India-Pakistan Border

Yesterday we went to witness one of the more bizarre political/social events I have ever seen. Every day, when the border between Pakistan and India is closed for the night, there is a competition between India and Pakistan for who can round up the most spectators and put on the biggest show. There are actually concrete bleacher built on both sides to seat the crowds who come. These pictures are all from the India side of the border, but although there were fewer people on the Pakistani side, the uniforms were equally as splendid and the roars from the crowd as loud. The whole event was a blend of calls of nationalistic pride, a mosh pit rave and the changing the guard at Buckingham Palace. There were crowd pleasing chants reminiscent of the cheerleading at football games, with one man on India's side leading "Long live Hindustan" while the other side tried to drown the crowd out by shouting "Long live Pakistan. Women and children were invited from the crowd to carry flags to the border and back (interesting that no men were allowed. This is the first time I have seen women given a privileged spot, and I wonder if it is because there is concern about what testosterone might spark if the men come face to face across the border. Then the music began to blare and the women and children began to dance in the street that leads to the border, almost a mosh pit rave. Finally the guards themselves came out to close the border, the Indian and Pakistani guards in an obviously choreographed display of fierceness, with very showy marching, music, high stepping and a ceremony that brought the two flags down exactly at the same time. Then the gates were closed for the night, and the truckers lined up on either side of the border settled down to drink chai, gossip with each other and sleep in their cabs until the border opens again in the morning. It's hard to believe that this circus happens every day with hundreds of people showing up on both sides, but we're told it does. Perhaps this event diffuses some of the tensions that this region has been steeped in since the partition in the 1940s. Can you imagine an event like this at the US/Canadian border?

Hunger in India

Yesterday's Time of India published finding from a report by the United Nations World Food Programme about hunger in India. This report portrays in facts and figures the reality that we have seen starkly portrayed during our travels. According to the report, 230 million people in India are chronically undernourished and malnutrition accounts for nearly 50% of child deaths in India and 30% of adults have a BMI of less that 18.5. Most of the children we worked with in Sarnath were very small for their ages. Pre-natal malnutrion results in babies who are very tiny and small boned and the report says that every second child in India is stunted in growth. Macail would tower over many of the 5 and 6 year olds, and the women are very tiny, their arms so thin that the bangles they wear for marriage do not fit over our large Western hands. More than 70% of children under 5 suffer from anemia, and according to this report, the levels of anemia are actually rising with 11 of the 19 states in India having more than 80% of children with anemia.

As we left Uttar Pradesh and moved in to the Punjab region, the differences between those who can eat and those who do not have enough food became even clearer. Punjab is the bread basket of India, producing nearly 70% of the food supply, and the relative wealth is evident. Many more of the population appear well fed, the men are significantly taller and sturdier than in the other parts of India we have visited and I actually saw my first obese Indian woman yesterday at the temple.

Rising food prices world wide and corruption and inefficiency in the "Targeted Public Distribution System" for food supplies, have, according to the Time "lead to greater food insecurity for large sections of the poor and near poor."

Amritsar and the Golden Temple

We are staying in the Pilgrim House in Amritsar, right next to the Golden Temple. This temple is a very holy site in the Sikh religion and thousands of pilgrims come each day to worship and give offerings of money and food. The history behind this building is complex and full of the kinds of war and bloodshed that happen when religious beliefs spill into the political and the passions those tensions seem to envoke, including in recent times when Indira Ghandi's government rousted out Sikh separatists in a botched and utimately for Indira, fatal, attempt to supress their effort for an independent Sikh state.

The temple itself is glorious. Set in the middle of a pool that reflects the gold leaf on the building with four entrances to mark the openness of the Sikh faith to all religion. Ragas are being sung 24 hours a day = a tabla player and two harmoniums all singing the words of their faith over and over, live inside the temple and broadcast over the pool. The music is actually quite glorious, the 16 beat phrases circling and rising in the morning air, supported by the murmer of the worshippers singing along quitely. Here, as in all the other temples we have visited, Buddhist, Jain, Hindu, the transmission of the practices of devotion are passed on to the children through the every day practices of worship. Here a grandfather is helping his young grandson take part in the ritual bathing that the men do before worship. (Women also bathe, but they have to do it in a little marble house where no one can see.)

Most striking, however, is the temple's communal kitchen. They feed thousands and thousands of pilgrims and the poor each day. No charge required, although a donation is accepted. In lines, people line up and are given a large metal plate and file to an upstairs room adjacent to the temple. Sitting in lines on the floor they wait for servers to come around and spoon dal and a vegetable curry onto their plates, or lay a warm chapati in their outstreched hands. All begin to eat and then when finished, take their plates to the large washing area. The sound of the metal plates hitting the collection barrel is a sustained sound through the Pilgrim house window 24 hours a day.

I sat next to a woman who had brought with her a small plastic bag, and after her plate was filled, she spooned it into the bag, obviously taking it home with her, either for another meal or to feed another body. Many volunteers come to peel onions, carrots, a whole raft of green beans, - men, women and children - and the effort to cook this much food and keep the lines moving and people fed is staggering. This really is 'feed the people' in action.

M

Why Am I Here?

