008-11-20T19:58:00.000-08:00

Sorry I haven't been posting lately. It's just been business as usual. This weekend I'm going to another conference, this one a Bahai conference, in Delhi. I'll be back on Monday.

One thing I can't stand about taking photos is the feeling that I'm some kind of uninitiated tacky tourist. I've been here for around eleven months now, and I always feel like a complete idiot when I start taking photos of things I've been looking at for almost a year. What I really need is a large, professional looking camera, a press pass dangling from a lanyard on my neck, and a cameraman following me at my shoulder. They should sell cheap, fake versions of all these things to us poor bloggers who don't want to feel like tourists.

Conference on the Eradication of Childhood Poverty

2008-11-15T18:28:00.001-08:00

On Friday, which was International Children’s Day, I attended a conference on the eradication of childhood poverty, which was organized by the Bahai Office of External Affairs, UNICEF, and some other NGO’s and organizations. It was held at Amity University here in Lucknow. There purpose of the conference was to create a coalition for addressing the issue of child poverty in Uttar Predesh, the state I’m living in.

Nicole has had a big hand in organizing it and I joined her in the morning at the University where we began setting things up. The conference began at about ten thirty in a very classy auditorium. I snagged a seat near the plug, set up my laptop and prepared myself for the enjoyable work of a scribe, recording the speeches, and creating a soft copy of the registration book.

The attendance covered a wide variety of people from the government, NGO’s, faith based groups, students of education, members of UNICEF, members of the press and some children. The attendance was close to two hundred people, counting the children.

In the morning session we had four guest speakers. The discussions had a large focus on the Millennium Development Goals, the goals set for each country in the year 2000 to be fulfilled by the year 2015. Some of these goals include reducing the rate of infant mortality, and halting the spread of HIV/AIDS

One of the major themes addressed was the idea that poverty doesn’t just constitute income and matters of finance, but includes health, education, family ties and ethical values. There was of course a great emphasis on education as the solution to poverty, both the education of children and the education of mothers in issues such as healthcare. There was also a discussion on the need for improved statistics and more frequent monitoring.

If there is one lesson that I could take from listening to these various speeches is that the eradication of childhood poverty is in no ways a simple problem. During the course of the speeches we discussed gender discrimination, healthcare, abortion, women’s education, quality of schooling, literacy, skill formation, sex education, caste discrimination, hygiene, access to water, nutrition, ante-natal care, accuracy of statistics, the role of religion, infant and child mortality, child labour, child marriages, children’s rights and many other topics. It is, as I’ve written before, not a problem that you can just throw money into. As one of the speakers said, the Indian government has ample funding to apply to these issues, but it is often sent back because no one knows how to use it.

We had a tea break and some more speeches after wards. After these talks, some of the children came up and either asked questions of told anecdotes. I’m going to include two of them but since they were speaking in Hindi and I had to copy down a translation someone was giving to me, it contains only the gist of what they were saying, and not the exact phrasing.

“I have five siblings, including myself. I wanted to continue my education, but my parents want me to take care of the home. I wanted to do something for my parents and study a lot so I can honour them. My parents do not allow me, but I have got admission in class 10 and I have the books. My parents have told me to stop but I still want to study. What can I do?”

“We keep talking about stopping childhood marriages, but it hasn’t been stopped. In our neighbourhood there was a girl, and we tried very hard and we stopped her marriage. Her parents asked who we were to stop the marriage, and we explained the situation and convinced them that they were doing wrong. If someone is just telling everyone that my child is going to married we should stop it. In schools if the child has no book for one week, they kick them out of the class. They should ask why we don’t have our books because sometimes we have no money for the books.”

If anyone is confused as to why it is a good thing that they stopped that girl’s marriage, it’s because child marriages is a problem in India. Some girls at the age of twelve or thirteen are being married off. It’s illegal, but still a large issue.

After the children spoke we had lunch and then there was a workshop, which I didn’t record. The participants separated into different groups and discussed specific issues. I was impressed by the comprehensiveness of the various talks during the course of the conference, but that is what you can expect from having so many experts in the field gathered together. Hopefully the coalition they form will be able to take that comprehensiveness to the field of action, and affect marked change.

Videos of the Countryside

2008-11-09T21:13:00.000-08:00

At one of my reader's request I've uploaded two videos of the Indian countryside. The first one is of the mango groves.

This second film was filmed when we were on the train riding from Varanasi back to Lucknow.

Jumping on the Bandwagon

2008-11-04T20:48:00.000-08:00

I hate to write even a word about the American Election, but I thought it might be interesting to note, that even in India it's big news. Almost no country in the world but Canada (and probably not even Canada) cares about Canadian election, but the American Elections have been appearing daily in the news here. Generally the articles I read seemed pro-Obama, but we only get one newspaper so that's to be expected.

I came to India jubilant at the thought that I could get away from endless Bush jokes and the exceedingly long election campaign, but there's just no escape from it. Four years from now, if there's a Mars expedition during the election campaigns, I'm going to be the first volunteer.

Happy Diwali!

2008-10-28T23:24:00.000-07:00

Last night was Diwali, one of the major Hindu festivals, also known as the Festival of Lights. Like most holidays people had been preparing for Diwali for a couple weeks now. Traffic at the markets increased, and Christmas-style lights began to adorn the houses. But the true scale for measuring the nearness of Diwali was the number of fire crackers that could be heard each night. In India they call fireworks, fire crackers, which shows the emphasis on sound over light. Every night for about a week and a half we’ve heard an increasing number of thunderous bangs. It drove the dog crazy and sounded like a war zone.

Diwali finally arrived and also happened to be the day that Anna was leaving. One of the Diwali traditions is to buy sweets as a gift for the people you visit and so many shops had covered their storefronts with colorful buntings and were displaying trays of sweets. In the evening Anna and I packed up our luggage and went to the Mohajer house which I’ve moved back to.

As the sun descended the amount of fire crackers increased. Finally when it was dark we went up onto the flat roof of the house, three stories up. From there we could see a wonderful view of Lucknow stretching out before us, and colorfully lit up.

Most firework displays in Canada happen in one direction, and usually follow certain protocols of safety and design. But Diwali was 360 degrees of fireworks. Everyone was launching them from the streets and the rooftops. I would be watching one burst in the distance and see a flash of light from my peripheral. When I turned around the dying embers of some golden flower were exploding over our heads. And some of them were quite literally exploding over our heads, something you don’t generally get to see in Canada due to regulations. There were so many explosions that it sounded like a revolution.

One particular rocket whizzed over our heads and landed on the rooftop, so we decided to go inside. We visited with the family that lives above us, and then went to our house and chatted while the sounds of explosions rang all around us.

Our neighbors above us said they were lighting firecrackers so we went back to roof. At this point, a couple hours later, the show was in full swing, with a constant burst of fireworks in all directions. Red clouds blooming far in the distance, green rockets firing in the fore, one house would suddenly start their show, launching explosion after explosion, and suddenly a huge one would burst directly over us. The sky was thick and smoky.

At ten thirty it was time to drop Anna off at the train station so Arastu, Arman, Sohayl, Anna and I all got in the car. The night was wonderfully cool and alive with explosions. When we got to the train station it was as empty as I’ve ever seen it. We said good bye to Anna and rode back to our beds.

Suffice it to say, it was the best firework show I’ve ever seen, if only because the whole city was the show. I’ll be missing Halloween this year, and I also missed Canada Day, but I feel more than compensated.

Seige of Kathak

2008-10-25T22:56:00.000-07:00

Last night I attended the kathak performance. At six Anna and I hopped in an auto rickshaw which took us across town to a small theatre. While in India I’ve learnt to read the Hindi alphabet, even though I don’t understand what the words mean. However this comes in handy from time to time, like tonight where I was able to read the word ‘kathak’ on a banner, and so we knew we had arrived at the right place.

The performance was supposed to begin at 6:30, and we arrived at about 6:38, but of course any artistic performance must be late, and in India they must be rather late. We sat down in the theatre to wait. It was a fairly average theatre, with a raised stage, balcony etc. but like most buildings in India it had a layer of wear about it. Paint was chipped, the floor was bare cement, and my chair was missing the wooden top of the armrest. The heavy, dark red curtain had a subtle hint of age to it, and made me think of a fat matronly woman past the prime of her life, squeezed into the heavy and ridiculously obsolete fashion of her youth. I had time to figure out exactly what the curtains looked like because after sitting around for half an hour, we had to listen to people speaking in Hindi for another half an hour. Finally at about 7:30 the performance kicked off.

The lights turned off, Indian music floated through the theatre, a woman’s voice did more talking in Hindi. Then the lights came up and the dancing finally began. It was about half an hour long, which was kind of disappointing since we had to listen to half an hour of talking to get to it. We believe the dance was telling the story of Krishna, but what that story was we don’t know because the singing and talking was of course in Hindi. The majority of the dancing was done by eight ladies in bright Indian costume. When the music was fast it was enjoyable to watch, as they performed neat turns and graceful, flowing steps. However at times there were sequences where the ladies would be sitting down on the floor, and would be moving very, very slowly, perfectly synchronized, but perfectly boring. They would raise one arm – very slowly – and then the second. Then they would slowly, slowly bring them back to their heart. Then slowly, they turned their heads to look in a different direction.

So I would not call it a great performance, simply because the dancing did not really impress me, although it was entertaining enough, and a good experience. Besides you get what you pay for and the performance was free.

And now Such Strings as These steps fully into the world of modern blogging, with a video.

Kathak Attack

2008-10-24T06:54:00.000-07:00

There’s a certain kind fun that comes from sitting on the fringe and watching. It’s fun to be the one who simply smiles and drinks tea. Care free. I get to do a lot of that in India.

Yesterday Anna arranged through some contacts to attend a dance class. I accompanied her to fulfill my duty as consummate observer, and walker-home-after-dark. We arrived at the house and spoke broken English with the dance teacher until the students arrived. Then we moved into the small dance hall with marble floors and a large mirror. I took to my post on a couch to one side while Anna joined the ten or so young girls on the dance floor.

I spent my time smiling, taking photos, drinking tea, and reading snippets of Kafka when the dancing got repetitive. They were concentrating mostly on foot work, performing intense stepping drills, accompanied by hand movements. One, two, three. One, two, three. While their thighs were undoubtedly burning, I was smiling, sipping my tea, eating a biscuit. The style they were doing was called kathak, a traditional Indian dance. I beleive that this weekend I may have an oppurtunity to see some professional kathak, so we'll see.

The Escalator

2008-10-21T04:42:00.000-07:00

The other day I took Anna to the mall for some coffee and social commentary. One thing that’s great about the malls of India is the escalators, which are just like the escalators everywhere else in the world. It’s the people that are different.

A middle aged man and an older woman – his mother - walk up to an escalator. I nudge Anna. I know what’s coming. The little old lady with her wrinkly face, her grey streaked hair and her yellow and green sari is stiff and nervous. Her son holds her arm and patiently beckons her towards the escalator. They hesitate there above the first black step. He times it right, gently pulls her forward and she emits a scream, while her arms jerk. She’s done it. She’s stepped onto the escalator!

The Tiffin Man Can

2008-10-17T07:41:00.000-07:00

I debated calling this post Anna and the King after the movie, but while there is now an Anna in my life, there is unfortunately no King.

Anna is the new volunteer, a thirty-year-old Chilean/American. She’s a freelance dance teacher who specializes in freestyle and modern dance. She’s working with FAS on the physical education part of the curriculum, and will be doing some teaching in City Montessori School.

We’ve moved back into the office and this time around things have been set up with a more independent eating arrangement. Where as before we were going to Sohayl’s house for lunch and dinner we now get our meals from the Tiffin man. Tiffin is one of those words that you don’t hear in Canada, at least I never have, but it’s actually an English word. Being in India, a country that took its English from the real English, and which still has the literality and precision of an English-As-A-Second-Language speaker, one learns a lot of new things about the English language.

But I digress. The Tiffin man brings us our lunch and dinners now. It’s sort of like delivery – Indian style. Instead of pizza or Chinese food we get rice, a vegetable topping, a sauce, bread, and some sliced onions and cucumbers.

Blog Action Day! - Poverty in India and Canada

2008-10-15T07:53:00.000-07:00

Today, October the 15th is Blog Action Day! Blog Action Day is a day where people with various online venues are encouraged to all write about the same issue on the same day. The point is to raise awareness and begin conversations. Last year the topic was Environmentalism and this year its poverty. If you're interested in this idea or want to read some examples, go to this link here:

http://blogactionday.org/

Well, I'm in India, and I can definably write about poverty!

In India poverty is always there, in your face, under your sandals, pawing at your pants begging for money. The next door neighbour of Sohayl's house lives in a home made of tarp, mud and little bits of fence. When you go to malls beggars, children and women, grab at you with little bowls asking for money in Hindi. Many of the rickshaw drivers live in their rickshaws.

In Canada poverty exists of course, but I've only seen it in from the beggars in Victoria. It's far less in your face. Of course there is one place that poverty exists and that we've probably all seen right in our living rooms - you know, those long commercials in sepia where a child looks sadly at the camera with flies on his face while Amazing Grace plays in the background and a guy in a moustache tells you that for just one dollar a day you can support a child.

I've seen an adorable child with flies on his face in real life now. I felt no surging pity in my commercial-exasperated heart. Maybe its just me but I've found that commercials like that only jaded me to the truth. And of course while having flies on your face is sad, I found the ladies with severed legs and missing teeth on the steps of the Hindu temple in Nepal to be a lot more disturbing. Seeing a bare severed leg for the first time is a shocking thing. It arrests you. Something is wrong here, something wrong at the most primordial level of the survival instinct. So where are the funds for the crippled-beggars? Where are the informercials with their broken, twisted limbs blown up on a sixty inch plasma screen? I know that my mind goes into sleep mode everytime I see a picture of a small, cute crying child.

And I've also witnessed (see my blog post about soap operas) the way organizations spend that money you donate. I've talked to many people here who been in and out of NGO's and they've all told me that the system doesn't really work in the long run.

