Marvelous Mumbai

Our week in Mumbai was wonderful. Though Kolkata was the capitol of the British Raj for most of its history, Mumbai has the nicest European architecture I've seen so far in India. Though many of the buildings were rundown, the city has wide, tree-lined avenues and a very cosmopolitan feel. 

Our trip began on the train--Hannah and I took an overnight train, while Tangi flew in the morning and met us. Our first stop after settling into the hostel was....Starbucks! 

Starbucks, our home away from home...

They've just opened two in Mumbai, and one was around the corner from where we stayed. We had some awesome sandwiches (so cheap, too! who knew?!) and the first iced coffee I've had in India that didn't taste like liquid sugar. We spent the day walking around the city, enjoying the architecture and each other's company. 

Gateway to India

Prince of Wales Museum

In the evening we met up with the three girls living in Kolkata, who were also in Mumbai for Diwali, and had DELICIOUS seafood at a restaurant recommended to me by my friend Sim. Then we went and sat on Chowpatty Beach, watching the fireworks for the festival explode all along the shore. When we first got there, we saw that many families were sitting on straw mats on the sand and were covetous.  No sooner did we wish for a mat of our own, two guys came running up to us, offering to rent us mats for 10 rupees. Sometimes the abundance of labor here is a blessing. The girls got tired, but Hannah and I wanted to stay out, so we had some more food and sat on the beach and just enjoyed the lovely night.

Incredible seafood at Trishna

Diwali festivities on Chowpatty Beach

The next day we took a cab to Mani Bhavan, the house where Gandhi lived and set up headquarters in Mumbai at the height of his activism, and where the authorities came to arrest him. The museum was small but very heartfelt, with his quotes and writings everywhere you looked. Talk about a life well-spent...

Gandhi's room

We then hopped in a cab to see the Dhobi Ghat, where hundreds of pounds of clothing are washed every day. In fact, the vast majority of Mumbai's clothes are washed here. It's quite a sight, men beating the dirt out of clothes by hand, giant wringers and stands full of laundry detergent.

Dhobi Ghat

 The next stop was Victoria Terminus, site of the dance scene at the end of Slumdog Millionaire, and an incredible colonial structure. We met up with the Kolkata girls and walked from there to Crawford Market, an indoor bazaar over 100 years old.

Victoria Terminus

Crawford Market

The next day we hopped on a ferry to Elephanta Island, a UNESCO World Heritage site for its ancient temple carvings in the rock of the island's natural caves. It was fairly crowded, but the weather was beautiful and the carving was amazing.

Shiva Trimurti: His three faces as Creator, Preserver and Destroyer

 For some reason, so many people on Elephanta, Indian tourists, mostly, asked to take our picture. It got very irritating, especially when we sat on the boat back to Mumbai, stuffing our faces with the sandwiches we'd brought and a group of women with kids started photographing us. But I digress. The sun set as we pulled into the harbor after our long day of walking. 

Taj Palace Hotel framed by Gateway to India 

The Ladies

That night we were supposed to take a bus to Aurangabad, from which we would depart for caves at Ajanta and Ellora. But India, humbling as ever, had other plans. When we got on the overnight bus, we realized it was non-AC. Poor Hannah, who gets very claustrophobic, nauseous and panicky on buses at the best of times, could not fathom being on that bus for ten hours, and back to the city center we went. We spent our last two days wandering the streets, shopping in the "suburbs" and eating more delicious food than we could have hoped for. But the story isn't over.

On Saturday at around 4PM, as we were resting in our hotel, Kara, one of the girls from Kolkata, gave me a call and said that a major politician had just died, and all the stores and restaurants were closing. If we wanted food or anything, she said, we would have to get it now. Having just eaten, we lay down to take naps and went to meet Tangi at her hotel when we woke up. We watched the news first, though, and saw that the deceased politician was Bal Thackeray, a far right leader who founded a party called Shiv Sena, to the right of the opposition party, the BJP. Not only was he a Hindu fundamentalist, he was a Marathi chauvinist, committed to the belief that the people of Maharashtra are superior (especially to neighboring Gujaratis). He was one of the key players in the renaming of Bombay to Mumbai and was held responsible for not a small number of violent attacks against Muslims. He encourages his followers to take action on issues by any means necessary and reportedly had huge power in the Mumbai underworld. Emerging back onto the street in the evening was like walking out the day after a zombie apocalypse. Shiv Sena supporters had called for a bundh, closing, of every business in Maharashtra to mourn the loss of their leader. No buses or taxis were running. Every restaurant was closed, even though we were in the most touristy night-life-y neighborhood in the city and it was 8PM on a Saturday night. The cinema was closed. The convenience stores and paan stands were bolted shut. A few families had congregated to sleep in the park, presumably because it was so quiet for once. We found out the next day that the few places that had tried to stay open were vandalized, their front windows broken and inventory destroyed. The three of us hung out in the hotel, as all the clubs and bars were closed (there goes the famous Bombay nightlife). 

