Lend your ears to music, open your eyes to painting, and stop thinking! Just ask yourself whether the work has enabled you to "walk about" into a hitherto unknown world. If the answer is yes, what more do you want?
-Kandinsky 1910
Because it's monsoon season, a lot of the women in Khaniyara have obligations and can't make it to english lessons. Working in rice fields, working construction, or tending to needs at home, our group has dwindled to just a few. Thankfully, Rama, Pooja, and Manju just started classes at the college-so at least they're missing lessons for educational purposes. My time at work has been devoted to helping Jitender write a grant for a library for the women's group and just simply conversing with my friends. We've spent lots of quality time sitting around laughing, playing games, talking, and drinking lots and lots of tea.
My weekend was spent in Mcleod, studying Dharma and doing meditational retreat. How wonderful is it to engross onself in the most peaceful way of life. It's an education, not a religion, say the Tibetan Monks. It's devotion to make oneself a better person-to rid oneself of the suffering of samsara to help both you and others. Tibetan Buddhism is not what I thought it was. It's not the publicized, appealing religion it has become in the west. It's just a wonderful way of living a life of introspection, meditation, peace, and compassion.
Brittany and I ran into a certain special monk 3 times this weekend in various random places in both upper and lower Dharamsala. We sat next to him at a cafe on the Dalai Lama's birthday, then saw him in Katwali, and I saw him again at the Tibetan library. It has been so serendipitous and wonderful. I find myself looking for his face amid the packs of red robes in the streets. But when you look for something it's never there. I know this-but just can't help myself when it comes to our little, peppy friend.
Our cook, Rakesh, had an interesting conversation with me after dinner tonight. He claims to hate the Tibetans. They come to not only Mcleod, but all over the country. Their markets are everywhere, and the Europeans and Americans support them heavily (it's true). They are living lazy, prosperous lives and you can definitely see the difference. Many Indians work their asses off (like Rakesh) and can't afford not only the designer clothes, but cars and bikes and standards of living. Too much of India is in state of extreme poverty. India is complex as it is, and now over 10 million Tibetans are residing in their land, sharing in their limited prosperity. The Buddhas bring tourism and peace and a spiritual essence that neither Rakesh or India itself can dispute. Siddhartha was, after all, an Indian prince. But doesn't India have to worry about India now? With Tibetan exiles comes Chinese agitation-and we Americans know it's not good to piss off the Chinese. Who doesn't need China to survive these days?
Cross-cultural communications. It's funny-I'm in a cross-cultural country: filled with Muslims, Sikhs, Christians, Jains, Hindus, and Buddhists, that come from a history of British oppression and influence. Yet no matter how well you coexist, your cultures are different. Communicate you may, be in the end, Christian ideals are Christian ideals and a Muslim concept of righteousness is one that begs to differ. One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter, yea? Aren't we all just fighting for our own perspective of what's right? Am I right by drawing the conclusion that nobody here is fighting for immorality and wrongdoing?
We all want happiness and prosperity. At least we can say we're all the same in that.
my next blog post will start with public hospitals in India. And how I would debatably rather die in a rat-infested sewer than the place that this dear friend of mine had to spend an evening hooked up to a dirty IV with sleeping doctors and nurses (Daniella and I have been playing doctor all day, and we are fairly certain she has a parasite and none of the 6 prescriptions she left the hospital with are the least bit advantageous).
I talked politics and peace with a young Israeli man for about an hour at Cafe Krishna. He grew up on a kibbutz and worked with just as many Arabs as Jews. People back home call him Arab Lover. He just claims to want a resolution. There are more good Arabs than bad Arabs-just like there are more good anything/anyone than bad. "Truth? What is truth? There is no truth-only two sides," he says. "Always two sides." I think there's only personal perspective. And that is always changing-sometimes in an educated, worldly way. And sometimes in a prejudiced, ignorant one. I think there's just perspective.
An Indian man talked to Brittany and I at another cafe. You could tell he hadn't talked to anyone in a while-he was very jittery and anxioius. He was doing one of the most intense 10-day meditation retreats up in Dharamkat and had to drop out after 5 days. He said it was the most amazing experience of his life. That it was life-changing. He feels like a completely different person. But it was so intense with such little sleep and such intense passive meditation that he started to go a little crazy and feared he'd become schizophrenic and lose himself!