I was reading Pico Iyer's book Sun After Dark and came across this passage that seems to capture some of the turmoil of emotions and feelings I have been having.
"I know that a trip has really been successful if I come back sounding strange even to myself; if is some sense never come back at all, but remain up at night unsettled by what I've seen. I bring back receipts, postcards, the jottings I have made, but none of them really tells the story of what I've encuontered; that remains somewhere between what I can't say and what I can't know...We travel, some of us, to slip through the curtain of the ordinary, and into the presence of whatever lies just outside our apprehension." pg. 8

This trip has not been simple, not in any way. The confounding nature of poverty and need are placed side by side with breathtaking beauty and a tremendous warmth of spirit; deep devotion and spiritual life lives alongside incredible environmental challenges and pollution that will eventually bring India to her knees if not address. As a traveler here, I am continually stood on my head, hoping that my camera and my attempts at story telling will convey even a little of the paradoxical nature of this country. There is a saying that India, whatever is true, the opposite is also true. I believe it.

M

Taj Mahal

One of the wonders of the world! And rightfully so. I got up at dawn to see it in the early light, and I'm glad I did. There were very few people around, and for once in India, it was quiet and serene. This monument to enduring love after death is stunningly beautiful. The white marble and semi-precious stone detail work gleams against the sky and is reflected in the pools that surround it. The proportions are mathematically precise and although it is a huge building, it seems contained and accessible. The minarets that surround it were built so that they lean 12 degrees out from the building so that if there were an earthquake, they would fall out away from the building. During the second world war there was danger that this site would be bombed, so the whole building was covered and disguised as a mountain.

But even here the disparity between men and women is evident. Three screening lines men and one for women, and we've been told that the young women should not go out of the hotel without one of the guys with them. I will be glad to leave this piece of cultural baggage behind. I guess that both Amritsar and Dharamasala are much safer and more respectful of women. It will be a relief not to feel so constrained. I guess that although there is still lots of work to be done in America, we have come a way. I just read statistics on child birth gender ratios in Dehli and there are 865 female births for every 1000 male births. Abortions of female fetuses is still a relatively common practice and little boys are the darlings of every family. (I'm not sure how I got from the Taj to gender relations, but I guess these things have been on my mind.) The fate of widows, although not as bad as depicted in the film WATER, is still pretty harsh. Because she 'belongs' to the husband's family she can become a virtual slave, doing chores and living on the mercy of her in-laws. In Indian cultural practices, a girl child does not belong to the family of her birth. She is just housed there until her true family is found. Even if she marries out of caste, she takes on the new caste status of her husband, regardless of her family's caste status.

We leave for Amritsar this afternoon. Another overnight train ride. I hope less stressful than the last.

M

Indian Trains

Indian trains are an adventure in themselves. Crowded, noisy and full of buskers selling samosas, chai, a chance to polish your shoes, or singing for a little money. Lots of beggers, both children and adults. It would be easy to give away all your rupees in the space of a city block.

On the trip from Varanasi to Agra, we missed our scheduled overnight train and a 12 hour overnight turned into a 24 hour scramble from one train to the other. I ended up in an upper bunk in a sleeper car with very little head room, all my luggage and some of other folks as well. Although I am very stiff today from sitting like a pretzel for too many hours, it gave me lots of opportunity to observe the culture on the trains.

Even in the reserved section, the seats are only reserved if you are adamant about claiming them, demanding your space. Folks just come and join you in the seat or on the bench, opening up their stainless steel lunch boxes with chapatis and sabjii or curry.

It's a challenge being a woman in the part of India. (We're told it will get better in Punjab with the Sikhs). The 'male gaze' is everywhere, and the younger women on the trip especially are targets, most especially Amy, our redhead. As you can see from this picture, the men are always staring at her. It's often uncomfortable as there is a sexual overlay. In Indian society, marriages are still arranged and often men and women don't have the opportunity to interact casually, so every interaction with a women is charged. I have to say, I'm thankful that I'm older. They just call me "Auntie."

When we travel as a group, we attract attention everywhere we go. It seems that we are as strange to the local Indians as parts of their culture seem to us. The protocol when we arrive at the train station is to drop our bags in a pile and circle them until we know where the train is leaving from. Inevitably, we are soon circled by a crowd of men (rarely women). Eventually, we can engage some of them in conversation, if they speak English, and the tone shifts some. Most begin with a comment about Obama. Almost everyone I've met is overjoyed that Bush and has high hopes for Obama's ability to create better relations world wide.

One of the phenomenons in India, not just on trains, are the number of children busking, selling flowers or tourist trinkets. Some of them, like some of the flower selling children I met in Varanasi, are selling before and after school to supplement the family income, but many, like this small girl who was working the train by singing a song, accompanied by some stones she clicked together, are often working for some 'boss' and most all she makes goes to him. We've taken to giving these children food - a banana or an orange or some crackers - in hopes that they will actually get to eat it. The train stations are full of very ragged children who obviously are not in school since they are busking during school hours. Most of these children are very small, and the national figures on malnutrion and anemia are still very high in India. The kind of purposeful mutilation of children so that they will be more successful beggers that was depicted in Slumdog Millionaire is not as evident as it used to be from the reports of those in the group who have been to India many times, but the lives of these children are still very challenging. From what I've been reading about the begger/busker children, they live in a kind of slavery, answerable to their 'boss' 24/7. When we were still in Varanasi, I watched a group of small girls, maybe 9 or 10, playing on one of the Ghats. They were challenging each other to dance. I was just thinking about how much fun they were having and how typcially play looks, even across cultures, when an older man appeared, shouted at them and all of a sudden the play stopped, postcards and trinkets were pulled out of a small bag and they were busking again. The easy and joyous interaction of play shifted to '10 rupees, mama. Only 10 rupees.' In most of the larger towns, it's impossible to have an interaction with a child that is not connected with asking for money.

