Indian Katabatics

New Site

2008-05-03T00:53:00.003+05:30

Hello Readers... if there are any of you out there anymore... As you can tell, I've stopped updating this blog... a while ago. The last post with the smashed computer picture gave you my reasons why.

Anyway, I have returned from India and have started Medical School in Dallas, TX. I have taken copious notes from my travel and hope to consolidate them in some form or fashion sooner than later.

I will no longer update this site. My current website can be found at http://arpitdave.com. If you wish to contact me, you can do so by emailing me at the address found on the Contact page of my website.

Thank you for reading and following my sojourn through India. It changed my life and I'm so glad I did it. Take care.

Laborious Updates!

2007-03-30T17:53:00.000+05:30

Well I'm finally completed my section on Rajasthan. And I've put up new pictures! I know I had grand plans at the beginning to post regularly, but as it turns out, internet access in India is worse than I thought. And I can't stand slow computers anymore. So I don't update as often as I should.

It seems everyone has "broadband" but that means anywhere from "shotgun" dual-56K modems to basic (read: cheap and slow) ADSL. I find that India's patchwork system of everything applies even to internet, but I'm going to bore everyone if I start talking about how much I now hate PPPOE. Of course, that's BEFORE we get to the representation of India's failure to reach the last mile in their computers.

Seems that the major manufacturers have convinced India that all you need is a fast processor. So, as shown here, you can buy computers in India with fast P4's and a measly 128 MB RAM. In the US (and to anybody that really knows computers) that's an atrocity of the highest degree. Then these cafes load up every possible messenger software, antivirus program (not updated, of course), and audio/video player - and they all load on startup. So by the time you hit the desktop (5 minutes for a P4 I used recently!) you're already a few hundred megs in the hole. And then of course, you try to load IE, since most haven't found Firefox, and it's the slowest, most unresponsive computer ever. So even if there's good internet, the computers are so damn slow it feels like dial-up.

That means to update my blog and upload pictures (I shrink them first), is a chore that takes at least 2-3 hours. During most of which I twiddle my thumbs.

The worst ever? That would have to be an internet cafe in Jaisalmer. There were 12 identical computers. Pentium III 400 MHz, 64 MB RAM, onboard video, Windows XP. Jaisalmer has no broadband - all 12 were networked to one 33.6Kbps modem. Indeed, a new low.

By the way, the window said "We have Photoshop!"

So, new pictures are up. Late. Sorry. But you should know what a royal pain it is to make it happen. So thanks avid readers for sticking with me. You have NO idea how ready I am for my computer at home.

The Lonely Lord Brahma

2007-03-26T17:29:00.000+05:30

You would think that Lord Brahma would be pretty well respected around the Hindu world, being that he was singlehandedly responsible for creating the universe and all.

It is quite unfortunate, then, that our next stop, Pushkar, happens to be one of the few places in the world, if not the only place, where Brahma has a temple dedicated to him. I suppose there is some solace in the fact that Pushkar, surprisingly, turned out to be 2007 hippie central. I had heard that Varanasi didn't have many left, and my visits in the past to Rishikesh only turned up a handful, so I wondered where they all went. Right. Found them. At least Brahma has company.

As it turns out, Brahma was supposed to get married in Pushkar to Saavitri. As the story goes, Saavitri took too long to get ready (she's marrying the creator of the universe, do you blame her? I'd wanna look good too!). But since the auspicious time for marriage was passing, Brahma, in a hurry, picked another woman, Gaayatri, to marry. Saavitri shows up to find out that Brahma has gone and married another woman. Angry at this injustice (she went through all that trouble getting ready, for... um... Brahma's sake!), she curses Brahma that he will never be worshipped anywhere but Pushkar.

It seems that her curse came true - the most number of people I ever saw in that temple at a time was about thirty. But that made darshan and puja of Lord Brahma quite enjoyable. No pandas, no pressure, just prayer.

Kumbalgarh and Ranakpur

2007-03-26T16:38:00.000+05:30

As is Meherangarh in Jodhpur and the Dilwara Temples of Mt. Abu weren't enough, on the way out of Udaipur, Kim and I stopped by another lovely fort, Kumbalgarh, and the spectacular Jain temple complex of Ranakpur.

Though admittedly not as fascinating (as a fort) as Meherangarh, Kumbalgarh's views were second to none. I can only imagine one day how nice it will be to find my own remote hill somewhere in the world and build myself a fort retreat to enjoy as a "get-away-from-it-all" sort of holiday. Yeah.

Ranakpur, on the other hand, simply blew me away. Its forest of columns made getting lost quite simple, and the entire structure's carved detail, which rivalled that of Dilwara, kept my gaze fixed until my eyes hurt. (I might not have blinked for an hour and a half... and I'm sure my dumb-mouth-agape-stares resulted in me drooling all over myself). Every ceiling, every pillar, every shrine, every last possible surface, was beautifully hewn from a creamy white marble that also looked, in parts, good enough to eat. In the hour and a half we spent there, I managed to complete only one round of the temple - I honestly didn't want to move any faster lest I miss some intricately carved piece that would take what breath I already didn't have away again.

Laid Back in Udaipur

2007-03-22T19:05:00.000+05:30

Our chilled out time in Mt. Abu was, unexpectedly, followed by a number of quality days of relaxing in Udaipur, Rajasthan's very romantic city-on-a-lake.

Kim and I spent a few good days just wandering in and around the city, perfectly content to walk till we were horribly lost and then take a rickshaw back to wherever we figured we might have been headed when we first left.

That took us first to more endlessly fascinating vegetable markets, where I took the opportunity to join in the haggling over some grapes. Selling at Rs. 30/- a kilo, I asked for a quarter kilo. The woman says, it's only Rs. 15/- for half a kilo, why don't you take half a kilo instead? Now I understand that "only Rs. 15/-" really isn't that much (about 30 cents), but this time, I wasn't really concerned with the number of rupees, I was worried about the number of grapes! Voicing that, she said, "Okay okay, you give me Rs. 10/-." So in all ironies of ironies, when I would have paid Rs. 15/- for a quarter kilo (probably would have paid 30/-, I just wanted some grapes!) and I ended up with half a kilo of grapes for Rs. 10/-. So I ended up sharing grapes with anyone who looked my way. Angur chaiyye? When we decided it was time to catch a rickshaw (we decided we wanted to go back to the lakeside), we got the first (and maybe only) rickshaw driver to give us an honest fare without making me haggle. For his honesty (and my grape plight) he ended up with a quarter kilo of grapes and a Rs. 10/- tip, too. I asked him why he gave us a decent fare even when we were obviously tourists (sorry, Kim, you don't exactly blend in...). Responding with some of the most amazing logic ever, he says,

"If you're greedy like most rickshaw drivers, you haggle yourself to a headache and end up taking Rs. 30/- anyway because you need the money and the frustrated tourist begrudgingly gives you 30/-. I just say 30/-, please the tourist that he got the 'local fare', and invariably get a Rs. 10/- tip."

And as I look back, it's scary how true that is. I invariably tip the rickshaw-wallahs that give me a good fare at the start. And I never tip the rickshaw drivers I have to bargain with. Seems like a lot of these rickshaw guys need to get their heads in the game.

The next evening, Kim and I caught a made-for-tourists folk dance show. Backdropped by one of Udaipur's lovely havelis, it was a treat to see some (surprisingly) good traditional dance. While the crowd's favorite was the women dancing with 10 matkas (pots) balanced on their heads, mine was a performance of terataali where every time one of the manjeeras (bells) clinked, I flashbacked to when I was 8 years old and taking part in BAPS' Cultural Festival of India and doing the same dance three times a day in front of the crowds in Edison, NJ. Oh so many memories. But it was a great show, and for sure, being able to dance on broken glass with 10 matkas is really a feat, but, hey, to each his own.

Kim and I also spent the better part of one day fighting with the Hutch people again because (just like mine did so many times) her phone stopped working again. For anyone that reads this or stumbles across this - HUTCH SUCKS! AVOID THEM LIKE THE PLAGUE! But by all means, invest in their stock - they're making a killing on new connections and fees, and since everyone in India wants a cellphone, they just keep signing up, and don't care whether the phones really work - it's all prepaid anyway!

Well, on one of my long walks, I came across a nice man sitting on his steps. He asked where I was from (typical...) and then asked if I wanted some tea. I was about to say no (I've fallen for that one and been asked to pay Rs. 40/- for a kulladi of tea), but then something struck me... There wasn't a shop, piece of clothing, or trinket anywhere in sight. So I said, what the hell, I don't have Rs. 40/- on me anyway...

That encounter turned into a few new friends (including a very nice, but jaded, french woman) and a dinner invitation (which we found out was to be cooked by the Maharani's personal chef!). My fascination with India's tourism industry and perception of westerners steered our conversation into two very interesting points made by our new friends. He argued that to be more tourist friendly, India had to do two things. First, separate business and friends. He found it just as annoying as me that every shop owner tries to strike up conversation and just when you think you made a new friend he tries to sell you something. Second, "Keep God in your business, but don't make business your God." I am all for keeping a murti in the place of business as a reminder to be honest, open, and trustworthy in business. I am all against keeping an image of Laxmi (and only Her) and praying daily that She bring more customers. Now I agree that economically, price discrimination is a fact of life, but that doesn't mean I like it. Just because I'm a tourist doesn't mean that I WANT to pay twice as much as everyone else does. Grrr.

Anyway. Our last full day in Udaipur was spent just chilling by the lake, enjoying the view of the Maharaja's Palace, and the lovely Lake Palace Hotel which, thanks to recent rains, looked like it was floating serenely in the middle.

Temple Carving Madness in Mount Abu

2007-03-21T15:24:00.000+05:30

Yet another too-early-in-the-morning bus arrival from Jodhpur brought us to the small, friendly hill-station of Mount Abu. After passing out for a few hours, Kim and I spent the day exploring the small towns wide avenues and (surprisingly narrow) market alleys.
I love busy Indian markets. They're so much fun to just wander through. It's a really great place to see the true art of haggling taking place. For us tourists, we come to a point where we realize the value of our dollar and realize that, while for us Rs. 10/- (~20 cents) is not a big deal, it may make a serious difference to the seller. But watching haggling in these markets, where each person has a similar value for those Rs. 10/-, is a real treat. I've seen all sorts of deals struck, from an extra twig of grapes to a chicken plus-a-promise-to-buy-another-tomorrow.

After our fill of Abu's markets, we began walking around the lake that is enclosed by the hill's undulations. The path took us to a lovely viewpoint over the open agricultural plains of Rajasthan and Gujarat below. The surprising part was how far up we actually were. Since the town is built up around the lakeside, it's surrounded by the upper parts of the hill on all sides. So you lose perception that you're actually high up in the hills. It becomes very clear very quickly how high up the town actually is when you get to the edge, and the hill literally drops away for over half a mile down to the plains below. Stunning.

So we decided that we'd join one of our guesthouses' treks through the hills to scope out some better views. We were supposed to have a plain-jane sort of walk, but a split second decision to investigate a new trail possibility gave most of our group more than it bargained for. Our descent took us halfway down the side of the hill and halfway around the entire mountain. We ended up joining a family taking part in a Shivaratri pilgrimage to the small shivalings peppered around the side of the hill. In all honesty, the trek was quite difficult - steep inclines and slopes, narrow ledges, loose gravel, and low underbrush. And that the grandmother of the pilgrims was leaving all of us in the dust with her ability to navigate the terrain was, for lack of a better word, embarassing. While we were out of breath, she would restrain herself from tapping her foot impatiently waiting for us to move on...

But eventually, we emerged on the other side of the mountain near the town of Dilwara, famous for its Jain Temples. These temples are something else entirely. They are by far the most intricately carved that I have ever seen. So intricate, in fact, that I think that the artisans must have been a bit foolish to spend so much time carving out details that no one sees unless he looks really close. The Luna Vasahi and Vimal Vasahi temples were just extraordinary. The most amazing part was that the carvings were so close... I just wanted to reach out and touch them, and I COULD, but I felt guilty immediately after I did because the pieces looked like they'd break off if I touched it again. Each of the figures were so real, each of the leaves so delicate. They were totally mind-boggling.

Colored City #2: Jodhpur

2007-03-21T14:07:00.000+05:30

As fascinating as Jaisalmer's homogeneous sandstone hue was, the fact that Jodhpur was, in sections, almost entirely blue was even cooler. Lore has it that brahmins houses were painted blue (sweet, I can have a blue house!) but nowadays, people paint their houses blue because... well... everyone else's house is blue, too. The entire blue mass of a city sits at the foot of a large hill ontop of which the old Maharaja of Jodhpur built the gigantic, romantic, and idyllic Meherangarh Fort.

Our quaint Sarvar Guesthouse sat right near the foot of the hill and gave the most spectacular view of the fort from its rooftop restaurant. Of course, if you've read this blog, you know my opinion of forts in India. Well, let me be the first to say that Meherangarh Fort would have been like any other fort if it were not for Narrowcasters' excellent guided tour implemented by the Meherangarh Museum Trust. The current Maharaja (who by the way lives in his own half of the famous Umaid Bhawan Palace) set up the MMT because he believed that Meherangarh should not die even if the Maharajas did. So the palace is under constant restoration, the guided tour tells about what life as a Maharaja or courtier was like, and even has a person paid to sit and smoke hookah while the audioguide teaches about the opium culture of the olden days of Rajasthan. Listening to that tour, I could imagine what it was like to be a Maharani, required to stay behind the purdah ('veil' - meaning, out of sight of the public), moving through backside corridors and watching over the courtyards through the intricately carved jalis (windows).

Admittedly, there were only two things to do in Jodhpur, one was visit the fort and see the blue city, and the other was to eat all the mava kachori and mirchi vada and drink all the makhaniya lassis that we could handle. So we asked around for the best places to get each of them, and Kim and I visited each one - in fact, we walked 30 minutes to get to Chaudhry Namkeen for "Jodhpur's Best Mava Kachori." And we did just that. The place to get lassis was so famous for them that the owner came in every morning to make the day's batch in secret, then, instead of giving out glasses of water, the waiters would dole out a lassi instead! In fact, EVERYONE I ever saw walk into that restaurant had a makhaniya lassi. I think to walk out without having had one would have been tantamount to sacrilege. Which of course, wasn't a problem for us.

So after our fill of forts and food (it took a good three days to do it!) we bailed and headed for the hills... well, the hill, since Mt. Abu is Rajasthan's only hill station (and from the looks of it, the only hill period).

Rajasthan: Sandcastle City and Camel Safaris

2007-03-14T11:52:00.000+05:30

When Kim and I decided to travel together, we agreed on Rajasthan and figured we'd start far west and work our way back toward Delhi over the course of about three weeks. So a 19-hour train ride later, we ended up in Jaisalmer, Rajasthan's sandstone city that looks like one giant sandcastle - crowned with the Jaisalmer Fort city which is a bustling town that grew up within the walls of Jaisalmer's fort. Kim and I, along with a few new Australian buddies, found ourselves a place to stay at the (rather shoddy but cheap) Hotel Rajdhani.

After a long walk around the city and through the fort, past many of Jaisalmer's famous (and gorgeously) sculpted havelis (former residences of rich merchants), I realized why people loved this town. It is small, sleepy, and exists now almost entirely to service the fast-growing tourist industry that centers around the 3-5 day camel safaris that every tourist (including us) takes part in.

We departed on a camel safari arranged by our hotel owner (they're all in the business of selling safaris, too) for 3 days. That was about two days too many. After having seen endless sanddunes that really do stretch as far as the eyes can see, Rajasthan's Thar Desert dunes were, well, uninspiring. The clear nights did make for beautiful views of the sky filled with millions of stars, but the most memorable experience of our safari was the freak powerful rainstorm in the middle of a desert during Rajasthan's dry season. Who would have guessed?

Needless to say, our camel safari guides were utterly worthless - taking the waterproof rain coverings and synthetic wraps for themselves and leaving us with the stack of wool blankets that were soaked in 5 minutes. So the 3 Aussies and Kim and I put our brains together, used the camel saddles for windbreaks, and buried ourselves in the sand behind them in our sleeping bags with the wool blankets piled thick on top of us. We stayed warm and dry for the most part and had a good laugh about it the next day. We must have done a good job because our camel safari guides were coughing up a storm the next morning and we were just fine. We were miffed though and did not want to pay the full amount for our safari since our guides were, well, worthless. That and another guy with us (an Argentinian) paid a lot less, too.

We decided to head over to Jodhpur the next day, but not before some shenanigans with our hotel owner who was furious that we didn't want to pay up, insisting that he was in no fault whatsoever. This was despite the fact that he insisted that we pay only 50% up front and not pay the rest if we were in anyway dissatisfied. Our attempt to pay Rs. 500/- per night (about 85%) was met with angry yelling and the owner slamming the hotel door shut and attempting to lock us in. It didn't help that he had been drinking too much. So we gave him an extra Rs. 100/- a night ($10 total for a lot of peace of mind is a good deal in my opinion) and left.

Sigh... why is it that India is so great, then in a split second can absolutely ruin itself? Well, we were in for a pleasant surprise with the next two weeks, staying at lovely, great-value guesthouses that were, well, ridiculously cheap, too. More later.

Buddy/Swap and Delhi's Contrasts

2007-03-07T20:27:00.000+05:30

Much to my disappointment, Mary had to leave for her study abroad program in Nepal after a nights stay back in Delhi. But all was not lost.

As it turned out, while in Gujarat, I received an email from my previous travel buddy JM (see all the TNB posts from December/January) saying that there was another Rice Alum coming to India, a girl named Kim Swanson, and he wanted to know if I could be in Delhi to pick her up at the airport to smooth her transition into the country.

I might have already mentioned elsewhere in this blog that I think Delhi is perhaps the worst city in which to introduce a first-time visitor to India. And I want everyone to fall in love with this country as I have over the past 6 months. I think there is a lot to love and learn in and about India, but since there are no second impressions, just stepping out of Delhi's airport can be one HUGE strike.

I emailed back saying I was currently traveling with Mary, but if I was going to be in Delhi when she arrived, I would most definitely pick her up. Lo and behold, she says she's arriving on January 30, at 10:30 AM (on the same flight that Mary came on a few weeks earlier). Mary was leaving for Nepal on January 30th at 1:00 PM. Not only was I going to be in Delhi, I was going to be at the airport already, too! Some things are meant to happen, and I'm convinced I was meant to pick up Kim Swanson at the airport.

So out went Mary and in came Kim. Our first stop was the backpacker stop - Paharganj. After stepping out of our taxi, we were immediately accosted by a flurry of touts. Amid their pitches for hotels, one dropped the words, "brand new hotel." So I said, let's check it out. And for the first time, a tout actually got me a really good deal. The Star Villas DX (deluxe - and they weren't lying) Hotel was brand new and Kim expertly haggled her way to a room for Rs. 400/- a night - by far the best value room I had ever seen in India. All the hot water you could want, a comfy foam mattress, new-and-working satellite television, and a wool blanket. Thinking over to my uncle's house and its mattresses and odors, I actually contemplated getting a room there too.

But what surprised me most was that Kim just dropped her bags off in the room and said, okay, let's explore the city. I was blown away by how much energy she had. After flying in from who-knows-where-developing-country-in-Africa, she spent a full day in and around the city. We hung out in Paharganj, went to Lajpat Nagar (where Kim got henna on her hands), got her a SIM card in Ansal Plaza and stopped in Connaught Place for dinner and some drinks. It's the most active day I have probably ever had in Delhi, and she was doing it fresh off an overnight international plane flight!

The few days that she and I spent hanging out together in New Delhi were full of the contrasts that I think embody India so well. I would meet her in the dusty, dirty, packed, and tout-infested Paharganj where she spent Rs. 400/- on a hotel and we would head over to Connaught Place or a market somewhere and find a restaurant (had to have dosas for Kim) and pay $1 for a stuff-yourself-silly-thali. We'd then talk, people watch, and haggle over Rs. 20/- trinkets for most of the afternoon, and then when we were pooped would head to nice restaurant for dinner - and then we'd leave India for a while by entering DV8 or QB'A, both really posh bars (QB'A has 3 levels with a VIP island in the middle and fiber optic lighting in the ceiling) and drop Rs. 1500/- on some dumplings and a few mocktails (the alcoholic drinks sounded really bad). And then we'd emerge again and she'd head back to her hotel in the narrow, dank, wet (and now dark) alleys of Paharganj, and I'd fight tooth-and-nail with a rickshaw driver to take me back home for Rs. 50/-.

India's newfound wealth has made Delhi a pretty amazing city. In a 5 square kilometer area, it houses the poorest of the poor and the richest of the rich - and caters to all of them. And even the burgeoning middle class is catered for too. Did you know that McDonalds India delivers?

How amazing is that?

The Alleppey Beach Resort

2007-03-07T20:07:00.000+05:30

The beginning of our stay at the Alleppey Beach "Resort" made me reconsider medicine and think about taking up engineering.

Our hot water shower wasn't working because the management had installed one of India's new-fangled propane instant water heaters to provide "unlimited hot water." Unfortunately, as is with many things in India, the heater was installed haphazardly (the propane tank, which was connected to the heater unit by an old rubber tube that had sat out in the sun too long, sat on top of 3 bricks stacked on an old 50-gallon drum that used to be filled with tar), and no one knew how to use it or how to get it to work. The manager was a nice guy, but utterly incompetent. After promising to "call the plumber" he simply went away. But that still left me without a shower.

So I trooped out behind our little cottage and a set about figuring out how one of these little heaters worked. And I figured it out, and so we got hot water. I asked the manager if the plumber was coming. "Tomorrow he coming," and no explanation of why he wasn't coming 'today,' or better yet, 'right away.' Good thing I knew could figure out how to fix water heaters.

But other than a nice long stroll down the beach and a whole bunch more games of Ziggity, I am proud to say Mary and I successfully did absolutely nothing at the beach other than sitting and enjoy. We ventured into Alleppey a few times to walk around, but enjoyed more being able to do nothing.

