How to Explore this Blog

Welcome to Sandhya's Adventures of India and Nepal from January - June 2008. Feel free to puruse the blog posts randomly or start at the beginning by clicking the month of January which is to the left.

The Institute of World Culture and I are planning a Hands-On Gandhian Retreat from January 11-17th 2009. If you're interested, please see the website at www.worldculture.org or contact me at sandhya.tillotson@gmail.com.

Aug 16th Slideshow

Hi All!
If you're in Santa Barbara on Saturday, August 16th, please come to my slideshow presentation of photos and stories from my trip. It is being hosted by The Institute of World Culture. Here information on the event from the Institute's flyer (and no, I didnt' write it)Looking forward to finally sharing with you!:


Days of Wonder – India & Nepal 2008
Multi-Media Presentation and Indian Potluck

August 16, 2008

6:00 – 9:00 pm

Concord House, 1407 Chapala St, Santa Barbara

Presenter: Sandhya Tillotson

Make a virtual journey to the Subcontinent with Sandhya Tillotson,
a 21-year-old, blue-eyed American with an Indian name.
Take in the mystery of South India’s temples, the dry sweep of the Thar desert, the snowy vistas of Annapurna. Hear the wise words of the village elders in the Gandhian-based nonprofit group she volunteered for in Rajasthan. Imagine ‘surfing the soil’ with Sandhya plowing a field in Vandana Shiva’s progressive, beyond-organic farm. Participate in the wonder of a young visitor in an ancient land.


Kindly RSVP Renée Tillotson at (808) 864-0495 or renee@worldculture.org with potluck offerings.

Alternatively, you may choose to contribute towards
an order of Indian dishes from a local restaurant.

For information: (808) 864-0495 http://www.worldculture.org

I'm Back!

Flying from Kathmandu to Delhi,
then from Delhi to Mumbai,
spending 30 hours back in India in Mumbai with a friend,
then a 15 hour flight to Newark, New Jersey,
and then a 5 hour flight to Denver with a whole plane full of boy scouts, I finally arrived back in Colorado and directly went on a 4 day backpacking trip with Joey, which was a great way to ease back into being in the States. Now here I am back at Colorado College, taking a summer class and relearning how this strange thing called American society works.

The big thing Joey and I are working on is called Wheels of Change. It's hard to describe and better if you can check it out yourself. Please feel free to get involved!

http://www.wheelsofchange.net

I am going to try to set up an online photo album so you can peruse all my photos from India and Nepal, not just the few I've been able to post here.
Check back soon for an update on this.
Thanks again for your readership!!

My temorary phone number is
805-403-2304

Burning Ghats and Buddhist Monks

There's a national strike today throughout Nepal, meaning no taxis and no buses running. I'm not sure of the Maoists' political reasons for doing this, but it is a monumental time in history to be in Nepal. The communists elected to power in the first democracy the monarchial nation has known in history, the king moving out of the royal palace and the insurgents moving into the parliment, etc. (I must say I'm pretty ignorant about the whole political situation really.)

Today I really wanted to get out to Bodnath, the Tibetan Buddhist community area outside of Kathmandu City, butwith no buses or taxis I was at a loss of how to get there.

Then inspiration, well actually just dumb common sense struck. Why not rent bicycles? With all the roads empty and the sun shining it made perfect sense! Take advantage of the inconvience rather than fight against it. (Reminded me of something both my Dad and Joey would have thought of (much faster than me) and done.)

So Zak, Emily and I rented some funky mountain bikes and sped out of the city! So exhilirating to be back on a bicycle after months and months. (i think last time i was on a bike was with my Dad in south India in January!!!! YIkes!)
Swerving through the minimal traffic, we headed to Pashupati, probably the holiest Hindu temple sites in all of Nepal. Monkeys lept from one moss covered, stone temple to the next. Walking down to the river we watched a full-on cremation ceremony at the burning ghats. I have not been to Varanasi or other burning ghats in India, so this was my first experience of seeing a body being placed on the pyre. Ghee (butter) is poured onto the body and into the mouth, where it is lit on fire. When a father dies, the oldest son performs the rites; when a mother dies, the youngest son attends the fire. Females don't have much of a part in the tradition. After the body is completely burned to ashes, the ashes are swept off the raised stone platform straight into the river, to be carried to downstream, eventually reaching the Ganges and finally the ocean. Family members who participated in the ceremony shave their heads, strip down and wash themselves in the river afterwards. It was a sombre, culturally fascinating and smoky experience.

After Pushupati Zak and Emily took off for another area of Kathmandu, Patan, while I rode towards Bodnath, which they had visited yesterday. Entering the Bodnath center, I was awed by the enormous white and gold stupa with blue peace-eyes staring down at me and prayer flags radiating in all directions. Spending some time in a cafe/bookshop while it rained outside, i stepped back out into the patchy sunshine a couple hours later to find the entire community of Bodnath circling the stupa, prayer beads in hand and spinning the prayer wheels that line the base of the stupa as they walked in a clockwise direction. I joined the masses, spinning the wheels, trying to keep up with the monks in their maroon and gold robes and the little old Tibetan ladies in their striped aprons.

Sitting to the side momentarily I snapped photos as causually and unobtrusively as I could as the crowd walked by. Looking away as my finger pressed the button resulted in some missed photos as well as some surprisingly capturing ones. Contentedly I watched, participated when I felt inclined, and enjoyed being surrounded by Tibetans since I won't have the opportunity to visit their troubled country while I am on this side of the world and comparitively so close.

What a full day of both Hinduism and Buddhism I thought, smiling, as I rode back into Kathmandu, passing motorcycles and swerving cycle rickshaws.

Kathmandu

dusty antique shops full of silver and turquoise
holy men in orange robes who pose for photos
monkeys leaping from temple pinnacles
painted eyes staring down peacefully from buildings
bakeries that are half off after 10 pm
tight, twisting cobblestone streets
incense wafts and streaming prayer flags
unexpected open courtyards with small neighborhood temples providing solace
cycle rickshaws and samosa sellers just like India except not quite so insistent
little girls who attatch to you with questions of who you are leading to requests for sweets
conversations with young bookshop sellers about their villages and how Nepal is changing
haggles with crafty women selling crafts
pigeons scattering as children run with arms flapping, sending wings flapping
pomegranites bleed sweetness while mangoes melt in the mouth

what's real? what's fake? what's new? what's old? what's nepali? what's imported?
whether it's goods or temples or foods or culture or fashion... sorting through all of it is delightful chaos- stimulating and exhausting. Still, there is the space and time to connect with people and hear there story- something that seemed impossibly daunting in the madness of Delhi.

Kathmandu- what will I discover in you tomorrow?

(Kirstin is having incredible experiences on the navdanya farm in dehradun, India. Emily and her boyfriend Zak are here in Kathmandu with me, but we lost eachother earlier today at the "monkey temple". Laura, our german friend has arrived in Kathmandu just today, i heard from her hippied-out 50 something year old friend Robert who i met in a jewerly shop randomly- i'll try to meet up with all of them tonight. Adventures, adventures!)

15 Days of Wonder

Kirstin, Emily and I finished the Annapurna Circuit!!! We really did it! it took us 15 days to complete our trek in the Himalayas and it was awesome! I'll have to get back to you about the exact mileage, but I know it was over 250 kilometers or 150 miles. We hiked everyday, with only one half-day rest. We kept quite strong and I was awed afterwards that non of us got ill or injured, only minor blisters really! The landscape made us speechless - both from awe and elevation gain! we went from tropical lowlands with waterfalls to high desert plateaus, to mountain passes all admist colorful tibetan prayer flags and spinning prayer wheels. Incredible! We reached Thorung La Pass, the highest point on the trek (at 5417 meters, or 17,772 feet by far the highest I've ever been) one morning at 10, snowflakes started to fall as we snapped pictures and built our own rock cairn from which to string our little line of prayer flags. We passed mule trains carrying loads of rice and squawking chickens. An adorable little Nepali boy grabbed my leg in a hug as i walked by. We were asked for countless times for "schoolpensweetsphoto". Said Namaste to porters lugging incredible loads up the mountain passes. Got blisters and got lost. Ate way too many Snickers bars (which are available along the entire trek at increasing prices the further into the mountains we were). Tried Yak Butter tea which is filling, warm, buttery and salty and is much better to regard as broth than as a sweet tea. Met up with other individual trekkers, Laura from Germany, Riki from Pennsylvania, Sam from Australia along the way to make a great team of 6. Together we made it past sketchy landslide areas to reach Tilicho Lake- the highest lake in the world- where we skinny dipped in crystal blue glacial runoff in and quickly redonned all of our winter clothing. During another section of our trek a friendly black dog followed us for the whole day. We named him Bhagaaya for "luck" in Nepali, since the late Tensing Norgay, one of the first to climb Everest, considered it good luck to be followed by a black dog in the mountains. We got attacked by leeches on the last day only of the trek- i looked down while we were in the tropical forest to see blood seeping through my pants at the knee- pulled up my pants to find the leech, but he was already gone. Kirstin went shreaking out into the rain when she found one on her shoe. We all sighed in appreciation when we reached guest houses at the end of long days and ordered Dal Bhat (typical Nepali meal of rice, lentil dal and potato vegetable dish). the best part about Dal Bhat is that your host keeps re-filling your plate! We experienced so many different ecosystems, local communities, and amazing views that it's impossible to record them all here. But I have kept a detailed journal of all the days and can tell you many more stories when I see you in person, which hopefully will be soon!

