The Taj is Really All That and Imperfect, too!

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Hello friends! It’s been awhile hasn’t it? What follows is my really long summary of all I did while traveling through India in relative anonymity. I wanted to shake up my system and get out of the sedentary state I cultivated in Bhutan. I fear if I stayed in Bhutan any longer, I might have become tragically too attached and never fulfill my obligations to return to Bellingham (it was really that nice). Enjoy.

March 29 - April 1: Paro to Bodhgaya

Only in Bhutan. I arrived at the Paro Airport early enough, like most of the passengers, and negotiated the friendly security who apologized for the inconveniences. When I went to the check-in counter and informed the attendant that I was going to Bodhgaya, he was somewhat surprised and had to talk to other airline officials about the situation. This particular flight was scheduled to make a stop in Bodhgaya before continuing on to Bangkok, but if there were no passengers for Bodhgaya it would fly straight to Bangkok. It turns out I was the only passenger going to Bodhgaya and they did honor the booking and added the extra hour onto the flight time.

When I arrived in Bodhgaya the contrasts were clear. It was hotter and muggier and flatter. The people were different. No ghos and kiras (Bhutanese clothing). The women were all donned in saris. Also, there were the all-pervasive cunning rickshaw drivers who are always happy to pronounce that he indeed has a rickshaw available for you - just the beginning. Also, in India there is a conspicuous increase in the impoverished and destitute.

Bodhgaya was busier than I remembered it from my trip to India in 2002. It looked to me that the population and construction of new buildings had bloomed. I remembered that there were more Tibetans and Tibetan owned businesses, though the main pilgrimage for Tibetans is from December through February. Now, Indians owned all the shops. However, there was still the international feel of tourists and pilgrims from all over the world, here for either serious devotional practice or just checking out the vibe.

Since I already new the layout of the town, I was able to negotiate the streets easily to visit the distinct temples constructed by various Buddhist countries such as the grandiose Wat from Thailand, the simple yet splendid Indosan Nipponji, the Chinese and Tibetan temples placed side by side, and of course the Bhutanese temple among others. This was such a privilege to have access to so many different temples, though some seemed more active than others. It was also good to see that the Bangladeshi temple was more substantial than it used to be. Of course I also visited the 25-meter Shakyamuni Buddha and the Mahabodhi temple (the compound for the Mahabodhi tree where the Buddha attained enlightenment). For a good part of my final day I sat by the tree amongst the Sri Lankan pilgrims as an occasional Korean Nun or Theravadan Monk circumambulated the temple clockwise or a gaggle of noisy Indian tourists came through in the opposite direction.

I mostly commenced in conspicuous anonymity and engaged occasionally with a foreign tourist and negotiated with the many young Indian men who wanted to meet and befriend a foreigner. There were a couple of young guys I sat and talked with for a while. They mostly wanted to express their respect for America and all its riches and as is usual wouldn’t accept that there is poverty in the US. They also informed me that money is the only way to do anything. One of these guys said that he wanted to be a doctor but didn’t have the resources to become one. I asked him why he wanted to be a doctor. For the money of course. This young guy worked at his uncle’s souvenir shop just outside the temple. Judging by the number of such shops that sell cheap beads and such, I can’t see that it’s a very lucrative business. He told me that in a few years the government is relocating all these shops as well as the hotels and other businesses away from Bodhgaya. We can imagine what this would do to the local economy, but we can also imagine what it can do to preserve the serenity of this central Buddhist pilgrimage site. With so much competition in the souvenir junk business I can’t believe that anyone makes any money. It always baffles me that so many development strategies focus on tourism and souvenirs - neither of which are in the least sustainable or consistent.

April 1 - 6: Bodhgaya to Panchgani via Patna and Pune

I met a friend named Dolma in Bangkok while volunteering with the GNH 3 conference. She was staying at the same facility I stayed at. Walking down the stairs one day I said one of the few things I know in Tibetan. She was startled and thought she was hearing a ghost. Subsequently, we became friends and hung out in Bangkok a bit. When I left Bangkok she was also about to return to India. She wasn’t sure where she would be.