Overnight on a Private Houseboat

2007-03-07T19:49:00.000+05:30

One of the highlights of the vacation through Kerala was a night we spent journeying from Kumarakom to Alleppey on our very own houseboat. These houseboats are designed like the Keralan rice barges on steroids - they come with anywhere from one double room to more or less a floating palace of 8-10 rooms. They have anywhere from basic facilities to satellite television.

I'd like to say that houseboat experience is a unique one, but with over 500 houseboats operating out of Alleppey and another 200 from Kumarakom (and all 700 go back and forth between the two), they are by FAR the most common transport form on the famed backwaters of Kerala. In fact, they're so common, that they are often seen pulling along the local hollowed-out-trunk canoes as a sort of free waterway taxi service.

Just lazing around the backwaters for the afternoon and docking to watch the sunset over the palm-fringed banks was a very relaxing way to start slowing down after a fairly fast-paced tour of Kerala. Besides the fact that our houseboat actually had an upper-deck (a neat little place to sit with a bit of privacy, there wasn't much else to write home about. I would write more here if there were more to say, but frankly, Mary and I really just enjoyed doing nothing - we played Ziggity (an amazing card game, let me tell you), and Phase 10 (another good card game), read our books, ate, and just had a good time doing nothing.

Bamboo Rafting in the Reserve

2007-03-07T13:57:00.000+05:30

The next day had us engaging in an activity pitched as "Bamboo Rafting." Now when I think of rafting, I think of rivers and whitewater and physical activity. It ended up being a lazy wildlife watching day-cruise on scrap bamboo trunks roped together into small flotillas. But without the wildlife (seriously, the only animals we saw were humans digging for clams on the banks). We were escorted again by an armed escort and the guides/raftsmen.

It was on a lake made by the downstream damming of the Periyar River and so the lake was punctuated with gnarled, dead, half-submerged tree trunks. Had the weather been foul, dark, and stormy, it would have been the perfect setting for a horror movie. But in broad daylight it looked sort of silly. Kind of like, "Well, we have this lake now, what do we do? I know! Let's float tourists around on it!"

But that we spent like 6 hours on these boats and didn't see a single animal made it more or less ridiculous. Eventually, we parked our boats and began walking again. Our armed escort had left us when we boarded the rafts (water keeps us safe from the tigers?) but when we disembarked in a different spot, he was no longer with us. Now in all seriousness, walking along the known tourist trails has got to be pretty safe even without a guard - the tigers hardly frequent those places anyway. But because we saw NO wildlife whatsoever, our guides were going to try to give us some value-adds. They led us deeper into the sanctuary and into a tall-grass savannah-type plain. With grass taller than Mary and all around us, another member of our group made the astute observation that THIS is really where we need the armed guard. As the wind blew over the tops of the grasses making them undulate, it was altogether too easy to imagine being stalked by a tiger. It could have been 2 feet away in the grass and we never would have known. I felt like I was in the Jurassic Park scene where the scientists and badguys are running through the field and they're getting pulled down by velociraptors that you can't see. His observation was met with nervous laughs. Those laughs turned into anxious silence when it became clear that our "guides" had lost their way. Eventually they led us out to a vast open plain across which we could see elephants! In broken english they told us not to tell anyone what we were about to do, and we marched across the open plain to where the elephants were. About a 150m away, they got whiff of our arrival and started slowly lumbering away. We got a few snaps in before they disappeared around a bend.

We then hiked back to our starting point, had a snack, and our day ended as the sun began to set.

New Blog Features

2007-02-25T19:03:00.000+05:30

After some inspiration to edit my blog (read: frustration at how boring it looked) I decided to add some new features. With my pictures finally ahead of my blog writing, I decided to start accompaying blog posts with pictures - as you can tell from the recent posts of my time in Kerala. You might also notice on the right hand side, there is now an embedded YouTube video. This video is the trailer to the hit international large-screen format film Mystic India.

I plan on making my posts more interactive, and now, with the new Blogger up and running well, I will upload some of the videos that I have taken for your enjoyment as well. Enjoy the blog!

Night Treks in Tiger Territory: Periyar Sanctuary

2007-02-25T18:30:00.000+05:30

Our departure from the tea fields of Munnar did not rob us of gorgeous scenery. Quite the opposite in fact. After rounding a bend, the tea fields all but disappeared and we were treated to the rolling Western Ghats fading off into the distance, covered in dense forest that looked more like the Appalachian Mountains than anything else. Kerala's landscapes again did not disappoint.

We descended out of the Ghats to the small town of Kumily, in the region of Thekkady, right at the border of the Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary. As a consequence, the place was known interchangeably as Kumily, Thekkady, and Periyar... even to the locals. We were put up by The Blue Yonder at some "eco-lodges" run by the KTDC. These bamboo huts were supposed to be "eco-friendly." But the only thing eco-friendly about them was that they were biodegradeable (they're made of bamboo!). Other than that, they were powered by city electricity, they disposed waste into the city sewer system, and trash was disposed of the way it is everywhere else in India - behind the kitchen. In their defense, there was one hut that had its water heated using solar power, but the panels were broken and so the hut didn't have hot water. Not exactly my idea of environmentally friendly. Now I understand that some environmentally conscious people are willing to pay a premium for being green-savvy, but these places were a joke. And their going rate was Rs. 2000/- a night. Not exactly my idea of wallet friendly.

The night we arrived there, we went on a night-trek through the tiger sanctuary. Accompanied by an armed escort and a guide, we ventured through the different landscapes of the sanctuary in total darkness. The flashlights provided by the park were, well, on the dimmer side of mediocre. Which made Mary's collection of LED flashlights a total godsend. We walked for a half hour before getting far enough away from roads to not have the auditory experience ruined by India's unregulated diesel and petrol engines. But once the silence settled around us, and all lights faded but our flashlights lighting our footpaths, I was amazed by how different the sensory experience was. Robbed of vision, my ears began to look for signs of life in the bushes. I could hear field mice scurrying, birds rustling their nests, frogs croaking and then plopping into nearby puddles. The occassional deer crashed through the undergrowth in the distance. And as we emerged into a clearing, our eyes received a real treat. The blackness in front of us was penetrated by hundreds of flowing, slowly-blinking lights. Walking through the unchoreographed elegance of their soft and rhythmic bioluminescence, backdropped by total darkness made me think, this is what God sees walking through the universe. Thousands of stars, miniscule in comparison to Him, blink in and out of existence as He watches over the course of eternity.

Keralan Landscapes and Tea Fields: Munnar

2007-02-25T17:24:00.000+05:30

The Keralan landscape is by far the most diverse and most green I have seen in India. Our four hour journey from Kochi to Munnar treated us to palm trees, plains, rice paddies, hills, cardamom fields, mountains, deciduous forests, and deep river valleys. But nothing prepared us for the sight of Munnar's famed endless tea fields that vanish off into the distance in every direction. Everywhere we turned, our sights were filled with the lush green carpet of Assam tea growing on the slopes of the Western Ghats. The intense green gave a pleasant contrast to the clean, clear blue skies above.

I resisted the urge to stop every thirty seconds to take a picture... Yet I still ended up with 50 pictures of tea fields at the end of our day... We honestly didn't do a lot in Munnar except ogle at the amazing teafield scenery and walk amongst them. The plants live for a 125 years and between 10-15 leaves are harvested from each bush every month. And with as much tea as Indian's drink, at that rate, you have to have a lot of bushes! But really, the most fascinating part was the story of the business underlying these fields.

While there are a number of companies operating on the Western Ghats, the largest by far is the multinational, multi-faceted Indian giant, the Tata Group. Their Tata Tea fields made up for 75% of the tea growing in and around Munnar. Tata is a real behemoth. In a developing country like India, startups have a difficult time raising capital, so it's the established companies that are able to enter a variety of markets to reap a profit by transferring capital from one industry to another. The Tata Group is a shining example of this. They operate in SEVEN business sectors. They do everything from building cars to offering satellite TV, from selling power to managing five-star hotels, and from providing life insurance to producing copious quantities of tea. They are, for lack of a better phrase, all over the place. They employ many people in Munnar in their production of the famed Tata Tea that so many millions of Indians drink on a daily basis. Their harvesters work all day in the field harvesting tea from the tops of the shrubs. The constant preening flattens the tops of the bushes and gives Munnar its famed green-carpet look. Let's marvel at how well-paid these harvesters are (not!). They are paid by the kilo of tea they harvest. All of 50 paisa per kilo. Now if this were marble, it'd be a different story. But think about how much freakin' tea you have to pick to get even ONE kilo! And for that someone pays you ONE CENT. Oh wait, no, the field managers (overseer) pad their own salaries by not issuing payment for every 10th kilo that is harvested.

I thought I wasn't getting paid enough for my "hard work" for Kaplan. Damn.

Kochi... Cochin? Kochin?

2007-02-25T16:18:00.000+05:30

Our stay in Cochin (or however you spell it) was to be brief, lasting only a full day. But the first thirty minutes were enough for me to realize that I really liked the part in which we were staying. The Portuguese, though most prevalent in Goa, were allowed to build, in Magellan's time, a fort - what is now known as the heritage town of Fort Cochin. It, alongside it's sister citysprawl across the bay, known as Ernakulam, makes up the town of Cochin... or Kochi... or...

A significant portion of the day was spent (okay more like 20 minutes) asking how what the town's name actually was. Seems like the residents have different opinions. Some call it Kochi, others Cochin, and the occasional, "No, no, it's spelled K-O-C-H-I-N." Bah. It seems that whereas Mumbai has caught on as an alternative to Bombay, and Kolkata has become the accepted nomenclature of Calcutta, the change of the British Raj name of Cochin to (the more Indian?) Kochi seems to not have caught on. In fact, outside of Kerala, (as when I was booking our plane tickets) some people (including travel agents) seem to think they are actually two different cities...

Well, whether we were in Kochi or Cochin, the heritage town was really great. Much like Pondicherry, there were, mercifully, plenty of street signs which made navigating fairly easy. Our morning walk led us up toward the Chinese fishing nets, these giant contraptions that lower a large net into the water and catch fish (though this proves ineffectual at low tide). I would think that fishing all day every day for the past 20 years would have fished that place clean, but seems that the fish in the waters off the city aren't that bright... Though the fisherman are geniuses. Knowing that tourists come to check out their nets, one member of the five-man teams recruits a tourist (like myself) and encourages him to take a picture taking part in the fishing activity. The recruiter hands the rope to the tourist and sits down to watch. The four men + tourist team then hoists (using considerable effort) the net out of the water and reels in the catch. The fish are sorted, the tourist gets his picture, and leaves a small tip... Wait... What? Talk about brilliant business. Yes, in one of the my less brighter moves, I paid a fisherman to let me do his job for him...

As we continued along, the street signs began to disappear and we were lost. A friendly rickshaw driver (they're all friendly, aren't they?) offers us a sightseeing excursion for only Rs. 50/- an hour. And so we take it, despite the fact that we do have a driver at our hotel who knows the city just as well... Anyway, we stop at the St. Francis Cathedral first. I still find the religious mixing of Hindu and Christian norms fascinating. The large pile of shoes at the entrance, bowing at the threshold of the church door... A lady asks us to take a picture of her daughter, a cute little girl in a pretty dress. I oblige and show her the result on my Nikon's tiny little 1.25" display. She's very happy and gives me a quick Indian head-wiggle and a giant smile.

And as I walked away I realized, this small interaction wasn't the same as all the obnoxious Indian men that want their photo taken. They want three or four, and I delete all of them later, most of the time. The look in this woman's eyes and her exuberant happiness conveyed a very different message. She could have cared less that she was in the picture. She was just gleeful with the simple knowledge that somewhere in the world, a record existed of how beautiful her daughter looked on the day she was baptized. She would never see me again. She would never see that picture again. She would have no record but her memory. And for some reason, that made that picture very important to me.

Our rickshaw-wallah is curious about Mary and me - "Coming from India?" he asks to me, giving me an inquisitive head waggle that is so prominent in the south. "I am Indian, a Gujarati," I respond. "Oh! Very good. Visiting Jain Temples?" Puzzled as to the relationship of me being Gujarati to Fort Cochin's Jain Temples I say, "Sure, we will visit the Jain Temples." It becomes clear when my entry into the Temple complex is a departure from Kerala and a re-entry into Gujarat. In fact, for the next 30 minutes, I hear no Malayalam at all, only Gujarati.

Let me take this moment to point out how great being a Gujarati can be. Speaking to one of the temple administrators sitting in the main office, my simple, "Kem chho?" is rewarded with huge smiles, offers for tea, and as the conversation continues, with contact numbers for other Gujarati families in Kerala in case anything goes wrong and we need help and a list of the Gujarati shop keepers in Fort Cochin, where I can shop at the non-tourist rate. I'm blown away sometimes by how tightly knit the Gujarati communities can be.

As we re-emerged into Kerala, we headed into the narrower streets of the "Jew Town" of Fort Cochin. Though it was called "Jew Town" (a horrible name, it seems), there wasn't too much Jewish about it anymore. In fact, the synagogue there was the only thing that had anything remotely Jewish about it. The most interesting part, though, wasn't the town itself. The irony in the fact that we walked south of the Jewish town right into the Muslim district was not lost on me. Seems that even in the Land of the Hindus, a quarter of the way around the world, Judaism and Islam can still find a way to butt right up against each other. Figures.

Next came Mary's lesson in bargaining. As we entered a shop that looked interesting, Mary got interested in some shawls. We saw the full price range, from cheap synthetic scarves, to mid-range pashmina scarves, to extraordinarily soft (and expensive "fahtoosh" (?) (I thought that was a Lebanese salad...) scarves. Mary settled on a couple of pashmina ones that she liked. "Rs. 1800 for both" the shop-keeper says. She turns to me and asks how much she should pay for them. "You have to do the bargaining, Mary, they're your shawls!" And so the lesson begins. And the shopkeeper, seeing that I'm giving a lesson on bargaining joins in on helping out, obligingly lowering his "final price" as we raise our starting price.

And at the end of a textbook bargaining session, Mary walks away with two Pashmina shawls for Rs. 1000/-. "Good job, Mary! Saved Rs. 800/-! Wanna buy me dinner?" She punches me.

And after buying me dinner, she and I headed over to a small bamboo hut where we had tickets for an evening Kathakali performance. Our trip to the Kalamandalam in Cheruthuruthy was incomplete - Mary had seen the students, but never the final product. So were we in for a shortened-for-tourists-version of Kathakali that included the elaborate makeup session. The story on show was from the Mahabharata - that of Kichaka, the general of the King Virata's army who makes improper advances on Draupadi (in disguise as a handmaiden because of the Pandava's exile requirements). Draupadi runs to her mighty husband Bhima crying. Bhima vows to kill Kichaka. Bhima kills Kichaka. And that's basically the story. It just takes a good hour and a half to perform in Kathakali. It's little wonder that they make a "made-for-tourists" version. Can you imagine how long the whole Mahabharata would take? Yeesh.

After the show, we called it a night and headed back to our hotel to catch some shuteye before heading to the tea-plantation land of Munnar, in the Western Ghats of Kerala.

My Latest Pictures

2007-02-25T00:00:00.000+05:30

Finally, I've gotten a chance to slow down long enough to get some new pictures up on the net. This installment is from Mary and my 19-day trip through Delhi, Gujarat, and Kerala. In Kerala we used a tour company called The Blue Yonder which is a specialist in what is called Responsible Tourism. There were a few hitches along the way, but they're definitely a company that can provide an interesting experience of a non-widely-visited region of Kerala. Gujarat was fun and Kerala was, for lack of a better word, stunning. I'll write more about it later. In the meantime, enjoy!

Nag-Rangolis and Hindu-Muslim Violence.

2007-02-21T15:03:00.000+05:30

On Mary and my last day in Kuttipuram we witnessed the creation of a Rangoli. The creators were worshippers of a Nag (snake) deity. Their creation of the intricate Rangoli was a propitiation of the deity to ward off illness and bad omens.

Now many Indians are familiar with the idea of a Rangoli. For most festivals, especially Diwali, Indian families welcome Laxmi with ornate patterns on their doorsteps made of flower petals or colour flour. But these Rangoli's were something else entirely. They were made of colored lime powder and the one made for us was 2 meters wide and 2 meters long, of SOLID color... Four snakes intertwined their bodies to create rich and intricate braids of reds, yellows and whites. The colors were created by mixing natural pigments with white lime, then remixing the colored lime to form secondary colors. For celebrations and festivals, these rangolis can be 5m x 5m and take all night to prepare!

Their Rangoli was followed up by a musical performance of local village instrumentation accompanying very traditional (and colloquial) songs worshipping the snake deity.

Shorty after, Mary and I readied ourselves for departure for the rest of our Kerala adventure - beginning with two nights in Cochin.

Except that we couldn't leave Kuttipuram. Turns out that recent elections in Kerala caused some violence among members of the Muslim community. It turned ugly and a Hindu was killed. That made it a Hindu-Muslim problem, and a general strike was called. So we had to wait... And we waited... until 3 PM actually, before we were able to leave for Cochin again. We arrived in Cochin at night at the Rossitta Wood Castle Heritage hotel and promptly passed out.

Martial Arts Madness and Serene Boat Rides

2007-02-21T14:36:00.000+05:30

The next day brought even more amazing surprises and wonderful experiences. We were joined by a few of the new staff members of The Blue Yonder who were also learning about the "interactivities" that TBY offered. Our first stop was a Kalari. We knew that Kalari Payattu was the traditional, ancient martial art form of Kerala, but we didn't realize how incredible it really was... the first kids (couldn't have been older than 15) came out to give us a demonstration of a... sword fight.

We knew that if clashing swords and shields were the START, it could only get better. And it did get better. From blindfolded knife-fights to flaming fighting staffs, the boys and girls of this Kalari demonstrated without a doubt they were going to be martial arts masters. I found the setup of the place very interesting. The Kalari is actually a pit in the ground - about 10 meters wide and 20 meters long. In one corners is a small altar dedicated to Agastya Rishi, the father of Kalari Payattu, and all the students and even the guruji (an old man and one-time master of the art) would bow down to Agastya Rishi before each small demonstration. The gurukul system (teacher/student) of India was definitely still in practice at the Kalari. The guruji would instruct and the students would follow and without fail, they would touch the feet of the guruji before beginning and after finishing as a sign of deference and respect.

The greatest part was the contrast between the calm serenity, respect, and reverence of the students and the teachers before beginning their practice and the incredible energy, vitality, movement, and downright violence of the combats. There were times that the students would be so engaged and in a zone, they came really close to us - we found ourselves at the end fo the visit backed into one of the corners of the Kalari. We were breathless when we left - at a loss for words at the amazing variety, dexterity, and ferocity of Kalari Payattu. It's amazing to think it may be the oldest martial art in the world.

All that intensity made the boat cruise on the Tirur River all that much more relaxing and peaceful. Lets just say The Blue Yonder's boat cruise on the Tirur River is what tourists going to Alleppey and Kumarakom WISH they were getting. We were the only boat on this river besides the local fishermen in their hollow-wooden-log fishing rafts. The boat itself had an interesting story. As it turns out, the sand and silt at the bottom of Kerala's rivers are particularly good for use in the preparation of cement for construction. So the government has licenced sand miners to mine a few boatloads of sand on a regular basis to sell for this construction. However, thanks to India's corruption and baksheesh (somewhere between a tip and a bribe) systems, these miners exploit the river beds and a destroying the rivers by over mining them for sand. It's a very lucrative and well-paying business, so the TBY, to preserve the river, pays these boat miners to not mine sand and instead take tourists on boat cruises on the river. It was the most amazingly beautiful boat ride I probably have even been on. The pictures speak for themselves. We stopped at a coir (fibrous husk of a mature coconut) factory and watched many hundreds of brown coconuts being stripped for every useful part - except the water inside was being thrown away! So I plucked up the courage to ask one of the women hunched over breaking coconuts in her hand with a machete to give me one half and fill it with water. She did so obligingly. And I got tasty coconut water!

Of course, as the boat cruise continued and the sun began to set, we were treated to young coconuts - the large green ones that you get lots of water from by hacking off just the top. DELICIOUS. I definitely drank more coconut water than real water that day. We reached the mouth of the Tirur at the ocean and enjoyed the sunset before heading back to the resort for the evening.

Onward to Kerala!

2007-02-21T14:05:00.000+05:30

Gujarat was fun, but I was really excited about the next part of the trip - 11 days in Kerala. Kerala is India's coconut palm tree paradise. But in reality, it is a small state with an INCREDIBLY diverse range of landscapes.

Mary and I ended up in Kochin in the evening and were met at the airport by a representative of the vehicle company that would be driving us around during our time there. Our transfer to the small town of Kuttipuram near the Bharatpuzha River (Nila River) took on the order of three hours, and we arrived at the Riverside Retreat "Resort" around midnight. We were greeted by a large cottage type accomodation which was neat. But neater were the FROGS that had taken up residence on our shower curtain! Brilliant!

We slept well, because we were just really tired. Our first morning excursion after breakfast was to the Kerala Kalamandalam - a school where youths from all over Kerala were taught classical Indian music, instrumentation and dance. I really enjoyed the visit to the school because it put into perspective the way that the traditions of India are built. How masters are made, in a sense. The only thing that it lacked was a summary - it showed all the pieces of how Indian musical art is made, but it never put them all together. It would have really been cool to see students of dance and those of music joining together for a short performance at the end of the visit to demonstrate to visitors what the finished product looks and sounds like.

After lunch, though, we were treated to a live lesson and performance on the growth, development, and advancement of Keralan percussion. Centered around an old village temple, the master, Aravindakshi, demonstrated along with other students and members of his family and village the various types of percussion and wind instruments that pervade the music of Kerala. One by one, each instrument's design was explained and played for a short period. We were then explained how the instrument progressed to it's next form, and so on and so forth until we reached the janda, a large two-faced instrument that is the percussion of choice in Kerala's many dances such as Kathakali. Then after the progression explanation was complete, the artists put together the various instruments simultaneously for one VERY cool percussion jam session.

But the best part of the "Musical Trail" was not the actual music. It was the people themselves. Members of a lower caste, they are not allowed to perform at "more important" temples because they are not brahmins, despite the fact that they ARE masters of their respective instruments. So they host these private performances to supplement their income from other jobs (Aravindakshi was a bus conductor) and to share a bit about the musical history of Kerala. It definitely was far from the Made-For-Tourists version that I'm sure most people run into.

