India
Marci Joined: February 26th 2006
Logged in: November 23rd 2011
Logged in: November 23rd 2011
Travel Blog Posts
We are back in Mumbai in our final days. Today, walking through Hardick's neighborhood, I recognized the gulley (alley) that we had explored one of those first days. I've acclimated. Being back in the gulley reminded me of how wild Mumbai intially seemed to me with its scuttling rickshaws and motorbikes, unhampered by traffic signs, their frequent use of horns, clusters of free-standing shacks in open fields of gravel, dirty-faced children naked below their belly buttons, cows hitched to the side of the road chewing cud, the possiblity of an elephant, the flamboyance of the men's shirts and their tight-fitting pants, the bright silk of women's saris and the surprise of Indian women in bell bottom jeans and pastel, chiffon, Western-style shirts, the frequency of temples, contemporary stucco buildings strung with marigolds and lights I previously ... read more
We fed the cows with Kantuba, Amit's 92 year old grandma ("ba" refers to "grandma"). It was a very special occasion since, although she climbs up and down the stairs two or three times a day, Kantuba rarely leaves the yard. Mukenmama, Amit's uncle and Kantuba's son who she lives with, concieved this plan to feed the cows "for two reasons," as he will tell you: first reason is that I like Kantuba very much; second reason is that I like cows very much. As readers of my blog will be aware, I especially like cows in the road. The day that he proposed the plan to feed the cows Munkenmama had witnessed that I like cows the most when they are crossing the street in the middle of busy Surat traffic. Kantuba has an especial ... read more
I find enjoyment here in India in the freedom to do things that I was never allowed to growing up. For example, I can walk barefoot wherever I want. (Oh, how I wanted that!) Indians are barefoot on the street and in shops, and, of course, always in the house. You take your shoes off when you travel on the bus or train. It's required to go barefoot before you enter the temple. I likewise needed to take my shoes off to enter a church. I'm pretty sure that some villagers never wear shoes. As another example, I bought a yogurt drink in a glass bottle from a wallah (seller) on the train. As he came down the aisle again, I lifted it for him to take it back. Glass bottles are generally recycled here. You ... read more
Everyone goes to temple. They are everywhere: small, roadside temples, little more than free-standing huts in the dirt encasing head-sized deities on top of platforms; house-sized temples every couple of blocks in cities, towns, and villages, their extravagant faces decorated with rainbow painted deities winding along the top, shrouding the gods within; and extravagant temples with multiple, intricately-carved, painted towers, hundreds of years old, with associated legends of mystical events, taking up acres of city blocks, their interiors dark and cool with columns where naked deities cavort, nipples shining, foreheads brushed with red and yellow saffron, curved lips seeming pleased with the bustle around them. I see people everywhere in the streets, foreheads marked by saffron, red like fire, a hot, sunny yellow, and pure white, in some combination. From this sign, I know that they ... read more
It's weird to be a Westerner in India. I've been waved at by full busloads of schoolgirls in villages who call out to me, "Hallo, hallo" to get my attention. Children approach me constantly, some to practice English which usually consists of little more than "hello" and "what country?", and others with open palms to beg. Men look at me, mostly curiously; some more openly, gaping. A shirt that I brought from home with a neckline that draped (otherwise I was covered) provoked blatant states, some that felt hostile in the bus station at night. I don't know what the men think, or want. Women, by contrast, usually look past me; only the college girls sneak surrepticious glances at my face, my clothes, and wave from afar sitting in groups on campus. Sometimes, it feels like ... read more
We spent a night at the ashram of a guru who calls herself Amma, or "Mother". (see http://www.amritapuri.org/amma/amma.php) From the 14th floor balcony of the building where we slept, we could look onto a forest of palm trees, broken on one side by the Arabian Sea, and, on the other, by a long river, part of the backwaters that are fed by the sea. At night, we saw few lights, except for a few lighted buoys at the ocean's horizon and headlights along the river that allowed boats to navigate. Otherwise, only the area of the ashram was lit: the other skyscrapers and, of course, the temple. We had floated 25 miles from Kollam by boat along the river to the ashram. It is a stop (recommended by "Lonely Planet") at the mid-point on a boat ... read more
Amit has bought an armful - or should I say, backpack-ful - of the comic books he was given as a kid on his trips to India. I'm learning the myths of Hindu gods and heros from them. I have already read the great religious epic -The Mahabarata- in comic book form, "Krishna", "Ganesha" (known to us as Ganesh), and a comic life of the devotional poetess, Mirabai. Ironically, Amit is learning about Christianity from the same comics; one of the books he purchased was "Jesus Christ", taken from the Gospels. As you can imagine, I've gained a great deal of knowledge about Hinduism from our visits to the pervasive temples in each city or town we visit. Likewise, here in the city of Trivandrum (in the state of Kerela), Amit is supplementing his knowledge of ... read more
American cities are sanatized to prevent exposure to the kind of foulness that is found in Indian cities, but I think this also has the side effect of insulating Americans from some lovliness. When you walk down a street in Mysore, within a few steps, you may smell fragrant jasmine blossoms, cow dung, sweet grass, or putrid garbage. In Mumbai, we stood on the street at the center of vegetable and fruit vendors, their wares spread in baskets, as we waited for Jotiben and Nipaben to finish their shopping for that evening's dinner. The scent of the produce was intoxicating; a ripe earthiness saturated the air. I inhaled it deeply. I hadn't smelled anything like that since I was a kid, bent over in my Mom's vegetable garden, picking snap peas off of the vines for ... read more
After a rollicking overnight bus from Banglore, we arrived in the town of Hampi this morning as the sun was just filling the sky. We stumbled out of the bus and pushed by men offering us rickshaw services, and wandered into the temple square, still somewhat sleepy. At that time of morning, the air felt cool; the sky was tinged with pink. At the far end of the square, the temple rose gracefully into the air in filigreed layers. Once, its stone may have been white, but, after centuries, it had achieved the patina of age; the outer walls were faded to a golden yellow. Its walls narrowed as it climbed higher, like a pyramid, but with a flat top. On each layer, carved figures from Hindu mythology cavorted, stepping into the sky. The square was ... read more
Yesterday (in Mumbai), despite Amit's misgivings about getting to the airport in time, we sat and ate a leisurely lunch set out by Jyotiben (Amit's cousin) that included multiple dishes, rotli, and rice. We left in the car at 2:15 pm for a 2:55 pm flight (a possible example of Indian Standard Time (IST)). Luckily, the airport is only about ten minutes from Jyotiben's flat. Even so, in his haste to get us there, her husband nearly rear-ended a motorbike on the way out of their apartment complex. On our way, we saw an accident for the first time in Mumbai. A motorbike was on the ground at the center of the street. Amit could see its former riders kneeling up and brushing themselves off, and preparing to remount. They did not have on helmets. In ... read more
