Chasing Butterflies

I was instantly cured the moment I set foot in Mussoorie. Sometimes moving on is better than giving a place a chance; Mussoorie is much more my style. I caught my first glimpse of the Himalayas today and they are breathtaking; they leave you feeling small, insignificant, and in total awe.

I visited the school, Woodstock, where my grandfather (whom I never met) studied and eventually taught. While on my tour of the school, the librarian, dressed in a beautiful sari asked me, "what has taken you so long to get here?" I just smiled and shrugged.

Woodstock is a boarding school, now for middle and high schoolers, in a gorgeous location at the top of a mountain overlooking basmati rice fields and countless peaks and valleys as far as you can see. The school is known for its music program and as you enter the main gate you are greeted with the song of violins, guitars and pianos - or at least I was lucky enough to have come at the right moment. It's an american school, so the students can take sciences along with humanities, which is often not allowed in India's 'streaming' programs that allow only science for science students and only humanities for humanities students (maybe that's why I'm so scatterbrained).

When in the alumni office, I met a girl who had graduated in '09 and missed the school so much, she came back to show a friend who she was now studying with at college in Mumbai. Kajoli, who was so enthusiastic about her time at Woodstock, could only go on and on about her days at Woodstock and how much she learned from her few short years there. We walked up to the spot where all the students hang out and had lunch while Richa joked that Woodstock was all Kajoli talked about. Kajoli countered with, "well did you disect a goat brain AND then write a thesis statement in the same day??" I can only hope that my grandfather was blessed with a student as eager and playful as Kajoli.

It was very emotional to walk down the streets wondering if he had been moved by the same view of the mountains when he lived there. Or whether he knew the parents and grand parents of the people I was meeting in the shops. And of course what he was like. His picture is on the wall of the brand new gym from 1941 when he taught baseball and hockey. The yearbook said he was 'good-natured and witty', although he looks very serious and pensive in every photo. It's very difficult to think of this man as my grandfather, as he is perpetually young in my mind.

A nice woman in the alumni office emailed some students who may have had him as a teacher. It would be really neat to hear more about him. But for now, I am moving on. Tonight I take a night train to Amritsar, but Mussoorie has moved me deeply. I now know why he chose this place.

Searching...

I'm in Rishikesh at the moment (another holy city, but this one is in the foothills of the Himalayas), and it seems like everyone else has a purpose here. The other tourists (they seem to outnumber the locals) walk down the street with their yoga mats hanging off their shoulders. Some live in the cafes, smoking endless cigarettes and painting psychedelic pictures on the walls while the vibration from the trans music permeates the room.

I feel like I'm walking around this city in a bubble. I haven't found 'Indian' clothes that fit me properly - you can guess why - and so I'm still in T-shirts and jeans. Others are wearing salwar kameez (dresses with pants underneath) and other pretty tops that I'm not able to fit into. Many have been here for months meditating and doing yoga and learning the sitar. I just feel like I'm in this gorgeous place with a beautifully green river surrounded by mountains and yet I can't fully appreciate it with all these tourists. But I am one of them. Maybe I'm just jealous that they have a purpose and are fulfilling their goals. Why can I not be satisfied with my own path?

Pathway to Nirvana

Today was my first full day in the Hindu holy city of Varanasi. This is where Hindus from all over India make a pilgrimage to be blessed by the holy water of the Ganges River and visit a temple in this magical city.

First, I went to the Golden Temple, which I think is the most amazing temple I've ever been in. It's an open air temple with white marble floors and there's water gushing everywhere flooding barefeet with flower petals and leaves and other offerings that have been washed off shrines of Vishnu and Parvati. Upon entering the main room you're pushed (there are sooo many people who have come to visit this place) through to the ultimate shrine which people are dousing with milk (cow's are holy) and flowers. You are supposed to touch the shrine (essentially Vishnu's penis) and then touch your face. As you leave your feet are covered with milk and flowers and then a kind man washes your feet with a hose.

When I left this temple, I was sure the day couldn't get any more spiritual. But as I was walking the river bank, I came to the burning ghat (where they cremate people who have died here), and was overwhelmed with emotion. You are not allowed to take pictures in this area, so all I have are words to describe what happens here. The first thing I noticed were the piles and piles of wood - piled higher than the rooftops. Then my eyes caught sight of burning wood piles in rows overlooking the Ganges. And finally I saw a body draped in gold fabric sitting atop a pile of wood. I stood there for a long while lost in a trance. There was a baby wailing and a cow groaning loudly. Otherwise just the crackling of the burning wood piles that had been left to burn long after the corpse was dirt....Then a man dressed in white approached the golden-draped body with a flame and circled a few times before lighting the pile of wood while others seemed to pay little attention. He said a few words and then just let the body burn. I cannot describe what it was like to watch a human set alight. I realize that we cremate people all the time, but I guess I thought it would be more sterile or private. The buildings surrounding this ghat looked very run down with just cement blocks and no windows or doors. I was told that this is where Hindus come to wait to die when they have no family. They just have to pay for the wood.

