Tiger Safari Bandhavgarh, MP
I arrived back in Delhi on Tuesday November 15, washed some clothes, rested up, did some work in preparation for my tiger safari with Bill Carr on November 16. Bill and I had been planning this for some time and he really wanted to see s tiger before he left India, and went back to his life in Scotland. Bill had spent one year in Cameroon prior to spending one year in India. I made train reservations in September but was hesitating as I knew that BK would be in full bloom and that a major integrated sports day was happening in Delhi through Amar Jyoti school, an event that I was helping to plan. The thought of seeing a tiger in the wild, and not knowing if I would have this opportunity again, won out in the end.
I met Bill, a VSO colleague and friend, at the Nizamuddin train station, with our train being delayed a bit. This was to be an over-night train arriving in Urmari around 5:30 AM on Thursday morning. We were picked up soon after arriving and began the 20+ km journey into the wild.
Bill had made reservations at Wildhaven resorts close to the reserve and had booked us on five safaris. The resort was quite nice amidst somewhat of a makeover with new management. The room was neat and clean, although power was always off between something like 8-11 AM. The service was very good and we had use of a computer with internet. Very quiet after the hectic life that I lead in Delhi. There wasn’t even a bank or ATM in “town”.
The first safari was at 3:30 on Thursday afternoon. There were three main areas or gates for viewing tigers, one of which was more expensive due to the number of tiger sightings. We were both quite excited as we boarded the open jeep with our driver for our first safari. We headed to the gate to wait in queue where we picked up a guide. We found that in many cases the guide was just an extra expenditure, but it did help to employ the locals, who it seemed really depended on the tigers, or the hope of seeing one, for their revenue.
There were a number of jeeps that went into the park all speeding out to find the tiger. As we later came to find out the best time to see tigers is in April or May during the hot season when many animals can be seen at the water holes. The guide and driver said that in order to find a tiger we had to listen to the monkeys, lots of langurs, and other animals giving warning signals. On the first safari we actually heard some growling and warning signals and we listened hoping to spot a tiger.
Unfortunately we didn’t see one on that first sojourn. We stopped and compared notes with some of the other tourists and did see some snaps from those lucky enough to spot a tiger. There aren’t actually that many in the park, around 60+ and so to spot a tiger does take some luck. Another couple had seen a sloth bear and her cub. We saw a number of spotted and other deer, wild boar, langurs and the forest was beautiful. It was quite cool as the sun went down and we headed out of the park.
One safari down and lots of optimism as we awoke on Friday for the 6:15 AM safari. We made our way to pick up another guide and went to a different entrance where we were first in line. One of the first things that we saw was a sloth bear and again many deer, langurs, but no tiger. Riding that early in the morning was cold, but it felt good as the sun came up and I stripped off some of my clothing. We went to a fire tower which we climbed and were able to see a large part of the park which was full of green trees. November was a time of greenery, after the monsoons and of course was very different, later in the year when the grasses had shrunk to almost nothing.
Our guides and drivers told us stories of tiger spotting, of cubs with their mom on the roads and we continued to feel optimistic. We also heard stories of people attacked by tigers and then the tigers being taken to zoos. One had to be smart and not just step into the forest at dusk, but still given the open jeeps, who knew if a tiger was hungry enough just to jump in and say hello.
The third safari would be Friday afternoon, into early evening with the same results. No tigers spotted by us, although again we could hear the roars, which fueled our optimism.
Saturday morning was the last tiger safari as the afternoon, around 2, would be a tour of the fort. For Bill this was something like his 9th safari without spotting a tiger. He had been to a place called the Jim Corbett Park but “only” saw wild elephants, which is enough of a reason to go.
On Saturday we had the best guide, he really was focused on helping us to find tigers. We drove like made to favorite tiger spotting locations and waited, but nothing. As the time came closer to leaving we noticed another jeep and a woman with a large smile telling us to be quiet and to come over next to their jeep. Sure enough there was our tiger! It was just resting, but proceeded to get up, and walk across the road in front of us. We were full of smiles and congratulations for our guide and driver who had driven with us on the three previous safaris.
The tiger was magnificent and although she came close to us, hardly paid us any heed. This was her domain and we were nothing. Tigers apparently stay on their own, but we were told that this one had some cubs which the guide had seen on previous safaris. This one sighting made everything worth the wait. The afternoon safari to the Fort was also great and one other tourist showed me his tiger photos which were just incredible. They had followed the tiger for some time, which we couldn’t do because our tiger went right across the road to disappear into the forest.
On Saturday evening we left somewhat tired, but happy. On the train ride Bill was in a lot of pain. As it turned out although he was supposed to leave for Scotland on Tuesday he had to have an operation for some gall stones. He did eventually make it back, with a much larger story to tell.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
November Part 2, Momin's Wedding
Momin’s Wedding
Momin, one of the few Muslims working in the office, is a dear young man and it so happened that he invited me to his wedding in Shamsabad, UP . I had never been to a Muslim wedding and knew that this would be an opportunity to learn more about the world. I arrived early Sunday morning November 13 and was greeted by one of Momin’s friends at the Farukhadbad train station. We hopped onto his cycle and drove the 20 km to Shamsabd. From the moment we got out of the train station to the more rural areas the scenery shifted to the India that I love.
The simplicity of rural India, as I imagine other rural areas, in other parts of the world, is just beautiful. It is the way that it has been for so many years, oxen pulled carts, hand work as opposed to mechanization, and although it is changing, it is, in the very technologically driven world, something that I treasure.
As we entered the town of Shamsabad, a decent sized city, we came to Momin’s family’s home which was quite large, as his dad is a very well known doctor. The more than extended family was staying at Momin’s for the wedding and his bride to be lived about a five minute walk. This was a love marriage, something still unusual in India, but it would take place in the very traditional way.
