Jagdish has a fitting metaphor comparing Indians and Westerners: Indians are sociable and outgoing like dogs; Westerners are solitary and introverted like cats. I am the most catlike of cats in the cat world. Meow.
Last night I had a dream in which I leaned over a grey stone or concrete railing and watched a filthy polluted river flow past with algae floating in it. I don’t recall seeing any part of the Ganga that looked like that, so perhaps my dream river was based on how I expected the Ganga to look after reading that dead babies and dead cows, among other things, are dumped into it. That is hardly an appropriate way to treat a sacred river.
Piles of trash with animals such as cows, dogs, pigs, and goats rooting through them are a common sight in India, whether in a city or village. They were particularly noticeable in Varanasi. That city had its share of filth and squalor, with piles of cow shit in the alleys and piles of trash with dogs rooting through it, but we had scarcely any encounters with beggars. The exception was while we passed grotesquely crippled beggars and headed toward Gangaji and it was still dark out.
We climbed on the bus this morning to leave Varanasi, the big filthy city full of phallic symbols. Today, while some people took a potty break, I took pictures of the view, particularly lentil fields and a white Hindu temple in the distance. Meanwhile, Erika, Shantum, and others walked down the road and saw many people at work, doing their sundry jobs.
After the small group of pilgrims returned, and everyone had climbed aboard the bus, Shantum took the microphone and announced that Erika would give us a report on the various industries that they just encountered. He handed Erika the microphone, and she said that they saw: people pressing oil from linseed, a shoemaker, an iron maker, a guy with a dancing bear, a carpenter teaching an apprentice how to make something, and a mosque. If I’d been paying attention, I would have taken that walk with them. But I’m glad I didn’t see the dancing bear. Shantum said, “Bears come from hills and forests. India domesticated bears and elephants, more often the latter.”
An industry I’ve noticed in India that I find particularly interesting is the tailor shops that don’t have electricity. They are typically what look like one-room shops such as the buildings I just described, and in the center of the room stands a black treadle sewing machine. Wooden shelves covered with bolts of fabric lined the walls. In one village, I saw a couple of tailor shops crowded with at least eight treadle sewing machines and with guys sewing at each of them.
I wonder if the sewing machines were all well-preserved antiques, or whether India still manufactures treadle sewing machines, which to me look Victorian. In the States, I’ve seen them often enough in flea markets and antique malls, and sometimes they’re rusty. I once sat down to a treadle sewing machine that had belonged to my grandmother; sewing with it requires constantly rocking a large pedal with the feet and continually turning the wheel with the right hand.
Today is another festival, a Muslim one, and during our long bus ride Shantum said, “There are always festivals in India.” The Shiite sect is central to the festival, a day of atonement. It is the day their leader, a son-in-law of Mohammad, was killed. The holiday involves intense self-punishment and lots of marriages (that alone sounds like intense self-punishment); it is an auspicious time and involves lots of processions. We drove through a village and saw throngs of Muslim guys walking around on the street and wearing simple cylindrical white cotton hats, or fez. Meanwhile, Shantum said, “You can make out what village someone came from by the type of hat or turban they wear and how they wear the turban.”
Members of our sangha asked Shantum various questions on the bus. He said that doorways to hotels have hats because it’s imposing. At the doorways of houses the paintings are a sign of welcome; I’ve certainly noticed quite a few wonderful and colorful murals on facades, especially while we were traversing down the lanes of Varanasi. Ganesh over or near door is also auspicious and welcoming.
“India has two legal systems,” Shantum explained. “The local caste system, with elders in charge of disputes about such things as land and children. And a legal system based on the British legal system. A case goes to court and there’s a precedent, and it goes to that precedent. Police stations are the location, and people file first an information report and say there’s a problem. The courts include: a local court, district court, high court, supreme court, and a national court in New Delhi.”
“Ashoka set up a traditional legal system,” Shantum said, “but the British system is based on power tripping. A small number of people have lots of power.” That sounds to me like America, despite claims that it represents freedom and democracy.
