Soo yea..I'm not really sure what to write about. I spent last week on an farm like 2 hours outside of Betul. We stayed with this family and lived in this mud hut type deal. It was pretty rustic and cool but kinda musty and so I ended up sleeping outside in my hammock by the peanuts. Oh yea, this place grew peanuts which was kinda pretty cool so we harvested peanuts and ate peanuts and yea..that kinda stuff. So other than that we dug trenches and ate awesome food and tried to begin to understand Gandhian philosophy. It was pretty cool. They did interesting things too. For example, we used ashes from the fire to wash all of our dishes. That was really interesting and it worked too. I mean I didn't get sick...it pretty much did the trick. Wow, I'm having a hard time thinking of things to write about. I mean like so much has gone on - it's hard to fit it into words. Another mentionable thing was the we ate a lot of roti (round flat bread), Dal (lentils), some type of jam made with an un-translatable fruit which grows in India, custard apples and various types of grain concoctions.
Now we're in Sewgram staying in/on/at? an ashram. The wikipedia description is as follows...
Traditionally, an ashram (Sanskrit/Hindi: आश्रम) is a religious hermitage. Additionally, today the term ashram often denotes a locus of Indian cultural activity such as yoga, music study or religious instruction.
Actually, if you wikipedia the term ashram ... it kind of maybe shows a picture of one of the buildings within the complex we're located in. That's kind of awesomely ridiculous. I guess I just can't really take it all in because I'm getting used to leaving a place every week and everything is mentally overwhelming. But I mean whatever, so is life. I'm just realizing that it's getting easier and easier to adjust to everything. I'm entering the homesick stage or whatever though. Sometimes I'm just like what the fuck..I have 7 more months of constant travel and change and mental overload.Which is indescribable and tiring at the same time. It comes in waves. Also, it's strange because it's halloween today and I'm thinking about what I would be doing if I was home and I want to just like be in pj's all day and make strange food concoctions and listen to music and smoke cigarettes and watch re-runs of sunny or alyssa's bootleg costa rican planet earth and sleep.
So yea right now we're staying in the ashram and in like 3 days I'll be taking a series of planes to Manali, which is like basically an israeli slash hindi hippie commune in the Himalayas. I'm going to read and apparently be in snow and sit and meet like a ton of random israeli backpackers and meditate or whatever you do when you're in the mountains.
I'm having a hard time putting thoughts together so I'm done with this for now but I want to end with the list of books that I'm going to read slash am reading because it might be interesting to share and also if anybody wants to comment with book recommendations that would be awesome too!
The People's History of the United Sates by Howard Zinn (currently reading and totally reccommend)
A history of cuban agriculture (recommend just reading about cuba in general)
My Experiments with Truth by Mohandas Gandhi
Madness and Civilization by Michel Foucault
Tagore (great bengali poet) - we're bringing a couple of his collections on vacation
so yea that's my list of hopeful reading adventures for the next month. We'll see what happens I'm like 30 pages into people's history. I know that I'll definitely read my experiments with truth though because we have to for class.
yea and hopefully next time I'll think of fun stories to share. That's all for now though.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Delhi in a nutshell?
So I haven't updated this thing in a while and that makes me feel bad because there are people that I care about that I feel I just have so little energy to communicate with. That sounds awful - let me try to clarify. Things are amazing and wonderful and I feel like my life is the plot of a movie right now. At the same time, I'm stressed and dealing with completely foreign (literally and figuratively) situations. The way I look at it, you swim or you sink and I don't want to fucking drown so I'm swimming as hard and as fast as I can.
