I wrote a song in Mamallapuram. I used to write a lot of songs, but I'm all dried up. I managed to squeeze this one out. Since I wrote it, TG and I will often find ourselves singing or humming the tune. It's been declared the theme song of our travels. Enjoy!
Friday, February 24, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
When a Butterfly Wants a Mango
I am in Chennai. TG is somewhere in Andhra Pradesh, the neighboring northern state. The do-gooders from GIZ have stolen him away for the week. They perhaps are putting him to better use than I could. I will fly to the northern part of Andhra Pradesh on Saturday, to meet him. Then we will head north to Kolkata. Below are the emails we write to each other.
Note: They are edited for content
Escapes kept me alive for the worst years of my life. Escapes are just as much life as reality. Life is just the time we spend eating and finding money. The rest of sadness is just thinking about shit too damn much: I want to escape for a good chunk of my life. I love the people who create the best escapes. Those are the godsends and the king makers. Teaching us to dream about more than some dim view of what is real. Quit thinking that you hate the way the world works just cause of the frivolity and unfairness. We only see .00000001% of what the world is: a fantasy novel is, mathematically speaking, as much a percentage of the infinite "reality" as every single thing your senses tell you. Don't look at the world around you. Look at the world as a play ground; its all we get and we get to breathe and feel things on our skin and see color and hear juxtaposed tonality. The suffering is no more real than marauding flocks of giant tree bats in cyclone-ploded arboretums. Your feeling like you want glitz and comfort is no more important or worthy of shame than a butterfly feeling like it wants a mango. Its interesting. Its insignificant. Its personal and fun and silly and not worthy of guilt. Nothing you do is worthy of guilt or shame. We are infinitesimal, largely intestinal, progeny of a gross testicle, grown slaves of the subliminal, worthy of love but not ridicule. For christ's sweet-ass sake, lets quit moping, ever, and just have fun before we die. We are healthy enough to feel good, so lets choose to do so no matter what. If our stupid brains tell us we're sad, deny it. Don't feel what you feel: that's just hormones deviating according to cellular stimuli; feel what you tell your brain you want to feel: gratitude. I'm grateful that I'm wearing shorts and can push against a matress with my toes. i'm grateful that i get to talk to you and say a bunch of silly things. i'm grateful that i feel air going into and out of my lungs. that children threw flowers into my hair today, that the streets were full, that somewhere, someone is ecstatic and blissful right now. that i don't have to care about anything, that nothing that is too much for me to handle is my responsibility. i'm happy for movies and not knowing myself and not feeling guilty right now. There is no injustice because there is no justice. There is no justice because no one deserves anything. No one deserves anything because having ever been alive is its own reward. I don't want to be a void. I want to have existed; I don't care how many horrible things happen, they're worth it and its not my fault. Lets just take the little lives we were born to and enjoy them; its childish and selfish to do anything else. Lets escape- all the time.
Note: They are edited for content
Ok so, I'll try this. Writing. I'm sitting in the room, with
Slum Dog Millionaire on the television. I'm laughing to myself, because
India in real life is so much more like this movie than any of the other
movies I had watched prior to coming here. I had forgotten it. If I had watched it again, maybe the culture shock would have been less.
I have spent so
much time alone, venturing through the world, trying on different
things, you think that I would know myself better. I am having a mid
life crisis before my mid life. I crave glitter, ease, and speed, while
at the same time longing for quiet, simple, and gentle. How can I have
both? When I have one, I always long for the other.
This past year I have trained myself to
care an awful lot about looks, money, and possessions. Now I'm
trying to train myself to care about simple things again. It is harder
than I thought. It is hard not to be comfortable. I have become so used
to being comfortable.
I hate that the world is this way. I get used
to one
injustice, and then I am introduced to new ones. I don't understand the
world we live in. How can I choose something to pursue in this life,
when so much of it seems frivolous and unfair. That is what this trip
is. Learning how the world works, and I hate it so much. That is the
truth, it is not India, it the state of the world.
How can I go on existing in this place, contributing
to the terrible unfairness. You are doing something to change it. What
am I doing? Sitting in a $20 a night hotel, writing fantasies. That is
the only way I can exist in this world, by creating escapes. Only in
them can I escape.