M

Music and Dance - Dr. Jain's students

One evening while we were in Sarnath, some of the children from the primary school came to perform traditional songs and dances for us. Their music teachers played the tabla and the harmonium, and they sang beautiful ragas. Their teachers had made them lovely costumes in bright colors - quite a contrast from the clothes we saw them wearing to school and out on the streets as they played. The children here are so beautiful and when they were dressed in these bright colors they looked like birds flying in a swooping dance on the rooftop.

Keeping the local dances and music alive is one of the goals of Dr. Jain's project. He wants these children to be proud of their heritage and traditions as well as learn the ways of the modern world. His goal is to sustain the good aspects of village community based on the Ghandian principle that 'Village is life.'

Much to think about.

M

Dr Jain's Schools in Sarnath

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Dr Jain is a remarkable man who has committed his life to creating educational experiences for the Dalit (untouchable) caste children who live in the villages near Sarnath. His long term dream is to build from the preschools and primary school he now has to a junior, high school and even university.

Currently he has preschools in six different village sites, mostly taught by a local village woman who may have finished primary school herself. The children come each day for 4 hours and learn letters, numbers, Hindi, colors. When the children graduate from the preschool, the are eligible to go to a primary school he has created. The teachers there are from the villages. (A person can be teacher in this state in India with a 10th grade education and 1 year of teacher preparation - not university based. There are no fees associated for any of the schools. Dr. Jain pays the preschool and primary teachers from donations. Once a student graduates from primary, Dr. Jain tries to find them a sponsor who will pay the 6000 rps (c. $250) per year to sponsor the student in one of the fee based local high schools. His ultimate goal is to have no fees for high school either.

His philosophy of education is much more holistic and based in Ghandian principals than most traditional Indian education, which is still based deeply in the formality and rigidity of the old British system here. Corporal punishment is not unusual in many schools, but is forbidden in his schools. Music and dance, particularly the traditional forms from the village, are also stressed.

I feel blessed to have spent time with this man and witnessed his work. He's a good example of how one person can change the lives of many.

M

Shivaratri

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Tonight one of the holiest festivals honoring Shiva begins. Shivaratri is the celebration of the transformation of the dark to the light and the power of destruction in creation. Although Hindus all over the world will be celebrating, Varanasi is the home of Shiva, where all creation began, so here the festivals have special meaning. The city is buzzing with preparations and from what we have heard, the whole festival is transformative - as one informant said, "you from the outside will come to the inside." The festival begins tonight for the pilgrims with a ritual bathing in the Ganga at the Burning Ghat, and then an 85 kilometer walk though the city from holy site to holy site where ritual pujas (ceremonies) are held to honor Shiva. This walk takes 14 hours and will end at noon tomorrow. The activities (dancing, music, fire festivals, and the drinking of lahssis laced with bhong) go on all night.

I walked the Ghats this morning early, and could see that the crowds were gathering, laundry getting done and preparations made. The Saddhus (holy men) were doing their puja rituals as the sun rose. Devotion is a critical part of Hindu life, and the sense of worship is all aspects of the day is palpable. There are altars to Shiva (this is Shiva's city) everywhere in the city, some in large temples, and some just built into a small cavity in the wall. Candles are floated on the Ganga, garlands strung around statues of Shiva and Paravati (Shiva's consort), milk is poured over lingums all across the city.

In the evening the fire pujas are performed at the edge of the river. Worshipers gather on the stairs and in boats on the river to watch the holy men perform the rituals, which are more like a dance. Ragas are playing loudly over big speakers and fill the night air with a repeated pulse of Shiva's name - a hymn of praise.

On Shivartri, all Hindus want to visit the temples to perform the rituals of worship, and the lines stretch for miles. Some folks will wait in line for 5-6 hours to perform a ten minute worship ritual, pouring milk, yoghurt or honey over the lingum that represents Shiva's creative power, the creation that is the transformation of destruction. The new balance created out of disequilibrium.

Tonight (now Monday), the grand procession begins and a festival that I guess rivals Carnival, with naked Saddhus, dancing, music, parades and street drinks laced with bhong (marajuana). The participants carry bags of dry rice and throw handfulls in to bowls that the beggers raise up along the route. Most of the participants in the evening are men and the crowds get a little scary with all the crazy energy of a frat party gone wild. We are making plans to protect the young women while still letting them see some of the festival.

During the daytime, however, many women are also part of the festival and it is quite calm now.

Blessings to you all on this holy day.

