Country Boy

I’m flying to the U.S. tonight, after spending my final few days abroad in Khajuraho, Madhya Pradesh.  Khajuraho is best known for its intricate, erotic temple carvings from about 1,000 years ago.  The area contains some of the most famous temple art in the world.  After a few hours of exploring temples, we decided to spend most of our time enjoying the countryside, far from Delhi.  We hiked and biked through villages and country roads, received ayurvedic oil massages, and saw some local dancing.  It was a relatively low-key way to end my time in India, and I was ready for that.  

Pictures:  1) Outside one of Kandariya-Mahadev, the largest temple; 2) Erotic carvings on Kandariya-Mahadev; 3) With water buffalo; 4) Local dance performance.

Final Travels

This week I had a lovely visitor from the States , so we took the opportunity to see two iconic cities: Udaipur (with lakes surrounded by palaces surrounded by mountains)  and Agra (home of the Taj Mahal).   As we were riding in a rickshaw in Udaipur, we saw two cows angrily fighting with each other and locking horns in the middle of the road.  Rather than stop the rickshaw, the driver decided to drive around them as best he could.  This of course led to one cow slamming the other into the side of our rickshaw.  We were fine, and I found the whole thing pretty hysterical – and perhaps the moment that best encapsulates my time in India.

Udaipur is also known as the setting for the James Bond movie Octopussy, a movie that every other hotel screens every night.    It was fairly easy to walk around from the hotel, a small establishment run by a family of artists.  Around the corner was Jagdish Temple, a temple to Vishnu, covered with carvings of elephants, horses, and other Hindu imagery.  Further down the road was City Palace, certainly the largest palace I’ve seen in India.  There were endless activities and exhibits around the palace, and we picked two: the world’s largest collection of Osler crystal (the bed made of crystal may have been a bit much) and a boat ride to Jagmandir Island (containing a small hotel surrounded by stone elephants).  Beyond City Palace, we found the ropeway (cable car) up to Sunset Point, atop fortified walls overlooking the city.   We spent the rest of our time in Udaipur wandering around parks north of the city, which went well until a policeman shunted us off of the main road and wouldn’t allow us to return.  We ended up walking around an area where they appeared to be setting up a carnival.  I’m still not quite clear what happened, but somehow we made it back.   

The Taj Mahal was exceptionally impressive – even hearing everyone talk it up for the last two months didn’t diminish the grandeur.   Flowers in marble relief and in inlaid semi-precious gems cover the walls, as do verses of the Quran, and you need to slip a cover over your shoes (or take shoes off entirely) to even approach the building.  The inside, while amazing, was not very well lit, so we spent most of the time walking around the sides and to the mosque next door.  We also travelled to Agra Fort, a city-sized complex a few kilometers down the road, where the builder of the Taj Mahal was locked away after his son deposed him.  At the end of the day, we had dinner at a rooftop restaurant with a spectacular view of the Taj Mahal, as well as a spectacular number of flies. 

We bookended our travels by touring around Delhi.  The most notable sight was Humayun’s Tomb, a massive 16th-Century Mughal (Islamic) tomb that pre-dates the Taj Mahal.  The red-and-white sandstone building was pretty unforgettable, as were the rigidly-planned gardens that surrounded it.  We also spent some time in Hauz Khas Village, a popular restaurant/bar section of Delhi that sits next the ruins of an ancient madrassa.  Unfortunately after our second outing to Hauz Khas – meeting some friends at a south Indian restaurant – we both become incredibly ill with food poisoning.  (Or “Delhi Belly,” as it’s called here.)  I suppose now I’ve had the full India experience.

For the rest of my time in India I’ll be in Khajuraho, the site of some famous, intricately-carved Hindu temples.  This will likely be my last post, unless I get the chance to put up a few pictures before I head back Thursday.  Thanks for following!

Pictures:  1) Humayun's Tomb, Delhi; 2) City Palace, Udaipur (from Sunset Point); 3) Bagore-ki-Haveli, Udaipur, with the worlds largest turban; 4) Taj Mahal, Agra.

Another Day, Another Supreme Court

Last week, I attended proceedings at the Supreme Court of India, just a few months after my visit to the Supreme Court of the United States.  In the US, the Court heard two cases that day, argued for hours, and placed a high premium on formality.   The India experience was somewhat different.  The Indian courthouse has 15 courtrooms, each of which hears upwards of 50 cases a day.  There are LED boards all over the place, as in a DMV, to tell you what case is up for argument.  The judges dispose of each case in a matter of minutes – usually ruling for a delay or on some other technicality – while scores of advocates (lawyers) pack the courtroom, waiting for their turn.

