India

March 11th, 2012

Sailing to India brought about many mixed feelings and emotions. I think everyone on the ship shared a feeling of excitement and apprehension about what we were soon to experience. I had been told that India is a country of contrast, the very poor and the very rich. Before I left for SAS, my sister, Heather, sent me an essay she had to read while on SAS. I don't think I could describe this any better!

Trying Really Hard to Like India 

            I believe it's OK to hate a place.

            For example, when I went to India I just haaaaaaaaaated it.  Delhi was a reddish haze of 100 degrees dust.  And while, of course, the Taj Mahal was great… the streets outside it were a miasma of defecating children.  I could not wait to leave.

            From our hotel window in Agra, we look down on a pile of garbage.  Every night, this pile becomes dispersed as it is picked at and chewed on by rats, the crows, then stray dogs, then cows, and then homeless people.  Every morning a woman dressed in a brightly colored sari sweeps this masticated garbage-porridge back into a pile.  It is the worst job I can imagine.

            When we leave the hotel and walk down the (urine-soaked) street, we get assaulted by auto-rickshaw drivers, by hawkers, by tour guides… and by tiny children pointing to their own mouths.  This last one is rough – at least the first few dozen times.  Sometimes these kids are part of a scam.  They are forced to beg by adults who run panhandling teams.  (We've read stories about teams that cut out kids' tongues, to make them seem more pitiable.)  But sometimes these kids are just honestly looking for food.  Because they're starving.  They might eat out of that big garbage pile tonight.  Once the dogs are done.

            On the train ride back to Delhi, I gaze out on destitute slums.  Wherever one can build a shanty, someone has.  Wherever one could be pissing, someone is.  The poverty's on a mind-blowing, overwhelmingly scale, and you feel so helpless.  The money in your pocket right now, handed to any one person out there beyond the window, would be life-changing.  But you can't save a billion people and turn the fortunes of this massive country.  (You're not Gandhi, you know.)  There's a lot of wealth in India, too I have learned.

            The thing is, if you go to India as a tourist, you'll have to make some sort of peace with all this.  Because it is one thing to see poverty on television or to get direct mail that asks for your charity.  It's different when there are tiny, starving children grabbing your wrists asking for money wherever you go.

            For my part, I've resolved to maybe send some money to some worthy Indian charity when I get home.  It's the best solution I can come up with.  Because I'm not going to get through this trip until I've reached an understanding with myself… and until I take some Pepto-Bismol, because my stomach is just killing me.  Which brings me to another thing you'll have to be prepared for.

            You will get "Delhi belly" soon after arriving in India.  And you won't enjoy your trip until it's gone.  My illness takes hold on the train ride back to Delhi, as my intestines suddenly spasm into a clenched fist full of acid.  The restroom – should this come into play – is a hole in the floor of the train.  (A sign on the door request that we not use the hole while the train's in a station – for obvious reasons.)

            The good news is that it won't take long before your stomach adjusts to these new microbial nasties and you're back to feeling fine.  Also on this night train ride from Agra to Delhi, there are mice scamming the floor below our seats.  I supposed I could call on Lord Shiva, one of the several gods this country believes in, to destroy all the roaches and mice.  But instead I just call on Lord Ativan, destroyer of consciousness.

            Once stepping out onto the streets of Delhi can be a difficult ordeal.  The air smells like twice-baked urine, marinated in more urine.  The sidewalks are a slalom of legless beggars and feral dogs.  Hundreds of times each day you walk right past something so unfathomably sad, so incomprehensively surreal, so horribly unfair.

            The only way to cope is to stop resisting.  Embrace the chaos.  If you see a woman rolling around in the gutter clutching at the massive, bulbous wart on the side of her face and moaning loudly… well that's part of the scenery.  No one else here (certainly no native Delhians) will pay her any attention.  So why should you?  Just say to yourself: Wow, that's crazy stuff and marvelously edifying.  Doo-dee-doo, keep on walking.

            That's harsh and simplistic.  The truth is, the chaos can be wonderful sometimes, too.  There's a goofy sense of freedom that comes with it.  A sense of unknowing.

