Don’t complain, because you never know what could happen…

I mentioned in my last entry that there were few occasions where I’ve felt I’ve connected with Indian people.   While that still holds true for the vast majority of my interactions, I’ve often been lent a helping hand and sometimes been the recipient of unexpected and timely wisdom.

Accompanying my travel-friend Thomas on a gift buying excursion for his mother in Udaipur, I was readily lured into one of many silver shops lining the main tourist street.  Although I didn’t buy anything, I found myself back there the next day, figuring that if I were to buy something, it might as well be from a shopkeeper I found quite amicable.  After exchanging a couple of words of greeting, Aju said to me “excuse me if I say this, but you are very direct, I like that about you because I know that you are honest, but sometimes you are too direct and not everyone will like this.”  Alright, Aju had my attention!  Our conversation rapidly took a turn towards the philosophical.  Unmarried and, for reasons I am unclear about, not connected with his family, Aju grew up living with his guru, a person that he continues to live with.  Over chai in the cramped jewelry stall, Aju dispensed his wisdom on a wide range of topics.  He cautioned me never to worry about money, because his experience with rich people taught him that they are seldom happy and don’t get the chance to do the things they want to.  (Rich readers, feel free to weigh in on this point)  Besides, why worry when I will always find food to eat and have a roof to sleep under? (he’s right, so far has been true)  He then told me not to worry about love, because that would find me in due course.  He also told me not to worry about my career, because it will work itself out and in the meantime, I should be happy to find and do part-time work.  (Yes, I too noticed the theme here…) Covering all the bases, he advised not to be impatient for things in life, because everything happens for a reason.  Finally, he told me something that has stuck with me ever since and is the title of this entry: “do not complain, because you never know what will happen next.”

This has proven true repeatedly over the course of my trip.  Arriving close to midnight in a ‘small town’ of 80,000 (sorry mom), the son of the hotel owner miraculously appeared to pick me up and whisk me to the guesthouse on the back of his motorbike, backpacks in tow (sorry again).  Unsure of where any train was going at any given time, countless students, young women and families made sure I got the right information.  One time a girl my age and her father even shared their rickshaw to the local bus station with me after finding out on our train ride that we were making the same journey.  I have eaten chocolate, nuts, glutinous sweets and mystery fruits shared by neighbours in my train compartment, never once succumbing to Delhi belly (given my constitution, I’m as shocked as you are). Anticipating that a 4 am taxi ride a train station an hour away couldn’t go smoothly, I was unsurprised when we got a flat tire, and equally unsurprised when my driver deftly changed it and got me to the station on time.  Desperate to print a ticket for my next day’s travel to Goa, I was confronted with the information that the internet in the entire district of Udaipur where I was staying wasn’t working because of a ‘Muslim festival’.  Equally mysterious was the one internet shack in the middle of the chaos that had a signal for ‘the next 20 or 30 minutes’ that let me in, only to have half of my ticket print before the printer was crippled by a paper jam that only the owner could fix (who was of course in absentia, probably due to the festival…).  Arriving in Kerala this week, I was offered a broad array of tours by my guesthouse and tourist information centres alike, only to find out at one of them that there was a taxi/auto rickshaw strike planned for the following day over petrol prices that was anticipated to continue for an indeterminate amount of time!  Unfortunately, having not booked the private taxi tour to Munnar, I am not able to tell you how that situation would have miraculously resolved itself!

The surprises continue with fellow travelers that I’ve met along the way.  I scarcely had time to worry about being alone before I found myself in a conversation with the person next to me, whether it be at a restaurant, in a line or at a yoga class.  What was unexpected is the level of intimacy attainable with complete strangers over fleeting periods of time.  Maybe there is a freedom in having an acquaintance that you are unlikely to meet again.  Or maybe, to use a word that the Germans I’ve met would be happy to see, it stems from the common bond of those also afflicted with wanderlust.  Regardless, my days have been enriched by chats late into the night, laughs about random happenings and invitations to even more places for me to visit!