The big news at the court that day was the dismissal of corruption charges against a state governor.   In their dismissal, the judges insisted that any charges should have come from the state police, which the governor runs, rather than the national police.  Many people at the court were not impressed with the decision.  

Only journalists and advocates can view court proceedings, so a journalist friend got me a pass.  You can spot the journalists because their blackberries are always on their ears.  (All the advocates wore long black robes – not so practical for India – and white bow-ties, and could usually be found smoking in the hallways underneath the “No Smoking” signs.)  At one point in the day, journalist friend had to make a live broadcast, so we walked out to a row of cameras on the front lawn.  He stood silently in the blistering mid-day heat with an earpiece for about 15 minutes, until suddenly, he piped up, “That’s right, and the most interesting thing about this decision is…”  Later he took me to the press lounge, where three of us ate lunch for less than $4 while the journalists gossiped about court politics.  Then they started asking me about the rules of baseball.  Around the time we got to the designated hitter rule, one of them said, “You’re not the right person to ask about this, are you?”

I know this is silly, but perhaps my favorite part of my visit to the court was how they spelled my name on my ID badge: “Jirdab Sanyek Verman.” 

Pictures: 1) The Supreme Court of India; 2) Waiting area for women-only metro car; 3) View from my balcony of horse-drawn fruit carts;  4) My neighborhood in monsoon.  (I haven’t yet caught the neighborhood monkeys on camera.  Next time.)

Why Hello Pakistan

Last weekend, I returned to Punjab – this time to Amritsar, the spiritual center of Sikhism.  Amritsar contains Sikhism’s holiest site: the 18th-century Golden Temple, one of the most beautiful buildings I’ve ever seen.  The temple sits in the middle of a lake, surrounded on all four sides by a wider complex with scholars (engrossed in study) on display behind large windows, holy paintings (including one of a Sikh who cut off his own head), and marching, sword-wielding Sikhs.  There were also a number of Sikh men stripping to their underwear and swimming in the lake.  In order to enter the complex, we had to wash our feet and cover our heads with bandannas.  My mind kept drawing parallels to Judaism's holiest site, the Western Wall in Jerusalem: both have requisite head-covering, both have a proliferation of beards.  But really it’s not at all the same.  Wielding swords, for instance, would probably be a non-starter at the Wall.

We also visited a Hindu pilgrimage site – the Mata Mandir Temple – which is said to grant fertility to Hindu women.  That might explain why many Hindu couples arrived with coconuts (a Hindu fertility symbol), as well as the numerous suggestively-posed statues in the complex.  This was the most decked-out temple I’ve ever seen.  Colored mirrors and jewels covered every inch, and you had to crawl through tunnels and pass through shallow water-ways in order to traverse the grounds.  At the end, a guru in flowing robes placed a garland of orange flowers around my neck.  I’m not sure that that signifies, but I’ll take it.

The highlight of the trip was the India-Pakistan border closing ceremony.  The only border crossing between the countries is about 35 kilometers from Amritsar, and they hold an elaborate event every night at sunset as they lower their flags and close the gate.  (The NY Times covered the event last week: http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/07/03/peacocks-at-sunset/)  I took a taxi from Amritsar, followed by one of the most insanely crowded walks of my life, to end up about 15 meters from the Pakistani border.  The event was an over-the-top patriotic showcase on both sides.  The British guy next to me (we were in the separate foreigners’ section) compared it to a UK soccer match.  In front of us, people lined up to run back and forth with flags of India; women danced in the street as music blared; and border security forces, with fanned hats, performed choreographed high kicks that were quite impressive.  (Their kicks reminded me of the kicks of the evzones – presidential guards – in Greece.  I could watch those guys every day.)  The lowering of the flags was fairly quick, followed by a curt handshake and salute with Pakistani forces.  There was something moving about these countries acknowledging each other in this small way, even if certain members of both forces kept their hands on their guns the whole time.  