It is said that if you die in Varanasi then you will attain instant nirvana. I pondered nirvana as I passed this ghat and an ash flew into my mouth...

There's always room for one more in India...

I took a local train from Orchha to Khajuraho today. I was slightly skeptical when they charged me 24 rupees (a little more than 50 cents) for a five-hour journey, but I realized why my ticket was so cheap as I stepped onto the train. Well, I couldn't. There were people, men, women, children and luggage everywhere. The seats were clearly marked three to a row, and I counted at least six people in each row. Not to mention on the floor. And on the luggage racks. I'm not kidding. Grown men were sitting up in the luggage racks.

I knew there was no way I was going to fit. (Me and my pack take up quite a bit of room). But Indians are generous with their space and eventually there was a spot in the luggage racks for my pack. A man kept asking me to sit with him, but I couldn't imagine an arm fitting in the space next to him that he was tapping. I looked at him puzzled and settled in on the floor. After a few stops an older man near the window gave me his seat and somehow squeezed in effortlessly with the rest of the people on the row across from the window seat. I have no idea how they do it.

Once in a real seat, I was able to observe. The farmers coming through each car selling their goods, the blind beggars, the children and of course the men who constantly stare at me. But I must say that Indian children are the most precious little people. This little girl came up to me with some rock candy and then hid in her moms sari. After about an hour, as I was gazing out the window, she hopped up into my lap and we spent the rest of the ride together. She played with my sunglasses and sang to me in Hindi and we laughed and her silliness. It's these little magical moments that keep me going after a day of haggling with drivers and shop keepers. And for once, I was grateful there was room for one more.

Thank you Delhi

I've spent the past week in Delhi and absolutely loved it. Even after all the research I did, I have been surprised every day. Again, I guess that's why you go to a place instead of just read about it; but the more I learn about India, the more fascinated I am.

First off, the head nod. I was under the impression that every Indian would be bobbing their heads back and forth when they walked into a room or wanted to part ways. When I arrived, two friends I had met through couch surfing claimed I had a better head nod than them - Anyone who has seen my mock nod knows it's pathetic. But they really couldn't do it!!! It was so funny watching them awkwardly wobble their heads back and forth. I'll never forget my first nod. I was walking through a park and went to a dead end on the concrete and needed to step on the beautifully manicured grass in order to get to where I needed to be, but just as I put my foot out, I spotted an officer (with a big gun) watching me with a very stern look on his face. I smiled and tried to gesture that I needed to get out of the park and there it was: a quick, fluid wobble of the head and then a flash of pearly whites.

Another of the first couple surprises was that nice, friendly Delhiites would frown or grunt after I thanked them for their kindness. When I asked a guy I met at a restaurant the reason for this, he explained that Indians don't say 'thank you'. They believe in Karma and if they do good it lifts them higher toward their heaven, but if someone thanks them for the good that they've done, then it neutralizes the good deed and cancels out their good karma. I've witnessed many times after people asking for directions and wanting to know something and I've never heard a thank you. Just that wonderful head nod or they simply speed off. That's gonna take some getting used to for me.

In general, I just can't believe how enchanting this place is. The women walking around in their gorgeous saris and the babies with black eye liner under their eyes (apparently it's good for their eyes) and the ruins at every intersection, the smiles, and the religion. Oh the religion is everywhere! One minute I'm at a mosque witnessing people washing their feet and a loud speaker is blaring chants and the next minute I'm in a shop being blessed by a boy walking by accepting offerings for some Hindu god. Right this moment a man is behind me with incense (I'm allergic), reading out of a book and praying. My nose is running, but I'm in heaven. I love how people who are so passionate and diligent with their beliefs can be tolerant of another and live in such proximity. On my way to the Baha'i House of Worship two days ago, my driver said he was Hindu, but "when I cut, what color do I bleed? A Muslim doesn't bleed yellow or blue."

As for the difficult bit about traveling, well that's been pretty predictable. The tuk tuk drivers see a single, white woman and start salivating at the potential for inflation. Getting around is not as straight forward as hailing down a cab. The other day three rickshaw drivers told me they wouldn't take me where I wanted to go. I later had a police man flag one down and realized it was because it was too close - not worth their time - but I had walked all day with a pack and still had to cross three major highways before getting to the metro station....But I knew this was all in the cards. I realize everyone wants my money, but at least Indians have a good sense of humor about it. Today, on my way from the train station in Agra to my guest house I told the driver I didn't want to go anywhere other than my guest house. He said, "Madam, Where else would I take you? Yes, some drivers do that, but we are not all bad drivers. Everyone is not the same." Although afterward he stayed in my hostel for 20 minutes trying to persuade me to hire him for the rest of the day for a ridiculous price.

Regardless, the random acts of kindness far outway the nuisances that I have encountered thus far. Thank you Delhi...I mean....See you soon...