The next morning we packed our stuff and headed to Tangi's, where we ordered room service--the only place we could find food! Our flight wasn't until 4PM but we left around noon, worried about the traffic caused by the all-day viewing of Thackeray's body and his cremation in the evening. There were still no cabs on the road and buses weren't running so we thought we might have to walk a mile to the train station. We found a cab driver who drove a plain car, who offered to take us for 2,500 rupees, when it had cost Tangi less than 400 on the way from the airport by meter. By a miraculous stroke of luck, the one black taxi in the city drove by and agreed to take us for 1,000. As we were on the highway, a motorcycle carrying three guys on it drove right up next to the cab and told the driver threateningly to get off the road before driving away. We made it to the airport in peace and plenty of time, but I certainly said a prayer for the kind cabbie who took a risk to take us. It's very scary that a relatively small group of people can cause through violence so much fear as to shut down an entire city, and one of the biggest in the world at that. I'm sure part of it was that police would also be too afraid of the supporters to take any action against them, not that Indian police are known for their selfless sense of duty in the first place. In any case, we were glad to leave when we did, but I'd go back to Mumbai in a heartbeat.

To see the rest of my photos, click here.
All best from Mother India,
xoxox

Tide Country

After the madness of Durga Puja, we couldn't wait to get out of the city. At the early stages of planning the trip, Patricia found an organized trip to the Sundarbans, so the plan had always been to spend the last two days enjoying some nature. The Sundarbans is a national park and UNESCO World Heritage Site. It composes the largest river delta in the world, where the Ganges empties into the Indian Ocean, and straddles the border of India and Bangladesh. The forest is spread over hundreds of small islands throughout the delta, and the unique ecosystem has led to a wide variety of plant and animal life, including 26 types of mangrove trees, 260 types of birds, Bengal tigers, pythons, crocodiles, water monitors, dolphins and many more.

Mangroves at low tide.

Mangroves during mid-ebb.

Rising tide.
The line of color change indicates where the high tide reaches.

The water is mostly salty but not as saline as seawater, which makes many of the species endemic to that area. The mangroves are unusual in their ability to withstand saline water. There are several villages, mostly in the northern part of the Sundarbans, and the way of life there is very difficult. Many people still make their living through traditional fishing methods, and the isolated nature of the area makes these communities fairly traditional in general, with many people who have never left their villages. The Sundarbans are colloquially referred to as Tide Country, as the delta experiences not two but four tides per day. I'm not sure why this is the case, but every six hours, the tide is either at peak ebb or flow. When the tide is changing, the water level rises or falls six inches every hour, causing the landscape to change dramatically several times over the course of the day.

Scene from the drive to Gosaba from Kolkata

Lunch!

Sunset longboat ride

Our journey began in the morning, when we met up with the group and drove several hours to Gosaba, a village on the edge of the park. There were other people on the tour--several Indians, two Germans and three Belgians--who were very friendly and nice to talk to. The drive was beautiful, overlooking lush, green rice paddies, palm trees and thatched huts. In Gosaba we boarded a ferry, and enjoyed the two hour ride to the eco-village where we stayed. Consisting of a cluster of long, rectangular buildings, the village had been recently constructed by the guys who run the tour company, very sweet, fun, adventurous guys who are all related in some way (uncles, cousins, brothers), and just love that jungle so much that they wanted to find a way to be there every day. We put down our stuff and sat down to an incredible lunch of fish curry, vegetables and rice. Delish! By the time lunch was over and cleaned up, the sun was beginning to set, and we boarded these long canoes, rowed by one oarsman in the back of the boat with one long oar that propelled us through the quiet stillness of the water. We watched the sun set over the mangroves, and enjoyed the light dancing across the river's surface. When we returned to the village, we sat and listened to live traditional music, lounging on cushions and floor mats, watching one of the cooks do jaw-dropping yoga poses to the rhythm of the drum. We had some beers and listened to the night, enjoying the stars and sounds of the natural world. 