I took this video of the end of the event (blink and you'll miss the handshake at the beginning):  

Pictures: 1) Outside Mata Mandir Temple, 2) In front of the Pakistan border, 3) The Golden Temple

How I Learn About India

This past week was one of the busiest of the summer, filled with my first taste of Himalayan food, an Independence Day party at the US Embassy, an 80-cent haircut, and most importantly, Spider-Man!  The new Spider-Man movie, not yet out in the US, is playing in India, so I took full advantage.  We went to a movie theater in a staggeringly upscale mall.  It was quite a transition to go from a rickshaw surrounded by begging street-children to an air-conditioned mall with a coffee-bean and a gourmet food bazaar.

I didn’t travel anywhere this week, so this seems like a good opportunity to write some notes about the office culture here.  I'm going to miss the 1030 and 330 tea breaks in the office, as well as the proliferation of lizards.  (I can’t really write about the work itself.)   Most of what I learn about India I learn from my coworkers: 

·        My host organization works to protect Dalits (also known as “untouchables”) from caste discrimination.  Many of my coworkers are Dalits and have first-hand experience with discrimination.  One told me that university officials refused to let him register for classes.  Another told me that 500 to 600 angry upper-caste villagers surrounded his mother – the only literate woman in her village – when she tried to take water from the village well.  My coworker was 7 years old at the time.  I can see how that might leave an impression on someone.

·         One of my coworkers lives with his parents (very common here) as well as his wife and three-year-old daughter.  I asked him his daughter’s name, and he responded, “She doesn’t have one yet.  I think we should give her one before she starts school.”  Later, he invited me to his home.  As we hurtled in a shared rickshaw along a crowded and dusty Indian street, he leaned over and said, "Don't worry, my place is much nicer than this area."  Then we pulled up in front of his place to find a water buffalo grazing outside.  Sometimes I really love India.  His mother and wife served plates and plates of delicious food (primarily fish and pumpkin dishes) while his daughter, terrified, ran away from me.  I couldn't get them to stop serving food until I realized the pattern: if you don't want more of something, don't finish it.

·         Another coworker brought in his daughter, who is about seven years old.  I told her that she spoke English very well, and she replied, “You’re different than me.  I’m Bengali.”  Then she literally stuck a piece of chocolate in my mouth, so I guess different isn't a problem.

·         Several coworkers asked when I’m getting married – not if, but when, as if everyone has this date on their calendar.  One coworker is engaged, and I asked if it was arraigned or a “love marriage.”  He told me that his marriage is arranged, and he has yet to speak to his fiancée.  I’m curious how that will go.  

·         My coworkers had varying reactions to learning that I’m Jewish.  By far the most common reaction: “Oh, you mean like the movie?  The Ten Commandments?”  I’m also learning some Indian English lingo. “In a family way” = pregnant.  “Fully set” = drunk.       

Pictures: 1) At my desk, with a coworker. 2) US Ambassador to India at the US Embassy.  3)  Independence Day fireworks at the US Embassy.

I Would be a Terrible Celebrity

As I traveled through Jaipur last weekend, a driver told me, “In India, everything is possible.”  It’s true --   as with the rest of India, Jaipur is a fascinating but intense place.  Jaipur is the capital city of Rajasthan, a mountainous desert state in western India.  Other than the pickpocketing – which turned out okay – it was a pretty good weekend:

•       After spending all day in a sleeper train – which was both awkward (I was unable to sit up for five hours) and very nap-conducive – I headed straight to the Pink City.  The maharaja ordered the old city of Jaipur painted pink to welcome the Prince of Wales in 1876, and since then residents are required to maintain the color.  First stop was Hawa Mahal, a five-story beehive-shaped building where royal ladies used to go to view the streets.  It looks larger on the inside than the outside, and it has some amazing views of the city.  Next was Jantar Mantar, an ancient observatory filled with oddly-shaped structures used to measure the stars and sky.   For a while I sat on the lawn in between the structures; it was one of the most unique places I’ve ever seen.
  ·         I linked up with the only other volunteer on my program in India, as I only recently learned of her existence.  We took a rickshaw up to Nahargarh Fort, up on a hill with a spectacular view of the city.  We were some of the only people there, though there were plenty of peacocks, some of whom were engaged in mating dances for their lady-friends.   Afterward we went out for Rajasthani food, which was delicious but hard to identify and very spicy.  I was so grateful when someone brought me curd (yogurt) to counter the spice, I literally blessed him.
  ·         My favorite stop was Amber Fort, another massive fortification outside of the city.  The building was incredibly impressive, with walls covered in mosaics and endless patterns of mirrors, as well as subterranean tunnels running to a neighboring fort.  Were it not for the massive heat, I could have stayed there all day.  Instead I picked an indoor venue: a historical art museum in Albert Hall, in the new city of Jaipur.  The collection was very impressive, but mostly I was happy to be inside.
  ·         Residents would approach me every ten feet and want to be my friend.  Often they weren’t selling something (so far as I could tell), but the intensity of the attention was certainly new.  It felt like the notice a minor celebrity would receive, only now for all foreigners.   The approach was always the same, almost verbatim: “Can I ask you just one question?  Why don’t foreigners like talking to Indians?”  Usually they asked me to tea, but I was also invited to ride on a motorcycle, to play in an elephant village (tempting), and to stay in someone’s home with their family.  It was sweet (I think), but they couldn’t understand why I declined.  (Him: “I get it; you don’t trust me because I’m Indian.”  Me:  “No, I don’t trust you because I don’t know you.  I wouldn’t get on your motorcycle in the States either.”  That didn’t make him any happier.)  Also, everyone wanted to take a picture with me.  My favorite:  “Can I take a picture of you?  Great.  Here, hold my baby.”
  ·         The trip back was mostly uneventful, until someone pickpocketed me on the metro.  After rearranging something in my bag, I almost immediately noticed that my wallet was missing.  Since we were still between metro stops, I knew my wallet was within five feet of me.  I started making a lot of noise, hoping someone saw something.  Fortunately a woman pointed out who lifted the wallet.  I started to frisk him as he stood there impassively.  The woman then pointed out that he dropped the wallet on the ground.  I grabbed it – with everything still inside – but I was pretty on edge afterwards.  He had lifted it out of the side pocket of my jeans – how is that possible?  
  ·         Pictures: 1) Hawa Mahal, 2) Jantar Mantar, 3) Nahargarh Fort, 4) Amber Fort

Punjabi Jordan

For my first field mission with work, I traveled with two colleagues to a small town around Jalandhar, Punjab.  Punjab is the only majority Sikh area in the world.  There was a higher number of turbans than in Delhi -- though not ubiquitous -- as well as impressively high rate of bejeweled daggers per capita.  (Carrying a dagger, called a kirpan, is a requirement of Sikhism.  I heard a recent story about bandits trying to rob a train in Punjab full of Sikh women, unaware that the women all had kirpans strapped to their ankles.  It did not end well for the bandits.)  We stopped at the market in  nearby Ludhiana, where we hired a couple bicycle rickshaws to show us around.  I'm going to go back to Punjab in a few weeks to see the Golden Temple, the holiest site in Sikhism.  

My coworker bragged that our train to Punjab was the fastest in India, which is why I was somewhat surprised when it showed up looking like something from a Buster Keaton movie.  Nonetheless it was a fast ride, and most impressively, they served more food than I've ever seen on a vehicle in my life.  At least four trays of food and three rounds of (non-alcoholic) drinks for a four-hour train.  I think that service is specific to that one train, but still, well done India.

In Punjab we met with an organization that assists bonded laborers -- people who have been forced into slave-like conditions after incurring a debt to their employer.  I spoke with several of the escaped laborers through a translator, and they told me stories about being beaten for attempting to take a sick day and other disturbing incidents.  Bonded labor issues only loosely connect to my actual work assignments (on caste discrimination), but it felt worthwhile to have some first-hand interactions while I'm here.

I explored more of Delhi this week as well – in particular Akshardham Temple, one of the most massive, ornate buildings I’ve ever seen.  (Unfortunately they don't permit cameras.)  Every inch of the building is a stone carving of an elephant or a Hindu deity.  The area surrounding the temple can best be described as a Hindu amusement park.  First there was a boat ride through 10,000 years of Indian history.  (Though as my friend, a Muslim, pointed out, it was a somewhat selective recounting of Indian history).  The boat ride gave India credit for inventing every field from atomic science to plastic surgery, which reminded me of similar claims from my time in Greece.  Next there was a series of animatronics scenes depicting the life of the temple’s spiritual founder, a 19th century swami, in what was probably my first experience receiving spiritual wisdom from a robot.   