Not really a big surprise. There are very few, if any problems in the world that can be solved by dumping money into it, especially with so many corrupt people in administration.

So what's the solution? Well of course the problem is a spiritual one, created because of corruption, greed, ignorance and a host of other spiritual problems. So the solution should probably be a spiritual one. And if that doesn't work for you, it should at least be a hands on solution. It should be less 'give a village a fish' and more 'teach a village to fish'. Instead of 'saving' a village, let's empower a village to save themselves.

Of course money is a part of that, but its not the most important part. The most important part is education, especially at a grass roots in-the-village level. If you do feel the inclination to give money, rather than go out and work with poverty with your bare hands, I'd advise that you do extremely thorough research. Just because an organization is well known does not garuntee it give you the most for that dollar.

For anyone else who has a blog, if its still Blog Action Day when you read this, why don't you write up your thoughts about poverty? Or at least talk about Blog Action Day. The way things truly change in this world is when enough people come to the same conclusions and have a change of heart.

Carts

2008-10-11T20:18:00.000-07:00

I wrote a post about carts but at just that time I got an e-mail asking where all the photos went and now I've been holding off posting until I can get my camera and a cart together in one place. However I forget it every single day so you're just going to have to read until I can get my act together.

In Lucknow, and probably in other parts of India, its quite common to see hand or bicycle powered carts in the neighbourhood streets. Hardly a morning goes by with out the cry of “Aloooo!” ricocheting down the streets. Aloo means potato. Often these carts peddle vegetables, so that if you wanted you could do your daily vegetable shopping when the cart comes down the street. One day Nicole and I were walking back from the office and she wanted some vegetable so we stood very still, listening for the vegetable seller and trying to guess from where he was shouting. Melody had a theory that they have a very special way of shouting, and it certainly seems so, because their shouts seem to carry very well.

There are also carts, usually pulled by bicycle, which buy garbage, such as plastic bottles and bags. They then sell this garbage to factories for recycling. Our garbage man also has a bicycle cart, with four massive burlap sacs in the back into which he empties our trashcan. Even though I’ve never said anything to the garbage man except, “thank you” and “one minute” (both in Hindi), he’s probably my favourite person that I’ve never talked to in the whole world. He’s probably in his thirties, has only one arm, and he has two children that help him sometimes. He always wears the same blue shirt everyday. There are also popcorn carts, and men with little toy horns or cotton candy sometimes walk down the street.

Many ‘shops’ operate from carts. There is an intersection not far from our house, which always has several fruit stalls, and at least one teashop, which are simply on wooden carts with metal wheels.

In other news a new volunteer from America is coming! Apparently she's involved in dance and will be staying for around a month. So she and I will be moving back to the office.

Weather is Cloudy with a Slight Chance of Catastrophic Floods

2008-10-04T19:38:00.001-07:00

I realized the other day that I never did a post on weather, which is an odd thing considering that weather can be such a big deal in India, especially when you’re from the Great White North. If I have done one already and just forgot, someone please tell me.

When I first arrived in India, I was surprised to find it very cold. Unlike Canada you can’t get away from the cold in India because they don’t have central heating or insulation in the houses. The houses here are made of bricks. Between late February and mid March the weather was gorgeous, sunny but nice and cool. Then as the season progressed it began to get hot. It was a dry heat, and I think the hottest it reached was about forty-three degrees. A killer when you’re under the sun, but survivable under a fan. Luckily the hottest season was during that teacher-training course which we held in the Bahai Centre, and the Bahai Centre is a very cool building.

In Canada we don’t truly sweat. I never understood what sweating was like, or what it was for. You sweat when you work out, or on those rare ‘hot’ days. In India sweat is your friend. At night you lie on your bed, your blanket discarded on the floor, wearing as little as decency allows and sweating copiously. The fan circulates the air, or a breeze comes through the screen and when it hits your sweat you are, for a brief moment, beautifully cool. Before I came to India I didn’t realize that sweat was salty but there were times when I could have seasoned a meal from my skin.

But Forty-three degrees isn’t really that hot in India. Every one was warning me about forty-eight degrees, telling me horror stories about fifty in the shade. But it didn’t happen. The great cataclysm never came and therefore my novels that take place in the desert will always lack a little something. The monsoon came early this year, and it never really went away. The heat dropped to the thirties, but the humidity sometimes made it feel a lot worse.

My comfort had grave effects of course. Mango season was cut short, and many of the mango blossoms were torn off the trees by incredible down pour. This meant a smaller mango yield and apparently some farmers who were in debt even committed suicide because they didn’t grow enough crops to pay the bills. When things go bad in India its very grim.

In the past month or so the long rains had another, more obvious effect. There was flooding in many parts of India with thousands of people displaced from their homes. In Lucknow the Gomti River flooded over a neighbourhood not far from our own. We went there to visit a family not long after the flood receded and the whole thing smelled of fungus.

However when the rain did disappear the weather quickly became hot and humid. But now autumn is on the way and the weather is cooling down.

It's the Little Things

2008-10-01T21:14:00.000-07:00

I’m finding a little difficult to think of interesting posts because after nine months in India I’ve gotten pretty used to it. Little things that would be strange, incredible or even illegal in Canada are perfectly normal here.

For example the other day we were driving along and saw that someone had built a tent in the middle of a roundabout at a busy intersection. If someone tried to move onto a round about in Canada they’d get kicked out pretty quickly.

Just today I was standing outside a store waiting for Sohayl. In front of the store was an area paved by flagstones, a sort of parking lot for motorcycles and scooters. A busy road ran alongside the parking lot and on the other side of the road was a school. It was early in the morning so there was a large crowd of students moving into the school, and parents watching them safely cross the road.

In the cracked and worn parking lot there was a little tap, and there in this incredibly public place, was a little boy, perhaps ten, going through his morning routine. He bathed in the tap wearing nothing but blue shorts, then put on a shirt. He wrapped a towel around his legs (men in India often wear long pieces of cloth around their legs, a bit like a sarong) and then with it on changed his shorts from a blue to a yellow pair, put on some pants and was ready for another day. All of this beside of a busy intersection with tons of people wandering around, and driving by.

And just so you're all up to date, Chase left about a week ago.

Another Guest

2008-09-25T02:47:00.000-07:00

We've had another guest at the Mohajer house, a man named Chase whom I estimate is twenty-eight. Chase is an American Bahai who just came over from Afghanistan where he was working at an NGO. He was a very friendly out going fellow, and had an endless supply of interesting stories and anecdotes.

The Mohajers seem to have quite a tradition of taking people into their house and after Chase had gone to the Office where he was staying some of us were standing around asking, "So, who is he, why is he here and how long is he planning to stay?" We didn't mean that in a rude way, we just didn't really know.

(I was tempted to title the post "Be Our Guest" but I've already had one complaint of someone getting a song stuck in her head from my post titles)

Malls

2008-09-20T20:38:00.000-07:00

Lucknow is a city of about four million and has four malls. I know of at least one more that is under construction. Usually in Canada you go to a mall for the cheaper products. It’s cheaper to eat in the food court than in a restaurant, it’s cheaper to buy clothing at Wal-Mart than in some independent boutique. There are exceptions, but generally if you want shopping to be convenient and cheap you go to the mall rather than wandering around the town.

In India it is the opposite. One burger at the McDonalds in the mall costs fifty-five rupees. In a decent restaurant in the centre of downtown I can by a whole meal for thirty rupees. If I buy at the stalls I could probably eat for ten rupees a meal.

So the food in malls is not cheap, it’s more expensive. The same is true for the clothing. And malls rarely have anything but clothing. In India if you want you can go shop for the fabric you want, then go to a tailor, tell them how you want the neckline, the sleeves, the fit etc. and in two days they’ll give you a hand-tailored outfit. And this is way cheaper than buying clothing in most of the malls. But malls are trendy. It’s a status thing. Only the rich and hip can afford to hang out at the malls, so to the malls they go.

The malls do have a few Wal-Mart type stores. The one we usually use is called Big Bazaar and it sells food, clothing, kitchenware, furniture and toys. These are pretty good for bulk purchases, and its where we do a lot of our food shopping. A while ago we went to Big Bazaar to buy a garbage can for the office and the sales clerk told us that if we never used the garbage can, it would last for two hundred years, guaranteed!

Why do birds suddenly appear?

2008-09-15T22:52:00.000-07:00

I have nothing to write about now a days because life is comfortably settled, therefore I will write about bird chasing.

Our office is actually a house, specifically the Mohajer’s house before they moved into their current house. And now it’s our office. In our office there is a section where instead of ceiling there is a metal grate. When it rains the rain comes in, but the floor under the grate is depressed so the water can’t get into the rest of the house and flows down two drains. There is probably some very practical Indian reason why one would build a house like this. Usually we keep the grate covered with a sheet held down by bricks, but in one of the latest monsoons it blew off the grate and a bunch birds got into the office. As I write this there is one bird sitting on the fluorescent light tube behind me. Another is somewhere near Sohayl and they’re both squawking and warbling. I put the sheet back over the grate, but it’s so old and torn that they seem to get in through the holes in it. If life were an Alfred Hitchcock film, you would not want to live in this building.

Rohit and I have a method. There’s an empty bedroom raised about half a story over a tiny garage. In this room there’s a screen door, which leads to nowhere but a cement railing and then a drop, but it’s good for ventilation in the hot little room. I open this screen and then Rohit and I run around the house clapping and herding the birds to the room over the garage. Then I dash in, close the door behind me and clap the bird out of the screen door.

I haven’t had to do this for months, probably because of the monsoons but it looks like its bird chasing season again. Today the reason why I do this was brought home when one of the birds flew into the fan and was killed, blood pooling beneath the little thing.

Not Much to Say

2008-09-08T21:07:00.000-07:00

The Internet in the office is not working, so I apoligize if I don't write much for a little while.

I looked at my camera and it seems the people who stole it took around thirty pictures of themselves, and one video of the daughters dancing. It's odd to have photos of the house and everyday life of your robbers. There are also photos of three different camera shops where they obviously tried to sell them.

Well not too much else going on right now.

The Mystery of the Missing Camera

2008-09-01T02:08:00.000-07:00

Our story begins at 4:00 AM on Sunday morning, with a word.

“Lua!” Uhg. Your name just doesn’t have the same ring when it wakes you up at 4:00 AM.

That morning we had decided to go on the six and half kilometre walk from our house to Sohayl’s mother’s house. We had to go early to beat the heat, and besides that, India is magnificent at that time.

All my thoughts were on you dear readers, as I scrabbled for my camera. I looked for it in its bag. Odd – it wasn’t there. I looked through my suitcase, and underneath my bed. It was nowhere to be found. I knew I hadn’t misplaced it anywhere else; my camera should have been in its bag.

Now, we flash back to the previous Friday, at the timelier hour of 8:00 AM. I was walking around the office to give our dog Snow White some water, when I heard someone say, “Didi!” Didi is something like “sister”, and its something I’m often called by the children in the streets who shout, “Bye Didi,” as I walk passed.

There were two little girls at the gate. They tried to say something to me in Hindi but I wasn’t able to understand, so I communicated to them that Sohayl would be along in a minute. Sohayl had just gone to drop his kids off at school and arrived shortly. It seemed that the girls’ parents were at work and they had just discovered that their school was closed, or something like that. Since the girls are in a children’s class held at our office they came to us. So we let them into the office and they read picture books and Sohayl bought them some food. I didn’t think much of it, but afterwards Nicole mentioned that although the girls had said they had no food with them, they managed to spill that same non-existent food on her office floor. And apparently they found out that a relative of the girls had been home that day. So something was fishy.

And then on Sunday my camera was fishily missing. There were also some other things missing, including Arestu’s mp3 player, and my webcam. It was pretty clear that we had been robbed.

Today Nicole phoned the mother of the girls up and told her that the angry American who lived with them (That’s me. Canada isn’t very well known.) was going to call the police on them. At lunch time when I was back at the house the mother and her children came to talk to Nicole. Since I was supposed to be an Angry America, and didn’t want to mess up the act I decided to go to the backroom. They talked in Hindi but I could hear the mother of the children crying, and Nicole told me she had given them a bit of a lesson in morals, and a description of the Indian penal system.

I got my camera back, which is the most expensive item. In fact a camera like that would be worth about 13,000 rupees if you converted it directly and you can eat a meal on less than 25 rupees, that’s over 500 meals. Of course they probably couldn’t get that good of a deal on it. Hopefully they’ll find the other items and return them, however they might have already sold them. Apparently one of our cleaning ladies saw the mother bargaining something with a guy at the local photo shop, so either I was lucky to get my camera back because of a failed negotiation, or my webcam has gone far away from me.

Food, Glorious Food

2008-08-25T02:07:00.000-07:00

Some people like Indian food, but I never really have. However I came here to serve not to eat. So now let me take you on a culinary tour of my Indian experience.

The day of food begins with a breakfast including a fruit salad, a bowl of corn flakes, a piece of bread with jam and butter, a milk tea and a banana milk shake. Sometimes I drop a course or mix things up but this is a general breakfast. There’s also a dish called Poha, which is rice with several herbs and nuts and lime squeezed over top, which we tend to eat if we have no fruit. The interesting thing about the fruit salad is the way it transforms depending on the season. When I arrived in India we had oranges, and in the middle we had mangoes but both fruits are out of season and now we have a lot of sweet limes, papayas, bananas and guava.

Because the kids and Nicole have celiac disease, which means they can’t eat gluton, the range of meals is severely limited. To further complicate things Armon is lactose intolerant and Sohayl is a vegetarian. Because one never knows when there’s gluton in some dish, unless you make it yourself, we can’t eat out very often. Sohayl was saying just the other day that he misses taking the kids out in the evening and eating from the street vendors.

At about ten thirty in the morning we have tea and either samosas or kastas. The samosas here are filled with potato and a mixture of other herbs and spices. I usually eat it with a thin red sauce. Kastas are bread pastries, which you use to scoop up a mixture of potatoes, chickpeas and some sort of brown sauce. Sometimes we have Barifi, a sweet made of condescend milk that often has a layer of real silver on top. They hammer the silver into the thinnest flakes imaginable and apparently it’s fairly good for you.