I fly back to Colorado next week, arriving on the 26th of June.
Will be in Colorado, Santa Barbara, Indiana, and probably some other places too this summer before school starts at the beginning of September.
For the next week I will travel with Emily, her boyfriend Zak and Laura from Germany to one or two places in Nepal before I fly out of Kathmandu (not sure exactly where we'll go yet).

It has been wonderful for me to be able to communicate through this Blog to everyone back home about what i've been up to for the past 5 months. I am thankful for all of you faithful readers who made it worth it! Even if you just checked the blog a few times when you had a chance I really appreciate you making the effort and for your replies and unspoken thoughts and best wishes! I could feel them from across the globe. A strong consciousness of love and strength supporting me even from so far away.

I will post more pictures when I get back to the States!
And perhaps a story of the coming week.

Annapurna Circuit Trek

We (Emily, Kirstin and Sandhya)have reached Nepal!!
Spending the past 4 days in the town of Pokhara organizing everything for our trip, meeting incredible mountaineers, and talking with fellow trekkers, we spent longer than we expected to in civilization. Excitedly, we plan on heading out onto the trail the day after tomorrow, May 31st! We will follow the classic Annapurna Circuit trek in the counter-clockwise direction (which is better for the steepest and highest portion of the treck, Thorung Pass). The trek will take approximately 18 days. Some people can finish it in 10, some take longer if the visit chortens, high altitude Buddhist temples along the way and what not. We plan on taking 18-20 days. You can follow our route the map from Besisahar to Bhithani. The Annapurna Circuit Trek is supposedly the most popular trek in Nepal, well travelled and established. Tea Houses and lodges can be found in most areas every couple of hours- which is great for us to go light-weight trekking (no tents or food loads). For this reason we have not planned exactly what villages we will be staying at each night, since there are so many options and our tiredeness or energy will vary day to day.

Monsoon season is almost starting here in Nepal and there are daily afternoon rain showers (today even a little hail), but then it subsides and we can be out and hiking again. We're supplied with rain jackets, pack covers, plastic trash bags lining our packs, and umbrellas! (Yes, we were advised by one of the best mountaineers in the world, Don Bowie who recently came off an expedition on Annapurna I South, to trek with umbrellas like Mary Poppins would!)

More to come soon, hopefully!!!

Machhapuchare, Nepal

Although I did not take this photo of Machhapuchare, I did see it from our hotel terrace this morning before the clouds set in, obscuring the mountain into temporarly oblivion for the residents and visitors of Pokhara.

Three Lovely Ladies

After a wonderful 12 days working on the Navdanya farm, I took an overnight bus on Thursday from Dehradun to Delhi. Spending Friday relaxing with Bhai Ji A. Kumar and his wife Behen Ji (an elderly couple connected with GRAVIS who have been doing social work all there lives), I made full use of their wondeful hospitality: catching up on sleep, having some clothes washed, and eating mangoes.

Friday night Bhai Ji and I headed to the airport together through locked-up Delhi traffic to pick up Emily and Kirstin. Seeing each of them stroll out of Arrivals, looking expectantly for me, heavy bags slung over shoulders, my heart lept up! Oh my friends! My friends are finally here!

We grabbed eachother in bear hugs, kissed cheeks and stood astounded that we were all actually here in India together. We'll form a strong band of three lovely ladies.

Saturday, today, we spent the whole day being overloaded with all that is the city of Delhi! Emily was delighted, she said this was her day of "Monkeys and Mangoes", for she saw a baby monkey in the park and we bought fresh golden mangoes on the street. Being with two Indian newbies, I'm reminded of extradorinary things about India that I now take for granted.

It was Kirstin and Emily's first day in India- in crazy New Delhi for that matter- and they handled it with incredible grace. These ladies will be lovely to travel with. Kirstin's already picking up some Hindi phrases and bargaining with shopkeepers!

With the assistance of a very helpful ticket master we got our train tickets for tomorrow afternoon. We're heading from Delhi to Lucknow to Gorkhapur and then taking a bus into nepal to Pokhara. From Pokhara we will spend a day or two getting all of our gear and guiding organized.

As of now we're planning on doing the whole Annapurna Circuit, which is 20 days long and hikes in a loop around all of the annapurna mtns!!!!!! Very exciting stuff!

Oh I can't wait to get out of the cities of india and finally head into the highest mountains of the world. I just hope we can see them despite the clouds and potential rain!!

After Nepal we may head back to the Navdanya farm in Dehradun for a couple days.

Today, after searching all over Delhi we finally found the organic food shop owned by Navdanya in the area of Hauz Khas. The same seeds and grains that I had been threshing and planting on the farm were now here neatly bagged and labeled on the shelves. I eagerly told the Navdanya staff that I had just come from the farm in Dehradun and that the three of us planned on going back!
They likewise excitedly invited us to a dinner party that Navdanya is throwing on June 5 in celebration of the mango! Too bad, we'll probably miss it while we're in Nepal.

After visiting the small outlet store, we took a rickshaw to another part of the city, Dilli Hat, to eat lunch at the Navdanya organic cafe. Knowing the whole story of the food I was eating, where it had come from, who had grown it, why the seed varities were being preserved, etc. made the whole dining experience come to life for me.

I eagerly open the final section of my travels in India and Nepal with two amazing friends.
In general, there have been four distinct episodes of my time here:

1. Travelling with Dad to South India for 3 weeks
2. Volunteering with GRAVIS in Rajasthan for 3 months
3. Travelling by myself to Dehradun for 2 weeks
4. Adventuring with Kirstin and Emily into Nepal for 1 month

I have soaring hopes for the coming month!

E I E I O

Monday
Picking basketfuls of okra (lady fingers or "bindi" in Hindi) this morning, I was excited to see them cooked up for lunch! We also made chai with milk 5 minutes fresh!
Lots of work to be done today, which was good because it was overcast and cloudy. Weeding, turning up the earthen beds, trans-planting more tomatoes and eggplant, watering, and doing some basic yard work all made for a very fun day.

Having Prem ji, our cook yell, "Sandhya!" in his funny, toothless voice out the kitchen window at me is hilarious. We all played tag and other silly games in the evening and sprawled in the grass when we were too exhausted to continue.

I've been in India for exactly 4 months now.

Sunday
Morning.
So far today I've made use of my Wilderness First Responder and First Aid skills twice today. Last night our cook, Prem ji (a different Prem ji from the one written about in an earlier post) got bitten in the leg by a dog! Pulling up his pant leg to show us the wound, I decided to check it out. As I cleaned it out with soap and water at first I just thought that all of the red was dried blood. But when I realized it didn't look like blood, I asked what it was. Red chili, was the response. Ouch! If it doesn't hurt enough from a dog biting you then just stop the bleeding and kill all the skin cells in the area by burning it with red chili!
Actually it did seem to be an effective blood stopper and antiseptic. Still, I cleaned it all out, dressed the wound, which wasn't too large but very deep, and recommended that he go to the doctor for a rabies shot. He did.

Just a few hours later Sunil, a good friend to laugh and make jokes with here at the farm, came running across the fields, yelling his typical
"Ooo-La-La!" I thought he was just having fun, but as he should me his pinky finger, with the nail and some of the finger sliced through I saw he wasn't joking around. Cleaned out that wound and dressed it too, should be okay I think.

Spent the rest of the morning transplanting tomatoe plants from the nursery out into the big world of the garden. Planting them in three terraced layers so the water would fill the first layer, spill into the second and then the third when we cut the dirt divider. Hooray for water and gravity!

Working with a fellow named Jai Singh all morning we also planted bean seeds, cucumber, melon and quite a few others that I didn't know. The seeds had been soaking overnight to loosen them up a bit. I've realized farming is all about being as efficient in your actions as possible. Do you have to cross one hand in front of you a lot? Or set your tool down everytime to put a seedling in the ground? Is there a better way to do it? I have been revelling in these small considerations, trying to act deliberately and efficiently. Everything can be considered yoga. Training the mind, breath and body. It's kind of like "Karate Kid": wax on, wax off mantra.