With that being said...what have I done during my time here? We went to the Taj Mahal the first day. That was amazing and touristy but still necessary..because how can you NOT go to the Taj if given the opportunity. We've been so old Delhi which is SUPER Muslim so that was interesting. No matter how conservative you dress...you stick out like a dumb American. That was fun though, I felt like my life was kind of like that video game tomb raider, except without the zombies. Except I've been dreaming about zombies so I don't know maybe the compilation of the two complete my fantasy. Then there have been the regular trips that don't really have names - like going to various markets and eating in cafes in back alleys and meeting lovely Indian men on metros that compliment you for reading Tagore and then put their hand to your cheek and tell you you're a good person. An assortment of things really.
One thing to note - I visited a resettlement colony on the outskirts of the city. This was two days ago? It was a 40 minute metro ride, 15 minute bike rickshaw and then another 20-30 minute auto rickshaw. For mental visualization, a rickshaw is like a little funny car that is structurally like a moped with two back wheels that rests inside a green and yellow open-air cab. AND you can smoke a bogue while riding in said rickshaw...ahhh the beauty of it all. Sidenote, cigarettes are like 100 rupees here which is like $2 - just for cultural context I guess.
So anyways, the resettlement colony. These people are dirt poor. They came to Delhi post-independence as contract laborers and once the city began beautification projects in an attempt to boost India as a nation - they were forcibly told to vacate and their homes (the slums) were demolished. Then, once they left they were given no source of employment nor homestead. Instead, they were forced to PAY the government 7,000 rupees for the land and building in which they currently reside. And let me clarify, when you enter the resettlement area...the first thing you see is a mountain, a mountain that almost seems to reach the smog-filled sky. Then, you realize that it's not a mountain at all. It's trash. Once you pass the range, you are welcomed by a foul swamp with cows and goats grazing on the algae drenched flora that lies on the outskirts of the pool. This is not land, this is a hazardous wasteland.
The people were great though. It's entirely re-assuring that people are universal. A smile is universal. A handshake is universal. It was so funny. Imagine 35 tiny children in saris and elaborately embellished bell-bottoms and "western" cowboy tops and rags following us in parade down a narrow walk-way. They were all smiling and waving and shaking our hands like we were fucking celebrities. It was so happy and at the same time sickening. One of the kids turned to one of us and said "can you take my brother and make him like you?". I don't really have words.
We're leaving Delhi tomorrow and taking an overnight train to stay on a farm in Nagpur? I'm pretty sure we're going to Nagpur. Either way, I'll be on a farm for the next two weeks eating oranges. This is what I know.
P.S. I'm just really sorry if I haven't contacted you or have not talked to you a lot. I feel like it's an excuse but I'm so mentally full that free time is like napping and doing homework. I just want to say this to clear my conscious at least because I think about it a lot. Even letter writing is not what I thought it was. I hope people are doing really well and yea. I'll try to update this more. It's a pretty awesome outlet.
With that being said...what have I done during my time here? We went to the Taj Mahal the first day. That was amazing and touristy but still necessary..because how can you NOT go to the Taj if given the opportunity. We've been so old Delhi which is SUPER Muslim so that was interesting. No matter how conservative you dress...you stick out like a dumb American. That was fun though, I felt like my life was kind of like that video game tomb raider, except without the zombies. Except I've been dreaming about zombies so I don't know maybe the compilation of the two complete my fantasy. Then there have been the regular trips that don't really have names - like going to various markets and eating in cafes in back alleys and meeting lovely Indian men on metros that compliment you for reading Tagore and then put their hand to your cheek and tell you you're a good person. An assortment of things really.
One thing to note - I visited a resettlement colony on the outskirts of the city. This was two days ago? It was a 40 minute metro ride, 15 minute bike rickshaw and then another 20-30 minute auto rickshaw. For mental visualization, a rickshaw is like a little funny car that is structurally like a moped with two back wheels that rests inside a green and yellow open-air cab. AND you can smoke a bogue while riding in said rickshaw...ahhh the beauty of it all. Sidenote, cigarettes are like 100 rupees here which is like $2 - just for cultural context I guess.