As you can see in the above picture there's an industry of making plates out of pressed leaves. This is a good industry because it employs people, and the plates are bio-degradable.

Of course it can leave a mess, but since most of Lucknow is devoid of garbage cans, that's to be expected.

Lunch usually consists of rice, dahl, subsi (vegetables that usually include potato) and yoghurt. After lunch around three we usually have another cup of tea.

I've also had some other meals such as dosa, a south Indian crepe made from lentils and rice and which is generally eaten with some kind of sauce and potato filling. Another south Indian dish is idli which are small cakes made of lentils and rice and eaten with various sauces.

In Canada, we have a large variety of food: Italian, Mexican, Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Greek, Indian, Fast, British, and that’s only in my small retirement town. In Lucknow, city of several million I’ve only seen Indian Food, Western Food (Fast food) and Chinese Food. Not much variety for someone with international tastes. Still I'm luck to be fed at all and my meals are very healthy.

The other side of food in India is the health issue. When I first arrived here I got sick a few times, but now I've gotten used to it. Strangely enough its safer in many ways to eat from the street shops, because at least you can see the vendors preparing the food. In the restaurants there's no way to know what's going on in the kitchen. But you have to take it with a grain of salt and a bit of adventurous spirit. When you find your sugar is full of ants, you just sift through them with a spoon and hope you catch them all.

Birthday

2008-08-20T20:46:00.000-07:00

Well yesterday was my Indian Birthday, and today is my Canadian Birthday. I'm now nineteen.

My host family doesn't really celebrate birthdays so I wasn't expecting or planning anything. The day before my birthday a package arrived from Canada with some gifts from my family. On my birthday Rohit bought me a big bag of chips and around lunch we went to a mall so that Nicole could shop for groceries and I treated myself and Rohit to burgers as a sort of birthday meal. In the evening we went to a Bahai Deepening and the youth suprised me with a cake.

Conference Photos

2008-08-19T03:10:00.000-07:00

Here's the wonderful thing about Facebook: I didn't take any photos of the conference, but a friend of a friend of mine did, and thus I bring you photos.

This is a picture of the dining hall at the conference.

Here's a picture of the main conference hall. Dr. Mohajer (Universal House of Justice Member) is speaking.

Here's a shot of the audience.

Here's some people at the lunch line.

Here I am with the youth.

Last Day of the Conference

2008-08-16T19:56:00.000-07:00

Well it was a busy week! The last day of the conference we went to the hall late because it was India's Independance Day and we didn't want to deal with traffic, road blocks and parades. We finally arrived in time to hear Dr. Mohajer speak again. After that we had lunch and I spent the rest of the day hanging out with the youth. Last night we had many of the members of the NSA over at our house for dinner so I'm glad to relax on a Sunday.

National Conference - Days One and Two

2008-08-14T21:47:00.000-07:00

Sorry if I haven’t posted in a few days, I’ve been attending a National Conference for the Bahai Institute. Tuesday was the day before the conference, where people were setting up and guests were arriving. I tagged along with Sohayl, both to help out and to do an on-the-fly business meeting. Poor Dr. Paymon Mohajer has been so busy that the only time we were able to have a meeting on the Pathfinder book was in the car while driving to the conference. I was taking notes while our car dodged cows and motorcycles and bounced over potholes.

At the conference I met up with the youth and we spent the next nine hours making spiral binders. We needed seven hundred binders for the conference and only a hundred were made up to that point. It was actually fairly fun. The work was easy if tedious and so we spent the time chatting and laughing, or when they spoke Hindi, I let my mind wander.

The next day was the first day of the conference. We were in a large hall that could hold well over a thousand people, had a sound system and five large screen projecting the image of the speaker or PowerPoint slides. There were representatives from all over India, and from many other countries around the world. Some of these included Nepal, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Australia, Kazakhstan, the United Emirates of Arabia, Israel, and one young lady from Canada. Because there were so many people who spoke different languages, they had headsets on which one could hear translations.

The first half of the first day consisted of three talks, each over an hour long, by Dr. Mohajer, the Secretary of the National Spiritual Assembly of India, and a Counsellor of India. After these there was a lunch break. At this point the conference was broken up by region and they were to have consultation, but I don't belong to any of the regions and was nodding off so I decided to walk around the grounds for a while. After this I found the room where several youth were similarly resting and we chatted and watched bits of a Hindi movie.

After a tea break around six there was a question and answer panel and another talk. Finally at around nine we had our supper and went home.

The next day opened with two talks, one on Junior Youth and one on Children’s Classes. This was followed by another discussion period, which I once more skipped. At some point Sohayl told me that the Chief Guest was coming tonight, and he asked me to get some people from different countries to present a bouquet to him when he arrived. I asked him who the Chief Guest was and he didn’t know. So I went to the different groups and elicited volunteers to help me welcome this mysterious Chief Guest. There was another panel, at which Sohayl spoke and afterwards I had my little welcoming committee summoned to the stage.

I could tell they were a little anxious, since they didn’t really know what they were supposed to do, and I certainly didn’t know what we were supposed to do. Sohayl came up and ushered us out of the hall towards the gate. There was a six-piece band standing in a line to welcome the Chief Guest. We stood in another line, ready to hand off the still-absent bouquet and shake the hand of the still-mysterious Chief Guest. We waited. The band played. Our line was moved up further. We continued to wait. The band stopped playing.

Finally activity occurred, the band played, a white car drove up, cameras flashed and the Chief Guest showed up. The flowers still hadn’t arrived so we simply exchanged ‘namaste’s’ with him as he walked past. After he had gone by I was grinning at the absurd haphazardness of it all, having just represented Canada to formally welcome a man whose identity I didn’t know. I finally asked Sohayl who said that he was the former Chief Secretary of the government of Uttar Predesh (the state I’m in) and according to Sohayl a ‘bigwig’. As I was walking back to the hall, the guy with the bouquets finally arrived and Sohayl handed me a bouquet and suggested that I present it to the former Chief Secretary. I just walked up to where he was seated, and stepped into the line of important people giving him flowers. Five screens projected me giving him my bouquet and after I had walked away I laughed my head off, at how silly and random the whole affair had been.

This evening of the conference was a public meeting, which was open to anyone. There were two other talks followed by a series of performances. First about twenty little girls from CMS performed a dance in what I assume was a traditional India style. Then the five dance instructors of CMS performed a dance, which was actually less impressive than the first. Next the Bahai youth of Lucknow performed a play. It was in Hindi, but it was sufficiently clear from the actions, and the little Hindi I know what was going on. In the middle of the play two of my friends Neha (who came to Nepal with me) and Cheeki performed a traditional Indian dance, which was of much higher calibre than the others. I don’t know about Cheeki, but Neha has studied dance for several years. All in all it was a fun performance, and no, I didn’t take any photos.

After this we were waiting for supper, which was rather delayed. I hung out with various people and spent some time enjoying the night breezes. At one point I went with Rohit to the kitchens, which were the most fantastic kitchens I have ever seen. It was sort of a court in between two buildings, with a floor of rough stone tiles, and walls of chipped yellow. The ground was littered with gas canisters and a pile of charred wood chips. Men were cooking bread in steel barrels, and sitting about several fires making rice. A sterile white light lit the whole scene, and all was covered with a wonderful layer of grit, charcoal and rust. Tableaus like that carry a sense of reality, and a kind of earthy contentment you just don’t get from a microwave.

After supper we finally climbed into the car in a state of exhaustion. Poor Nicole had another meeting to attend, so we left her behind. And we realized when we were nearly home that we had also left the house keys behind. And the office keys were locked in the house. We thought that perhaps Nicole was at Sohayl’s mothers house so we drove there. No one home. We continued to drive around until we found a public phone. Sohayl phoned Nicole up and she said she would meet us at the house. We drove back home, now very, very tired and laid down to sleep on the marble porch of their house. Luckily I had my dupatta (the scarf-like part of my outfit) to use as a pillow. For anyone out there who thinks that one requires one of those mattresses where you can electronically adjust the level of firmness and two feather pillows to get a good night sleep – well I can tell you that a perfectly comfortable and restful sleep can be achieved on a slab of marble and a thin piece of cloth. At long last Nicole arrived and we flung ourselves into our beds.

I’ll update you on the last day of the conference once it has finished occurring.

Flowers? You Shouldn't Have!

2008-08-08T01:35:00.000-07:00

One thing anyone who wants to go on a year of service should keep in mind, is that you will end up in places you never expected to be.

Like yesterday, when I attended a seminar on classroom management held by our Australian volunteer, Dr. Boris Handal (sp?). I certainly have no interest, indeed I have distaste, for the field of education.

In Lucknow there is a sort of franchise of schools called CMS (City Montessori School - however they are not remotely Montessori) which was founded by a Bahai named Mr. Ghandi (no relation to the famous Ghandi). In the school certain teachers are designated teacher trainers who are supposed to keep up to date on new teaching methods and share them with the rest of the faculty.

So this seminar was for the teacher trainers and I found my self in very distinguished company of teachers, some of who had their doctorate. And of course both Boris and Sohayl have thier PhDs and are very distinguished in their fields. And then there's little ol' me with my high school diploma and an employement record that includes McDonald's and a corner store.

When refreshments arrived, Sohayl, Boris and I received ours in nice china with a gold trim, while everyone else got their's on paper plates and plastic cups. Then at the end of the day they gave us each a bouquet of flowers. It was very strange to meet with that kind of hospitality when I have no qualifications and wasn't adding anything to the seminar - in fact I was using up precious tea!

On another note my grandma Nanny is sick and in the hospital, so please send her your prayers!

Phone rings, door chimes, in comes...

2008-08-02T02:43:00.000-07:00

Life has picked up a bit of pace because of some company that's come and coming. Sohayl's brother, Paymon (sp?) Mohajer, his wife, and their three kids have come from Israel to visit. Paymon, is a member of the Universal House of Justice, the head of the Baha'i administration.

There are three other Mohajer kids - cousins of Rachelle, Armond and Arastu - who we see often, so now there are nine kids running about the house.

Tomorrow a professor from Australia is coming to help Sohayl with the math book of the elementary school curriculum that he's working on. Since the Pathfinder book is temporarily on hold, while Paymon evaluates it, I'm working on the language book in the curriculum. Since I have no background education, except thirteen very boring years of it, it's an interesting experience. I'm reading some books on early childcare education to at least get a feel for the subject.

But hey, it's all service and good life experience.

Cows

2008-07-30T20:11:00.000-07:00

In the Canada if you see cows they are safely behind fences and in barns. In India cows are as much a part of daily life as the trees and the roads. The farmers release them in the morning and they wander about, grazing on the garbadge piles that litter the sides of the streets, and in the evening the cows wander back to their farms. the farmers save money on cow food and the city get's its own garbadge disposal system.

Cows are not just in the neighbourhoods, but also on the highways. They sit in big clumps in the centre of the road and we all have to make room for them. In India cows are sacred so if you kill or hurt one of them you're in big trouble.

Of course sometimes cows and humans have a little trouble sharing space. The other day I saw a woman collecting garbadge in a bag (some people live off scavanging garbadge and selling it to factories and such for recycling) when a cow started eating from her pile. She hit the cow's flank with a reed until it walked away. And again just the other night we had gone out for sweet lemon juice and the worker at a fruitstand was slapping a cow away from his wares.

But normally the cows and the humans get along just fine, walking down roads together without any incident.

Six Months

2008-07-28T20:30:00.000-07:00

Today is my six month India anniversary! I've been writing a lot about the country, because I'm sure that's what you're interested in, but I should also mention that this has been a very spiritual experience for me. I don't know how much of what I've learnt and felt I can retain when I return to Canada, but hopefully I'll be able to take some of this home.

First of all when you write a book about the purpose of life, you're bound to figure out what that is. As it states in the book there are really two parts to the purpose of life, a sort of general framework that can be applied to all human beings, and then each individual's personal expression of that purpose. I won't say I know what my personal purpose in life is, but my ideas are solidifying.

Also, those who know me informally probably know that I've had a big thing for Pepsi and pop in general for about as long as I can remember. I even have a Pepsi t-shirt back in Canada. Well now it's been two months and twenty days since I've had a carbonated beverage and I don't even want one anymore. I fully acknowledge the supremacy of water. There are a lot of factors that made me quit, kindling that's been piling up for a lot of years, and I have to thank Sohayl for being a part of that. However to certain people who said I was 'addicted' to it, I must point out that I stopped drinking it cold turkey, and there were no sweaty withdrawl symptoms. I'd call it less of an addiction and more of an obsession.

Anyways, we'll continue with your regular scheduled program, "Snapshot of India" in the next post.

In the Land of Freedom

2008-07-22T02:40:00.000-07:00

One interesting thing about India is that men are allowed to urinate in public. All they need to do is find a wall. I often find myself hastily jerking my head away when I see some guy standing on the side of the road.

Privacy is a very different matter in India. The other day I was at the Bahai House late at night, and myself and another woman were sleeping on couches in one of the side rooms. The lights were out; we were silently, peacefully snoozing away when a woman came in and started talking at full volume and jangling her keys about. And she didn’t see that we were sleeping, apologize and leave; no she just started a loud conversation with the other woman and soon someone else joined them.

Sohayl always calls India the land of freedom because no one will stop you from doing just about anything.

Appendectomy

2008-07-18T02:21:00.000-07:00

Arastu had an appendectomy a few days ago. The poor guy was rushed to the hospital on his fifteenth birthday. The surgery went fine, and he’s now recovering, but he’s sore, tired and very bored. Both Sohayl and Nicole are also tired, but they have amazing reserves of fortitude. Happily I’ve been able to repay just a little of their kindness to me by watching the kids while they’re running around worrying about Arastu and our meals. Microwaves and ovens aren’t common in India so we can’t exactly have freezer pizzas for supper.

In other news the two volunteers left early.