We thought day one was pretty good, but we had no idea how cool the next days were going to be.

New Pictures... Again!

2007-02-20T17:50:00.000+05:30

Well in one of the more amazing things to happen in my time here, I'm uploading pictures more than once every decade or so! These next installment of pictures come from my trip to Rajasthan. I'm here with Kim Swanson, also another Rice Grad (and a high powered one at that) who is using her Watson Fellowship to study the effects of microfinance on women. Hot, huh? Yeah, all the Indian guys think she is too... But I'm guessing it's the blond thing. Just kidding, Kim!

These pictures are from Jaisalmer, a real sandcastle of a town, crowned by the city-within-a-fort known now only as Jaisalmer Fort. The narrow streets, and the crowded markets were a lovely assault on the senses, but the 4-day camel safari into the Thar Desert was the highlight... Until it rained on us, but those stories will come later. Enjoy the pictures!

Flowers and the Taj Test

2007-02-02T15:09:00.000+05:30

I was surprised by how happy I was to see Mary when she arrived from the states. I think I expected the time apart to sort of dull my reaction, but I was wrong. I was also surprised how much of a mountain-woman she looked like (don't kill me, Mary, for saying that in public). Vasque hiking boots, 2 backpacks, camo pants and a sleeping bag. Serious gear.

We got to our homestay in Delhi - a very nice mother/daughter family - and Mary promptly fell asleep. So I took the chance to finish a few errands and snag us some dinner. The next day we hung around Delhi and let her get acclimatized to the "pure chaos," as she would put it that evening. We also went to Akshardham and I played tour guide. I think it's funny that I actually have a "tour-guide" mode. But it was still a slow day and we turned in early because we were going to see the Taj Mahal the next day at the crack of dawn.

As it turns out, the area in front of the Delhi Tourism office is a wholesale flower market from 4 AM to 9 AM. So when we arrived, we were assaulted again by Delhi's many scents - but this time of roses, marigolds, birds of paradise, chrysanthemums, anthuriums, and other assorted plantlife. Not so bad. As we wandered around in awe of this massive wholesale market, the air filled with shouts of prices and the deeper buzz-like tones of chai vendors selling chai, garam chai, we came across one chap wanting to sell us flowers. Odd, I thought, considering this was a wholesale market. So I started talking to him about his business and how flower sales in India worked. Turns out it's the same concept as in the USA but carried out differently. At home wholesalers keep stock in big refrigerant houses based on expected need and deliver based on orders from flower vendors with prices changing as the stock ages over a period of days, the wholesale market is emptied and restocked virtually every day, and prices change by the quarter-hour. But because flowers don't wither immediately even if they're not in a fridge, but have to be sold by end of the market because they won't last unrefrigerated till the next day, prices RISE slightly over the course of the market day as more vendors arrive to purchase flowers, and by stocking less anthuriums than are needed, wholesalers can push the price up as vendors bid on the flowers. Then as the vendors begin to leave, prices fall rapidly toward cost as the remaining stocks must be eliminated. The economist in me was utterly confused. But the best description I can give is that of a currency market. During trading hours, the prices of various currencies stays bouyant, but as the market begins to close, the rates begin to drop and stay low overnight till the next market opening.

We discussed flower market over tea that he brought for me and Mary and suggested that if we REALLY wanted to see something truly fantastic, the Taj was all good and well but we really should visit this amazing place - "it's not exactly a temple," said the man, "it's more a place about old Indian culture. But it's called Akshardham temple. It's really great." Hehe.

Of course there is no way to compare the two. My criticisms of the graveyard-esque kind were put to rest as the Taj rose above Agra in all her splendor. But after about 10 minutes, I was done with it. And so was Mary. So the highlight wasn't REALLY the Taj, it was how I got in. See, make-rich-tourists-pay-more-because-they-are-rich mentality isn't only espoused by rickshaw drivers. At all the sights in India, tourists are regularly charged 10X the amount that Indians are charged (except at Akshardham, of course). At the Taj, however, Indians pay Rs. 20/- and foreigners pay $20. That's almost 45X more. So I decided I would be Indian. I bought the ticket without a problem, but as I was entering, the ticket taker asked the Indian man in front of me (who really was from India but had on a baseball cap and a decent jacket) where he was from. He said "Visakhapatnam" and the taker asked to see his I-Card (Gov't. ID). Great, I thought, I'm screwed. And so when I came up, he looked at my jeans, shoes, and beanie and said,

"Where are you from?"
"Gujarat."
"Where in Gujarat?"
"Vadodara."
"Can I see your I-Card?" The moment of truth.
"I don't have it as it's not required by law and I don't want to lose it."
"Then how am I supposed to know you're Indian?"
"The same way you do most everyone else - I look Indian."
"NRI's have to pay foreigner ticket."
"I'm not an NRI." A bold-faced lie.
"Then who is the CM of Gujarat?"
"Narendra Modi," (whew! glad I knew that!) then, feeling emboldened, "but everyone knows that!"
"Who's the PM?"
"Manmohan Singh. And the President is Abdul Kalam and the Congress leader is Sonia Gandhi."
"Fine fine. I just have to check, go ahead."

Victory!

Delhi with JM

2007-02-02T14:58:00.000+05:30

Oddly enough, some of the first proper sightseeing I've done in Delhi came with JM. We got a driver-for-the-day and put his Indica through its paces. We visited the Red Fort, the Jama Masjid, Humayun's Tomb, the Lotus Temple and Akshardham with Pareen Bathia (also an Owl). And my suspicions were confirmed. The Moghul historical sights of Delhi just really aren't all that interesting. And after JM visited the Taj, he was glad he did everything else first because he would have been even more disappointed. The Lotus Temple is great (though a VERY brief visit) and JM said Akshardham was pretty cool too. But I contend that unless someone is a REALLY good storyteller, visiting tomb after tomb after giant tomb can get just as bad as temple after temple after temple.

TNB - Srirangam and Tiruvannamalai

2007-02-02T14:40:00.000+05:30

The next morning had JM and I visiting the largest temple complex in South India at Srirangam, the nearby town across the holy Cauvery River from Trichy. As it was nearing the end of the year, the Vaikunth Ekadasi festival was in full swing, and as a result the temple was packed. All seven concentric rings to the inner sanctum were a sea of moving bodies. As I went in toward the inner sanctum for darshan, the crowds just kept getting bigger and bigger. And then I noticed the "special darshan" line. There were about 600 people in it. And about 2,000 people in the general darshan line. And neither were moving. At which point I said a small prayer to Ranganathswamy asking for forgiveness for not having the patience to wait and turned around and walked out. I was greeted by a CCTV showing, amazingly, the reason why the line wasn't moving. Ranganathswamy Himself was on procession- He wasn't IN the inner sanctum. The CCTV's were giving a live, close-up feed of the murti being paraded through the complex. I prayed that Television Darshan still counted and after some photos, JM and I were on our way.

Our driver, however, was not at the car. So JM and I found some lunch, shared my 'magical' gatorade powder that turned water blue and made it taste like fruit, and played a little cricket with some school boys for a while. We then left for Tiruvannamalai.

We went for darshan at Arunachaleshwar in Tiruvannamalai when we reached, but as much as I hated to say it, we were pretty much templed out. And after Meenakshi and Rameswaram and a great experience in Tanjore, Arunachal's temple wasn't so enthralling. But JM did get his palm read for free (the guy wanted American coins - and he did have quite a collection of international coins - but we didn't have any). The great hill-fire that makes Arunachal so famous was not lit. That and the fact that we were just tired after literally blazing our way through Tamil Nadu meant that the next day we just decided to head back to Chennai and pass-out till our flight the next day.

Which is exactly what we did.

TNB - Trichy: Thoughts on Christianity in India

2007-02-02T13:57:00.000+05:30

In one of JM and my less intelligent decisions during our trip to Tamil Nadu, we decided to drive overnight from Kanyakumari to Trichy. Had we a proper driver (who wasn't hacking up a lung every 3 seconds or exacerbating his ingrown thumbnail by keeping the horn pressed), the drive might have actually been bearable. But to say the least, it sucked - and we didn't get any sleep either.

So in the morning we made it to Trichy, but we were so early, we didn't want to check in to our 24-hour checkout hotel to keep from getting booted early the next morning. So we climbed the Rock Fort Temple. JM was convinced that I pick really bad hills to climb after reading about Pavagadh and Girnar, so he was a bit hesistant. As it turned out, it was a really easy climb with a very quaint Ganesh temple at the top. The priests invited JM and me inside and offered us prasad. My first-note-out-of-the-pocket donation of Rs. 100/- got the other priest excited and asked also for another Rs. 100/-. He said it went to feeding kids at a local orphanage and showed me a very official looking card for an orphanage in Trichy. Then he asked me to leave my address in India, so come end of January, when they had a festival at he Rock Fort, he could send me prasad. So I left him Jayu mama's address. And my last Rs. 100/-. He noticed that my wallet was empty. So he attempted to give the Rs. 100/- back saying that he didn't want it if I didn't have any money left. Satisfied, I insisted that he keep it. I didn't know whether the kids got the money, but I DID receive prasad at the end of January from the Rock Fort Temple. Cool.

We then checked into the Hotel Mega (great name) and promptly passed out, having dismissed the driver until the next day so he could sleep. We woke up in the afternoon and decided to walk around the city. Except that Trichy is really big. Mercifully, it had an friendly, not-TOO-crowded (relative term...), and super efficient bus service. Cheap too. So JM and I hopped on the first bus that said they were going in the direction we wanted to go. We ended up at a catholic church - St. Lourdes - that looked like the architect didn't know too much about the Gothic style or just wasn't trying very hard. But the inside was far more interesting anyway. Painted pink and white with streamers it looked a bit like a birthday cake, but inside was a total haven of tranquility. Churches seem to be able to do that in a way that Hindu temples REALLY need to learn from.

But the most intersting parts were the blend of 'Hindu'-culture and Christianity. There were no pews, so everyone sat on the floor (which meant they didn't do the sit-kneel-stand calisthenics of Western Catholic churches). Many also left their shoes outside in proper Indian style. And those that didn't took them off before kneeling or sitting to pray. But the most amazing part of it all was how JM and I could just explore - no one to tell us to hurry up, no pushing, no shoving, no wanna-be-priests either. The priests were easy to discern - they were up in the front wearing robes that nobody in the church could possibly afford (or want to wear... seriously, Roman Catholic robes are just plain extravagant).

But why Christianity grew so quickly and was so popular became quickly evident. The churches brought the stillness of mind that is a mandir. The churches said everyone can reach God and can be redeemed. The churches said birth and caste do not matter. And the churches in India were saying that truly accepting Jesus as savior means living by his teachings. Well damn, of course Christianity was popular. The Christians were teaching the people to be better Hindus than the Hindus were!

Granted, saying everyone else is a heathen, as many Christian ministers do in India, isn't kosher in my mind, but I have a lot of respect for how Christianity is molding peoples' lives in good ways in India. They have a lot to learn from Sanatana Dharma and Hindus have a lot to learn from them.

After our church visit, JM and I just began to wander. We passed through a vegetable and fruit market - and one vendor was kind enough to give us a zapota fruit so JM could try it. We were in a quandary because we didnt' want to by a kilo of zapota to just eat one, so the vendor, realizing our plight, picked a good one and handed it to us. He tried to refuse the Rs. 2/- I gave him because a kilo only cost Rs. 10/-, but I made him take it. We weren't so much concerned with cost, just what we were going to do with a kilo of the stuff. Eventually we hopped on another bus number we had seen at the stop we left from and ended up back at our hotel. Wow, good public transport is amazing.

Posting Irregularities

2007-01-31T16:08:00.000+05:30

I have been really bad about posting on this blog lately, I know. I still haven't finished my Tamil Nadu posts though the pictures are up. And being in Delhi/Gujarat/Kerala with Mary hasn't made getting a regular chance to post any easier. I wish I could say that I would be able to post with more regularity, but I can't.

As luck would have it, they VERY day (and within 2 hours of when) Mary left for Nepal, I picked up another Rice Owl, Kim Swanson, at the Delhi airport. She's on a Watson Fellowship studying Women and Microfinance (yes, she's quite smart) and has come to India for a few months. She has also decided to grace me with her presence as a travel buddy through Rajasthan. Talk about luck!

So we'll be heading out relatively soon, but I will do my damndest to get my thoughts and whatnot of the rest of Tamil Nadu, and Mary's visit ASAP - along with some pictures.

Take care everyone,

TNB - End of India @ Kanyakumari

2007-01-16T19:37:00.000+05:30

Our trip to Kanyakumari was filled with high expectations of a nice beach area, beautiful sunrise and sunsets and lovely museums.

There were no real beaches (except for the ones flooded with pilgrims bathing), only a mediocre sunset, and museums closed for renovation. The funniest part of the visit was JM and I figuring out what the hell we were going to do for two days...

There was the Kanyakumari Devi temple - a temple where newlywed couples prayed to the Virgin Goddess for luck and fertility (didn't really want to pray for that!), and the hundreds of "dollar shops" (anything for Rs. 40/-) where we were not going to do any shopping anyway.

And an overpriced hotel room - and overpriced (and really slooooow) internet access.

And not a lot else.

TNB - Rameswaram and Rama's Bridge

2007-01-16T19:23:00.000+05:30

After the puja with the family, JM and I hunted down some lunch and then headed toward Dhanuskodi - the very tip of the island upon which Rameswaram is located. I wanted to see Adam's Bridge, the (now) underwater landbridge connecting India and Sri Lanka - the bridge built by the army of Lord Rama to allow his troops to cross to Lanka to rescue his wife, Sita, from the 10-headed demon Ravana. This is the story of the Ramayana and of such importance in Hindu lore that I really wanted to see it.

The controversy rages between believers and scientists about the origin of this bridge. Scientists argue that it is a natural phenomenon but struggle to explain how nature made it because it does not conform to conventional ideas of how landmasses separate. Believers are content to just believe, and so the debate rages on.

We didn't realize how long a walk it was going to be from the drop-off point at Dhanuskodi to the very end. Along the way we were joined by some real Tamil characters who found JM to be VERY interesting. One tried to kiss a crab - we thought they were weird then - and only had our suspicions confirmed by the next hour of walking with them. By the time we reached the end, they were exhausted, we were annoyed, and so both parties amiably went separate ways. We made it to the very end, saw what little of the landbridge we could, and walked all the way back.

Our driver found it very strange that despite paying for a car, we insisted on walking for hours at a time.

Pictures!!

2007-01-10T17:41:00.001+05:30

New pictures are up! Check 'em out here.

TNB - Rameswaram

2007-01-10T17:28:00.000+05:30

We made a daytrip to Rameswaram to see the apex of "pillared-hall Pallava" architectural design. The four famous corridors of Rameswaram are really marvelous. They are huge, long, and the ceilings are decorated with beautiful friezes.

But they're not original. The remnants of the original pillars lie next to the ones currently standing. But that's what makes Rameswaram so amazing. Actually spending some of the money that comes into the temple to renovate it has brought back to life the splendor and magnificence of the temple. It becomes very easy to imagine the original grandeur of the temple. Walking down the 200 meter long corridors is like walking back in time...

The Ramnathswamy lingam is one of India's 12 jyotirlingas - natural shivalingas that are believed to be imbued naturally with the deity (as opposed to invigorated via ritual). I bought the "special darshan" ticket (which I still find weird), but oddly enough, it wasn't really any faster than the normal darshan. And that was a problem because it was getting time for the temple to close for the afternoon. Right in front of me was a family from Delhi. And because I was talking to them, as we finally made it to the front, I was brought in along with them because the priest assumed I was part of the family. We were the last group in before the afternoon closure of the temple. And because we were the last, got to sit in front of the shivalingam and enjoy our darshan. The family did a puja and I got to join in.

More on Rameswaram later. My internet cafe time is running out. Enjoy the pictures! Mary comes tomorrow!

TNB - Madurai's Meenakshi City

2007-01-10T16:55:00.000+05:30

We headed down from Tanjore to Madurai to set up camp for the next few days. I will let Madurai's pictures do the talking. The entry ways are extraordinary - in the four cardinal directions are ornately carved and painted gopurams - each one massive and incredibly beautiful. The complex itself was quite big and it was really easy to get lost, but that's a good thing. There was so much to see - Meenakshi, or "the fish-eyed-one" (supposed to mean gorgeous but She was a bit far away to really tell...), and the elaborate wall and ceiling friezes, but describing them all would be difficult - that's where a trusty camera comes into play, I guess.

Even still, walking around and hearing the chants, the rustle of raffia from the flower vendors furiously making garlands for Meenakshi, and the excited conversation as people who had pilgrimaged from far away approached the inner sanctum for darshan was really an incredible experience. From a spiritual standpoint, you realize that people are here as more of a fulfillment of spiritual duty and not because it's something they do regularly like we go for darshan in the USA. From an economic standpoint, I'm simply floored by the number of people that make their livelihood from the goings on of the temple. From security to prasad-vendors to pujaris to peddlers, Meenakshi is like a small city in and of itself. It's alive constantly with the hustle and bustle of all types of life.

What got me though is all the pushing and shoving that goes on in the lines for darshan. I find it very odd that people who should be very excited and happy to be at Madurai for Meenakshi's darshan can be so angry and abusive to each other. Seriously, in line a good 20m from the murti darshan, a guy is literally shoving people in front of him telling them to hurry up. And when he gets in front of Meenakshi's murti, he stands there for 30 seconds having his darshan and when people tell him to move along he gets mad and starts yelling at the people around him in Tamil - right in front of Meenakshi herself! Now, clearly this is the exception, and not the rule, but I'm bothered that it happens at all. I understand that the concept of a "queue" in India is not understood so people just mosh together, but there really isn't any need for pushing and shoving. If you can't let someone have darshan for a peaceful 20 seconds, then don't expect to let other people let you do the same.

Sigh. Anyway.

TNB - Tanjore's Big (and excellent) Temple

2007-01-05T19:39:00.000+05:30

We continued from Chidambaram to Tanjore (or Thanjavur - sounds like Tanjore if you say it fast enough) to halt for the night. But since it was still sort of light out, we went ahead and visited the "Big Temple" - the Brihadishwar Temple. Our visit highlighted to me the stark difference between many temples of India.

I can gauge how a visit to a temple is going to turn out by looking at the ground. I have had the best experiences (not necessarily spiritual) at the temples that are the cleanest. And it makes sense: If you treat a place like the house of God, you wouldn't want to mistreat people there - God's watching! Akshardham - spotless. The Krishna Mandir, Naggar - spotless. The Brihadishwar Temple, Tanjore - spotless.

The temple guide, from the getgo was very obviously proud to show people around the temple. He wasn't a priest but he knew a lot. But he did one thing that I've been hoping guides would do all around the world. He told a story. He placed the Brihadishwar temple into the context of the Pallavas and Cholas - how Rajaraja built this temple in a revisionist style that rejected the idea that the entry gate should be taller than the main sanctum spire. He also weaved the story of the sociological evolution of Hindu Gods in India into the tale. And on top of that he only asked for Rs. 150/- not to be paid until we were satisfied. He even stopped his tour midsentence as we approached the sanctum sanctorum (his favorite phrase) to bow and pray to the Shivalingam within - that he forgot what he was saying made me believe it wasn't just for show. Then he made sure the Pujari waited till JM and I had taken aarti and gotten prasad. Then at the end, he sat with us for 20 minutes because he wanted to make sure we stayed to see the sun set over the temple and explained how all the deities - Vishnu, Murugan, Subramanian, Shiva, Ganesha, Parvati, and Durga all fit together into the jigsaw framework of Hinduism. Really spectacular.

As he left, I had to remind him that I hadn't paid him yet.

TNB - Chidambaram

2007-01-05T19:18:00.000+05:30

We headed to Chidambaram to see the famed Nataraja - Shiva as the Lord of Dance. Representing His role as the controller of time, the crusher of ignorance, and the infinite prowess of the Supreme, Nataraja of Chidambaram has become an international icon. In fact, most everyone has seen a murti of Nataraja at some point in time:

Since this was one temple that let non-Hindus in, too, I thought a small puja was in order - especially since apparently the temple is self-funded. So I approached a pujari, who, to my surprise, spoke excellent English. He said that it was possible to do the abhishek puja of Nataraja - for only Rs. 750. Well I didn't have Rs. 750/- so he asked how much I had. I smelled fish. I replied that I had only Rs. 300/- (which was honest) but I would really like to do the abhishek puja. No problem, he said, that's why it's called a donation. He then handed over some chandan in a small plastic cup and said to go over to the main sanctum and show them the cup - they will know what to do. Of course, everybody in the entire temple was walking around with the little cup of chandan. So I told him to come with me and said I'd give the money after he showed me where to go. He escorted me to the huge crowd where everybody was doing darshan and said wait here. So I asked does EVERYBODY at the temple give Rs. 300/-?

And suddenly he forgot his English - all except Three hundred rupees, please. Hallo sir? Three hundred rupees. And whenever I would ask about the abhishek, all I would get is that crazy Indian Headbobble that means some combination of yes, no, fine, okay, and I don't know. So I said, no abhishek, no money, and then ignored him - he eventually left. But I had promised Nataraja Rs. 300/- and I found a donation box - so I left it there.

No abhishek, but at least I wasn't cheating God!

TNB - Pondicherry and STREET SIGNS!

2007-01-05T18:54:00.000+05:30

I still contend that the most amazing part of Pondicherry were the street signs on every corner. Honestly, in every other town in India, I could turn left 5 times and still not get back to where I started. We stayed in an overpriced room, but really just enjoyed being able to turn left 4 times and get back to square one. I'm not kidding - it was really that great not getting lost by walking straight.