“The Indian president is Christian,” Shantum explained, “and she is very healing and good at solving disputes, but she’s not good at keeping down corruption; she just lets it go. Her husband is involved in some of the corruption. India has a movement to educate and elect women, but it’s more talk than action currently. Women are getting more training and empowerment.” Gee, that sounds like America too, but I’m sure we’re farther along.
While traveling, I usually look out the bus windows. I have observed stacks of dried cow paddies forming something like stupas. Also shaped vaguely like stupas are piles of tires with small ones on top. India has many scarecrows made of sticks and rags. I didn’t have success with sleeping on the bus but did something I called pseudo-dozing, not really quite dozing. That sounds like it should be a Sanskrit name or word: Suddhadosa.
“India has too many problems, too many issues,” Shantum said. It is overwhelming: the horror of things, such as sex slave trade, selling girls to be prostitutes. Some organizations work to save them, groups that are against child prostitution, such as the organization Care. “Media and education need to do research and expose the sex trade,” Shantum pointed out. Globalization involves selling girls to other countries, and even sex tourism. AIDS is another big problem. Child labor is a huge issue, but Shantum said, “The problem with ending child labor is that it would destroy the apprentice system.” Well, I figure that’s if you end all child labor across the board; the apprenticeship system could be an exception, as long as the hours are limited. After all, kids work on their family farms and do chores around the house.
“No hurry, no worry,” Shantum said as we were about to leave the restaurant after lunch on a restaurant patio, where we had a typical delicious buffet and followed it up with masala chai.
Natalie said, “Moving at the speed of guidance,” would make a great poster.
Right after we got on the bus, Jagdish passed out Cadbury chocolates and said, “Today is my cow’s birthday.” And he added, “I have a cow back home.”
During the all-day bus ride, we stopped at a village market. We wandered around and saw merchants with their paraphernalia spread out on sheets on the ground: countless colorful vegetables, herbs, spices, terra cotta pottery, and clothing. The spice guy took a newspaper and spooned a variety of spices together and wrapped them up in the paper, and Dornora bought spices from him. I thought the spices looked pretty, with the different colors and textures together on the white paper.
A woman, the only female merchant, stood in a corner of the market and sold stacks of terra cotta pottery, and Shantum bought a couple of little bowls, because Nandini broke the ones she had found in Deer Park. I’ll be lucky if I don’t break the chai cup I picked up, but then again it’s wrapped up in my fake silk scarf. Meanwhile, Erika took pictures of the many people, all male, something we were accustomed to by now, who followed us around, fascinated by this strange group of foreigners. They might see tour buses now and then, but I doubt many tour buses actually stop to visit their village market. I don’t think I’ll ever understand people whose idea of a vacation in a foreign country revolves around lying on a beach; you can do that on Lake Michigan in Indiana.
Near the seller of pottery, a guy sold clothing, much of which was still wrapped in plastic and therefore apparently had never been worn previously. I think all of it was cotton. There were lightweight cotton shawls, and Valerie purchased one that was a pale off-white, almost orange, and trimmed with a pattern in metallic gold. Jennifer bought a small pink sleeveless blouse, and later, after she realized it was too small, she gave it to a little girl who was begging while we took a walk. The clothing merchant also had a bright blue cotton skirt with a three-inch ruffle along the hem, and Shantum explained that this is a petticoat worn under the sari. As Jennifer observed, Indian women wear underwear that looks a lot like Western outerwear, such as the sleeveless blouse and the petticoat.
After dark we arrived at the Lotus Nikko Hotel in Kushinagar, which has a gigantic lobby with a long row of large arched windows, and centered in front of these windows is a Buddha statue, a replica of the one at Sarnath that we imitated in our performance art with Rikki. In front of the hotel’s statue is a plate of offerings, particularly marigolds. While Shantum, Jagdish and Mukesh organized the room keys, the sangha sipped cups of masala chai and sat at yellow carved wooden Victorian-looking sofas or wandered around the lobby and observed.