Good night,
I will see you soon :)
Escapes kept me alive for the worst years of my life. Escapes are just as much life as reality. Life is just the time we spend eating and finding money. The rest of sadness is just thinking about shit too damn much: I want to escape for a good chunk of my life. I love the people who create the best escapes. Those are the godsends and the king makers. Teaching us to dream about more than some dim view of what is real. Quit thinking that you hate the way the world works just cause of the frivolity and unfairness. We only see .00000001% of what the world is: a fantasy novel is, mathematically speaking, as much a percentage of the infinite "reality" as every single thing your senses tell you. Don't look at the world around you. Look at the world as a play ground; its all we get and we get to breathe and feel things on our skin and see color and hear juxtaposed tonality. The suffering is no more real than marauding flocks of giant tree bats in cyclone-ploded arboretums. Your feeling like you want glitz and comfort is no more important or worthy of shame than a butterfly feeling like it wants a mango. Its interesting. Its insignificant. Its personal and fun and silly and not worthy of guilt. Nothing you do is worthy of guilt or shame. We are infinitesimal, largely intestinal, progeny of a gross testicle, grown slaves of the subliminal, worthy of love but not ridicule. For christ's sweet-ass sake, lets quit moping, ever, and just have fun before we die. We are healthy enough to feel good, so lets choose to do so no matter what. If our stupid brains tell us we're sad, deny it. Don't feel what you feel: that's just hormones deviating according to cellular stimuli; feel what you tell your brain you want to feel: gratitude. I'm grateful that I'm wearing shorts and can push against a matress with my toes. i'm grateful that i get to talk to you and say a bunch of silly things. i'm grateful that i feel air going into and out of my lungs. that children threw flowers into my hair today, that the streets were full, that somewhere, someone is ecstatic and blissful right now. that i don't have to care about anything, that nothing that is too much for me to handle is my responsibility. i'm happy for movies and not knowing myself and not feeling guilty right now. There is no injustice because there is no justice. There is no justice because no one deserves anything. No one deserves anything because having ever been alive is its own reward. I don't want to be a void. I want to have existed; I don't care how many horrible things happen, they're worth it and its not my fault. Lets just take the little lives we were born to and enjoy them; its childish and selfish to do anything else. Lets escape- all the time.
Monday, February 20, 2012
A Picture is Worth A Thousand Bats
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| The Botanical Garden BEFORE Cyclone Thane. |
The entrance of the garden AFTER the storm.
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| The "Dancing Fountain" no longer dances. The pond has been emptied so it could be cleaned out. This is the bottom of the pool. |
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| Me in the yellow skirt talking to a family in the garden. They were gathering wood for their fire at home. You can see the bent and broken trees around us. |
At the top of this picture, you can just make out the outline of wings. Is it a bird? A plane? No those flying creatures are bats, and if one examines the picture closely, they can see that there are thousands of bats hanging from the tree on the far right. We stood and craned our heads upward, and listened to them screech. They were the largest bats either of us had ever seen, and the greatest number we had ever seen at one time. I apologize we don't have a zoom on the camera.
Later, after the botanical garden, we went for a stroll around town and were lucky enough to encounter this creature. The blurry handsome fellow in the picture is Lakshmi the blessing elephant. He was standing outside one the central temples, decked out in jewelry, wearing decorative marks on his head and ears. If you gave him a coin, he would raise his trunk and bless you. He was quite large and had freckles all over the bridge of his trunk, and the tips of his ears. It was the closest I had ever been to an elephant. Many of the locals stood around donating money, being blessed, and feeding him handfuls of sweet grass and fruits. The elephant headed Indian God is named Ganesha. He is a popular deity, and considered the remover of obstacles, and the Lord of beginnings. After all the chaos, we probably needed a blessing or two. I carry a picture of Ganesha in my backpack as we travel. Whatever helps. To new beginnings.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Guilty Pleasure
After two months, the culture shock is finally starting to wear off. I've been traveling internationally since I was two, and I have to admit, that I naively thought that I was immune to things like culture shock. I was wrong. The Indian world is starting to make a strange sort of sense, and things have become, dare I say, easier. Though, I'm sure I've just jinxed myself.