So Aju’s been right, I could hardly have predicted most of the things that have happened but everything has managed to work out well! Unfortunately, this reality didn’t prevent me from going to bed yesterday worried about where I would find accommodation over New Years eve (Kerala is a popular tourist destination and I detoured there at the last minute).  I’ll even admit to complaining about this in my journal.  But yet again, I could not have guessed what happened next.  Today I am writing this entry in the Delhi airport, waiting for my 3:05 am departure to Toronto.  Yes, you read that right.  One night a couple of weeks ago, despite the fact that the internet was not working on the streets of Bundi, India yet again surprised me by providing an unsecured wireless internet connection for what amounted to five minutes longer than I needed to interview for a volunteer position with the CBA in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania.  Yesterday, while lazily spending the morning in Kochi, I found out I got the position.  Confronted with exorbitant price differentials, an initial response from Jet Airways that I could not get a flight back home until January 20^th and the imminent transportation strike, I choose the most straight-forward route home presented to me. 

And so, this morning I left Kerala, self described as ‘god’s own country’, the region of India that I first imagined so many years ago.  I didn’t see enough of it, but during my 14 hour train ride south from Goa, I remember thinking clearly that this was the India of my dreams.  Endless rows of coconut trees lined broad lakes interspersed with lush green vegetation.  The paths to homes along the countryside cut red swaths into the earth.  And it was hot, gloriously so!  I think something changes when the temperature rises; I immediately noticed Kochi to be a far more relaxed city than any of the ones I’d recently visited in the North.  To be fair, since I’ve been told that it gets to 50 degrees Celsius during the summer in Rajasthan, I’ll have to reserve final judgment.  Until when? My next trip to India, of course! It is with mixed emotions that I leave here, looking forward to a new place and new adventures and challenges, but at the same time cutting short a plan that was so long in the making.  In a way, it’s comforting to know that you can’t actually see all the places in the world, so I can cut myself some slack on that front.

I will continue to write as I head to Tanzania, but will spare you the details of what I’ll be doing over the next couple of weeks, which will be comprised of decidedly less interested things like laundry, visits to medical professionals and experiments in my parent’s kitchen.  By the time I post this, I will be at home, so you’ll know where to find me!

A happy, healthy New Year to everyone!

‘ it’s wedding ti-me in rajas-than’

After Kathmandu I headed South to Delhi and then West to Bikaner, to accept the invitation to my Delhi - Kathmandu tour guide Hari’s cousin JV’s wedding (grammar police, get me later).  It is wedding season in Rajasthan (the summers are an oppressive 50 C) and every night you can hear the sounds of traditional music and, if you’re lucky, the occasional riot of fireworks.  Rajasthan is literally the land of kings and on that front it does not disappoint.  As you can see from my pictures (click on the title), this desert state has a history of great wealth and each city outdoes the next with its royal palaces and now-crumbling fortresses.  I am writing this entry from Bundi, a small (80,000) city five hours west of Udaipur, where I am relishing the reprieve from the throngs of tourist stores and of course reflecting on the past three weeks.

The reality is that you can travel a country as I am for months on end without getting a real sense of its culture or the reality of its people.  I, like many tourists, generally seek out the ‘tourist areas’ of every city and there are many practical reasons for this (the least of which is the ready availability of toilet paper).  However, aside from the chorus of “hello, madame, where you from?”s in poor British accents, there is little interaction with actual people.  Traveling on my own, I am learning to perfect my ‘no means: no-I-swear-I-do-not-need-or-want-you-to-clean-my-ears-and-even-if-I-did-it-wouldn’t-be-with-that-hook’ look, which further stifles any hope of meaningful interaction.  All of which is to say, Hari’s generous invitation was a rare chance for a glimpse inside the culture whose rhythms beat around me every day.

