And So It Goes

Here in Pune, a couple of hours south of Mumbai/Bombay, we're counting down the hours of the last day in 2006 of the Gregorian calendar. We're gonna do it up big time--play a few good games of Spit, drink some rum and coke on the porch of our little hotel room under the jacaranda and coconut trees, revel in the quietness of our little nook (a welcome relief after a couple of weeks in Kolkata next to a hotel of particularly ill-behaved foreigners who hosted drunken parties with brutally off-key singing until 4 in the morning).

We're almost at the end of our second month in India, and we're still amazed and confounded on a daily basis, although we're not as scared to cross the street as we were in the beginning. Some of the words we've heard to describe this country are (from Indians and foreigners): unfathomable, fascinating, surprising, maddening, frustrating, enchanting. And perhaps the best phrase we've heard so far: "In India, everything is possible" (courtesy of a young man we met on the 33 hour train ride from Kolkata to Mumbai). What in particular is possible and probable and, in fact, happening here?
--Tranvesites (maybe eunuchs, I'm not sure) asking for money and giving blessings in return with slightly flirtatious smiles
--Enormous Christmas day crowds on Park Street that paused in awe and wonder in front of mechanical peacocks making very very VERY slow bows.
--The fact that Josh and I actually wierdly enjoyed being in the middle of that Christmas day mass of humanity--a crowd that two months ago would have made us claustrophobic beyond imagining.
--Car horns that play minor triads and show tunes.
--An Indian man in shorts (a very strange sight actually) who asked us if Americans cooked with oil.
--Evangelical Hindus.
--A trip to the post office turning into an hour long venture--you walk inside and everyone looks at you like you must be lost. Finally someone waves you to a particular window where a man weighs the letters and tells you how much postage you need. You then go to another window and a woman gives you stamps, but they don't actually stick to the letter. The post office doesn't actually have any tape or glue, so you cross the street to the bookstore where you smear industrial strength glue all over the letter. You then go back to the post office, double check the postage and drop the letter in a box. Everyone later assures you that this is an infinitely better system than 10 or 15 years ago when one of Josh's teachers found letters he'd sent on top of a huge pile of mail dumped on the side of the street.
--A young Indian woman on the train who belted out Celine Dion's song from the Titantic with an astounding voice and perfect English pronunciation. She then asked me to sing her some Michael Jackson songs. I settled for a rousing rendition of Rudoph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
--"Lady In Red" playing while I write this.

Our Hindi is coming along, although we got a bit sidetracked by Bengali when we were in Kolkata. I'm still trapped in the present tense and the occasional gerund if I'm lucky, but I do know how to say "Go away!!" very forcefully which came in handy on the street the other day with a man who decided to share a body part with me that I really didn't want to see--unfortunately an experience that I've had in the States and Guatemala as well. But that was quickly negated by the very kind young men working at our hotel who helped me practice my Hindi with sentences like "My husband plays the sitar," "I am a poet," "Please turn on the meter," "This place is very beautiful." When in doubt we say "Achaa."

Josh and I are escaping the urban experience for a couple of days--heading to a hill station that has banned autos and plastic bags. Our kind of place. We'll then return to Pune for a few more days until Josh's brand new sitar is all spiffed up and ready to join our happy little family.

May the New Year (as arbitrary as it is) bring you as much joy, peace and love as you have all blessed us with.

J&J

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

And man, do they do Christmas in Kolkata. From what I've been told, Jesus is included somewhere in the Hindu pantheon of gods, and even if he wasn't, who can resist a chance to celebrate during the darkest time of the year? Not Indians, that's for sure. Preparations began in ernest a week or two ago, and now the streets are overflowing with colored tinsel, plastic Santas and shiny green Christmas trees. The hotel we're staying at (the Hotel Maria, which is actually wierdly appropriate for this particular holiday) strung up heart-shaped balloons, a pinata and a cascade of lights which is pretty magical, and last night, on Christmas Eve, the Indian version of a mariachi band stormed all the hotels and businesses along this street and people danced like mad.

Our friend Jimmy kindly treated us to a sumptuous Christmas buffet at The Grand Hotel--a five star deal--and so our little family of three toasted with mulled wine and feasted till our bellies were beyond full. The evening was even sort of chilly, at least by Kolkata standards, and as we walked back to our hotel we found ourselves under a huge canopy of white lights strung over the road and it did feel a bit (maybe not a lot) like Christmas.

