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”.

Caves and a Fort

Varanasi

Sitting in the lobby of the Hotel Haifa, waiting for 6 PM, to leave for the train station. The lobby fan blows around hot, hot air and there is little relief from the summer. I stayed at this same hotel some five years earlier with Daniel and Sarah. I haven’t found much change in Varanasi since I was last here, maybe prices are higher, there are more people, more pollution, the Ganga still looks the same, the burning ghats, but it is different.

The train that Len and I took was rather eventful as we decided to board even though we were on a wait list, e-ticket, which clearly stated don’t get on the train if this is your circumstance. We didn’t read this until a rather nasty conductor said that you must pay the fare plus a 250 rupee penalty each, unless you go to sleeper class. We tried sleeper class, but there wasn’t even a place to stand, let alone a place to sit or sleep. I walked through trying to follow Len and was stuck numerous times, with my back pack. We walked past the kitchen which felt like hell and given the number of people and the circumstances I thought this must be it.

Finally, after much argument, we paid the fare plus the penalty, but given the number of people on the train this didn’t even entitle us to a berth. We could only sit in between the cars where one of the “peon’s” offered to give Len a blanket for 500 rupees, sheer corruption. One man seeing my plight said take my blanket and pillow, which I did and found myself a place under a seat, between cars on the floor. I was so tired that I laid down on one side but was woken up numerous times given that I was sleeping in front of a door. This went on throughout the night and needless to say I was quite tired when I finally awoke for good around 6 AM. There was also the matter of the air conditioner which kept our area quite cold. I was somewhat more fortunate than Len as she tried to sleep sitting up all night.

From the train we took a rickshaw and I recognized and as we approached the exterior of the Haifa Hotel I recognized it immediately. There is also quite a story leading up to making reservations this time as there was a false e-mail address attached to the hotel. In making our reservations I received one confirmation e-mail and one stating that I must send some money via Western Union to the Secretary of the Hotel residing in the UK. Fortunately I didn’t send any funds. However, when I wrote to the supposed Secretary and told him that he was a liar, he wrote back stating that, “this was an insult” and that he would cancel my reservation. He also told me that there was no Western Union at the Hotel which, of course, was all a lie. I’m trying to find out who this guy is, so let’s see if anything further comes.

Once we checked in, we went directly to sleep which was not difficult given the previous evening on the train. When we awoke we went directly to the Vaatika Café, which as I had remembered from 2006, served incredible apple pie and brick oven pizza. It was so very good and given the amount of Indian food that I eat, was a welcomed reprieve. I had remembered one of the waiters, and of course, Anil was still there. Many westerners, as well as Indians, frequent the Café, none-the-less, it was just as wonderful as I had remembered.

Varanasi is one of the seven holy cities in India, that all Hindus want to visit. The Ganges is filled with boats, people bathing, washing their clothes, brushing their teeth, fishing, cremated bodies, etc. From the ghats one can see a time of true grandeur, when really wealthy individuals spent the money to build these. Now they are somewhat crumbling as, like many things in India, maintenance is not part of the equation. One of the truely amazing sites are the burning ghats, where people bring the bodies of their loved ones and place them upon funeral pyres. One can watch this from an observation area. The bodies are wrapped in shrouds, washed in the Ganges, placed on the pyre and then lit. Last time that I was here I watched with my daughter and remember asking her if this was strange? Her reply was no. This time I could clearly see the bodies but the flames were so consuming that I couldn’t tell the difference between the wood, the fire and the body.

The one body that I could truly make out because the shroud was taken off, was very lifeless, nothing more than a very wiry doll. The men of the family lifted this “doll” onto the wood and then covered it with more wood. We left before the flame was lit, but later on during the evening saw the flames of this particular pyre.

I didn’t see many tears among the people, mainly men, watching their loved ones turning into powder. Indians must be sad when a loved one dies, but I’m not sure that they show the same kind of grief that I’ve seen from Americans. Indians want to be cremated in Varanasi and maybe if a loved one makes it here things are more accepted. I’m not entirely sure but as the owner of Vaatika told us, if you die in Varanasi you don’t have to be reincarnated, and many people don’t want this, due to the suffering of life.

