Krishna, Cameras, and Cows

Photos from Rishikesh are up here.

Rishikesh is the kind of town experienced differently depending on the mood you're in. Backpackers look towards the Himalayan trails beyond in an intrepid mood.  Stragglers with guitars try to channel the Beatles in a singing mood. Tourists heft their giant cameras in a sightseeing mood.  Yoga enthusiasts practice their down-dog in a meditative mood. Hindus visit the banks of the Ganges in a prayerful mood.   Some overzealous transplants seemed to be in an altered mood ... although the less said about them, the better.

We visited at the bare beginning of one of the largest festivals in the Hindu religion, Kumbh Mela, which takes place only every twelve years.  In the middle of the night, I could still hear the chanting from the neighboring ashrams.  Pilgrims were flocking to the neighboring town of Haridwar to bathe in the Ganges where it meets the Plain of Bengal around Har-ki-Pairi.  The crowds were intense then, so I can't even imagine what it will look like in two months when the festival is in full swing.

The thing about Rishikesh, though, is that the prayerful folk were continually being followed around by the sightseers, the tourists were being photographed by the locals, and the backpackers were being followed by monkeys and holy cows.

The scenery was unbeatable, and the company was grand.  I learned more than I expected to, but the best part...

MOOed.

For Every Occasion

We are in the heat of Indian wedding season. Most Indian weddings don't happen until at least one astrologer has been consulted to determine the most auspicious date and time.  In fact, "auspicious", is a term thrown around more than casually when it comes to weddings.  I can always tell whether or not a day is auspicious based on the wedding center around the corner from my apartment.  If I see tents going up or confetti on the ground - auspicious.  Sometimes I'll see wedding tents on my drive home from work - auspicious.

If that's the case I know I can expect little sleep that night.  The other day a wedding celebration kicked off at 1 a.m. with electronic Hindi music, a DJ on a loudspeaker, and drums drums drums drums.  Did I mention I have thin windows? No soundproofing? No earplugs? In fact, just as I was typing this, another wedding drum has just started up.  Quite literally.  Today is definitely auspicious.

It being mid-February, this is the most auspicious period in the most auspicious time of year. Since each couple is aiming for the same astrological arrangement, you often have to bounce from wedding to wedding to give everybody your blessings.  Indians seem to know that marriages, like most things in life, depend almost entirely on luck.

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It's a painful irony that I came back from a weekend in Rishikesh to discover a close friend had lost a family member in a car accident.  While I was dipping my feet in the Ganges, my friends had been gathering back home to show their support and love.  By the time I heard, I wouldn't have even been able to get to the airport before the wake began.

In the emails he sent out to tell us the news, my friend repeated the same advice: Hug your families. One of the last things I did before coming to India was to attend a good friend's wedding.  I appreciate now the distance I've traveled since, and how different it is to live and work somewhere rather than just vacation.

It's unfortunate that I'm unable to be with my family tonight, but it's a small consolation that new families are starting up right now all over Delhi.  I can't give my loved ones a hug, but I can wish them luck.  I'm wishing them luck tonight more than ever.

The Ganges, Rishikesh 6-2-10

Veg-Burger in Paradise

One of the best things about being a vegetarian in India is the rare confidence to walk into any restaurant and order anything on the menu without fear.

With a 5:30 am taxi pickup in the morning and because my hotel-mates are off at a wedding, I set off exploring and made some wonderful discoveries:

I discovered a lovely takeout restaurant around the corner, which introduced me to Masala Channa, tandoori roti, and kulcha; and then I discovered a sweets shop a few doors down from that which taught me the beauty of kheer; and then I found some lovely Indian ginger tea and sat down to watch a few old episodes of Lost.

I continued to make many more discoveries along the way: overeating, heartburn, Tums, indigestion, Tums, Tums ... Zantac ... None of which stops me from being one happy herbivore!

Do the Needful

Indian English speakers often use a delightful turn of phrase, to "do the needful".  To do the needful is to accomplish whatever needs to be accomplished, fulfill whatever task needs to be fulfilled.  Your correspondent unfailingly reads this phrase as though "the needful" were a euphemism. I think you'll agree that running into those words in formal business communications would put a smile on any American's face.