Josh and I created our own Hannuakah/Christmas rituals, which is a nice way of saying that our room is too small to hide presents and we were too impatient to wait until the morning of the 25th to open our goodies, so we started a few days ago:-) We're hoping to see some snow in Katmandu when we head there mid-January, so we might have to extend the holiday celebration until then since both of us are a bit homesick for cold weather and crisp winter air.

Christmas Eve was relatively rowdy, but Christmas Day is easing along pretty quietly. The crows are out, of course, but many folks are home--I think it may even be a national holiday--so the day does have a sort of tender calm about it. Josh will practice on his newly gifted practice mat. I'll read some of my newly gifted books (Josh found me a collection of Kafka's letters!). We'll probably pack our bags up since tomorrow we begin traveling again--off to Pune via Mumbia on a 35 hour train ride give or take a few hours--maybe wander the streets a bit, visit our favorite nook of a restuarant (The Turkish Corner) for a classic Christmas Day meal of fresh pita with falafel and mutton kabab.

We're sending all of you--our East Coast clan, our West Coast clan, our Everyone in Between and Beyond clan--much love and peace,

J&J
J&J

We've been bandhed!

Those of you who've spent time immersed in the wildness of Kolkata have been bandhed, I'm sure. And for those of you who haven't made it to the capital of West Bengal, a state with a communist party that's been in power for many moons, imagine a city of almost 15 million people brought to an almost absolute halt, with the exception of kids playing cricket in the streets and men camped out on sidewalks listening to the radio and drinking gallons of chai. A bandh is a strike and can be called by any party at any time for pretty much any reason--right now the cause is the struggle of a group of small farmers trying to hold onto their land under pressure from an auto company and certain political groups, although of course, perspectives on this cause run a huge gamut--with varying results, depending on how the political winds are blowing. Sometimes a few small shops close up for the day. Other times, NOTHING operates--not taxis, not banks, not restaurants, not the IT industry--an almost complete economic shutdown.

Most of the Indians we've met so far--small shopowners, rickshaw drivers, teachers, bankers, etc etc--are frustrated with these bandhs, especially since FOUR have been called this month, not counting the opposition party's demand yesterday for a 48 hour bandh that they quickly withdrew when it became clear no one would hold to it. Parties may call bandhs on "behalf of the oppressed" but in our conversations with people, they see political manipulation for votes, and as a consequence of that manipulation, loss of income that they and their families depend on. They acknowledge the value of strikes as a tool against the power-hungry, but don't have much faith in how current strikes are utilized.

In this case, the auto company says it paid the farmers fair and square. Some seem satisfied. Others are not. Now various political parties are clamoring to be on the side of big business bringing invaluable economic opportunities to a growing state, while others clamor to be on the side of the farmers, taking a stand against big business and unchecked development. Some farmers seem happy with this development. Others are not. Then two days ago, a young woman (the daughter of one of the protesting farmers) turned up dead on the disputed land--burned, possibly raped and strangled. The leader of the opposition party, on day 17 of a hunger strike, demanded the two day strike and sent party members to lay down in front of traffic on main streets. The leading party called on the public to ignore the demand and denounced "the manipulation of public sentiment," although they seemed happy to urge the public on for their own strike which shut down much of the state on December 14th.

The general view on the streets of all of this is that chances are the politicians will soon choose another cause, big business will keep trying to make as much money as possible, and the poor and marginalized will remain poor and marginalized.

On a less cynical note, we went man-shawl shopping for Josh the other day and ended up having tea and biscuits with the Kashmiri owner, whose nickname is Zaam (how awesome is that?) and trading stories and questions for over an hour. He speaks Kashmiri, Urdu, Bengali, Hindi, English, and ïf God permits" Punjabi in another year or two. He offered us two booklets on Islam and was so excited when we accepted them, he sent his cousin to get chai and coconut biscuits. He sat cross-legged on a low platform with shawls all around him. Josh and I sat on low plastic stools and sipped out of lovely blue and white china cups. He told us about coming to Kolkata for his "love affair." Eighteen years later, married to the woman of that love affair, he runs a shawl business with various brothers and cousins, and returns to Kashmir once a year to visit his wife and three daughters. The eldest wants to be an aerospace engineer and his "greatest dream"is to hear her give a lecture in the U.S.