Evening
In the evening time everyone from the farm walked to one of our fellow worker's homes a couple miles away to celebrate the marking of one week since his son's birth. I didn't actually get to see the baby, but sitting outside with everyone in plastic chairs and chatting reminded me so much of a barbeque! Of course we ate rice, dal and curry rather than veggie burgers, but I guess that's not so different from my upbringing in Santa Barbara anyways with our communal Indian potlucks!
The rain started pouring down during dinner, lightening and everything and the electricity kept cutting out. Thankfully we hitched a ride back to the farm on tractor- ten people squeezed in on all sides- singing songs and hollering out into the night. I yelled "Yee Haw!" as we bounced along.

Saturday
Morning.
Sifting barley grain with a flat, circular, wire mesh sifter, I shake it round and round in tight circles. After bing harvested a couple weeks ago and threshed within the past few days, now we're finishing the process so it can be stored and used. As I shake my sifter, small rocks and chaffe fall to the floor and onto my crossed legs. The big barley stays in the sifter, but since it's heavy it settles to the bottom. Lightweight sticks of straw and burs ride their way to the top and I flick them out briskly. As the sifter moves round and round, my eyes see only the dark extraneous straw and burs as they start to conglomerate, riding on top of the wave of moving grain. Pausing for a second, I cast them out, and then pour the grain into a waiting "shaker". I'm not sure what the "shaker" is actually called, but its a woven basket with one open side to shake out more of the burs, etc. Bija Devi has been waiting with her shaker ready and now starts to shake the grain in an expert motion. Bija has been working at Bija Vidyapeeth since its conception, and is a master of all things relating to seeds. Her name: Bija "seed" and Devi "goddess" is not just a nickname, it's her true name, and supposedly her true calling as well. After she shakes out most of the rest it and dumps the grain down into a pile, a couple people still sift through it by hand plucking out small stones and burs. Once they're done we lay the seed out to dry. I'm not sure how many varieties of barley Navdanya/ Bija Vidyapeeth grew this year, but many more than the 7 or so varieties we're sifting this morning. Some of the grain varieties we keep separate, but some of them we mix as well.

In the afternoon Diana and I take the most painful bus ride of my life (because my knees are slammed into the metal seat in front of me, and when I think the bus must be too full to physically contain any more passengers they just kept piling in) to go have lunch at one of our fellow worker's houses. His wife cooks such a deliciously scrumptious meal, that it is definitely worth the bus ride. We spend the afternoon with them. Everything here they grow themselves, they said, except for salt and tea. Looking at this young man with his neatly combed hair and tight jeans and his wife in her bright pink and sparkly outfit, you might not guess that they are, really, the true face of sustainability. It's not those of the folk who drive their cars to Whole Foods wearing their carharts and flannel (yes, I've done it before too). Think about it.

Friday
Went into town. The city of Dehradun is the most religiously and culturally diverse area of India that I've seen, and I was really quite surprised! I have also not spent much time in big cities like Mumbai or Delhi, but up here in the north just seems to be a confluence of people. I saw Sikhs, Muslims, Hindus, and Nepalis (who are probably Buddhist) all on the rickshaw ride into town. Punjab is to the south, explaining the Sikhs. The Muslim nation of Pakistan is to the west. Nepal is to the east, and Hindus are of course all throughout India. Turbans, skull caps, red dots, and Asianic features distinguish the different groups to me, and seeing everyone mingling is wonderful.

Thursday
Plucked peppermint leaves to dry and make into a powder for medicinal use.
Worked on an article about water for Wheels of Change.
Gathered small, green unripe mangoes from the orchard ground. Led by a hunched-backed, wiry old man to the tree that was dropping the most fruit. The mangoes are for making into a special drink. Peeled and deseeded manoes.

Wednesday
Finished planting the rows of hibiscus in the morning.
Harvested onions from field. Cut off the green tops to be used in the kitchen for chutney. Set them out for drying.
Plucked bunches and bunches of neem leaves for drying and making into local medicine.
Chopped okra for dinner.
Enjoyed delicious fried pakoras with chai.

Tuesday evening
Planted hibiscus with the very helpful assistance of a nine year old girl.

Surfing the Soil

This morning was spent digging furrows across the land. In the afternoon we'll transplant hibiscus seedlings into the new furrows.

Yesterday, my first full day at Dr Vandana Shiva's farm near Dehra Dun, I helped plow a field behind two Indian bulls. Jai Singh, a field worker, helped me direct the plow and keep the bulls going in as straight a line as possible. It was as difficult as it sounds, and I'm in admiration of the people who've been doing it all of their lives that make it look effortless. Still, there's a lot of yelling and whacking the bulls with a stick involved, which Jai Singh mostly did, to keep the plow going.

After turning up the earth, small black beetles who had been dozing underground buzzed all about, angry at the disruption.

Fitting a flat, heavy plank behind the bulls and removing the plow, we flattened the plowed field by surfing it. Rather than a surfboard or a snowboard that points forward, this long plank you ride horizontally. Standing on the plank your weight squashes the furrows back down as you ride along behind the bulls. You've got to keep your balance by bending your knees and rocking back and forth between your toes and heels. Jai Singh did it alone at first, then I hopped on and we stood side by side (I kept throwing both of our balances off), then I tried it alone which actually made it easier to stay steady. Then, when I came hurtling forward off the plank, Jai Singh took the bulls back under control. But, while I was riding it was really a unique experience, coasting across the land at a clipping pace.

Afterwards we moved on to the next task: threshing the wheat that had been harvested last week. Most of the wheat is threshed by small machine, but since some of the seed must be saved for next year we did some of it by hand because it does not damage the seeds as much. Squating on the ground we whack the bushels with sturdy bamboo sticks, grains of wheat flying up into the air. Once all the wheat has been unclasped from its casing, we sweep the grains up from the concrete patio and bag them in sacks.

My hands are blistered, my feet caked in dirt, and I couldn't be happier to be here.

Vandana Shiva's farm, Bija Vidyapeeth is part of her organization Navdanya. Navdanya has been working to save hundreds of varieties of traditional seeds across India, protesting the growth of multinational corporate agriculture which is enslaving millions of Indian farmers to using genetically modified seeds, packaged fertilizer, dangerous pesticides and increased amounts of water. Navdanya is working with farmers to show that traditional seeds can get just as much output for lower cost, natural input, and the methods don't deplete the land and pollute the air and water.

I've seen Dr Shiva speak several times at environmental conferences in the States and along with some fellow Colorado College students managed to bring her to our college this past October. It's hard to believe that now I'm actually here at her farm.

Two other long term volunteers are here currently, Dennis from Belgium and Diana from Switzerland. They're both about my age. Everyone else is from different parts of India, and such a happy, joking crew that I felt part of the family and included within the first hour of my arrival. Every meeting is a Hindi lesson and a laugh.

All the food that we cook and eat was grown right here on the farm. The wheat flour in our chapatis, the rice, beans, lentils, vegetables, spices, milk, everything!

I walk along the pathways smelling jasmine, onion and peppermint.

The weather is incredibely cool compared to Rajasthan, plants are green and water flows in abundance. It's a pretty idyllic setting to work and live. I was planning on staying a week, but I'll probably end up half a week longer.

Hi all!
I've had an exciting last few days! Here are four new blogs for you. If you have time, you might want to start with the blog titled: Spare Tires. If your short on time, skim Goodbye GRAVIS (for now) and Delhi and Ganga Maa.
Sorry to hit you all at once.
More stories to come soon, so keep checking back.
Also, Joey and I (Joey has been doing all of the work) have been creating a new idea. Check it out at http://www.wheelsofchange.net

You can become part of the movement!

Ganga Maa

The town of Haridwar, in the northern state of Uttarakand, is one of the most sacred among Hindus. It is one of the first towns to greet the Ganges River, or Ganga Maa (mother), as its called here, as it forms from three main rivers pouring out of glaciers and snow melt of the Himalayas. Unlike the muddy, corpse-filled Ganga of Varanasi (which I haven't visited yet, and thus cannot make first hand comparison) the Ganga here is still blue and apparently clean.

Arriving in Haridwar on Friday afternoon and staying until Sunday morning, I resided in an ashram nearby the river. And elderly woman, friends with Gravis, welcomed me into the ashram. Another old woman's late husband was the swami here at Sarvodaya Satsang Ashram.

3 old ladies, about 6 preteen brahmin boys who are learning the art of priesthood, as well as a few adult male staff, and the frequent wandering sadhus in their orange robes make for an interesting dyanmic at the ashram.