People in Shamsabad were generally not that acquainted with westerners. I noticed this in the many children who would run away from the site of me. There was also the other side where others would just glom onto me. At times this became a bit much as when I was awoken early Monday after going to sleep into early Monday morning. All part of the experience though and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Arriving on Sunday morning I asked to take a shower or bucket bath. Because the power was off, the water had to be heated manually. The toilets are at the end of an indoor courtyard or kind of living room of which many people were sitting around talking, waiting. This is the ultimate idea that comes to mind when I think of a joined family as not even bathroom habits are kept private. The sink was out in the courtyard and even brushing my teeth was a family affair. I met a number of “grandmothers”, brothers, aunties, uncles, children all of whom played some role in Momin’s life. Fortunately some of the folks did speak English.
Momin and his friends were quite over protective of me, but considering that people just gathered at the site of an American, it did make some sense. I met so many people as we walked through the town. I taught songs and danced with the many children and they tried to teach me. One young girl, who I nicknamed Sheila, was an incredible dancer who I captured on a short video.
Some of Momin’s friends and I went on a little site seeing tour. We stopped at a friend’s house where people were making the very detailed sari’s. This was very interesting to me, the patience that has to go into putting all of the beads in the right place. We sat outside his house and a crowd gathered just to look. We got back onto the scooters and the friends took me to a mosque and a little hill where one child was following us. I asked to take his picture and he looked at me as if I was from outer space. Finally a group of his friends came over and they all took a photo. One has to wonder how many photos these children have taken.
On Sunday night the ceremony began at Momin’s with him being given a number of outfits to try on. (Before this I went with Momin and another friend to a mosque across the street from his home where he prayed). Everyone on Momin’s side gathered around a small stage on the first floor at his house while relative after relative gave him new clothes, which he proceeded to try on in front of all. (I’m sure a similar ceremony was going on at the bride to be’s home). Finally a rather large flower thing, the length of Momin was placed on his head. This must have weighed at minimum 10 kg. As he sat, rupees were given to him and placed on the money necklaces.
At around 10 PM(?) Momin and his friends and me got into the wedding car where we were transported to the wedding venue. Momin was brought to the stage where a number of Imam were sitting. There were a tremendous number of, mostly men, sitting in the audience, waiting for the food “stalls” on the inside perimeter of the tent to open.
As the ceremony started, I noticed that the bride-to-be was nowhere to be seen and was told that she was in the tent behind the stage. I walked over and saw many women in front of the tent hanging, just waiting. I later came to find out that the bride would not leave the tent, but that someone from Momin’s family, as part of the ceremony, would go and ask her to marry Momin.
Many of Momin’s female family members did come and observe Momin and they were all dressed so beautifully. I really enjoy the women in India, dressed in the more traditional sari’s. Wedding sari’s are a step beyond and are just beautiful to observe. The jewelry that is worn, especially the nose rings, are also something that I love to see and take photos of. I took a snap with a number of the women surrounding me and was in a bit of heaven.
Finally we got to the end of the ceremony and I went up on the stage, sat next to Momin and watched him, his father-in-law, and others sign some legal documents. During the entire 2+ hour ceremony everyone was enjoying a variety of foods. Unfortunately dust bins were not provided, or at least I didn’t see any and so the grounds of the wedding ceremony tent, became littered, something I haven’t quite gotten used to.
One of Momin’s friends brought me back to the house on his scooter. The next day’s reception would take place across the narrow street from Momin’s home and I decided to go over. A group of five men were preparing the food, including the carcass of a cow with his entrails sprawled and his head and eyes in a fixed gaze.
I walked into the house where more ceremony was taking place. Someone had something like silly string and was spraying it. This had also been used at the wedding ceremony venue. Finally Momin’s wife was brought in with her face shrouded. She was just lovely in the very heavy wedding dress, although we couldn’t really look upon her face yet. She was placed on the ground and all gathered around her. Momin sat next to her, the silly string spewing. I can’t imagine what it must be like for the bride, wearing so much wedding paraphernalia, having to change, the wedding night.
The ceremonies seemed to go on and on and I decided to try to sleep. There were people sleeping everywhere and there was at least one other person in “my” room, but at least I had my own bed.
Momin’s father had painted one of the bedrooms for the first night, but earlier in the day I had sat on the bed with some other friends and eaten our lunch. I wondered what it would be like, how Momin’s wife would even get out of her wedding clothes which she also had to put on the next day, somehow everyone takes it in stride. There was one point where I asked the bride how she was doing and put my hand on her shoulder, but was told don’t touch her. A modern couple steeped in tradition.
On Monday I walked into town with a couple of Momin’s friends. There was a great market and people generally allowed me to take their photos. There was a great deal of curiosity, but part of the experience is to just “touch” others by being in the same vicinity. I must look rather odd with my topis, considering that the circumstance of a westerner being in town were very remote. Finally we had to go back to Momin’s home for the reception.
Momin and his wife were sitting on his bed greeting people, having photos taken. The bride looked uncomfortable and so very tired, but she took it in good spirit. This is the way that it is and will continue to be. Momin explained to me that there would be many more days of ceremonies and celebrations.
Around 6 PM I got onto a scooter with two of Momin’s friends as they drove me to the train station. The magic of rural India was everywhere as we drove around dusk, making it all even more mystical.
As I think back on it all, it adds to my understanding and knowledge of the world. It tells me that people are people, some do hate, but mostly we just want what is best for ourselves and our families. A Muslim person may have different beliefs but mostly there is allowance and tolerance for all. As I continue to find out though, one has to experience diversity to really know, to be part of the world and break down person made barriers.
I’m looking forward to meeting up with Momin and his wife in Delhi, ready to assume a modern relationship, where both are working and loving based on what they both wanted. I’m looking forward to sharing some of the happiness and hopefully becoming an uncle to their children. I’m thankful for having had the opportunity to be part of a very different culture enabling me to continue to learn about the world.
Momin, one of the few Muslims working in the office, is a dear young man and it so happened that he invited me to his wedding in Shamsabad, UP . I had never been to a Muslim wedding and knew that this would be an opportunity to learn more about the world. I arrived early Sunday morning November 13 and was greeted by one of Momin’s friends at the Farukhadbad train station. We hopped onto his cycle and drove the 20 km to Shamsabd. From the moment we got out of the train station to the more rural areas the scenery shifted to the India that I love.