So we walked around - a lot. Up, down, left, right, and just enjoyed the order. Miraculously, we found a 24-hour food joint (Salt 'n' Pepa - at 1:30 in the morning) and had ourselves a late dinner. The next day we headed to the beach... make that rock-wall-next-to-ocean. With our beach plans shot, we decided to go to Auroville, the utopian society founded on Sri Aurobindo's principles and set up by a French lady they call "The Mother." It's hard to explain what Auroville is or is trying to be. It's doing some pretty cool sustainable energy research, but it's Matrimandir is really a piece of art. The only way I can describe it is a mutant golf-ball that Snoop Dogg would play with. Then you read about it and find out how cool it is. The large, round, all-white-carpeted inner sanctum contains no murti - just a crystal ball upon which sunlight shines throughout the day, reflected into the sanctum by electronically controlled mirrors. A light-focuser kicks in on cloudy days to ensure a constant beam of light on the ball. It's a sanctum where one supposedly can fee the presence of Brahman in all of His attribute-less glory.

Then we found out we couldn't go in. Or visit any of the people of Auroville. So after 2 stale pieces of cake at their cafe we left.

Back at Pondicherry, we hit up a place that promised wood-fired pizza. We got two delicious wood-fired pizzas and then headed to the rooftop bar nearby for a couple of drinks. There we met a Canadian and a Swiss girl. Both were travelling in India by themselves, for which I have the utmost respect. This is not a country that can be very friendly to single female travellers. Both were there to study yoga. It's no surprise people come to India looking for spirituality or yoga and just come away confused. Both girls came to India looking for Hatha Yoga - Human-Pretzel-Yoga as I call it, and popularized in the West - and were surprised to find that most of India doesn't really take Hatha Yoga all that seriously. They were very interested in finding a proper yoga ashram to study hatha yoga, but weren't having much luck. Also no surprise - only in the west can you START with Hatha Yoga. The Ashrams here were telling them to master meditation for 15 minutes before even thinking about hatha yoga.

You mean I came all the way to India and now you're telling me I just have to sit still?! Hehe.

TNB - Blissfully Unaware in Mahabalipuram

2007-01-05T17:44:00.000+05:30

Mahabalipuram's famed World-Heritage Shore Temples were interesting and uninteresting at the same time. Their 7th-century architecture was, of course, showing significant wear from being beaten by the ocean breeze for 1300 years. They looked a bit like old sandcastles, and the closest thing to a priest is the occassional niche-market vendor in a lungi. But I was amazed to see designs I remembered from Akshardham. I guess that validates the claim in the Making and Experience book that Akshardham combines elements from some of the oldest temples in India. Other than that, though, there wasn't much to say about the temples...

... So Jean-Marc and I headed toward the beach like proper tourists with nothing better to do. Our walk up and down the beach took us through a maze of fishing boats beached on the sand and toward what looked like the only resort on this stretch of beach. Out front sat a very odd mix of people, most of whom were taking LP's suggestion to kick-back-and-relax a bit too seriously, blissfully unaware of their own state for one reason or another.

1) There was the solo (amazing!) Japanese (male) tourist - but with high-tech camera - who was blissfully unaware that the "Indian Hammer Pants" he wore were really the bottoms to a lady's salwar-kameez. 2) Slightly further down the beach was the lone dread-locked, rudraksha-mala-bearing, aum-necklaced, tie-dyed-shirt-wearing 25-year-old-who-forgot-it's-2006 who was blissfully unaware that it was probably 100%-authentic garden-grass that she was smoking. 3) And then there was the middle-aged-midlife-crisis solo woman traveller who was blissfully unaware that the middle-aged Indian man with the thick mustache giving her company wasn't just doing it to be nice...

Then JM and I headed toward the 5 rathas - temples that were made to look like chariots. The information board said these temples were, get this, never used as temples; they were built to show people what a temple looked like... I find that odd considering that less than 500 yards away was a real temple in the same style. VASTLY more interesting was the carvers' market. The entire street resonated with the sounds of hammers plinking away at the chisels. Artisans of all ages, from probably 10 years old to a 100 years old were sitting on little wooden blocks with a piece of stone, hammering out the details on a gorgeous statue that would become part of a temple or a beautiful decoration at someone's home. The statue gardens in front of their shops (pieces that hadn't sold) were amazing. They had carved everything, from your personal ishtadev here, to a granite replica of the Pieta. After gaping at the plethora of statues, we decided we were done with Mahabalipuram and its blissfully unaware residents and headed out to Pondicherry.

Tamil Nadu Blitz - Kanchipuram and Non-Hindus

2007-01-03T20:32:00.000+05:30

Our driver showed up at 7 AM as promised. Jean-Marc and I were going to RACE through Tamil Nadu over the course of 11 days - a trip that, if all went according to plan, would take us from Chennai to Kanyakumari and back.

Our first stop was Kanchipuram, one of the major pilgrimage and temple-rich sites of Tamil Nadu. We stopped by the Kailasnath, Kamakshi Amman, Devarajaswami, and Vaikunth Perumal temples - and realized that we REALLY needed to pick and choose which temples we were going to visit or be templed-out by day 2. I found it amusing that every priest said their temple was the oldest temple in Kanchipuram.

At the Devarajaswami temple we had our first encounter with the "No non-Hindus" policy. It seems that at many South Indian temples, non-Hindus are not allowed to enter the temple premises. I will go on the record to say that I think the rule is short-sighted, impossible to enforce, and just plain not Hindu-like. First of all, seeing how the devotees act in a temple - understanding the reason for darshan, aarti, etc. - is EXTRAORDINARILY instructive on what it means to live the life of a Hindu. Second, non-Hindus then just assume that ALL temples are like that and never go visit any - seriously, I met a tourist who was leaving India and hadn't set foot inside a temple after 2 weeks. Unbelieveable. And third, from a purely monetary standpoint, if you even just welcome a non-Hindu to the home of God and teach him something, maybe he will WANT to leave a donation - why stop a revenue source at the door?

But my bigger problem is with the enforcibility of such a policy. Frankly, there's no standard description of a Hindu. So when the priest pointed to Jean-Marc and said no non-Hindus, I asked, "How do you know he's not a Hindu?" Flustered, he just said "No non-Hindus allowed" and walked away. But I wasn't going to let it go just yet. So I lied and said, "He IS a Hindu." The following back-and-forth ensued:

Priest (in Hindi): Does he speak Hindi?
Me (in English): No, but neither do I. But you don't have to speak Hindi to be Hindu.
P: Well if he's not Indian he's not allowed in.
Me: So what about all the non-Indian Hindus like the Hari Krishnas?
P: Well where is his mala, his tilak, his dhoti?
Me: Where is MY mala, tilak, and dhoti?

At which point JM, sensing I was getting angry, stopped me and just said forget it. It became clear to me that they employed an arbitrarily shifting standard that revolved around the only easily-discernible characteristic - skin color. It made me sick to think that, in a sense, it was a manifestation of racism. Too dramatic a statement you think?

I don't think so. I have no issue with a religious organization requesting non-adherents to remain outside the premises. It is simply a matter of respect. But the standard should then be that any adherent of the religious tradition should be allowed in. I think that the fear that a non-believer "pollutes" the place is bogus. If a non-believer can successfully masquerade as a believer- no one is any the wiser to the "pollution." But even that's a weak description of the underlying idea. The underlying problem is one of trust. There is simply no trust that non-believers will remain outside on their own cognizance. So instead, we sacrifice the essentials of our religious faith by definining it with arbitrary standards - like skin color.

Making race into an -ism is called racism.

What I REALLY don't get though, is that a temple claiming to belong to a religion like Hinduism - one that is so accepting of all paths to Brahman - could even think to sponsor such an idea as keeping non-Hindus out in the first place! In this life we may be born into a Hindu family, but in the next life, there's no guarantee. On top of that, if we believe that all avatars are just manifestations of the same supreme Brahman, it seems stupid to say that any person who believes in God should not be able to have His darshan. Bah. It all just seems so horribly... non-Hindu.

The Swaminarayan Network

2007-01-03T20:15:00.000+05:30

After our return from Tirupati, Jean Marc (the poor guy) slept for more or less two days straight. I used the time to get together our excursion through Tamil Nadu. Not having any travel agent connections, I called up the Swaminarayan Mandir in Chennai to see if they knew of any good cab companies. Lo and behold, it's about a 5 minute walk from where we were staying - Radhika's House! Talk about convenient!

I tell you - far beyond the spiritual benefits, being Swaminarayan sure has its perks. It's such an amazing network of people linked together by their devotion to Lord Swaminarayan and Pramukh Swami Maharaj. Show up at a Swaminarayan Temple, and the locals are ever-ready to help a fellow devotee. I called asking about information for a car-hire - I got an invitation to the Sunday sabha, dinner, prasad, AND a car-hire... arranged for me - and no one asks for a paise. It's really amazing.

Sometimes I wonder why this network doesn't exist in every religious sect or organization. I'm guessing it has something to do with the fact that BAPS is still very small in comparison to other religious organizations around the world. But I think that even if BAPS reached every country on the face of the planet, I could still stumble into a BAPS temple and be helped out if I really needed it. I also think it has something to do with the fact that I'm from America and that I'm a youth. I would guess that an Indian wouldn't get the same treatment in India, but I do know that if they show up in the USA, they do get the red-carpet roll-out. But I think it's that tie everyone has to Lord Swaminarayan, and the even closer connection to Pramukh Swami Maharaj really makes it work, I think. Even when the organization grows, it stays small.

I like it that way.

Lord Venkateswar

2006-12-29T19:43:00.000+05:30

Lord Venkateshwar

Visit to Tirupati

2006-12-24T21:52:00.000+05:30

Our tour of Tamil Nadu started off with a pretty serious bang. Shortly after arriving in Chennai, I hopped on the phone to see what I could rustle up. I had no idea that our first visit would be to the creme-de-la-creme of Hindu temples - to have darshan of Lord Venkateshwar at Tirupati.

It's hard to overemphasize the importance of a place like Tirupati in India. Some numbers might do it justice. Visited by over 6 million people a year - that's well over 15,000 people a day - Tirupati is more visited than both Mecca and the Vatican. Needless to say, the government stepped into to facilitate crowd control. Which means that to go for darshan with the general public is an all-day affair. The public arrives early in the morning and is siphoned off into holding areas and then over the course of the day, each holding area is permitted into the temple grounds for darshan. It can take up to 8 hours of waiting before a person gets to have his 15-second darshan of Venkateshwar. Needless to say I wasn't too excited about that.

So I called up Ammaji, who had visited our house in Sugar Land a few months before. She is one of India's few female gurus. And as I found out that day - apparently quite influential in Tirupati. That influence works wonders. Call it luck, or even more divine intervention - you decide:

She happened to be in Tirupati that very day AND
The next day was her last day there AND
She was going for darshan the next morning AND
She had two extra VVVIP passes for darshan (read: skip 8 hour queue) AND
One of her ashram's drivers was in Chennai AND
He was going to Tirupati that night AND
There was one last room available in the guesthouse where she was staying.

So Jean-Marc came, dropped his stuff off, and we drove off at midnight for Tirupati. We arrived at 4 in the morning, napped for a couple of hours in the guesthouse, and at 6 were up to meet Ammaji to go with her for darshan. After greeting Ammaji she told me very simply, "When you and I look back on this in the future, both of us will realize just how much the Lord was planning for you to have His darshan." We then sped off to the temple for darshan.

It was only then I realized how many V's were in order. The crowds were already gathering (they were coming in by the busload as we arrived from Chennai), but we just walked right by them and straight into the temple. We walked straight into the inner sanctum area and right up in front of the murti. And what an incredible murti it was. I've only seen pictures of Lord Venkateshwar, but nothing beat darshan in person. We stood there for three or four minutes (they did a special aarti for our visit!) just gazing at this beautifully carved idol.

I don't remember much of what was going on during that time because my mind was totally silent. Not blank, just silent. Content.

I was then jarred back to reality by a security guard, and we shuffled out again, looking over our shoulders to catch one final glimpse of Venkateshwar. I then noticed the public was shuffling by and having darshan from the door behind us - almost another 10 feet away. I couldn't believe it - we were basically all the way inside the inner sanctum - the area reserved for priests only!

Who would have thought that my first meeting with Ammaji even BEFORE I planned to go to India at all would result in a face-to-face encounter with the most revered ishtadev in all of the country?

Wow.

In Chennai

2006-12-16T23:23:00.000+05:30

Well, a busride to Ahmedabad and a waaaay too early flight from Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Airport put me in Chennai (Madras), Tamil Nadu on the morning of the 15th.

Jean Marc's colleague Radhika has been kind enough to let us stay at her apartment while we are in Chennai. I took a prepaid cab to a theater where she said she'd pick me up - much more hospitality than someone she's never met deserves, I think. We spent the first few hours filling in the gaps that Jean Marc had left - and she even cooked me food! Talk about royal treatment! Her apartment is really nice, too. It's furnished all modern-like - a bit like I would imagine a hip 20-something's apartment in the USA to look like, actually.

A few well-placed phone calls and a lot of luck (or divine intervention) has scored us a VVVIP visit to the famous Tirupati Balaji temple. Too bad it means that Jean Marc won't get a chance to rest - we'll leave right from the airport (at like midnight) to drive all night to Tirumala so we can be there for darshan of Lord Venkateshwar at 6 AM.

More on our visit to Tirupati later.

Climbing Girnar and Gaining Confidence

2006-12-14T15:16:00.000+05:30

I went to sleep early because the next morning I woke up at 4:30 to begin my ascent of one of the holiest pilgrim hills in Gujarat - Mount Girnar. I knew the 10,000 steps were going to be a challenge, but I welcomed it - and the sore legs that would accompany it later.

Starting my climb before dawn was really fantastic. It was so quiet and I was one of about 5 people that started that early. As the sun started to rise, the receding valley below slowly started coming into view. It was a beautiful sight to see all of Saurashtra slowly appear from the darkness. The first plateau contained a large collection of magnificently carved Jain temples. The top of the first peak (at step 5000) was the temple of Ambaji. At the end was the Guru Datt temple.

I found that my climb of Girnar paralleled life as I had experienced it in my 23 years pretty well. Somewhere far off in the distance was a goal that I wanted to reach. About 1/10th of the way there, I was already out of energy, and the hundreds of people coming past me the opposite way having already achieved that goal was a bit disheartening. Seems like life is a lot like that sometimes. But I also learned one thing about myself. I knew I was going to make it to the top. I wasn't sure if I had enough energy to do it in one trip, but making it to the top was not a matter of if - just a matter of when. And when I realized that I sure as hell wasn't leaving without having climbed to the top, suddenly my legs didn't hurt as much, I wasn't as winded, and I wasn't as miserable being passed by people moving faster than me and by people already coming back from the top. And, surprisingly, in only 2.5 hours, I had reached the very end of the path. And by hour six, I had reached the base again, having stopped for a total of 1 hour along the way. Yes, my legs were shaking, and I could barely walk, but I set my goal, went after it, and got it. Now if only I can figure out how to apply that to the rest of life...

On another note - I fly to Chennai tomorrow to travel with Jean Marc, and believe it or not, Mary's actually coming in less than a month! Unbelievable!

Junagadh and Somnath

2006-12-14T14:37:00.000+05:30

After the adventure to Pavagadh with the Brazilians, I decided it was time to strike out on my own again and visit somewhere in Gujarat. I decided on Junagadh - a fairly central location in Western Gujarat that would give me easy access to a few other towns nearby.

I decided to camp at the BAPS Mandir in Junagadh. After catching a state transport bus for the 9 hour ride to Junagadh (bad idea), I found myself at the mandir with only the name of the head sadhu there. Yet within 15 minutes, I had a place to bathe, sleep, and eat for the next three days. I love this Swaminarayan network. I've never met ANYONE there before, but all might as well have known each other for years. They were kind enough to give me a free place to stay and free food too.

The day I arrived I headed out to visit the town of Junagadh - and in particular Uperkot Fort and the old Swaminarayan Temple. The fort was fairly interesting, but my favorite spots were the Navghan Kund - one of the first step wells ever built (11th century). It's transverse steps down to the bottom were really eerie and seemed to go on forever. There were also some buddhist caves whose pillars got more intricate the further down into the cave system you went. But my favorite was the Jama Masjid inside the fort. Though used as a mosque, its artisans were Hindu and so filled the mosque with Hindu symbols. In fact the mihrabs (nooks facing Mecca) were so intricately carved, they could well be the inner sanctum of a temple if there was a murti inside. The carvers had even managed to include animals like elephants, flowers like the lotus, and bells. They had even carved the back wall of the mihrab where the idol would be. I guess that was their way of snubbing their noses at their Muslim overlords...

Later I walked into the old city center to the Swaminarayan Temple where Gunatitanand Swami was the head sadhu for over forty years. It's a beautifully crafted and painted temple. I found out after I came back from the visit that, in order to appease the muslim nawab (governer) of Junagadh, Lord Swaminarayan built a small mosque into the top of one of the spires. A zoomed-in look at the picture of the spires that I took confirmed it. How incredibly insightful of Swaminarayan... and odd...

The next day I caught a Rs. 35/- sharebus (the kind that are packed to the brim and usually have people hanging out the door) to Veraval to visit the Somnath Temple. As I walked toward the temple, an old man offered me a tour of all "tirths" (sacred places) in and around Somnath in his horse-pulled cart. We settled on Rs. 30/- and off we went. We visited many temples. Sooo many temples. There's seriously an infinite number of them in India. The trick is finding out which ones are worth visiting and which ones aren't. I have a mental idea of what that criteria is but I can't express it quite yet. One of the temples - to Hinglaj Mataji, is reached by crawling backward down an incredibly narrow (and long) set of stairs. I'm glad I'm not claustrophobic. I'm so used to Murtis that are intricately carved and incredibly lifelike that when I see one that looks like someone pasted a large pair of googly-eyes on the wall and painted a head-shape around it, I'm not sure whether to take the experience seriously or not. I'm trying to figure out currently what the background for that murti design style is. The priests at the temples said that the Pandavas (from the Mahabharat) spent time in these caves and were responsible for the construction of these temples. They look waaay too new to be over 5000 years old. A few other not-so-memorable stops completed the hour-and-a-half tour. The highlight, of course, was the magnificent Somnath Mandir.

Dedicated to Someshwar Mahadev (Lord of the Moon), the "idol" is one of twelve Jyotirlinga around India. The temple is HUGE and is really something amazing to look at. And it has an incredible history. It's been destroyed and rebuilt time and time again. Mahmud of Ghazni sacked the first one in 1021 A.D. and Aurangzeb had a go at a later version. The version today was built only in 1950, but a lot of research into what the older Somnath Temples may have looked like went into this one's construction. I'm not sure what it is with Moghul's and knocking down Hindu temples. The coolest part about this temple though is that it's administered by the state government. Considering that India strives to be secular, this seems counterintuitive. But amazingly enough, the state government hires real, trained, brahmins to administer to the temple. They don't even ask you for money, but they have a list of pujas that you can take part in if you leave a donation. Different pujas have different prices - I still find it odd to pay for a prayer. It'd make sense if the donation were optional, but it's not... But I was interested in seeing if these Brahmins at Somnath knew what they were doing. I knew what proper puja's should sound like, what kind of verses should be recited (since I know most of them now). And Somnath's holy men passed my test with flying colors. They were on the money from the opening invocation to the closing Ganpati stotra. In fact, they were so knowledgeable, when he asked who my "ishtadev" was (to which I replied Swaminarayan), he asked which sect I belonged to (I replied BAPS), to which he continued the puja by invoking not just Shiva, but also Swaminarayan and the entire succession of gurus of BAPS. But I really liked that the priest asked the participant to keep in mind his own personal deity, not just Someshwar Mahadev. And they worked hard to create an environment of worship and devotion. A very organized, hassle-free, and spiritually sound experience. I returned to Junagadh, stopping enroute at Bhalka Tirth, where Krishna's foot is believed to have been pierced by an arrow, ending the era of Krishna-avatar.

Next I climbed Girnar.

Hanging out in Gujarat

2006-12-14T14:26:00.000+05:30

Hello again! I know I haven't posted in a while. In all brutal honesty, I haven't been up to that much in the past week. After my sister left, my parents and I flew down to Gujarat.

First, we attended the last day of the 86th birthday celebrations of Pramukh Swami Maharaj. I think BAPS might be one of only a handful of organizations that can successfully throw a birthday party and ignore the birthday part. The celebrations were a collection of excellent spiritual discourses and an amazing cultural program. In the entire 3 hour program they mentioned Pramukh Swami's name once...

After that, though, we just hung out at my aunt's house. My mother crammed in a little more shopping (though there wasn't any room in the bags to put it), and I managed to get in some sleep. Soon, my parents left. I was sad to see them go - I hope I get to see them again soon! After that, I just bummed around at my aunt's house for a couple of days with my cousin.

Then the Brazilians came. In waves. All in all, 8 showed up over 3 days. And they were early. Their program with AIESEC (which my cousin works for) doesn't start until the 15th, and so they needed something to do! So I took them to Pavagadh - an Ayers Rock-type formation that is definitely out of place in the flat plains of eastern Gujarat. The climb was enjoyable and I shared with them a bit about what I know about Hinduism and have learned over the past few months. The highlight was trying to teach them how to order food in Gujarati. Eventually, Lira managed to order a few pieces of naan, though all were quick to discover that pointing at something then holding the appropriate number of fingers worked just as well. All eight of us stuffed ourselves silly for $11.

I love India.

Krishna's Janmabhoomi

2006-12-06T14:08:00.000+05:30

I expected to be harassed more by touts at a place as important to Hindus as this, but there was only one persistent boy trying to be our guide. The security, however, was another matter entirely.

The government of India had obviously taken the possible repercussions of the Ram Janmabhoomi (birthplace) incident in Ayodhya (read more here) to heart. Police armed with semi-automatic machine guns donning bullet-proof vests guarded the entrance to the complex. Almost-rough patdowns on every visitor weren't enough apparently. The guard stuck his hands INTO my pockets to make sure there really was nothing there - which almost pulled my pants down in front of everyone... Armed guards inside the area guarded the entry and exit to the temple and the Janmabhoomi itself. It's a bit strange to have an armed sentry say "Jay Shree Krishna" after patting you down, but honestly, I say better safe than sorry.