I'm going to use this time of ease to talk about something that many you expressed interest in, FOOD! There is a variety of fresh cut fruit being offered on every street, sweet shops galore, and hot dishes made to order. Indian food is the best fast food I've ever had, though I do miss vegetables a great deal, but I think I'll survive. Indian food is simple, filling, and delicious. These are some of my favorites:
Gulab Jamun
I first discovered this sweet round morsel of heaven on the streets of Barcelona, Spain. My girlfriend and I were exploring the neighborhood near where we were staying, and happened to meander down an alley where there was little Pakistani sweet shop. No other sweet shop we encountered in Spain sold this sweet. Days later, we couldn't remember where the shop was, or the name of the new favorite treat we had so happily devoured. The simple treasure was lost! Years later, I am happy to find Gulab Jamun being sold on nearly every corner in India. It is originally from the Arab desert, and similar in taste to a round honey soaked doughnut. Sweet caloric reunion!
Dosa
This savory crepe like food is a staple of South India. It was recommended to me by other travelers before I even arrived in the country. The best dosa I have consumed thus far, was from a street vendor in Nagappattnam. It was terribly thin, golden, and almost crispy, and was served loosely wrapped in a cone shape standing upright on a banana leaf with sambar (a watery lentil soup) and chutney. It tasted just as good as it looked! I assumed that it had to be an unhealthy dish, because it was so delicious, but to my delight, it is quite nutritious. There are many variations of dosa, but it is traditionally made of ground rice and dahl (lentils). It is so popular that is served all over the country.
Poori and Potato Curry
When I asked TG what his favorite Indian dish was so far, he said "The breakfast potato curry with the puff bread." That "puff bread" is called Poori or Puri. It can be found all over South Asia. It is an airy unleavened fried wheat bread. The potato curry served with it is a refreshing change to most of the curries we have consumed so far. Its consistency is creamier, and the spices used are more subtle. It's a great comfort food. I had it for the first time the other day. It was wrapped up in newspaper, banana leaf, and twine. It was a our breakfast to go, as we bussed back up the coast from Nagappatnam heading north again towards Pondicherry.
With all the great food available, it is a wonder that so many go hungry. A simple street dish is 15-30 rupees, but the majority of the population can not afford the daily indulgence, and malnutrition is a common problem. To carry extra weight here is a sign of comfort and wealth. Many of the depictions of the deities are round in the face and belly. When we are approached by children or beggars, they make the common gesture of their hand to their mouth, as if they were eating. We try to avoid donating money, but if we ever have bread or fruit on us, we happily give it away. The children shriek with delight when they are handed an orange or a banana. They are so excited over a single piece of fruit, that we always wish we had more to give. In India, it is difficult to prevent even the simplest pleasure from being a guilty one.
I'm going to use this time of ease to talk about something that many you expressed interest in, FOOD! There is a variety of fresh cut fruit being offered on every street, sweet shops galore, and hot dishes made to order. Indian food is the best fast food I've ever had, though I do miss vegetables a great deal, but I think I'll survive. Indian food is simple, filling, and delicious. These are some of my favorites:
Gulab JamunI first discovered this sweet round morsel of heaven on the streets of Barcelona, Spain. My girlfriend and I were exploring the neighborhood near where we were staying, and happened to meander down an alley where there was little Pakistani sweet shop. No other sweet shop we encountered in Spain sold this sweet. Days later, we couldn't remember where the shop was, or the name of the new favorite treat we had so happily devoured. The simple treasure was lost! Years later, I am happy to find Gulab Jamun being sold on nearly every corner in India. It is originally from the Arab desert, and similar in taste to a round honey soaked doughnut. Sweet caloric reunion!
DosaThis savory crepe like food is a staple of South India. It was recommended to me by other travelers before I even arrived in the country. The best dosa I have consumed thus far, was from a street vendor in Nagappattnam. It was terribly thin, golden, and almost crispy, and was served loosely wrapped in a cone shape standing upright on a banana leaf with sambar (a watery lentil soup) and chutney. It tasted just as good as it looked! I assumed that it had to be an unhealthy dish, because it was so delicious, but to my delight, it is quite nutritious. There are many variations of dosa, but it is traditionally made of ground rice and dahl (lentils). It is so popular that is served all over the country.