Now let me tell you about the process of obtaining a SIM card in India.  A SIM card, for those who don't know, is the chip you need to insert into a mobile phone handset for the phone to attach itself to a network and begin sending or receiving calls.  Apparently, these are a huge security issue, because in the past few days I have done the following:

First, I had a personal interview with a representative from the cell phone company.  He had to meet me in person so that I could fill out several forms.  Passport photos were attached to each one of these forms, along with a notarized letter from my company vouching for my current employment.

Then, several photocopies of my passport, my visa, and this verification letter were made and distributed to certain parties at my office and place of residence.  I had to ask these parties to be available for an "agent", who would stop by later in the week to collect the photocopies and again verify my employment and/or residence.  How many pictures of my passport are floating around right now?  Who is this agent?  Who knows.

The final straw came as I was sitting at work today, calmly checking a manuscript.  I received a phone call to my business landline from a gentleman who who began asking me very personal questions in a heavy accent.  What is my name? What is my father's name? What is my address?  Have I provided a copy of my passport and visa?  It took me a moment to realize that he was also from the phone company, further verifying my identity.  Thinking it was a sign that my cell phone service would soon be activated, I waited a few hours and then tried to make a call.  The best part is?  Still no signal.

It just leads me to ask: is this really needful?

Travel Update

It's taken me a while, but I've updated my flickr page to include photos of my trip to Humayan's Tomb and the Lodhi Gardens from last Sunday.


A few days later, I glimpsed Humayan's Tomb from the highway and was struck once again by its sheer size.  Built by his grieving widow from 1565-72, it sits within an expansive, landscaped garden in South Delhi.  I tried to get pictures of the intricate tile inlay, latticework, and carving, but it's really something that needs to be seen to be believed.

Baksheesh and Bazaars

Some concepts in America do not translate to Indian culture.  Trying explaining to an Indian colleague the idea of being a "locavore".  Socially responsible consumers in America are supposed to shop for food grown within a certain distance from their homes.  There is no such term in India, because there is no alternative.  This, for instance, is the local fruit store:

For the visitor, social responsibility in India must be approached differently than back home.  Without a strong welfare system and facing immense poverty, India has barely any safety net besides the voluntary exchange between individuals. The Hindi term baksheesh refers to the responsibility of richer persons to contribute to the poor through alms and tipping.  Street performers who succeed in drawing a crowd explicitly ask for baksheesh for their troubles.  Baksheesh is what you call the alms given to the distressing number of disabled beggars around Old Delhi.  Back home, we're taught not to give directly to the homeless, and instead to contribute to local shelters or organizations.  Lately, that rule has been very difficult to observe.

Then there's the dilemma between the needs of the vendor at a bazaar weighed against the handicrafts' dubious manufacturing origin.  Let's just say, I've been warned more than once. The boggling array of purses, scarves, tapestries, dresses, shalwaars, bracelets, et cetera ... Well, it must have come from somewhere. Under what conditions were they made? Who made them? Where did they come from? What does it say about me if I choose to buy?

I could always shop at FabIndia or the Crafts Museum, where there is a modicum more confidence about the source's credibility.  But then, where does my money go?  To the seamstress or to the shopkeeper?  To the artisan or to the businessman? Meanwhile, there's no good answer to the woman whose sole income comes from the shawls arrayed in front of her.

It's a struggle, plain and simple.  Sadly, one of the difficult byproducts of this trip has been to escalate my awareness of real, crushing poverty in a way that I don't think will ever leave me.  It's given a whole new meaning to the term "buy local".  Because, really ... what is the alternative?

Deja View

Driving from the visa registration office, I suddenly realized that the rickshaw next to me looked vaguely familiar.  It had "I Love You" written on the back - a decoration I had definitely seen before.  It occurred to me then that I had begun to recognize specific rickshaws.  My arrival is even more official now than the stamp on my passport.

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In a related story, last Friday we hailed a rickshaw driven by a hunched old man with crazy blue eyes who tried to kill us by jumping in front of a whole cordon of motorbikes just as the light turned green.  Out of the thousands of hazards on the road, this guy was exceptionally bonkers.

Now, out of all the rickshaws in all of Delhi, how did we manage to flag the same guy to take us home today?