Here are some pictures of Punjab (the street with the bricks is outside the bonded laborer organization):

A Few More Photos from the Weekend

Here are a few pictures with actual people in them, all from the first day:

1) Stopping for breakfast on the way out of Delhi

2) Mock fighting at the side of the road

3) Inside the Hindu temple, site of the 1857 revolt

4) Hiking down the mountain to our camp outside Rishikesh

Probably the Only Time I'll Jump Off a Cliff

I just returned from one of the most random, adventurous weekends of my life.  Here are a few highlights (I had to edit this down a lot):

• A friend and I – along with 9 other guys – rented a converted military van (which came with a driver, who stayed with us all weekend) and hit the road for Rishikesh, a town in the Himalayan foothills on the Ganges River.   The trip was supposed to take 6 hours each way, but ended up taking almost 12 due to traffic.  We stopped at a Hindu temple on the way, the site of the 1857 Indian revolt against the British.  The temple rituals were fascinating -- rubbing wood on sandstone until a paste appeared, rubbing that paste on a rock in the middle of an elaborate jeweled shrine to Shiva, and then pouring water over another shrine to honor the sun.  Don't forget to use your right hand.

• Our encampment was below a winding mountain road, about 1.5 km down the mountainside, across a suspension bridge.  It may have been the most isolated spot I've ever visited in my life.  There were a few small homes with some goats and stray cows, as well as dozens and dozens of langurs (monkeys) traipsing across the paths.  We stayed in a row of tents perched above a sandy white beach on the side of the Ganges.  (See pictures.)  Almost as soon as we arrived, I split off with two guys in search of a waterfall about 2 km away.  The waterfall poured into a small rock formation nestled between the hills and was full of Indian tourists.  A lot of my American friends complain about strangers here wanting to take their picture, but oddly, that never happened to me until the waterfall, after I took off my shirt.  I'm not sure what to extrapolate from that.

• While we were at the waterfall, the other guys from our group bathed in the Ganges.  They told me that the Ganges in the mountains is pure enough to drink, which they demonstrated several times.  Moments later, a family set up a large pile of sticks a few meters away and cremated their relative on the banks of the river.  "See that?" I pointed out to my friend, "That's why I don't think the river isn't clean.”   That night we laid on the beach, had some drinks, and stared at the stars, the clearest night sky I've seen since last summer in the Sahara.  My life has been very unpredictable as of late.

• The next morning, after a quick game of beach volleyball, we headed off to rappel down a nearby bridge.  The guide gave a five-minute speech in Hindi explaining in detail how to use the rappelling gear.  My friend then leaned over to me and, by way of translation, said simply, “Be sure to do it properly.”  When I pressed him, he continued: “Use one hand for steering, one for sliding.”  Ah, much clearer.  Once I realized that the guide himself had the power to stop any drop, I felt more comfortable climbing over the railing and leaning backwards off the bridge.  Somehow it all worked out.  Afterwords, we hiked back to the mountain road and hitched a ride with 20 people standing in the back of a pick-up truck.  That may be my most pure-India experience yet.

• At the next beach, we reached the main event: white water rafting!  None of us ever tried that before in our lives, which became readily apparent when six-foot waves crashed into our boat and smacked the sense out of us.  I thought I was headed out of the boat at one point, but somehow I kept it together, even as the waves flung our rafting guide himself from the back of the boat directly onto my head.  It was pretty intense.  I loved it.  The rafting ended with a stop to cliff-jump off a 30-foot rock cliff above the water.  At that point it seemed worth it to test the water; the jump was very much a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

• That night we stopped at an ashram in Haridwar, a holy Hindu city down the river from Rishikesh.   The ashram was full of people meditating in flowing robes, and everyone seemed very friendly and respectful.  It was a change of pace.  We sat on rows of carpets with hundreds of others while staff ladled various mixtures (mostly lentil or potato-based) from tin buckets.  "Don't forget to eat with your hands," one of the guys told me.  I looked at the metal plate and cup in front of me and told him that I didn't see an alternative.  Later, another guy told me that I'm "very adaptable."  That's one of my favorite compliments since I arrived in India.