Since then she told me she was in Pune working somewhere. I had no idea what she was doing. It seemed like a good place to stop on my way to Kerala. So after an afternoon train from Gaya to Patna I took a 2-night train to Pune (in which I actually slept quite well). When I arrived in Pune I called her and she told me she was actually in Panchgani a small town on a hill 3 hours away from Pune by bus. I took care of things like eating and buying my onward bus ticket to Mangalore (all trains were booked because of spring break) before I went to the local bus station and waited… and waited. The 3:30 bus never came, so I waited for the 5:30 bus that did come and surprisingly was not packed. I guess in the state of Maharashtra they don’t pack the busses. When we came to small towns a few people would get on and would stand in the aisle. This wasn’t a special tourist bus. I was worried about getting to Panchgani after dark, but to no worry. I simply arrived, called Dolma, negotiated a taxi (one of the neat old style Ambassadors), and arrived at the facility she works at. Dolma and two of her friends that work there greeted me and showed me my room.

The facility that Dolma works at is called Asia Plateau. It’s run by an organization called Initiatives of Change (IofC). I really didn’t know what I stepped into. It was a very nurturing space (the first of several I found on my trip through the south) and everyone was friendly and caring. But not in the weird cultish empty way, rather the genuine compassionate way. They were holding a weeklong seminar on ethics and social awareness for a group of business management students. The sessions tapped into the logic as well as the creativity of the students. They encouraged the students to reflect on the relationships throughout their life and look at which ones needed mending. Amongst other issues, they also discussed following their passions rather than convenience or doing things for the money. Each session involved outlining the issue, personal anecdotes from IofC staff or volunteers, time for personal reflection, and community discussion. One evening the students were divided into small groups. Each group was given a colloquialism to develop a short skit around. They came up with some really inventive productions in the one afternoon they had to work with.

This was refreshing for me to see these young people enthusiastically embracing these concepts in contrast to the attitude of the young guy in Bodhgaya. Granted we have to look at social and economic class and quality and access to education.

It turns out that Initiatives of Change (IofC) is an international organization with offices all over the world (including the US). It was formerly known as Moral Re-Armament (MRA) in response to the rising militantism of WWII. So the organization has been around since the 1930s and was involved with India’s independence movement. Here I’ll quote a pamphlet to let you know their philosophy:

“Formerly known as Moral Re-Armament (MRA), IofC encourages every individual to find one’s unique contribution to the transformation needed in the world - starting with oneself. It encourages responding to the promptings of one’s conscience.

Every person wants to see the other person change. Nations wait to see other nations different. But the most practical and reasonable place to start is with your self. IofC believes a better world can be created through better people. It gives everyone a chance to build a new world around them.

IofC helps one to make an honest observation of one’s life and change on instances where wrongs one wants to see eliminated from society, are present in one’s own actions, attitudes, or relationships. The instance of personal change further inspires one to take initiatives of change in the world around. It empowers one to pass on this spirit to others who come in contact with him.”

The staff at Asia Plateau is a dedicated group of management and volunteers who take the core beliefs of IofC to heart. It shows in their actions, their genuineness, and inquisitiveness. They take little in compensation for their work and offer their services to anyone. The volunteers are from under represented communities in India as well as other countries. When I was there, there were volunteers from Kenya, Sudan, Russia, the Northeastern states of India, and several Tibetans who were either born in Tibet or India.

On my last day at Asia Plateau (such a short stay) I gave presentation on my Adventure Learning Grant to the staff and volunteers. I was a little nervous but it was a supportive and inquisitive audience. It was good practice. I was surprised that I gave the presentation unscripted. It was well received and I was told by one of the staff that he felt it touched everyone and that it’s uncommon for someone from the US to come to India and talk about sustainability and development. A volunteer from Sudan asked the most questions. He was interested in the concept of sustainability and I very much enjoyed his inquiries. His questions helped me articulate my beliefs about development.

Yes, you never know what you might find on a whim.

April 6 - 11 Pune to Ernakulum/Fort Kochin via Mangalore

The bus ride from Pune to Mangalore in Karnataka was rather uneventful. The movie on the bus was a new Hindi-movie release that was currently running in the theaters. I could barely see the subtitles from my seat, but sometimes words aren’t necessary. For all the movie’s premise of unpredictability, it was quite predictable.