Josh asked him about the role of music in Islam, and he told us that in his limited knowlege it's forbidden. But he admitted that he thinks there is good music and that priests can sometimes mislead the people. I asked him about poetry and he said that when he was a young man, he and and his friends wrote love letters filled with poetry about beauty and romance. He asked us if we were married and seemed quite pleased that we are. He spoke lovingly of Allah and Mohammed and fondly of "the Jesus Christ"and "the Moses." Then he walked us back to our hotel, introducing us to his younger brother along the way who looked like a Bollywood star, apologized for "disturbing"us and extended an open-ended invitation to his shop. It was a sweet, open, somtimes startling, honest and good-natured sharing. Not a huge theological or cultural debate, but a small trading of details, based on kindless and a desire to know more about one another. What more can you ask for?

Paz y Amor,
J&J

And the pondering continues...

I appreciate so much what all of you have offered about giving and sharing and being a generous member of a community, while at the same time being honest about the complicated nature of poverty. There are so many perspectives--religious, spiritual, practical, personal. What Josh Brown wrote about the potential presence of Allah in the person begging for a rupee or some food is part of the Christian tradition as well--Christ is in everyone, particularly in the poor and oppressed. The Catholic radical Dorothy Day founded the Catholic Workers based on that belief. Robbie shared the Jewish tenants on giving, and particularly the value of giving so that God is your only and ultimate witness. From a more secular perspective, the great American poet Walt Whitman wrote in his preface to Leaves of Grass: "Give alms to all who ask."

I strongly believe that generosity must extend beyond giving material goods to someone, although I'm still convinced that human to human interaction is valuable when motivated by compassion and empathy rather than guilt, and when you make the effort, as Jina pointed out, to know someone as a person and not just a "begger." I have been lucky to work with many people and organizations dedicated to attacking poverty at its roots--lack of education and skills, lack of job opportunities, lack of resources, lack of self-sufficiency--and I have witnessed sometimes small and sometimes huge successes as men and women celebrate the reality of providing for their families' bellies, minds and spirits, which is really all most of us are looking for.

I carry an article with me that my father gave to me several years ago--it's travelled with me from Portland to Boston to Guatemala to India. It's written by a Catholic priest, but I think the principles hold regardless of religion (let me know if you think I'm wrong on that point). The main thrust of the article is that we live in a world of plenty, although that plenty is not distributed in a particularly fair way (side note: when I worked for Heifer Project, kids asked me all the time why we couldn't just fill airplanes and ships full of food and send them to hungry people around the world. A sweet, though not truly sustainable idea.) What really wreaks havoc though is the human fear of scarcity, on a personal level as well as on wider community levels. We are so scared of not having enough even when we have MORE than enough, that we often, without true cause, deny those around us the chance to have enough. The article always reminds me of what Dorothy Day said about her unfailing belief in pacifism even during World War II which many people around her called a just war. They asked her time and time again how she could hold to a principle when reality dicated another route. Her response was (and this is paraphrased a bit): "how do we know pacifism doesn't work? Have millions of people and their governments dedicated themselves to peace? Have we really tried?"

How long would poverty last in the face of individual and collective action on the part of all of us?


Paz y Amor,
J&J

BUENAS NOTICIAS!! and some more serious musings...

The government of India has mostly kindly (and in such a timely fashion:-) approved Josh's research visa!! Got word this morning, danced a little jig and started making plans to go to Katmandu and get this grant happening. We're hoping to head to Nepal in mid-January to make it all official--we have to wait 15 days before we can go, but at the end of December we have a hot date with Josh's new sitar and then one of the biggest Indian music fests begins rocking out on January 1st and doesn't wrap up until the 13th. So we'll make our way to Pune and then Amehdebad, back up to Jaipur for 2 days or so to pack up our stuff and check in with Krishna-ji, fly (travelling in style:-) to Katmandu for a week (we have to stay for at least 4 days to get all the paperwork taken care of--paperwork? Shocking...) and then to Kolkata for the Dover Lane music festival. Phew. Madness. But the good kind of madness. The kind of madness that we gleefully welcome with open arms...