Acrobats, Pelvic Thrusts, and Other Pieces of Culture

This has been a week full of Indian culture: a play, a concert, a wedding.  The play, on the lawn of the National School of Drama, was called “Old Town.”  I was sold by the impenetrable tagline:  “A Journey to a Time Beyond Time.”  That, and the fact that it was a carnival-themed production with glowing neon backdrops, including a Ferris-wheel manually operated by an acrobat.  And that was about as low-key as it got.  The play was a series of sketches where actors either yelled or sang angrily at each other in Hindi.  One group of actors dressed as marionettes attached to strings, others scrunched up their faces into scary mask-like shapes (apparently a dramatic tradition here), and one woman performed a 20-minute pelvic-thrusting dance that made belly-dancing look like church.  The performance ended with floating lanterns released into the sky, which was pretty amazing.  You never knew what was coming next.  Two lines of the production were in English, but they didn't make the story any clearer: "I can see the darkness from the back of the room.  You are my best friend."   Afterwards we went out for flavored milk and kathi rolls (kind of like an Indian burrito).  I loved the sign at the kathi roll restaurant:  "No racial, religious, regional discrimination, apartheid, or outside food allowed."  All important, I suppose.

The concert, a few nights later, was outside of the massive India Habitat Centre.  I think the event  was to support cleaning up the Yamuna River in Delhi, but the speakers were so vague ("we’re doing great work") that it took us some time to figure out the theme.  They showed several videos before the concert including, most confusingly, music videos of the band (while the band stood on stage and watched quietly).  Eventually the band itself played -- see picture -- music described as a fusion of “Indian folk and classical music with Western influences of reggae, and rock n roll."  The music was bouncy and upbeat, occasionally teetering on the edge of cheesy.    It was fun but so hot and crowded that we had to leave for an air-conditioned bar.  (Of course, the bar kept losing power – but that's to be expected here.)

Lastly, I attended the wedding reception of my co-worker’s son.  It was fairly low-key, as these things go, with less than 100 people in a hotel reception hall.   Everyone greeted the family, took some pictures, and sat in long rows of chairs along the sides of the room.   There were several hallmarks of a traditional Indian wedding: the dresses were amazingly ornate – see picture of bride and groom – and hotel staff served tray after tray of all sorts of hard-to-identify food (most of which I couldn't eat, sadly) and drink, which is how I ended up accidentally sipping buttermilk.

 

An Imam and a Swami Walk Into a…

Last year, I spent the holiday of Shavout at a Jerusalem yeshiva (religious school).  We studied all night long, and in the morning we watched the sunrise over the city from the Tayellet (promenade).  This year was somewhat different:

The Delhi synagogue is a tucked away but decent-sized structure that thankfully wasn’t hard to find.  On the front they painted a long list of donors, including families who donated 100 INR (about $2) or more.  I arrived on time, so I was the first Jew to arrive, other than the community leader.  (He’s the closest they have to a rabbi.)  He introduced me around to the non-Jewish guests, including a pastor and his family, and asked me to explain Shavuout to them.  Then they asked me a series of follow up questions, including, “I hear the Jews are the best people in the world.  All rich.”  (I wasn’t clear on the question.)   After others arrived – a good 30 people or so – the leader asked me to join him at the podium.   (He also invited me to his daughter’s wedding.  Nice guy.)  He then chanted a Hebrew psalm that I’d never seen and pointed at me to keep reading.  I tried to chant in the same Sephardic melody, but it didn’t quite work and was one of the more awkward moments since I arrived here.  (And I’ve had plenty of awkward moments.)  I stood up there quietly for the rest of the service, as he led us in what appeared to be the Sephardic weekday evening service.  I guess you use the books you have.  There was also a small Kiddush afterward, where I tried many new Indian foods, including something that looked like cake but was wet and tasted like sour milk.  That was a surprise.

An amazingly diverse group of people showed up, including a 92-year-old man who fought in seven wars since World War II.  He was particularly proud of his role in the Bangladesh Liberation War.  The most surreal moment was in the middle of the services when an imam and a swami walked in to visit, both decked out in full religious gear.  It might take a while before any sight in shul matches up to that of watching a swami following along with “Adon Olam.”

How Bazaar

I’ve been trying to ease into India, but this past week I managed to see two very famous Indian cultural sites.  They were two very intense experiences.   Both were amazing, but after the second one, I may need a break for a while:

1) Chandni Chowk is a labyrinthine bazaar in Old Delhi, and it’s so much fun.  (See picture.)  It’s packed and pushy, but you can find everything on sale from chickens and goats to jewelry and clothes to every kind of halal meat.  (There were also cows wandering around, but not on sale.)   The streets were filled with fruit carts, tons and tons of pedestrians, bicycle rickshaws, and motorcycles.  (Because of course you would drive a motorcycle through a teeming bazaar.)  I bought lychees and mangos – the best mangos of my life.  Maybe they’re just the first thing I’ve eaten that wasn’t spicy, but they were pretty amazing.  I had a different variety of mango today, and an Indian friend showed me how to mush up the fruit inside the peel and suck it out the top.  I feel very authentic now.