The simplicity of rural India, as I imagine other rural areas, in other parts of the world, is just beautiful. It is the way that it has been for so many years, oxen pulled carts, hand work as opposed to mechanization, and although it is changing, it is, in the very technologically driven world, something that I treasure.
As we entered the town of Shamsabad, a decent sized city, we came to Momin’s family’s home which was quite large, as his dad is a very well known doctor. The more than extended family was staying at Momin’s for the wedding and his bride to be lived about a five minute walk. This was a love marriage, something still unusual in India, but it would take place in the very traditional way.
People in Shamsabad were generally not that acquainted with westerners. I noticed this in the many children who would run away from the site of me. There was also the other side where others would just glom onto me. At times this became a bit much as when I was awoken early Monday after going to sleep into early Monday morning. All part of the experience though and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Arriving on Sunday morning I asked to take a shower or bucket bath. Because the power was off, the water had to be heated manually. The toilets are at the end of an indoor courtyard or kind of living room of which many people were sitting around talking, waiting. This is the ultimate idea that comes to mind when I think of a joined family as not even bathroom habits are kept private. The sink was out in the courtyard and even brushing my teeth was a family affair. I met a number of “grandmothers”, brothers, aunties, uncles, children all of whom played some role in Momin’s life. Fortunately some of the folks did speak English.
Momin and his friends were quite over protective of me, but considering that people just gathered at the site of an American, it did make some sense. I met so many people as we walked through the town. I taught songs and danced with the many children and they tried to teach me. One young girl, who I nicknamed Sheila, was an incredible dancer who I captured on a short video.
Some of Momin’s friends and I went on a little site seeing tour. We stopped at a friend’s house where people were making the very detailed sari’s. This was very interesting to me, the patience that has to go into putting all of the beads in the right place. We sat outside his house and a crowd gathered just to look. We got back onto the scooters and the friends took me to a mosque and a little hill where one child was following us. I asked to take his picture and he looked at me as if I was from outer space. Finally a group of his friends came over and they all took a photo. One has to wonder how many photos these children have taken.
On Sunday night the ceremony began at Momin’s with him being given a number of outfits to try on. (Before this I went with Momin and another friend to a mosque across the street from his home where he prayed). Everyone on Momin’s side gathered around a small stage on the first floor at his house while relative after relative gave him new clothes, which he proceeded to try on in front of all. (I’m sure a similar ceremony was going on at the bride to be’s home). Finally a rather large flower thing, the length of Momin was placed on his head. This must have weighed at minimum 10 kg. As he sat, rupees were given to him and placed on the money necklaces.
At around 10 PM(?) Momin and his friends and me got into the wedding car where we were transported to the wedding venue. Momin was brought to the stage where a number of Imam were sitting. There were a tremendous number of, mostly men, sitting in the audience, waiting for the food “stalls” on the inside perimeter of the tent to open.
As the ceremony started, I noticed that the bride-to-be was nowhere to be seen and was told that she was in the tent behind the stage. I walked over and saw many women in front of the tent hanging, just waiting. I later came to find out that the bride would not leave the tent, but that someone from Momin’s family, as part of the ceremony, would go and ask her to marry Momin.
Many of Momin’s female family members did come and observe Momin and they were all dressed so beautifully. I really enjoy the women in India, dressed in the more traditional sari’s. Wedding sari’s are a step beyond and are just beautiful to observe. The jewelry that is worn, especially the nose rings, are also something that I love to see and take photos of. I took a snap with a number of the women surrounding me and was in a bit of heaven.
Finally we got to the end of the ceremony and I went up on the stage, sat next to Momin and watched him, his father-in-law, and others sign some legal documents. During the entire 2+ hour ceremony everyone was enjoying a variety of foods. Unfortunately dust bins were not provided, or at least I didn’t see any and so the grounds of the wedding ceremony tent, became littered, something I haven’t quite gotten used to.
One of Momin’s friends brought me back to the house on his scooter. The next day’s reception would take place across the narrow street from Momin’s home and I decided to go over. A group of five men were preparing the food, including the carcass of a cow with his entrails sprawled and his head and eyes in a fixed gaze.
I walked into the house where more ceremony was taking place. Someone had something like silly string and was spraying it. This had also been used at the wedding ceremony venue. Finally Momin’s wife was brought in with her face shrouded. She was just lovely in the very heavy wedding dress, although we couldn’t really look upon her face yet. She was placed on the ground and all gathered around her. Momin sat next to her, the silly string spewing. I can’t imagine what it must be like for the bride, wearing so much wedding paraphernalia, having to change, the wedding night.
The ceremonies seemed to go on and on and I decided to try to sleep. There were people sleeping everywhere and there was at least one other person in “my” room, but at least I had my own bed.
Momin’s father had painted one of the bedrooms for the first night, but earlier in the day I had sat on the bed with some other friends and eaten our lunch. I wondered what it would be like, how Momin’s wife would even get out of her wedding clothes which she also had to put on the next day, somehow everyone takes it in stride. There was one point where I asked the bride how she was doing and put my hand on her shoulder, but was told don’t touch her. A modern couple steeped in tradition.
On Monday I walked into town with a couple of Momin’s friends. There was a great market and people generally allowed me to take their photos. There was a great deal of curiosity, but part of the experience is to just “touch” others by being in the same vicinity. I must look rather odd with my topis, considering that the circumstance of a westerner being in town were very remote. Finally we had to go back to Momin’s home for the reception.
Momin and his wife were sitting on his bed greeting people, having photos taken. The bride looked uncomfortable and so very tired, but she took it in good spirit. This is the way that it is and will continue to be. Momin explained to me that there would be many more days of ceremonies and celebrations.
Around 6 PM I got onto a scooter with two of Momin’s friends as they drove me to the train station. The magic of rural India was everywhere as we drove around dusk, making it all even more mystical.
As I think back on it all, it adds to my understanding and knowledge of the world. It tells me that people are people, some do hate, but mostly we just want what is best for ourselves and our families. A Muslim person may have different beliefs but mostly there is allowance and tolerance for all. As I continue to find out though, one has to experience diversity to really know, to be part of the world and break down person made barriers.