Our first day completed and totally exhausted we had some falafel at the restaurant next to our hotel, watched some television and immediately fell asleep.

On Tuesday morning I awoke to stomach issues. They have never been quite far away since living in India, it’s just part of what we all deal with. Regardless I had a good bagel at the Brown Bread Bakery and we went off to Sarnath which is a community where the Buddha gave his first sermon. It was way too hot and we shouldn’t have been out in the sun, but we braved the 10 KM through roads that needed to be totally remade. Due to the traffic it took quite a bit of time. We had to pay 100 rupees each to get into what was once a monastery. Typically I argue for Indian prices, which in this case was 5 rupees, but the heat and my stomach just left me with little energy. Fortunately there was a beautiful a/c museum, with really, nice clean bathrooms that provided some relief. (Let me just state here that the bathrooms do make a difference). The symbol of India, the original three lions statue, was in this museum as it had been near the monastery. This was one of the best museums that I’ve been in India, very clean, well captioned and clean. One would expect this kind of thing in a large city, but in India one needs to expect the unexpected.

The rickshaw driver, who had now become our personal driver, got us back to the Haifa where we had some more middle eastern food and then went to sleep. The heat can really knock one out and this is exactly what happened as we awoke more than 3+ hours later as it was getting dark. I slept in that middle state between sleeping and waking, not quite being able to awake but knowing that I was dreaming. Maybe it was just being in Varanasi.

We finally awoke and took a bicycle rickshaw to the main ghat where there was a huge pooja taking place. Varanasi in many ways reminds me of old Delhi, narrow streets, way too many people, too much traffic, no rules. We had to walk part of the way to the ghat as the rickshaw left us off in a very congested area. Once we made it to the ghat it was covered with people. The Ganges was also filled with boats. There were six or so priests, performing a ceremony with some fire.

It is always a site for me to witness these religious events which are so very plentiful in India. We stayed and watched for a time and then walked to see the next ceremony, the multitude of people. Since it was too far to walk we took a boat to Tulsi Ghat where Vaatika Café is. This must have taken a good half an hour to 45 minutes and fortunately the boat was placed next to the banks so that we didn’t have to touch the water when we boarded. Yes, it is holy but I look only at the fecal coliform counts which are at 1.5 million fecal coliform bacteria per 100 ml of water. Water safe for bathing should be 500 or less. Yes, people were swimming and dunking themselves and fishing. I must say that it didn’t seem to bother anyone.

I laid down on the boat and actually saw some stars, which are something that I don’t see very often in Delhi. The night air was warm but this proved to be quite a treat. We ate again at Vaatika, Len had ravioli and I had a banana honey pancake, again a treat, as my stomach was now cooperating.

Our final day in Varanasi, as I slept Len went to Vaatika for breakfast. I decided to have corn flakes and fresh fruit, which is my typical breakfast, in the Haifa restaurant. After this we went shopping at the Agrawal Toy Emporium, a place that I had purchased a carved mirror from in 2006. We talked with the owner who showed us an article noting that his grandfather had started the store some 85 years ago. I saw the mirror that I had purchased and bought some more as well as some other items. It was a treat as the store is air conditioned.

After this we went to the Vaatika for lunch and enjoyed spaghetti with tomato sauce and a mushroom pizza and of course apple pie for dessert. I gave my card to Anil and the owner Gopil came and talked to us for some time. He started the restaurant in 1993 and has always lived in Varanassi. He has six brothers, one of whom is a priest. It was a nice conversation and I hope to meet up with Gopil and Anil, the waiter that I remembered again before I leave India.

It is 5:30 PM almost time to leave for the train station. Our personal rickshaw driver has been waiting all day for this. His little helper Rakesh, who accompanied us yesterday had also been waiting for us, trying to sell us postcards. I ended up buying him some cookies as he found us today when we were walking around.

The rickshaw driver wanted to charge us way too much so we found another guy for about half the price. The train back to Delhi was wonderful as Len and I each had our own berth. There were a number of children sitting across from us kind of loud and I asked them to quiet down and then started talking to them. We ended up playing cards with them, taught them War and Go Fish. They were all just lovely ranging in age from about 6 to 13. Very well mannered, with beautiful smiles. In the morning when we woke up they were waiting to play again. We made it back successfully to the Delhi oven.