M

Village Life Sarnath, India

As part of our trip, we were invited to do homestays in the local villages. For many of these families, including mine, this was the first time that any one not related to the family has stayed in their home, and certainly the first Westerner that any of them had spent any time with. Nandal, the young man in the photo, is one of the teachers in the primary school in Dr. Jain's project. He teaches math and speaks some English. He lives with his mother, father and four sisters. In the same compound his mother's sister and husband and her father and mother also live. I slept in a small room with his sisters, and we communicated through the pictures I had brought from my home. The pictures of Macail, my 'nati' gave me some special cache. Being a grandmother is a big deal and respected.

Their home is very simple. Adobe walls and tile roof. Cooking is done over a little wood fire and this picture shows one of Nandal's sisters with the grinding wheel for the grain. No toilet facilities. The local field is the bathroom, and the water is from a local pump.

The family was so welcoming and warm, although the mother was quite nervous to have such an important person (a professor has very high status here) in her home. She didn't want her son to go to the Temple in the morning and leave her alone with me. So he stayed and fed me a papaya before we went to visit the schools.

It's humbling to see the simplicity of their lives and their pleasure in the simple gathering with each other in the morning in the dirt square between the homes. Much laughter while they were brushing their teeth with twigs from the Neem tree or washing at the pump. The little nephew, maybe four years old, running back and forth between his mother and Nandal, and peeking at me.

M

Update

It's been quite awhile since I was near enough to an internet cafe to post, so I'll just catch you up on where we've been and then do some more detailed posts later. The internet is excruciating slow, and most of them are little dark rooms. I'd rather be out exploring, so maybe later tonight when I don't really want to be roaming the streets.

For the past week we have been in Sarnath and the villages that surround it. Sarnath is the place where Buddha gave his first teachings and is a site for Buddhist pilgrimages from all over the world. There are more than five Buddhist temples in one very small town.

We were there to work with the Social Awareness Village Education project. This project, started by a truly remarkable man - Dr. Jain - is building village based schools to serve the Dalit children and the other lower caste children. He is starting village centers for the pre-school - K children (mostly just a mat outside a woman's home) to prepare children for school. He has built a primary school that these children can go to after pre/K for no fees. Most of these children can't even afford a pencil, much less the uniforms and school fees and books required by most schools. Eventually he wants to build a highschool (and university!), but for now, when children graduate 5th grade he tries to find sponsors who will support a child through high school (6000 rps a year - about $250 - will cover the full cost of a child's education.) The students and I taught in the pre/K schools each morning and worked in the afternoon 'helpline' study hall for the primary aged students. Mostly we focused on English and some 'geography' lessons about where we come from. We sang songs (Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes was VERY popular) and they sang for us. Dr. Jain's principles are based in Ghandian ideals, and their theme song seems to be "We Shall Overcome," which each village school sang for us in both English and Hindi. "We shall overcome" in Hindi translates to "we shall have success" which is a great message for these kids to sing.

The children are so beautiful and the poverty is so deep. Most children are very undersized, even for the small Indian stature. Lots of evidence of eye disease and respiratory illness for many. Their smiles and enthusiasm lights up their faces, and it was a blessing to spend time with them.

M

Ganga

The River Ganga here in Varanasi is a paradox. This city is the holiest place along the Ganga and there is great beauty here. The sun rises over the river gilding the boats and the early morning worshipers who are doing puja, singing ragas or bathing in the holy water.

This river is also one of the most polluted in the world. Although some efforts have been made to clean the river, raw sewage still flows into it, remains from cremations (and some times entire bodies) go into the river, garbage and plastics (a newer and signficant challenge because they don't degrade, float by with the boats.

Cleaning the river is a challenge, in part because of the deep cultural beliefs about Ganga. When we talked yesterday to students at Benares Univeristy, they acknowledged the paradox. Intellectually they understand that Ganga is polluted, but they also talk about her as 'pure' and 'clean' because of her special significance. Anything that goes into the river, no matter how dirty, becomes pure. One man told me that all significant Hindu rituals (birth, death, marriage) must be blessed with Ganga water. Whenever someone travels to one of the cities along the Ganga, they bring home bottles of Ganga water to store until the next time it is needed by the family.

There are some environmental groups that are working to create gravity powered sewage treatment plants (electricity goes out too often here to rely on an electric plant) and to work within the cultural frame to shift people's thinking about garbage disposal and waste in the river. They seem to be fighting an uphill battle, but making small progress, one step at a time.
M

Burning Ghats

We are in Varanasi, the holiest city in the Hindu part of India. The Ganges (Ganga to the people here) flows through the heart of the city and the Ghats stretch for five miles along the river. Ghats are ancient stone stairs that climb from the river to the temple up above the river and each Ghat has a particular god or ritual associated with it.

Two of the Ghats are sites for the ritual cremation process that is an essential part of Hindu religion on the path to Nirvana. To be cremated here means that you will be farther along your path to Nirvana. I have seen film of this ceremony when I studied to prepare for the Death and Dying class, but to be here and to witness to whole ritual from beginning -carrying the body down from the city to the water to bathe and purify it, through the preparation of the pyre and the burning of the body was very moving and awe-full (in its true meaning). A young man stayed with me for the whole three hours and explained the meaning of each step of the complicated ritual to send the soul on. I feel very blessed to have had this experience.

Perhaps I can share more later, but my internet time is finished.