Hari drove his parents and I traveled from Bikaner to Jodhpur by ‘tourist’ bus.  This was my first experience on a public bus and I can tell you I was the only tourist on it! Hari’s sons and I sat three to two seats and because to this day I have no idea whether they can understand English, occasionally we played pantomime.  My favourite was when they gestured that this kid in the sleeper compartment of the bus wanted me to hand over my Kindle, as though ‘tourist’ was synonymous with ‘idiot’!

After settling into my hotel room in Jodhpur, I headed across the street to a government building that I surmise is rented to government officials who need the space to host functions.  This was the night before the wedding and the groom’s family was all there.  In one room, all of the gifts for the bride were laid out, to be looked at before being packed to be sent along with the groom to the bride’s house.  I was encouraged to feel the weight of the gold and the traditional dresses and informed by the younger women that wearing these outfits was very, very heavy.  Later in the night, while the women danced to a traditional band, everyone would get up, circle money over their heads and tip the band.  Just before this began, I acquiesced to the demands of Hari’s lovely sixteen year old niece, who insisted that I dance to Waka Waka by Shakira with her as it is apparently the number one song for teenage girls here these days! Mainly I just stood there awkwardly; how does one dance appropriately to Shakira?!?

The next day by virtue of being a foreigner, I had the chance to go along with the groom and the men of his family to the bride in Ajmer.  This procession is known as the Barhat and the women of the groom’s family do not attend.  In car along with Hari and I were two of his nephew-in-laws, both well educated and successful young men around my age.  Since Hari has a fix-or-repair-daily (North America represent!), we had a lot of time to talk during a trip extended by both a flat tire and a cell phone GPS accurate to the nearest 3 kilometers!  What struck me the most about these conversations were their similarities to the conversations that I had with a German who I met at my guesthouse in Jaisalmer.  It occurred to me then that apart from being from being Canadian, I am also a member of a global middle class, reading the same books and websites, contemplating the same questions about the state of the world.  Will similar recognitions of this reality allow us to solve these problems together?

Although as a foreigner and a woman at the Barhat I was painfully conspicuous at times, my conversations were extremely interesting.  Among other things, I learned about why micro finance met its end in Uttar Pradesh and how infrastructure in the country is financed and maintained (don’t worry, details on an ask-only basis).  To my amusement, I found out that lawyers are considered the highest ranking profession, giving me instant (deserved?) credibility.  Emboldened by questions into my personal life, I also dared to ask a couple of questions about meeting before marriage and although I never got a totally straight answer, what I was able to distill is that a man can ask the girl’s family to meet her in advance of the marriage (and I infer, possibly object).  It was explained to me that Rajasthan is especially conservative when it comes to relationships between men and women.  My teenage guide said that your caste will even dictate what kind of celebration that you have.  For example, there was no dancing at this wedding!!! It should be interesting to contrast this wedding with the one in Mumbai in February!

The next day the groom, his bride and the Barhat drove back to Jodhpur for a reception hosted by his family.  Contrary to popular images of India, it is not hot here all the time! Rajasthan is a desert state and in the winter (now) the nights are cold!  My non- EBC wardrobe has only barely been up to the task of keeping me warm.  Luckily, there were outdoor fire pits everywhere and I quickly sat near one.  In retrospect, I still say that it was worth the fact that my hair still vaguely smells like smoke….  Much like at the bride’s family’s reception, there was tons of food and that seemed to be the principal focus.  Quite late in the night the bride and groom arrived and the bride was whisked off to a room with the women of the groom’s family.  There they each took turns lifting the veil covering her face in order to see her for the first time and welcome her to the family.  This was also an opportunity to inspect her clothing and jewelry.  All the while she kept her head bowed and stayed quiet.  I learned from another girl that the bride had not eaten that day, amid all the ceremonies and travel.  Looking at her, I wondered how she felt, days into wedding ceremonies, weighed down in gold, not raising her head… I tried unsuccessfully to inquire about whether women look forward to their wedding days in the same way we do in the West.  I think it was lost in translation when my young host exclaimed “I’m not getting married, I’m in high school!” ah, bless her, she also thought I was nineteen!  This isn’t to say that the groom had it easy, every time I looked at him he had a stoic expression on his face masking what I had earlier observed as a jovial disposition and was often being fed some type of sweet.  Apparently one is only supposed to eat sweet things during their wedding; I was feeling a little queasy watching it.  Above all, I was struck by the level of commitment to one’s family that has people take this great, long, leap of faith together.