Varanasi certainly didn’t have the same feeling for me as when I first visited India in February 2006, when everything was so new and I was a wide eyed tourist. The weather was also much cooler at that time. Living in India for two plus years has given me a very different perspective. I see the congestion, pollution, the mass of humanity with not much to do to occupy their days, the poverty. India continues to be a country on the verge of progressing but also staying the way that it has been. The advances continue, more people have money, but I really wonder how far this country will move forward. It is just the mass of humanity that makes me state this.

Varanasi is a treasure and like most places I just come to love the people and how I’m generally treated by those willing to talk. One still gets the typical tourist stuff, the over charging, the continual buy this, just come and look, it sometimes gets on my nerves, but most of the time I can just say no thanks. It all continues to be part of Incredible India, the land of everything.

How do I know that I'm back in India

I've been back for eight days and besides the obvious, cows, monkeys and dogs, the dust, the heat, the language, our flat, the children, skyping across the world, I know that I'm back in Mother India, another planet.

Today being holi, people are outside in a festive mood, splattering each other with various colours through water, smearing, balloons, and other means. It is a joy to play holi with the children in the neighborhood as they really seem to enjoy getting the westerner.

Last night in the park next to our flat, there was a burning of wood, an effigy as part of the celebration. People burned some wheat stalks and then brought this to their homes to hang onto until next year. Of course, there was music.

During the week, children seeing me would throw water balloons and I would avoid them and then stick out my tongue, causing a more concerted effort on their part to hit me.

I recently had to have some x-rays, the cost for one was 160 rupees or about $3.80 and the second was much more expensive at 240 rupees. The cost for the doctor was 1,000 rupees, about $22. As part of getting a root canal, cost 7,000 rupees about $170, I also have to get a crown, at 6500 rupees. Yes the two combined are quite expensive.

The rat in my bedroom has been quite mobile and though he continues to eat the poison that I've fed him, he still shits in all of my bed drawers. I saw him recently climbing up the electrical cord to get into the a/c.

My parents

During the last two and a half weeks I’ve stayed with my parents in Mission Viejo, California as I’ve taken a five week leave from my beloved India. My parents were married in November 1953 three years before I was born. Some simple multiplication means that they’ve spent almost 21,000 days together or 504,000 hours or 31,000,000 minutes, give or take a little. These are remarkable numbers, especially for the US where on average, about 40-50% of first marriages end in divorce. One might say that my parents are of a different generation but never-the-less through “thick and thin” they have remained companions.

I’ve seen them at their worse, when their arguments are so irrational, that I wonder what has kept them together for this many years. But I’ve also seen them at their best and now that they are almost 82 and 78, their love and caring for one another is something that carries them through life on a daily basis. I still see many of the same things that I did when I was younger, maybe those things never change. Now that I’m older and hadn’t seen them for two years, these things are viewed from a much different perspective.

My mother has not weathered the years well and although she maintains a zest for life her body is not in the best of shape. She might say that a lifetime of hardship has caused this. My mother uses a walker, has diabetes and eats too much junk. She has trouble getting in and out of the car but she does try to exercise in the pool and keeps her mind active through her gardening, book club and bridge interests.

My father, on the other hand, remains slimmer and also involves himself with numerous activities including an annual chalk festival to raise funds for school arts programs, fundraising for Mission Viejo Chabad House, book club and bridge. He also exercises in the pool.

The thing that I notice now is that my father takes more care of my mother. He walks with her, helps more with preparing meals, drives her to certain events and generally is available. My mother does what she can, but seems to be much more dependent on my father.

This companionship lasting more than 57 years seems to be complete. It has weathered the ups and downs that life brings, more so, than many relationships. Even as we’ve all changed, we’ve remained somewhat the same, somewhere lost in time. No matter how far way I might be, when I come back I am their son and I get to see the best and worst of my parents. No matter which world I’m in, I see this incredible companionship lasting more than 57 years, a lifetime. This is one thing that will always be part of me, my heritage.