Poori and Potato Curry When I asked TG what his favorite Indian dish was so far, he said "The breakfast potato curry with the puff bread." That "puff bread" is called Poori or Puri. It can be found all over South Asia. It is an airy unleavened fried wheat bread. The potato curry served with it is a refreshing change to most of the curries we have consumed so far. Its consistency is creamier, and the spices used are more subtle. It's a great comfort food. I had it for the first time the other day. It was wrapped up in newspaper, banana leaf, and twine. It was a our breakfast to go, as we bussed back up the coast from Nagappatnam heading north again towards Pondicherry.
With all the great food available, it is a wonder that so many go hungry. A simple street dish is 15-30 rupees, but the majority of the population can not afford the daily indulgence, and malnutrition is a common problem. To carry extra weight here is a sign of comfort and wealth. Many of the depictions of the deities are round in the face and belly. When we are approached by children or beggars, they make the common gesture of their hand to their mouth, as if they were eating. We try to avoid donating money, but if we ever have bread or fruit on us, we happily give it away. The children shriek with delight when they are handed an orange or a banana. They are so excited over a single piece of fruit, that we always wish we had more to give. In India, it is difficult to prevent even the simplest pleasure from being a guilty one.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Backpacking: The Life
Eight hours on the bumpiest cheapest all night bus ride of my life, and we arrive in the early morning. We resemble turtles, with our large packs strapped to our bodies. We have traded luggage life for backpack life. It is a better way to be. We are not sure about the name of the town. We know we are south, way south. Everyone speaks the state dialect, Tamil, and very few people know English or Hindi. We are the only white people to to be seen for miles. We like it. Finally, I'm starting to experience the concept of Indian hospitality that I had heard so much about. I had begun to think it was a myth or something that existed before my time.
People here are kind to us. They gesture us in, and smile. The rides are cheaper, as is the food, and the accommodation. We are not hounded by beggars, or people determined to sell us their wares. We share cabs with the locals, who nod and point, when we try to ask directions. There is a market street lined with shops on either side and the sky is covered by the awnings and fabric of the stores. The street is relatively quiet for being their center of commerce, and we can actually stroll down the aisle and partake in the purchasing of goods without pushing or yelling or feeling like we will be charged our soul if we decide to stop. This place is closer to what I had romanticized India to be. It is a welcome change.
We can both eat the street food, now that our bodies have healed from the initial onslaught of foreign bacteria, and thank goodness because the street food is so good. In the South, it is all served on banana leaves, and the right hand is the only utensil. I've never washed my hands more often and more thoroughly in my life. My favorite are the parotas, a flaky tortilla type south Indian bread that is made fresh on hot tavas, and is usually served with veg or non-veg gravy. I have to walk a bit before and after so I feel like I've earned this indulgence. I try to encourage TG to eat, so he can put on some weight. He was sick for so long that he was starting to resemble some of the locals, but he is finally feeling better, and it's a good thing to because it's time to work.
The city we have arrived in is called Nagappattnam, and it turns out we are just down the street from TG's office. Yay! Something went right! GIZ helps fund and improve various non-profit programs around the world, and the program TG will be assisting is called AVVAI Village Welfare Society. The twenty year old program organizes emergency service, shelters, rehabilitation, and educational works throughout the coastal towns of Tamil Nadu. TG will be bouncing from town to town finding how current projects can be improved or expanded, whether it's through some form of reorganization, funding, or presentation. The office is setting him up with Tamil speaking guides, and they will bus it from village to village. We will be here for two days. Then it's back up to Chennai to have similar visits to surrounding villages. Then it's off to the neighboring state, Andhra Pradesh, to continue the work, until he is needed in West Bengal for his other project. It is unpaid work, but they will be covering his travel expenses. I am proud of him.
Note: TG will be starting his own blog soon, to discuss and document his work
People here are kind to us. They gesture us in, and smile. The rides are cheaper, as is the food, and the accommodation. We are not hounded by beggars, or people determined to sell us their wares. We share cabs with the locals, who nod and point, when we try to ask directions. There is a market street lined with shops on either side and the sky is covered by the awnings and fabric of the stores. The street is relatively quiet for being their center of commerce, and we can actually stroll down the aisle and partake in the purchasing of goods without pushing or yelling or feeling like we will be charged our soul if we decide to stop. This place is closer to what I had romanticized India to be. It is a welcome change.