Sunset in the eco-village

High tide. The poles sticking out of the water have nets with bait strung between them.
Fish and crabs bite the bait and are stuck there for women to collect when the tide recedes. Brilliant!

We got started around six the next day, heading first to the park's information center to get permits and see the exhibit on the park ecology. The rest of the day was spent mostly on the boat, enjoying the sun and wind and views of the shore, glimpsing stunning birds, crocodiles and a water monitor. We didn't see a tiger, but our guide, who is there every day, said he has only seen five in his life. It was a beautiful, relaxing day, after the craziness of travel, Varanasi and Durga Puja. As the sun started to sink over the horizon, we headed to the village, where we took the most breathtaking rickshaw ride through a village, passing the most idyllic of landscapes, women in saris, children playing and innumerable goats and chickens. A ferry ride and a car ride with more than a few mishaps later, we were back in Kolkata, sleeping soundly and dreaming of mangroves and starry nights.
To see the rest of my photos, click this link and enjoy!

Goodbye, beautiful place

Durga Puja

Our plane from Varanasi landed in Kolkata late Sunday afternoon. After the hour and a half cab ride we took to our friends' house, we met up with Hunter, an ETA in Kolkata, who let us into the apartment he shares with three of the four other ETAs in that city. We were thrilled to finally be there, having heard so much about the festival for so long. Tangi was flying to meet us there on Tuesday and all five of the ETAs in Madurai were already there. In short, we were very excited to see all the other ETAs, whom we had gotten to know both at the pre-departure orientation in Austin and at the Delhi orientation we had when we first arrived. Though the groups in other cities seem to be having more social drama than we are here, I am very fond of all of the other people in the group. It's a great group of people to be a part of--everyone else is so smart and well-informed, adventurous and fun. Even though we were bracing ourselves to spend three nights in a four bedroom apartment with thirteen people, it was a great feeling of anticipation as we waited to see everyone else. When the rest of the group arrived at the apartment after their day of wandering the streets, the fun began immediately. Drinks were passed around and an impromptu dance party ensued. The best!

From left: Vaishnavi, Sandy, Sarah, Nicole, and Erin live it up!

After a while, we headed out to see the city in all its Durga Puja glory. Durga Puja is a celebration of the goddess Durga, wife of Shiva, the destroyer god, one of the most important of the hundreds of Hindu gods. The six-day holiday celebrates the yearly visit Durga makes to the human world, leaving her home in the heavens and seeing the people in the mortal world. They celebrate her by creating temporary shrines called pandals, decorated elaborately according to various themes and aesthetics. 

Inside the pandal

Same scene, but different

The pandals generally have a wooden frame and are covered with intricately molded styrofoam or fabric. Inside, every pandal depicts the same scene: Durga, holding a weapons given to her by other gods in each of her ten hands, riding a lion and slaying the devil and a demon in the form of a buffalo. She is flanked by her four children, Ganesh, the elephant-headed god of plenty and luck, Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, Karthik, referred to by my teacher as "prince charming," and Saraswati, goddess of knowledge and wisdom. Each of these demigods has its own animal companion, including the owl, the swan, the rabbit and one other animal (goat, maybe?) that I don't remember and can't find information about anywhere! Each pandal is sponsored, either by businesses or by neighborhoods and communities. Each neighborhood in the whole greater Kolkata area has its own pandal, causing hundreds of these structures to be spread throughout the city. Some are simple and clearly made by individuals who are devout but not necessarily artists, while others are the equivalent of the Christmas windows at Bergdorf Goodman. 

These neon displays looked like giant Lite Brites!

As we walked through the city, we visited different pandals and admired the creativity and worksmanship of the structures, built several weeks before the Puja and taken down a week or two after. In visiting the pandals, the point is not just to see the goddess in idol form, but also to be seen by her. As a result, people wear beautiful new clothes when as they go from pandal to pandal, so everyone is walking around the lit up city in starched, colorful garments in silk and golden thread. Whole families are out and about, no matter how late, admiring the lights and artistry, communing with their god and each other. We stayed out several hours that night, enjoying the night and each other, cramming sixteen people in a minivan to get to the largest pandal in the city and taking it all in. The atmosphere was so festive and joyful, though it did get extremely crowded and it became less pleasant to walk through the throng. In any case, I was exhausted from traveling and ended up going home with more than an eyeful of pandals and decorated Kolkata, eager to enjoy a good night's sleep. 