My parents are truly amazing and I love them more than ever. It is difficult to see one’s once vibrant parents turn to older age. They are slower and their physical appearance is different. But even with all of those changes they remain my parents and this picture of them being together, helping each other will always remain a positive in my life.

A dream?

I’ve been in the US for a little over two weeks, mainly in beautiful southern California. I also spent a weekend in Boulder, Colorado, a paradise surrounded by beautiful snow covered mountains. At times, it all feels like a dream. I know that I will be out of Mother India for five weeks. At times, given that I’m on vacation I really don’t know what day it is. The sunny skies of California and the ocean lure one into a dreamlike state. The Rocky Mountains really makes me appreciate the beauty of the States. It is such a different world from Mother India.

I’ve been going shopping in grocery and retail stores and the abundance and choices are mind boggling. I think that I’ve noticed this in my life BI (Before India), but coming back after two years really puts the abundance and choices directly in my face. The clothing which most of us don’t need is always on sale with an extra 30% off and how do we resist even though our closets are bulging? The clothing of course is where I just came from, i.e. the developing world, so why buy it in America. Because it is on sale.

Sometimes I feel as if I’m caught between two worlds. Maybe this is what happens when one works in the developing world or just after being in a place like India for two years without coming to the west. I know where I am, but I also don’t know where I am. I’m stuck somewhere in the middle, wanting to be back while enjoying the west. It truly can be quite confusing as I continue to keep up with my friends in India.

After all there are no noises and no smells. The streets are clean and the cows are somewhere penned up, most likely on some farm and not roaming in the middle of the streets, where they feast on garbage or roti. Everyone stay in line and cars don’t constantly honk. The skies are perfectly blue and the weather is around 60 F. It is a well manicured lawn with the sprinklers coming on every night at 6 PM, just as the sun sets. Of course the sunsets are beautiful and can be seen for miles. Everyone seems to be Caucasian and they all speak English. The malls consist of beautifully maintained buildings and there is Chinese food and bagels on every corner. The gas stations have no employees except for the guy behind the booth and the prices keep going up. We pump our own gas here and I only leave my car for that reason.

This does seem like a dream and I wonder which world I’m really in.

Between Two Worlds

Note: I knew that once I visited the US, after two years in India I would look at things differently. I haven’t felt any real culture shock yet, but I do see many differences. These are some of my observations which I will continue throughout my stay for five weeks.

I’ve been back in the US for about 48 hours now. There are so many differences between my life in my beloved India and my life in the US. After a wonderful walk today, seeing no garbage or cows, hardly any people, only a few cars, blue sky and little noise, I went straight for the hose in my parent’s front yard. I didn’t give the purity of the water a second thought, just drank. I would never do this in India. Before making a lunch of veggies I didn’t even think about washing them, although I probably should. In India I wash my veggies and fruit with some purple stuff, can’t think of the substance right now, to ensure that they are ready to be eaten. (A friend in India told me to do this).

The contrasts abound for me and I am super sensitive to the differences. As I showed my parents some videos of India they immediately heard the traffic noise. On some level I’ve become used to the noise of New Delhi and when I don’t hear it, I find this highly unusual. As my parents live in a retirement community in a somewhat middle to upper middle class area it is very quiet. For people who like blue sky, fewer cars, quiet, lots of trees and flowers, it is not a bad life. Although, it may also be the same from one day to the next. My life in New Delhi is never the same and I never know what I will see or who I will speak with or what opportunities will be present. My camera is a constant companion.

Everything seems to be neat and tidy in the world that I’m in at the moment. It is a different way of living. It’s not that I don’t like the fact that there is no garbage on the streets as I’m constantly telling New Delhites to pick up their garbage, but it is different, another way of living life. There are hardly any smells here, so very different from the streets of New Delhi. It is difficult for me to see men peeing everywhere in New Delhi or children defecating on the streets because they have no toilets, but it is how people have to live. I try not to step in the rivers of pee and hold my nose but it is part of my life.

The line at the Department of Motor Vehicles in Mission Viejo was so orderly and the “bureaucrats” incredibly efficient. The bathrooms were even neat and clean. Supermarkets are full of items and the shelves are full. It’s hard to understand if one hasn’t traveled in the so called developing parts of the world. It’s so very different.