In Mangalore, I began to see the first signs of the communist south, first in political posters for candidates. But also in the relative cleanliness and lower visible poverty than in the north.

I went up to one of the Catholic chapels on a hill above the city and wasn’t as impressed as the Lonely Planet description leads. Catholicism made its way here with the Portuguese in the 1520s. I was more curious about the shrine to the Virgin Mother in an old dilapidated brick wall near the chapel. It looked like it may have had a local deity at one time before being replaced by the statue of the Virgin. Some questions will remain unanswered to the inquirer.

Early the next mourning I boarded a chair car on the train to Ernakulum. As the sun rose in the east, to the west, I watched the landscape of palms and backwaters slip by as the train gently swayed down the coast.

When I arrived in Enakulum I waded through the rickshaw drivers to find one who wasn’t in the throng and negotiated a fair price to the ferry pier. I took the foot passenger ferry to Fort Kochin just across the lake from Ernakulum. Fort Kochin is a once Portuguese then in turn Dutch colony at the tip of a peninsula. Though it was quiet, it was quite a touristy place and I wasn’t free from the constant probing of the rickshaw drivers. Besides, rooms were overpriced. The redeeming attributes of Fort Kochin were the laid back friendly fishermen who operate the Chinese style fishing nets and the Kothakali performance. A thunder storm came through so I got spectacular lighting for pictures of the fishing nets and the drenching rain came in time for me to seek shelter at the Kothakali performance. Kothakali is a stylized Keralan opera that’s a couple centuries old. The components are the unique costumes and make-up, the passionate music, and the unique facial and gesture movements. The particular story they performed was about an attempted rape and the subsequent murder of the rapist by the woman’s husband.

The next day I meandered around the uncrowded streets in search of breakfast and realized that I did indeed want to go back to the more urban Indian’s India in Ernakulum. Those next couple days I wandered around the maze of streets of Ernakulum in relative anonymity, exploring what kind of shops and material goods are available in the most cosmopolitan city in Kerala. The most conspicuous and abundant shops were jewelers. There were huge department store size jewelers as well as small family owned shops. This must be a legacy of the ancient shipping routes between China and the Middle East. All sorts of other consumer goods were available from electronics to ayurvedics and of course cinema. There was even an international film festival.

For some reason I liked the feel of busy Ernakulum more than the quiet Fort Kochin. Fort Kochin seemed dead and Ernakulum had vitality. Or maybe it was my comfort in the mix. It felt like Ernakulum actually had people living there for a purpose. In Fort Kochin the fisherman were great and though using the Chinese style nets is declining, they still are fisherman. The main jobs in Fort Kochin are fishing, rickshaw driver, restaurant, and hotel operation. The jobs in Ernakulum are varied and are not centered on tourism. Maybe Fort Kochin reminded me of Bar Harbor, Maine - another tourist destination. The question seems to be “is tourism good for a community?” My hunch is from the number of rickshaw drivers and restaurateurs caught in an endless cycle seeking to lure tourists to their business, it might be hard to find satisfaction in an unpredictable and finicky market.

April 11 - 14: Ernakulum to Amma’s Ashram via Alleppey and the backwater canals

I had another pleasant and relaxing short 3 hour train ride from Ernakulum to a small laid-back town called Alleppey where I could catch a boat to take me through the backwater canals to Amma’s ashram. I had almost a full day to wander through the sprawling town situated between the Arabian Gulf of the Indian Ocean and the backwater canals. First, I walked to the ocean beach and explored the vastness of the sea and sky in my mind as the Indian tourists frolicked and the snack wallahs rang their woks like bells to call all the devotees of snackness to worship. Then I went on a labyrinthine search (the Lonely Planet map sucks) through town to find a good veg place for lunch and the boat pier so I could buy my ticket. After that, I strolled back to the beach to watch what proved to be an immaculate sunset and the distant fishing boats out at sea. Three local fishermen cast their hand thrown nets into the surf until it was dark, then they stood observing the waves for signs of fish like sentinels with their nets draped over a shoulder like a cape.