Finally, the next morning the groom and his bride returned to his symbolic family house.  They drove in the car that the bride’s family had given him as a wedding gift!  Many ceremonies ensued, including one where he moved a series of trays with his sword and his wife followed behind, collecting them, seven times over.  The man is supposed to lead in life and the woman in death.  Perhaps for the best, my follow up question again was lost in translation.  After lunch, I slipped away to see some of the city of Jodhpur before heading to Udaipur the next morning.  The groom and his bride were spending the afternoon traveling to his family’s village.  Sitting in an auto rickshaw chugging up to another fortress, I was amazed by their stamina and a bit relieved that ‘the party done’.

Next stop? Goa, where my current plans include: lying on the beach, reading on the beach, sleeping on the beach and curiously enough, a pantomime performance at a children’s orphanage!!!

A very merry Christmas (or Happy Holiday) to you all!

After Kathmandu I headed South to Delhi and then West to Bikaner, to accept the invitation to my Delhi - Kathmandu tour guide Hari’s cousin JV’s wedding (grammar police, get me later).  It is wedding season in Rajasthan (the summers are an oppressive 50 C) and every night you can hear the sounds of traditional music and, if you’re lucky, the occasional riot of fireworks.  Rajasthan is literally the land of kings and on that front it does not disappoint.  As you can see from my pictures (click on the title), this desert state has a history of great wealth and each city outdoes the next with its royal palaces and now-crumbling fortresses.  I am writing this entry from Bundi, a small (80,000) city five hours west of Udaipur, where I am relishing the reprieve from the throngs of tourist stores and of course reflecting on the past three weeks.

The reality is that you can travel a country as I am for months on end without getting a real sense of its culture or the reality of its people.  I, like many tourists, generally seek out the ‘tourist areas’ of every city and there are many practical reasons for this (the least of which is the ready availability of toilet paper).  However, aside from the chorus of “hello, madame, where you from?”s in poor British accents, there is little interaction with actual people.  Traveling on my own, I am learning to perfect my ‘no means: no-I-swear-I-do-not-need-or-want-you-to-clean-my-ears-and-even-if-I-did-it-wouldn’t-be-with-that-hook’ look, which further stifles any hope of meaningful interaction.  All of which is to say, Hari’s generous invitation was a rare chance for a glimpse inside the culture whose rhythms beat around me every day.

Hari drove his parents and I traveled from Bikaner to Jodhpur by ‘tourist’ bus.  This was my first experience on a public bus and I can tell you I was the only tourist on it! Hari’s sons and I sat three to two seats and because to this day I have no idea whether they can understand English, occasionally we played pantomime.  My favourite was when they gestured that this kid in the sleeper compartment of the bus wanted me to hand over my Kindle, as though ‘tourist’ was synonymous with ‘idiot’!

After settling into my hotel room in Jodhpur, I headed across the street to a government building that I surmise is rented to government officials who need the space to host functions.  This was the night before the wedding and the groom’s family was all there.  In one room, all of the gifts for the bride were laid out, to be looked at before being packed to be sent along with the groom to the bride’s house.  I was encouraged to feel the weight of the gold and the traditional dresses and informed by the younger women that wearing these outfits was very, very heavy.  Later in the night, while the women danced to a traditional band, everyone would get up, circle money over their heads and tip the band.  Just before this began, I acquiesced to the demands of Hari’s lovely sixteen year old niece, who insisted that I dance to Waka Waka by Shakira with her as it is apparently the number one song for teenage girls here these days! Mainly I just stood there awkwardly; how does one dance appropriately to Shakira?!?