The next morning I woke up before most, and headed out with Sean and Sarah, an ETA in Madurai, to get coffee downtown. We had our drinks and then had kathi rolls, Kolkata's famous street food--a fried aloo parantha (like a thick potato-based pancake), filled with curried vegetables and a fried egg, and wrapped up into a delicious, greasy burrito-like delicacy. We walked to the park and watched a man herd goats there while we ate what must have been twice our recommended calorie intake (and enjoyed every bite). Afterwards we met up with the rest of the group for a bus tour of some of Kolkata's oldest and most traditional pandals. 

This one smelled incredible. Look at all those flowers!

It was fun--a lot of time schlepping between sites, but it was nice to be together and not have to think of the logistics at all. These pandals were essentially shrines created in older buildings, rather than temporary structures, but were beautiful nonetheless. At one of the places we went to, we saw a young girl dressed in an elaborate white costume, while her relatives oohed and aahed around her, taking pictures and adjusting her trappings. We were told that sometimes young girls are selected to dress like the goddess and have people revel as if she were the real thing. 

Goddess for a day...literally

Pandal hopping in their finest

Tangi arrived the next day, and it was great to see her. We ate brunch at a fancy breakfast place that has been around forever, and then spent the rest of the day walking around, seeing pandals and admiring the decorations throughout the city. We tried to go to some big markets, but everything was closed for the puja. In the evening, we went to dinner with the whole group, found that the restaurants were packed but ended up at a restaurant where we could all sit together. Bengal is known for its seafood, mostly prawns and a fish called bekti, and I ate it every chance I could get. I never knew I would miss seafood so much! All the Bengali food I tried was delicious, from the fish to the luchis, fried bread similar to pouri but smaller and made with refined flour. 

Dunkin' Durgas 

Discarded Durgas

On the boat

 The morning of our last day was spent lazily, waiting for everyone to get it together and eventually heading downtown to Park Street for breakfast. We lingered for a while there, and I got impatient, as it was the last, most eventful day of the Puja. At the end of the six days, all of the Durgas from all of the far reaches of the city are brought to the ghat on the Ganges and immersed, releasing her from this world back to heaven. They used to throw the idols in the river and leave them there, but environmental concerns over the past few years have led them to remove the idols after dunking them, placing them afterwards in an unceremonious trash heap on the river bank. I made my way down to the river with Hannah, Tangi, and four of the girls from Madurai: Kelly, Sarah, Vaishnavi and Nicole. We were walking to the water's edge to watch the ceremony, when we saw on the boat moored parallel to the bank none other than Hunter and Erin, dancing on the boat with their faces painted red and microphones in their faces, asking where they were from! Like a sign from Durga herself, the MC on the boat invited any interested foreigners aboard the boat right then. We took of our shoes and hiked up our pants to wade through the ankle-deep mud, walking up a plank of wood to reach the ship's deck. Hunter and Erin only then saw us and were thrilled at the amazing coincidence of time and place. The people on the boat were from a neighborhood community that was immersing their Durga, one member of which happened to be the vice principal of Hunter's school. When Hunter had shown up at the ghat, they were invited on the boat not even knowing this fact! Sometimes even India is the smallest of worlds. The hosts wanted us to be front and center, placing drumsticks in our hands, commanding us to dance and smearing our faces with the celebratory vermilion, something usually reserved for married women but I think they just thought it was fun to put it on our foreign faces. At one point it felt like three pairs of hands were on my face, rubbing in the rich red powder. 

Dance circle! Followed by the paparazzi...

We watched Durga's dive into the river, and danced on the boat for almost an hour. The boat stayed anchored most of the time, then departed to sail ten minutes down the river, at which point everyone got off and we walked back to where we had started. The whole experience was incredible, something we never could have planned but that made the whole trip. It was exactly what I had hoped for when I came to India, the kind of spontaneous, adventurous celebration that only a place like this can offer. I always say that the Indians are not playing around when it comes to celebrating. Music and dance and festive joy is so integral to peoples' lives here, regardless of caste, race, religion, education and wealth. I felt so privileged to have been invited into this world, into this joy and celebration. The feeling of dancing on the river, my face painted red and laughing with friends and strangers is something that will stay with me forever.