One boy, Devi Lal, was assigned the task of taking the American girl around Haridwar yesterday and showing her all of the temples. The Hindu temples were garish, neon things, reminding me more of theme parks than holy sites. Giant plaster statues brightly painted were set in theatrical backdrops. One statue's arm moved up an down with sword in hand, slicing his opponent. Krishna's boat filled with gopals rocked back and forth in a jerky ocean. Dropati spun around and around as her magically endless sari was unravelled by an evil man as her husband gambled even her away in the infamous game of dice in the Mahabharat epic. I would have thought Hinduism to be a sensationalist, gruesome, over-the-top religion from the depictions in these temples had I not lnown some of the deeper significance of some of the stories.

Devi lal and I crawled into mock stone caves and walked through mock tunnels where water flowed and saw the faces of gods "carved" into the sides.

After I don't know how many of the same type of theme-park-temples where I payed for our entrance fee, prasad (sacred puffed rice or rock candy given by the priests), to continue through to the next cave or sanctum, and finally to pick up our sandals at the entrance, I'd had enough of Hindu Disneyland for awhile and we headed back to the ashram.

What did feel special to me about Haridwar was seeing the Ganga maa for the first time and bathing in her. Of course, for modesty I wore full clothes to swim out into the water, but even so, letting the water wash over me was something special. Perhaps its just that I've been in parched Rajasthan for months and haven't been swimming since the beaches of Santa Barbara (I'm pretty sure), or maybe there really is something different about the Ganga. Sending a little leaf bowl filled with flowers and a butter candle down the Ganga as I stood on her banks is something that I've felt I must do before I left India.

Delhi

Waking up on the train in the morning as we pulled into Delhi, I was hit by the full blunt of India as for the first time all over again. Dozens of men performing their morning defecation by the side of the tracks. Slums and shacks squashing humanity up close and personal to views from the train. People washing, cooking, defecating, eating all in open view and side by side.
At the Old Delhi train station three large monekys scamper down the tracks as if they were narrow branches. One mother has a baby grasping onto her back, the other has one claspes to her stomach, the third moneky, an adolescent, travels on his own.

After a bit of confusion, I end up finding exactly the right train to take me north, and hop on. I fall asleep and one of my bags is stolen. I've really got to be more careful, I'm going lock up all of my bags with a chanin whenever I travel on train again. I was relieved that this small bag only had books in it, and actually happy to have karma decide for me how to lighten my load of things, which has grown since travelling in january. But then I realized the bag also had some precious letters and photos in it and I became terribley bummed. Oh well, se la vi, there's nothing I can do. Maybe the thief will learn some english from my double dictionary. And until I find another lonely planet guidebook, I'll need to learn what it's like to travel without the international backpacker's "bible".

So much for my high ideals, I didn't end up paying for my ticket for this train. I also think I might need to start being a little lax about my commitment to speaking the truth. I think I've been telling to many strangers about myself and what I'm doing in india. I might start telling people I'm married. In a faux identity that I developed in my head today, I'm a 25 year old Australian school teacher (married) who's travelling to India for a month for holidays. Which ever town I'm travelling to next is where I'm meeting up with my husband. I haven't tried it out yet, and think I may be caught fibbing when its discovered during the conversation that I don't know anything about Australian-Indian cricket matches or players.

Goodbye GRAVIS (for now)

The sand's starting to get hot under my feet here in Rajasthan, both literally and figuratively. With my projects for GRAVIS done and not enough time to start a new one, and the office feeling full, I decided to depart a couple weeks early. I've been anxious to travel, is pretty much what it comes down to, to see more of India before heading up to Nepal.
On monday I decided that I would be leaving GRAVIS on thursday. I thought the time would pass slowly, for there wasn't much work to do, but the time flew past and I felt rushed and anxious on the last day, barely able to get to the train station on time with all the last minute preparations. Saying goodbye to all of my friends at GRAVIS did not seem real, I think I will just need to come back in the next couple years. Prakash ji (my boss) sang me a little poem song about leaving on my last meeting with him. The office staff had a party for me with samosas and sweets, and Anurag ji, Indrani ji, Rahul ji, Prem ji and Steph ji all came to the train station to see me off. I stored my bags away on board and sat by the window as my friends stood tensely on the platform, anticipating another staff member, Varun ji, to make it to the train in time to give me a pair of jodhpuri jhoti (beautifully decorated sandals). Despite his rush, he didn't make it in time, so as the train rolled out of the station my anxious friends and I waved to eachother as the rain started to come down in inconsistent splashes.

I left with a feeling of incompleteness, perhaps I should have waited to fully "complete the cycle" as my dad told me before he left... But is there any use in drawing out a cycle if one feels unproductive? I think perhaps it's better just to stop while you're ahead.

I am so grateful for this opportunity to work with GRAVIS and become part of the community! Rajendra ji, Shailendra ji, Prakash ji, Shashi ji, Abdul ji, accounting staff and all the field staff- thank you! You will remain in my heart always.

Spare Tires

After a month of living by myself at GRAVIS, I was overjoyed to welcome a new volunteer, Stephanie, into the organization and our room. Stephanie is the definition of a world citizen: half Peruvian and half American, she spent years living in Singapore, Dubai, and Texas. It seems as though she's been pretty much everywhere in the world. She'll be volunteering with GRAVIS for two months and then starting a year long fellowship in St Louis, where she also studied sociology. In just the first two days of her arrival we explored two awesome parks in Jodhpur that I had been wanting to visit. Scouting out the park on the clifftop, we wound our way through tight side street neighborhoods until finding the road that led to the top. We gazed down onto the blue painted buildings of Jodhpur at twilight. since it was getting later and we didn't really want to walk back down the long way we had come and go all the way around the main roads at the base of the cliff, we wondered if ther might be a shortcut. Walking to the end of the penninsula that made the top of the cliff, we saw something. Were those steps carved into the rocky gully going down the side of the cliff? They sure looked like it! And it wasn't too steep! If we took off our sandals for better traction we could scamper down just as well as mountain goats and pop out right behind a temple from where I could find our way home. So we did!

All the GRAVIS staff got a kick out of Stephanie's name, for in Hindi, "step ni" means spare tire! We joked that Ruchi, my friend always and fellow volunteer until last month, had left, so Stephanie would be her replacement! She'll be my replacement too, soon enough. No, she was so many unique skills and characteristics that she will make a wondeful volunteer, and upgrade not just a spare.

We've been waking up in the air conditioned library (we've moved our bed rolls in here because its the only place with AC and its too damn hot to sleep in the room) at 6 am. By 6:30 we're out the door and jogging through CAZRI (Central Arid Zone Regional Institute). It's the only decent time to get some exercise because now even the evenings are sweltering. I've been here in rajasthan so long I've seen the seasons change! I've also been trying to train a bit for the Himalayas, when Kirstin and Emily come over here, but its been a little difficult here in the desert lowlands.

Good thing Steph arrived with some workout videos! After jogging, we switch on some Power Pilates and Yoga for some ultimate core training! Never thought I'd enjoy them, but videos are professional, sincere, and man! You can feel the workout!

We've been having fun bouncing around Jodhpur together. For once I feel like the guide in india, answering a million questions and getting us from place to place.

Steph- I apologize for not sticking around longer and getting you on your feet! I relied on Ruchi for the full 2 months and more that she was here and she never seemed to tire of translating and answering my questions. She's incredibley patient.
Not long after Steph arrived came Kali, from Birmingham, Alabama. A really sweet girl, she'll be volunteering for 4 months, and boy she's picked a hot time to come, and then monsoons too! Happy birthday Kali!

All GRAVIS's volunteers are spares, I guess, but in this organization we never feel like it.

The Golden Temple in Punjab, described in an earlier post.

Rolling out the Roti

Finally learned how to make roti (chapatti) today!! These small, flat breads, like whole wheat tortillas are served with every meal. I’ve been yearning to learn how to cook some Indian food, but whenever I’m in the kitchen and offer to help out, the efficient women who are rolling out roti, throwing them onto the skillet and then turning them over the fire, brush me out of the way. Months ago, when I was first allowed to roll out a roti, it looked more like an oddly-shaped continent than a disc, so the rolling pin was quickly taken away from me. The two women who have cooked in the GRAVIS kitchen while I’ve been here, Ringku Ji and Lila Ji, have made so many thousands of rotis in their lives that there’s no time to teach a clumsy newcomer when there are hungry staff to be fed. But Ringku Ji has been working upstairs and Lila Ji has gone home for a couple weeks, so the kitchen’s been left to a couple of the men and me. The men do most of the cooking, and Prem Ji, a GRAVIS driver makes subzi (fried vegetable dish) so good that I can’t tell it apart from his wife’s.