            Back home in the States, it can feel like we've got life figured out, regulated, under control, under warps.  But here in India, nothing seems even close to figured out.  Nothing seems remotely under control.  You're never quite sure what will happen next, and you're working without a net.

            Terrifying?  Yes.  But also invigorating.  From the citizens, sure, all that chaos is beautiful.  It's amazing to ponder how one billion people manage to coexist in a single, sprawling democracy.  It truly is impressive that this country keeps chugging along – massive, bulbous face warts and all.

            In fact, I've come not just to like but to love India -in a way- from afar.  It's the underdog.  It's dirty and hectic and insane…and I find myself rooting for it.

            I love the Indian head waggle.  It's a fantastic bit of body language, and I'm trying to add it to my list.  The head waggle says, in a uniquely unenthusiastic way, "OK, that's fine."  In terms of Western gestures, its meaning is somewhere between the nod (though less affirmative) and the shrug (though not quite as neutral).

            To perform the head waggle, keep your shoulders perfectly still, hold your face completely expressionless, and tilt your head side-to-side, metronome style.  Make it smooth – like you're a bobble-head doll.  It's not easy.  Believe me, I've been practicing.

            I love how Indians are unflappable.  Nothing – I mean NOTHING seems to faze them in the least.  If you live here, I suppose you've seen your fair share of crazy/ horrid/ miraculous/ incomprehensible/ mind-blowing stuff, and it's impractical to get too worked up over anything, good or bad.

            I love that this is a BILLION-person democracy.  That is insane.  Somehow the large diversity of people of all different castes and beliefs all fit together under this single, ramshackle umbrella.  It's astonishing and commendable that anyone would ever attempt to pull this off.

            I love the chaos (when I don't hate it).  Delhi is a city of a lot of people – all of whom appear to be on the same block of sidewalk as you.  If you enjoy stimulation overload of Manhattan or Tokyo but prefer much less wealth and infrastructure… this is your spot.  (Our tour guide Achla, has a related but slightly different take: "It's like New York, if everyone in New York was Indian!  How great is that!")  And whatever else you may feel, Delhi will force you to consider your tiny place within humanity and the universe.  That's healthy.

            It's the spinach of travel destinations – you may not always (or EVER) enjoy it, but it's probably good for you.  In the final reckoning, am I glad that I came here?  Oh, absolutely.  It's been humbling.  It's been edifying.  It's been, on several occasions, quite wondrous.  It's even been fun, when it hasn't been miserable.

            That said, was I ready to leave?  Sweet mercy, yes.

March 12th, 2012 

Upon arrival in India, we were greeted with locals outside of our ship who were dancing and playing drums. We also got a bindi put on our foreheads when exiting the ship. The bindi is the dot in between both eyes and the spot of concealed wisdom. It is also called the third eye. Before we could get off of the ship though, we were held up in immigration until 11:00am. I think the whole shipboard community was gathered in line at the gangway to get off. It was a mess to say the least with trips planned to leave at 9:00am. 

Finally though, we were all able to get off of the ship and I had an FDP for my theatre and performance class. We walked down Jew-Town Road (there are only 9 Jews who still live there) to get to Paradesi Synagogue. 

We went to St. Francis Church built by Portugese in 1503 and is the oldest church built by Europeans in India. The tomb of Vasco de Gama is at. 

We also saw the south Indian temple art in the Mattancherry Palace, which houses impressive sixteenth-century murals depicting stories from the ancient Hindu epics (the Ramayana and Mahabharata) and from medieval Puranic mythology. 

After these visits, we went to a Kerala performance at the Greenix center. It was very interesting. The idea is one that we learned through Richard Schechter's article on Magnitude of Performance that you can make certain muscles in your face to show eight basic emotions of classical disgust, and surprise. This differs from the theatre in the West because performers are taught to call upon the emotions from their life that may make them sad, happy, fearful, excited, etc., and use that to display facial expressions while acting. The facial expressions that the man used were very disturbing, and they were kind of creepy. 