So anyways, the resettlement colony. These people are dirt poor. They came to Delhi post-independence as contract laborers and once the city began beautification projects in an attempt to boost India as a nation - they were forcibly told to vacate and their homes (the slums) were demolished. Then, once they left they were given no source of employment nor homestead. Instead, they were forced to PAY the government 7,000 rupees for the land and building in which they currently reside. And let me clarify, when you enter the resettlement area...the first thing you see is a mountain, a mountain that almost seems to reach the smog-filled sky. Then, you realize that it's not a mountain at all. It's trash. Once you pass the range, you are welcomed by a foul swamp with cows and goats grazing on the algae drenched flora that lies on the outskirts of the pool. This is not land, this is a hazardous wasteland.
The people were great though. It's entirely re-assuring that people are universal. A smile is universal. A handshake is universal. It was so funny. Imagine 35 tiny children in saris and elaborately embellished bell-bottoms and "western" cowboy tops and rags following us in parade down a narrow walk-way. They were all smiling and waving and shaking our hands like we were fucking celebrities. It was so happy and at the same time sickening. One of the kids turned to one of us and said "can you take my brother and make him like you?". I don't really have words.
We're leaving Delhi tomorrow and taking an overnight train to stay on a farm in Nagpur? I'm pretty sure we're going to Nagpur. Either way, I'll be on a farm for the next two weeks eating oranges. This is what I know.
P.S. I'm just really sorry if I haven't contacted you or have not talked to you a lot. I feel like it's an excuse but I'm so mentally full that free time is like napping and doing homework. I just want to say this to clear my conscious at least because I think about it a lot. Even letter writing is not what I thought it was. I hope people are doing really well and yea. I'll try to update this more. It's a pretty awesome outlet.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
"What you run away from runs after you" - Romanian Proverb
So I'm in India. It wasn't even real to me until I woke up one morning and realized that I didn't recognize any of the birds flying outside my window. There are so many green parrots and this funny little birds with grey stripes and yellow beaks. We're staying at the Indian Social Institute which is part hostel, part academic center in South Delhi. The food is fantastic. We break for tea everyday at 10:30. With tea they give us little fried snacks like samosas and these little rolls with potato and peas and spices covered in something like semolina. They are going to have to roll me onto that plane and that is completely fine with me.
So...what have I done so far? I've been horrible at recording things and I know that I'm going to regret it if I don't.
The first night (oct. 8 - I'm not even sure what day it is anymore)
Okay nevermind...this is done for now. I have to be on the bus in like 10 min
So...what have I done so far? I've been horrible at recording things and I know that I'm going to regret it if I don't.
The first night (oct. 8 - I'm not even sure what day it is anymore)
Okay nevermind...this is done for now. I have to be on the bus in like 10 min
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Mbira Dvavadzimu (Voice of the Ancestors)
Today I went to the Eastern Station Market with a few friends. Partially for my study and mostly because I fucking love flea markets. I wandered around looking at the traditional "cultured" items like saris and scarves infused with tiny little mirrors. All tourist-y though. You know, they had the usual myriad of tents selling jewelry, witty graphic tees, overpriced photography and home goods.
Then, out of the corner of my eye...I saw a small board with tin keys fastened to hardwood. "Alyssa!" Alyssa found one of these in a free bin a couple months ago. It was love at first sight. I was like "oh dear god, it's a sign!". I had to have one, so I asked him the price - 200 dollars. Oh HELL no.
Then, we fell into conversation. The small wooden instrument is called mbira dvavadzimu, or voice of the ancestors. They originate in Zimbabwe and the music of the mbira is considered to bridge the divide between this world and the next. Holy shit, that's awesome. Then he showed me his personal mbira. It was over 100 years old and the small metal keys were worn and smooth as butter. He started to play the most beautiful song, it was soft and low and who am I kidding? I almost cried right there in front of that random vendor man.