Nepal - Day 9

2008-07-11T21:09:00.000-07:00

The next day was our last day in Kathmandu. The transportation was back on to bid us farewell so we bussed to the bus station and bought tickets for seven o’clock that night. We decided to kill some time buying souvenirs in the narrow streets of the market. Neha bought some clothing and jewellery for her family and I bought a kukri – a small Nepali knife. And don’t worry it wasn’t actually sharp, but more of a display piece.

After shopping we went to the Bahai Centre, packed, said our farewells and then went to the bus station.

The second bus was far nicer than the first and even played a Nepali movie for part of the trip. The driver was a speed demon and sent us ripping down the narrow winding mountain paths. It’s a strange and exhilarating site to see your bus looming towards the edge of road, when nothing but a black void is beyond it. We passed through the same magnificent mountain scenery but this time it lay shrouded in darkness, pierced here and there by the lights of houses. It looked a bit like a second night sky, though mankind’s stars can’t compare with God’s.

It’s a fascinating site to see little outposts of light in the darkness, a little brick porch lit by a single yellow bulb, go zooming by into the night. A freeze frame of someone’s life. Each of those tiny lights is a home, peopled and important to those people, but nothing more than a pinprick to me. They looked incredibly tiny, insignificant and forlorn. I began to feel a sense of the expansiveness of the earth. And I was grateful, thinking that it was better to be this streak of light, better to be in this zooming bus, than in one of those tiny houses. How many times have I looked at planes soaring through the sky and wished I were going wherever they were going?

The rest of the trip was uneventful and similar to the ride up. I made it back safe and sound with sixth months of India to look forward too.

Nepal - Day 8

2008-07-11T21:06:00.001-07:00

The next day the transportation was down again so we walked once more to the embassy. More forms, more fees. They told us to come back at 4:30 and by then it was about 11:00. We had a lot of time to kill but I eagerly dragged Neha and Surendra to an oasis that I had spotted.

Sushi! It was very expensive for Nepal, but my first sushi in five months was delicious.

We wandered about in boredom, stopping to rest at a pond, or to buy snacks. Finally 4:30 hit, and I got my Visa at last, ensuring another six months in India.

We walked back quickly, because Neha and I had a dinner arranged with Chris Anderson. Chris is a Canadian Bahai and friend of my family, so when he heard that I was in Kathmandu he kindly invited Neha and I out to supper. We had a nice meal and Chris was an excellent and interesting conversationalist.

Nepal - Day 7

2008-07-11T20:57:00.002-07:00

On the seventh day the transportation was on again! We determined to bus to SwayamBhu a temple whose main attraction was a staircase of three hundred twenty five steps. I was filled with all sorts of anticipatory thoughts of Asian temples on the top of massive staircases – a sort of classic archetype of the Asian stories I had read. I was ready to climb all day long to feel the same ache in my legs as my martial artist heroes.

Well apparently three hundred twenty-five steps is really not a big deal. On the first part the stairs were fairly shallow and only at the end did they rise steeply. We reached the top barely breathing hard. The view from the top was nice but it was somewhat spoilt by all the tourist salesmen.

We bussed back and socialized and played games for the rest of the day.

Nepal - Day 6

2008-07-11T20:57:00.001-07:00

On the sixth day there was still no transportation and we had exhausted our list of nearby tourist attractions. So instead we opted to see a movie in the theatres, just to kill the time. It was the first cinema I had been to in five months, and was pretty standard fare. We saw The Incredible Hulk, their only English movie. It was fairly run-of-the-mill, though it did have Edward Norton in it.

That evening there was a Bahai Feast at the Centre. Some of the youth sang a welcome song to us, which was very sweet, and another girl did a traditional Nepalese dance. There were some Canadians from Vancouver there and we had a nice conversation. The rest of the night was just socializing and finally bed.

Nepal - Day 5

2008-07-11T20:56:00.000-07:00

The next day was Monday so we set out on the hour and half long trek to the Indian Embassy. I’m sure I don’t have to describe the visa process of long lines and confusing forms. The only interesting thing was listening to the conversations of the various people from all over the world who were applying for their visas. Finally we finished and the man behind the counter told us to come back in three days.

We had lunch at a little café and then began the long walk back. Eating at interesting little cafes and restaurants is one of the fun parts of traveling and I had really missed that in Lucknow, where you just can’t trust many of the restaurants. But I got my fill in Nepal.

The walk back was three hours long because we took some detours. We bought umbrellas to ward of the burning sun, and passed through some interesting markets, and another square famous for its temples and ancient buildings. One of the buildings was the house of the Living Goddess. I don’t know the details, only what I was told but apparently this young girl is, as her title would suggest, worshipped like a goddess for a certain number of years. Her house was an old-fashioned brick and wood compound but because I’m a foreigner we couldn’t go in.

The rest of the day was just spent relaxing and talking.

Nepal - Day 4

2008-07-11T20:40:00.001-07:00

The fourth day we went on an even longer walk to a famous Buddhist Stupa. On the way there a protest came marching down the street led by a line of policemen in riot gear and followed by students, some waving red flags and shouting. A little further on there was a burning tire in the middle of the road and a student standing near by with another red flag. I thought of the red banner of the Parisian barricades, but of course it was nothing so turbulent as that.

At last we reached the Stupa, which was centred in a square of tall, narrow buildings. The Stupa consisted of several levels of white stone, surmounted by a dome, surmounted by a conical tower with eyes drawn on it. From the top of this tower prayer flags were draped down to the bottom. The white stonewall surrounding this structure was lined with niches in which were set prayer wheels. These are cylindrical pieces of metal on an axel, which you spin with your hand, and which have sacred Hindu verses written on them.

The square surrounded the temple was well maintained and contained arts and crafts stalls, cafes, and a few more temples. One was a vibrantly painted Buddhist temple, which we walked through.

After we had done a circuit of the square it began to grow hot so we went to find ourselves a café. To my delight there was a ham sandwich on the menu. When you haven’t had a ham sandwich in five months, it begins to seem like a delicacy. I was quite excited, but alas equally disappointed. The sandwich was literally just two pieces of bread with some friend ham between and I had to salvage it with ketchup and a few pieces of lettuce that were on my plate.

We began walking home and it was very hot. I don’t generally burn very much, even in hot climates, but I was salmon pink after that little trek.

Nepal - Day 3

2008-07-11T20:09:00.000-07:00

Because we had arrived in Kathmandu late, due to traffic jams, we had missed the opportunity that Friday to go to the Embassy, and therefore we would have to wait until Monday.

On Saturday we woke up, and I had the coldest shower of my entire life. Anyone who’s ever jumped in a cold lake knows that it becomes hard to breath for the first few moments, and the shower was almost like that.

After breakfast we met Surendra, a young man who was going to be our guide throughout the trip. Neha, Surendra and I became good friends and had a lot of fun over the next seven days.

Because of the political issues the transportation in Kathmandu was shut down and we began to do what we spent most of our time doing – walking. The first walk was only about half an hour.

Our first tourist destination was a temple complex known as Pashupatinath. It was a series of different Hindu shrines and temples on either side of a river and encompassing a hill. Bahai architecture is all excellently well kept, but there is a different kind of beauty to these very old temples where the tree roots have grown into the stone. We crossed a bridge over the river and wandered around the shrines, which had a Chinese/Tibetan influence not seen in India. People sold Lays Chips and pop alongside stone idols and cripples with shorn limbs reached out, begging for coin.

Along the river there were these doors in the cliff and this was the second place in Kathmandu I was tempted to move into.

There was a large stone staircase leading up the hill, and at one point there was this little hole in the wall. You’re supposed to stand on the opposite side of the stair case, close you eyes, put your hands together and straight our before you, and then walk forward, and if your hands go into the hole it means your wish will come true.

There were a lot of monkeys wandering around, and at one point one of them grabbed an old lady’s bag and began trying to pull it from her. The other monkeys came around and screeched at her angrily. She managed to get the bag away, and we made sure to kind of walk in a circle around her until we reached the end of the staircase.

One of the major tourist sightes of Pashupatinath is apparently the cremation that goes on there. They wrap the bodies in white linen and then surround them with wood. As we walked towards the cremation grounds, we passed a stonewall and suddenly saw one of these wrapped bodies lying there. Neha and I both froze for a second and then glanced at each other. Stumbling across a dead body, even one wrapped up, when you don’t expect to see one, is a rather startling experience. We passed near the burning body, from which a great plume of black smoke was billowing, and I saw the feet of the dead man, sticking out from the wooden logs.

After this we returned to the Bahai Centre and rested for a short while. Then we were off again for another walk to another temple. We stopped briefly at a Hindu temple with obvious Chinese influence, witnessed in the pagoda like structure. It also contained some very nice woodcarvings.

We stopped for a moment and then carried on to our destination, Patandurbarchauk, a square filled with several temples. Here I began to see some foreigners, and there was a steady crowd surrounding the structures. I couldn’t go into any of them because I’m not Hindu, but it was still an interesting site. I don't have any pictures of this square because my camera battery ran out. Sorry!

Brick apartments surrounded the square, and someone had had the good idea to put a café in one of them with a roof top terrace. We climbed to the top and had a little snack. Actually that was probably one of the nicest moments of the trip. The view was spectacular, including not only the temples, but also the sea of brick buildings and beyond them the mountains disappearing into the mist. The weather was cool with a slight breeze. The terrace was made of warm orange stone and lined with bright flowers. We had a wonderful conversation and decent food.

Finally we returned home and spent the rest of the day relaxing.

Nepal - Day 2

2008-07-11T19:33:00.000-07:00

I have never been more surprised or delighted to wake up in a specific place. I opened my eyes, looked out the window and found our bus driving through the most incredible scenery. On our right, mountains covered in rich, exotic foliage drove up and faded into mist. On our left the road was skirted by an abrupt fall into a river. On the other side of the river the mountains soared upwards, and were covered in agricultural terraces. Little huts dotted both side of the mountain and the mist hung over all.

It’s hard to do the scene justice in writing, and because we were on the wrong side of the bus I couldn’t take the pictures I wanted. It was a grand, sweeping vista and augmented by all the Asian movies I’ve seen which take place in similar scenes. I had to remind myself, “Yes, you are in one of those places! You’re in Asia.”

The road we were on continuously climbed up into the mists and mountains until everything on the left side was a grey void, and it seemed as though we were hugging the edge of existence. There was some kind of traffic jam and were delayed for some time. I began reading and when I looked up again we were in Kathmandu.

It’s hard to say how Kathmandu is different from Lucknow unless you've been to both. Lucknow is flat while Kathmandu is hilly. The streets in the latter city are narrower, the buildings seem taller and more squished together, but both cities are fairly similar. Of course Kathmandu is a capital, so it contains many more tourist sites and to my delight more international food.

We arrived in Kathmandu in a time of political disquietude. Nepal has been moving towards republicanism for the last couple years and we got to Kathmandu four days after the King officially quit his palace. The government was holding meetings and the students were in protest over bus fare. When our bus arrived in Kathmandu it was soon swallowed up in a traffic jam caused by a student demonstrations. We sat for a while, and then our bus turned around and tried a different route. It drove into a little muddy street and began loading and offloading cargo.

Neha and I were a little concerned at this point. It was 10:00 AM and we were supposed to have arrived by 7:00 AM. We waited patiently, but were debating getting off the bus and striking out on foot. Luckily God sent a taxi into the little street we were on. We got in and drove to the Bahai Centre where we were going to stay.

The Bahai Centre is one of the nicer buildings in Kathmandu, designed by an American architect and kept in the pristine condition that most Bahai owned structures seem to be in.

It was in a fairly nice part of town with narrow streets and three story houses. I was severely tempted to move into the top floor of that orange house across the street.

Neha and I were welcomed and then showed to our room which had its own bathroom and a small kitchen. It was very nice.

After we settled in a bit we went walking to find some lunch and a phone to call my host family. Our lunch consisted of mo-mo’s, a Nepalese/Chinese dish which is very similar to a wonton.

We then went back to the Centre, and got some proper sleep. While we were there, there was a Ruhi Book 6 campaign going on so there were many youth at the Centre. We ate dinner there and talked with the youth before going to bed.

Nepal - Day 1

2008-07-11T19:17:00.000-07:00

We woke up early on the 19th of June to pack and eat breakfast. By ‘we’ I mean myself and Neha, an eighteen-year-old Nepalese girl who had agreed to accompany me. We’re both Bahai’s and met in the general course of community activities. Neha has taken several years of traditional Indian dance and is also an excellent singer.

By 7:00 AM we reached the taxi stand. The ‘taxi’ was a large white car, which had extra seats in the trunk. There were two people in the front, four of us in the middle and two more people in the back. Neha and I got the window seats and spent the next five or six hours with wind blasting us in the face as we stared out over the Indian countryside.

The Indian countryside is primarily flat, and vibrantly green. The roads are lined with trees and inhabited by cars, trucks, cows, horse-drawn wagons and motorcycles. Little side roads of brick or dirt stretch off across mustard and wheat fields, leading to little villages of straw and brick. There’s something very fascinating about seeing the people in these fields, or trundling along the road, and knowing that they live lives so extremely different from my own. What does the tiny boy herding the humongous water buffalos dream of?

We reached the Indian-Nepali border at around 1:00 PM. The countryside here was even flatter, and a strong wind blew the dust of the road into our eyes. We went through the process of securing myself a Nepalese Visa - a long line of filling in forms and ledgers. There was no problem from that end, and soon we were walking into Nepal.

We caught a rickshaw into the town where we were to catch a bus. As we were riding along we caught site of blue mountains in the distance and both of us joyfully exclaimed, “Mountains!” After five months of flat India I hadn’t even realized how much I missed mountains, and Neha was in a similar boat. The line from the first Lord of the Rings movie went through my head, “I want to see mountains again Gandalf!” I understood that!

We arrived in town, purchased bus tickets and then looked around for some lunch. The restaurants looked dubious at best so we decided on a junk food lunch of biscuits, juice and the Nepali equivalent of Mr. Noodles. We found a little patch of grass in a field and had a very pleasant and relaxing meal.