The hilarious epilogue to this story is that the river bank and boat were full of television and newspaper reporters, getting footage for the evening news and stories about the last night of the Puja. As we sat around in our pajamas that night, coming down from the high of our day, the Kolkata residents relieved at the end of this intensive month full of Durga, none other than our own faces came up as "Breaking News." Sarah, Hunter and Hannah had interviews on the segment, and the rest of us were shown front and center, banging on our drums out of rhythm but so happily that it didn't matter. I don't want to brag but I'm kind of a big deal in Kolkata nowadays. If you haven't already seen my photos from Kolkata, or just want a refresher to go with the explanation, click here and enjoy.

Happy ETA family!

Kolkata Teaser

The goddess Durga, in all her glory

Once again I am in the position of wanting to share my photos but have not yet completed the accompanying post. So sit tight for the longer post, but enjoy my "snaps" (as they say here) in the mean time, by clicking on this link. 

Much love from Mother India,

xoxox

Vibrant Varanasi

There are many places in India that people describe by telling you that you'll either "love it or hate it." No place typifies this statement more than the maelstrom that is Varanasi. The city is located in the northeastern state of Uttar Pradesh, which stretches from Delhi to the eastern state of Bihar, and borders Nepal along its northern boundary. Considered a very holy city by Hindus, Varanasi sits on the Ganges, at a place so far downriver from its headwaters that the pollution in the river has accumulated to a disturbing degree. It is the oldest continuously inhabited city in India, and one of the oldest in the world. Yet, the city has been pillaged so many times that few of its buildings are over 100 years old. When I pictured India from the US, what I saw in my mind's eye was Varanasi, with its colors, people, markets, pushcarts, pollution and cows. We had been warned by many about the difficult of traveling there; the book describes Varanasi as being worse than Agra, home to the Taj Mahal, in terms of being touristy and having touts harassing you for money or to take you to their shops. But off we went, Hannah, Sean and I, having lost Patricia in the Kashmir debacle and Tangi preferring to fly straight to Kolkata. 

Dinner!

On Thursday afternoon, the three of us boarded a train in Delhi, traveling for the first time in the AC compartments, rather than in Sleeper. Having traveled only in Sleeper thus far, AC was almost unrecognizable. Each berth contained two bunk beds, sleeping four to a berth, no one was standing or waiting to sit in your seat, and the tinted windows to the outside prevented the usual stares from passersby on the platform. We settled in and bought thalis for dinner from a vendor on the train, selling them from a cloth bag. We sat and chatted for a bit, me changing my seat to avoid the creepy staring of the stranger inhabiting the fourth bed of our berth, and easily went to sleep on the beds in the train. We woke up on the other side of India, emerging into the daylight like hatchlings with our backpacks on and out faces steeled to avoid the inevitable tour guides and auto wallahs. Indeed, we were followed from the minute we stepped onto the platform by a guy who later turned out to be an auto wallah but who was not wearing the standard grey uniform and looked like he just wanted our money. After some haggling, we settled on a price with the main auto organizer guy, as they have a number system at the station to ensure equitable distribution of business among the auto wallahs. Unfortunately for us, this meant we were going with our clingy new "friend," who, from the second we sat in his auto, began to berate us, and especially Hannah, for "judging" him and shooing him away before.  Hannah tried to explain that we have to protect ourselves, but he kept insisting what a great guy he was and how wrong we had been, producing emails from a person in New York, thanking him for showing him around Varanasi. After our long train ride, the last thing we wanted was to be lectured about jumping to conclusions. In any case, he parked the auto and showed us the way to the guest house, through the dark, narrow streets of the Old City, dodging the cow dung lying in wait like smelly mines in a field. We checked in, ate some breakfast, and rested for a few hours.