They say at the end of this retreat, you are capable of touching nirvana. It changes you forever. It makes me want to pick up and leave my volunteer group for some selfish nirvana-bound Me Time.
I'm enjoying the company of the CCS staff, now that all of our friends have left and it's just me, Daniella, Brittany, and a whole new group of people that I have neither the time nor desire to form relationships with. I have some cool friends in Mcleod and plan on spending my weekend with them in the clouds!
My advisor, Anil, is an amazing Indian man. His humor is so dry and so great. And at the same time, he is 100% passionate about what he does. He is a good man. As are the other men that work for us. Fact: There are more good Indian men than bad ones.
I am realizing just how attached I've become to so many beautiful ways here. I'm going to try my hardest to bring the best ones home. East Asia is so spiritually advanced. They have a spiritual foundation and a deep trust rather than a faith. They don't believe, they practice. They do yoga and they meditate. Much of their "religion" is not religious at all. You needn't use the word God.o many things are technique, practice, and feeling-based. It's so real. It's so fantastically beautiful!
Today Brittany and I did mindi and layed around with Reeta, Arti, Inder, and Jitender. Nobody showed up for english lessons today, so we just played Minimum (the only and only card game Indians play) ate Kheer, drank Chai, and were 6 lazy friends for a few hours.I've been attacking books left and right. Right now, I'm reading a great book on Buddhism in the new age by a wonderfully insightful monk. I love when you can hear someone's voice through their words. I love getting to know someone through their words.
I hope you can hear my voice when I write. That would be nice.
Namaste
July 4th in India consisted of watching Bollywood films in the rain and making falafel with Apurvi and Mariam for dinner. Rakesh and our other Indian men truly enjoyed our Greek feast-Apurvi says she knows when Jeetu and Rakesh like something because they'll take seconds-and huge portions at that.
We then proceeded to throw ourselves a July 4th party on the balcony with makeshift fireworks thanks to the ever-so-magical itunes equalizer. I played the Star Spangled Banner on my guitar and we screamed it from our Indian rooftop. It really was a fantastic, unconventional Independence Day.
We woke up Monday morning to find out the gas prices had raised and all of the drivers in Dharamsala were striking. Nobody went to work. We hiked about an hour up to a beautiful little temple to start the day and came home around lunchtime to find 13 new people (mostly army dudes) in our house. Home-base is very overwhelming. Therefore, we have constantly been escaping.
Indian and Tibetan men swoon over Brittany-therefore..we called her personal driver and the five of us escaped to our favorite places in Mcleod. We went to our favorite vegetarian restaurant, got REAL coffee (a necessity when you drink INSTANT coffee at home), did some shopping, and made a stop in His Holiness's temple. Every Tibetan in Mcleod was in a great mood-The Dalai Lama would be coming tomorrow for his 75th birthday celebration. The temple was decked out in banners, chairs, and roped off sections. There was something in the air-an excitement as if every single Tibetan in this land was turning the grand age of 75.
Brittany is volunteering at an adorable little cafe that is a completely non-profit organization that helps Tibetans in need of work. Their tea is horribly sweet and served in the tall glass mugs that kill your hands (why do they do this in India??) but the people are wonderful, they sell beautiful hand-sewn work, and they have the best baked goods in the Himalayas. They also have some rad speakers and the cute Tibetan boy working with Brittany asked me to put my music on because his ipod had died. Luckily, Anita and Apurvi swoon over my tunes and are begging me to start a music blog when I leave, so this went over well with the crowd. We hardcore jammed in this tiny tiny cafe to Andrew Bird, Broken Social Scene, and Pretty Lights. So I chowed down on banana crisp crumbs (provided by Brittany after she took a load out of the oven) with 5 of my best friends in India as the sun went down, talking with the enthusiastic Tibetans about the day to come, and thinking that this one of the priceless aspects of Dharamsala.