Keeping my shit together, we talked a little more about how when the British colonized Zimbabwe they basically prohibited mbira music and gave the locals guitars instead. This only made the musicians retreat to the hills where they continued to play. It was all so beautiful, I asked him again where I could find one. Oh, I forgot part of the story. So, there are different tunings to the mbira. The ones he was selling were masaba (I think I'm completely wrong on that term) tunings - but those were kind of high pitched and not my thing. BUT the mbira that he had was a gandanga tuning - which he repeatedly affirmed was the best. He also informed me that there was virtually no way that I would be able to find one. I laughed at myself. That's such an American mindset to immediately want one of everything just because we can.
He had gotten his mbira from a good friend. In Zimbabwe, she was appointed the musician of the family and therefore was given the family mbira. At one point, she had to lend him her instrument for three years so that she could go on some trip. After three years, she came back SPECIFICALLY for its return. Yet, once she had seen that he had learned to play it so well - she couldn't help but let him keep it. It's stories like that that get you a mbira. Dammit. My heart literally melted when I heard him play that thing. A hundred fucking years. Oh man.
So moral of the story, we kept talking for a while. He showed us pictures of his trips to Zimbabwe and told us that he was heading back at the end of December. We got into talking about IHP and the places we were going. This guy was awesome - so friendly and offering us lessons and a place to stay in Zimbabwe hah! At the end of it all, we exchanged e-mails. He really wanted to hear all our stories and was going to let Mike and me know if he ended up finding any gandanga mbiras. (This is the point of the story where I pee my pants). I don't know if we'll ever hear from him but as we walked away I made a point to briefly turn back and remind him how serious I really was.
Then, out of the corner of my eye...I saw a small board with tin keys fastened to hardwood. "Alyssa!" Alyssa found one of these in a free bin a couple months ago. It was love at first sight. I was like "oh dear god, it's a sign!". I had to have one, so I asked him the price - 200 dollars. Oh HELL no.
Then, we fell into conversation. The small wooden instrument is called mbira dvavadzimu, or voice of the ancestors. They originate in Zimbabwe and the music of the mbira is considered to bridge the divide between this world and the next. Holy shit, that's awesome. Then he showed me his personal mbira. It was over 100 years old and the small metal keys were worn and smooth as butter. He started to play the most beautiful song, it was soft and low and who am I kidding? I almost cried right there in front of that random vendor man.
Keeping my shit together, we talked a little more about how when the British colonized Zimbabwe they basically prohibited mbira music and gave the locals guitars instead. This only made the musicians retreat to the hills where they continued to play. It was all so beautiful, I asked him again where I could find one. Oh, I forgot part of the story. So, there are different tunings to the mbira. The ones he was selling were masaba (I think I'm completely wrong on that term) tunings - but those were kind of high pitched and not my thing. BUT the mbira that he had was a gandanga tuning - which he repeatedly affirmed was the best. He also informed me that there was virtually no way that I would be able to find one. I laughed at myself. That's such an American mindset to immediately want one of everything just because we can.
He had gotten his mbira from a good friend. In Zimbabwe, she was appointed the musician of the family and therefore was given the family mbira. At one point, she had to lend him her instrument for three years so that she could go on some trip. After three years, she came back SPECIFICALLY for its return. Yet, once she had seen that he had learned to play it so well - she couldn't help but let him keep it. It's stories like that that get you a mbira. Dammit. My heart literally melted when I heard him play that thing. A hundred fucking years. Oh man.
So moral of the story, we kept talking for a while. He showed us pictures of his trips to Zimbabwe and told us that he was heading back at the end of December. We got into talking about IHP and the places we were going. This guy was awesome - so friendly and offering us lessons and a place to stay in Zimbabwe hah! At the end of it all, we exchanged e-mails. He really wanted to hear all our stories and was going to let Mike and me know if he ended up finding any gandanga mbiras. (This is the point of the story where I pee my pants). I don't know if we'll ever hear from him but as we walked away I made a point to briefly turn back and remind him how serious I really was.
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