My Trip to India

My first visit to India was 3 years ago as a member of our meditation group in Sacramento.  Like many first-time visitors, I was overwhelmed by the poverty, the garbage on the streets, the overcrowded conditions and still fell in love with the country. India has a way of offending all your standards for living and still gently reaching your heart. 

 

One that first trip 3 years ago, our group had arranged to meet in Bangkok first and then together travel to India.  Coming from a country where 75% of Americans are Christian (was 85% in 1990), it was amazing to see images of Buddha everywhere.  One day we visited the famous Reclining Buddha, a gold-plated statue that stands 50' tall and 150' long.  Little did I realize that this would not be the case when we arrived in India, Buddha's birthplace.  For while 95% of the population in Thailand is Buddhist, 80% of the India's population are still Hindu with less than 1% Buddhist.  Much like Christ 2500 years later, Buddha's message was one of equality and compassion was not well-received by those in power who wanted to preserve the existing caste system in India.

DELHI

             The first city I had chosen to visit this time was the historic city of Delhi and India’s 2^nd largest city after Mumbai. I was a little restless when I arrived having inadvertently created a 20 hour layover in my layover at the Dubai airport from Armenia. This city in the Arab Emirates has undergone incredible construction in the past decade thanks to the world’s demand for oil. Yet I really didn’t have the funds or the desire to explore the Arabian version of Las Vegas.  I was amazed to see the amount of electronics equipment tourists carried with them that it even required a shrink wrap machine right in the airport. But I was content to take a short bus ride for much simpler fare: a sandwich, baseball cap and a cheap pair of sunglasses.  I was ready for India.

 

            The first thing I noticed on my taxi ride from the Delhi airport was the flurry of construction projects as they prepare to host the upcoming Commonwealth Games in October.  The growth in the computer world has been good for India’s economy and like China at the Olympic Games wants to use this opportunity present a more modern face to the world.   

 

Where I had chosen to stay was the opposite of “modern” but was conveniently located next to Old Delhi and the train station that I would depart from in 5 days.  It did have the advantage of cheap hotels and the presence of many foreign tourists.  My arrival on my street was at first a little shocking as I re-entered the world of controlled chaos that is normal on the streets in India. The first day is like being in a 3-D movie theater, dodging and moving as all the sights and sounds attack your senses.  But once you have acclimated, you just take your part in this fast-flowing river and find yourself carried along with all the other amphibian life.  I lived off Main Bazaar Road which is like a narrow alley 100 yards long with storage units every 10 feet.  Of course you have to mix in several hundred tourists on foot, a couple dozen rickshaws, a handful of honking motorcycles and the occasional full-size taxi who decides to clog up the whole area with his vehicle. It was quite a change from the quiet country lanes I had been walking down in Armenia.

 

As I had discovered previously in my trip to Istanbul, I enjoy my time most when I can find a balance with sightseeing and just hanging out with the locals.  So the next morning I found a cozy Internet cafe two minutes from my hotel that offered delicious chai for 25 cents a cup and surfing for 50 cents an hour.  It was also a great place to run into fellow travelers from around the world.

My days in Delhi were spent just chatting with the various store owners along my street as I slowly wandered out to the main drag for some adventure I had selected from Lonely Planet. My outings into greater Delhi took me to a shrine for Gandhi, the Railroad Museum and a couple historical temples and mosques.  The large bronze sculpture of Gandhi in front of his spinning loom was especially moving.  He and Mother Theresa had been my idols since my youth.  I also enjoyed looking at the development of the trains in India over the past 150 years.  What may have started as a practical way for Britain to manage a rather unwieldy colony has become such a vital link for people throughout India.  As I was to soon find out it in Gaya, waiting for trains has evolved into an extended social ritual as well.

 

            During one of my outings in Delhi, I was in need of some relaxation between stops and found the Lotus Garden Park on the map.  Sitting in front of a lotus pond, it seemed like a perfect occasion for a brief meditation.  But after about 10 minutes I started to notice some vibrations from the other end of the park bench I was sitting on.  Assuming that it was someone reading a book I thought I would just continue.  Then I started to hear muffled whispers.  When I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by a handful of 9^th grade boys, their eyes wide with curiosity.  Their desire to have a conversation was apparent.  Once the unofficial leader of the group had introduced himself, I began to ask him questions about his classmates.  Who was the best cricket player in the group?  The best dancer?  The fastest?  Each answer came with the person’s nickname and much laughter.  Before long our group had tripled in size as others on the same school trip joined in as their female classmates kept a respectful distance.  Their energy and interaction with each other was delightful to watch and I offered to take their photo before leaving.  Hesitantly the smaller group of young girls approached as well to have their photo taken.  Standing there in their school uniforms I could feel the energy for India’s bright future.