July 6, 2010
Brittany and I woke up early (despite my late night Mindi session and second half of a Bollywood film). In the pouring rain, we came back to the temple for His Holiness's birthday party. They wouldn't let us bring ANY electronics into the temple (we usually can). All the westerners were running around trying to find places to store their things. We ended up leaving our stuff behind a hotel lobby desk and running to the temple with our umbrellas. IT WAS CRAZY. We were jam packed into the temple with hundreds of Tibetan monks and the occasional white traveler. Somehow, we ran into a friend from California who we watch the world cup games with at our rooftop hot spot. He's here to interview lamas about lucid dreaming, but having very little luck documenting their secretive ways.
Anyways, the temple is packed. Everyone is pushing (even the cute little monks). It's crazy. Everyone is soaking wet, everyone is getting poked in the face with umbrellas, and we are packed like sardines. SOMEHOW, we make it directly across from the Dalai Lama himself. And when I say directly across-I mean that if I had a clear path in front of me, I could have easily made it to him in less than 10 seconds-most definitely less distance than a 50 yard dash. We watched him sit in his chair accepting gifts, listening to speakers, and smiling with his cute face and large, overpowering glasses. It was fantastic.
We've been coffee shop hopping all day and walking from Mcleod to Bhaksu to Dharamkat...it's been beautiful despite the rain. And quiet despite the ruckus of His birthday.
I've been working on some panoramics and will dedicate my next post to photo projects.
I blogged for the entire weekend, but due to the technical difficulties that come with being in India, I have lost all posts that should have been posted. So, here we go.
I started my weekend with lunch at Abilasha's (a woman from our women's group) house. It is always wonderful stepping into a new Indian home. Each home is so different-in both physical and internal structure. Abilasha is in her late 20s and is educated, beautiful, sweet, and very talented. She graduated university with degrees in Political Science and Music. She comes from a good family and lives with her mother, brother, and sister-in-law. A woman like her back home in the states, would be what most would consider 'a catch'. Abilasha is not thinking about marriage and does not desire it. An arranged marriage and a loss of herself defies everything she's made for herself thus far.
I can't help but feel nothing but anger when I imagine the many women in America who don't take full advantage of their opportunities and rights. To be an educated, successful woman does not mean that that is all you can be. You can be an educated, successful wife, mother, doctor, boss, and entrepreneur all together. Here, (or at least in the small town of Khaniyara) I fear you must choose between housewife to a man chosen for you, or a life of educated independence.
My weekened was spent in the clouds-well, in McLeod anyways. Our new Australian friends Tom and Michelle told us about a great meditation center in Dharamkat, and Mariam and I spent our Saturday morning there. We then hiked, ate, and roamed the mountains with some dear CCS friends for the rest of our day off. At night we'd go to our favorite rooftop scene where people of all nationalities gather to watch the world cup games on one small flatscreen tv-a tv whose power goes out every 25/30 minutes. And each time this happens, we gather for an assembled moan of frustration. Sometimes the power would come back on and Germany would have scored. Or the Netherlands would have scored. And the whole roof would be screaming.
When I say there's every type of person there, it really is the most diverse group of individuals I've been a part of. French people who only speak French, Tibetan monks, dirty European hippies from e-v-e-r-y-where, Australians, Afghanis, Americans. And when we're not watching the games, we're intermingling, smoking hookah together, and sharing ourselves with one another.
Ev and I gained an Afghani friend this weekend who, in his late 20s, has traveled everywhere and has a wonderful outlook on the world at large. He, just like many of the people I've come across, travels to a country and lives there for many months at a time. Unlike the typical American traveler, people from other countries throughout the world are living, observing, and engrossing themselves in the unknown and unfamiliar. Too many people from my own country (myself included) take a bite out of the unfamiliar. But we all know that if you eat the top layer of a lasagna (or a mexican dip or an ice cream cake or any layered dish for that matter) and then judge it upon your nibble, it will most certainly be an unfair judgement. The people I've met here will eat the whole thing-whether they like it or not-so that they can understand it. And this, to me, is not only admirable-but it's the only possible way to live life to its fullest.