The Mandir itself, however, was filled with a spiritual air. Built by the Birla family, it housed the incredibly beautiful murtis of Radha and Krishna (similar in style to the Laxmi-Narayan murtis in the Birla Mandir in Delhi), and the air was filled with the sounds of prayers, chants, and devotional songs being sung loudly by a large group of devotees sitting in the middle. The ceiling was one giant fresco and told the Krishna Lila (divine life-story). The pujaris gave prasad to anyone and everyone (I can't imagine how much they give out over the course of the day!). So far I'm two-for-two for great experiences in Krishna's mandirs.

Off to the side of the mandir was the actual Janmabhoomi sthan. We didn't know what to do with our shoes, so my dad stayed behind with the shoes while my mom and I went inside. My dad followed us about a minute later - the armed sentry said he's watch the shoes for us since darshan was closing soon.

I never really understood what the big deal was about the Ram Janmabhoomi or the reason for the security at this Krishna Janmabhoomi. But just seeing that small slab of stone silenced everyone that walked into the small room. Everyone silently contemplated the same thing - that on that small chunk of granite, at one time the floor of a small jail cell that held Vasudev and Devaki, the Lord Himself had taken birth to relieve man of his sins and grant him redemption.

I don't expect you to understand even the concept of that feeling until you've felt it yourself - the weight behind the importance of a place so holy that it silenced every thought in my mind and filled it with reverence and prayer. Perhaps you do. But I suspect if the very birthplace of Jesus, Buddha, or Mohammed was ever found, and a serious believer visited it, he'd know what I'm talking about.

Rajasthan and Wife Management

2006-12-05T22:34:00.000+05:30

My family came to visit the day after I returned from Manali. It was the first time in about six years that my sister had come to India, and everyone in the family was glad to have her there. They arrived at 6 AM and we went home showered, then headed out to take my sister and grandfather to visit Akshardham. After their visit, my parents booked us a trip to Rajasthan for a week.

Our first stop was shopping - I mean Jaipur - for some shopping. After looting the city, we checked into our hotel. The next day was our tour to the Amer Palace. Situated high above Jaipur on a hill and incredibly complex in design, the palace made it very clear that the muslim Maharajas knew how to live in style. Our trip to the hilltop was facilitated by booking an elephant - a very tired one named Jamno. The elephants make 5 trips up and down the hill before they basically collapse in exhaustion. My sister and I fell in love with our elephant and felt really bad that we had made him climb up for us when we could just as well have done it ourselves. And that it cost us Rs. 500/- of which he's going to get about Rs. 20/- of food didn't make us feel any better. So we walked down. Still not the same.

The palace itself was like most other tourist sites maintained by the government - the only artwork that you can really see on the walls are key-scratches saying "Pinky loves Bittu" encircled by a poorly-shaped heart. Some of the pillars combined both muslim and hindu design styles by putting an elephant with lotus (hindu) at the top while a strictly floral design (anti-iconographic - muslim) at the bottom. My favorite part was how this Maharaja dealt with his many wives. He set up the Maharaja's Rules of Wife Management:

1) Keep secret passages so no wife knows who the king's with at night.
2) Place spies in the women's common bathing area to check for "baby bumps."
3) Prevent gossip by creating a common area for inter-wife conversation.
4) Punish all wives together by requiring them to grind wheat in the kitchen.
5) Prevent infidelity by keeping only Eunuchs as servants.

Indeed timeless lessons.

After another day of shopping and a visit to the Swaminarayan Mandir in Jaipur, we headed to the Ranthambore National Wildlife Reserve, home to the last bastion of Asiatic jungle tigers. Our first safari yielded lots of spotted deer and peacocks, but no tigers. We figured we'd seen 'em upclose and personal in Africa so not seeing them in India wasn't that big a deal. We left the next day on the return trip to Delhi. We stopped in Fatehpur Sikri (two towns - The Maharaja's palace and fort - Fatehpur - and the small poor village nearby - Sikri. Why does that not surprise me?) to see the Buland Darwaza (a large gate celebrating the Moghul emperor Akbar's conquest of Gujarat - DOH!). We continued to Mathura, to the Krishna Janmabhoomi (the birthplace of Krishna).

New Pictures and Family Visit

2006-11-29T19:26:00.000+05:30

New pictures are up from my trip to Manali. Click the link below the rolling slides in the future to see all of the pictures. The full slide show has all the pictures from my trip so far. Click on the pictures to read the caption. Special thanks goes to my father and sister who have contributed, yet again, stunning pictures to the Dave family photo collection.

In other (and more interesting) news, my family has come to visit from the states. My sister stayed for a week in which we journeyed to Rajasthan (Jaipur and Ranthambore Nat't Wildlife Reserve). The pictures are up, but I'll write about it later. She left, but my parents stayed. We are currently in Gujarat after celebrating the 86th Birthday of my Guru, Pramukh Swami Maharaj. It was a pretty intense birthday party, if you will, considering that 250,000 people came to the festivities on the last of the three days alone. More on that later.

Enjoy the pictures. And thanks to the anonymous commenter (KM) for the kind words. I hope my trip to India is filled with experiences like that.

The Krishna Mandir and Divine Intervention

2006-11-18T19:03:00.000+05:30

On the suggestion of the stone-worker (from the previous post), I began the journey uphill to find the Krishna Mandir. About 3 Km uphill, I realized I was lost. I also realized I was thirsty, and worse, hypoglycemic. I had two cups of tea before I left for Naggar since none of the breakfast stalls were open. It was now 2 PM and I needed food. I decided to give up and head downhill to a little Italian joint that had a four cheese pasta that was making my mouth water. Ahead I saw sunlight shining brightly in a clearing - I figured this was a sign, so I headed in its direction. Another uphill climb and I came across a troop of monkeys. Not what I was expecting. But the road went around a corner, downhill, on the other side of the hill from Naggar. Not wanting to get lost I turned around for food, figuring I at least found some wild monkeys. I made it about a kilometer downhill when I came across three women carrying their moss-filled baskets. They looked surprised to see me and the words slipped out of my mouth "I couldn't find the Krishna Mandir so I'm heading down" as if I needed an excuse to be walking downhill. "But it's only just a bit up the hill." And at that point I decided that, no, He really was calling, so I would leave my health state in His hands and go have His darshan.

As I came back up the hill, I realized I was retracing steps. I came across the clearing where I saw the monkeys. But the road around the corner was calling, and I couldn't look away. And so I started walking. And only 200 yards down that road was the Mandir. A beautiful, old, isolated, and hidden mandir. I had been so close. I took my shoes off and went inside and knelt before Krishna's murti and thanked Him for His darshan. Exhausted, I sat down, ready to faint from the lightheadedness.

And literally, right at that moment, the pujari came from around the corner holding a pot of jal and a laddu. "Don't ask me how, but Krishna made me to keep some jal and laddu ready this morning. I think He meant it for you."

This is perhaps what I would call my first really spiritual experience. Call it coincidence, call it divine intervention. But that laddu and few sips of water kept me from passing out right there at His feet. "Sit and relax," said the pujari, "where are you from?" "America." (Laughter) "That's amazing. People from Naggar hardly come up here!"

It's a pity that they don't. It has the most spectacular view of the Kullu Valley - trumped every other one by far. And the only sound is the wind. Even the engine sounds of the cars in the valley below didn't carry to the mountain top. After about an hour of drinking in Krishna's murti and the beauty of His creation, I realized how hungry I was. And no kidding, right at that moment, the pujari came out with a steaming hot plate heaped with rice, daal, and rajma. "You must be hungry - you must not leave without having some prasad." Screw four-cheese pasta. That was the best meal I've had... maybe ever. And with the best view ever. Me, my food, and the sound of the wind.

I've always heard that God takes care of His seekers. Take one step toward Him, He takes ten toward you. For the first time, I really experienced it. I wanted to give back - "Is there some seva I can do?" I inquired. "No, we're just a simple mandir." "Then can I leave a donation?" The pujari laughed. I didn't understand what was so funny. Then I realized why he was laughing.

In the first temple, church, mosque, anywhere that I've really deeply wanted to leave a donation - there was nowhere to leave it. No accounting office, no record book, not even a daan peti.

Figures.

Naggar

2006-11-18T18:14:00.000+05:30

I was up at 6 AM on the morning of the 16th to catch one of the first buses headed to the town of Naggar. On Nirja mami's suggestion that it was a beautiful place (I didn't find out till later that she hasn't been there herself), I decided to go. It turned out to be the highlight of the trip.

The Rs. 15/- busride took about 45 min. and was my first experience with India's public bus system. Totally not as bad as people make it out to be. It was crowded like you wouldn't imagine, but not actually uncomfortable. I had to keep asking 'How far to Naggar?' to make sure I didn't miss the stop, but I eventually made it. My first stop on the climb up the hill was the Gauri Shankar Mandir, a 12th century temple dedicated to Shiva. The first thing I noticed was that I recognized the carvings. The lotus shapes, the plant pots at the tops of the pillars. They looked like older versions of the Swaminarayan Mandirs that BAPS is building now. There will be some pictures up for comparison.

The highlight of Naggar was not the temples, though. As I looked uphill, I saw a waterfall and decided I would climb to its source. As I climbed up its downhill stream, the sounds of the town, then the village soon faded away. I figured I would be all alone again. Then up ahead I saw a man sitting on the rocks by the stream, by himself. I folded my hands when he saw me as a silent namaste. As I reached him he asked where I had come from, and if I had spent a lot of energy climbing up the streambed considering that there was a dirt path not more than 10 feet away just up the embankment. I laughed and answered that had I been on the road, I wouldn't have noticed him sitting there. That's true, he said, have a seat. And he flipped over a stone so I could sit on its flat side.

He's a stone worker. You can see his colleague at work carrying stones in the recent pictures (my acquaintance is in the background). It's a brutish job, carrying 35 kilos of stone on your back like that. For the next half hour, though, my Rice degree gave way to the wisdom of a poor stone worker from the villages of India whose insights into life and religion left me thinking for the rest of the evening.

I came to India to see how Hinduism is practiced in its homeland. This stoneworker gave me some amazing insights. As we commented back and forth on the peacefulness of the surroundings he said,

"That's God's grace - you are made to live in a big, noisy, dangerous city. Yes, you have wealth and money, but you have no peace - that's punishment! Here there is peace. I'm not rich, but then again, I don't have to worry about trains blowing up or whether I can afford the rent. If I don't work, I don't get rotis. So I work for food. If I get it, it's thanks to Him. If I don't, it's thans to Him. I work for food. The rest is up to Him.

"I could make paisa into a Bhagwan like the city people do, but what good would that do? You think it brings you convenience, but its really just more of a headache. You wash your clothes in 10 minutes in a washing machine, but then work for hours to pay the electric bill. Big cars get stuck in big traffic. The worst traffic here is my neighbors herd of cows.

"I hear that in the city they think that God has forgotten us villagers. Bhakwas! (Garbage!) I have seen the madness of city life. It turns garibs (poor people) like me into bhikharis (beggars). God gives me the strength to work, the serenity of nature to surround myself with, and the protection of a village where I don't have to even have a door on my house to lock in the first place. I have food on the table and I have peace. I know what I could have if I worked harder, but frankly, I don't want it."

I get the impression that he's spiritually light-years ahead of the rest of us, and he doesn't even know it. I asked him if he goes to the mandir.

(Laughter) "Of course - I have darshan every morning at the Krishna mandir at the top of the hill. You should go there." And that was it. No satsang sabhas or large gatherings. Darshan in the morning for him was enough for God to pervade his whole day. I began to understand how Hinduism worked in the villages. It's not a religion in the villages. It's not something that is practiced. It is simply lived from moment to moment. It manifests as a contentedness. A freedom from want. In fact, every villager I saw higher up in the hills of Naggar was just that - content. Not because they didn't know what they could have. But simply because they didn't want it.

I began to wonder if they pitied my state of materialism.

Vashisht Village and Freedom

2006-11-18T17:34:00.000+05:30

I made the next morning a late one, and walked out of my hotel around 10 AM to make the 3 Km uphill hike to the village of Vashisht. I'm walking everywhere and in the rarified mountain air, it's taking its toll, but I don't mind huffing and puffing my way along in air this fresh. You couldn't pay me to take one of those kerosene-doped rickshaws.

The village was supposedly founded by Vashisht Muni. Considering that he was Ramchandra Bhagwan's teacher in Treta Yuga, this town is pretty old.

The village itself is very quaint but unfortunately has been tainted by tourism. It's filled with cheap guesthouses and cheap dhabas (food stalls). I tired of the town quickly and kept moving uphill. Eventually, I reached the backside of Vashisht and as I walked through the maze of backstreets, I began to get the "What are you doing all the way back here?" looks from the residents. I ended up on a woodland trail and on a whim, decided to see where it led. I found a babbling brook and followed it up about 1.5 km, above all the houses and steppe farms. I sat there for an hour on a small stone slab that had been made into a crossing over the brook but hadn't been walked on in years, judging by the plant growth. I had an amazing feeling of freedom sitting there by myself. I could follow whichever path my mind fancied, and this far away from the town, there wasn't anyone to harass me to buy Kullu shawls - hell there wasn't anyone period. But I wasn't lonely - not in the least. Just peaceful. Feeling thirsty, I dipped my hands into the cold water for a drink. It was crystal clear moutain water. Cold and tasteless - pure snowmelt - just like water should be. I emptied my bottle of mineral water and filled up with the good stuff. This water was so delicious I was willing to pay whatever gastrointestinal price necessary to enjoy it. I suspected though, that there wouldn't be any.

As I trekked back downhill alongside the brook, I came across the first signs of civilization again - a trashheap dumped down into the brook gully. I'm guessing the water there charges a GI fee. It makes me sad that even the most beautiful parts of India are trashed by the locals themselves.

It makes me wonder. India needs the economic boon that tourism can give, but I am not entirely certain this country is ready for a tourist rush. The cheat-first-ask-questions-later attitude of the touts, rickshawwallas and the wannabe-priests combined with the dump-your-trash-wherever attitude of just about everyone except the tourists makes India a place that needs a change of heart before it reaches for the wallets of tourists. Otherwise they will come in droves once, and never come back. In all fairness, every country has this problem, but the economic disparities in India make it so in-your-face here that one has to make an effort to see the amazing beauty and rich culture that lays beneath it.

As I walked back through the town I stopped to eat at Chauhan's dhaba - and had one of the tastiest Malai Koftas EVER. Steaming hot. Perfectly spiced. Scrumptious. And filling. I then went for darshan in the town center's two temples, one dedicated to Rama and one to Vashisht Muni himself. The murtis in Rama's mandir are more classical, but the Vashisht murti is of the older stone-slab-relief design. It's really interesting to see the merging to philosophical lines of thought in practice in India. In Rama's mandir, the main sanctum has Rama, Lakshman, and Sita, but Hanuman is outside alongside a shivaling. Philosophically, the Vaishnavite tradition which includes Hanuman is very different than the Shaivite tradition - the Shankaracharyas and the Gurus will debate that to no end. My guess is that to the lay person, they are all just God. If they can't read the road signs, what can be said of the scriptures?

More on the practice of Hinduism in India later. Vashisht got boring by 4 PM and I turned in early back to Manali. I walked alot. Like 10 Km a day. Why is my potbelly still there?

The Rohtang Pass

2006-11-18T17:07:00.000+05:30

The second day was taken up by a visit to the Rohtang Pass. This 13,000 ft.-above-sea-level pass is the Kullu Valley's only access point to the cities further north in Himachal Pradesh. Tourist buses (Rs. 210/- roundtrip) take visitors up to the pass, then bring them back to Manali. The day I visited (Nov. 14th) was the last day it was open to tourists because of heavy snowfall the night before. After that, only commericial vehicles can pass through it - and at their own risk.

The fresh snowfall made the place very serene. But its ability to erase tracks quickly gave an inkling of how forbidding a place the mountains can be. As soon as we got down, I moved quickly away from the bus (read: other people) and into the mountains. The 10 minutes of silence was stunning, for lack of a better word. The only sounds were my feet crunching the fresh snow, and the wind blowing more snow over my tracks. I came across some powerlines upon which hundreds of prayer flags had been hung, but further up, there were more, tied between rocks - tattered by the wind, their colors long since faded. A local riding a tatu (mule?) came up. I asked in my broken Hindi how long these prayer flags had been there. He held onto one strand and pointed to a date on written in tibetan (?). 1906. Damn.

Our silent amazement at the journey someone made up exactly one century before, most likely on the back of a mule was interrupted by the gleeful shouts of a newlywed couple frolicking in the snow. I was tossed into an impromptu Hindi movie as the husband began singing (very poorly) some love song to his wife who, despite her brownness still blushed. While definitely cute (and ridiculously sappy), it totally ruined my desired ambience of silence. I decided to make a snowman while I waited for them to go away. Bad idea. My hands froze immediately in the loose snow (that doesn't pack), I couldn't make a snowman, and the people didn't go away. The worst was yet to come though. Turns out Indians are their own worst tourists. As more of the people from our bus made their way up the hills, they brought with them bags of potato chips, bottles of coke, packets of biscuits and cups, all of which by the end of our visit, were sad reminders of recent human presence in the fresh snowfall.

And for as much as they complain that their cities are noisy and polluted, they came to the silence of Rohtang and instead of enjoying the silent and fresh air, they brought radios blaring bhangra and lots of cigarettes. My two Italian acquaintance, Marco and Tom, both avid smokers themselves, couldn't believe it either.

I am realizing that I really enjoy the sounds of nature and her silence. Even when she's noisy, she's not loud. And even the cacophony of the wind over the snow and the snort of the mule has a certain harmony to it. Maybe I'll buy a secluded hut in the mountains.

Busride and First Day in Manali

2006-11-18T16:09:00.000+05:30

Wow. Manali was absolutely amazing. I think again, I'll share only the highlights and some of my thoughts that occurred to me along the way. Jean Marc made the astute observation that I talk a lot in the blog (which may be discouraging my readership). In that case, I'll try and keep it short and simple.

The Busride is worth commenting about in brief, mostly for the irony. Since foreign tourist season in Manali ended with summertime, the arrival of fall and winter brings the honeymooners who take advantage of off-season hotel prices and million-dollar views. So my busride up to Manali consisted of me, and a whole bunch of newlywed couples, henna'd hands and all. As the bus began winding uphill into the Himalayan foothills, the new husbands got their first taste of married life - holding their wives' hair back as they puked into plastic baggies. For the better part of 7 hours. Isn't love grand? I'm glad years of traveling have made my stomach pretty strong. Thanks Mom and Dad for all the busrides through the hills of Europe.

Manali is the last settlement in the Kullu Valley - the Valley of the Gods. And judging by the spectacular views from basically every point on the hillside, with the formidable snow-capped Himalayas in the distance, it's little wonder the ancients believed that this is where the Gods lived. Only they could survive the Himalayas, and only a place as beautiful as these valleys could be their sporting grounds.

My 'hotel' room had a million-dollar view of the Beas River - it flowed right by my window. A pretty good deal considering I paid no more than $7 a night for the room. But travels for the hotels? My first stop was a Tibetan monastery - the Nyingmapa Gompa. As I walked up to it I realized that it was the first time, despite my numerous previous visits to India, that I had seen a tibetan prayer flag. The main sanctum of the monastery was really interesting. The image in the center was most obviously Buddha (duh) but there were a couple of other murti-like images on the sides. One looked particularly angry - the carved skulls did wonders to that end. The visit ended up being a lesson in the fusion of Hinduism and Buddhism. One of the elderly gentlemen seated in the monastery saw my puzzled look and explained that they were Mahayana Buddhists, who acknowledge Buddha as a teacher - not a deity like the Hinayana Buddhists do. You can imagine my surprise when he said that angry-looking murti was a Vishnuswarup - a form of Vishnu. I asked how Vishnu fit into the picture considering that most Hindus believe Him to be God. Do you pray to him? Where does he fall into the Buddhist line of thought? He said that Vishnu, Shiva, Brahma, like Buddha are all believed to be great teachers. You can pray to them and they may grant your wishes, but they are not deities. Interesting to see how despite Buddha's attempt at a clean break through the "Middle Way" Hinduism has worked its way back into Buddhist thought.

I weaved my way through a beautiful nature park that the government was obviously trying very hard to preserve. The Rs. 5/- entry gave access to a 4 sq. km park filled with virgin forests and beaten down walking trails. I walked and walked and walked, and for half and hour didn't see a single other person. That kind of silence is amazing. As I came to the back side of the park (and society), I realized I was quite nearby the Hadimba Temple. For those of you not versed in Mahabharat lore, Hadimba is a rakshasa (demoness), who, in disguising herself as a beautiful woman (I'm sure some believe that ALL beautiful women are this way...) woos and bears the son of Bhima, one of the five Pandava brothers. Their son, Ghatotkacha - half demon, half demi-God, and as a result very powerful - would be killed by Karna's only brahmastra (an arrow that will destroy any target), which Karna was saving to kill Arjuna. The temple itself looked like a fusion between pagoda and something else, and, being wooden, came out looking like something Native American. On my way out after having darshan, I was accosted by two young men that came up close to me and started whispering if I wanted to buy something. Remembering that tourists have disappeared from Manali in drug-related incidents, I figured they were trying to sell me drugs, and so I quickly walked away. About a 100 yards later, another two guys came up and asked me the same thing - and I finally heard what they were selling. Not drugs. Black market... Kesar? Why would I want to buy saffron on the black market? When I started laughing at them, they left me alone. Then came the ladies with the Angora rabbits. Didn't realize temple visits could be so humorous.

The last stop was the Temple of Manu. In the Indian tradition, Manu is the first man. Interestingly enough, he survives an epic flood that inundates the earth and, saving a number of species of animals along with him, repopulates the earth. Sound familiar? It is said that Manu meditated on the spot where the temple is built. It's a pretty temple and (prior to there being a large development around it) has a spectacular view of the Kullu Valley. I wanted to meditate there too. But it was getting dark and Old Manali doesn't have any street lights.

Hm... so much for short and simple.

American Oddities...

2006-11-13T18:51:00.000+05:30

First, the democrats win both the house and the senate. And then the Owls win four straight. It seems I've just missed hell freezing over. Suddenly India seems so... normal.

In Manali...