I’m looking forward to meeting up with Momin and his wife in Delhi, ready to assume a modern relationship, where both are working and loving based on what they both wanted. I’m looking forward to sharing some of the happiness and hopefully becoming an uncle to their children. I’m thankful for having had the opportunity to be part of a very different culture enabling me to continue to learn about the world.
November 2011 part 1
Last month was nothing short of a whirl wind, as time passed from late October to early December within a matter of minutes. Badhte Kadam, edition 3, kicked off on October 21 in Chandigarh, with the Delhi Flag Off on November 3 at Delhi Haat, soon followed by attending a wedding in Shamsabad, UP, a visit to a tiger reserve, Bandhavgarh, M.P., wheelchair basketball in Delhi and Visakhapatnam, A.P., a return to Delhi and the closing of Badhte Kadam, world disability day and more wheelchair basketball, attending a speaking engagement to see the Dalai Lama and the National Disability Awards. In between all of this my sister Robyn and her husband Michael arrived in Delhi, soon left, came back and took up residence, in what is now the spare bedroom, until December 9.
Badhte Kadam 2011
Badhte Kadam 2011 has turned out to be the best edition yet, mainly because of the cooperation of the press throughout India. We’ve had the partnership of the government channel, Doordarshan, and the local press seems to have totally come onto “our side”.
This year we enabled more flexibility on the local dates of BK, as well as how the local NGOs would run their melas, or information sessions. This seemed to have worked out to the best as indicated by the consistent posting of photos and video on the Badhte Kadam Facebook page. This was a new feature which we brought to BK 2011 and a number of our NGOs actually started their own FB pages, which was unintended capacity building. We’re going to follow up on this by helping all of our participating BK NGOs to establish their own FB pages.
The Flag out organized by the excellent NGO AADI was held at Dilla Haat, a very wise decision as the event was more out in the open. Unlike last year where we had to beg people to come to the Constitution Club in a somewhat staid environment, this year all of the seats were filled. The Minister of Social Justice and Empowerment, Mr. Wasnik, again graced us by flagging off. The AADI staff did a great job or organising with help from National Trust, mostly supplied by our Deputy Director of Administration, Mr. Tyagi. Of course, our super board member Shekhar Borker, who had participated in all editions of BK, was also there.
One of the highlights of the event for me came when hearing impaired children signed the National Anthem. This seems, at least in our circles to becoming more and more popular and it was incredibly moving. The amount of press was phenomenal, thanks to Epistle Solutions, which shows the growth in interest of the disability field. To me, Muthu from AADI, like Jerry West to the National Basketball Association, has become the poster of what BK is all about. A strong man even though confined to a wheelchair. A great photo of Muthu appeared in the Times of India representing what BK is all about.
This year I decided that I needed to get out of the office during BK, although I knew that I could be reached wherever I was in India. One has to let go and allow others to do the work. My job is about capacity building and this was the intention. Yes, I still need to help with some framework, but front line staff, Anita, Momin and others are understanding more and more the importance and potential of Badhte Kadam. Pieces are in place, on the staff side to continue this work, the question is who has the time and will take the leadership to lead BK 4.
Badhte Kadam 2011
Badhte Kadam 2011 has turned out to be the best edition yet, mainly because of the cooperation of the press throughout India. We’ve had the partnership of the government channel, Doordarshan, and the local press seems to have totally come onto “our side”.
This year we enabled more flexibility on the local dates of BK, as well as how the local NGOs would run their melas, or information sessions. This seemed to have worked out to the best as indicated by the consistent posting of photos and video on the Badhte Kadam Facebook page. This was a new feature which we brought to BK 2011 and a number of our NGOs actually started their own FB pages, which was unintended capacity building. We’re going to follow up on this by helping all of our participating BK NGOs to establish their own FB pages.
The Flag out organized by the excellent NGO AADI was held at Dilla Haat, a very wise decision as the event was more out in the open. Unlike last year where we had to beg people to come to the Constitution Club in a somewhat staid environment, this year all of the seats were filled. The Minister of Social Justice and Empowerment, Mr. Wasnik, again graced us by flagging off. The AADI staff did a great job or organising with help from National Trust, mostly supplied by our Deputy Director of Administration, Mr. Tyagi. Of course, our super board member Shekhar Borker, who had participated in all editions of BK, was also there.
One of the highlights of the event for me came when hearing impaired children signed the National Anthem. This seems, at least in our circles to becoming more and more popular and it was incredibly moving. The amount of press was phenomenal, thanks to Epistle Solutions, which shows the growth in interest of the disability field. To me, Muthu from AADI, like Jerry West to the National Basketball Association, has become the poster of what BK is all about. A strong man even though confined to a wheelchair. A great photo of Muthu appeared in the Times of India representing what BK is all about.
This year I decided that I needed to get out of the office during BK, although I knew that I could be reached wherever I was in India. One has to let go and allow others to do the work. My job is about capacity building and this was the intention. Yes, I still need to help with some framework, but front line staff, Anita, Momin and others are understanding more and more the importance and potential of Badhte Kadam. Pieces are in place, on the staff side to continue this work, the question is who has the time and will take the leadership to lead BK 4.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Magic
I think that I will most likely “process” India for the rest of my life. The daily frustrations, and “lack of proper etiquette” encourages me to continually babble cuss words, but the magic tempers and calms me to the point of being in the moment. How does one even begin to describe the “magic”, that I only remember glimpses of in the United States?
On the eve of the Chhath Puja, I see lights and walk across an intersection to a market that this morning was a vacant lot. This is my third Chhath and most likely my last as this festival falls exactly six days after Diwali every year. The familiar coconuts, pineapples and straw baskets lie on the floors of make-shift covered stalls with Indians of all shapes and sizes trying to sell them. The bananas and apple lie on push carts across from the stalls. I notice the long stalks of palm leaves accompanying many families, weaving their way across the busy streets, dodging cars, buses, jitneys and motorcycles. Never mind the traffic signal down the street which on occasion turns red with the drivers sometimes even stopping. (When giving directions in India everyone always talks about going to the “red” light as an identifying marker, as if the light is always red).