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| Parota!! |
We can both eat the street food, now that our bodies have healed from the initial onslaught of foreign bacteria, and thank goodness because the street food is so good. In the South, it is all served on banana leaves, and the right hand is the only utensil. I've never washed my hands more often and more thoroughly in my life. My favorite are the parotas, a flaky tortilla type south Indian bread that is made fresh on hot tavas, and is usually served with veg or non-veg gravy. I have to walk a bit before and after so I feel like I've earned this indulgence. I try to encourage TG to eat, so he can put on some weight. He was sick for so long that he was starting to resemble some of the locals, but he is finally feeling better, and it's a good thing to because it's time to work.
 |
| Map of Tamil Nadu - We arrived in Chennai from Delhi by train. Since then we have been busing up and down the coast of Tamil Nadu to Mamallapuram (an hour south from Chennai), Pudicherry, and now Nagappattnam. |
The city we have arrived in is called Nagappattnam, and it turns out we are just down the street from TG's office. Yay! Something went right! GIZ helps fund and improve various non-profit programs around the world, and the program TG will be assisting is called AVVAI Village Welfare Society. The twenty year old program organizes emergency service, shelters, rehabilitation, and educational works throughout the coastal towns of Tamil Nadu. TG will be bouncing from town to town finding how current projects can be improved or expanded, whether it's through some form of reorganization, funding, or presentation. The office is setting him up with Tamil speaking guides, and they will bus it from village to village. We will be here for two days. Then it's back up to Chennai to have similar visits to surrounding villages. Then it's off to the neighboring state, Andhra Pradesh, to continue the work, until he is needed in West Bengal for his other project. It is unpaid work, but they will be covering his travel expenses. I am proud of him.
Note: TG will be starting his own blog soon, to discuss and document his work
Without Words: Mamallapuram
I finally have wireless! Yay! Here are some pictures of life in Mamallapuram. All the pictures were taken by TG with fish eyed GoPro camera. My disposable camera is also full of pictures, but I haven't been able to develop them yet.
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| The park with the famous rock carvings. |
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| On top of the rock reliefs over looking Mamallapuram. |
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| Their functioning light house. |
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| Happy Pongal! |
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| The reliefs and ruins that this town is famous for. |
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| More of these elaborate rock carvings. |
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| A temple outside our favorite pizza place. |
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| On the street where we live. |
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| Our bedroom. We would have died without our misquito net. |
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| Our apartment was on the blue second floor of this house. We also had access to the roof |
Friday, February 10, 2012
Email Excerpt
Mom!
Thanks for that awesome email. Yeah we have been thinking about a lot of different options. I keep mentioning the states, but both of us love the cheap living, and TG isn't quite ready to give up yet, and neither am I. I've only been here a month. There is something in me that loves this sort of living; the fresh fruit, the heat and humidity, the ocean. It's that island girl buried deep inside of me. So, who knows what the future will hold. It has been a crazy experience so far, and makes me realize again how spoiled we are back home. It is good to have a reminder. We bought a papaya the other day from a fruit stand. It didn't have any seeds in it! Genetically modified produce being sold at a fruit stand in Mamallapuram India! Oh the future! Scary, isn't it?
Sunday, February 5, 2012
French Escape
Everyone waits along the highway in the heat, and then they wave down the speeding vehicles they want. The buses slow, but never stop. It is our job to fling ourselves on board. It is a weekend, and many of the buses are quite full, so we wait a good twenty minutes or so before we literally run and jump to catch our bumpy ride to Pondicherry.
I have walked the streets of Portugal, Spain, England, Paris, and the Federal District of Mexico by myself several times in both the bright of the day and the wee hours of the morning, and I have never before experienced this sort of dark surprise. During my first solitary evening stroll in India, I am molested. If I am not safe in a small quiet tourist dependent town, I wonder if I can be safe as a woman alone anywhere in this country.
We splurge a bit on a hotel, $20. The prices in India, even when you are being ripped off, are some of the best. The hotel room is worth the extra $10. Oh the soothing simple wonders of hot water, television, and a western toilet. I am already feeling much better. Now that holidays are over, TG has suddenly become very popular in the climate change research non-profit world. The meetings are regular, and two jobs have already been secured. One job is for TERI and the other is for GIZ . The TERI project takes place in West Bengal. The GIZ project requires TG to jump up and down the coast of Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh. Either way, our time in Mamallapuram is rapidly coming to an end. It is a bittersweet transition. I search for a place to purchase pepper spray.