M

Mother Theresa's Home for the Destitute and Dying

I wrote in an early post about the Kali Ghat. In an irony that is worthy of India, Mother Theresa's home shares a wall with the Temple. Kali the destroyer, primal mover and tranformer on one side - all chaos and color and noise, and the Home on the other. We were able to visitt the home and witness the work that the Sisters of St Joseph still do to minister to those dying with no resources. In the men's ward, cots are lined up in long rows, reminiscent of the scenes from wartime MASH hospitals; the men are quietly lying there, some obviously close to death, others still able to smile a greeting. A young woman is massaging the legs of an emaciated young man with deep set hollow eyes. His legs are almost bone, and she gently moves her hands from knee to foot and back. His eyes close and perhaps he sleeps.

M

Kali Ghat in Kolkata, India

This post is going to be less about my observations of children in India (although the are some images that are vivid from this experience.) Here are a set of images from the Kali Ghat. Ghat means temple in Hindi. Kali is one of the faces of Shiva, who is the God of destruction and transformation (the counterpart to Vishnu, the perserver). Shiva has many faces and Kali, the goddess of chaos and primal energy is one of them. At the Kali Ghat, each day thousands of pilgrims come to worship Kali and make ritual sacrifice. What a constrast from the orderly and peaceful Buddhist ceremonies we saw in Thailand. The rituals here are worthy of Kali's name - chaotic, destructive, powerful and transformational.

Arriving at the temple, a long line of women in colorful saris and men in sarongs and leggings are waiting barefoot to give their offerings of red hibiscus to Kali (red and black are her colors). A Brahmin (the highest caste) see us (the Westerners) and leads us in the Brahmin entrance. (Caste is palpable here. In the chaos of Kolkata traffic, the mere sight of the Brahmin's white long shirt and leggings brings the cars to a halt so he can cross.) He gives us red flowers to lay on the Kali altar in the pressing mass of people who are praying aloud, then leads us to a screened window to watch the preparations for the goat sacrifice, bringing us to the edge of the ritual space and inviting us to witness. For an hour or so before the sacrifice begins, men and women come barefoot to pour purifying coconut milk over the large wooden U that will hold the goat's head still when it is beheaded. A woman in a blue sari with golden trim paints the posts with red bindi paint (the caste mark in the center of the forehead of higher caste women.) Each worshipper kneels and puts his or her head through the U, which the Brahmin says is representative of them also sacrificing themselves to Kali.

Parents bring their small children to teach them the rituals of worship (just like the man at the Chinese temple in Chiang Mai). A father picks up a coconut from the ground and hands it to his son, demonstrating how to crack the nut on the flat stone of the áltar.' A woman brings a bowl of curds and spills them onto the stone. A small street boy in grey ragged shorts flits in and puts a bite of curd in his mouth before anyone can stop him and scoots away again. I wonder if there are karmic consequences for stealing from Kali?

Three black kid goats are ritually washed and purified in preparation for the sacrifice. Two are standing placidly by the wall, but the other is bleating plaintively. A man in a blue sarong clears the stairs and brings out a large blue drum, larger than a big conga, and starts to beat in a mesmerizing rhythm. Two men enter the sacrifice area; one grabs a goat by the front and back legs and lifting him high, brings his head down between the two bars of the U. The other pins his head with a steel rod through the posts, and then the blade comes down and in one clean cut the head drops to the ground and the body is lifted to let the blood flow over the altar, the legs still struggling and moving.

All of these images call up the question of what is the nature of devotion? Here in this teeming city, and perhaps in the rest of India, ritual and belief seems to be woven into every aspect of daily life. Disturbing, chaotic and also moving.

M

Into India

We landed about five hours ago in Kolkata, and the whole five hours has been an overwhelming barrage of sounds, sights, smells and tastes. This city is old, dirty, polluted, and noisy, but also amazingly rich in humanity, colors, and textures. Here you have to look beyond the physical manifestations on the surface. It's a very challenging and enigmatic place. Extreme poverty lives side by side with the Gap and Macdonalds. Middle class apartment buildings have barred balconies and stick and tarp hovels out front. The streets are filled with yellow taxis (Ambassadors, most very old) competing for space with rickshaws, men carrying buckets of stones on their heads from the ditch being dug for the electric line, horse drawn carriages, bicycles and mini cabs. The horns are honking constantly, and every vehicle changes lanes at least three times in any block. In fact, there really are no lanes, just a mass of metal, and human bodies all headed in one direction. It's clear there must be rules they are following, but I can't see them. Pedestrians scoot in between the vehicles and thread their way from one hole to another to cross the street. In a 45 minute ride through the city streets I think there were three traffic lights.

Vendors set up their wares on the street, vegetables, chai stalls with little clay cups that the drinkers toss on the street when they're finished. Stalls selling roti, dal, samosas, papas and other dishes I don't recognize. A cow stands eating from a pile of street garbage. This is Kolkata. As I close this post, I am listening to the evening call to prayer from a nearby mosque. Although Kolkata is largely Hindi, there is a fairly significant Muslim population as well.

All of this clamor and dirt is especially palpable because on the flight in some of us, including me, were bumped up into first class on Jet Air. We had china, silver cutlery, incredible food and damask tablecloths. To step from that luxury to witness the masses here who have nowhere to sleep except the streets was a jolt.