My evenings in Delhi were usually spent along Main Bazaar Road near my hotel, having dinner or sitting around chatting with locals and tourists I had met.  One evening our little international group included two young men from Canada (who lived within an hour of each other but had never met before), a young man from France and a young store keeper from Nepal. They had all be traveling for at least 6 months and some for over a year. One of the Canadians had gotten his degree in Finance and then came to Mumbai to explore possible career options. But finding out his salary would be less than he could make at a McDonald's back home, he decided to start researching products he might import to Canada.  His current plan was to import prescription glasses which could be made in India for a 1/3 of the cost.   The other Canadian was just finishing up a year on the road make possible by the snow removal business he started during college and sold upon graduation.  His plan upon returning was to work with a friend who was opening a restaurant in a new snow-boarding resort in British Columbia.   The French student had started traveling after high school and recently finished a couple years stay in Barcelona. Now 26, he was pursuing a career in art and particularly creating sculptures. Our “ringleader” that had brought us together was a young storekeeper originally from Nepal. He had an infectious sense of humor and spent the evening at the end of the table drinking Coca Cola and translating the Indian songs that played in the pub.  The night went longer than I would have chosen but was filled with much interesting conversation.

 I also spent a couple evening with was a group of young men from Kashmir.  Since the 15^th century the Himalayan goats in their region have been famous for producing the wool used in cashmere sweaters and pashmina scarves. The photos my young friends showed me on their computers also portrayed a land of forests and mountain lakes.  But all this history and beauty has unfortunately been overshadowed of late by its border with Pakistan and the periodic incidents of violence.  Without the usual flow of tourists, these young merchants have been forced to bring their handcrafts and soft goods to Delhi for sale.  It was apparent how difficult it was to be away from their families and friends for extended periods of time.  As they tried to sell me on a mini-vacation on their families' houseboat, I sensed it was less for the profit than an excuse to return home for a week or so.  As Muslims, some of them are also subjected to verbal abuse from Hindu merchants in adjacent stalls. My personal take was that it had less to do with religious differences than business competition.    These men were much more confident and engaging with passing tourists and thus did more business than most of the reticent Hindi owners just standing in front their stalls waiting for business.

 

            So after 5 days in Delhi, I boarded a 10pm train and headed out for my next destination:

BODHGAYA

  This little city of 30,000 residents made a good next stop on my vacation for several reasons.  For one thing, Kolkata (as Calcutta is now spelled) was an 800 mile train ride away and Bodhgaya was close to a mid-point.  It was also now the site of a famous Mahabodi Temple built to honor the bodhi tree where the Buddha first “awoke.”  And since we had visited here 3 years ago on our Sacramento pilgrimage, I had a couple friends to re-visit.

 

            After I checked into my hotel, I walked down probably the only street in the whole country that felt familiar. It was easy to find my friends since their businesses share the same hallway.  One has an Internet Café and the other carves Buddha statues from wood and stone.  The young internet owner was in the flush of success as this past winter had seen the most travelers to visit the city. He was the first one to have Wi-Fi in the city thanks to the generosity of one of our members from Sacramento upon returning.  In a country where power outages were common, he felt this gave him an advantage over his competitors. With a big smile he told me: I’m Number 1.   My other friend’s business seemed to be enjoying the additional foot traffic of tourists the internet brought as he had three apprentices working on carvings on the floor of the corridor.

As usual it was something unexpected that turned out to be the most memorable part of my brief stay here.  As I was having supper at an outside café that first evening, I met a bright young man who had started a new school. He was offering free education for underprivileged and handicapped children.  He invited me to see his school.  At 7:45am his motorcycle pulls up in front of my hotel and we were off for a very heartfelt excursion. The children were just lining up for morning prayer in front of the school when we arrived. Standing there in the little school uniforms, hands folded and eyes closed, they were a vision of sweetness. This was followed by a brief period of meditation in the classroom and then their regular lessons in Math and English. My friend and his wife both teach at the school and live there with their new child.  The behavior of the children mirrored the kindness and respect they were given by all their teachers.

       The next morning I arrived early for my train departure at 9:40am.  As I mentioned at the beginning, I was to spend the next 7 hours waiting for the train.  The Indian families were obviously much wiser about the train schedules.  As they like to say: India great but everything late. Many families came prepared with tarps and blankets to spread out on the platform and enjoy their time together.  As the lunch hour approached, jars of food appeared, food was rolled up in bread and cucumbers were sliced and passed around.  Eventually the children got sleepy and were fanned by aunts and grandmas as they slept next to their parents.  And the train eventually arrived.

 KOLKATA

         My original plan to leave Bodhgaya in the morning was to avoid arriving in the dark for my first visit to India’s third largest city.  As they say, be careful of what you resist.  As a result of the 7 hour delay, our train pulled in about one in the morning.  A young Japanese tourist and I were happy just to find a flophouse 5 minutes from the station to await the next day’s sun.  In the morning I took a cab ride to the mid-range hotel I had picked out from my 2007 edition of Lonely Planet.  As the cab pulled away, I discovered that since the guidebook was printed, the hotel had been demolished and was currently being re-built.  Fortunately, an older man about my age showed up at my elbow and directed me to a nearby hotel.  My guide explained to me later that he had pulled tourists around for over 20 years on rickshaws and finally got too old for the work.  He obviously found it easier to pull tourists around now “standing up” to stores and hotels for a baksheesh (kickback) from the businesses. 