Right before the “red” light I take a left and there on my right, the park with a three foot deep, large “cesspool”, filled only by the monsoon rains, where people washed their clothes and children swam during the hot summer months and who knows what else, has been very recently drained, scraped and refilled. The park fence has recently been painted a shade of aqua and a large area apparently for drying rugs and other things has been painted white. I notice the area around the park has been cleaned up, when only this morning there was a huge pile of pooja materials.
There is a ring of pearl lights running around and reflected in the pool. As I scan the park I see lights placed in trees throughout, realizing once again that this magic is only seen once every year. I wrap around the park to the right and notice a gigantic white clothed entrance and a number of light strings placed on a fence behind the entrance. This morning when I left for work none of these props could be seen.
Things spring up out of the dust, which is swept every morning, on a regular basis for weddings, festivals, parties. One night the area around the park may be pitch black, but on the next there is a large tent with lots of people, the name of the tent renter and the words, “Shilpa weds Anil”. The next morning on my way to work the only remains are the tent skeletons. That evening an entire new tent may go up with statues of various “Gods”, loud music playing and male cooks stirring the contents of gigantic pots to make a variety of Indian dishes.
This is the India that I will miss as I visit the United States in March. There will be no sounds, except the television or me listening to the music on my laptop. There will be nothing happening in the streets except people spacing out in their cars. The “magic’ will be so pre-planned that it really isn’t. On those evenings when I’m in the US, I will sit and remember and play back the magic that I’ve found in India.
On the eve of the Chhath Puja, I see lights and walk across an intersection to a market that this morning was a vacant lot. This is my third Chhath and most likely my last as this festival falls exactly six days after Diwali every year. The familiar coconuts, pineapples and straw baskets lie on the floors of make-shift covered stalls with Indians of all shapes and sizes trying to sell them. The bananas and apple lie on push carts across from the stalls. I notice the long stalks of palm leaves accompanying many families, weaving their way across the busy streets, dodging cars, buses, jitneys and motorcycles. Never mind the traffic signal down the street which on occasion turns red with the drivers sometimes even stopping. (When giving directions in India everyone always talks about going to the “red” light as an identifying marker, as if the light is always red).
Right before the “red” light I take a left and there on my right, the park with a three foot deep, large “cesspool”, filled only by the monsoon rains, where people washed their clothes and children swam during the hot summer months and who knows what else, has been very recently drained, scraped and refilled. The park fence has recently been painted a shade of aqua and a large area apparently for drying rugs and other things has been painted white. I notice the area around the park has been cleaned up, when only this morning there was a huge pile of pooja materials.
There is a ring of pearl lights running around and reflected in the pool. As I scan the park I see lights placed in trees throughout, realizing once again that this magic is only seen once every year. I wrap around the park to the right and notice a gigantic white clothed entrance and a number of light strings placed on a fence behind the entrance. This morning when I left for work none of these props could be seen.
Things spring up out of the dust, which is swept every morning, on a regular basis for weddings, festivals, parties. One night the area around the park may be pitch black, but on the next there is a large tent with lots of people, the name of the tent renter and the words, “Shilpa weds Anil”. The next morning on my way to work the only remains are the tent skeletons. That evening an entire new tent may go up with statues of various “Gods”, loud music playing and male cooks stirring the contents of gigantic pots to make a variety of Indian dishes.
This is the India that I will miss as I visit the United States in March. There will be no sounds, except the television or me listening to the music on my laptop. There will be nothing happening in the streets except people spacing out in their cars. The “magic’ will be so pre-planned that it really isn’t. On those evenings when I’m in the US, I will sit and remember and play back the magic that I’ve found in India.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Kathmandu, Nepal
As my visa is for Business, multi-entry with the stipulation that I leave every 180 days, VSO India paid for me to travel to Kathmandu. I was all too happy to go, as Nepal had been on my list of places that I wanted to visit. Taking advantage of every opportunity that presents itself, I had previously written to VSO Nepal to see if I might do a workshop. Through lots of persistence and mails, VSON indicated that they wanted a workshop on Fundraising Planning. This would mean training staff and volunteers. VSON also indicated that they wanted me to do a one day workshop for an NGO, TSDCBD . To my way of thinking, no problem.
I arrived on Friday September 9 around 4 PM, Kathmandu time, which is 15 minutes ahead of New Delhi. Strange given that India is also off by ½ hour to other world times. The Kathmandu airport is quite small and one has to deplane to a bus and then drive about 50 paces to the terminal. But from the air I could tell that Kathmandu was a very different city than Delhi, with lots of greenery and some hills surrounding the valley in which Kathmandu was nestled.
I went to get my visa and didn’t bring enough Indian rupees for both the visa, $25, and the passport photo, 230 Nepali rupees. I left my passport with the visa officials, causing a bit of anxiety, and had to go outside of the terminal to an ATM. The first ATM was not working but I found another one and proceeded to get 5000 Nepali Rupees, which at the exchange rate is about 3000 Indian Rupees. I returned, without any major issues to the visa area, gave the money to the exchange guy, who then converted the Nepali Rupees to dollars to pay the visa people. I also took my passport/visa photo and I had my visa.
I then looked for the VSON driver, Prem, who was going to pick me up. Instead of looking for a sign that said VSO, I looked for my name and of course, didn’t see anything. I went to a tourist counter and called VSON and the Pacific Guest House, where I would be staying. Finally around 5 PM, Prem came to the Tourist Counter and told me that he had been waiting for some time, with the VSO sign.
I felt immediately at ease as I made my way into the front seat next to Prem. Kathmandu is a much smaller city than Delhi and as we drove I noticed more cleanliness, less people and a different building style. (People’s perceptions are so interesting as they said Kathmandu is a very dirty city). It didn’t feel overwhelming as Delhi might to the first time visitor. We drove to the Guest House and I met up with Arlene, the VSON Director.
Arlene has been around the world working with VSO, being in this most recent job for about 1.5 years. As a VSO Country Director there is a lot of balancing, with volunteers, staff, donors, governments, partner NGOs, etc. A super challenge and even though Arlene was somewhat diminutive in stature she seemed very much up for the challenge. I think that the challenge is especially great in Nepal where the government is very new and the local press, during the week that I was there, posted a number of articles about the public’s wariness towards INGOs and NGO’s.