At 4:00 PM we boarded our bus. I can’t say what the first three hours were like because I was reading The Count of Monte Cristo. But after three hours it had grown too dark to read and I looked up to find the fields replaced by forest. It was a familiar scene, the road winding through a canyon of trees, and immediately made me think of Vancouver Island.

It was a long journey and seemed to take place in fits. I would begin sleeping when the driver would turn the radio on, or we would stop at some lonely little gas station, a single lit oasis in a dark and unknown country. Finally I seemed to get some real sleep because I woke up in an entirely different setting.

The Problem with Posting

2008-07-10T23:03:00.000-07:00

Heya!

I am alive and I do intend to put the Nepal photos up, hopefully this weekend. I was going to do it yesterday after work but the power cut. That happens all the time here but it really allows you to appreciate the power.

I was also waiting a while because I was hopeing the young man who was our guide in Nepal would upload his photos so I could use them in the blog. However it doesn't look like it's happening.

I'll try to get to the office tomorrow (my Saturday) and upload it but who knows whether the power will cut, or I'll be attacked by a cow or something. You never know in India!

Another One Bites the Dust

2008-07-02T18:35:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the Nepal Posts. They're coming, I swear.

In other news Kara is leaving India today. She's heading back to Haifa for three days and then going to New York where she'll be studying at Columbia University. Best of luck to her!

Two guys from England have come here to work at the office for a brief stint. They'll only be here in the afternoon and I think they're leaving next month, but the more the merrier. I met one of them, a man named Arjun who is studying at Cambridge to be a doctor. Very nice and intelligent man. The second who I'll meet later is a fourteen year old, and I think a relative of Arjun's.

Back in Lucknow

2008-06-28T05:06:00.000-07:00

Well I'm back in Lucknow, safe and sound. I got my visa updated meaning I'll be here until next December.

I'll get the posts for Nepal up, but you'll have to be patient.

Checking In

2008-06-22T06:11:00.002-07:00

Just checking in to say that I'm alive and magnificent in Nepal.

Heading for the Hills

2008-06-17T09:17:00.000-07:00

On the morning of the 19th I'm heading for Nepal to get my visa renewed. I'll be gone for about ten days so during that time I won't be posting regularily. I'll try to get one post up, just to say that I got there, but the long exposition will have to take place when I get back.

Please say a few prayers for me

Stew

2008-06-15T20:03:00.000-07:00

The other day there was an extremely heavy monsoon. I was alone at the office and had to make my way over to the house. It's only about a five minute walk but it was raining extremely hard. I grabbed the umbrella, rolled my pant legs and stepped onto the flooded streets.

My initial plan was to hop between the raised parts of the uneven asphalt, and the sloped driveways but this soon proved inadequate. I was soaked and the streets I needed to go down were utterly flooded.

As I've mentioned before the streets of India are not like Canadian streets. They are covered in cow and dog dung and strewn with litter. There are no garbage cans on the sides of streets, rather there are garbage piles which the cows graze on.

Now all this filth which I had skirted in the past was floating in the brown stew of the flooded streets. Well there was no point on dwelling on something like that, so I stepped into the murky water, which was only about half way up my shins at the highest part. Little cigerette boxes floated around my ankles, and who knew what was floating around my toes.

I came onto one street where two little boys were playing in the brown water, bathing their legs in it. Two soaked girls came splashing past me saying, "Hi Didi!" (Didi means sister.) There was a festive air amongst these kids and I grinned back at them. Two boys had found an old peice of sterofoam and were using it as a raft to float along the roads, flailing and falling about it. Sometimes you just have to forget what's in the water and swim.

(And no, I didn't swim. I meant that metaphorically.)

Imambare

2008-06-13T22:59:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday Kara and I decided to do some tourism and go see one of the sites of Lucknow – Imambare.

We caught an auto rickshaw and took a nice long trip through the city while I played tour guide for Kara. Rickshaw is really the best way to see India, and it was a wonderful day, wet and drizzly.

We finally came the Muslim section of the city, which has many great architectural sites including our destination. Imambare was a palace built by some ruler or another with an adjacent mosque. We passed under a massive arch and entered the first courtyard, which had a circular path leading around a garden. At the far end was yet another arch this one lined with shopkeepers trying to make us by cameras and little carved things.

Beyond this second arch was a second courtyard. To our right was a massive mosque sitting atop a very impressive flight of stairs. Unfortunately we weren’t allowed to enter because we’re not Muslims.

In front of us was the main building. We took off our shoes and entered a series of massive halls painted a sort of lime green with a baby blue trim. If you’ve seem ancient Muslim architecture before you can pretty easily imagine what we saw. There were the usual carved alcoves, and leaf-like patterns in the columns.

The main reason we had gone to Imambare was to see some sort of Labyrinth and after asking around for a while we realized we’d have to buy tickets for that portion. It’s 300 rupees for foreigners (that’s about seven dollars Canadian) and only about 50 rupees for the locals (about one dollar). We shelled out the cash and paid another 75 rupees for a tourist guide who spoke English. Never enter a maze unless you have a guide or a ball of string.

I was imagining the usual kind of labyrinth that we associate with Theseus and the Minotaur – you know the one with grey stone, and right angles shoved into a dungeon. To my surprise we reached the labyrinth by climbing upstairs and it was a sort of functional labyrinth. It was less like some crazy inventor’s idea of a prison and more like some sadistic chamberlain had decided that no one should work in the palace unless he had an excellent memory. Some of the passages led onto terraces, one on to the roof, and another onto a narrow gallery above one of the main halls. The side passages that led to wrong turns or dead ends were usually narrow staircases spiralling downwards or upwards.

At one point in the maze the guide stopped us in front of a stone wall and told us it was a wireless telephone service. He then ran off down the halls and out of sight. We put our ears up to the stone and after a moment we could hear his voice, obviously whispering, saying, “hello, hello”. Then he told us to come to him, and we took a few turns to see him surprisingly far off. It’s amazing the stuff that people in past ages were capable of.

After seeing the labyrinth we had one more stop in the complex. We went through another archway and came to a large court, most of which was taken up by a very wide, very long stair case that descended to a locked metal gate. Along the side of this staircase were hallways at different levels that could be accessed by arches placed along the walls. We entered one hallway and moved to the area beyond the gate.

One of the men told us it was a sort of well. Essentially there was a circular building of four stories with a hallow centre that ran down to the bottom. There were many open archways that looked out over the centre. That was my favourite part of the whole trip because I felt as excited and energetic as a little kid as I dashed about finding narrow staircases hidden in shadow, or suddenly popping out of some passage and saying, “Oh, this is where I am!” It’s the sort of place you dream about playing hide and go seek, or laser tag in.

After that we hopped back in our rickshaw and once more enjoyed the sights of Lucknow. The thing about India is that it really gives you the sense that there are stories behind everything. You just don’t get that impression from Canada’s cookie-cutter homes, or the people who you know went to school, got a job, got a family and are now trying to figure out how to get a bigger television. But in India, you see stories in everything. What is the story of the little boy with adult muscles carrying two heavy jugs of water? What is the story of the dirty old man with the huge beard sitting on the sidewalk? What about that woman with soaking hair draped over her face washing something in a bucket? Why doesn’t she move the hair out of her face?

Maybe it’s the romanticism of a foreigner, but it sometimes feels like the people here live lives a thousand times more real then the ones we live in Canada.

Heat Rash

2008-06-09T20:32:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't posted in a while, the Internet went on a little holiday.

As the title would suggest I have a heat rash right now. It's on my face, and torso, and climbing up my right forearm. For those of you lucky enough never to have experienced heat rash it looks like hundred of tiny red bumbs. It's kind of itchy but only if you instinctually scratch it. Then a new world of itch opens up to you. No, I'm exaggerating, it's really not that big of deal. All part of the Indian experience.

New Volunteer

2008-06-05T08:49:00.000-07:00

Just a quick note that a new volunteer has arrived. She's named Kara from the States (West side), probably in her twenties, and has just finished four years of service in Haifa. She got an undergraduate degree and next september she's going for a degree in education. We've moved back into the office.

Phew!

2008-06-02T20:13:00.000-07:00

We’re finally finished the first cursory draft of the Pathfinders book. Keep in mind that each of the nine chapters in the book had between two and ten drafts just by themselves. Some of those drafts were editing, and some were complete rewrites.

Now I’m going to go through the book, identify difficult vocabulary words and create a glossary at the back. I also have to make sure the chapter titles have a sense of uniformity.

And then will come rigorous testing. And the testing will lead to rewriting. And then we will do more testing, and more rewriting and then some more testing and you can see why I don’t want to leave in July.

Comings and Goings

2008-05-27T05:58:00.000-07:00

In quick succession both Danielle and Melody have left for their home countries. Once more only Sohayl, Rohit and I are working in the office and I’ve moved back into Sohayl’s living room (The girls and I were living in the office). On the fifth of June another girl is coming and I’ll be moving back to the office again. Which is nice because therein lies my Internet connection.

I’m arranging a trip to Nepal for about a week or so to get my Visa renewed. If its unsuccessful I’ll be coming home to Canada in July, but hopefully all will go well and I’ll be able to stay until December/January and get a nice little vacation to Nepal along the way. I think I'm going in mid to late June.

Tufon

2008-05-24T00:58:00.000-07:00

Suddenly the world outside the Bahai House turned orange. The sky, the very air itself. It was as though I was wearing orange tinted glasses. The sound of rushing wind sprang up and the doors began to slam.

“Tufon!” One of them shouted at me. I knew that word – Storm. It was a dust storm.

Outside the air was thick. I stepped outside for a moment, holding my dupatta in front of my mouth and nose. My glasses held off some of the dust but I was still wiping my eyes for ten minutes afterwards. I came in to find my computer covered in a thin layer of sand.

After the dust storm there was a heavy rainfall, which was very pleasant. Unfortunately in India it seems that whenever the weather does something unpredictable there is a price to pay. I think around ninety people died, mostly from having their houses fall on them.

All the weather lately has been unseasonable. We’ve had several storms and rainfalls and the temperature has gotten very lovely. The cool wind from all the storms we’ve been having wafts into our room at night in a way that should be taken as the hallmark of all wafting.

End of an Era

2008-05-21T09:33:00.000-07:00

On Monday our teacher training course ended. I’m actually a bit relieved because I was constantly being distracted by people during that period and I can now fully concentrate on my work.

And I think that’s the first time in my life I’ve ever been really relieved that I could concentrate on my work. It’s still a little vexing when I’m writing the sixth draft of a chapter, but it’s more then worth it for the sweet sweet knowledge that I am writing, and I am being paid for it.

Yes it’s true that I only make 500 rupees (that’s ten dollars) a month, but the money doesn’t matter, and that’s actually quite a lot in India. Besides I'm volunteering here and didn't expect to get paid in the first place. What matters is that I am writing for a living. The satisfaction I feel when I finally do finish the chapter, is something I never received from school.

Anyways we’re back to working in the office. On Sunday Danielle is leaving and a few days later Melody is following suit.

P.S. I’ve put some more photos up in the posts, “A Day in the Life”, “Barabunki”, “Click, Click Vroom”, and “The Woman’s Room”

Notes on Varanasi Posts

2008-05-17T01:28:00.001-07:00

All right all my Varanasi posts are up. Obviously they start at One and go to Eight. If you want to see the pictures in better quality/bigger just click on them and you should go to a seperate page with just the picture on it.

Varanasi Eight - Finale

2008-05-17T01:18:00.000-07:00

Now I’ll give you an example of the part of hospitality I don’t enjoy. We were slowly making our way back to the house when someone suggested mango juice. I was stuffed and said I wouldn’t have any. Well, they wouldn’t have any of that. I had to say at least seven times, and in the end extremely severely that I wasn’t hungry and didn’t want any mango juice. I sat down at the mango stall content in my mango-lessness. Suddenly I saw one of the people with us make a gesture towards me, and covertly order another mango juice. I had to quickly step in before the shopkeeper could pour the glass. I didn’t want any mango juice!

The problem with their hospitality is that I often don’t actually want it. There were several times during the trip that I would much rather have been left alone to scrape a few hours of sleep instead of being fed or given a pile of gifts to choose from. I’ve had this experience multiple times in India. They want to be hospitable so much, that you are obliged to take what they’re offering. In Canada if I said I didn’t want mango juice my companions would ask, “Are you sure?” And when I affirmed my choice they would accept it. But because all that these Indians give is out of kindness you can neither refuse them, nor nurse any feelings of anger.

We finally made it back to Rohit’s house. I was ready to go to sleep then and there. Instead we stayed up talking, and Rohit’s sister did some henna on my hand, while Melody got dressed up in a beautiful saree. By the time the henna was done I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. Rohit’s sister then began showing us family photos, then things she had knitted, and then gave both Melody and I necklaces. We were given a supper of chipatis, rice, dahl and subsi (vegetables). What can you do in this stream of hospitality when all you want to do is sleep?

At long last we settled down to sleep – inside this time - at about midnight. I dropped off like a rock. We woke up again at about three in the morning, said our good byes and bustled off to the train station.

Before the train left we grabbed some junk food to tide us over for breakfast and then we all had a nice nap of about two and half hours. We played a bit more pictionary and dozed intermittently. Outside our air-conditioned coach was a small passage with the bathroom stalls on either side and a door open to the Indian countryside. Melody and I leaned out and looked down the train to see other heads and hands peeping out. We stood for a while and watched the countryside go by. Fields sprinkled with tan coloured huts and green trees swept by us.

There’s no transportation quite like a train. You pass through the back of a country; you see the little lives of little people in little villages trundle by. You see it all and yet you’re not a part of it.

Varanasi Seven

2008-05-17T01:05:00.000-07:00

We returned once more to Rohit’s house and visited with his family and neighbours. We had some more snacks, and watched a bit of television. Rohit, Melody and I climbed onto the highest point of their house and gazed at the jagged brick horizon. An Indian city is not like a Canadian town, with it’s low profile, it’s cookie-cutter houses that only come in tope, white and pale green. An Indian city is made of a thousand angles, a thousand layers. It is made of brick, stone, plaster, cement, wood, dung and rubble. It is a vast polygon, a chaos of geometry. It is made of a million stories.