Liz and Yvette stepped out of a doorway, which I soon noticed led to the hotel’s shop, where a merchant was selling wooden beads and sculptures. Erika said to Liz and Yvette, “I can always rely on you to show me where the shops are,” and to me she said, “And I can always rely on you to show me where the animals are. I can always rely on Jennifer to show me where the bathrooms are.”
My hotel room in Kushinagar is amazing. The décor is simple, but I think it would be very easy to live in such a room, because it’s bigger than my last apartment. It doesn’t have a kitchen or a walk-in closet, but it has more floor space than my apartment had, and it has a low partition rather than a full wall with a door, which sort of creates another bedroom at the back. On the far side of the partition, the room contains a third bed, a coffee table, and upholstered chairs. The carpet is a drab brown and the color scheme is bland brown and white, but I could see myself living in a place with this set-up for months on end.
Unfortunately, I feel like Tigger without his bounce, because my nose is badly congested. Last night I caught the virus that has been going around in our sangha. I am low on cough drops, and yet a cough drop in my mouth will likely get me through the night.
Since shortly after the pilgrimage began, the virus has been making the rounds among us, and a couple days ago Jennifer said I must be really hearty, because I have not gotten sick yet. I said that it might be because I had a flu shot, since normally I get sick relatively easily, but on the other hand this is no flu. On the second night of our pilgrimage, Rikki had warned during “Strucks” that when people get sick while traveling with a group like this, the germs spread; someone had suggested covering your mouth with your elbow when you cough, rather than using your hands and potentially touching someone, and I’ve been using my elbow to cover my mouth ever since. During dinner at the Radisson in Varanasi, Dean the retired doctor said that we’ll all catch it but after that will be immune to this virus, at least for five years.
Our journey to Kushinagar was surely much easier than the Buddha’s journey there. He had been about eighty years old and in less than perfect health, walking by foot with his buddy Ananda. During this walk, he stopped for lunch and was accidentally poisoned, so he must have felt even worse than I do with this virus, and he died after arriving in the village. We, on the other hand, travel using modern transportation and have nothing worse than a virus going around, from which we know we’ll recover. Impermanence doesn’t only apply to pleasant things, of course; we can look forward to recovering from most illnesses.
Last night I had a dream in which I leaned over a grey stone or concrete railing and watched a filthy polluted river flow past with algae floating in it. I don’t recall seeing any part of the Ganga that looked like that, so perhaps my dream river was based on how I expected the Ganga to look after reading that dead babies and dead cows, among other things, are dumped into it. That is hardly an appropriate way to treat a sacred river.
Piles of trash with animals such as cows, dogs, pigs, and goats rooting through them are a common sight in India, whether in a city or village. They were particularly noticeable in Varanasi. That city had its share of filth and squalor, with piles of cow shit in the alleys and piles of trash with dogs rooting through it, but we had scarcely any encounters with beggars. The exception was while we passed grotesquely crippled beggars and headed toward Gangaji and it was still dark out.
We climbed on the bus this morning to leave Varanasi, the big filthy city full of phallic symbols. Today, while some people took a potty break, I took pictures of the view, particularly lentil fields and a white Hindu temple in the distance. Meanwhile, Erika, Shantum, and others walked down the road and saw many people at work, doing their sundry jobs.
After the small group of pilgrims returned, and everyone had climbed aboard the bus, Shantum took the microphone and announced that Erika would give us a report on the various industries that they just encountered. He handed Erika the microphone, and she said that they saw: people pressing oil from linseed, a shoemaker, an iron maker, a guy with a dancing bear, a carpenter teaching an apprentice how to make something, and a mosque. If I’d been paying attention, I would have taken that walk with them. But I’m glad I didn’t see the dancing bear. Shantum said, “Bears come from hills and forests. India domesticated bears and elephants, more often the latter.”
An industry I’ve noticed in India that I find particularly interesting is the tailor shops that don’t have electricity. They are typically what look like one-room shops such as the buildings I just described, and in the center of the room stands a black treadle sewing machine. Wooden shelves covered with bolts of fabric lined the walls. In one village, I saw a couple of tailor shops crowded with at least eight treadle sewing machines and with guys sewing at each of them.