On Saturday I decided to walk a bit, having been given some tips from one of the VSO vols. I went to a place called Tamal, which is a large tourist focused area. Lots of stuff and the usual tourist, “come with me”. I spent only a little bit of time there as it was close to the Pacific and I wanted to get my bearings. I then made my way up a main street and had momos for lunch and then to the Shangri-La Hotel where I was going to meet some of the volunteers in order to go on a HASH walk.
I had never heard of the HASH House Harriers prior to coming to Kathmandu but apparently these walks/runs happen in communities around the world. I met up with a number of the volunteers, including Tiffany, Dorieke and John, as we crammed into a taxi. We went outside of Kathmandu to an area with a lot of green hills. There was a group of maybe 50 people, some walkers, some runners. We had an opening circle and then the runners took off, soon followed by the walkers.
I spent most of the time being in awe of the green hills and talking to a lovely, young Nepali woman. She told me about her family, obtaining her Master’s in English, etc. It’s these types of conversations that really make my work special. Connections occur even though we grew up in very different worlds. (I also ended up talking with a man who is doing, at least what seemed to me great development work. He has been involved in getting roads to rural areas, employing the rural folks, helping them to set up self help savings groups, planting more vegetables for a better diet, etc). We ended up walking through a village, which is something that I’ve come to want to see more of in India. Although I can’t communicate with the villagers, what might seem as simple lives seem so extraordinary to me. After the walk we all circled up again and people did their drinking, singing. All in all it was great fun.
Although my new friends T and J were going out to listen to some music I decided that I wanted to go back to the Guest House as I would be working on Sunday. I was rewarded as I saw a number of people gathering on the badminton court cum square outside of the Pacific. As I sat talking to a young man named Arun, a crowd of maybe 3-400 people lined the square on three sides. As two dancers with very large masks came out a band played Nepali music. It gave me a strong sense of community which in that moment I felt a part of.
Sunday was a good day, as eight staff and one Japanese volunteer joined me from TSDCBD to do a one day fundraising workshop. I truly appreciate the seriousness of people partially brought on, in this case, by a need to diversify the funding base. This NGO has a lot of opportunities and who knows, one day I might be able to help them further.
From Monday-Wednesday I spent time at VSO Nepal with 16 volunteers and staff. We had wonderful conversations and did really good work providing me with some opportunity to see another Programme Office. I always say that people are people no matter where they live in the world. I’m curious to see if this holds throughout my life and the places that I’m able to visit in the future. My connection with VSO Nepal will continue as I will help them with further developing their fundraising plan and integrating it into their strategic plan.
I have to say that I really enjoyed meeting the staff and volunteers. The volunteers are really exceptional, learning the Nepali and regional languages in their efforts to truly fit in. (Certainly, my one regret is that I haven’t truly put in the effort to learn Hindi). I spent some time talking to G, who to me, would be a great mentor. G and his wife are retired and working outside of Kathmandu. T is an American who has traveled quite a bit and has done incredible work throughout her life. J reminds me of my good friend Marky in that they are both musicians and real go getters. J is in a band and I saw a video of him playing lead guitar on the Cure song, “It’s Friday I’m in Love”. Who would have ever thought that I would be watching something like this in Nepal? A and D are wonderful volunteers from Holland and man oh man are they tall. Have to get them playing b-ball next time I see them. Of course I also did a little b-ball ice breaker and my lion, which I’m becoming known for throughout India! ( I also saw some Army guys getting ready to play wheelchair b-ball one morning on my way to VSON)
On Monday night I was looking at a menu in a restaurant when a woman inside said this is on the list of good restaurants. I walked in and asked to sit with and have dinner with the two friends from Peru who were living in the US. The pizza was fabulous! Openness is something that is serving me well, helping me to meet and share experiences with others from around the world. On Tuesday night I had a really good dinner of tofu and rice and share momos with a number of volunteers. Riding the local bus back to the Pacific with T and A was really good for me to understand how the volunteers typically made their way around Kathmandu.
On Wednesday I walked with E, another great volunteer from the US from the Pacific to the VSON office. E really knows Kathmandu and it was wonderful having her as my tour guide as we walked through numerous neighborhoods, markets, past shrines and greeted a number of her friends. E was in the PC in India in the mid-60’s and her depth of information had me listening in rapt attention. On Wednesday night E took me to hear some Nepali music which I truly appreciated as the musicians were working to raise money for education for their village children.
Thursday morning E. accompanied me back to the Durbar Square which is a World Heritage site. This multi-temple, shrine area is a place that I felt immediately enriched my life.
After this walk, I was able to rest up a bit and then had a Chinese lunch with Arlene after which I went to the airport.
As soon as I was on the plane I knew that I was back in Delhi and this proved to be correct. Once I landed I came to find that the metro wasn’t running, the airport pathways were slippery due to lots of water and the pre-paid taxis took a long time to arrive due to traffic jams caused by the rain!
I know that I want to see many of the people that I met up with again, hopefully will see T. in the US in March, and possibly do some work in Kathmandu if things align correctly. My experiences continue to tell me that the world is large and that it is very open to me if I remain open to the world. I feel my privilege everyday in my home but know that this very same luck of being born in the US makes it possible for me to continue to lead this extraordinary life.
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2447934403657.215017.1410846536&l=9cb993f195&type=1. Trainings
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2447771199577.215013.1410846536&l=a7fbe282c9&type=1. Kathmandu
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2447835881194.215014.1410846536&l=0f0203a37f&type=1 Durbar Square
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2447883322380.215016.1410846536&l=beedbbe33f&type=1 HASH Walk
I arrived on Friday September 9 around 4 PM, Kathmandu time, which is 15 minutes ahead of New Delhi. Strange given that India is also off by ½ hour to other world times. The Kathmandu airport is quite small and one has to deplane to a bus and then drive about 50 paces to the terminal. But from the air I could tell that Kathmandu was a very different city than Delhi, with lots of greenery and some hills surrounding the valley in which Kathmandu was nestled.