It’s funny how things turn out. The hotel he led me to had everything I needed: a fan,  private toilet, and best of all a cold shower.  It was a bargain at $7 a night and centrally located for everything I needed to do over the next week. Yet if I had followed my usual procedure of following Lonely Planet reviews I never would have selected the Capital Plaza Hotel.  In their  review for budget hotels in the Sutter Street area, it was the very last one and began with the phrase… As charming as a prison.  I could only laugh later that night when I finally ran across the review.

 

One of the main reasons I choose Kolkata as part of my trip was to visit one of the Houses for the Dying founded by Mother Theresa.  I tried to find out about volunteering over the Internet before coming but couldn’t find much information.  But the next day, one of local street guides told me that 3pm on Mondays is when the Missionaries of Charity meet with visitors seeking to volunteer. When I was arrived, I was surprised to find a room filled with at least 75 people and presentations in 3 different languages. A couple hours later I was signed up for Prem Dan, one of the facilities for men with mental or physical handicaps.

The next morning all the volunteers met at the Mother House at 7am for a light breakfast (a banana, slice of bread and chai) and then made our ½ hour walk to the facility.  Our work detail started with clothes washing and then hanging them out to dry on the ceiling.  We looked like a well-organized fire brigade as we passed the buckets of wet clothes along on their way up to the roof. I had forgotten how refreshing it can be on a hot morning to walk slowly under a clothesline of dripping clothes.  After that a couple of us would gather up our shaving kits and offer shaves to the men sitting around in the courtyard.  It didn’t take long to figure out that it wasn’t about the quality of the shave. It was just a wonderful opportunity to provide a little kindness and respect to men whose physical and mental problems had taken away so much of their dignity.  When finished I liked to take the towel and gently remove any water or shaving cream left on their faces.  As I held one man’s face in my hands, I could sense that it had been a while since anyone had held his face with any tenderness.

 Later there was a meal for the men and we helped in whatever way was needed from carrying metal plates to those who couldn’t walk or even helping to feed them.  I remember seeing one young Japanese volunteer in his mid-twenties wearing a black shirt saying: Doesn’t Play Well with Others.  Ironically enough, he sat there for a half-hour patiently feeding this one man. I asked him later if he know what his shirt said.  He had bought it on a recent trip to California and had no idea what it meant.   

After the first day, the time working not only became easier but more meaningful from previous contact with the men.  They would be lined up sitting on benches in the morning and always had a way of recognizing our arrival.  For some it was that little waggle of the head so common in India and for others it was just a nod or look in the eye.  Some even extended hands on arms that were not fully functional.  It didn’t take long to realize that we were the ones being blessed by our daily interactions.  I can only hope to be as gracious should my life require me such dependence on others.

             During the first orientation day, I happened to meet a mother and daughter who had just arrived from Seattle.  It was a very special trip for them both.  Nancy had adopted her daughter Katie from Kolkata almost 21 years earlier and this was their first trip back to her city of birth.   Since volunteers did not work on Thursday at Mother Theresa’s, they asked me if I would be interested to visit a business created to help get prostitutes off the streets: freeset (www.freesetglobal.com).   (If you have seen the documentary Born into Brothels, you know how this lifestyle becomes a economic necessity and then a trap for many women.) There were now 120 women working at freeset there making journals, bags, shirts and other handicrafts to be exported. All the profits went back to the women. I thought it would be great to visit this remarkable enterprise.

It wasn’t until they handed me a roller and a 5 gallon bucket of paint that it dawned on me that I had really signed up for another volunteer work project.  Oh, well I had nothing better to do with my day off!  So for the next several hours my new friends from Seattle and I sanded the cement walls and applied an undercoat in preparation for the next day’s painting.  Of course, the Old Navy shorts and polo shirt that I wore will never be the same with all the paint splatters.  Some day when they join my wardrobe of gardening clothes, I will remember with fondness my unplanned day as a painter.  

Looking back at my days of volunteer work in Kolkata, I can see there was something special that is lacking for me in Peace Corp work, except for the summer camps. Here there was a strong sense of community not present in my usual days in Armenia. Working shoulder to shoulder in service surely deepened my connection with my fellow volunteers. I will remember: the two ladies from Milan who I walked with to that first orientation; the rowdy group of Irish lads whose hearts were even larger than their voices; the shy Japanese student accepting the awkwardness of shaving others when he barely shaved himself; and the German couple who would return later to their advertising work in Munich.  The generosity with which all these people shared themselves, doing whatever was required was inspiring for me.

When I finally stood at the baggage carousel in Armenia, I realized the strap binding my back pack had been cut.  It wasn’t until that evening that I would discover that someone had stolen my camera and with it, all my photos from my week in Kolkata.  Fortunately for me, all the memories were already safely tucked away in heart.