We did not go out again until the sun had begun to set. This was our last jaunt of the trip, and we were going back to the Ganges. This time we took Rohit’s sister, and several of his friends. We walked a ways then caught a couple of bicycle rickshaws. However we got caught in a traffic jam and took off on foot.

Every single night, there is a festival at the Ganges River. It’s not a festival with a name, it’s a festival because of its air, the air of thousands of people singing, clapping, laughing praying, clicking cameras, and buying trinkets. It’s an air of excitement, and it took us with it as we laughed down the massive stone steps towards the water.

All along the shore priests in sets of eight perform a ritual to praise the Ganges River. They dressed in fabulous outfits consisting of an orange top with a cream sash and loose cream pants. They stood on slightly raised platforms with a little table in front of them laden with their equipment, lights shining on them and a vast crowd surrounding them. The priests held the same flaming chalice I mentioned earlier and simultaneously moved their brands in circles. They went through the ritual slowly and steadily. At one point they would put down the flaming chalice and pick up an ostrich feather fan, or some other item and go through similar, slow movements.

Hospitality is not a lost art in India. However, while many would give it universal praise I find that the sword sometimes has two edges. At this point I’ll give an example of the good part, an example of India’s spirit of spontaneous generosity. I was frantically trying to take pictures of these priests while my camera was obstinately rejecting the newly purchased Indian batteries. I gave it up for a lost cause and put my camera away. Rohit asked me what kind of batteries I usually used. I told him I had had Duracell batteries before, and turned back to watch the priests. Two minutes later Rohit’s best friend pops up with a package of Duracell batteries. There were no stalls nearby, and I have no clue where he found them. Not only that but I’m sure that brand of battery would be rather expensive for him. This was only one small example of the kind of generosity these people showed us, purchasing things with their dearly earned money that would have cost us less than a dollar, and refusing our coin and letting us stay at their small home.

After watching the ritual for a while we walked down the stone walkway a bit. We entered another temple, this one low and almost gaudy with orange paint and tinsel. As we left Rohit’s sister gave us each a bindi, that red dot you sometimes see Indian’s wearing. Different marks have different meanings such as marriage etc. but apparently that one was just a culture thing.

Bindi-ied and in fine spirits we entered another building. This one was a shop owned by a friend of Rohit’s family. Varanasi is famous for producing a special kind of Saree using real silver and gold threads. We were shown several great swaths of fabric. Now you know me, I’ve never been the sort to goggle over cloth, but this was truly beautiful fabric with gorgeous embroidery.

After this we left the shores of the Ganges and walked back into the city. We went into one of the narrow lanes and wound our way to a street-side shop that made good south-Indian food. I’m not too fond of Indian food but this was good stuff. We ate it sitting on a little stone ledge with someone’s laundry hanging over us, surrounded by people and spice racks. One of the charming things about India is that feeling of comfortable casualness.

Varanasi Six

2008-05-17T00:50:00.000-07:00

This time we took Rohit’s nephew and another friend of his with us. We hopped in an auto rickshaw, which took us to a town just outside of Varanasi. Our next stop was one of the four holy places in Buddhism, the site where the Buddha give his first sermon to his disciples. It was amazing to think that I was walking on the same ground that Buddha had walked on around four thousand years ago.

There were several temples in a row. The first we visited was a large stone temple with two smaller towers in the front and a larger one in the back. Of course we had to take our shoes off and the stone paving blocks outside the temple were blisteringly hot. We quickly hopped into the main structure. It was a large rectangular room, with a high ceiling. The far end had a railing sectioning off the back portion of the hall in which a statute of the Buddha sat on a raised platform surrounded by flowers, and other ornaments. Apparently there was a silver casket involved in which were relics, but I was not quite sure where that was, or what was in it. An elaborate painting detailing the Buddha’s life covered the other three walls. It was done by a Japanese artist and it was interesting to see the combined influence of Japanese and Indian art in the painting.

We went outside, Melody and I once more hopping over the burning stones while our Indian friends walked across it coolly. There was a side structure and we initially thought we had to go there barefoot. Melody and I set out bravely. I was thinking about those people who walk over beds of hot coals. Then we passed from the shade of the temple to the stones that were being directly heated by the sun, and we both immediately hobbled back to our shoes.

Luckily for us we found out that we could go into the next area wearing shoes, we just couldn’t walk on certain raised stones. This area was a sort of courtyard surrounding a Bodhi tree. This was the exact area the Buddha apparently gave his first sermon and the tree was apparently a descendant of that original tree. We weren’t allowed to walk on the stones directly surrounding the tree but it was amazing just to be there. I feel extremely fortunate that I, not even a Buddhist, have been able to see such a holy place, while I’m sure that there are millions of Buddhists who would give anything to be there.

The next building in the row was a temple dedicated the Buddha and the Fifth Buddha. Just as Christians believe in the return of Christ, and the Jews believe in a coming messiah, the Buddhists believe in a return of Buddha know as the Fifth Buddha among other things. The temple was a small building with a slightly Japanese design and two identical gold Buddha statues, one, which was supposed to represent the original Buddha, and the other representing the Fifth Buddha.

There was one final structure that we looked at in the strip. It was a large stone tower, almost utterly unadorned, vast and mountainous, seated on a green lawn. Apparently some parts of the Buddha’s body are interred there.

Varanasi Five

2008-05-16T23:25:00.000-07:00

We rode through the campus to our destination, the tallest and one of the most beautiful temples of Varanasi, the marble temple. The top of the structure consisted of carved marble towers while the bottom was made of a pale, rose coloured stone. The gardens were well kept and adorned with statues and small marble pavilions where people were praying or doing yoga. We deposited our shoes and entered the main part of the temple, a large marble hall painted with patterns in vibrant colours. Bells hung from the doorways, which people would jump up and ring. Music drifted through the whole building from a pair of musicians seated on a carpet. We went up a staircase and wandered about the second floor, where the walls were interspersed with carvings of religious scenes and quotations, some actually in English though horribly translated. Several alcoves had elaborate statues of gods and goddesses to which people were praying. The worshippers would touch the steps, or doorways of the rooms they entered, and left the holy places walking respectfully backwards, so as not to show their backs to these centres of devotion. We sat on the balcony for sometime, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere and the beautiful carvings on the central tower. As we left we walked past a man in orange robes, kneeling at the doorway singing the sacred ‘Ohm’ syllable. I realized it was the first time I had heard someone do that in earnest, and not in jest.

It was starting to get hot although it was only nine thirty or so. We took the rickshaw back to Rohit’s house. Rohit led us around the area to meet his neighbours and then we went to sleep for a couple of hours. When we woke up we had some samosas and visited his family for a short while before leaving for our next stop.

Varanasi Four

2008-05-16T23:15:00.000-07:00

We alighted just before a small castle. It had ornate towers made of pale orange brick, wonderfully set off by a green bush growing around the top. We then left the river side and wandered through the streets for a while, grabbing some biscuits along the way. The three of us made our way to a Hindu temple, the first I’ve ever been in. We entered through a large yellow gateway and moved down a long walkway. We gave our shoes to the shoe-keepers and watched the tens of monkeys that ran and climbed on either side of the walkway’s railings. Soon we came to a space floored with marble and made up of several small buildings and sections. There were several statues, and a sacred tree. People walked around slowly, or sat and prayed. No matter what religious temple you go to, when people are praying with a certain degree of faith, and when the facilities are upheld, one get’s a sense of beauty and serenity.

We did a quick perambulation of the grounds and then left. Next we caught a bicycle rickshaw, which took us to a university. Along the way the rickshaw driver tried to convince Rohit that we should pay him more than the average fair, because we were foreigners and could pay more. We went under a large archway and suddenly the cement and brick city passed away to a well-paved street lined with luscious green trees, some with bright red blossoms. The university campus was vast, and the buildings very beautiful with ornate towers vaguely resembling those on the temples. They were a warm yellow with red trim and situated on vibrant lawns dotted with gardens and even a few peacocks. After the dust and dung of the city it was exquisitely beautiful.

Varanasi Three

2008-05-16T22:48:00.001-07:00

My first view of the river was over the head of a vast crowd. The bank of the river on the city side was a giant stone staircase stretching into the distance. Hundreds of boats of different sizes and shapes were moored along the staircase. The far side was a white beach with a few shacks on it. We came out between two temples and descended the staircase to see a host of scenes, any of which would have been a spectacle in Canada. A man stands on a small stone platform in orange robes with a flaming chalice in his hand, which he waves in a circle. An old man sits underneath a straw umbrella and paints people’s faces with symbolic patterns – another Hindu/Indian custom. The Ganges River is filthy and dark green. People throw dead bodies into it sometimes, and I’m pretty sure it’s connected to the sewer system. Yet people swim in it, because it’s supposed to purify their sins. They wash clothes in it, whacking them against flat stones on the shoreline.

We decided to take a boat up the river a bit. We ended up on a small rowboat paddled by a fifteen-year-old boy. Our boat almost smacking into one man who was standing shirtless up to his chest praying in the water, but he calmly pushed us aside. We passed several other boats some laden with tourists. In fact I saw more foreigners in that one day in Varanasi then I’ve seen in my whole time in Lucknow. We enjoyed watching the stone buildings pass by, hostels, hotels, pensions and temples. At one point we saw maybe seventy people in white robes lined up for a photo with some famous guru in orange robes. They all sang and pumped their fists in time. Melody chatted a bit with the kid, discussing his school and his ambitions. She takes delight in meeting people spontaneously and getting to know a slice of their lives.

Varanasi Two

2008-05-16T22:26:00.001-07:00

We rose at around four in the morning (so that’s about three hours of sleep). I awoke with the stars still over my head. Our goal was to see the famous Ganges River at sunrise so we hastily dressed and walked into the city.

Varanasi is a lot like Lucknow in many ways. The streets are still clogged with rickshaws and signs are put up like wallpaper to hide chipped plaster or grey concrete buildings. But Varanasi has three unique properties, or at least three that I experienced. The first is the narrow lanes. The second is the temples.

The city is a holy city, a place of pilgrimage and there are temples on just about every street. The temples are usually painted red or bright orange and range in size from a closet to a cathedral. Some are little orange fences erected around trees, which are sacred for some reason or other, while others contain carved statues. The little ones tend to have pyramidal roofs while the large ones have these tall, roughly conical towers rich in carving.

We made our way through the grey dawn, stopping briefly at Rohit’s high school. Soon we met with the crowd of people going to do just what we were going to do: see the Ganges. We asked Rohit to explain the reason why it is a holy river but I think we were still both confused. If you're interested I'd advise you to google it and read several different versions of the story and take mine with a vast pinch a salt. If you’re going to go around telling people why the river is supposed to be holy, don’t use this description.

Apparently one of the gods had a kind of water container and in this water container was the sacred Ganges water. A saint prayed that the holy Ganges could come to earth but if the God had poured the entire container onto the earth, the planet would have been destroyed. So instead he poured the water onto Lord Shiva’s (another God) hair. The water dripped down his hair and Lord Shiva allowed the dripping from one of his hairs to touch the earth and it created the Ganges.

Varanasi One

2008-05-16T22:13:00.000-07:00

I recently returned from my trip to Varanasi, one of the most famous and holy cities of India.

Rohit, Melody and I left work early at four thirty and took a bicycle rickshaw to the train station. The three train stations I’ve seen in India all look relatively similar. In Canada if you see someone sleeping on the ground in a public place they’re a bum, a hobo, one of the lowest rung of society. In India it’s a perfectly common thing. In the station hundreds of people sleep on thin blankets or newspapers. The stations are crowded, dirty and incredibly stinky right near the tracks.

The trains in India have sections just like in a plane. I’ve heard plenty of stories about the third class coaches, in which people are packed so close that they can’t move, even to use the bathroom. Imagine standing in one place, surrounded by people and burdened with luggage for eight hours. Suffice it to say we took the first class seats. The first class coaches have ample legroom and air-conditioning. It was Rohit’s first time in first class and he found it very cold. We noticed that all the people in first class were relatively heavy, compared to the people in third class. In India having a certain amount of weight is sometimes seen as a sign of wealth, since only rich people can afford to eat that much.

We spent most of the six-hour train ride playing pictionary, which resulted in much hilarity. We left Lucknow at about six and arrived in Varanasi at around midnight. On the train we had only gotten about forty-five minutes of sleep so we were understandably tired as we stepped into Varanasi.

It was midnight. We hopped on a rickshaw and quickly left the busy train station behind. The streets were almost empty. After a while we got out on foot, and passed from the wider streets into the narrow lanes. These were entire neighbourhoods of skinny streets winding on for kilometres. The flagstone ground was uneven, the buildings old and geometric. We finally came to Rohit’s family house.

Rohit has an extremely lovely family, and he considered everyone in his neighbourhood as a member of his family. In his house we met his father, mother, sister, sister-in-law, and brother. We had dinner of chipatis (round flat bread), a vegetable dish and yoghurt. I was exhausted at this point and eventually we settled down to sleep on the flat rooftop at about one thirty in the morning. In India the rooftops are made to stand on, with railings and clothing lines. It was beautifully cool up there and I was overjoyed to see a large amount of stars for the first time since I had arrived in India. In Lucknow only a few stars can pierce the bowl of smog that the city sits in. They had spread blankets on the floor for us and I slept with my dupatta (the obligatory scarf part of my outfit) wrapped around me as a mosquito net. I expected to be bitten but it was worth it to go to sleep with stars overhead.

I got twenty-nine mosquito bites.

Just A Quick Note

2008-05-15T10:41:00.001-07:00

I've finally figured out how to properly get pictures on this thing so my Varanasi posts will have pics and I'll slowly begin filling in the rest of the blogs.

If you go to the post about my time in Delhi (I think it's the third post) I put up a picture of myself and Vahid in front of the lotus temple. Yes, I know I have a weird expression on my face, but my glasses are just so cool.