We must see the world to understand it. We must communicate in order to understand one another. See one another's roots, one another's lands, political structures, cultural norms. And when you welcome someone into ur world (or are welcomed into theirs) you'll see that at our core we are all the same, basic people. We have the same emotions and the same desires. We may fear different things and find happiness and laughter in the things that very well may make others cry. But that doesn't change the fact that we are all filled with love and desire to obtain it for as long as humanly possible.
So, I've been pretty sick for a good 5 days now. It's a combination of stomach problems that don't allow me to eat anything besides toast and bananas and a fever, cold, and the voice of a cowboy dying of lung failure. If I stray from the diet, it's a bad bad day for Erika's stomach. I also laid in bed all day in misery until the current time: 4:50 p.m. I had some extremely trippy dreams all day long, but in the end, I don't think I have a fever anymore. And I haven't talked to anyone, but I have a feeling I no longer sound like such a cowboy.
Tomorrow will be friday and will mark my 21st day in India. This week has been interesting-I've only had one woman from my group show up each day for class. I truly get to see how much they know/do not know when the others (especially Arti) are not there and shouting out the answers.
The women often times don't realize I'm asking a question:
Betty and John (go) to the market last Saturday.
..."So, for example-is it They go? or They went?"
"Yes," has been a common response this week.
Frustrating. Hard to help them understand. Someone has taught these women complex vocabulary but has not explained punctuation, prepositions, or verb tenses.
I am seeing improvements. But every day I must also give up and move on to something else if our language barrier hits a wall- And this is the most frustrating part of my job.
The women threw a birthday party for Brittany on Tuesday, where we ate pakora and bhaksu cake. The women sang and danced and gave Brittany simple, but very beautiful presents. It was nice. The women wanted to throw this party for Brittany since they don't get to celebrate their own birthdays here-only men's.
This week, no matter how frustrating, still leads me to worthwhile conclusions. No matter who we are, where we are from, or the opportunities that we are given, we are all the same deep in our core. I see my women nervous about something whether it's their college entrance exams, their children's health, or the way the other women in the group accept them. Everyone wants to be loved-to share their love. We are always wanting something more in our lives, and we all have our immaturities that become apparent to others-This is just a part of being human. We are imperfect. We are always changing. We are always growing.
8 people left the CCS house this week. With the few of us that are left, the dynamics of the house have changed drastically. It's quiet, people are going off and doing what they want to do and not what everyone else is doing, and when I'm sick, I get to sleep until 4:50 p.m. without loud interruption.
We ride out of the mountains, down the spiraling, sharp streets of the Himalayas and west to the border of India and Pakistan. Our final destination: Hotel Indus in Armritsar, about 50 paces across the street from the most sacred Sikh temple in existence, The Golden Temple.
Standing in that golden temple (and when I say golden temple, I mean the thing is made of GOLD) in my headscarf at 3 a.m. with a full moon screaming its powerful existence, I feel something I have only felt a few times in my life. The beautiful marble pillars surrounding the temple are crowded with people: Sikhs praying, meditating, and standing in line to enter the temple. Speakers amplify the soulful drums, harmonium, and prayerful song being conducted from inside the temple walls. Every other person is singing along to the beautiful Punjabi words that I cannot translate, yet inexplicably feel as if I understand them. I feel God's presence-or at least the presence of the thought of something greater-within the hundreds of souls surrounding.
When I'm playing music, or rather mostly listening to Paulo, Tim, or other magnificently talented musician friends of mine, I often wonder about a soul's interaction in music. Sometimes you can hear it and sometimes you can't. When I hear my own soul coming through my own, beautiful Takamine guitar, there are few things as glorious.
This music was as soulful as I'd ever heard. The whole city was filled with inner prayer, outward prayer, and the most calming night sky illuminated by a full moon and the reflection of the temple's pure gold on the sacred water separating it from its marble exterior. After a long car ride, a luxurious Thai meal, and a few hours of serenity in the temple, I went back to the hotel and the rest of my weekend was filled with chaos.
It is official: I hate cities in India.
I despise them with my entire being.
Trash lies everywhere and stinks the streets. Piss fills the air in just about every street corner, as Indian men have no decency and let their flies down wherever they desire.