2006-11-13T18:20:00.000+05:30

Just a quick note from a (surprisingly fast) internet cafe. I'm in the small valley-town of Himachal Pradesh known as Manali. It's the last stop in the Kullu Valley, and the views are gorgeous. There aren't a lot of tourists here (now that winter is setting in) but there are a lot of honeymooners... It's funny to see Indian couples furtively flaunting the permanent cultural moratorium on PDAs.

Stories from the bus ride and the first day of sightseeing to come later.

Vindhyavasni and the Village

2006-11-09T12:19:00.001+05:30

The Vindhyavasni Temple

I've posted pictures of the (late) Diwali festivities at the Vindhyavasni Temple in the nearby town of Vindhyachal. The place was amazingly crowded, but the thousands of diyas and the flower-petal rangolis were beautiful. The floor was absolutely covered in ghee (clarified butter) and oil for the diyas. "This is Bhagwan's kripa (grace)," said Dr. Ashwani, "that year after year, this floor gets covered in fuel during this celebration, and a despite a thousand flames, this temple STILL doesn't burn to the ground." Good point. I'll let the photos do the talking.

Village Life

The ashram itself was between the towns of Mirzapur and Vindhyachal, nearby the small village of Amaravati. And when I say village, I really mean village. Mud-huts, oxen-pulling-ploughs, cow-dung-patties-on-the-wall type of village. And every day, in the morning at 7AM, I would walk over to this village and pay a visit to the local chai-walla and buy what I can only describe as a "shot" of chai. The little kulladis held one mouthful of steaming hot, delicious, freshly-brewed chai. And each one cost Rs. 2/- ($0.04). So I'd have two or three, and he'd take only five rupees because he knew I'd be back the next day.

On two of the mornings, the husband of the French couple that had come along to film a documentary on the camp, Jean-Marie, came to the village with me, with his rather high-tech Sony DVCAM. As we walked around one of the houses on the edge of the village, I struck up a conversation with the resident. I managed to explain in Hindi (I'm not sure how) that Jean-Marie was making a film on the medical camp, and he wanted to also capture the setting in which this camp took place. He invited us for chai, and we accepted. His name was Sheshnag and he was "the adventurous" one of the family because he had struck off to find his fortune in Mumbai. Considering that a "family vacation" is a day-trip to nearby Mirzapur, his family had thought he had seen the world. No wonder they looked at Jean-Marie so strangely. He really might have been the first white person they'd ever seen. As usual, the tea was delicious and we were also served Parle-G biscuits to dip in the tea. A pack of these costs about Rs. 15/- for eight tiny wafer-like biscuits. In a village where they easily make less than Rs. 1000/- ($20) per month, this is a treat for guests and special occassions. Jean-Marie was surprised at Lesson 1: Even simple huts can be superbly clean, neat, and cool. I guess he hasn't seen anything this village-like before, either. I vowed not to forget Sheshnag's hospitality. The next day I brought him prasad from the ashram - four fresh apples. His kids were thrilled. Lesson 2: Apples are a commodity. Because they're not easily obtained, they're given as prasad in the ashram because they really are like a gift.

As we ventured further into the village, the crowds became to come out to observe the strange looking visitors holding these strange gadgets in their hands. When they realized that we were holding cameras - everyone wanted a picture. Turns out, though we came to capture they're village life, we were, in fact, the celebrities. What's routine isn't particularly interesting, and what's different is. That we were interested in them, and them in us was simply two manifestations of the same principle.

And one small boy made it all too clear when he said, "You mean they've come all the way from America to take pictures of us making cowdung patties? What's so interesting about that?"

Indeed.

The Kali Temple

My visit to the Kali Temple near Mirzapur reminded me of what I don' t like about the some of the temples of India. The "priests" if you can call them that (they aren't really holy in any way, shape, or form) immediately pounce on you calling you to their little shrine. The murtis are gorgeous, as always, but these guys wouldn't shut up for ten seconds to let you do darshan. They kept saying over and over again, "Mother Kali wants you to leave a donation. She wants (insert value here). Leave it at her feet." You mean leave it at YOUR feet. The normal values they begged for ranged from Rs. 50/- (the largest note I saw was Rs. 20/-) to, get this, $100. Riiiiight. I gave Rs. 10/-, the first bill that came out of my pocket, and I only had Rs. 30/- with me. The priests looks at it and gives it back in disgust saying, "Kali wants more. 50 rupees, you leave 50 rupees." So I told him, "Well, I don't have fifty rupees, and Kali won't take these ten, then I'll give it to someone else." His reply was quick, "No. No. Kali is happy with Rs. 10/-." I left him with the note. As I turned away, I saw out of the corner of my eye him stuff it in his pocket and give me the finger.

In all fairness, many, if not most temples in India are not like this. If you want to take part in a puja, you leave a donation, if you don't, you don't, no one forces you to do anything. If they ask, they ask once, maybe twice, then leave you alone. Mandir's are supposed to make your mind (man) still (dhir). Not leave you more agitated.

Allahbad and the Triveni Sangam

Before we caught the train back home, we stopped in Allahbad, the birthplace of Jawaharal Nehru, to have snaan (a bath) in the holy waters of the Triveni Sangam. This sangam (confluence) is where the rivers Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati join together to become just the Ganga as it flows onward. Over time, the Saraswati has dried up entirely, but a scientific debate still goes on as to whether She still flows underground. The Yamuna is being drained heavily for agriculture and doesn't make much of a river anymore. That leaves mostly the Ganga - in which we had our snaan.

The neat part about Indian rituals is that they're mostly symbolic. While some of our group members stripped down to their underwear to plunge fully into the waters, I was a bit more realistic about the fecal coliform content of the water as I knew Allahbad was draining sewage into the sangam (search: Triveni Sangam). I took a handful and sprinkled it over my head and called it a snaan. It's the thought that counts anyway. Right?

Medical/Surgical Camp

2006-11-05T23:38:00.000+05:30

With my tenure at Swaminarayan Akshardham now officially over, I departed on a week-long medical/surgical camp to the Vindhya Hills of Uttar Pradesh. An overnight trainride (in sleeper class, for those of you familiar with Indian train systems) brought us to the small hamlet of Mirzapur, where, after a half-hour drive in a Tata Sumo caravan, we arrived at the Ashram of Devraha Hans Baba. Perhaps some more on him later.

The camp leader was Dr. K.S. Charak, a colleague of my mother's from medical school. He is the chief of surgery at one of the leading hospitals in New Delhi and very well respected. He is also known as one of the world's foremost scholars on Vedic Astrology. He is a Renaissance Man - a trekker, a spiritualist, a surgeon, an astrologer, and deep thinker. Accompanying him were 6 other physicians and surgeons. Together, along with three nurses, and 5 technicians composed the volunteer healthcare team that would provide free medical services for one week to the villages surrounding the Ashram. The group also included family members of Dr. Charak, colleagues of his from his hometown near Jammu, and a cooking crew to make meals, bringing the group total to about 35.

This group worked tirelessly for 7 days straight, waking at 6:30 AM and going to bed past 11:30 PM. They performed surgeries (major and minor) and treated all sorts of illnesses. I'll just stick to the highlights.

Surgical Camp Highlights

The throngs of people that swarmed the camp the first day made it very clear that the economic principal of overconsumption of public goods was definitely in effect. The first day was crowd-control duty for me. I had to learn to be forceful in Hindi, which was a challenge, considering I'm not particularly good at it in English. Oddly, the most difficult part was trying to keep their curious eyes from peeking into the out-patient examination rooms. Three doctors would see patients simultaneously, and one small area had been curtained off for physical examinations. But people would just crowd around the door to watch the doctor at work. Or try and peek over the curtain into the examination area. The strange part was, basically 85% of the men that came to this camp were suffering from the same problem - the hydrocoele. I'll let this website explain it in detail. Suffice it to say that most men had only to look between their own legs to find the problem the doctor was examining behind the curtain.

I tired quickly of crowd control because as soon as a line was formed, someone would try to jump the queue and in doing so, the line would disintegrate as everyone then tried to make sure they weren't cut in front of. So I went to surgery. I spent 3 days of the camp helping out in surgery - there were all sorts of cases, hydrocoeles, hernias, gall bladders, urinary bladder stones, hystrectomies. And Dr. Charak and his team performed all of them in a makeshift operating theater. The most amazing part of this OT was that it was the most disgustingly filthy and bug-infested room when we got there, but after a good 24 hours of cleaning and fumigation, it was as sterile as any major hospital theater. There were scrub protocols in place, and despite conducting over 80 surgeries in this environment, there was not a single post-operative infection. I got to help out, too! I assisted on a gall bladder removal that was complicated by extensive liver bleeding, a couple of hernia cases, and a cystolithotomy on a 10-year-old boy. When they said it'd be hands-on experience, I didn't realize they really meant hands-in experience. Reaching into a living human body and clamping a bleeding vessel shut is a bit eerie the first time, but definitely an amazing feeling the second time. All in all, I helped out with 6 surgeries and didn't mess up on scrubbing-in even once, despite the extraordinarily strict scrub-nurse.

I've finally figured out that I learn by doing. If I hear, do, then teach, I remember. Gotta remember that for medical school. More camp stories in the next post.

Back from the Camp

2006-11-05T10:07:00.000+05:30

I just got back from a week-long medical/surgical camp in the Vindhya Hills near Mirzapur and Vindhyachal. I will spend tomorrow at an internet cafe, I think, catching up on the blog and posting pictures.

Jama Masjid, Chandni Chowk, and Movies

2006-10-26T11:36:00.000+05:30

This past Monday was yet again a holiday at Akshardham - and quite a respite, to be sure, from the 34,000 people that flooded Akshardham the day before. That's not to say the day didn't begin early. Since it was officially the New Year's Day, the morning began with a mahapuja (large/great worship ceremony) at 7:00 AM sharp. The puja lasted an hour, after which Saurabh (who volunteers at Akshardham on Saturday and Sunday) and I decided to head out for a bit of Delhi sightseeing. As we were going to visit the Lotus Temple, Mr. Kiran Wadhwana said he'd give us a ride. We accepted, but didn't realize the ride included lunch at his house - not that we mind home-cooked meals.

Needless to say, lunch was delicious, but the Lotus Temple was closed on Monday. So Saurabh and I headed for the nearest Metro stop to hitch a ride to Chandni Chowk. That stop happened to be at Connaught Place -Delhi's Concentric-ringed market. Nearby was the Jantar Mantar, an old astronomical observatory with an oversized sundial. Entry for tourists was Rs. 150/-, and believe me, this place was TOTALLY not worth it. Especially since they charged another Rs. 100/- to bring in a camera. Luckily, my Nikon hid well in my pocket and I brought it in. Not that it would have been worth the effort. The place was so ridiculously boring, I didn't even take any pictures. We spent about 5 minutes before decided our Rs. 20/- for entry was a waste and left. On the way out, I overheard a tourist say, "Man, after Akshardham, everywhere else seems like a total rip-off!" Damn straight.

A quick jaunt on Delhi's suprisingly clean, efficient, yet obviously crowded metro brought us to Chandni Chowk. Chandni Chowk is a very large, very crowded market in a predominantly-Muslim section of New Delhi. Access by road is near next to impossible because of the traffic, and getting there on foot requires a walk through lots of stall-filled back alleys. We quickly realized why vehicles in Chandni Chowk are an absolute joke because we walked the entire length of the market (1 Km) before most cars had managed to move 20 feet. We didn't spend much time in the shops, though - we were headed to Delhi's largest Mosque - the Jama Masjid.

Like an idiot, I had decided to wear shorts and had to enter the Masjid wearing a lungi, or wrap-skirt. Oh well. I had brought my small Nikon and had hidden it in my pocket. And like an idiot, Saurabh, after seeing the camera at Jantar Mantar, when asked if either of us had cameras, pointed to my pocket and said, he's got one in his pocket, causing me to have to part with Rs. 200/-. So I took pictures. Unfortunately, the Masjid, though old and quite large, wasn't photogenic enough to get Rs. 200/- worth of good pictures.

Our backside exit from the mosque took us through a mosquito-infested streetmarket that had Saurabh and I praying to avoid the Dengue plague rampaging through Delhi. We ended up on a side road and walked about 10 minutes back to the Metro stop at Chandni Chowk, and hopped back onto the metro to Connaught Place - the large concentric-ring market. We found a Costa Coffee shop and stopped for a cup. Mine cost Rs. 75/-, which was pretty cheap in dollar terms ($1.50) considering the size of the smoothie I ordered, but considering that Saurabh only makes Rs. 300,000/- per year, a Rs. 75/- cup of coffee seems pretty damn expensive.

We were quickly running out of daylight and options, so we decided to kill 3 hours by watching a Hindi movie. Now if you know me, you know I can't stand these movies, but I will say that Lage Raho Munnabhai is actually a good movie. Long, but good. I find it ironic though that Sanjay Dutt plays a gangster who engages in good acts (called Gandhigiri in the movie), while in real-life, he is a known philanthropist who is currently on trial for co-conspiring in the 1993 bomb blasts in Mumbai. The theater itself was a whole another story. It was a drama-theater that had been converted into a movie-theater. Sound was stereo, and came from two horribly undersized speakers all the way in the front of the theater, while the crowd sat in the back in the balcony. For you Houstonians, think sitting in the upper deck of Jones Hall and watching a movie that is only half the width of the stage in front of you with the sound coming from computer speakers placed on the stage. Yeah. An experience, for sure. The respite was that afterward, the only place left open to get food that was edible (and wouldn't give me diarrhea) was the Domino's Pizza next door. I will say cheese has never tasted so good.

I think I'll go to the Tex-Mex Restaurant in Connaught Place next - I hear they've designed it like a barn.

Annakut

2006-10-25T20:31:00.001+05:30

So I realized that I never did finish the previous post about Annakut. To ring in the Indian New Year, the Lord is fed a very tasty and very large meal. In fact, the Annakut at the Swaminarayan Temple in New Delhi consisted of over 1,100 unique vegetarian dishes, from appetizers to main entrees to a whole assortment of deserts. All in all, about 1,300 thalis were used, filling the floor of the temple itself. The pictures speak for themselves.

Oh, and for those of you who wonder what exactly it is that vegetarians eat - feast your eyes on the biggest all-vegetarian meal EVER.

Diwali and Annakut Festivities!

2006-10-25T20:07:00.000+05:30

First things first - new pictures are up.

This past Saturday, India celebrated the end of the year with Diwali (or Deepavali, depending on your choice of spelling), the festival of light. Because the auspicious Hindu days follow the lunar calendar, the exact Gregorian Date changes every year; this year Diwali was celebrated on October 21st - the end of the lunar month of Ashwin. One would think that on such an auspicious holiday, people would go to the temple, but such is not the case. Diwali is a time for prayer and reflection with the family, and so most families celebrate Diwali at home. Attendance at Akshardham was poor that day - maybe 2,500 people at the most. The day got significantly more interesting after I left at about 6:30.

Cousin Akshar and Jayu mama picked up me from Akshardham and we headed to Bengali Market to buy some firecrackers. My grandfather had said "no firecrackers this year" but Akshar kept nagging his dad until Jayu mama relented. Of course, when we got to the market, he only wanted the most expensive fireworks (though in dollar terms they're really not that expensive!) but thankfully his dad put him in place. Every few seconds though, in the middle of the roundabout in the center of Bengali Market, someone would explode a hydrobomb firecracker. They don't do anything pretty or fun. They just explode. With an enormous bang. The ones going off about 50' away in the roundabout created shockwaves powerful enough to knock over empty cups and make your hair fly around. That's not to mention render you temporarily deaf, only to regain your hearing in time for the next bomb to go off. Anyway, I digress. Akshar settled on a string of 500 blackcats, a few chakras (the ones that spin and spray sparks), and some fountains. A bit of bargaining brought the price down by 50% (gotta love India) and a quick "Namaste, and Happy Diwali" to the store manager (a friend) brought the price down another Rs. 15/-.

We got back home soon thereafter, and I met Nirja mami's parents for the first time since my janoi ceremony (the sacred thread ceremony Brahmin kids participate in to symbolize the start of their religious education) back in 1993. They are incredibly progressive parents for their 70-something years of age - they hail from an era of Rajasthan that was largely patriarchal, with males being the primary breadwinners and females being relegated to housewife roles. Yet my mami's mom is a retired secondary school principal, and her father is still a professor (an Ph.D) of classical Sanskrit. No wonder their daughter is so freakin' intelligent...

After a significant amount of clamor that it was getting late, we piled into Jayu mama's tiny Maruti Suzuki and headed off to Nirja mami's sister's (Vasudha and Bhusan Nanavati) house. Of course, that little tiny car seats five at most, and there were 8 of us. So it took Jayu mama two trips to get us there. The Nanavati's house is, for lack of a better word, AMAZING. It's spotless, well-decorated, and very homey. (Why am I not visiting here more often?!) At the doorway, one of their two daughters, Bhavika made a ran goli that was absolutely beautiful outside her front door. I took a picture of it. Then Raghu (the little cousin) came charging up the stairs and couldn't slow down in time to stop himself from running through the rangoli and, because it's made from powder, it scattered and went everywhere. And Bhavika was sad. I explained to her though, that the Rangoli is made of powder only to symbolize the impermanence of the physical world, yet the devotion and patience that it takes to make one are the eternal attributes we must cultivate in our souls.

By the time Jayu mama had arrived with the rest of the family, the entire city was erupting with fireworks. While Diwali refers to the lighting of oil lamps, the industrial revolution and a strong sense of one-up-manship has made even the poorest of the poor spend a few rupees on sparklers at least. We were waiting for them to arrive so that Nirja mami's father could start the puja (worship ceremony). On Diwali, the Goddess Lakshmi is worshipped. She is the goddess of prosperity (the same Lakshmi from the Birla Mandir), and Indians worship her and ask her to come visit their homes. The puja begins with the tying of a nada chhadi, strings, around the wrist as a symbol of participation in the puja and as a simple reminder afterward toa red-dyed bundle of try to remain pure at heart. An invocation and the Shanti Paath verse praying that God grant eternal peace to the one praying, to one's fellow human being, and that eternal peace reign throughout the world are recited to begin the puja. Ganesh is then propitiated, followed by Lakshmi herself. The Diwas themselves represent the light of knowledge, both mundane and spiritual. The diwa symbolically dispels the darkness of ingnorance and evil from our lives, so they are lit and put throughout the house.

The story goes that Lakshmi arrives at the home of the ones doing the puja on the back of an elephant carrying the prosperity for the family for the upcoming year. After Lakshmi is propitiated, firecrackers are burst and devotional songs are sung loudly to scare away Lakshmi's elephant so that she stays and keeps the wealth at the house.

So firecrackers we did. Lots of them. There were fountains, bottle rockets, chakris, sparklers, and the pretty ones that explode high in the air into a ball of colors. And one of the Nanavati family cousins brought TWENTY-FIVE hydrobombs. Yeah, I thought they were loud from 50' away. Ten feet away is a million times worse. And he wouldn't stop blowing them up, just one after another after another after another. He finally quit when the neighbors came out to the windows and started yelling that 10 hydrobombs were enough. Poor Akshar was so excited to light up his 500 blackcats that he didn't shoot off any other ones because he was busy protecting his blackcats so that no one took them by accident. He was furious that almost immediately after setting off his grand finale, someone down the street set off a thousand blackcats. One-upped, he stormed off upstairs blaming his dad for the fact that Diwali was "no fun if you don't spend any money on fireworks."

Raghu, on the other hand, was scared of the sparkler in his hand, but Bhavika's older sister Poorva helped him conquer that fear and by the end of the evening, he was lighting up the big fountains. He showed off his impressive English skills once again by informing me that I had a girlfriend and that she was American and lived in the United States and that George Washington was the first president. Impressive indeed.

Then came dinner. An oh-so-sumptuous dinner. And we ate. A lot. And thinking about it is making me hungry. And it's late. So I'm going to get some dinner.

Birla Mandir and Birthdays

2006-10-21T10:28:00.000+05:30

Well I finally got to do some sightseeing last monday around New Delhi. My cousin Akshar and I visited three sites around Delhi in a few hours before coming back home to go to his cousin's (my 2nd cousin, once removed, I think - every one is an aunti/uncle anyway...) birthday party.

Our first stop was the Birla Mandir, first built in the 17th century but revamped almost entirely in 1939 by the Birla industrial family of India. A Vaishnav Temple, its main sanctum holds the gorgeous murtis of Laxmi and Narayan. Its shikhars (spires) rise over 110 feet into the air and the circular ribbed motifs are apparently a traditionally Orissan design style. The history of this mandir is particularly interesting. Its inauguration was done by none other than Mahatma Gandhi, but on the condition that everyone, regardless of caste, creed or color should be allowed to enter. The entry gate plaque makes this very clear. The walls on the inside contain quotations from the scriptures of India spaced every few feet apart. They come from the Upanishads, Vedas, Puranas, and the Geeta as well. The temple complex itself is actually quite large - it has a number of sanctums. Besides the main sanctum of Laxmi-Narayan, there is a Shivaling, a murti of Vishnu standing atop the earth with his Sudarshan Chakra, and Hanuman and Ganesh. (Note: All the links will take you to pages describing these Hindu deities, if you're interested.) Akshar and I did Laxmi-Narayan Dev's, Shiva's, and Ganesh's puja and then headed out. I wish I could have taken pictures of these murtis for you all to see, but cameras weren't allowed inside.

A stone's throw away from the Birla Mandir is the Kali Bari Temple. This temple is dedicated to Kali, or Shakti. In a tradition that I'm not entirely certain is in conformity with the scriptures of India, the (rather unnatractive) murti of Kali is served meat and liquor, which is then offered to devotees as prasad (food/drink that is offered to God and so considered holy). Nevertheless, the temple has an interesting aura. The murti of Kali has incredible eyes - they exude a power (or Shakti) that is befitting of Kali's legacy. I won't lie though, it didn't feel like a benevolent power though. Kali seems to be a God that devotees worship out of fear. It's not that they are literally scared of Kali's wrath, but that they worship that power. Over time, Kali's role as a ferocious, fear-inspiring deity, known for wrathfulness has been replaced by a more benevolent perception. But for all of those who think that the domain of God is too masculine, hear this - almost all Hindus offer obeisance (though usually not the meat and liquor) to Kali in some form or fashion, most commonly as the Goddess Durga.