I went to get my visa and didn’t bring enough Indian rupees for both the visa, $25, and the passport photo, 230 Nepali rupees. I left my passport with the visa officials, causing a bit of anxiety, and had to go outside of the terminal to an ATM. The first ATM was not working but I found another one and proceeded to get 5000 Nepali Rupees, which at the exchange rate is about 3000 Indian Rupees. I returned, without any major issues to the visa area, gave the money to the exchange guy, who then converted the Nepali Rupees to dollars to pay the visa people. I also took my passport/visa photo and I had my visa.
I then looked for the VSON driver, Prem, who was going to pick me up. Instead of looking for a sign that said VSO, I looked for my name and of course, didn’t see anything. I went to a tourist counter and called VSON and the Pacific Guest House, where I would be staying. Finally around 5 PM, Prem came to the Tourist Counter and told me that he had been waiting for some time, with the VSO sign.
I felt immediately at ease as I made my way into the front seat next to Prem. Kathmandu is a much smaller city than Delhi and as we drove I noticed more cleanliness, less people and a different building style. (People’s perceptions are so interesting as they said Kathmandu is a very dirty city). It didn’t feel overwhelming as Delhi might to the first time visitor. We drove to the Guest House and I met up with Arlene, the VSON Director.
Arlene has been around the world working with VSO, being in this most recent job for about 1.5 years. As a VSO Country Director there is a lot of balancing, with volunteers, staff, donors, governments, partner NGOs, etc. A super challenge and even though Arlene was somewhat diminutive in stature she seemed very much up for the challenge. I think that the challenge is especially great in Nepal where the government is very new and the local press, during the week that I was there, posted a number of articles about the public’s wariness towards INGOs and NGO’s.
On Saturday I decided to walk a bit, having been given some tips from one of the VSO vols. I went to a place called Tamal, which is a large tourist focused area. Lots of stuff and the usual tourist, “come with me”. I spent only a little bit of time there as it was close to the Pacific and I wanted to get my bearings. I then made my way up a main street and had momos for lunch and then to the Shangri-La Hotel where I was going to meet some of the volunteers in order to go on a HASH walk.
I had never heard of the HASH House Harriers prior to coming to Kathmandu but apparently these walks/runs happen in communities around the world. I met up with a number of the volunteers, including Tiffany, Dorieke and John, as we crammed into a taxi. We went outside of Kathmandu to an area with a lot of green hills. There was a group of maybe 50 people, some walkers, some runners. We had an opening circle and then the runners took off, soon followed by the walkers.
I spent most of the time being in awe of the green hills and talking to a lovely, young Nepali woman. She told me about her family, obtaining her Master’s in English, etc. It’s these types of conversations that really make my work special. Connections occur even though we grew up in very different worlds. (I also ended up talking with a man who is doing, at least what seemed to me great development work. He has been involved in getting roads to rural areas, employing the rural folks, helping them to set up self help savings groups, planting more vegetables for a better diet, etc). We ended up walking through a village, which is something that I’ve come to want to see more of in India. Although I can’t communicate with the villagers, what might seem as simple lives seem so extraordinary to me. After the walk we all circled up again and people did their drinking, singing. All in all it was great fun.
Although my new friends T and J were going out to listen to some music I decided that I wanted to go back to the Guest House as I would be working on Sunday. I was rewarded as I saw a number of people gathering on the badminton court cum square outside of the Pacific. As I sat talking to a young man named Arun, a crowd of maybe 3-400 people lined the square on three sides. As two dancers with very large masks came out a band played Nepali music. It gave me a strong sense of community which in that moment I felt a part of.
Sunday was a good day, as eight staff and one Japanese volunteer joined me from TSDCBD to do a one day fundraising workshop. I truly appreciate the seriousness of people partially brought on, in this case, by a need to diversify the funding base. This NGO has a lot of opportunities and who knows, one day I might be able to help them further.
From Monday-Wednesday I spent time at VSO Nepal with 16 volunteers and staff. We had wonderful conversations and did really good work providing me with some opportunity to see another Programme Office. I always say that people are people no matter where they live in the world. I’m curious to see if this holds throughout my life and the places that I’m able to visit in the future. My connection with VSO Nepal will continue as I will help them with further developing their fundraising plan and integrating it into their strategic plan.
I have to say that I really enjoyed meeting the staff and volunteers. The volunteers are really exceptional, learning the Nepali and regional languages in their efforts to truly fit in. (Certainly, my one regret is that I haven’t truly put in the effort to learn Hindi). I spent some time talking to G, who to me, would be a great mentor. G and his wife are retired and working outside of Kathmandu. T is an American who has traveled quite a bit and has done incredible work throughout her life. J reminds me of my good friend Marky in that they are both musicians and real go getters. J is in a band and I saw a video of him playing lead guitar on the Cure song, “It’s Friday I’m in Love”. Who would have ever thought that I would be watching something like this in Nepal? A and D are wonderful volunteers from Holland and man oh man are they tall. Have to get them playing b-ball next time I see them. Of course I also did a little b-ball ice breaker and my lion, which I’m becoming known for throughout India! ( I also saw some Army guys getting ready to play wheelchair b-ball one morning on my way to VSON)
On Monday night I was looking at a menu in a restaurant when a woman inside said this is on the list of good restaurants. I walked in and asked to sit with and have dinner with the two friends from Peru who were living in the US. The pizza was fabulous! Openness is something that is serving me well, helping me to meet and share experiences with others from around the world. On Tuesday night I had a really good dinner of tofu and rice and share momos with a number of volunteers. Riding the local bus back to the Pacific with T and A was really good for me to understand how the volunteers typically made their way around Kathmandu.
On Wednesday I walked with E, another great volunteer from the US from the Pacific to the VSON office. E really knows Kathmandu and it was wonderful having her as my tour guide as we walked through numerous neighborhoods, markets, past shrines and greeted a number of her friends. E was in the PC in India in the mid-60’s and her depth of information had me listening in rapt attention. On Wednesday night E took me to hear some Nepali music which I truly appreciated as the musicians were working to raise money for education for their village children.
Thursday morning E. accompanied me back to the Durbar Square which is a World Heritage site. This multi-temple, shrine area is a place that I felt immediately enriched my life.