Beggers are everywhere. Many times with children or babies. It's hard to pass them by, but many of them are 'working' for an organized system and get very little of the money they collect for themselves. Taking pictures seems voyeristic, but I did want to document some of what I am seeing. For the most part, I have tried to take photos from a distance with the zoom, and from behind a 'shield' of some kind. As a group and individuals we are donating to NGOs like Mother Theresa's and Kolkata Rescue where we can be surer that the money will actually get to the people who need it.

M

Adoption in Thailand

I mentioned in an earlier post about the orphanage that the director said that Thai people don't adopt the chit en. Any adopted go to foreign homes. When I pressed her to ask why that was so, she didn't give a clear answer. As I dug deeper into the question with Dee and Ted, it seems there are three clear reasons - all three with deep cultural roots. First the tradition of extended families means that formal adoption is rare. If a child is left parentless, the wider family takes him/her in without any formal paperwork. The second is the subtle but clear class system in Thailand. Although it is not as apparent as the caste system in India, the language and the customs separate the classes. (The way you address someone indicates their class standing, and Thais seem to know instantly how to address each other.) So it is just not done to take someone in outside of your class group. Finally, in relation to these children, there is still a deep cultural fear of HIV/AIDS. Even a well educated family would be reluctant to adopt because their wider family might shun them for having someone 'infected' in their home.

M

Learning religious practice

Yesterday during the celebration of "Buddha Day" I did an observation at a Chinese Buddhist temple in Chiang Mai. Outside the temple was a small shrine and a father was guiding three small children in prayer. One small boy in a red shirt walked around the corner of the shrine to light his incense stick, holding it carefully in the flame until it was smoking. Carefully he walked back around the corner and joined his father, older brother and little sister. His father folded the end of the incense stick in his hands in the traditional 'wai' and they all bowed their heads for awhile. Then the father showed them how to put the ends of the incense sticks in the sand. They all bowed and left.

These pictures are a little distant, but I didn't want to intrude, so I took them from behind one of the pillars out of sight.

Thai Massage

I have fallen in love with Thai massage. It seems to be a mixture of deep muscle massage, chiropractic skeletal work and assisted yoga. After an all night train ride from Chiang Mai to Bangkok in an a sort of airline seat, I was stiff and ready for a little pampering. Tomorrow is a five hour plane ride to India, so it's nice to be loose and relaxed.

M

Mahag Puja

Yesterday, Monday February 9, was a major Buddhist holiday - Mahag Puja - which celebrates the day that over 1000 elightened monks came to visit the Buddha on the same day without any advance planning. Pilgrims from all over Thailand traveled to visit the temples and honor the Buddha over the whole weekend. On Sunday, we happened to be visiting a temple in Chom Thong, south and west of Chiang Mai.

(Terra in the group had a connection with the translator for the Abbot there. Astonishingly, she turned out to be a former Fairhaven student who was at FHC in the early 80s. Her name was Kate Johnston then. Now she's married to a Thai man and they run a meditation center in Chom Thong.)

Having no idea that it was Buddhist holy day, we just happened to the temple as the Abbot was beginning a blessing ceremony. This temple, Wat Phrae That Chom Thong, has a relic that is reportedly a piece of the Buddha's skull. In this holy ritual, the Abbot leads call and response prayer and then all the participants pour water over the relic - washing the Buddha.

Northern Thai Buddhism is far more elaborate and ritualistic than Tibetan or Indian Buddhism, drawing on the Anamist roots of the culture. Except for the Buddha in the front, I could swear I was witnessing a high church Catholic mass. Call and response prayer, the ritual use of water, incense, offering plate, candles, chanting and singing. Made me curious about the elements of worship that seem to be common to many 'high' church celebrations, regardless of the religion.

We were the only farang in the temple. Busloads of Thais had come from their villages to worship together as a way of earning merit. The 'worship' of the Buddha is also a way that this northern Thai sect differs from other Buddhism. Buddha said 'don't follow or worship me, follow the Dharma' but what we witnessed was definitely worship. Amartya Sen, in his book the Argumentative Indian, refers to this branching of Buddhism. Although Buddha said that the choice of good behavior should be independent of any belief in God, "the practice of attributing divinity to Buddha himself is found in some later versions of Buddhism...In analyzing the rise of Buddhism we cannot deny a very important role in the way the proponents of dhamma interacted with the scattered populations of the villages and forest hamlets. From the beginning Buddhism had to come to terms with these populations' belief in special beings and special powers." Sen pg 23.

More about the temple later. Tomorrow we head for India. Into Hindu and Mulism territory first and then back to Buddhism in Dharamasala.

M

Thailand's Sex Trade

One of the appalling aspects of this trip to Thailand has been learning more about the sex trade and the ways Westerners (farang) and men from other Asian countries support the explotation of women here. Prostitution is 'illegal' in Thailand, but it's everywhere. Go-go bars, massage parlors, shower bars - all fronts for prostitution. Dee, Alex's Thai girlfriend is 24 and quite lovely. She reports that she cannot go out on the streets of Bangkok (even with Alex) without being approached by men for sex. She says that being with our group is one of the first positive experiences she has had with Westerners, except for her relationship with Alex. Sex tours to Thailand are a hot tourist item, not just for heterosexuals, but also for gays as well.