Cities are hot. Too hot. The roads are crowded with people, animals, rickshaws, trash, and recklessly flying cars. I have smelled many magnificent things since entering this country, but the city is not pleasing to the olfactory senses.
It is dangerous and stressful and the second you walk out of a building, you need a shower and quite possibly a whole new wardrobe because this one smells like shit. Every store sign is run-down and dirty. Everything is dirty. Everyone is dirty. Including you.
This life is stressful. I am always stressed out, and this I am not used to, as I have graciously and quite successfully rid my life of much of my previous years' stress. These car rides, however. These car rides I will accent on.
(Many exciting, stressful, and noteworthy things happened the past four days that are probably worth documenting at some point. But in the present, I'm just going to keep writing.)
Only listening to soulful music, reading soulful words from my books, and looking out my window to glance at the lives so different from my own fly by, I am inspired and deeply motivated. Have you ever felt your soul rise within you? Have you ever really just touched on words that you truly felt and could never explain before? This is what happened to me in the car this weekend, riding through small indian villages and getting from Point A to Point B (Point A and Point B not actually being the best parts of my trip at all in the end)..
I became overcame with immense gratitude. I sat in silent prayer and gave thanks during much of my ride. Thankful to be exactly where I was, thankful for my family, thankful for my friends, thankful to be alive and healthy. Sometimes I really feel something powerful and unexplained deep within me. This is what I like to believe is that Something Unexplained, Universe Creating, God-Figured power. This unexplained power from within, I have recently discovered, is not just my personal believe, but the essence of Buddhism: that God is in us all, that at the core of our being lives all things. We are all connected because all things living are made of life itself. We are each just one small piece of a puzzle; Of one large-ass puzzle.And in meditation-in ridding oneself of the ego and its senses, one can reach nirvana, one can reach God himself/itself/yourself (all terms interchangeable). This Buddhists believe. This I believe. And this is why I am so thankful to be living in the most powerful Tibetan Buddhist community left in Asia!
Until recently, and thanks to being where I am, I forgot what it was like to talk to yourself. Or maybe it's not even myself. I make wishes inwardly and I give thanks many times during my day. I'm always happier when I'm reflecting on what's good and focusing on what I want-even if it's just a shout up into the clouds (or into my soul) to some really magnificent being to make sure my Indian cab driver refrains from killing me in the next five hours.
So, Communication-that IS the whole point of my internship and trip to India.
Communicating with myself and what I believe to be the spirit inside me is what makes me happiest at the end of the day. It is a relationship I must tend to. A relationship I must honor more than all else. And in meditation, prayer, deep thought, or simply daydreaming about what I've got and what I desire, I feel as alive as I imagine I would if had just reached sturdy ground after a parachuted landing out of an aircraft.
Work was great today. I only had three of my women and we all started out in great moods that never went away. After doing multiple worksheets and a lesson of new vocabulary, we made bracelets and hung out. They asked me if I "had boyfriend" and thought it so intriguing that a woman could have a boyfriend and not be getting married. It's bizarre to communicate a reality to women who view it with such drastically different perceptions. One of the three women is married and she must be a few years younger than myself. I am tempted to ask about her marriage-after all, they've asked plenty of questions about my love life
Kajmuhari put a binti between my eyes and dressed me in Inder's wedding scarves. Brittany came in the room and Kaj did the same to her and we spent at least 10 solid minutes taking pictures and messing around with traditional Indian garb. On occasion Kaj would kiss Brittany and I on the cheek and giggle. I definitely think we've reached comfort zones that Indian women reach with one another and it is very cool. Very welcoming, considering we are only there for two hours a day.
After work and a quick lunch at home (daal as usual-with a birthday cake for Anita!), we headed to the Tibetan Library where we were able to sit with a monk and have a very special afternoon. Born in Tibet and belonging to the Dalai Lama's temple here in our region, his way with words was both powerful and childlike. He talked of Tibetan suffering, world suffering, and the reasons for the suffering of mankind. Referring to Buddha and the Bodhisattva way, he explained that there is enough natural disaster and harm in the world for us to have to worry about man-made harm.