I wonder if the sewing machines were all well-preserved antiques, or whether India still manufactures treadle sewing machines, which to me look Victorian. In the States, I’ve seen them often enough in flea markets and antique malls, and sometimes they’re rusty. I once sat down to a treadle sewing machine that had belonged to my grandmother; sewing with it requires constantly rocking a large pedal with the feet and continually turning the wheel with the right hand.
Today is another festival, a Muslim one, and during our long bus ride Shantum said, “There are always festivals in India.” The Shiite sect is central to the festival, a day of atonement. It is the day their leader, a son-in-law of Mohammad, was killed. The holiday involves intense self-punishment and lots of marriages (that alone sounds like intense self-punishment); it is an auspicious time and involves lots of processions. We drove through a village and saw throngs of Muslim guys walking around on the street and wearing simple cylindrical white cotton hats, or fez. Meanwhile, Shantum said, “You can make out what village someone came from by the type of hat or turban they wear and how they wear the turban.”
Members of our sangha asked Shantum various questions on the bus. He said that doorways to hotels have hats because it’s imposing. At the doorways of houses the paintings are a sign of welcome; I’ve certainly noticed quite a few wonderful and colorful murals on facades, especially while we were traversing down the lanes of Varanasi. Ganesh over or near door is also auspicious and welcoming.
“India has two legal systems,” Shantum explained. “The local caste system, with elders in charge of disputes about such things as land and children. And a legal system based on the British legal system. A case goes to court and there’s a precedent, and it goes to that precedent. Police stations are the location, and people file first an information report and say there’s a problem. The courts include: a local court, district court, high court, supreme court, and a national court in New Delhi.”
“Ashoka set up a traditional legal system,” Shantum said, “but the British system is based on power tripping. A small number of people have lots of power.” That sounds to me like America, despite claims that it represents freedom and democracy.
“The Indian president is Christian,” Shantum explained, “and she is very healing and good at solving disputes, but she’s not good at keeping down corruption; she just lets it go. Her husband is involved in some of the corruption. India has a movement to educate and elect women, but it’s more talk than action currently. Women are getting more training and empowerment.” Gee, that sounds like America too, but I’m sure we’re farther along.
While traveling, I usually look out the bus windows. I have observed stacks of dried cow paddies forming something like stupas. Also shaped vaguely like stupas are piles of tires with small ones on top. India has many scarecrows made of sticks and rags. I didn’t have success with sleeping on the bus but did something I called pseudo-dozing, not really quite dozing. That sounds like it should be a Sanskrit name or word: Suddhadosa.
“India has too many problems, too many issues,” Shantum said. It is overwhelming: the horror of things, such as sex slave trade, selling girls to be prostitutes. Some organizations work to save them, groups that are against child prostitution, such as the organization Care. “Media and education need to do research and expose the sex trade,” Shantum pointed out. Globalization involves selling girls to other countries, and even sex tourism. AIDS is another big problem. Child labor is a huge issue, but Shantum said, “The problem with ending child labor is that it would destroy the apprentice system.” Well, I figure that’s if you end all child labor across the board; the apprenticeship system could be an exception, as long as the hours are limited. After all, kids work on their family farms and do chores around the house.
“No hurry, no worry,” Shantum said as we were about to leave the restaurant after lunch on a restaurant patio, where we had a typical delicious buffet and followed it up with masala chai.
Natalie said, “Moving at the speed of guidance,” would make a great poster.
Right after we got on the bus, Jagdish passed out Cadbury chocolates and said, “Today is my cow’s birthday.” And he added, “I have a cow back home.”
During the all-day bus ride, we stopped at a village market. We wandered around and saw merchants with their paraphernalia spread out on sheets on the ground: countless colorful vegetables, herbs, spices, terra cotta pottery, and clothing. The spice guy took a newspaper and spooned a variety of spices together and wrapped them up in the paper, and Dornora bought spices from him. I thought the spices looked pretty, with the different colors and textures together on the white paper.