Two of the young women in our group are studying women's roles in Asia and Alex and Dee took them to some of the sites in the red light district to interview the women. Although child prostitution still happens here, the women report that it is less frequent than earlier, and it's more likely to happen outside the established sites. Some of the bars require the women to have health screenings every 6 months and women can't work if they aren't 'clean.' But there's still lots happening out on the streets. One of the most depressing aspects for the young women who interviewed the prostitutes was that a number of them had college degrees, exploding their ideas that education would make a difference. Some of them said that the money drew them in, as they can earn considerably more than in a bank or office job.

At the bar they visited the women sit on stools behind a glass window with numbers on; men choose the number and the woman leaves to join him in another room. While Lacey and Kelsey were there, the women were not interacting with each other and just stared around straight ahead. The clients were a mix of Europeans, Americans, Thai and Japanese - all ages from early 20s to 60s. The women were mostly 20s and early 30s. According to their informant, the owner of the bar sets the price for each woman depending on her looks and his 'test' of her skills.

The whole situation is quite depressing. Once we heard the story, it was easier to spot the men on the prowl and the women who might be selling their services. Very sad to see this beautiful country 'infected' with this corruption. Seems so at odds with the Buddhist heart of this nation.

M

Food!!

The food here in Thailand is incredible. Even the smallest hole in the wall noodle joint serves soups that are elegantly composed and rich with varied flavors that tease the tongue. (Hard to be a vegetarian here, however, also there are more tofu options than there were earlier, I guess.)

Last night five of us took a cooking class with a woman named Yui (who just recorded a show for the cooking network!). A great teacher, she learned her English by going to lots of English movies with English subtitles. Her English was very good.

She taught us how to make Panang Curry, Massuman Curry and Pad Pong Curry. She has a cooking school set up at her home with eight gas burners, woks and cooking stations outside under a veranda. First she cooked for us, walking through each step of the process and talking about the combinations of creamy, salty, spicy and sweet that are at the heart of all Thai cooking.
Then we each took our spots at our own woks and cooked an individual serving of the same dish. And then we got to EAT! Yum. We learned to cook Panang Curry, Massuman Curry and Pad Pong Curry. The last is my favorite. It's a northern Thai specialty, most often made with crab. They use soft-shelled crab and put the pieces in shell and all; we'd have to use shelled dungeness, which also would be declicious.

Before the class started she walked us through the vegetable market, the oldest in N. Thailand, and gave us an educational walk through all the varied vegetables and spices. I know that many of the things we saw aren't readily available in Bellingham, but some are and some can be found in Vancouver.

Very educational and LOTS of fun. She also gave each of us a cookcook, so once I get home I plan to host a Thai evening.

Pitluong Village

We took a sangtow far out of Chiang Dao, up roads into the hills and then on dusty windy dirt roads higher up yet to visit a hill tribe village. Once we left the paved roads, the lush green next to the roads turns to a monochrome dusty brown and before we got there we were all coated in a layer of dust.

The village is very small; wooden shacks on stilts to keep the homes dry during the monsoon season. The women were all in their native clothes, brightly colored woven garments, and had a market set up to sell some of their crafts, even though there were no outsiders there except us. Their hand work is quite beautiful.

We watched a woman weaving with a back-strap loom that I swear is exactly like those I saw Navaho women using in the southwest. Makes me wonder about the culture pathways of migration over the millenia, that in Thailand and in SW America, the same loom was developed.

Many of the women in the village chew beetal (is that how you spell it?) nut, an addictive stimulant that stains their teeth a dark purple. It's a surprise when they grin!

The small children in this village mostly were wandering around in just tee shirts, playing with stones and sticks in the dirt. Babies were rocking in outside cradles made from a blanket slung over two ropes in a kind of vee. We saw a little girl, perhaps three, with very blond hair and blue eyes and wondered if there were a farang family living in the village, but when Dee asked in Thai, the women replied that she was an albino.

M

Scouting

We had a plan yesterday (Friday) to visit some of the village schools near Chiang Dao, but the plans went south because of a four day Buddhist holiday - festival of flowers. We did go to one hill tribe school and found that it was 'scouting day.' All the children were in scout uniforms on the dirt playground doing precise military style drills with a drill master - boys in brown uniforms and girls in blue. There were also tents set up all over the yard and camping gear for cooking.

Dee says that all children in Thailand become scouts in middle/high school. It's an expected part of childhood. There are either wilderness scouts, which we were seeing, who learn woodcraft, wilderness survival and camping skills. There are also first aid scouts. I asked Dee about military service, since what we watched definitely had that flavor. She said that all young men are required to do three years of service, unless they have done a significant (longer than average I think) amount of scouting - maybe analagous to Eagle Scouts?

Thailand has lots of national parks; I think more than any other country in terms of % of national land, so these wilderness skills must be useful.

I wonder what our culture would be like if all children participated in scouting? I wonder if the Thai version of scouting has a similar value structure to ours?