So we continue to make our way in Kolkata. Alam played a concert last weekend which was rock-solid, we had a gorge-fest on Domino's pizza (gasp!!), Josh is practicing with a tabla player as I write this, I have eaten so much fresh yogurt Josh is honestly a bit terrified, and we found falafel. Food is a huge part of this experience:-)

On a more serious note, we are also trying to come to terms with how to give to those around us who are desperately poor--and there are many of them. We, of course, received many warnings before coming to India (and several since our arrival) about the dangers and drawbacks of giving to the men, women and children who tug on our sleeves, grab our hands and plead over and over again for a few rupees--that we would be mobbed if we gave, that we can always give to a charity or a social welfare program, that the locals don't want us to give to those who beg since it encourages their begging. But saying "no"over and over again just doesn't feel right. Although Josh and I are not well off by US standards, the truth of the matter is we could afford to come to India and that automatically places us on a higher economic plane which is startling clear to everyone on the street. We have made some donations to organizations working with the poor and the homeless, but I have to ask, isn't it a valuable human to human gesture to look someone in the eye and give them the little they are asking for? There are of course inconveniences and hassles that come with giving in that way--we haven't been mobbed but we do become instant targets, and who knows how much a few rupees or a bag of powdered milk or some pieces of nan will do for someone. But I find it hard to believe it means nothing, and want so much to believe that it means something.

Any thoughts from you folks out there?

Paz y Amor,
J&J

even MORE fotos...

A view of Jaipur.
Some artwork from Krishna-ji's home.
My writing desk. The Hindu godddess of learning, Saraswati, keeping watch.

The kitchen altar in our Jaipur place.
The remnants of a Rajasthani meal with banana leaf plates. Occasionally leaky, but otherwise, a very good idea.
Josh hard at work in the practice room at our apartment in Jaipur.
A classic Indian toilet. There is also a strange hybrid of the Indian toilet and western toilet where there is a typical western bowl (not in the ground) but there are footrests on the side of the bowl, so you can squat or sit...interesting but maybe not so functional?
This sign is almost as good as the one put up by the Kolkata traffic police, which says: "If you drive like hell, you'll end up there soon."

On the Move in Kolkatta

Left Jaipur on Sunday to begin yet another journey...5 hours later the bus deposited us in Delhi and we shoved ourselves, the pack and the sitar into a rickshaw. Arrived at the New Delhi train station, which Josh said felt just like Penn in NYC, ate some extraordinarily salty but cheap dhaal, and then loaded ourselves onto our sleeper car for the 15 hour ride to Kolkatta.

We had a wonderful train ride--bonded with two couples who were in the berths next to us, talking about Indian politics, US politics, poetry, ragas, Harry Potter, and I spent a lot of time playing hide-and-seek with the 1 1/2 year old little son of one of the couples. The food was pretty damn good (although the white bread and one slice of American cheese sandwich they served for tea was a bit strange. But at least it came with ketchup.), and there is nothing in the world like falling asleep on a train. We woke up to the Bengali countryside--women in brilliant saris and men in dhotis harvesting rice paddies and wheat fields, red mud brick houses with thatched roofs, palm trees and delicate tall grasses--a far cry from the dusty pink cliffs and yellow mustard flowers of Rajasthan.

A few hours later, we climbed out of the Kolkatta train station into what felt SO MUCH like New York City--yellow cabs, tall apartment buildings, crumbling Victorian homes, and the pulse of 14 million people. The family of one of Josh's students back in Boston has so kindly put us up for our first few days here. They are serious about feeding us and stuff us full with chapatis and Bengali sweets. Our friend Alaam arrived the day after us, and we'll be cheering him on at a couple of concerts here in Kolkatta and maybe doing some Indian-style clubbing (??!!). In the meantime, we've done some serious shopping (Josh bought a totally blinged out kurta) and are out on the town as I write this, ready to explore the culture mecca and madness of this city.

The grant continues to wait for approval from the government of India, so we, inturn, continue to practice serious adherence to the constantly evolving plan. Josh has a gorgeous new sitar waiting for him in Pune (south of Mumbai), there are music festivals in Ahmedebad and Kolatta, and we are contemplating spending some time in the mountains. We'll let you know where we're laying our heads as soon as we know:-) For now, it looks like we'll be in Kolkatta for at least two more weeks, and then...stay tuned:-)

Peace and Love,
J&J

A few more pics...

We went to an elephant polo match in Jaipur...I cannot possibly describe just how strange it is. The elephants--each carrying a driver and a polo player--walk slowly up and down a tiny field, while the players swat at a plastic ball with very long poles. The most entertaining part of the whole experience was sitting in the free seats and watching everyone try to get as close to the fence as possible before the police guard scolded them back.
ELEPHANT POLO IS AWESOME!!!!
Yay for Indian bucket baths! Many homes and hotels, our lil' abode included, have "geasers" which are hot water heaters. The house we're staying at here in Kolkatta has wacky wiring from 60 years ago, so instead of a geaser, we have a 220 volt plug-in-coil that we put in a metal bucket (being very careful not to touch the bucket or the water), heat the water and THEN pour it into the ubiquitious plastic bucket.