The terribly catchy song we hear playing everywhere in India. "Why this Kolaveri Di? "
Translation: Why this urge to murder/hurt? It is a love song.
Pondicherry, also known as Pudicherry, is considered the French region of India. It had once belonged to France, before the British occupation, and now, after Indian Independence, is a tourist hot spot. The region stretches along the coast of the Bay of Bengal, and the city is quite a bit larger than my out of date lonely planet guidebook lead me to believe. There is a noticeably French influence, especially in the tourist district near their famous boardwalk, but it is all together Indian in feel and flavor. We have come to Pondicherry for a night in an effort to momentarily escape and distract from my anxiety.
I have walked the streets of Portugal, Spain, England, Paris, and the Federal District of Mexico by myself several times in both the bright of the day and the wee hours of the morning, and I have never before experienced this sort of dark surprise. During my first solitary evening stroll in India, I am molested. If I am not safe in a small quiet tourist dependent town, I wonder if I can be safe as a woman alone anywhere in this country.
We splurge a bit on a hotel, $20. The prices in India, even when you are being ripped off, are some of the best. The hotel room is worth the extra $10. Oh the soothing simple wonders of hot water, television, and a western toilet. I am already feeling much better. Now that holidays are over, TG has suddenly become very popular in the climate change research non-profit world. The meetings are regular, and two jobs have already been secured. One job is for TERI and the other is for GIZ . The TERI project takes place in West Bengal. The GIZ project requires TG to jump up and down the coast of Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh. Either way, our time in Mamallapuram is rapidly coming to an end. It is a bittersweet transition. I search for a place to purchase pepper spray.
Translation: Why this urge to murder/hurt? It is a love song.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Beach Attack
Tomorrow is my birthday. Last night, I was attacked. TG was in Chennai, having business meetings. I had spent the day cleaning our lovely little home, and doing laundry on our roof. I went to have a massage, and it was so wonderful, that immediately after I thought I would take a stroll down the beach.
In front of the Radisson hotel and their open-air restaurant, just a little after 7pm, a stranger lunged for me. He was not trying to steal from me. He was after me because I was a woman. I fought him off, and he ran back down the beach towards town. I took off after him, screaming, and some young local boys heard me, and went to find him. I went home to cry. Today we filed a police report, and the boys said that they beat him up some.
India's attitude towards women is not one of freedom. One of the first newspaper articles I read after arriving in Delhi, was a list of bodies that had been found in the city. All of the bodies were female. They had all been murdered by different people for different reasons. The India Times ran an article just this week about a young girl who was raped by two men . Women all over the world deal with these sort of injustices everyday. We are targeted only for being the opposite sex. That is wrong, no matter what country you come from.
My attack could have been much worse, but I was raised to defend myself. I screamed and punched, and ran, fueled with the knowledge that no person has the right to violate me, ever. I hope that more women know that this right is theirs. Every women deserves to feel worthy. Any person who tries to take that away should be held accountable. Happy Birthday to me.
In front of the Radisson hotel and their open-air restaurant, just a little after 7pm, a stranger lunged for me. He was not trying to steal from me. He was after me because I was a woman. I fought him off, and he ran back down the beach towards town. I took off after him, screaming, and some young local boys heard me, and went to find him. I went home to cry. Today we filed a police report, and the boys said that they beat him up some.
India's attitude towards women is not one of freedom. One of the first newspaper articles I read after arriving in Delhi, was a list of bodies that had been found in the city. All of the bodies were female. They had all been murdered by different people for different reasons. The India Times ran an article just this week about a young girl who was raped by two men . Women all over the world deal with these sort of injustices everyday. We are targeted only for being the opposite sex. That is wrong, no matter what country you come from.
My attack could have been much worse, but I was raised to defend myself. I screamed and punched, and ran, fueled with the knowledge that no person has the right to violate me, ever. I hope that more women know that this right is theirs. Every women deserves to feel worthy. Any person who tries to take that away should be held accountable. Happy Birthday to me.
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