Busy, Busy

2008-05-14T18:16:00.000-07:00

I returned from Varanasi on Sunday annd I've got one hundred and thirty pictures and a seven page writeup to share. However it's taken me considerable time to organize all that and this week has been very busy so you guys may have to wait until your Friday, my Saturday.

On Tuesday we were invited to dinner, yesterday I had to accompany Melody on a trip to buy her family gifts before she leaves, and after that we had a youth deepening. Today we're going to Sohayl's mother's house for supper and on Friday there's a Feast.

Vignettes of Friendship

2008-05-05T19:39:00.000-07:00

Between the middle and the end of this month Danielle and Melody are departing India. I thought now would be a good time to present you with some vignettes of the times we spend together, so you can understand what it will mean when they leave.

I have never seen someone smile as often as Melody smiles. My often-dry humour, which would elicit only a smirk or chuckle in many, sends her bursting into laughter. She sings all the time. It’s nice to have another Canadian around. We’ve had fun sharing memories of the Great White North, and she’s been kind enough to teach me some Hindi. (She was in a different part of India for sixth months before she came here, so she picked up a bit.)

Danielle shares my interest in movies, which neither Melody nor the Mohajer family really watch. There’s a western style coffee shop called Café Coffee Day and we went there once to splurge on chocolate cake and other western goods. Melody and the Mohajer’s are essentially in love with India so it’s nice to have someone around who likes the western world too.

I’ve also made friendships to various degrees with the Indian youth here. Rohit’s nineteen years old and has a degree in hardware. We’ve had a lot of fun talking about computers and he’s teaching me a thing or two. It initially took me a while to understand his accent but he’s actually very good at English and making Melody and I laugh. The three of us have gone on some wonderful walks around Lucknow, down the busy streets, or through the smaller lanes. And next weekend he’s taking Melody and I to Varanassi on a sight seeing trip, where we’ll see the famous holy river, the Gangi and some temples.

I’m also friendly with a lot of the other youth, like Sumit, Nadeem and Ritu. Yesterday Rohit, Melody, Sumit, Nadeem and I completed Ruhi 7. I was riding on the back of the motorcycle, with Rohit driving. Nadeem and Melody were on one scooter, Sumit on another. Sometimes we were in the lead, sometimes it was one of them, as we weaved between the traffic and swerved round corners. The wind dashed against my face. We laughed and Sumit and I high-fived across the rushing, cracked pavement. It’s times like that that India rocks.

Tough Skin

2008-05-03T19:25:00.000-07:00

One of the things I was really looking forward to about India was being edited. When you’re a writer, you need tough skin; you need to be able to take harsh criticism with grace, and an open mind. I came here hoping to develop some calluses.

Imagine labouring for a hours and hours on a document, handing it to Sohayl, and getting it back almost completely covered in yellow – the bits he doesn’t like – and red – his additions/changes. In the beginning it was very painful, but I tried to take it with an almost masochistic smile, knowing that I was toughening my skin.

Now a days I’ve gotten almost used to writing three or four completely different versions of a chapter and then editing the best one until I can barely pick out my own sentences, from Sohayl’s and our hybrid bits. Now a days, I feel happy if I find a paragraph of mine intact when the chapter is done.

Part of the reason why it takes two or three drafts is my own poor writing, but part of it is also just the process. Usually Sohayl and I talk a bit about what is needed in the chapter, and then I write something. After reading it we realize that we either had different views of what needed to be in the lesson, or that there is a better way to do it.

I have to say that while the process is enlightening, and enjoyable in its own way, it is very constraining. I’m used to writing novels, which means I have over three hundred pages to go in depth into whatever I want to say, to cover all the angles, and subtly develop the points. Furthermore there’s no age restraint, no need to pull any punches, or make things ‘nice’. In a book which will be taught in schools to young teenagers you can’t really cover issues in a gritty way, which is the way I tend to want to portray things. But even this is a useful constraint, because in my writing career I’ll undoubtedly have to compromise.

Fainting Spell

2008-04-30T19:29:00.000-07:00

A few days ago one of the women at the teacher-training course fainted. It was after five, when most of the participants had left, and only Melody, Daniel, myself and two Indian women were there, one of which was the person who fainted. The girl had apparently fainted about four times in the last two years, and I believe the spell was brought on by a combination of dehydration, low blood pressure and some stress caused by an issue in her family. Luckily Daniel has her CPR. We turned her on her side so she wouldn’t swallow her tongue, gave her water mixed with salt (good for dehydration) during the moments where she was partially coherent, and called Sohayl. I forget if I mentioned it before, but Sohayl has a medical degree.

Daniel wanted some sugar, in case the girl had low blood pressure, but we had none so she ran out into the street to ask one of the neighbours. There was a man standing in the yard of the house across from us, and she explained to him the situation and asked for sugar. Apparently he spoke enough English to understand, and not help us at all. He went away. Finally Daniel managed to talk to the daughter of the family, who called the mother and they came to the house with a tiny bowl of sugar. We gave the unconscious woman some sugary water. The neighbours stayed for a couple of minutes, asked us what had happened, then asked us for the sugar back, and left.

Sohayl came and took the girl to a nearby clinic. She’s fine and still attending the teacher-training course so all ended well.

Of Poultry

2008-04-28T08:24:00.000-07:00

A few people actually did ask about the doorbells of India. Some of them, like the doorbell of the Office, make the sound of a bird chirping. It would be lovely, except for the fact that it sounds almost exactly like one of the birds that lives near the office. For the first few weeks I was really confused.

Speaking of poultry, a while ago I went to an Indian butcher. I’ve always had a good head for the biological; in fact I took biology every year in school just so I could dissect animals. So as you can imagine when Arastu tried to scare me away from the butcher's through descriptions of gore, I took the challenge. Besides that, as a writer one of my goals is to gather as many experiences, see as many things as possible. If you don’t like vibrant descriptions of butcher shops you may not want to read the following paragraph.

Nicole and I took a bicycle rickshaw to a market nearby. It’s made up of straw, canvas and burlap shops, and floored with packed earth. The market primarily deals in vegetables, but there is one lane of butchers. The scent was heavy and sickening but we got used to it after about two minutes. The air was thick with flies, as though a snowfall had suddenly become animated, black and malevolent. The sides of the lane were spattered and trickling with blood. At the far end of the section were a few fish stalls, but the fish here aren’t sanitary because they come from the Gomti River, which is essentially part of Lucknow’s sewage system. A half-skinned goat’s head sat on a table exposed to the flies. Live chickens walked about in steel cages stacked one on top of each other, and skinned, cross sections of goats hung about, the few organs which had not been cut away dangling and dripping blood. We went up to one stall with two men inside. One was seated on a table, with a long knife held by the handle between his toes. The other took the chicken we had purchased, and turning away from us so we couldn’t see, he sliced its neck and dropped it in a large bucket where it flopped around, bleeding, until it died. This took several minutes, after which he plucked it, took out the organs, chopped it up (the knife he used had almost seemed organic. The swarming black flies on it were like rippling skin before he picked it up) and gave to us in a little plastic black bag.

You are probably wondering if the meat was sanitary, but of course the chicken was well cooked and we all ate it without getting sick. In fact Nicole made a really delicious chicken soup.

No Comment

2008-04-22T06:19:00.000-07:00

My parents keep telling me that there are actually people reading this thing but you wouldn't know it for all the tumbleweeds bouncing about. If anyone out there is reading, and you have something to say whether it be a comment, question or kindly phrased suggestion, please drop a line. At the bottom of each post is a little "comment" link, just click on that and ask if you want to know more about street dogs, or the unique doorbells of India.

Teacher Training

2008-04-20T04:49:00.000-07:00

Well Natasha left shortly after arriving, but when one door shuts another westerner arrives in Lucknow. Danielle is from England and came to India to attend the teacher-training course we’re currently running here at FAS. She’s twenty-five and plans to go into curriculum development. After the course she’s going to China to work in that field.

We’re currently holding a teacher-training course, which started last week and will last for about forty days. Obviously we’re training people to become teachers, but the essence of what we’re doing – and I use ‘we’ liberally because I’m doing very little – is so much more. The teachers that we are creating are very different from western teachers, and extremely different from Indian teachers. In India teachers still use corporal punishment and their main task is to force children to memorize information. They do not teach children how to gather knowledge, analyze knowledge and apply knowledge. Answering a question involves copy the answer direct from the textbook.

What is being done here is something of a revolution in India. What we’re attempting to do is create a curriculum, and teachers to teach it, that will produce thinking people. The students of these schools should fall in love with learning, should develop a desire to seek the truth and apply it to their own lives.

The day begins at eight when we set up chairs and such. From about nine to eleven thirty Melody gives English lessons, during which I usually work on my main project - Pathfinders. Around eleven Sohayl gives a talk, which I take notes from. So in other words I’m a kind of scribe. The talks are about education of course, and have covered practical techniques of teaching, psychology and the personal character a teacher should develop. It is incredibly fascinating stuff to listen to. The talk usually lasts for a couple of hours after which Danielle takes the participants through part of the curriculum they’ll be teaching.

I spend my spare time now a days, reading, writing, and surfing the Cyber Ocean. Often there are Bahai activities, and sometimes we go to the malls, or Sohayl’s mother’s house. It’s getting hotter, now averaging at about thirty-nine to forty, but it’s not really that uncomfortable.

Rain

2008-04-07T09:17:00.000-07:00

India unfolds itself in little moments.

It was raining lightly so Melody, Rohit, Sohayl and I took special pleasure in our walk to the samosa store for our mid-morning tea. The light wind, the grey skies, the washed out scent keenly reminded my of the Pacific Northwest. Home. We bought and ate our samosas, with the rain still only dribbling on us. Across the street from the samosa store is a little strip of grass between the road and a wall, usually populated by fruit, vegetable, and tea wagons. Our current favorite tea seller, a boy of perhaps twelve was standing behind his wagon, a small wooden surface on iron wheels. He made us tea and we stood around the wagon, Rohit, Melody and I laughing at our conversation, Sohayl chatting with the boy in Hindi about the child's life. He was working the wagon because his mother was sick, and Sohayl invited him to the children's classes held at their house. The clouds suddenly unburdened themselves, and we stood uncaring in the rain. Vancouver. The heat rising from my tea, contrasted with the cool wet air, at once supplying a sense of warmth and security. At a moment like that, I could almost love India.

Global warming has hit India too of course. A few days ago the heaviest rain of my life struck, four months out of season for India. The youth I was with were comparing the roads to Venice, and the water fell through the office roof in once place. It was raining inside. When the rain comes early, and so strongly, it knocks all the mango tree flowers down. There won't be many mangos this year, and many farmers will have a hard time of it.

Friends and Smells

2008-03-30T03:52:00.000-07:00

My Internet was down for a few weeks, however the main reason I never post here is because I'm lazy.

I've been joined in Lucknow by two other Canadian girls, Natasha and Melody. Melody is an eighteen year old from London, Ontario. She's interesting in writing, jaz and environmental science. The two of us are now living together and we're having a lot of fun. We're not working on the same project, but it's nice to have more people in the office. Natasha is a twenty year old from Thunder Bay, Ontario. She's working on the animation for the kids' cartoon they're doing in the other FAS office and wants to go into art restoration. And she wants to go to the theatres with me! When we enter one of the malls, the smell of buttered popcorn presses down on me, and my mind reels with vision of movie theatres - the plush red seats, a Pepsi in my hand, the great silver screen and that wonderful feeling when the light dims. Needless to say I have been missing movie theatres.

India is not seen, heard or tasted. It is a smelled. On the way to the Bahai Center there is a street which I call Meat Street. Succintly it is a street lined with restaurants and booths that smell of meat. When ever we drive past I roll the window down and inhale the thick heady scent. It's not that I haven't gotten meat here. Although my host family is primarily vegetarian we have chicken now and then. But nothing thick and heavy, like garlic honey chicken, or bacon and ham. Nothing that smells like meat.

Other scents are less pleasant. Garbadge, feces, and one's own sweat. Sometimes inscence waft from stores. When you return from the countryside to the city you realize the whole city stinks compared to the fresh, earthy air of the villages.

Charity

2008-02-26T19:05:00.000-08:00

Do you remember those little UNICEF boxes they made us kids tote around on Halloween? They were little donation boxes that we carried about asking for donations along with our candy. Well I was fortunate enough to see the fruit of such labours. Nicole was asked to look at the scripts for the UNICEF funded soap opera. Yes, you paid for a soap opera. Of course there is a aim to the show, to teach the viewers about health issues. However Nicole - who is a doctor - says the show is blantantly inaccurate. For example, in one of the episode this city-girl who has become a mid-wife wanted to take a pregnant woman to the hospital to give birth. For various cultural reasons she won't go. So the mid-wife goes to the old run down health clinic, cleans it up a bit and finally convinces the pregnant woman to go there. Successful delivery, the midwife carries the baby out to the awaiting villagers and they applaud. Rafiki holds Simba aloft. In what world does cleaning a dibilitated building devoid of equipment ensure the succesful birth of a baby? Besides that the first season of the show has absolutely no medical information and is just there to hook the viewer. My toonie probably went to one of those episodes. Another blantant inaccuracy is that the people in the village seem to have jewels and live in mansions. In the real villages people live in huts of brick and straw. And of course all the villains in the show are ugly and all the good guys are beautiful and handsome. The show which is supposed to teach health issues won't even go to the people who need it most - the villagers - because many of them don't have televisions.

Indian soap operas are even more ridiculous then American ones. They have a lot of special effects, but there's only one kind. The camera zooms in on a characters face, the screen flashes black and white and you hear a kind of ominous rushing noise. This is to show shock and dismay. If it was used once in a while it would simply be weird, but its used constantly. And not just one person gets this gesture, everyone in the room does. Sometimes you'll get five or six of these rushing-zooms in a row. It's hilarious.

India really doesn't need more money. The government is so corrupt, the aid organizations so clueless that money really can't help.

The Woman's Room

2008-02-21T19:58:00.000-08:00

Well life has generally settled down here. I've now beaten my record for the longest time spent away from parents - previously three weeks.