While in Chandni Chowk, we took a bicycle rickshaw to Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India.   The emperor who built the Taj Mahal also built this mosque in the 17th century, and it fits about 25,000 worshippers.   They overcharge foreigners for entering (about 10 times the rate as for a native Indian), but it was worth it; in most other countries I haven’t been allowed to enter mosques at all.  We had an incredible sunset view of the red fortress walls of Old Delhi, and it was fun to stroll around  the grounds with bare feet (see other picture). 

2)  Last night, I traveled through another crowded bazaar to see the legendary Sufi singing of prayers – called Qawwali – at a temple called Nizmuddin Dargah.  Locating the temple was an adventure.  After traveling to another part of the city, you have to get sucked into a very narrow bazaar and hope that you end up going the right way.  The sea of people pushed me along, and I knew I was close once a series of Sufi men told me I had to take off my shoes (as is the custom when entering the Dargah).    They took my shoes and tried to give me plates of ritual flowers.  I wasn’t entirely clear what was going on, so I eventually doubled back through the bazaar to rescue my shoes.  (My feet are still pretty disgusting though. )  Fortunately in doing so I also met some Brazilian travelers, and we braced the Dargah together.   The Dargah was the most crowded I’ve ever felt in my life, and an absurd number of people came up to talk to me and try to be my friend.   We stayed for the beginning of singing, which was quite beautiful, but the room was so overwhelming it was hard to feel very spiritual.  I lasted longer than the girls, but after all the beggars honed in on me and literally wouldn’t stop poking me, I decided it was time to go as well.  Maybe I’ll try it again sometime; I’d like to try to see more of the music.   

We Really Are the Heart of It All

I can tell you the exact moment it hit me that I’m living in India.  In my first few days here, I was so focused on logistics that the larger sense that I was on the other side of the world somehow eluded me.  But yesterday, sitting with a friend under an arch of a thirteenth-century madrasa, overlooking a giant medieval royal water reservoir, and watching exotic birds and Indian families pass by, it suddenly registered.  I am on the other side of the world.  When did that happen?

Of course, the other side of the world isn’t quite out of the reach of my family.  I went out to dinner the other night with my roommate and some of her colleagues.  At one point I mentioned that I was from Ohio, and her colleague from Nepal told me that he went to school at Kenyon.   I was surprised to hear familiarity with Ohio, but I casually mentioned that my sister went to Kenyon as well.  “Oh, Stephanie?  Of course, we lived in the same dorm freshman year!”  Life is weird.

Namaste

Welcome to Indian Jordan, the newest version of my travel blog.  (Putting Buddha’s face in the background may be a bit ambitious, but I liked the layout.)  I just moved to Delhi for a 10-week stint at a local NGO, and today is my second full day in the country.  Already this place is unlike anywhere I’ve ever traveled.  It’s dusty, hot, and crowded, but it all seems to function in some form or another.  The “supermarket” down the block is basically piles of cookies and juices in a dusty corner, next to small statues of the Hindu god Ganesh.  Around my apartment, there are vendors selling fruit from horse-drawn carts, women carrying bushels of rocks on their head (to a construction project), feral dogs running all over the place (and curling up in front of my door), and motorcycles and cars driving in both directions down small paths that were not meant to be two-way streets.  Cars drive on the left here, like in the UK – though in my neighborhood, it’s kind of hard to tell.

My apartment here is about the same level as my Israeli apartment.  It’s on the second floor across from a small market, so there is a lot of noise during the day.  (It’s immediately across from a place where they only sell varieties of packets of milk.  I’m still figuring out how it works, though I do know you have to boil the milk before you can drink it.)  Our kitchen is little more than a sink and a plug-in gas stovetop, but the maid does most of the cooking anyway.  That’s right, we have a maid who comes every day to cook, clean, and call me “sir" (and my roommate "madam").   I wasn’t looking to have a maid, but everyone assures me that this is common practice here.  She does make fantastic Indian cuisine.   (Side note: every time I say “Indian,” I want to correct myself and say “Native American.”  I imagine I’ll get over that soon.)