After my FDP, I took a rickshaw with Alex and Maria. We wanted to go to the Chinese fisherman's market, but they like to ignore that fact and show you around their friends places. He took us to some mosques and other places before we stopped at one store before we had to go back to the ship. We never made it to the Chinese fisherman's market. We ported in Cochin (in the South) and through my first day there, I was shocked at how much it failed to meet the expectation that I had heard about India. This was the first sign of how much India is a country of great contrast. I was expecting swarms of kids to be around us. Instead, it was very laid back and relaxed. 

That night, at the welcome reception, I was able to get a henna tattoo. The lady did not want to listen  to how big I wanted it, and so it ended up being all over my hand. The idea of the henna tattoo's are that the darker color, the more that you will be loved by your husband if you are married. They are usually used for brides when getting married and are put on your palms and feet because the oil held there makes them appear darker. There were students from local colleges in India that were there to talk to us. A girl there was telling us about how she was married and that it was an arranged marriage. Her husband lives in Singapore and she was finishing college that week so she will move there after college. 

March 13, 2012

Waking up at 2:45am is always fun.. (Just Kidding!) My Agra & Jaipor trip left this morning. We left the ship at 4:00am to catch our flight to New Delhi. 

Upon arrival, we got flower necklaces. 

We then went to visit Qutb Minar and had lunch after. 

We then proceeded to Humayun's Tomb where Hamida Banu Begum built this mausoleum in honor of her late husband. The tomb has within it over 100 graves, earning it the name, 'Dormitory of the Mugals.' It was built of rubble masonry, the structure is the first to use red sandstone and white marble in such great quantities. The small canopies on the terrace were originally covered in glazed blue tiles.

 We then proceeded to Raj Ghat - Mahatma Gandhi's Samadhi. His last words are beleived to be , He Ram which means "Oh God"after he was shot. He was the political leader during the Indian independence movenemnt. On our way to our hotel, we drove past India Gate and the Imperial Buildings. Our hotel was so nice, I felt like a queen; we stayed at the Royal Plaza. 

March 14, 2012

Another early morning with boarding the bus at 5:00am on our way to the train station. We left Delhi behind when boarding the Train 2002 New Delhi Bhopal Shatabdi Express. The plus side of an early morning train was watching the sun rise and seeing the country side flash by. Using the bathroom was quite an experience. As in the essay above, there is a sign asking to refrain from using the bathroom while the train is stopped. The bathroom is a hole in the train with two foot marks where you are to stand. The floor was wet and dirty. While I was in the bathroom, the girl sitting next to me got a meal they were serving. A little bit later, the guy came by with a tray a mystery concoction and some money laid on the tray. We were so confused while he kept staring at us with a deathly look. We finally realized he wanted money. 

Getting off of the train, I began to feel and see the India I had heard so much about. The kids trying to get money and our water bottles from us, the man riding a bike with feet that looked like they could be balloons, the mother with only one arm carrying her child. I tried to keep my feet strong and my heart soft, something that a life long learner had described with her experiences in an orphanage in Ghana. Boarding the busses and leaving behind these starving people, I tried to keep in mind the essay I had read, " The only way to cope is to stop resisting.  Embrace the chaos.  If you see a woman rolling around in the gutter clutching at the massive, bulbous wart on the side of her face and moaning loudly… well that's part of the scenery.  No one else here (certainly no native Delhians) will pay her any attention.  So why should you?  Just say to yourself: Wow, that's crazy stuff and marvelously edifying.  Doo-dee-doo, keep on walking." 

After breakfast, we proceeded to Agra Fort where we could see the Taj Mahal in the distance. Agra fort is described as a walled city. 

After, we visited the Taj Mahal. Emperor Shah Jahan immortalized his love for his wife, Mumtaz Mahal by building the Taj Mahal. This was an incredible place to see. So much white marble. It is called a "Dream in Marble" and is situated on the Yamuna river. All the Indian guys were taking pictures of us. I am not quite sure why they were so interested in us American's because it is such a tourist place that I would not think we would interest them to that extent. 

After we had lunch  we went to a marble/fine arts place and were able to see a demonstration. We then embarked on our 6 hour drive to Jaipur. The distance is only 232km, but with the traffic and cows roaming the roads, it takes much longer. 

Along the way, we stopped at Fatehpur Sikri. This used to be named Sikrigarh but after an attack, it was called Fatah(victory)pur Sikri.