This Sunday, after spending a relaxing morning talking with Emily and Joey on the phone and planning lovely adventures, I headed to the kitchen around noon and found Prem Ji just starting to cut up okra. (I’ve never liked okra before, always found it such a slimy, scaly vegetable, but I’ve found that when it’s cooked right it’s actually pretty tasty). So, seeing Prem just starting to prepare lunch, I fell into crushing garlic, cutting tomatoes and doing other prep work so that he could combine it all over the stove in what seemed like bucket-fulls of sizzling ghee (Indian butter).

Then it was time for the roti. Sifting the whole wheat flour, Prem threw in some water and started kneading. He punched and worked the dough. When it was sufficiently combined, he took a handful of dough, rolled it into a ball, covered it in flour, rolled it out into a nice disc, spread a couple drops of ghee on top, folded the disc in half and then half again so that the disc now the quarter of a circle, rolled it out again into an equilateral triangle, tossed it on to the skillet, lathered it with ghee, waited until it was brown, flipped it and voila! Done! Rotis are usually always round, so when he got to the stage of rolling it into a triangle, I asked in my few words of Hindi, “Yeh kya he? (What is this?)”. He just laughed and I could tell that he was just having fun making unusual roti, even though it added a few extra steps. It was like when I was a little kid and helping my mom make pancakes into the shape of Mickey Mouse.

Seeing that Prem didn’t mind making roti that differed from the perfectly round kind, I boldly grabbed a handful of dough myself. The first triangle was obtuse and the edges were squiggly, but after that I learned how to roll evenly and get the dough going in the right direction. I could even make discs with no problem! I would pat out the dough and roll it out, Prem would fry them, and we turned out a stack of buttery, toasting hot triangles.

When I get back home I can’t wait to try it out. The ingredients are simple: whole wheat flour and water, a little salt and ghee (or butter) if you want and that’s it! The most challenging part will be finding a thin cast iron skillet for the purpose, but maybe I’ll be able to find one for tortilla making.
Mom- next time we cook a big Indian feast together, I’ll make the roti.

(Correction: After excitedly telling my co-worker, Anurag Ji, this story later in the day, he informed me that we had actually been making parantha, not roti. Parantha are fried with ghee while roti are cooked dry. All the parantha I have seen, however, have been round as roti. Sometimes they are stuffed with mashed potatoes and spices; mint adds an especially good flavor. Often they are left plain like the ones we made.)

Yogurt’s also not that difficult. While I haven’t actually made it myself yet, I’ve seen it being made. Here’s how: Take some whole milk, boil it, let it cool until it’s luke warm, add a spoonful of already made yogurt (it contains the live cultures / bacteria that will multiply in the milk, changing the consistency and taste until it turns into yogurt), cover the bowl, keep it over night in a warm but not hot place, and in the morning you’ve got yogurt. My friend Ruchi says she used to put the bowl of milk in a tea cozy and let it sit in the turned off oven over night, because it was slightly warmer there. Here the desert there’s no need to make the milk any warmer, so leaving it out is best. Basically you just want a comfortable temperature for growing this good kind of bacteria. What I’m wondering is: who made that first yogurt that has given life to all the rest of it, since you always need a starter culture.

Namate folks!
Sorry its been several weeks since I posted!
Here are three separate blogs full of stories for your perusal!
Experiences have been full over here in India.
I've been here for a quarter of a year and in a few days it will be 2 months until I return. I am looking forward to one more amazing month with GRAVIS and then a month travelling with my cousin Kirstin and Coloradian friend Emily. Don't worry, three tough girls travelling together will be a strong team to be reckoned with. Family: safety will be our number one concern, and we'll be smart, plan well, and let you know all of our plans in this regard soon, so PLEASE don't worry.

Modernity Shock

The most developed looking infrastructure in the Thar are the gas stations. Indian Oil and other gas companies have been rapidly involved in the construction of bright new stations up and down the rural roads to serve the growing demand of motorcyclists and Tata trucks. These stations are so modern they may as well be on any American corner, besides the fact that they’re surrounded by thatched huts, sand and camel carts. Seriously. As soon as you step off of their smooth cement you’re back in the sand and a thatched hut is not more than 20 feet away to which women spend hours of the day bringing water. I’ve even seen one gas station in the desert that had a plot in front for a patch of grass like most American gas stations. We’re in the Thar Desert for crying out loud! You’d think the building plans for a gas station for a national oil company might change with locality, but no, of course not. We only get 200 mm of rain per year here on average, but that’s not going to convince a company that a patch of lawn is a little unnecessary. I was happy to see goats coming to munch it up.

Last week I saw a mirage on the desert: in the far distance the trees seemed to be reflected on a huge body of water. Everything was in mirror vision along the horizon, but of course it was simply due to the heat on the land, not any oasis or lake. I’ve seen mirages, black camels, and brilliant peacocks in the desert, but none of these sights were as strange as what I saw last week. Just coming from a field visit to a pastureland, we pulled the jeep off the main road to a Hotel boasting an “All Veg Restaurant” and “Guest House” in English. Tourism has been growing in the Thar, but awareness of this fact had not prepared me to see a gigantic white tourist bus gurgitating out a pack of tourists in shorts and tank tops into the Rajasthani heat. Although this is exactly what I would wear in the States, I found myself instantly offended by these middle-aged women’s exposure of leg and their teenage daughter’s exposure of cleavage. The daughters stood around looking bored in their fashionably large sunglasses while their fathers in baseball caps and sports jerseys excitedly videotaped the camels. This is exactly the kind of tourist I DON’T want to be, traveling around isolated and air conditioned, I thought to myself, and I wondered how people here in the villages regard ME. While I’m trying to be culturally aware and modest, there’s no doubt that I’m probably offending people right and left. If it’s only taken me a couple months to be shocked by this amount of exposure of skin and whiteness, what must people who have lived their entire lives in the sand and scrub be thinking? This image momentarily shocked my system.

Pasturelands and Community

A new project that I’ve been working on concerns common property resources, specifically community pasturelands. Understanding how rural communities manage their shared resources to avoid overgrazing and benefit the entire village has been fascinating. The practices that they’re adopting mesh alongside with what I’ve learned in theory, studying Environmental Science and the concept of Tragedy of the Commons (Garret Hardin), so it’s very exciting to see it in practice. And then the community has found ways to address their particular circumstances, which goes beyond anything I have learned in theory!

Going to the desert twice in the last week, I’ve visited pasturelands and met with villagers to discuss the issues that are facing them and their land. I’m particularly interested in the relationship of villagers to resource management and the benefits the pastureland has given them, such as: more fodder for their livestock meaning less pressure for villagers to migrate during drought years. A whole slew of indirect benefits have been realized, including: groundwater recharge, erosion control, halting of desertification, more education for children who don’t need to graze livestock , less time spent by women gathering water, etc.

Last week, Shashi Ji, the GRAVIS Secretary and I, drove around dunes and dunes with a few other GRAIS staff to reach the pastureland at Narayanpura village. The pasture was only developed a few years ago with the help of GRAVIS, and they harvested their first fodder grass this year, which is proudly stacked next to the guard’s hut. We pulled up and found that the Head of the Pastureland Committee was actually just stopping by at the same time! Serendipity! So we pulled a mat over the sand and sat in the pasture sipping chai with the guard, the head of the committee and other village elders who had been passing by and discussed the pastureland as the sun set over the dune. Shashi Ji translated, and we came away feeling as though we had had a productive discussion and listened to what the villagers had said, and encouraged the village to continue talking about management practices of the land. It was very rewarding.

On Monday, I visited another pastureland and held a discussion with Village Development Committee members under the newly constructed Hutch mobile provider tower in the center of the village. It seemed kind of strange to be sitting under this giant steel tower, surrounded by barbed wire fence out in the desert. But then I realized that the tower represents Development for the community and that there was also a lightbulb located outside, so when it got too dark, we could turn on the light and continue our community resource mapping project in the sand. Using some of the colored powders left over from the Holi festival, we drew the village boundaries, major roads, water sources, pastureland, etc, with the colors on the sand.

On a different note, Shashi Ji and I came up with an awesome idea that Joey and I have been exploring in more depth and will let you know as soon as things become more concrete. We think it’s pretty darn sweet concept.

I’ve also continued work on my curriculum for desert school children for personal hygiene and sanitation. Developing some new games and activities for the curriculum which will be implemented next year, it’s currently being translated into Hindi.

Given the assignment to design a cover for GRAVIS’s newest publication, “The Story of GRAVIS” by a past volunteer Hayden Kantor, I sat down learned how to use Adobe Photoshop all in one day. I had no idea how to work the program, but after going through the tutorial lessons, I became fairly literate in the program and designed some cool covers. One of them has gone to the printing press now!