The final tour stop of the day was to Humayun's Tomb. It has been declared a Unesco World Heritage Site and is actually fairly well-preserved. Humayun was a Mogul Emperor, and like the Taj Mahal (though Humayun's Tomb is a precursor to Shah Jahan's 1632 masterpiece), this large, traditional Mogul edifice is a mausoleum for him and his family. Though the grounds were very pretty, the highlight of the visit was the entry. See, NRIs (non-resident Indians) and non-Indians are charged more for visiting tourist attractions. In fact, almost every one (except Akshardham) charges tourists and NRI's 10-25X more for entry than they do for Indians. So my cousin and I went, and I told him to pick up my ticket because he speaks proper Hindi (and as long as I keep my mouth shut, they don't know that I don't). Except that I was wearing shorts and an Express t-shirt which made me look distinctly like an NRI. While my cousin is picking up the ticket, the gate guard, trying to be wise, decides he's going to test my Hindi. As I approach the gate, he asks, "Kya time huua?" (What time is it?) as he points at my wrist with his right hand which is nonetheless adorned with a gawdy (probably) fake gold watch. "Pone tin," I answer, adding "sahib" for good measure. I guess it's a good think I learned to tell time the day before. And in we go having paid Rs. 10/- for my ticket instead of Rs. 250/-. Did I mention that the giant cargo pockets on my very American shorts got my little Nikon Coolpix camera in for free too? Hehehe...

I have to write about Ishita's birthday party still, but I've typed too much, so I'm done for now. Pictures of these trips will come soon, promise.

And Katabatics Takes the Lead!

2006-10-19T12:12:00.000+05:30

I was just informed that Indian Katabatics is now the top hit on Google searches for "Katabatics" and "Arpit Dave." Obviously not many people type either of these into their browsers...

Bush's Coup on God's "Benevolent Dictatorship"

2006-10-19T11:54:00.000+05:30

This article showed up in the Times International of New Delhi today. Seems we were blind to the fact that, all this time, Bush had greater plans than just becoming Hegemon of Planet Earth.

The German "Indologists"

2006-10-17T18:50:00.000+05:30

One would think that a group of erudite scholars on Hinduism would understand that a religion that refuses to adapt to society will eventually stifle itself out of existence. One would also think that a similar group of people could appreciate a revival of the ancient traditions that they have dedicated their lives to studying.

Apparently not the case.

I had the opportunity to take a (self-proclaimed) group of "scholars of Indian studies" on a visit of Swaminarayan Akshardham. Considering that their scholarly interests were the ritual aspects of Indian culture, the religious symbology, and the Vedic Civilizations, I figured they'd have a field day here, seeing first-hand all these aspects alive today at Akshardham, crafted and designed by those vested over generations in the culture. I expected a genuine curiosity at this contemporary attempt to capture some of the ancient Indian culture.

Being met with more skepticism than would come from a journalist, atheist, or Marx himself was, to say the least, a bit surprising. As the executive decisions came down on what to show them, I knew this was going to be an interesting visit: First, the Vedic Civilizations exhibit, then the Abhishek Puja and Monument. At the third exhibition, I could see a few of them looking at the boat-ride with what appeared to be the are you kidding me? look on their faces. And as they sailed away "along the banks of the River Saraswati," I hoped they wouldn't openly ridicule it as soon as they got out. I made sure they didn't have their chance. "So many people think that the ancient civilizations were backward and barbaric," I started up right as they disembarked, "but, as you can very clearly see, they were nothing of the sort." I was met with murmurs of agreement. Some unintelligible chatter in German in which I heard the word verkitschen (worthless) followed, then they shuffled out behind me toward the Abhishek Puja*.

There, I played on their interest in rituals. "The Abhishek Puja is a simple ritual aimed at making the average person spend at least some time thinking about the well-being of others and of his own soul. It allows participants to engage in a very personal form of bhakti, or worship, that resembles the love and affection that goes into the act of bathing one's own child. The Shanti Path Sanskrit verses that are recited are prayers to God that He grant eternal, lasting peace to your soul, the souls of your loved ones, those of every living being in the world, and that his grace and compassion reign supreme over the universe. As you pour the water over the murti, make a well-wish on behalf of another - if you do so sincerely and pure-heartedly, the belief is that God will make it come true."

A reply from one of the group came quickly: So if it doesn't come true, does that mean I'm not pure-hearted?

I laughed, thinking he was joking. No, seriously, does it mean that I'm not pure-hearted? What? Are you kidding? A scholar on religious ritual of all people is attempting to take a matter of faith literally. "No, it just means that it may not be in God's greater plan," I deflected, "It's the thought that counts, anyway - we're just trying to get people to spend a couple of minutes considering their own spirituality." I prayed the monument would be my respite - it's hard not to be amazed by it.

Apparently that wasn't in God's greater plan, either. As I explained that this whole 100-acre complex project was started and finished in 4.5 years, I was met with "Well, you used cranes, right? That'd make it easier." And the comment on the intricacy of the carvings all around and up into the domes was met with "They're too far away," "They don't speak to me," (no shit, Sherlock, they're marble), and then the most telling comment of the afternoon, "I like the carvings in Somnath better."

Somnath?! Okay, the Somnath Temple carvings are THE EXACT SAME STYLE of carvings as in Akshardham! See for yourself (Somnath is in the middle):

My suspicions that the only "credible" or "real" monuments of the ancient Indian artisanry to them were the ones that were old were confirmed when I read one of the comment sheets after the guests left - "I'll be glad to be in Varanasi tomorrow."

Now I sincerely hope these scholars aren't guilty of believing that only old things are really traditional. Archaeologists would love to be able to reconstruct what ancient Roman temples looked like. Marine biologists are amazed when they find "living fossils" that give them insight into what the ancient creatures looked like. Swaminarayan Akshardham represents the revival of an architecural tradition that hasn't been used in over five centuries. It's a living fossil of architecture, yet because it's not old, it seems to be less valuable. Oddly enough, I think it is, in a sense, more valuable BECAUSE it is so new. The whole conceptualization, design, and construction have been meticulously charted and recorded - and can be studied. It's like being able to watch evolution happen.

On the other hand, I can understand to an extent the "kitschy" perception of the boat-ride. New media are always rejected at first, but over time, become accepted as ways of transmitting messages to a populous. Roman Catholics rejected sculpture and painting as methods of transmitting religious messages and stories because the 'traditional way' of doing it was through long hand-written books that only monks could read anyway. Eventually, Michelangelo, da Vinci, and other great artists brought about a new "tradition." In this day and age, 'traditional' means prayer in quiet repose and didactic presentations by ministers and priests. Even Lakewood Church experiences a rejection of non-traditional ways. But as the author of the preceding article puts it, "Much criticism of Christians by other Christians comes from differences in priorities." I definitely think the "difference in priorities" comes into play at Akshardham as well. Nevertheless, I'm willing to bet that in 50 years, the use of technology to present morals and values messages will be the 'tradition' and society will simply start rejecting the next new thing.

I guess its to be expected then that these scholars, who make careers out of studying the old ways would lack the interest of studying something new. It's just disappointing that a living past stands before them, but they won't see it until it, too, becomes old.

*holy bath ritual where sacred water is poured over the murti of God.

New Pictures and Mail

2006-10-11T16:00:00.000+05:30

I've added a few new pictures of my Guru, Pramukh Swami Maharaj. I took these pictures on September 7th/8th, during the Chandra Grahan, or lunar eclipse that lasted from 11:30 PM to 1:30 AM. Eclipses are inauspicious occasions that are passed by spending that time in the worship of God, hence the late-evening session where I took these pictures. Pramukh Swami Maharaj, now 86, had just recently recovered from a bout with a cold and was his normal, joyous, smiling self again, much to the pleasure of all the devotees present.

Scroll down the page to the Flickr Box where My Latest Pictures are, or click her e to see them in a new page. I apologize again for the tediously slow addition of photos to this page. That I can't bring my gadgets into Akshardham, and the ridiculously slow internet access here means that I can't put up pictures regularly. I'm sure this frustrates those of you who know what an insatiable shutterbug I am, but please bear with me. Once I begin travelling, you'll get more than you bargained for. Promise.

Also, for those of you that would like your own picture of Swaminarayan Akshardham, the bookstore has recently obtained postcards - beautiful ones - and I will send you a postcard if you will email me your address.

A Bit of Political Commentary...

2006-10-10T17:07:00.000+05:30

I don't mean to use this blog as a place of political commentary, but I can't resist this one.

Does anyone else find it odd that we went to war with Iraq because we THOUGHT they had WMD's and urge only sanctions upon North Korea, who very obviously DO have them? Is it just me or is this logic a bit backward? And isn't it a bit strange that we won't let anyone else have Nuclear Weapons but we're allowed to have 5,735 of them?

Maybe some people will leave comments on this one.

If You Only Look for the Bad Parts...

2006-10-08T19:41:00.001+05:30

Today was my first experience with a visitor who really spent his entire time at Akshardham looking for the things he didn't like about it. Even my speech at the beginning on how our goal is merely to share our culture, religion, and values, not to force them upon anyone didn't work.

After explaining about Pramukh Swami, BAPS, its social service focus, Lord Swaminarayan, and the basic purpose of Akshardham, this guest folded his arms, sat back in the chair and asked his first question: Does your guru support the caste system? I was completely taken off guard. It took me a second or two to regain my footing to answer his question. I was amazed that he came all the way to India and was willing to write off his entire visit to Akshardham if my answer didn't fit his sense of social justice. Because clearly, the caste system is TRULY representative of India. Just like the Crusades are of Christianity and Jihad is of Islam. After I gave him the answer to his question ('No, he has never supported a class system based on birth'), he seemed to calm a little an open up.

Turns out though, that was only the beginning. After the first exhibition, he emerges, again withdrawn, arms folded across his chest. I ask the group what they thought of the exhibition. Everyone gushes about how the values are so simple yet so universal and how the exhibition is done so tastefully. He says, I didn't really like the exhibition.

Me: Well, what did you find unsatisfactory about it?
Him: I was disappointed by that scene where Swaminarayan is appointed as head of the fellowship and makes the wish that any pain that his followers may suffer come onto him.
Okay. What was disappointing about it?
It's sort of a shallow statement. It's not physically possible to feel someone else's pain, so it's kind of a dumb thing to say. It's like saying 'if I win the lottery I will give you half'. It doesn't really mean anything.
Sir, has your son ever broken his arm?
Yes. But I don't wish that his pain came to me.
But you do wish that he wouldn't have to suffer?
Of course.
But he still suffers pain, right?
Yes. There's nothing I can do about that.
Yet your wish is sincere. You make it because you care, whether or not it can come true. And if it COULD come true, you WOULD want it to. It's NOT a shallow wish! Such is the compassion of God, sir, that He wishes the whole world's pain upon himself, and if he could in this world, he would.

Met with silence, I prayed that was the last of it for the evening. That wasn't the end of it, however. After coming out of the last exhibition on the Vedic culture of India, the group is again fascinated by the history, the depth of knowledge in ancient India, and technological advancements. He says, Your exhibition misrepresents Buddha. I replay the exhibition in my head, trying to recall where Buddha is. His sculpted image is depicted in the Guru Tradition hall, alongside the other well-known great gurus of the Hindu belief system. He is seated in the traditional posture found in Buddhist monasteries (a Buddhist crafted the sculpture!), and the exhibition says about him, "The tradition of following a spiritual master originated in India, who gave the world the great Buddha, Mahavir, Adi Shankaracharya..."

Me: What do you believe is misrepresented about him?
Well he's included in a hall with a bunch of other gurus, none of whom were as important as he was.
I respectfully submit to you that his importance among the other gurus depends on who you ask, but there is no doubt that to leave him out would definitely be a horrible misrepresentation.
But he has a billion followers.
Yes, but that's not the point of the exhibition. This exhibition was about Vedic culture and civilization. The Guru Tradition was an integral part of that culture and so all the major gurus of the time are acknowledged. The emphasis is not on any one of their individual teachings, just that India has spawned all these great religious traditions preaching peace, harmony, and humility.
I see...

Shortly thereafter, our visit to Akshardham ended, and he left. For the first time, I felt really bad that despite my best efforts, a visitor had left not feeling even a little more optimistic that there really are people fighting hard to bring peace and order to the world.

There's an old parable about a worm and bee and about how the bee visits the worms house and it is full of dung and smells like faeces. The bee invites the worm to visit his rose garden, but the worm is reluctant. He thinks that his dung house is the best there could be. After some coaxing though, he relents. But he rolls two small balls of dung and stuffs them up his nostrils. When he arrives in the rose garden, the bee asks what he thinks. It's quite colorful, but it still smells like shit. Puzzled, the bee noticed the two balls of dung. So he picks up the worm and dunks him into a puddle. The dung comes out and the worm is amazed how beautiful the roses smell...

I guess we can't change everyone.

Top Five...

2006-10-07T19:53:00.000+05:30

... Reasons why Akshardham is NOT Disneyland:

5. Is "the Happiest Place on Earth" even if the kid ahead of you doesn't get candy.
4. Only the occasional small field mouse here.
3. No gigantic stuffed striped tigers accused of molesting little kids.
2. Works hard to reach the depths of your soul, not your savings account.
1. No scantily clad fairies to arouse the passions of 5-year-olds.

Thanks to Mary for the post idea.

New Bhajan

2006-10-05T10:45:00.000+05:30

I've posted a new bhajan from the Swaminarayan.org website. Composed by one of Lord Swaminarayan's 500 paramhansas (renunciates following the strictest vows), Premanand Swami, this bhajan extols the glory of Ghanshyam, the childhood name of Lord Swaminarayan. It's slow, unhurried tempo is very soothing and in this case, the bhajan is sung by Yogicharan Swami, a master of Shastra Sangeet, the most elaborate and difficult classical Indian singing style. Just click play in the Widget Box player, and the song should start momentarily.

The Widget Box

2006-10-05T09:41:00.000+05:30

Thanks to the readers of the blog that pointed out that the audio in "The Latest Widgetry" panel is not functioning properly. The song is a bhajan (devotional song) from Guru Nanak, the guru of the Sikhs - Sumiran Karle (working mp3 link) - and one of my favorites. It's not supposed to sound like Alvin and the Chipmunks are singing it, but apparently, the Google MP3 player doesn't do variable bitrate MP3's well.

I will try to fix this and will attempt to put up other songs for you all to be able to listen to.

The YouTube.com widget doesn't work like I expected it to. I wanted to put the actual trailer, but apparently, it only puts a link to it, so it's coming down until I can find a better solution. Until then, you will be able to watch the trailer at www.mysticindia.com.

More later.

What IS Swaminarayan Akshardham?

2006-10-04T14:07:00.000+05:30

So I've been asked recently to explain a little bit more about Swaminarayan Akshardham and just what the hell it is that I do here all day long. I think the website is a good resource but maybe not really interesting enough to pore through for a while, so I'll do my best to explain as briefly as I can and still do some justice. This post will be about Akshardham itself.

Swaminarayan Akshardham is a cultural complex that pays tribute to the art, culture, values, and heritage of India. It is made up of a few principal parts:

The main monument itself, seen here at night, is a revival of the ancient tradition of temple-building. The structural design of the monument is based not on modern architectural texts or design methods but according to the age-old shilpa shastras, which contain the formulas, ratios, and methods for assembling a monument like this. The foundation of the monument is complete steel-free. It utilizes no rebar for foundational reinforcement, but instead relies on ~1,000,000 cu. ft. of concrete, laid in eleven separate rafts to support the massive structure. The monument itself, constructed of Rajasthani pink sandstone and Italian Carrara marble is assembled without the use of metal, as well, relying on plugs and keyholes carved into the stones to hold the structure together like a massive jigsaw puzzle. The amount of detail and intricacy must be seen to be believed, but the pictures I have uploaded should give one a small idea of what I am talking about. Over 300,000 pieces of stone were hand-carved in the most amazing detail - over 20,000 individually carved figures cover the entire internal and external facades of the monument. Inside are the murtis of Swaminarayan and His spiritual successors, or Gurus, as well as the murtis of Radha-Krishna, Sita-Ram, Parvati-Shiva, and Laxmi-Narayan. From a philosophical standpoint, their inclusion, along with the 248 murtis on the outer mandover (wall) makes good on Akshardham's promise of paying tribute to all of Hinduism.

The three exhibitions make up an integral part of the story of Akshardham. The first exhibition, Sahajanand Darshan, also called the 'Hall of Values,' depicts the core values of Sanatana Dharma (lit. 'eternal righteousness'), or what has come to be known as Vedic Hinduism via audio-animatronic displays that tell the life-story of Swaminarayan. Swaminarayan, in his time, was widely believed to be the embodiment of these basic values of ahimsa (non-violence), seva (selfless service), humility, and devotion. The story of Swaminarayan continues in the second exhibition, Neelkanth Yatra, which is the destination release of the internationally acclaimed large-format film Mystic India. See the trailer here (.wmv, 2:56) or here (.mov, 1:37), which some of you got to see at the Houston Museum of Natural Science. The version at Swaminarayan Akshardham is slightly different, primarily in that it focuses more on the story of Neelkanth, the child yogi (ascetic) who, leaving his house at age 11 to begin a 12,000 Km pilgrimage that would take him to the farthest reaches of India, would eventually come to be known as Lord Swaminarayan. Just watch the trailer. The last exhibition is the Sanskruti Vihar, a cultural exhibition in the form of an indoor boatride through 10,000 years of India's Vedic heritage. Visitors are transported to ancient Vedic markets, the world's first internationally attended university - Takshashila (or Taxila), and through a chronicling of the "ancient discoveries and inventions of the great rishi-scientists of India" (quoted from Swaminarayan Akshardham). These discoveries include revelations in atomic physics, astronomy, precise calculations of pi, the development of the Pythagorean Theorem five centuries BEFORE Pythagoras. These three exhibitions give visitors a view into the history, values, and traditions of India.

The Musical Fountain Show tells the Hindu story of the life cycle of the universe and our lives through water, sound, and light. The combination of these elements imbues the show with a deep symbolism that takes the full length of the show to explain! And the Gardens of Akshardham contain over 900,000 trees, plants, and shrubs that were all grown in-house to transform the barren 100 acres of land upon which Akshardham is built into a green oasis amidst the concrete-filled Delhi. Cast bronze statues in the Bharat Upavan garden depict the heroes and heroines of Indian folklore and the Indian revolution. Lotuses growing in small ponds in the Narayan Sarovar (a small moat-like lake surrounding Akshardham that contains the water of 151 holy lakes and rivers of India) add to the tranquility and serenity of the entire complex.

The Picture Problem

2006-10-01T19:11:00.000+05:30

So, I've now been asked numerous times why, in the course of being in India for almost a month now, I have posted only 5 pictures. While I do have a computer at my desk, I am not allowed to bring anything INTO the Akshardham complex with me, other than my room keys, and some money. That, unfortunately, excludes gadgets which I might use to upload pictures that I take as well. I'm currently in the process of trying to get the security clearance to bring in my photo organizer so I can upload pictures as well.

Others of you have wished to see more pictures of Akshardham. I have uploaded a few more of the file photos of Akshardham that you might not be able to find on the Akshardham website itself.

The Visit of Mr. Han Kop

2006-09-26T20:11:00.001+05:30

A long-time satsangi* of the Swaminarayan faith visited Akshardham today. At first glance, the Netherlands-native Mr. Han Kop doesn't look like your average follower of Swaminarayan. He about 6'1", about 63 years old, balding, and very, very caucasian. I've had the opportunity to meet him in the past, though his visit today was the first time I've had a chance to actually sit down and talk to him.

In 1972, he and two of his brothers (he has nine siblings total) set out on a world tour by car. Having weaved their way down from the Netherlands, they travelled through Africa - via Zaire (now the D.R. of the Congo), Uganda, South Africa, and Tanzania. They ended up in Mombasa, Kenya, running short on cash, and not really sure where to go next. Deciding to hang around in Kenya for a few weeks, they camped on the beach every night (some serious penny-pinching). One day they came across a house with the doors wide open - not a very common sight in Kenya at the time for political reasons. So they went in.

There they first laid eyes on the murti of Bhagwan Swaminarayan - but from a different sect. Not seeing anyone inside, they walked out again and kept moving down the road. About 100 yards further down the road, they came to another set of wide open doors. Curious, they poked their heads inside, this time into a BAPS Swaminarayan Sampraday mandir. There, Mr. Kop says he saw the murtis of Swaminarayan and Gunatitanand Swami, the ideal disciple, as well as the image of Yogiji Maharaj, who had passed away, unbeknownst to them, just the year before. He says when he saw the image of Yogiji Maharaj, he wanted to meet him. There were some youths singing kirtans (devotional songs) and so he asked them where "the man in the picture" was. They said he wasn't there and that it wouldn't be possible to meet him. Thinking the youths were just trying to pass him off, he insisted. Relenting, they directed him to Mr. C. T. Patel, who family had followed BAPS since its founding by Shastri Yagnapurushdasji (Shastriji Maharaj) in 1907. "C.T. kaka" (uncle), as he was known, took Han and his brothers to his house, and so began a daily interaction where the three would come to C.T. kaka's house for lunch, and he would in turn explain to them all about Swaminarayan Bhagwan, the philosophy, and spiritual successorship - all the way to the current guru at the time, Pramukh Swami, who had been appointed by Yogiji Maharaj as the spiritual successor the previous year.

After about a month of these daily meetings, C.T. kaka told Mr. Kop that it was time for him to go to India and seek further answers there. So they loaded up the car onto a boat and sailed for Mumbai. Upon arrival, two Swaminarayan sadhus met him at the boat terminal and took him to the mandir in Mumbai. There he met Pujya Mahant Swami and stayed in Mumbai with him for some time. At the behest of Mahant Swami, he travelled to Gondal, Gujarat to meet Mahant Swami's guru, Pramukh Swami Maharaj. Mr. Kop had no real interest in meeting Pramukh Swami, however, because he was content with Mahant Swami as his guru. Nevertheless, Mahant Swami insisted, and Mr. Kop, his brothers, and four other sadhus loaded up into the 4x4 that, by now, had travelled through most of Europe and Africa, and set off for Gujarat.