M

M

Spirit Houses

We've left Chiang Dao and the orpanage. Back to Chiang Mai for a few days before heading to Bangkok and then off to India. I've been trying to do a photo essay of the spirit houses that are common here in the north part of Thailand. Most of the people here are Buddhists, but also are deeply attached to their Animist roots. In Anamism, people believe that everything has a spirit and that the spirits - both good and mischevious - come to visit your home. So outside of most homes they build a small spirit house and furnish it with tokens, coins, food and even furniture, so that the spirits will reside there instead of in their homes. Sometimes these spirit houses are just twigs and sticks in the shape of a little home, but more often they are intricately decorated with gilt, peaked roofs, little inset mirrors and figurines. Bowls of food and flowers are set there daily.

When we were at the Chiang Mai Night Market last week, I noticed that there were small bowls with food set down near the bottom of some of the stalls. Since then I have found out that these offerings are also to appease the spirits. This deep belief in the spirits can also be seen in the forest. When we were hiking the nature trail, we found large trees with ribbons tied around them. The ribbons were put there to please the female spirits that live in the trees. Many of the Buddhist monks have Anamist tatoos across their backs and chests, easy to see as the saffron robes they wear don't cover one shoulder. Dee, Alex's Thai girlfriend, says that the belief is that the spirit and characteristics of whatever animal you tatoo on your body will enter you and protect and sustain you.

I would like to read more about Anamism. There's a bookstore near the Baan we are staying in and I may try to find a book.

M

Baan Mitratorn in Chiang Dao

While we're here in Chiang Dao we're volunteering in an AIDS orphanage. Established in 1998 by the Sisters of St Paul de Chartes, it serves 60 children -- 44 who are HIV positive and the rest who have been impacted by AIDS, either their parents have died or they were abandoned or brought to the orphanage because their families could no longer care for them.

The facilities at the Baan are both stark and in an odd way, luxurious. The facilities are certainly better than most of the children would be living in in the hill villages around here. Wide open sunlite rooms with tile floors. But the walls are bare and the children sleep in one large room for each gender on mats on the floor. The youngest is three and the oldest is 17. Most seem to be in the 3-10 age range.

The children get retrovirals twice at day and all seem quite healthy. The drugs are free, funded by the Thai government - for all Thai people in fact. Far ahead of US policy! So even when these children leave the orphanage, they will have access to treatment. Some of the children have been adopted by foreigners - Peng showed us a book with many pictures of sweet Thai faces in France, Sweden and Germany. It doesn't seem to be part of the Thai culture to adopt a child not of your family, so most adoptions means the child leaves Thailand.

We walked over to the school to meet the children as they came out of classes = all in their uniforms. They raced up to meet us, climbing in laps and dragging us to see something, all the while chattering in Thai. From what I have experienced, this is not typical of Thai children, although they are far more comfortable with many adults than most American children. (There is a practice here that ALL adults look out for ALL children.) Plong, a little girl about four years old, crawled up into my lap and another little boy wanted to take pictures with my camera. Thank goodness for digital. He loved taking a picture and looking at it.

Other older girls (maybe 9-10) were pushing some of the little ones on a big swing, singing songs that had the cadence of the jump rope songs we sang as kids. One song tumbled into another, and finally they began to sing Chang Chang, the elephant song we learned from Judy Pine before we left. It was fun to join in with them and see the surprise on their faces as we began to sing along in Thai.

Tomorrow I'm going back to work in the school. It will be interesting to see the practices in the classroom. At the end of the day assembly yesterday, all the children lined up in straight rows by class to sing a song and listen to announcements. Far more disciplined and orderly than any middle/high school I've seen.

The high school girls at this school are all boarding students who come from the hill villages. They were all headed for the sex trade industry and were gathered in by the Sisters. Peng says that the incredible poverty in the hill villages makes it an almost impossible situation for the families when there are too many mouths to feed, so this schooling situation is a blessing. Sitting with the 13-17 year old girls with their open smiles and quick laughs, it is hard to think of them as potentially on the streets of Bangkok servicing some foreign tourist. They were curious about us and our lives, asking many questions, each one followed by a quick laugh. Each looking to the others. One young woman had the best command of English, and she asked most of the questions, but looked always to the others for confirmation of the appropriateness of her ideas, and the others offered quick suggestions in Thai.

Finally, the bell rang and all the children left the school yard to gather tools and cleaning equipment to clean the school before leaving for the day. After the grounds and building were cleared, the girls marching band formed and performed for us, including a complicated foot routine and some Thai dancing.

On Friday we will spend time in the village schools near Chiang Dao, then back to Chiang Mai.

More later.

M

Chiang Dao

We're in Chiang Dao today. Little town north of Chiang Mai. This morning we rode bikes 6k from the place we're staying to see the once a week Tuesday market in town. An amazing mix of traditional vendors selling the most amazing vegetables ( there are so many I don't recognize and the smells of fish paste and chilis seep into your clothes) and the worst of globalization. Under the big canvas it is like a Wal Mart in stalls. Lots of plastic and glitter and cheap clothes, most with American slogans and labels.

This afternoon we're going to an AIDS orphanage to volunteer with the children for the afternoon. We'll probably do this a couple of days while we're here. There are 60 children there, 40 infected with the virus and the remainder taken in because their parents died or they were abandoned.

Time to leave now, so more later.

M