Punjab

Two weeks ago, or so, my fellow volunteer, Ruchi, finished up her work with GRAVIS and was going to head to Punjab do visit her Aunt(Mamiji) and Uncle (Mamaji) before she left the country. So, jumping on the opportunity to see a new State in India, I went too. We caught a 12 hour train ride north from our city of Jodhpur, Rajasthan to Kokapura, Punjab. Overnight trains really make the time go by more quickly, so it wasn’t too bad. Our compartment mates were a zealous family just coming from a week long retreat at their religious group’s center near Mt. Abu. They were bursting with ideas of reincarnation, the chosen ones, salvation, the importance of meditation, and Brahmatma / the universal soul / God / whatever you want to call It. Since I know more Hindi/Sanskrit words that relate to spirituality than any other subject, I was able to understand pretty well and ask some probing questions. Ruchi was the stalwart translator as ever, for several hours as we were lovingly proselytized at by these Brahma Kumaris.

Awaking in the morning from my top bunk (definitely the way to go if you don’t want to be disturbed in your sleep), I looked out the train window as we rambled through a bountifully lush countryside. There were wheat fields everywhere! And so much greenery! Even the Sikhs riding by on their motorcycles bursted with bounty. There strong build and big bellies were evidence to the fertility of their land. I have become so used to the deserts and malnutrition of Rajasthan, that I was quite surprised to see that just in the next state over things were so different. While Rajasthan is one of the least developed states in India, Punjab has very high literacy rates and is the bread basket of the country. We trundled through acres and acres of wheat fields. Unfortunately just over that weekend a freak storm hit and flattened one tenth of the wheat crop with grape-sized hail. It will need to be threshed by hand rather than by machine, which will be very time consuming and costly.

Once off the train and driving to Mamaji and Mamiji’s house, I tried to observe everything new about the place. Sikh men ride by on motorcycles with bushy beards, big turbans that come to a peak in front, while rocking their aviator sunglasses! Sweet. For sale on long the sides of the roads in town are athletic pants with Adidas stripes down the side and mimic Asics or Nike tennis shoes. Sikhs love their athletic clothes. Little boys don’t wear the big turbans, only sporting the topknot wrapped in some thin fabric. Sikhs don’t cut their hair, so men must find some way to keep it all contained, hence the large turbans and even beard nets. Yes, like hair nets, except for your beard, this way all your hair gets pulled up into the turban if you don’t want to go for the bushy look. A sense of liveliness and robust joy pervades Punjab. The bouncing Bangra music encourages shoulder shimmies, hip thrusting, and hand motions like “raising the roof”. Punjabis love it.

Meeting Mamaji and Mamiji, I got my first hugs here in India, other than from a few Americans I’ve met. Although men walk hand in hand, or arm over the other’s shoulder (it’s just what buddies do), people don’t really hug. Maybe sometimes if you’re family. Affection is displayed in other ways, but I miss the physical hug. So it was wonderful to get one from Ruchi’s Aunt and Uncle, I’ll attribute it to the Punjabi culture and the fact that I was with Ruchi. Her cousin, Shveta has two adorable daughters, Parisha and Ruhani, who were lots of fun to play with and swing around. Parisha’s hit the climax of the terrible-twos stage and couldn’t understand our reasoning for not hitting her baby sister. Oh well, we just kept reassuring the mother, Shveta, that the phase would pass.

In the morning we headed out for Amritsar. Ruchi’s Uncle lent us his driver and car for the day, which was much faster than the bus and we were able to see everything we wanted to. We enter Amritsar and make our way to the center of town. First Stop: the Golden Temple. We’re not sure exactly where it is, so pulling up to a man sitting high on a cart next to the road, our driver starts to roll down the window but before he has even cracked it an inch or asked the way, the man says to some effect with a tired hand wave, “Temple straight ahead.” He’d been asked the question a hundred times and seeing a foreigner and a nice car, he already knew the question before being asked. Ruchi and I rolled back in laughter.

The Golden Temple is the most holy site among Sikhs and is a couple hundred years old. Hindu and Islamic architecture merge, as in the religion. The temple rises up in the center of a large blue pool called the Pool of Nectar (Amrit Sarovar, which gives the town its name). People bathe in the pool and prostrate themselves on the walkways. Walking clockwise around the pool we come to the entrance of the bridge out to the temple. Squeezed between Sikhs (silent for once), the line moves slowly towards the inner sanctum. My head is covered with my scarf out of respect and requirement and I bend down to touch the doorstep as the pilgrims in front of me have done before they stepped on to the bridge. When we finally reach the gold, my line is whisked around the side and we enter through a side door. I’m surprised to see that the chanting I’ve been hearing on loudspeakers is being broadcasted by four priests inside the temple, keeping up a continuous chant with the tabla. It’s beautiful and soothing, but as soon as we enter the sanctum we’re churned out by more pilgrims coming from behind. We snap a few photos once we’re back on the walkway and head to the next destination.

Stop 2: Just a few blocks away is Jallianwala Bagh, the open lot where 2000 Indians were killed or wounded when the British Geneneral Dyer ordered open fire without warning on the people who were gathered there in 1919. People gathered in the lot, surrounded by high walls, to protest the Rowlatt Act which gave British authorities the right to imprison any Indian suspected of sedition without trial. If you have seen the Gandhi movie, you were probably stunned by this holocaust-like scene. The lot has been transformed into a memorial park, but Ruchi and I felt that the beauty of the park diminished the gravity of the event, and we would have been more moved if it had been left empty. We touched bullet holes left in the sides of brick buildings and gazed into The Martyrs’ Well, where dozens jumped to avoid the bullets. Only a few people were able to climb the walls and escape the massacre.

Stop 3: After the sense of reverence at the Golden Temple and soberness of Jallianwala Bagh, we were ready for some fun. So we head to the border between India and Pakistan. Although it may seem illogical to go to the border between two nations who are nearly at each other’s necks most of the time, its only because you haven’t heard of the sunset ceremony of the border patrol. The Hindustani (Indian) army guards on one side and the Pakistani guards on the other put on a spectacular show of bravado and mock anger every evening for the delight of roaring patriots on either side. A stadium full of colorful Indians wave flags and dance to the blaring Bangra music that tries to outdo the blaring Pakistani tunes coming from the other side. The Pakistanis are dressed in more subdued tones, mostly whites and greys, and their stadium is not nearly as full. Ridiculously, I pridefully note to Ruchi that “We (meaning the Indians) seem to have a better representation.” Although I may gripe about the strictness of Indian culture or the annoyance of goggling Indian teenagers, as soon as I’m on the side of the winning team I immediately count myself in and practically consider myself a national! Oh double standards, you get me every time!

Anyways, the Hindustan patrol in khaki, green and red, with high white boots and flamboyant turbans march at a frightening pace towards the border, perform a series of leg kicks and stomps that I’m surprised don’t pull a muscle, and grimace at the other side. The Pakistani patrol go through similar displays and then both flags are lowered ceremoniously together, for the closing of the day. The flags must be lowered at exactly the same rate, and the blaring music must stop at exactly the same time. It’s all a very organized affair between the two sides, even the fans must abide by a few select slogans including: Long live Hindustan and Long live Pakistan. But all this doesn’t prevent the Punjabis from coming down from the stands and dancing in the road. One mob for boys and one mob for girls. When a favorite song comes on, two girls, probably sisters, perform an entire synchronized dance on the spot, probably learned from a Bollywood film, for hundreds of cheering Indians. When song starts to wind down, a whole group of girls comes and circles the dancers, sweeping them back into the party.

After a few wonderful days in Punjab, I said farewell to Ruchi and headed back to Rajasthan on my own to continue my work. I’ll miss this good friend, and wish her all the best in her travels to Africa for the next couple weeks.

Not So Boring Board Members

(Photo of a man from an isolated village in the Thar)

Elderly men with weather-beaten faces and bowed legs, wearing white tunics and lungis, hobble into the GRAVIS office for bi-annual board meeting. Smoother-faced gentlemen with meticulously cut white moustaches and distinguished looking spectacles creak in afterwards. These village elders, doctors and scientists who make up the GRAVIS organization’s Board of Directors are more similar than they may appear. They are all social workers, dedicated to the up-liftment of the rural poor. Whether completing their work in the field or in the laboratory, they each garner a high level of respect in the GRAVIS community.

This morning, our daily recitation of a Gandhian prayer rang with the depth of many experienced voices. Afterwards, sitting at breakfast with two Board Members, one an ayurvedic doctor, and the other a village social worker, my roommate, Ruchi, and I remained humbly quiet until they engaged us in conversation. It became apparent that they have both been at their work for some time, driven forward by the dedication to their ideology. The village social worker/elder (I’m not exactly sure about who he is or the work he has done) was willing to share some of his wisdom with us. In his words I detected great influence from both Gandhi Ji and his own experience. He told us, and I summarize:

To find happiness you must first find peace (shanti). Contentedness is necessary in order to be happy. The “want” for more can never be satiated if that is one’s focus.