He drew a parallel to a group of four men in jail about to be executed in 4 hours. "Do you think the men would be fighting in their last four hours on Earth or do you think they would be consoling one another? Coming together in kindness and support?" Then look at the human life. The short, 80 year averaged human life on this magnificent planet that has been here long before our time. In our single life's time, should we really waste our potential energy on hatred and suffering? Why do we not live harmoniously and with love for all beings? Our time is so short yet we forget to embrace each beautiful second with the honor it deserves.
The adorable old man, dressed in his traditional red suite, drew another parallel to material and sensual desires. There are two Indian friends-one is rich and one is poor. The rich man talks of his great plans to expand his home, upgrade his things, and then live contently once he has worked hard to do such. After years of hard work and suffering, the man has finally collected his things and tells his friend that he can now be happy. The poorer man says to his friend, "I've been living in contentment this whole time. I've been here waiting for you."
To be content with what you have-to be thankful for the present day, is the richest life to live. It is within your own mind and your own perception to change your state of contentment and happiness. You could die tomorrow, so why not love today?
I wish I would have taken notes this afternoon, but I guess my small storage center up top will have to suffice. I have drawn a grand conclusion that becomes helpful when asked about my religious beliefs. I would first like to note that I strongly despise any question regarding another's personal beliefs. Religion is personal and unless someone desires to learn about your beliefs and experiences, I find any questioning unnecessary. But I do know for a fact, after studying Native American Shamanism and Tibetan Buddhist Shamanism that I am indeed a Shaman. I am a Buddhist. It's a way of life-a way of loving yourself and loving the world-that I feel was created just for me. I've never, in my soon-to-be 21 years of life, felt like I belonged to a sect or a church or a sacred text. But every mantra, every prayer, every word from the Bodhisattva way is like magic to my soul. And to any open-minded, loving being, I can't say that they could be any other way.
After doing some necessary shopping in Mcleod, I met up with Mariam for a rooftop Americano before we met the crew for Anita's birthday dinner. The cafe is definitely my favorite one on Mcleod. We sat between a pair of monks and a group of Europeans smoking their long, thin cigarettes. Monkeys roamed around our balconies like squirrels.
I had a great few hours of shopping in the small Tibetan stores and making conversation with the very interested shop owners. But when I finally sat down for a much needed coffee, I opened the book my mother has been pestering me to read for years. Halfway through the book, I read Elizabeth Gilbert's explanation of her first successful, yet fearful meditation experience. It was like reading my own thoughts from the past and brought so much comfort, it was nearly overwhelming. I felt like my book was speaking to me. "It's okay! Don't be afraid! Keep meditating. Explore the unknown. What better place to do it than with the Tibetan monks in your backyard?"
After a morning of fun and an afternoon of spiritual revelations and inspirational words from a monk of utmost peace and love, we ate at our favorite restaurant in Mcleodganj. Mariam and I split MoMo's and a mushroom pizza that made my stomach giggle. Despite the enjoyable Indian cuisine, I will always have a hankering for a good pizza. Always. As we had just discussed our favorite reds the day before, Amy bought a bottle of Chianti for the two of us to share. All I will say is that it was glorious. And that, aside from craving the company of my PEOPLE back home, this one luxury has been my other soft spot. If I can't have the company of my loved ones, then of course I deserve chianti.
The great day ends in a Monsoon throughout the night and I am yet again unable to get the sleep I want. No matter how beautiful the day, the storms at night make me homesick-homesick for the familiar, for the safe, and the contentment that allows my body to rest. I must simply take to my own advice: Be content with the present-even if it is in a dark room with no power and mother nature screaming in your ear.
It's amazing, the extent communication can reach without words. And I may not necessarily mean without any words necessarily, but really just common words. One of my women, Vooja, has been making eye-contact with me when one of the girls acts like they understand something that they actually don't. She is quick and helps me teach the others when they don't understand something by explaining to them in Hindi. We work together, yet we can't really converse about this strange partnership we've formed. She even gets the sly remarks I say between teaching them things and smiles to herself. I find myself glancing over at her out of fear that she knows I am not a teacher and I don't know my English as well as one should when teaching a group of self-motivated and quick to learn Indian women.