BHUT ACCHA!!

Josh is now officially (flip the birdie at the beauracrats) affiliated with Rajasthan University! We didn't even have to go arm-wrestle them one more time as we'd feared (I was going to challenge them to leg-wrestling which is really more my forte, but maybe I'll be able to show off those skills another time). So the final push is on, and we could be flying to Katmandu for our new visas by the end of December. Maybe we'll get to do New Year's in Nepal!

In the meantime, we're going on our first Indian train trip and heading east to Kolkatta, where all things Hindustani are happening. We'll be catching up with our friend Alaam--a totally rocking sarod player--and grubbing on some serious Bengali fish dishes (not so much the fish here in Jaipur, what with being the desert and all).

Josh continues to work on deepening his grooves and working on his futbol skills--we bought a ball the other day and have been busting some serious moves down at the local park, where we have become late afternoon entertainment for our neighbors. Older women watch us from the roofs of their homes, gaggles of little kids dash around the field occasionally kicking at the ball, and the young men stand to the side looking cool in the TIGHTEST pants I have ever seen on men. Everyone has been very kind and good-natured in their staring, but sometimes we'd like to put signs on our backs in Hindi that say: "YES, WE KNOW WE'RE WHITE. IT IS VERY WIERD, BUT THERE'S NOTHING WE CAN DO ABOUT IT. MAYBE WE COULD TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE. LIKE HOW WIERD ELEPHANT POLO AND CRICKET ARE."

I'm waiting until we return from Kolkatta to study Hindi with a teacher, but I've got a couple of books and no fear when it comes to asking questions, so I'm cobbling together a semblance of communication in Hindi. I love piecing together the curves and flicks of ink that make the letters and then being able to recognize the sounds. I don't remember learning how to read in English, the excitement of seeing the letter A and knowing what it meant every time, so learning a whole new system of symbols and being old enough to (mostly) consciously work on it is getting me seriously giddy. Of course, right now, even when I recognize a sound, I'm a long way from knowing what the word means but putting together sound and symbol at even the most basic level satisfies my poetic soul.

I'll end this blog with some scribbles from my journal (which is filling up rapidly:-)

Not only are the nights cooling, but the mornings hold onto the evenings' chill for longer. Standing in the doorway, I watch women throughout the neighborhood hang saris and kurtas and acid-washed jeans, their own hair freshly ashed and hanging loose and heavy down their necks and backs. By the time these women step outside to go to the markety, they'll be impeccably twisted and turned in their saris and their hair will be neatly and demurely braided. Kids in the neighborhood have their eyes fixed with great seriousness on kites--wisps of paper stretched over thin pieces of wood, diving wildly over rooftops and powerlines. Some have fallen on our roof and on the trees in front of the house, but the sky, especially by mid-afternoon when the older kids are out of school, continues to swarm with spinning, flighted paper.

My skin and sweat smell like curry and cilantro. I found guavas at the market and remembered young girls bringing them to me at the library in El Tejar. Ate at Sanjay's Omelette stand in Bapu Nagar--10 rupees for scrambled eggs with onions, tomatoes, garlic and the requisite white break--in the company of several men who seemed a bit confused by my presence but were kindly distant. Ventured into the old city. Stuck to the main roads for this particular foray but peered down the tight side streets overfull with scooters, bicycles, peanut roasters, vegetable hawkers--more full even than the main markets. Archway upon archway telescoped visions of delicate pink minarets and signs with gods' names. Red-assed baboons loped along the low roofs and paused in front of windows to chatter at their reflections. Open store fronts spilled forth teak kettles, bolts of silk, roasted coffee, vitamins, mounds and mounds of spices, mattresses, bicycle tires, incense, marigolds and of course, everywhere, chai--steaming sweetness in tiny shops tucked between the bucket-sellers and watch-sellers, in the hands of chatting shop owners. Men stirring huge pots of boiling water, mixing in milk, pounds of sugar, cardamom, cloves, ginger.

On the walk home, an old man on a bicycle grinned at me unabashedly, waved vigorously and shouted "HELLO!" I grinned and waved back, and he hooted gleefully. It was a joyful exchange. It's good to be here.

Love and Peace,
J&J