They arrived in the evening that same day in Gondal right before Pramukh Swami was to have his dinner for the day. The sadhus sat with Mr. Kop in the room where Bapa (father, as Pramukh Swami is more affectionately known) was having dinner. As Bapa looked up, he looked directly into Mr. Kop's eyes. Han's next words encapsulate that moment beautifully:

"As Pramukh Swami looked at me, I looked back into the exact same eyes I had seen in that picture of Yogiji Maharaj in Mombasa. At that point I realized, they are the same person. I realized why even such a pious sadhu like Mahant Swami made Pramukh Swami his guru. There was so much love, joy, and divinity in the eyes of Yogiji Maharaj, and that same love, joy, and divinity radiated from Pramukh Swami's eyes. I did not want to leave."

After staying in Gondal with Pramukh Swami for almost 2 months, asking so many questions and receiving so many satisfactory answers, Mr. Kop indeed did ask Pramukh Swami if he could stay. But Pramukh Swami said he should return home, but continue his daily prayers to Lord Swaminarayan. If in one year he still felt strongly, he should come back to visit.

Mr. Kop has been a staunch satsangi of Pramukh Swami Maharaj since 1972, longer than many of the Indian followers today, and he has come back for Swami's darshan once a year since then. He says that 35 years later, he still sees the same love, joy, and divinity, radiating with the same strength, in Bapa's eyes.

*devotee, or follower; literally "a member of truth."

La Facciata Group

2006-09-24T15:54:00.000+05:30

The tours of Akshardham usually consist of the guide doing a lot of talking and the visitors doing a lot of listening. For the past three weeks, that's generally been the case. Yesterday, however, was an exception. For a change, I got to do a little talking, more listening, and a lot of translation.

Our distinguished visitors were representatives of the La Facciata quarry of the Campolonghi Group from Carrara, Italy. They were amazed that such intricate carvings could be done on their marble. They wanted pictures so they could enter some of it into competitions. Their visit, though, turned out to be more of a lesson in geology for me than a spiritually-enlightening tour for them.

Their first stop was the exhibitions. Because I was busy, another guide FT'd (Fast Track) them through the exhibitions, and I met up with them afterward. There were three - Dr. Mauricio Lorenzoni, who looked way too stylish to be a Ph.D in geology (maybe a plastic surgeon, but not a rocks geek), his wife Greta, and Emanuele, their interpreter. I began with the standard
"Benvenuto a Swaminarayan Akshardham. Mio nome e' Arpit e sono la vostra guida." To which they respond, "Parlate italiano?!" To which I answer "Purtroppo, non parlo italiano. So I will be speaking to you in English." Once off on the proper foot with a quick jab at Zinedine Zidane for head-butting Marco Materazzi (see the video here) in the World Cup Final, we marched off to see the piece d' resistance, the Akshardham monument itself. Inside the main monument they were completely taken aback. They wandered here and there inside the main monument for about an hour, looking at different carvings, inspecting the stone quality, and just sort of gaping goofily at the intense intricacy.

At one point, Dr. Lorenzoni walks up really close to the marble and stands on his tip-toes (did I mention he was probably 5'2"?) to inspect one particular stone (that was about nose-height on me). I asked him what he was looking at. He responds "Oh it's nothing, really, I just thought I saw some staining." "Staining?" And with that simple question, I got a barrage of follow-ups:

"What bonding agent did you use between the stones?"
"How many ppm trace metals are in the sand/concrete mix?"
"What water source was used to mix the materials for the sealing joints?"

Whoa there. I'm a tour guide. Not an engineer. But what I did get was a science lesson on the staining process of marble. It turns out that water actually can seep INTO marble, and if the "glue" that's used to level the pieces and stick them together contains trace metals, these metals will oxidize and seep into the marble with the water. Then as the water seeps OUT and evaporates, it leaves the oxide stains on the surface. And all this time I thought it was the pollution in the air... Well, apparently the acid rain simply helps the oxidation process along even further, so a combination of New Delhi's pollution and the trace metals in the water is turning very small parts of Akshardham a slightly blackish color. I asked Dr. Lorenzoni where he thought he saw the stain. He points to a blackish streak in the wall - it looks exactly like the natural texturing of the carrara. "Now how on earth could you tell that's a stain?" I asked incredulously. "Anni di esperienza. E mio nome e' Dottore Mauricio Lorenzoni." Point well taken, I guess.

The "tour" (read: geology lesson) went on like this for another half-hour or so. I learned about the three types of carrara marble - Type A, which is very rare now that most of it has been sold to very very rich people to tile their bathtubs; Type B, also very rare but still can be purchased for a premium; and Type C, the most common type of carrara and quite durable.

Walking with us through the monument was Mr. Sagun Patel, who had, during the initial phases of the Akshardham project, been an essential part of the marble selection process. The conversation between him and the Italians turned to how to solve the staining problem. Samples of stone, water, and sand/concrete mix were to be exchanged and taken for testing and experimentation to see what kind of processes could best tackle the staining issues.

The level of conversation quickly went over my head, but I definitely got the idea that our organization is VERY interested in making sure Akshardham stays clean and beautiful for as long as it can. When you look around India and see the great temples of the past beginning to decay and crumble, it's a comforting feeling to know that even for a complex so new, preservation efforts are already well under way. With some good science, a bit of luck, and maybe some divine intervention, Akshardham should be around for quite some time.

Project #1, Done!

2006-09-24T15:43:00.000+05:30

I finished my first major project on Friday, by sealing up and mailing out information packs about Akshardham. These packs were sent to the editors of the travel-guide books like Lonely Planet, Let's Go, and Fodor's. LP is my favorite, but they hadn't included Swaminarayan Akshardham in their last publication on India. So I put together a package that included a guidebook, hi-res file photo CD and short introductory DVD. A cover letter and really pretty folder made rounded out a package that gave the impression that the reader was going to get a glimpse of traditional India from the get-go. I even designed the mailing labels myself.

Hm... it was actually a lot more work than it seems... Oh well, onto Project #2 now.

An Encounter with a Staunch Roman Catholic

2006-09-20T16:49:00.000+05:30

Today I gave a tour of Akshardham to a rather wealthy (and rather old) Italian businessman. He was a gentle, and rather harmless fellow, and I figured that he was most likely a fairly staunch Roman Catholic (being from Rome as he was), but I didn't realize immediately just HOW Roman Catholic.

A bit of background first. I usually start of my tours to foreigners with a small conversation where I try to gauge their knowledge and perceptions of Hinduism. I let them know that other foreigners sometimes come to Swaminarayan Akshardham with some minor misconceptions about Hinduism and India. For example, over the course of a western, predominantly Christian-community-immersed education, one is led to believe that the three most representative parts of Hinduism and India are the adherence to the Caste system, the worship of Cows, and the eating of Curry. I then ask if they would be willing to let me share India's amazing cultural heritage with them. When they affirm, I ask them to put aside everything they think they know about India and "follow me!"

This opening number went according to plan with the kind, old Italian man. We went to see the exhibitions first. He was stunned by the audio-animatronic presentation in the first exhibition hall, but didn't quite understand why we kept referring to Swaminarayan as "Bhagwan," especially since that was the term for God:

"But I don't understand... The Bible says that the only way to salvation is by accepting Jesus Christ as the saviour. And the Father is in heaven, so how does He come down to Earth?"

I realized at that point what I was dealing with. Having accepted the Bible as an infallible truth, he attempted to view the world through its lens and it skewed his perception of just about everything he saw at Akshardham. After a significant amount of explanation, I managed to convince him to accept that not EVERYONE perceived the world as the Bible dictated it, and that seeing the world a different way WASN'T an affront to Christianity - Hindus simply did things differently. "I'm just trying to share a bit about the way we see the world," I told him. It worked. I told him about BAPS' socio-spiritual goals, and the extensive humanitarian work in which we engaged. By the end of his visit, he had done the abhishek pujan (ritualized bathing of the murti* of God), and commented, "While our bishops can't seem to keep their pants on, yours are re-building entire villages!"

At the end of the exhibitions and the trip through the main monument at Akshardham, he said, "Wow, Swaminarayan really IS doing God's work."

I think that was a pretty successful tour.

*life-like image that worshippers believe to be enlivened, through ritual, by God Himself.

First Visit Home... The Long Sleep.

2006-09-19T10:52:00.000+05:30

So I finally went home to visit my aunt and uncle on Sunday night. The sanskrit-based languages have very specific terms for peoples' relatives. So in particular, I went to visit my mama (mother's brother), and mami (mother's brother's wife). They're an interesting family. Both parents are Ph.D's, and they have two kids, a 13-year-old named Akshar and a 5-year-old named Raghu. My nana (maternal grandfather) also lives with them.

Some of you may have heard stories about the infamous cousin Akshar, who in all his spoiled-brattiness has managed to garner himself quite a few new toys from his foi (father's sister) and fua (father's sister's husband), a.k.a. my mom and dad. I'm pleased to report that his temper tantrum upon not receiving a new video iPod was less intense than the previous one he threw over not receiving the particular game he wanted for the PSP which he had gotten only a few months prior to that. That being said, he's still quite fat, but that's to be expected from a kid who tries to out-eat his 6'0", 210 lb. dad.

I'm also glad to say that little Raghu is proving to be quite the bright young little boy and rather eager to please. During dinner yesterday he recited the stories of the "Three Billy Goats Gruff" and "Rumpelstiltskin" IN PERFECT ENGLISH. Very impressive. He's also quite hyperactive, but hey, he's five. He has picked up a few of the less-desirable habits from his older brother, including being somewhat disrespectful to his mother, father, and grandfather. I think that comes from his dad, though, who patronizes his extraordinarily intelligent wife on a fairly regular basis. Raghu likes to shout a lot, too, but that doesn't make him any easier to understand.

Yeah, they make for an interesting family.

Anyway, I'm planning on going home to stay the night with them once a week (Sunday night - Akshardham is closed on Mondays). So Sunday was my first time home. Jayu mama (his name is Dr. Jaivardhan R. Bhatt) picked me up from Akshardham at 10:30 PM on Sunday and we began the arduous 45-min ride home. See, it's not actually that far, maybe 20 Km at the most, but Jayu mama doesn't drive his little Suzuki compact car any faster than 35 Km/h (about 21 mph). And no I'm not exaggerating. That's not to mention the fact that he takes the long way around to get home. So anyway, we eventually made it home, and I promptly passed out.

I didn't realize exactly how tired I was until I tried to wake up the next morning and failed. After two weeks of non-stop 13-15 hour days, I basically slept the entire day Monday, getting up to bathe, eat, and drink water. I got up at noon for lunch, then again at 8:30 PM for dinner. Quite a day, huh? It was restful and relaxing, though, which was very nice. Shortly after dinner, we went on another 45-min ride back to Akshardham, and after calling my sister to wish her happy birthday, I promptly fell asleep again until 7:30 AM Tuesday morning. Amazing.

More on this family to come later. I'm sure there will be PLENTY of interesting stories about them over the next month-and-a-half.

Pictures

2006-09-15T20:39:00.000+05:30

I've posted a few of the file photos from the Akshardham website onto Flickr so you can see them easily here on the blog. Click the picture in the slide show to read a small caption about it.

A Story of Transformation

2006-09-15T20:04:00.000+05:30

I've gotten to know some really amazing people here in the first few days at Akshardham. Take the story of our dear Nathuram, or "He Nathuramji!!" as we so affectionately call him (gotta imagine that being said with an Indian accent...), one of the aajivan (has volunteered for the remainder of his lifetime without pay) workers here:

Nathuram was born in a small town in Orissa, on the east side of India to a very poor family. They lived in one of the shanty towns and made a very meager living on the day-laborer wages of his father, who under the stress of poverty was an alcoholic and a chronic smoker.

When Nathuram was 15 he left home to go try to strike a living on his own. He'd go from one odd-job to another, and, after picking up heavy drinking and smoking like his father, added stealing to help finance his addictions. He garnered a cut job (a job contracted for a fixed sum but actually pays less b/c the "boss" takes a cut) as a golf-cart driver in an expensive resort for foreigners. He'd pretty regularly steal money out of the purses or bags of the guests, one time lifting $350 (almost one year worth of salary for him at the time) from the purse of a guest he was driving around. He said that weekend he and his friends spent every last bit of it on hookers, drugs, and alcohol.

When Akshardham was opening, they were hiring golf-carts and their drivers so he came to work here. They gave him a place to stay, fair wages (with no cut), and square meals. He said he couldn't believe it when they said they'd pay him Rs. 2800/- per month and actually gave him Rs. 2800/-. He met with Pramukh Swami Maharaj (the current spiritual leader of BAPS), before the inauguration of Akshardham, who apparently told him "not to steal $350, or any sum of money, from anyone, ever again." Nathuram still has no idea how Pramukh Swami knew about that incident. Pramukh Swami went on to tell him that if he needed anything, he was to simply ask, but ask only for what he truly needed. But he swore not to steal ever again. Shortly thereafter, he said he realized he didn't really "need" the alcohol or the tobacco, so it wasn't worth spending his hard-earned money on. Within six months, he had completely quit using drugs, alcohol, and tobacco.

He credits his association with Swaminarayan with changing his life so much that he decided he wanted to work here for the rest of his life, even if only as a golf-cart driver. And since then, that has been his duty.

Two days ago, "in the same golf cart in which [he] used to rob people under their noses," he chauffered APJ Abdul Kalam, the President of India, around the Akshardham complex. Yesterday he drove around Pramukh Swami Maharaj, and later this month he will be the driver for Dr. Manmohan Singh, the Prime Minister.

Rags to spiritual riches.

Interactions with Sadhus

2006-09-15T18:32:00.000+05:30

It takes a bit of explaining to portray the concept of a Sadhu. They are members of a religious holy order, and in this case, of the Bochasanwasi Akshar-Purushottam Sanstha, or BAPS, a sub-sect of the Swaminarayan faith. They are people like you and me who have renounced their worldly attachments to serve God.

For most of my life, the ones I've come in contact with have been sadhus since before I was born. But as I grew up, some were initiated into the ascetic fold after I had gotten to know them as householders. And even more recently, a group of three of them, who received diksha, or initiation into the order, very recently, are only a few years older than me, and were my temple youth group leaders in Houston. One of them graduated from Harvard, one from UT-Austin Plan II, and the other from Georgetown Law School. They've been friends of mine for years, and so it's interesting interacting with them in this new context.

They just left yesterday to go back to Sarangpur, a tiny little town in Gujarat, where they are still continuing their religious studies. That leaves me with their projects they have going here in New Delhi. It's a pretty big load, considering that these guys were some pretty heavy-hitters in terms of ambition in the projects. Hopefully I'll be able to do their work some justice.

On another note, my wallet got stolen. On the bright side, it means I don't have to be so careful about my credit cards anymore while I'm in India. :)

The First Week

2006-09-15T18:02:00.000+05:30

I arrived in India on September 6, 2006. The trip had only two legs this time, thanks to a cheap, new non-stop service by Continental Airlines from Newark, NJ directly to New Delhi. That second leg is 14 long hours, but the seats have those neat personal video screens, and they were showing episodes of House, M.D. and some other crappy movies, so I stayed entertained enough.

New Delhi will be my home until the end of October. I am serving in the P.R. department of a cultural monument built by BAPS Swaminarayan Sanstha, the vaishnavite Hindu sect to which I belong. This monument, called Akshardham, is unbelievable. It is a tribute to the cultural heritage, art, and timeless values of India. I'd attempt to describe it to you, but I still find it hard after being here a week. The main monument is about 13 stories tall, and is almost entirely hand-carved. It has revived the ancient (and almost forgotten) traditional art of temple-building, and has upped the ante in doing so. No structure even close to this magnitude has been built in India in the past 8 centuries. Check out the file photos of the monument, and the carvings from the website - it'll give you an idea of the amazing place where I spend my day.

Needless to say, it's an honor to be serving here. And they keep me busy. As the only native English speaker in the department, I started getting work from day one. In fact, the very day I arrived, I had to interview the Chief Justice of the High Court of Delhi. Talk about no adjustment period. Guests to Akshardham come from all over, though. I've given tours to Australians, Americans, Indians, Iranians, and more. We also don't really get a break, either. Akshardham is open 6 days a week, and we prep for the next week on the one day it's closed (Monday).

On top of being a tour guide, I've been assigned quite a few other projects, too. Much more than can be easily done in 2 months time. Well, we'll see how it goes. This entire complex was built in 5 years. I figure that I should be able to get it listed in the next edition of guidebooks within two months. For those of you who knew how much of a bum I was this past summer, God's going to have me make it up. Fast.

Flashpacking, ver.2.0

2006-09-14T14:58:00.000+05:30

So I fancy myself as an amateur photographer of sorts. At the very least my friends say my photos are decent. Maybe they're lying and trying to get me to waste money by making prints for them. I hope not. Needless to say, I couldn't come to India without taking a single picture, so I've brought along a pretty decent amount of gear for the ride. The term "flashpacker" has been recently coined for those geeks who enjoy backpacking and so take lots of technological stuff with them on their trips. The poster child of this phenomenon is a freelance writer named Lee Gimpel, whom I also thank for his insights on his webpage Passing Through India.

For this particular trip, I've armed myself with the following:

Canon 300D digital SLR. This camera has been my workhorse since I purchased it in 2002. It's taken over 20,000 pictures without a hiccup. I managed to get liquid all over the sensor once, so photos take a little more touching up than usual, but they still turn out well. I should probably invest some money in a proper professional cleaning.

Nikon Coolpix 7900. For all the times I want to put myself in a picture and don't want to frighten the kind soul who has agreed to do so by handing them an SLR. Or for the "out on the town" nights when carrying an SLR really becomes a pain in the ass. This little camera is a trooper. It's been all around the world, and even 140 feet under the sea and hasn't coughed once.

Epson P-2000 Portable Media Player. This might be the coolest new little gadget I have. With 40 GB of portable storage, along with a built in SD and CF (I & II) reader, this is my photo storage solution. It's also my entertainment solution, and is currently loaded with Season 2 of House, M .D., which, YES, I DID PURCHASE.

Motorola L7 SLVR. This quad-band GSM phone will be my link to the outside world. Powered by a Hutch (a Hutchison/ESSAR partner company) prepaid SIMcard loaded with a bunch of rupees and a year of validity (Plans are by rupees here, not minutes, and they expire at the end of a given validity period), this phone is small, lightweight, discrete and provides ample standby time when I've gone a few days in need of a wall-socket.

Jabra bt620s. This stereo bluetooth device (A2DP and AVRCP) will connect to my phone wirelessly and allow me to move around my room wherever I am and leave my phone near the window where I can get the best reception. Turns out most rooms here are walled in thick plaster or cement which, inadvertently tends to make them deadzones for phones. It also lets me connect to my

Apple iPod (3rd Gen.) when using the iMuffs MA110 bluetooth adapter from Wi-Gear that I also brought along. I've got a bunch of songs on here, but as is always, we tend to listen to our favorites over and over again and ignore the others. Who needs 30,000 songs worth of music player space anyway? Hm...

What's that? No laptop? What kind of a wannabe flashpacker am I? Actually, I decided against the laptop because of weight concerns. Even though my laptop, a Dell 700m series ultraportable is lightweight, mine has the same storage space as the Epson, same video playback features, but lacked a CF slot, and weighed about 3 pounds more. And considering that India's becoming the next technology hot-spot, even the small gammadas (villages) are reported to have internet cafes.

With all this gadgetry, we'll see how the travelling goes. I'm looking foward to sharing pictures on this website as well as my Yahoo!Photos site. Keep coming back for updates!

About Katabatics

2006-09-14T13:29:00.000+05:30

Well, I suppose I should explain a little about the name of this site. While some of the story is, in fact, confidential, the name Katabatics.com came into my possession through the industriousness of Mr. Andy Boothe.

Katabatics actually refers to the meteorological term "Katabatic Winds," which are gravity-driven air masses that rush down the sides of mountains. These are commonly found in Antarctica and are known to reach velocities of up to 300 Km/h. These winds plagued Sir Ernest Shackleton in his legendary attempt to reach the South Pole.

Andy insists that it is actually the name of a travelling troupe of acrobatic cats.

We welcome everyone's comments on this pressing debate.

Welcome to Katabatics.com

2006-09-14T12:22:00.000+05:30

Welcome to the weblog Katabatics.com. This site will chronicle my 9 month sojourn through India. First, though, a little bit about me.

My name is Arpit Mahesh Dave, and I am a PIO (Person of Indian Origin), born in College Station, Texas. Having graduated from Rice University in May 2006, I decided to postpone my entry into medical school by one year. For quite some time I have had the feeling that spirituality will play an important role in my life, so I decided to spend this one year exploring those sentiments while traveling. As a born-and-raised Hindu, the destination became rather obvious - India.

And so here I am.

To begin, I find it necessary to engage in some thank-yous. First and foremost to God for having provided me with everything along the way to the realization of this amazing opportunity. I can only hope that for the rest of my life, I will continue to look back and still come to new realizations of His greatness.

Second, to my amazing family for being so understanding and supportive in this venture. In Indian culture its sometimes common to relentlessly push forward in life toward financial independence without really stopping to engage in any self-assessment along the way. I am ever so thankful that my parents have been so open to the idea of sidelining other plans in favor of my personal, spiritual growth. Special thanks to my sister for spending 30 years of her life paving the way for me. Without her wonderful stubbornness, thoughtfulness, and rebelliousness, none of this would likely be possible.

Third, to my fantastic girlfriend, Mary Niemann, whose warmth, love, and support I also can feel across the Atlantic. Thank you. For everything. I love you.

And last, but not even CLOSE to least, my best friend Andy Boothe, whose advice, well-wishes, thoughtfulness, and constant friendship have helped mold me in to the person I am today. Without his help, the chronicling of this journey would like not have taken place. He set this site up for me at a moment's notice, so for anyone that reads this site, you have Andy to thank.

I'm not entirely certain yet what form this site will take, but I hope among its posts about my travels and insights (spiritual, cultural, etc), you might find something worth reading. Even if just to keep posted on me (if it interests your) or to satiate your boredom.

So without further ado, we begin the journey.