This wrinkled man, smiles, shutting his eyes tightly and displaying only a few remaining teeth.

Everything has a limit. Be able and willing to limit yourself in terms of food, drink, work, etc. You will realize that you do not need as much as you want. Think about these actions and practice your philosophy while performing them. Ideas of self-restraint become actualized in daily practice.

I look at this sinewy, slim man and see the sincerity with which he has lived his life. I don’t want that second helping of rice that I was thinking about before quite so much.

The body is a tool to be used, not something to be preserved and worshiped. Use the body in a creative, and not destructive manner.

The hands of this man are rough and as he absently runs his finger down the crack in the wooden table, I think how someone used to working with his hands must find tactile sensation calming and natural.

I don’t understand these people running all about for exercise, he says, when there is so much work to be done in our country.

I have felt rather ridiculous going running in the evenings. I can’t expect people that I see on the side of the roads digging ditches for a few rupees a day to even start to understand why I do it. Physical work makes up their entire day, once they’re done digging they go home to their shack next to the road balancing heavy water jugs upon their heads and cook for their family. I sit at a desk during the day and have the time and money to make exercising in the evenings a personal luxury.

Putting one’s energy to use in a constructive manner is much more fruitful. Go work on a farm. Take a shovel in your hand a dig. Plant a tree. Don’t worry about the quantity of work that you accomplish. God will take care of the fruitfulness and productivity of your action.

While I don’t share the same sense of “God” of which he speaks, I know what this man means. Do not focus on the outcome. Do the work for the action of doing the work itself. I start thinking and wondering how I could better direct myself and my energy.

If you devote yourself to social work, everything in your life becomes a part of that work. When you are in the villages, you become aware of what you are eating and where you are sleeping. Do not take more from the people you are helping than they can easily provide, this would counter your attempts at helping them. It is not socially responsible to become a burden by being picky about the food you receive or the ground on which you sleep. Sometimes you will not eat and you will sleep with no mattress beneath you. This is a part of social work, and in this way you will live the message you are trying to share.

My mind is jerked back to memories of our “Jal Yatra”, our water march through the desert one month ago and sharing meals villagers and sleeping in their schools. The special treatment we received at times was painful: heaps of food that we could possibly eat, while children stood outside on stick-like legs. Local taboos of eating off of other people’s plates, unless you were quite close friends or family, made it impossible to share. And this was burned into memory at one unforgettable meal.
Throughout the march Ruchi and I slowly tried to break down the special treatment barrier, handed to us because we were outsiders, women and members of GRAVIS. All these factors made it difficult to penetrate, but slowly we were treated more or less the same as others. It will take time to get to the stage of acceptance this gentleman has achieved, and I don’t expect to anytime soon, but I have noticed a change since I first arrived here, and people are more relaxed around me. Social work like this man is describing is hard stuff! I hope I can be as useful and clear-headed some day.

The piece of fabric the elder wears folder over one shoulder slips down to his elbow and with the practiced flick of a wrist he swings it delicately back to its proper spot. I wished I could have captured the moment on film. This commonplace action strikes me by its unabashed precision and composure. This single action describes the man. And then he breaks out into another beautiful, almost-toothless smile and blinks his old eyes in joy.

Come talk to us some more for an hour or two while we are here, he tells us.

We will.

Sinking In

Written one week ago:
I’m finally starting to feel more Indian, and somewhat like I belong. The feeling just hit me today. As I walked briskly through the dung covered streets kicking up dust with my chappals (sandals) and proudly displaying my colorfully dyed hair and face from yesterday’s festivities, I didn’t feel so out of place as I walked through neighborhoods to visit a family that have become good friends. Sure, people don’t know quite what to think of this pale girl with pink hair in a blue salwar kameez outfit who gives a slight hand wag to the autorickshaw walas (drivers) indicating that she’d rather walk than get a lift, but I like causing a little confusion. However, despite my nose ring and henna-covered hand of intricate designs, I’ll never look Indian, and perusing the city on weekends heightens my awareness of this fact even more.

The next gawking teenage boy with oiled hair and cheap flashy sunglasses giving cat calls from a parked motorcycle draped with a couple of his friends is going to get it, in the ribs, and hard. Or maybe I’ll just settle for a harsh exclamation of my indignation at his rudeness, which won’t sound so eloquent when actually being yelled. So far I’ve just kept tunnel vision: gazing straight ahead, walking with determination, and not so much as twitching my ponytail to annoying coos of “Hellooooo”. Immature verbal harassment is as bad as it gets and I don’t feel in danger, so friends and family: no need to worry. I’m bigger and stronger than most of these scrawny fellows, the only thing I’m worried about is losing my cool. I am working for a Gandhian-based organization after-all, and that means belief in ahimsa, or non-violence. It was on Friday that I felt my blood starting to boil (maybe it was the 100+ degree weather in addition to the boys), but today, Sunday, my boiling attitude has mellowed out. I feel a sudden strong love and affiliation with my adopted Indian culture.

I think my main happiness stems from a contentedness of place and familiarity; knowing people in the place I live. For example, as Ruchi (my roommate and friend) and I trudged back home from the vegetable stands loaded down with bags of produce, an autorickshaw wala named Sham, stopped to give us a lift for the last 2 blocks. I was about to give my hand waggle, when I suddenly recognized his face and he said, “Namaste, Sandhya, please ride, No rupees.” It was our first free rickshaw ride! We’ve got a friend!

We’ve also got a favorite sweetshop up on the corner where Uncle-Ji (proper term to call one’s elder, he’s also the owner of the shop) sells us the best jelabies (sugary, orange, deep-fried swirls).

Then there’s Salama’s Salon in Sardarpura Market, where we go for haircuts and shampoos, and maybe if you’re lucky, a chance to be in the local newspaper for an article on the best post-Holi-festival facials. As we stopped in to pick up a shampoo today, the ladies begged one of us to pose for the newspaper article promoting their salon as the best treatment in town for removal of the pink dye on faces. I said, “Teekay (Okay)” as my face was still extremely magenta and came back in 45 minutes for a photo-op and free facial. I never thought I was so girly! And maybe I’ll be in the paper tomorrow! (turns out I wasn’t, too bad!)

Besides these folks and spots, we’ve got our favorite little European/American shop to buy real chocolate and museli; the cellphone shop up the street to recharge the minutes on our phones (I know exactly how much it should cost); and the best dosa (an awesome south Indian dish) around. It’s wonderful to finally be getting my bearings in the city, knowing where places are and how much it should cost to get there. Streets and faces are becoming familiar, and finally I’m picking up a little Hindi!

And DAD, you would be so proud! I figured out how to eat with my fingers properly! If you think those phrases are contradictory, “eating with my fingers” and “properly”, then you haven’t yet seen the grace that Indians display in swooping fingerfuls of food into their mouths! I have been going back and forth between spoon and fingers, which is somewhat looked down upon, but I finally figured it out: just scoop a little vegetable onto your fingers, pull your thumb back and skillfully use it to push the vegetable into your mouth. It sounds so obvious, but when you’re clumsily sucking on fingertips, you’ll understand why a little finés makes such a big difference.

It feels good to finally be sinking in, even if I’m reminded of my differentness so often. Familiarity encourages me to communicate, it un-tenses my shoulders and lets me smile. (I’ve still got my elbow ready for any necessary jabs in the ribs though.)

Holi

Holi is one of the craziest Indian festivals ever. Our Muslim friend Abdul tells me, “Sandhya, this is very, very dirty Hindu festival,” as he motions out the car window on Friday night at men and boys drenching each other in colorful dyes. But that doesn’t stop him from joining in the next day. Saturday is the big day: full-fledged, fun-filled, colorful warfare hits the streets, and everyone grabs bags of powdered dye, squirt guns, and buckets of color to peg the neighbors. The adults walk ceremoniously to the neighbor’s gate, offer sweets and a pinch of color in honor of the festival’s more sacred nature, and then let loose, proceeding to dump whole bucket-full’s of dye upon each other. Reds, pinks, yellows, greens, blues, and a dangerous dark powder that will stain for a week, are rubbed into your face heartily with a loving mischievousness. Holi is like Easter in the States, except you’re the egg getting dunked in the dye. Once you’re stained bright pink it becomes much more difficult to hide from your pursuers. So instead, just hop on the back of a motorcycle, and speed away to target your friends before they get you. You may engage in some color throwing and water squirting in transit, as motorcycle gangs of magenta-faced youth zip about the city on a rampage of color. Children, teenagers, and adults all engage in fun. Cross Easter with the Lost Boys’ food fight scene from “Hook” and you may have some idea what the festival of Holi is all about. After scrubbing and scrubbing, my hair is legitimately dyed for the first time, a startling pink hue, and it looks like I’m back in junior high, this time going a little too crazy with the pink eye shadow. It’s not just confined to the eyelids, but has spread onto the cheeks, neck, shoulders and palms quite adamantly.