Around noon, we set off in search of lunch, finding a recommended bakery that serves a huge variety of cheeses. Hannah and I watched as Sean ordered fondue and then proceeded to just eat his bowl of cheese when the bread ran out. So that was fun. After lunch, we walked through the winding alleys and  descended the stairs to the ghats, small piers from which people depart in boats, enter the river to bathe, or just sit and watch the world go by. The river in Varanasi is the city's beating heart. While polluted and filthy, it is host to every possible life process that could include water. Children play in the river, jumping off boats and splashing in the water before scrambling up the stairs of the ghat to repeat the performance. Women bring clothes to wash in the river, hanging them to dry on every available post or standing object. Families bathe their children and each other, shampooing their hair and then bending to rinse the soap in the grimy, green water. Herders bring buffaloes and goats to wash and cool off by the shore. Sadhus, Hindu holy men, and people from all walks of life come to the Ganges to perform pujas, washing their sins away, filling containers with contents of the holy Ganges to take home with them.  Pilgrims stand waist deep in the water, sometimes in lungis, sometimes in full saris or salwar kameez, sometimes naked, filling small clay and metal dishes with water and touching it to their foreheads and lips. Rowers sit idly on the ghat, waiting for tourists to ask for a trip down the river, making repairs on the boats and waiting for pitch on the bottom to dry. Women sweep the stairs and open plazas of the ghats with knee-high brush brooms, removing dust and trash that will be replaced moments after they finish. The buildings, largely crumbling and in disrepair, loom over the river, built high on the hill to avoid flooding when the river swells during the monsoon. Barbers, often cutting the hair of men in mourning, but also doing routine shaves and trims, set up shop by placing a mirror on a wall and a chair to face it. Locals sit in stands along the ghat, selling marigolds, incense, candles, prayer cloths, beads, crystals and vessels for prayer in the water. Other vendors display water bottles and snacks for tourists, and all the while, goats, cows, dogs, buffaloes, and a rare chicken or two are passing by, enjoying and benefitting from the gifts of the Ganges as much as anyone else, eating garbage and shitting where they please. Brilliant colors infuse the saris of the women, as well as the boats, and the orange robes of sadhus stick out against the neutrals of the ghat. The scene is beautiful in a fascinating way, a way that prevents you from turning your head for fear of missing a second of action.

We walked for about an hour, the shadows becoming longer, until we reached the smaller of the "burning ghats." Being a holy city, Varanasi is an auspicious place to be cremated, as it is believed that doing so will allow a person to be released from the cycle of reincarnation if their soul is deemed worthy. Bodies are brought and shipped from all over India and the world to be cremated on the Ganges--literally: we saw a box with a mailing label from Saudi Arabia. There are two main burning ghats in the old city, and on the first day we walked to the smaller one. Locals stand at these ghats offering to give explanations about the cremations in exchange for either money or the chance to take you to a shop, from which they receive commission. We started talking to a very nice man from Varanasi, who explained the rituals and practices of the cremation. First, he said that the whole body is not sent out into the river; rather, for men, only the chest/shoulder is left in the river, and for women, only the hip. This is because these body parts are considered the centers of strength for each gender. If the soul is to be released from the cycle of reincarnation, the fish and animals in the water will eat and decompose the flesh. If they person's soul was not pure enough to escape reincarnation, the fish will leave the body alone and it will not decompose. 

Pile of wood and the temple containing the eternal flame

The funeral pyres must burn for twenty-four hours and are tended to by a specific group from the Dalit (Untouchable) caste. These people, the poorest and most shunned of the poor and shunned, are not paid for their grueling labor. It is traditional for families to leave earrings and nose rings and other precious objects on their loved ones during cremation, so people are cremated with all kinds of jewelry on them. The men who tend the fires may keep any gold or valuables they find in the river following cremations. You can see them in waist and chest deep water, with large shallow pans, sifting carefully through the polluted silt for their livelihood.  It is extremely taboo for anyone other than these people to keep valuables they find in the Ganges that may have belonged to someone who was cremated there. Thought the families of those cremated do not pay those who do the literal dirty work, they do pay for the wood used in the pyre, which ranges in price from expensive sandalwood to cheap mango wood and several steps in between. It takes over 300 kilos of wood to cremate one person--logical, considering how long the fire has to blaze, but intense when you consider how much wood that takes. Each burning ghat contains a temple-like structure, housing an "eternal flame" that Hindus believe was lit by the destroyer god Shiva over 4,000 years ago and has never been extinguished. When the fire is to be lit, the man in mourning--either the oldest or youngest son, usually--takes a handful of brush and lights the end with the sacred fire. He brings it to the pyre, and walks around the body five full times, touching the flame to the wood on each rotation. We watched this happen, the mourner dressed in white, with his head shaven, but for a small patch in the back. It is inappropriate for funeral attendees to cry or show emotion, as this inhibits the soul from resting peacefully and avoiding reincarnation. It is for this reason that women are never allowed to attend these funerals. You know those women--you can never trust them with that moodiness! Though it was outlawed by the British over 100 years ago, women continued to perform sati, the practice of a widow throwing herself on her husband's funeral pyre and self-immolating. Following several high profile incidences of this, the Indian government passed stricter laws to prevent sati in 1987. When we asked our guide why there were no women at the funerals, he gave the explanation of women interfering with peaceful closure by showing emotions, and followed up by saying, "Women used to throw themselves on their husband's burning bodies. This is better, nah?"