After this walk, I was able to rest up a bit and then had a Chinese lunch with Arlene after which I went to the airport.
As soon as I was on the plane I knew that I was back in Delhi and this proved to be correct. Once I landed I came to find that the metro wasn’t running, the airport pathways were slippery due to lots of water and the pre-paid taxis took a long time to arrive due to traffic jams caused by the rain!
I know that I want to see many of the people that I met up with again, hopefully will see T. in the US in March, and possibly do some work in Kathmandu if things align correctly. My experiences continue to tell me that the world is large and that it is very open to me if I remain open to the world. I feel my privilege everyday in my home but know that this very same luck of being born in the US makes it possible for me to continue to lead this extraordinary life.
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2447934403657.215017.1410846536&l=9cb993f195&type=1. Trainings
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2447771199577.215013.1410846536&l=a7fbe282c9&type=1. Kathmandu
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2447835881194.215014.1410846536&l=0f0203a37f&type=1 Durbar Square
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2447883322380.215016.1410846536&l=beedbbe33f&type=1 HASH Walk
Friday, June 17, 2011
A Bad Day?
Yesterday I lost a blog that I had written when it wouldn’t copy into my blog on the internet, I had cut it from my Word document and then mistakenly saved the document without remembering to put the blog back. In the evening I received an e-mail from my realtor stating that the potential buyer’s home inspection said that my roof was bad and that I had lots of termites.
After a somewhat sleepless night I awoke to thinking what can I do, my funds are running low, I have to do some more work on my home to sell it, in other words a bit of a freak out. I arrived at work and talked to my friend Mark in China who calmed me down and I hoped to receive another e-mail from my realtor telling me further about the extent of the problem and whether the buyer has now given up.
Nothing came and I knew that the realtor was sleeping, probably having nightmares about this stupid little house that she thought might sell fairly quickly but due to market conditions has had only one serious offer in three months.
I next went to a meeting with a potential funder of a program that I’ve been working on and although we were funded last year they decided to fund a different piece this year, leaving us scrambling to find a funder. I remained positive thinking a blessing in disguise as now we will diversify our funding base a bit.
I went to a second meeting with a large television station, whose owner I had met in the airport when I traveled to Mumbai at the end of last month. The staff whom I met with said yes we’re interested but you have to find a sponsor. Another strike.
Now I sit in my house having hoped to correspond a bit with my realtor but having no internet connection. The woes of it all.
When I came home tonight I took my usual route, metro, bus, then walk. I passed numerous people, who probably live in a hovel or somewhere on the street, fanning their roasted corn and selling each ear for 5-7 rupees. I saw “my Indian family” members always greeting me with a smile, I came upstairs cooked food from my refrigerator, ate some sweet corn and now I sit in a lighted room, listening to the latest music, with a fan running overhead. Yes, I’m sweating, but I have lights and this fan and my a/c awaits me when I go to sleep.
What’s the rub? Well, of course, I worry in my western way of anxiety, my home, well maybe it needs a lot of work. Should I tell the bank that they can have it, get rid of the termites, fix the roof? What about those children, women and men selling that corn, how could I possibly explain this to them? Their worries, where do I sleep, how do I get a few rupees to feed myself and my family, can I find clean water?
Many times I just don’t get it and make myself sick thinking the sky is falling. I sit in India among a large portion of the world’s poor but I fall inside myself, seeing what is out there but never-the-less worry, legitimately, about what is happening with my home.
Tears for Fears is telling me “Change, you can change” and I suppose that is correct, thinking if only this, then it will be ok. But is it ever really ok, when the external world has such a major impact on me?
I know that I’m missing something when I see all of those children sitting next to their parents selling the roasted corn. Yes, it’s all relative to one’s experiences, and one day maybe I will change, as we say in India, “let’s see”.
After a somewhat sleepless night I awoke to thinking what can I do, my funds are running low, I have to do some more work on my home to sell it, in other words a bit of a freak out. I arrived at work and talked to my friend Mark in China who calmed me down and I hoped to receive another e-mail from my realtor telling me further about the extent of the problem and whether the buyer has now given up.
Nothing came and I knew that the realtor was sleeping, probably having nightmares about this stupid little house that she thought might sell fairly quickly but due to market conditions has had only one serious offer in three months.
I next went to a meeting with a potential funder of a program that I’ve been working on and although we were funded last year they decided to fund a different piece this year, leaving us scrambling to find a funder. I remained positive thinking a blessing in disguise as now we will diversify our funding base a bit.
I went to a second meeting with a large television station, whose owner I had met in the airport when I traveled to Mumbai at the end of last month. The staff whom I met with said yes we’re interested but you have to find a sponsor. Another strike.
Now I sit in my house having hoped to correspond a bit with my realtor but having no internet connection. The woes of it all.
When I came home tonight I took my usual route, metro, bus, then walk. I passed numerous people, who probably live in a hovel or somewhere on the street, fanning their roasted corn and selling each ear for 5-7 rupees. I saw “my Indian family” members always greeting me with a smile, I came upstairs cooked food from my refrigerator, ate some sweet corn and now I sit in a lighted room, listening to the latest music, with a fan running overhead. Yes, I’m sweating, but I have lights and this fan and my a/c awaits me when I go to sleep.
What’s the rub? Well, of course, I worry in my western way of anxiety, my home, well maybe it needs a lot of work. Should I tell the bank that they can have it, get rid of the termites, fix the roof? What about those children, women and men selling that corn, how could I possibly explain this to them? Their worries, where do I sleep, how do I get a few rupees to feed myself and my family, can I find clean water?
Many times I just don’t get it and make myself sick thinking the sky is falling. I sit in India among a large portion of the world’s poor but I fall inside myself, seeing what is out there but never-the-less worry, legitimately, about what is happening with my home.
Tears for Fears is telling me “Change, you can change” and I suppose that is correct, thinking if only this, then it will be ok. But is it ever really ok, when the external world has such a major impact on me?
I know that I’m missing something when I see all of those children sitting next to their parents selling the roasted corn. Yes, it’s all relative to one’s experiences, and one day maybe I will change, as we say in India, “let’s see”.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
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