I'm also starting to understand the women when they talk to one another in Hindi. I don't know how and even more so do not know how to explain it. I know when they are talking about something completely irrelevant and I can definitely understand when Aarti is trying to describe an English phrase or word to others in Hindi. I know when they are making fun of one another. I know when they are talking about me. And, to my good graces, I can tell they have very few negative exchanges in regards of me. Unlike some other volunteers, I feel confident with them. We are friends. Can you be friends with someone that you can't have an intimate conversation with? Sometimes I so desire to share my passions, my worries, and the beauties in my life with them. But for now, pictures and basic English are what we are limited to.
We sit cross-legged in a circle on a bed in a small room. It's something so simple, yet so intimate and comforting. I'll find friendly arms on my leg as we play a game or cover an English lesson. Inder's daughter reminds me of Mr. Darcy (yes, I'm comparing a child to a cat) in the sense that she is the skinniest little thing, yet seems to expand like Stretch Armstrong. If she didn't live in the happiest home with the most lovely parents that give me hope for Indian marriages, then I would most certainly try to stuff her into my carry-on.
Inder's husband and precious little daughter were home as well today. Her husband is sweet and caring and he seems to have a great relationship with Inder. I was surprised/relieved but I guess I could have guessed as meetings are held in his house to support women's empowerment. Inder's daughter is the cutest thing with the most darling voice I've ever heard. We played Minimum, the ever-famous Indian card game and Inder's daughter and I were on a team while all the Indians taught us white girls how to play. We had a blast.
I taught Aarti how to play rock/paper/scissors later. It took a while but she got it. Kind of like my fish joke..
The house is four small rooms with simple beds and simple slated walls. We all sat on Inder's bed and played cards/hung out for two hours. Where else do you sit? Usually we sit in the one common room on a big rug on the floor. Today was cool though. We had chai, watermelon, cantelope, and lemon tea all in bed. They put salt on their fruit and I thought I was going to vomit as I popped my first watermelon slice into my mouth. Inder's husband was constantly worrying about us and making sure we were comfortable. I was pretty much forced to shove more fruit down my throat and have no idea how my gag reflexes did not kick in.
Pummy picked us up and we picked these great little blueberries off the tree we walk by to get to the car (it has become a tradition with us all. Pummy told us the name of the berry but like many Hindi names, I forgot) Pummy also got us cds from his store and I am verrry excited to jam out at home like we do in his car.
After lunch at home and a quick meeting with the staff, six of us headed up to McLoud for the day. We walked the streets and had a great time. I am so thankful for these amazing people. There is never a dull moment. We are always chuckling, getting into shenanigans, or off to see or do something magnificent. I feel very blessed.
Apurvi, one of my favorite people of all Dharamsala, took us to a small hippie town about 20 minutes away from the heart of McLoud (well..it's like an 8 minute ride in a rickshaw!) I ordered a Kingfisher-strong at a restaurant that didn't exactly serve beer. The waiter told me I was, "special customer," and we watched him walk down to a market and buy me a beer. He wrapped it in newspaper, brought me a cup, and told me to stick the bottle under the table. Hops have never tasted so glorious in my life.
Apurvi bought us the most decadent chocolate cake in India and we went to town on it before we headed home. Sonali slipped and twisted her ankle on the way towards the town square and it became an unfortunate fiasco (although we still managed to be consistently chuckling). It was a fantastic outing followed by a delicious dinner at home that Julia, Daniella, and Ellie helped Ranesh cook!
Every time I go out on an adventure, I look around and see only brown people. We have 21 volunteers and I guarantee 80% of us are white. "Look at me and my brown people," I say on a day to day basis. It just gets funnier and funnier because it simply just happens. My mixie friend Ev with his long dreadlocks, Mariam from Pakistan, Apurvi and Sonali from India, and Venus who is Chinese Canadian. And then me. The good old Cashew white girl. Gotta love me my brown people.
My evening ended with a hot bucket shower (after Apurvi harrassed Manesh to fix the water for us!), some great chat sessions on the balcony, and the first 30 minutes of Mortal Combat with Maxine, Mariam, Ev, n Jake.
Another good day in Himachel Pradesh.