Drummer

You can Comment!!

Friends! Family!
Just figured out some of my settings for this Blog, so now Anyone Can Comment!!!! You no longer need a Gmail account, so please, if you feel inspired, comment at the bottom of a blog entry.

Also, we have a new author Miss. Ruchi Kapoor!
Fellow Gravis Volunteer!
We(as in Sandhya)are proud to welcome you to the blog, Ruchi!

Check It!

Check out Rajendra Ji's Blog on Traditional Rainwater Harvesting Structures. (Coworker)

Tales of Thar

Cartoons

Here are a few of the cartoons that I drew for a project developing a curriculum for "Water, Sanitation, and Hygiene in Desert Schools". My two characters are Ram and Sita. These cartoons might be made into posters and distributed to the Gravis village schools! Printouts for the school children doesn't make sense, because the children use small chalkboards at school and the paper copies would be lost and scattered across the dunes.

Sorry if the second cartoon is a little graphic, but it is very important to clearly explain how we get sick through the fecal-oral route. Limited water and lack of education make handwashing a rare practice in the desert, especially among children. According to the World Health Organization over one million children die every year from diarrhea (usually contracted fecal-orally, or contaminated water). Death results from dehydration.

Juxtaposing this severe problem with silly little cartoons seems strange, but maybe, just maybe it will make a difference and raise some awareness

International Women's Day

Did you know that March 8th is International Women's Day?
No, we don't celebrate it much in the states, but it is celebrated all over India and much of the world.
To celebrate, the Gravis organization hosted a march and rally in the town of Tinwari. Women filled the street and we marched with banners and slogans through the town. One of the slogans that was translated for me was: "We're not flowers, we're embers!" We marched right up to the Gravis Hospital and assembled under a colorful tent where many women speakers gave their insight and words of empowerment to the mostly female crowd. Encouragingly, some men attended as well. I even gave a little pep talk! This is the third public event in India that I've been herded up to the mike without warning and asked to speak. I guess I need to just start expecting it! But I particularly wanted to speak at this event to encourage the women to speak up to their husbands and fathers, demand that their daughters go to school, insist that they will join a women's self-help group and start up a savings of their own, give voice to their concerns by expressing themselves at village meetings, etc. The village women are taught to be so shy and subservient under their veils, but they are strong and I have met several firecrackers in the mix. They've got a twinkle in their eye, a strong voice and can make whole crowds laugh out loud together. To all women AND men, happy belated International Women's Day! Celebrate the achievements of eachother and the duality that is life.

Marwadi Song

Our two and a half day Water March over the dunes ended on Friday at a GRAVIS convention on water issues. Along the way Ruchi and I stopped in the shade to chat with these women and their children. They said that none of them had seen a westerner before. Here is the beautiful song they sang for us. It ends as abruptly and crisply as it starts.

I suppose I should tell you a little about our trip!
Four groups of 15-20 participants started on wednesday in various villages in the desert to meet in the middle at Gravis's field station at Pabupura on friday. The participants were Gravis field workers and villagers who were passionate about spreading awareness as to how people could help solve the water problems here. We handed out calendars and fliers, and had people sign commitments to water conservation and use of traditional practices. everyone was very supportive. the men in our group busted into chants and hindi songs, dancing like bollywood stars across the dunes. I chimed in as i picked up on the tunes.

going from village to village was very much in line with Gravis's commitment to principles of Gandhi and Vinoba Bhave.

We had a tractor as a support vehicle carrying our water and blankets and we stopped at villagers homes for chai and rest. I remember being huddled up in my blanket in a stone hut, gazing through the open doorway out at the brilliant milkyway stretching across the sky. i don't think i've ever seen such magnificent stars!

we sang songs at night accompanied by harmonium (a piano-accordian hybrid)and hand bells that we would cla together. with ruchi as translator, i told a long arabian nights story that seenmed quite appropriate for the desert. i couldn't think of many songs to share, but ruchi and i did sing "this little light of mine" to the enjoment of our fellow walkers.

i was thinking of joey and alana with your beautiful voices and the ways you both can just bust out into song.

anya with your harmonica, people would have loved that!

jake with your mandolin and contagiously joyful attitude.

julianne, becky, emily, david - oh how i was wishing you were there to run with me over the dunes laughing into the night!!
thinking of all of you with love!

Jal Yatra- Water Journey

Check out the Video!!!

A Matter of Inconvenient Convenience

January through March is the marriage season in India. It is the coolest and driest time of year therefore lending itself well for large celebrations. Grooms wearing red turbans ride on white horses through the streets during their night processions to the wedding. Family, friends, and marching bands in glittering regalia surround the groom in merry cacophany; electric lanterns and general claustrophobia are joyfully expected. The streets bulge as cars and camels try to squeeze by the procession.

In the morning newspaper a "Matrimonials" section replaces what Americans would call the "Wanted Ads". Love-Marriage is a new and generally frowned upon practice. In the rural areas, like the Thar desert, it is completely unheard of and Arranged-Marriages encompass 100% of the marriages.

The Indian supreme court recently ruled to lower the legal age that boys could marry to 18 (from 21) to make it the same age for both boys and girls. This will likely have some affect in the big cities, but in much of Rajasthan the ruling will be ignored. Child-marriage, although illegal, remains a strong cultural tradition.

For example, our driver at GRAVIS was telling us last night about his marriage, and he is no exception. He comes from one of the villages where GRAVIS does its work.
Our driver was engaged at 3 or 4 years old. This arrangment was made by family elders who ensure that the couple will be of the same caste, similar economic status, good family relations and that's about it. Our driver was engaged to his first cousin who was two years younger than him. In this way the parents don't need to worry about who their child will marry when they grow older. However child mortality is high, and fiances may need to be renegotiated.

At the age of 14, our driver was married to his 12 year old bride. The ceremony took place, but the couple would not live together until later. This early wedding made sense economically for the family because and older cousin and another couple were getting married at the same time. Therefore only one wedding party and feast needed to be paid for. Lavish weddings often throw Indian families into unreturnable debt, but this too is often expected.

When our driver was 21 and his wife was 19, his wife moved to her in-laws house and they began their married life. A second procession in which the groom goes to get his bride from her house occurs at this time.

Our driver is now 23 or 24 with one child.

In other circumstances, couples will be arranged and married in their later teens. The couples are restricted from seeing eachother and often the groom will only see his brides face until after the wedding. Talking to one man on the train the other day though about the arrangement he had made for his nephew who was getting married the next day revealed that the girl had received a photo of the boy from a secret source and only much later did the boy obtain a picture of her. The uncle was quite amused.

I'm hoping to make it to a wedding while I am here to understand more of the tradition, and although I've been invited to two, haven't been able to make it to any yet.

As you may be able to tell, the whole concept of Marriage is completely different from how we may perceive it in the West. Questions about love and divorce don't even need to be asked.

Time Pass

Thank you all for the Birthday wishes!!!
And thank you Joey for your beautiful song!
It amazes me that we can send musical creations from the other side of the world!

I had a wonderful birthday in the city of Jaipur.
Well, the first part of the day was spent at a conference on the issue of Ageing in Developing Countries, which at first i didn't think applied to me at all. but then i thought, what better time to think about age and the passage of time than on your birthday? Don't worry I'm not feeling close to decrepit!
The end of the day ended with a lovely dinner with some new friends, just met that day, at their apartment. Two girls: Elleke from the Netherlands, Jana from Slovakia, two guys: Illke from the Netherlands and a local from Jaipur, plus of course my lovely friend Ruchi.

Ruchi is invaluable as a translator as she speaks both Hindi and English fluently. But more than that she's a wonderful coworker and travel companion!

Taking the train from Jaipur back to Jodhpur last night, we met two men, Shivdatt and Nepal who were from different desert villages. Shivdatt is working in Jodhpur and studying for an MBA, he would like to come study in the US. Nepal is trained as a teacher, but with the limited amount of work here, has found a stable position with the Indian Army instead. We talked about water, agriculture, arranged and child marriages, militant activity at the pakistan border, comparisons between rural India and rural America, our families and funny stories that we shared.
The long train ride went much faster with our pleasant "Time Pass" and new friends.

Thinking of all of you with affection!