Shopping for silk

When our lungs started to choke on ash, we followed the explainer man to his family's silk shop, where we ooohed and aaahed at the truly brilliant silk handwork of tablecloths, scarves and saris that were way out of our price range. After the merchant had opened what seemed like every package he owned, we headed out, much to his disappointed, but not before poor Sean was guilted into buying something. The three of us got in an auto and headed to Assi Ghat, one of the larger ghats, that is the furthest south of the major ghats in Varanasi. Children that looked about nine or ten approached us, selling candles to send down the river for puja. We were shocked at how good their English was, considering how poorly our students speak the language, and they told us that they go to school during the day and only do this in the evening. The kids were so sweet and adorable, asking us questions, playing in the sand, laughing those genuine laughs that only kids are capable of. One sidled up to me after we had been with them for a while and asked me to buy a candle, which I refused. He then asked for a mango juice, to which I happily obliged. He led me to the nearest cafe, alternating between running forward and waiting for me to catch up. I asked him where his shoes were and he said he didn't have any; I wanted to buy him a pair but everything was already closed for the evening. I bought him his drink and he bounded away, meeting up with his friends and sipping his soda through a long straw. I thought about how dangerous this occupation was for these kids, how vulnerable it made them to walk up to strangers and solicit money. But what can I do?

After a long night of, ahem, indigestion following the felafel I ate for dinner, I woke up early and took a walk on my own along the ghat. The place was bustling, with tons of people walking around, schmoozing, washing, watering, fixing, selling, buying, fortune telling, sweeping, begging, shaving, boarding boats, rowing boats and unloading boats. A man had me sit down so he could but the red tikka on my forehead and lead me in saying a blessing, but I hightailed out of there when he asked me for 1,000 rupees. I took tons of pictures and made my way back to the guest house, where Sean had left his room without telling us and Hannah and I had breakfast. We headed down the ghat in the opposite direction to where we had been, reaching the larger burning ghat and viewing the ceremonies from the balcony of a nearby building. We wound through the labyrinth of wood piles, needing to escape the smoke and ash that burned our lungs and stung our eyes, and then twisted and turned our way through the alleys of the old city to reach a place that serves only the most delicious lassis in the world. The yogurt drinks were served in unglazed earthenware cups that were discarded after one use--but weren't plastic! Thanks, ridiculously low cost of labor in India! Making our way to a famous temple, we were denied access because they wanted to see our passports (seriously), which we didn't have on us (obviously), and we exited the old city. A rickshaw ride later, we found ourselves at a recommended fixed price textiles shop, where we spent the next two hours poring over incredible, affordable silks and pashminas. The shop owner was a rare gem, going our of his way to make sure we knew his goods were authentic, asking us to guess which scarves were better quality (got it wrong every time but one), and showing us how to tell the difference by burning strands of fiber and having us smell and feel the difference. After some happy purchases, we returned to the guest house to find Sean and I took a much needed nap.

Evening puja

In the evening we headed down to the ghat to observe the nightly puja, observed by literally hundreds if not thousands of people including locals, tourists, and pilgrims. The long, narrow boats clustered near the ghat, forming what looked like a flotilla of spectators. We stayed a few minutes and listened to the singing, before heading away from the crowd and getting dinner at the bakery again. The next day we packed our bags, hung out in the hostel and read for a bit, before strong-arming our way through the swarming Sunday foot traffic in the Old City to get to a waiting taxi. All in all, we had an incredible experience in Varanasi and felt privileged to have been there. To Kolkata we flew!

To see my photos from Varanasi, click here.

Varanasi Teaser

Hurrah! I have returned from my most recent journeys in one piece and with stories to tell! I am in the process of writing about my experiences, but in the meantime, click this link to enjoy these photographs from the first leg of our trip, Varanasi. Be sure to read the captions in which I explain some of the scenes! For all you East Coasters, stay safe in the storm, cozy up and enjoy the photos.

