India is full of Incredible Moments that are so hard to communicate. Just a few minutes ago a very t
ypical scene unfolded before my eyes. I am walking down a narrow alley, probably five to six feet wide at the most. On both sides of me there are very small businesses, each with a vendor standing in the front of their store inviting me in to buy. I shake my head. "Mah-dam, looking is free. Come in," they all proclaim. I continue walking and step sideways to dodge an enormous pile of cow dung (perhaps he had been constipated?) and then just narrowly miss an oncoming motorcycle who lays on his eardrum-piercing horn to let me know the error of my ways. I hear music. Very loud, though I can't tell which side it's coming from. A group of maybe ten small school kids are coming straight at me. "Namaste!," they all yell at the top of their lungs. "Namaste!" I say in reply with a great big smile. They all look to my blue eyes incredulously, and I to their beautiful mocha skin and joy. The music is getting louder so I stop to see what's going on. I have to step up onto a crude milk crate step that's been placed over a two-foot deep hole in the alley to see. It's a wedding procession, which is a big deal here in India. A drum and trumpet lead the pack, and behind them scores of very well dressed people come with nearly expressionless faces all stepping around the enormous pregnant cow that fills the better part of the alley. 
Then the groom comes. Again, stoic and probably scared to death considering the chances are good that he's met his new wife only once. Behind him, there were some people chanting, and two people were carrying a 10-foot-long lime green cloth flat, and shaking it. It was holding something small, but I couldn't tell what. As they passed I peeked inside, and saw a collection of small items that strangers apparently toss into the collection as good luck for the bride and groom. "Hashish?, someone asks me and stirs me from the moment. "No thanks," I reply and walk away smiling as I pass a Hindu woman lighting incense and leaving a puja on a Shiva temple with three goats waiting for her.
I just emerged from ten not-quite-as-silent-as-they-were-supposed-to-be days studying Buddhism and meditation in Bodhgaya at the Root Institute. It was a very powerful, educational and - most of all - inspirational experience. Definitely something that I want to continue exploring when I get into a regular routine again.
While in Bodhgaya, I spent the better part of three days sitting at the Maha Boddhi Temple located adjacent to the sacred Boddhi tree where the Buddha attained enlightenment. It is the most sacred destination for Buddhists from all over the world, the Buddhist equivalent of St. Peters Basilica. Each day there were pilgrims from at least a dozen countries (probably more) prostrating, meditating and chanting all around the grounds. At each turn, a new song emerged, or a new color of robe. On one afternoon, I sat directly beneath the Boddhi tree waiting for leaves to fall so I could bring a few home. When one did fall, I would race to be the first to get it. It was a hilarious scene as I was in a fierce competition with monks, children, sari-wearing women and other rabid tourists. The level of devotion is positively astonishing, like nothing I have ever witnessed before. The energy is electric, and honestly I could have stayed much longer, just sitting and feeling with the masses.
It is not at all surprising that Buddha's Four Noble Truths were conspired while he was in India. Not surprising because they are all about "suffering". Granted, the Buddha was speaking more of
a dissatisfaction than our Western definition of suffering as pain, but the word is so appropriate when you travel here. So many people in India are really, truly poor. So poor that they don't have food to eat, access to clean water or a proper roof over their head. The faces of the lepers, old people with skin hanging off of their frail bodies and young, starving and very dirty children pull my heart out. And as tourists, we are instructed in every guide book and by everyone we meet to not give money to beggars as it just encourages their habit. It seems suffering is just the way of life for a great majority of India's 1.2 billion people. This country is not for the faint of heart to visit, or clean freaks for that matter.
Garbage is something that has fascinated me since I arrived in India, only because there is so much of it and I've never seen a proper garbage truck or dump. Here in the narrow alley ways of Varanasi people pile up their garbage outside their businesses and a barefoot old man with osteoporosis and a wheelbarrow comes to pick it up. This is, of course, the morning after the sacred cows, stray dogs, monkeys and wild boars have eked out every bit of organic material that they can find. He makes one trip at a time, to a location I can't imagine, though I am certain it is on the side of some road or in front of someone's home.
ypical scene unfolded before my eyes. I am walking down a narrow alley, probably five to six feet wide at the most. On both sides of me there are very small businesses, each with a vendor standing in the front of their store inviting me in to buy. I shake my head. "Mah-dam, looking is free. Come in," they all proclaim. I continue walking and step sideways to dodge an enormous pile of cow dung (perhaps he had been constipated?) and then just narrowly miss an oncoming motorcycle who lays on his eardrum-piercing horn to let me know the error of my ways. I hear music. Very loud, though I can't tell which side it's coming from. A group of maybe ten small school kids are coming straight at me. "Namaste!," they all yell at the top of their lungs. "Namaste!" I say in reply with a great big smile. They all look to my blue eyes incredulously, and I to their beautiful mocha skin and joy. The music is getting louder so I stop to see what's going on. I have to step up onto a crude milk crate step that's been placed over a two-foot deep hole in the alley to see. It's a wedding procession, which is a big deal here in India. A drum and trumpet lead the pack, and behind them scores of very well dressed people come with nearly expressionless faces all stepping around the enormous pregnant cow that fills the better part of the alley. 