The next day by virtue of being a foreigner, I had the chance to go along with the groom and the men of his family to the bride in Ajmer.  This procession is known as the Barhat and the women of the groom’s family do not attend.  In car along with Hari and I were two of his nephew-in-laws, both well educated and successful young men around my age.  Since Hari has a fix-or-repair-daily (North America represent!), we had a lot of time to talk during a trip extended by both a flat tire and a cell phone GPS accurate to the nearest 3 kilometers!  What struck me the most about these conversations were their similarities to the conversations that I had with a German who I met at my guesthouse in Jaisalmer.  It occurred to me then that apart from being from being Canadian, I am also a member of a global middle class, reading the same books and websites, contemplating the same questions about the state of the world.  Will similar recognitions of this reality allow us to solve these problems together?

Although as a foreigner and a woman at the Barhat I was painfully conspicuous at times, my conversations were extremely interesting.  Among other things, I learned about why micro finance met its end in Uttar Pradesh and how infrastructure in the country is financed and maintained (don’t worry, details on an ask-only basis).  To my amusement, I found out that lawyers are considered the highest ranking profession, giving me instant (deserved?) credibility.  Emboldened by questions into my personal life, I also dared to ask a couple of questions about meeting before marriage and although I never got a totally straight answer, what I was able to distill is that a man can ask the girl’s family to meet her in advance of the marriage (and I infer, possibly object).  It was explained to me that Rajasthan is especially conservative when it comes to relationships between men and women.  My teenage guide said that your caste will even dictate what kind of celebration that you have.  For example, there was no dancing at this wedding!!! It should be interesting to contrast this wedding with the one in Mumbai in February!

The next day the groom, his bride and the Barhat drove back to Jodhpur for a reception hosted by his family.  Contrary to popular images of India, it is not hot here all the time! Rajasthan is a desert state and in the winter (now) the nights are cold!  My non- EBC wardrobe has only barely been up to the task of keeping me warm.  Luckily, there were outdoor fire pits everywhere and I quickly sat near one.  In retrospect, I still say that it was worth the fact that my hair still vaguely smells like smoke….  Much like at the bride’s family’s reception, there was tons of food and that seemed to be the principal focus.  Quite late in the night the bride and groom arrived and the bride was whisked off to a room with the women of the groom’s family.  There they each took turns lifting the veil covering her face in order to see her for the first time and welcome her to the family.  This was also an opportunity to inspect her clothing and jewelry.  All the while she kept her head bowed and stayed quiet.  I learned from another girl that the bride had not eaten that day, amid all the ceremonies and travel.  Looking at her, I wondered how she felt, days into wedding ceremonies, weighed down in gold, not raising her head… I tried unsuccessfully to inquire about whether women look forward to their wedding days in the same way we do in the West.  I think it was lost in translation when my young host exclaimed “I’m not getting married, I’m in high school!” ah, bless her, she also thought I was nineteen!  This isn’t to say that the groom had it easy, every time I looked at him he had a stoic expression on his face masking what I had earlier observed as a jovial disposition and was often being fed some type of sweet.  Apparently one is only supposed to eat sweet things during their wedding; I was feeling a little queasy watching it.  Above all, I was struck by the level of commitment to one’s family that has people take this great, long, leap of faith together.

Finally, the next morning the groom and his bride returned to his symbolic family house.  They drove in the car that the bride’s family had given him as a wedding gift!  Many ceremonies ensued, including one where he moved a series of trays with his sword and his wife followed behind, collecting them, seven times over.  The man is supposed to lead in life and the woman in death.  Perhaps for the best, my follow up question again was lost in translation.  After lunch, I slipped away to see some of the city of Jodhpur before heading to Udaipur the next morning.  The groom and his bride were spending the afternoon traveling to his family’s village.  Sitting in an auto rickshaw chugging up to another fortress, I was amazed by their stamina and a bit relieved that ‘the party done’.

Next stop? Goa, where my current plans include: lying on the beach, reading on the beach, sleeping on the beach and curiously enough, a pantomime performance at a children’s orphanage!!!

A very merry Christmas (or Happy Holiday) to you all!