It's many hundred miles and it won't be long.

After 3 days in Delhi, I must get out of this city. It causes such bad anxiety that I got sick last night and have been upchucking and shaking for hours. Too many scary situations, too much going on. Delhi is just too much for me right now. I left Dharamsala feeling sad, and I'm leaving Delhi with too much anxiety and longing for home.

I was going through my photos and my heart was aching for the mountains. I miss Mcleod and the Tibetan monks and my women's group. I miss Arti's laugh when I'd make fun of her and Inder's hospitality.

I miss Rakesh's cooking and sitting on the balcony in the evening with my book or guitar. I miss the slow-paced nature of life and the calmness it gave to those who lived it. That's the India I want to hold in my memories-not the high-scale malls in Delhi with tent communities down the street and children begging for money with their salty eyes. I miss the serenity and spirituality of the Himalayan villages I basked in for 5 weeks.

The sage Kabir once said "All know that the drop merges into the ocean, but few know that the ocean merges into the drop."

I've learned a lot (on scales immeasurable) during my stay in India. But one thing I've learned, for myself and my own life's desires is to love life and let that love manifest in others. See yourself in them, for we are all connected. Together we are one-The birds and the seas they pass and the trees that lay to rest. Love the mountains like you'd love your lover. Like you'd love your brother.

"Our Minds can be wonderful, but at the same time they can be our very worst enemy.

They give us so much trouble. Sometimes I wish the mind were like a set of dentures, which we could take out and leave on our bedside table overnight.

At least we would get a break from its tiring and tiresome escapades.
We are so at the mercy of our minds that even when we find that the spiritual teachings strike a chord inside us, and move us more than anything we have ever experienced, still we hold back, because of some deep-seated and inexplicable suspicion.
Somewhere along the line, though we have to stop mistrusting. We have to let go of the suspicion and doubt, which are supposed to protect us but never work, and only end up hurting us even more than what they are supposed to defend us from."

-Sogyal Rinpoche (The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying)

July 13, 2010

I have 1 1/2 days left in Dharamsala. It's just now hitting me that right now is the last time I'll sit at a cafe in Mcleod looking out into the foggy mountains below the Dalai Lama's temple. No more Himalayas. No more Bhaksu Cake or Rakesh's dinners. And tomorrow is the last day to see my friends in Khaniyara-if I even can.

Inder is still in the hospital and we haven't been to work all week. I went to a daycare today in another small village with two of the army men. They are really wonderful with the kids who are just full of love and energy. We played games and recited both Hindi and English numbers and alphabets.

Time to start my 10 page internship paper for Anil. What should it be about? My communication with Indian women living a life much different yet so similar to my own? The complexity of Hindi culture and the vastness of Indian history? The troubles between the natives and the Tibetan exiles? The contradictions within Indian culture and politics? The spiritual mystery of the Himalayas?

Who knows. We'll see, I guess. I have quite a few flights to ponder what I'm going to conclude about the experience of Dharamsala.

Dharma and Gregarious Monks

Can't stop Can't stop Can't stop listening to this song. (Maybe you can listen to it too while you read my blog) Wilco-Muzzle of Bees

Life has become mellow. I feel like I'm just settling into this strange life. And I leave in a week.

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).

Walked home from Khaniyara today. Only four women showed up because it's monsoon season and they've got obligations. Many women are working in the rice patties.

So today, I walked.

And observed.

And felt love for everything Indian.

Including homeless puppies.

Random Thoughts-Inspirations-Conclusions-And Attempted Art.

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

His Holiness's 75th

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 MISS MARIAM AHMAD!

Pass the Dutch

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.

Bananas and Toast

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.