Then the groom comes. Again, stoic and probably scared to death considering the chances are good that he's met his new wife only once. Behind him, there were some people chanting, and two people were carrying a 10-foot-long lime green cloth flat, and shaking it. It was holding something small, but I couldn't tell what. As they passed I peeked inside, and saw a collection of small items that strangers apparently toss into the collection as good luck for the bride and groom. "Hashish?, someone asks me and stirs me from the moment. "No thanks," I reply and walk away smiling as I pass a Hindu woman lighting incense and leaving a puja on a Shiva temple with three goats waiting for her. I just emerged from ten not-quite-as-silent-as-they-were-supposed-to-be days studying Buddhism and meditation in Bodhgaya at the Root Institute. It was a very powerful, educational and - most of all - inspirational experience. Definitely something that I want to continue exploring when I get into a regular routine again.
While in Bodhgaya, I spent the better part of three days sitting at the Maha Boddhi Temple located adjacent to the sacred Boddhi tree where the Buddha attained enlightenment. It is the most sacred destination for Buddhists from all over the world, the Buddhist equivalent of St. Peters Basilica. Each day there were pilgrims from at least a dozen countries (probably more) prostrating, meditating and chanting all around the grounds. At each turn, a new song emerged, or a new color of robe. On one afternoon, I sat directly beneath the Boddhi tree waiting for leaves to fall so I could bring a few home. When one did fall, I would race to be the first to get it. It was a hilarious scene as I was in a fierce competition with monks, children, sari-wearing women and other rabid tourists. The level of devotion is positively astonishing, like nothing I have ever witnessed before. The energy is electric, and honestly I could have stayed much longer, just sitting and feeling with the masses.
It is not at all surprising that Buddha's Four Noble Truths were conspired while he was in India. Not surprising because they are all about "suffering". Granted, the Buddha was speaking more of
a dissatisfaction than our Western definition of suffering as pain, but the word is so appropriate when you travel here. So many people in India are really, truly poor. So poor that they don't have food to eat, access to clean water or a proper roof over their head. The faces of the lepers, old people with skin hanging off of their frail bodies and young, starving and very dirty children pull my heart out. And as tourists, we are instructed in every guide book and by everyone we meet to not give money to beggars as it just encourages their habit. It seems suffering is just the way of life for a great majority of India's 1.2 billion people. This country is not for the faint of heart to visit, or clean freaks for that matter.
Garbage is something that has fascinated me since I arrived in India, only because there is so much of it and I've never seen a proper garbage truck or dump. Here in the narrow alley ways of Varanasi people pile up their garbage outside their businesses and a barefoot old man with osteoporosis and a wheelbarrow comes to pick it up. This is, of course, the morning after the sacred cows, stray dogs, monkeys and wild boars have eked out every bit of organic material that they can find. He makes one trip at a time, to a location I can't imagine, though I am certain it is on the side of some road or in front of someone's home.Varanasi is an amazing city, the most sacred for Hindu people. In fact, it's the place where Hindu's come to die so that they can be cremated on the very holy river Ganga. The scene on the river is mind-blowing. Each day, approximately 200 people are put to rest on the shores of the river, and for all to view. It's similar to what I experienced (and also loved) at Pashupatinath in Nepal, but at 100 times the scale. I took a row boat ride a little ways up the river to the "burning" ghat. It was sunset, and the sky was turning from light blue to dark blue, and the moon was rising. There was very loud music coming from an ill-equipped loudspeaker at the ghat, and at least 20 simultaneous cremations taking place with orange fire and smoke rising from each. A cow was placed on a small platform above the fires from which he couldn't move, and I suspect had something squishing his privates, because from the water the screaming moos of this agitated cow echoed constantly and furiously. The fires illuminated the night, and our boat at one point was so close that I could feel the heat of a burning body. It is a tragic, beautiful, and peaceful scene, the likes of which I am not sure any movie producer could ever recreate.
In early February, I took a train from Chennai in the south to Calcutta in the north. Gerdien and I got off the nearly 30-hour train and instantly knew that something had changed. The south and the north really are like two different countries. I had heard it said, but it is true for certain. Off the train, walking on the pedestrian bridge towards the city to spend a 12 hour layover, we descend some stairs into Calcutta's famous Flower Market. It was beautiful, and we were definitely the only westerners in a very crowded and colorful scene.
Calcutta's poverty was unlike any I had seen anywhere in India. Two thirds of Calcutta's estimated 19 million men, women and children live in the city's infamous and enormous slums, with no water or proper sewage. One anonymous quote I found interesting about the city is:
"The people of Calcutta actually love their city and accept the dilapidated living conditions, the lack of space, the lack of clean water, the dirt, the daily power cuts and the extremely crowded public transport with scolding resignation. They regard Calcutta as the most Indian of all cities."
And I close with one of my favorite quotes from Mother Teresa, who has gained an enormous amount of status in my book after seeing this city that she chose to love so faithfully.
"We cannot all do great things, but we can do small things with great love."
With great love,
Pam
In early February, I took a train from Chennai in the south to Calcutta in the north. Gerdien and I got off the nearly 30-hour train and instantly knew that something had changed. The south and the north really are like two different countries. I had heard it said, but it is true for certain. Off the train, walking on the pedestrian bridge towards the city to spend a 12 hour layover, we descend some stairs into Calcutta's famous Flower Market. It was beautiful, and we were definitely the only westerners in a very crowded and colorful scene.
"The people of Calcutta actually love their city and accept the dilapidated living conditions, the lack of space, the lack of clean water, the dirt, the daily power cuts and the extremely crowded public transport with scolding resignation. They regard Calcutta as the most Indian of all cities."
And I close with one of my favorite quotes from Mother Teresa, who has gained an enormous amount of status in my book after seeing this city that she chose to love so faithfully."We cannot all do great things, but we can do small things with great love."
With great love,
Pam
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