A woman, the only female merchant, stood in a corner of the market and sold stacks of terra cotta pottery, and Shantum bought a couple of little bowls, because Nandini broke the ones she had found in Deer Park. I’ll be lucky if I don’t break the chai cup I picked up, but then again it’s wrapped up in my fake silk scarf. Meanwhile, Erika took pictures of the many people, all male, something we were accustomed to by now, who followed us around, fascinated by this strange group of foreigners. They might see tour buses now and then, but I doubt many tour buses actually stop to visit their village market. I don’t think I’ll ever understand people whose idea of a vacation in a foreign country revolves around lying on a beach; you can do that on Lake Michigan in Indiana.
Near the seller of pottery, a guy sold clothing, much of which was still wrapped in plastic and therefore apparently had never been worn previously. I think all of it was cotton. There were lightweight cotton shawls, and Valerie purchased one that was a pale off-white, almost orange, and trimmed with a pattern in metallic gold. Jennifer bought a small pink sleeveless blouse, and later, after she realized it was too small, she gave it to a little girl who was begging while we took a walk. The clothing merchant also had a bright blue cotton skirt with a three-inch ruffle along the hem, and Shantum explained that this is a petticoat worn under the sari. As Jennifer observed, Indian women wear underwear that looks a lot like Western outerwear, such as the sleeveless blouse and the petticoat.
After dark we arrived at the Lotus Nikko Hotel in Kushinagar, which has a gigantic lobby with a long row of large arched windows, and centered in front of these windows is a Buddha statue, a replica of the one at Sarnath that we imitated in our performance art with Rikki. In front of the hotel’s statue is a plate of offerings, particularly marigolds. While Shantum, Jagdish and Mukesh organized the room keys, the sangha sipped cups of masala chai and sat at yellow carved wooden Victorian-looking sofas or wandered around the lobby and observed.
Liz and Yvette stepped out of a doorway, which I soon noticed led to the hotel’s shop, where a merchant was selling wooden beads and sculptures. Erika said to Liz and Yvette, “I can always rely on you to show me where the shops are,” and to me she said, “And I can always rely on you to show me where the animals are. I can always rely on Jennifer to show me where the bathrooms are.”
My hotel room in Kushinagar is amazing. The décor is simple, but I think it would be very easy to live in such a room, because it’s bigger than my last apartment. It doesn’t have a kitchen or a walk-in closet, but it has more floor space than my apartment had, and it has a low partition rather than a full wall with a door, which sort of creates another bedroom at the back. On the far side of the partition, the room contains a third bed, a coffee table, and upholstered chairs. The carpet is a drab brown and the color scheme is bland brown and white, but I could see myself living in a place with this set-up for months on end.
Unfortunately, I feel like Tigger without his bounce, because my nose is badly congested. Last night I caught the virus that has been going around in our sangha. I am low on cough drops, and yet a cough drop in my mouth will likely get me through the night.
Since shortly after the pilgrimage began, the virus has been making the rounds among us, and a couple days ago Jennifer said I must be really hearty, because I have not gotten sick yet. I said that it might be because I had a flu shot, since normally I get sick relatively easily, but on the other hand this is no flu. On the second night of our pilgrimage, Rikki had warned during “Strucks” that when people get sick while traveling with a group like this, the germs spread; someone had suggested covering your mouth with your elbow when you cough, rather than using your hands and potentially touching someone, and I’ve been using my elbow to cover my mouth ever since. During dinner at the Radisson in Varanasi, Dean the retired doctor said that we’ll all catch it but after that will be immune to this virus, at least for five years.
Our journey to Kushinagar was surely much easier than the Buddha’s journey there. He had been about eighty years old and in less than perfect health, walking by foot with his buddy Ananda. During this walk, he stopped for lunch and was accidentally poisoned, so he must have felt even worse than I do with this virus, and he died after arriving in the village. We, on the other hand, travel using modern transportation and have nothing worse than a virus going around, from which we know we’ll recover. Impermanence doesn’t only apply to pleasant things, of course; we can look forward to recovering from most illnesses.
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