Sending love from Mother India,
Yael

Milk Migration

In India, the ways that people have been doing things for hundreds, if not thousands, of years are performed alongside some of the most ubiquitous modern technology. Many of the things I see every day are so basic and obvious, I wonder why we don't do it this way in the US. So many aspects of daily life involve community; it's no wonder people feel so comfortable giving unsolicited advice and being in "your' personal space all the time. 

On Friday afternoons, my roommates and I, tired from the week's work, usually take it easy and stay at home. Saturdays are the days we explore this crazy megacity, see movies and go out to dinner before we go out at night. Sunday is our day for recovery, and we usually spend it at home, catching up on emails, cooking for the week, doing laundry. This past Sunday afternoon, I headed down the street to the Mother Dairy down the block, and the corner store next to it to get bread and milk and other stuff for the week. Mother Dairy is a national distributor of milk and dairy products, serving as the middleman between farmer-owned dairy cooperatives and individual consumers. Every day from 10AM to 1:30PM, and again from 4PM to 10 PM, the shutter of the little stall is lifted and the disgruntled but generous man who operates the store awaits the customers from across the black granite counter. He always seems grumpy but acts glad to see me, patient with my flailing Hindi and with the children who can't decide which ice cream to get. Next to the counter are two machines that look like those automatic coffee vending machines, but instead of a small niche for a flimsy plastic cup to drop down from, there is a huge space between the spout and the drain. 

"Three Cows" by Subodh Gupta,  National Gallery of Modern Art, Delhi

On Sunday afternoons, people come from all over the neighborhood, mostly children with a few aunties thrown in the mix, bearing tall, empty, aluminum canisters. The children come holding the weightless cylinders by the long, wire handles, banging them lightly against their legs as they walk. They wait in line, pay the Mother Dairy, and fill their containers to the top at the milk dispensers before heading back home, weighed down by their loads. Like bees leaving the hive to get pollen for the queen, the kids head out when the shadows are long, pockets full of change for the milk and sometimes a cold treat, fetching milk for their mothers and grandmothers who await them at home. It's such a simple act: buying milk. There's nothing fancy or exciting about going to the Mother Dairy with an empty can, filling it at the machine and going home. It's not that you can't buy milk without your own container--milk also comes in boxes and plastic bags. Yet the way that it happens in this way is so communal. Plastic and cardboard aren't wasted on packaging. Kids see their friends and neighbors before the hectic week begins. The grumpy man who works at Mother Dairy spares some milk for the families that live in makeshift slums by the side of the road and the unbathed children who hold out their empty hands to him. The fruit wallah and vegetable wallah play cards in the park next to the dairy,  jumping up and making their way to their carts when they see a potential customer approach their carts.

The Mother Dairy is literally around the corner from our house, but I get to see all this meeting and interaction the second I step out my door. The building on the corner is under construction, and that in itself is a sight to behold. The construction crew consists of both men and women, with men doing most of the hand work and women doing most of the carrying and transporting of materials. They are always wearing saris, usually chiffon and always very colorful, with the pallu made long so as to cover their heads with it. They place a small terry cloth ring on their heads, on top of which they balance up to eight red bricks without anything to help them hold it or balance. Sometimes they have big baskets that they fill with dirt or concrete powder to bring it wherever it's needed. On Krishna's birthday they decorated the inside of the unfinished building with colorful banners and marigolds. I wonder where these workers live, how it can be socially acceptable here for women to do such physical labor, when there are so many other restrictions on what they may and may not do. I think about how difficult it is for me to walk in a sari, tripping every few feet, and often holding it up to allow me to move, and how gracefully these women schlep bricks on their heads and lay mortar for the walls. 

The stray dogs in the neighborhood are familiar to me now; like the seniors who congregate daily in the park across the street, the dogs often congregate to laze in the shade under cars, bark at birds and sniff the trash. At night they sleep on top of cars, roused rudely from their slumber in the morning by commuters and cleaners. Men pass by on bicycles at all hours of the day, a bag hanging from their handlebars, soliciting recyclable cardboard and newspapers which they sell by the kilo to collection centers. 

Sunday afternoons are relaxed here, but so much happens all the time in this neighborhood, in this megacity, that I feel like I'm the only one for whom these afternoons are lazy.

On Thursday we leave for three days in Varanasi and then a week in Kolkata to celebrate the major festival of Durga Puja. In other words, it may be a few weeks until I write again. Until then, enjoy the rest of what the internet has to offer! 

Sending much love from Mother India, xoxox