Last night I went to an engagement party out in a village. They had hung up Christmas lights and some tinsle. After a moment of standing about the women of our group were ushered into the Women's Room. It was the interior of one of the houses, made of brick with a packed earth floor and a straw roof - standard village house, in fact a rather nice one. The small space was absolutely packed with women. Packed much like you would pack your suitcase if you were living out of it for a year. And what did we do on this festive occasion? We sat. After maybe forty-five minutes some of the women sang a bit, and some men came through to take pictures. But mostly we sat. For over an hour. Maybe two.

The little kids of the village were looking at me in fascination. One girl stood right beside where I was sitting and stared at me for ages. At times she would stroke my bare arm, feeling the white skin. Kids really do live in a world of their own, one in which they can point at me and think I don't notice. I pulled out my camera at one time and the little girl watched the view screen in fascination.

The men on the otherhand, sat outside, all of them on chairs (in the women's room there were only four chairs and over thirty women). Apparently some women came and danced for them, and some guy shot a gun off as part of the celebrations. We left rather early before the actual ceremony got started. Apparently the bride-to-be's family gives the groom-to-be gifts like eletric scooters, fridges and money and then everyone eats. But it was already late and the next day was a work day so we all shuffled off early.

Barabunki

2008-02-12T19:40:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday, Nicole, the kids and I went out to the countryside to visit the village of Barabunki. It was nice to get out of the city and see a bit of the countryside. We took an auto-rickshaw, which really only has enough room for three people, but we all crammed in. There are no doors on auto-rickshaws so the entire time the wind was wacking us. It took us a while to get out into the real country, as the city slowly faded out.

It was about an hour and a half drive to the village. There were beautiful mustard fields all around, the sky was blue and cloudless. The village houses were made of straw, sticks and a few bricks. Everything had that old worn look that covers India like a smog. The village had about nineteen families. The women in this village are not allowed to leave their houses after they get married ever. For the rest of their lives. There were also a lot of cows.

Nicole was doing a study circle with some of the men, so Arastu, Armon, Rachelle and I played some games with the kids. When it was done we went into one of the courtyards and they gave us sugar canes as a gift. I was holding mine like a walking cane and one of the Indian men said I looked like Gandhi. We all had a laugh at that. After a little while we left to another village.

This village was dirtier, but the women here could leave their houses. We repeated the routine, playing games with the kids, while Nicole did a study circle with the women. The rickshaw driver, who was waiting around for us to go, began playing with the kids too, coming up with great games and having a good time. Finally we left to go home.

What can be said of villages in India? The ideal of simple 'village life' is a sham of course. I never understood people who think "ah, to be in a little village, in a close knit community, without all the distraction of modern life". The price for simplicity is extreme poverty. It means living in a straw hut. It's dogma, women stuck in their tiny houses for untold years. They gather cow dung with their bare hands to make fuel. Yet there is a very deceptive beauty to it. The sun is shining, the fields are verdant, the kids are laughing in Barabunki.

A Day in the Life

2008-02-03T23:19:00.003-08:00

I awaken at 5:08 AM to "Armon, Rachelle, Arastu, time for prayers!"

Groggily I pull my ear plugs out, fish around for my glasses and grab my prayer book. The family gathers around on low cushions and mumbles out prayers, or sings them in cracked morning voices. The kids and Sohayl leave to go on their jog. Usually I don't go so that I can use the bathroom at my leisure. But its not an unpleasant jog, though the streets smell of feces at that hour. Its cool and quiet and there is that sense of serene loneliness that only comes from wandering streets at early hours.

After the walk, or while they're out I get ready and sit down in a comfortable arm chair to read my book. At the moment I'm reading Les Miserables. At some point after 6:00 either Sohayl or Nicole brings me a glass of warm banana-milk and shortly after we're called to breakfast. Breakfast consists of a fruit salad and then a bowl of Indian corn flakes. Sometimes we sit around the table, talking and laughing or I return to my reading while the kids get ready. At about eight its time to go.

We usually walk to work, a short trip through the streets of our little suburb. There are cows and dogs along the road and people going about their business. There are no laws about keeping your dogs, or your cows from doing their 'business' in the streets, so they are covered with a dry patchwork of feces. The government recently decided to expand the roads in the area, so anyone with a garden outside their house will be fined if they don't tear it down soon. People are taking their brick fronts down manually with chisels and hammers.

At work I set up my laptop, and check the Internet. Then I begin working on whatever assignment I have at the moment.

Most of the time, at about ten we go for tea. We take a short walk out of the suburb to a little roadside store that sells tea and some food. Usually I have samosas.

Then we return and work until sometime between one and three, at which time I return to the house and read or visit with Nicole until the kids come home for lunch. After lunch I return to the office for another hour or so of work, and at 5 we return home.

The kids usually study at this time, so I read or write. A little later we visit together, or play games. At about seven we have dinner, the conversation is always full of laughter. We usually end up finishing at about eight, then the kids do dishes except on Sundays, which is my day. Another hour of reading, studying, talking and then we have evening prayers and at 9 we're off to bed.

Of course that's a day without Children's Classes, Feasts, or other Bahai gatherings. Sometimes Nicole and I go out to fetch something from the market. Sometimes Rohit, a co-worker stays for lunch. Sometime in March I'll probably move into the office when one of the other volunteers arrives, then I'll have more time on the Internet, more privacy for watching movies and playing video games. But its not unpleasant, just reading and visiting.

Family Review

2008-02-03T23:19:00.002-08:00

I've been here in Lucknow for about a week. There are so many little things to say. I'll talk a bit about my host family first, but for privacy reasons I won't say very much.

The mother of the family is Nicole, an Australian whose been living in India for over fifteen years now. She has a medical degree and is working on her PhD. The father is Sohayl (my boss at work), who is an educationist. The three kids are Arastu, Rachelle and Armon.

All-in-all a great family that's been extremely accomadating and generous to me. I'm very grateful to them.

The Trip to Lucknow

2008-02-03T23:19:00.001-08:00

Heya! Sorry its been a while, the Internet isn't fast here. Here's an e-mail I wrote about the first few days.

I've arrived safely in Lucknow and I'm now in the office I'll be working in. In the past two days I've seen more things of interest then in several years in Canada. It's the little things that grab you and fascinate you. Cows eating garbage. Men getting shaved on the street. People with massive airconditioners strapped to bikes peddling down the highway.

I arrived in Delhi at three in the morning. Vahid, a friend of ours from Canada, met me at the Delhi airport and we grabbed a taxi. It was surprisingly cold. Delhi at night is completely orange. The light from the street lamps seems to stick in the thick smoggy air. It's dusty and smells of exhaust, faintly of burnt rubber, and something else. I actually like the smell. Our taxi smacked lightly against a truck and we pulled over. Vahid took command of the situation. The police arrived and a small crowd gathered. They all shouted at each other for a long time. Under a nearby overpass I saw three people crowded around a fire. In India people wrap themselves in blankets and head kercheifs at night, rather than big coats. Eventually a new taxi arrived and took us to the Bahai House - Delhi's Bahai centre and lodging for visiting Bahai's. I had a shower and an hour and a half's sleep. I went to bed at about six, and we were gone by nine.

That night, the cold and the sleep deprevation had left me feeling a little miserable, but the next morning I saw a tree. A tree that wasn't a pine tree! There are no pines here, and the trees are beautiful and exotic. My spirit rose instantly. We took a rickshaw to the train station. There are two kinds of rickshaws, bikes, and a kind of motorized three wheeler, we took the latter. In India there are really only two laws of the road. Stop at red lights, try and keep to the left. There are no lanes, no order. I could reach out and touch any of the surrounding vehicles. Small cars, rickshaws, bikes and motorbikes all weave between eachother trying to find openings. I love it.

We stopped at the train station to buy my tickets for the next day. Then we grabbed lunch at a McDonalds. They had McCurry, but I stuck with the McChicken.

We reached the Bahai Lotus Temple. It's hard to explain, but the temple has a presence to it beyond what you see in the pictures. Whenever you turn around and see it again it punches you afresh. I prayed in the cool marble hall and then went to see my friend Katie. Vahid left and I hung out with her for the rest of the day while she served, working at various information stations. At one point we were standing outside the exit of the temple, where Katie and some other Bahai's would hand out pamphlets about the faith, and direct people to the information centre, when an Indian woman with a camera says "take picture." I reach for her camera and she shakes her head. "You in picture." They wanted to take pictures with the white girl. I took about three pictures with them. A few minutes later a man had me hold his baby for another shot. Katie and I were laughing our heads off. I've noticed sometimes the men here stare at me. In Canada if you stare at someone and they notice, you look away. In India they just stare.

Vahid arranged for a rickshaw driver that he knew to pick Katie and I up once she was done for the day. At one stop light we saw people moving between the cars trying to peddle trinkets, so we hastily engaged in an apparently engrossing conversation about the nature of the universe. The woman peddling little lights came up and started talking in Hindi. We ignored her, and continued talking. She tapped my cheek with one of the lights. What amazing audacity! Can you imagine walking into a store like Bootlegger and have a worker tap a shirt into your face? We also saw several monkeys on a bridge railing.

We ate at a nice Indian restaurant and then I went back to the Bahai house. The next day, Vahid took me to the train station. This was at about five o'clock in the morning. I got on the train at about six fifteen. It was supringly nice though I didn't eat much of the food because it looked unsavory and had eggs in it. I read my book and stared at the countryside from time to time. It was all argricultual squares and rectangles, dotted with trees. Little huts and a few villages dotted the green fields. Now and then we'd pass through a city and I would think "Thank God I wasn't born into such a life." India is poor, and dirty. It is old brick buildings that are crumbling and piles of dust. I'd say seventy percent of the buildings I've seen here wouldn't even be slums in our country. They would be the slums of slums.

After the six hour train ride I reached Lucknow and stood at the station waiting. The train stations here are the stinkiest places. They smell like feces and urine. Sohayl picked me up in his car, the first I had seen that had seatbelts in the back. We drove through Lucknow and I realized that this, not Qualicum, is now my home. Lucknow is poor like every place here, but for some reason I like it.

We reached Sohayl's house which is in a district of houses much nicer than many. It's a white house with high ceilings and marble floors, sparsly but nicely furnished. Nicole, Sohayl and I chatted over some white tea, which was very nice. Sohayl then left for the office and I read for a while and chatted with Nicole. After a little while we went to the market taking a bicycle-rickshaw. We went to get some material for my outfits. When getting punjab suits (which is what most women wear here) you first pick the material, which usually comes in two sets of patterns, one for the top and one for the bottom and scarf. Then they size you up, and fashion the fabric. Today we only bought the fabric. I picked my patterns fairly quickly and Nicole was delighted that I'm a quick shopper. I got a Pepsi (the cans are taller and skinnier here) and we went back to the house. I read for a bit longer and then the kids came home from school. There are three of them, two boys and a girl. Arastu, Rachelle and Armon. They said hi but were kind of shy. Then Sohayl took me on his motorcycle to the office where he talked to me about the office and the work they do here. And then I began to compose this e-mail. Tommorrow I get to work!

And Now Farewell...

2008-01-26T18:55:00.000-08:00

Well everyone – and by that I mean no one, since no one has yet looked at my blog – tomorrow, Sunday, I get on the plane at 2:30 pm, and then take a ten or so hour flight to Hong Kong. I have an hour stopover and then its back on the plane for a eight or so hour flight to Delhi.

I’ll get in at 2:15 am, their time. A Bahai from Parksville will actually be going to India a few days before me and he’s generously agreed to pick me up and help me get around. I’ll be taking a train to Lucknow where I’ll meet my host family for the first time.

Wish me luck! Now!

And now that I’ve made a Lucknow joke, there’s no need for anyone to ever make one again.

Prolouge

2008-01-19T22:51:00.000-08:00

Heya,

Between my MSN list, Facebook, and the real world, it would be a hassle to send out messages to everyone, formatting for formats, and trying not to forget anyone. Thus I have created this blog as a central location, to let you, the reader, decide how much or how little of me you want to experience.

The name of the blog comes from a short story by Voltaire called “Zadig”. The entire quote is “…upon such strings as these do the fates of mortals hang!” The story is about a Babylonian named Zadig who, while virtuous, finds himself vacillating between fortune and despair for most of his life. Just when things seem to be looking up, something bad always happens, and it’s usually someone else’s fault. At one point Zadig was very wealthy and beloved by most people for his generosity, gallantry, and wisdom. There was one man however who envied Zadig. This man, Arimazes, was determined to ruin Zadig. One day Zadig was in his garden with some guests, and he wrote a quick poem for the lady that was there. The other guests were anxious to see it but Zadig was being modest so he tore it up and threw it away to show how little he thought of his own poetry. Arimazes was spying nearby and he found one half of the poem, which being incomplete seemed to insult the King. Arimazes took the poem to the King who immediately had Zadig arrested and condemned. Just as Zadig was about to be executed, the King’s parrot flew over Zadig’s garden and happened to pick up a pear to which the other half of the poem was stuck. The parrot dropped the pear at the King’s knees and the Queen realized that it was the other half of the Zadig’s poem, which in fact praised the King. Zadig was released, and was so charming about the whole affair that he fell into the King’s favour. Later on Zadig was talking to the King’s parrot when he said, “…upon such strings as these do the fates of mortals hang!”

Obviously the example is a little ridiculous, but the point is made. Our lives can quickly switch from bliss to tragedy and back, and all of the great weight of our lives hangs on tiny threads of chance and choice. I expect nothing more or less from my travels in India.

Of course the purpose of this blog is to relate to you my adventures in India, so I’ll begin by telling you a bit about the process that got me to this point. After graduating from high school I was determined to go on a year of service. This is something we’re encouraged to do in the Bahai Faith: go to another community and help out. There are lists available of Bahai communities that are requesting people, and on this list was the option to go to India, to write. I was sold.

I began communicating with the Bahai administration in Canada and India, and made contact with my host family. Plans were laid and needles were jammed into my arm. I got a job at a corner store to save up my money, working six-day weeks. Six months later all the cards have fallen into place. And Sunday the 27th I leave for India, taking a stop over in Hong Kong.