When I purchased my ticket for the boat, I was told that it was uncertain if a boat would actually leave because it depended on a minimum of ten people to make the run. The next day there were certainly enough people to go and I got the feeling that we would have gone anyway. As the boat negotiated out of town and onto the main canal it felt like I was in some scene mixed between the African Queen and Apocalypse Now except without the dramatic plot lines and mid-war violence. My destination was sort of the antithesis of Marlon Brando’s den of darkness up the Mekong - although it could be said that both destinations are manifestations of Kali’s (depicted as a wrathful destructive deity) truly compassionate nature. Instead I and a few other foreigners on the boat were headed to Amma’s Ashram.

Amma, who is also known as the hugging saint or guru set up her ashram (spiritual community) at the village she grew up in. After several years of reaching out to the destitute, even though she is only from a poor fisherman’s family, she became a self-realized guru. Which means that she didn’t have the formal training of Brahmins. Since then she has persistently developed her compassionate charity work that spends millions to alleviate the suffering of people not only in India but other countries, too. She contributed substantially to relief for tsunami victims, earthquake victims in Pakistan and North India, and those in need after hurricane Katrina. The ashram was instrumental in relief and reconstruction efforts of villages surrounding the ashram. It’s impressive to me to see someone employ their cult-of-personality to alleviate suffering rather than use it for self-aggrandizement and manipulation. (Is it a coincidence at the same time on my birthday back home on the other side of the planet in Seattle the Dalai Lama was the keynote speaker at a conference on compassion?) Also, it’s impressive to see a woman guru so revered in India, though I understand that Kerala has strong traditions of female deities and gurus.

When I arrived at the big pink high-rise ashram that looks best suited as a hotel on a Florida or Hawaii beach I found out that Amma actually was not there and would not be back until 2 or 3 days after I needed to leave. This seems to be my relationship with “gurus”: I schedule to leave Bhutan at the end of March, Dzongzar Khyentse comes in April; I come to India, the Dalai Lama goes to Seattle, etc. Though it would have been nice to get darshan (spiritual audience, in this case Amma’s famous hugs) from Amma, I was not thoroughly impressed with the community at the ashram.

I know every great person and idea needs the support of a community, but I didn’t get any sense of vitality or creative force coming from the devotees. The saying “Jesus save me from your followers” comes to mind. It seemed like there was a dependence and because Amma was not around the life force seemed diminished. It would be interesting to see what it’s like when she is there.

I met a couple of Americans from New York on the boat. It was a nice dynamic. He worked for a bank and took some time to come travel with his friend in India. She has been traveling for quite some time now. They both depicted my beliefs about Amma and the ashram. He approached it all with acceptance and felt there was a good thing happening here. She was more skeptical and criticized all the cult-of-personality trappings and the divisions between foreigners and Indians or men and women. However, those social standards that are the norm for India were fairly relaxed. They left the next day and I stayed for another day to get a little better feel for the place.

During the evening prayers of the first day a woman died in the temple, so the next evening there was a funeral at the ashram with a cremation on the beach. It was serene and simple, not a lot of outward emotion. It must be auspicious to die in a sacred temple during prayers.

During my remaining time at the ashram I got a better sense of the personalities of a few of the non-Indian devotees. They were mostly gregarious and enjoyable people. But they all seemed to be looking for their self-worth within the work of Amma rather than contributing their skills to Amma’s projects. Of course it’s hard to say having been there for only two days.

Did I mention anything about sunrises or sunsets?

April 14 - 17: Amma’s Ashram to Trivandrum via Kollam

On the next leg of the journey I continued on the boat through the backwaters. Again, I watched as I slipped past the landscape and the locals waiving and some naked young men splashing in the water, yelling “I love you” at the foreign women on the boat. I met an older Indian man from Chennai and some other Indian tourists. We mostly had small talk, but I expressed my impressions of the success of development in Kerala. He told me that there is indeed a high literacy rate, but there is not much investment in Kerala. Therefore, many Keralans go to the Middle East, Bangalore, or even the U.S. to work in house-care or information technologies and send remittances home to their families. So the world’s only democratically elected communist state is the source for highly skilled yet cheap labor in capitalist economies - a truly post-modern arrangement in the neo-liberal world.

We arrived in Kollam just after another wonderful sunset and I promptly avoided the rickshaws and found my way to an adequate guesthouse. Kollam is fairly modern and has malls, Internet shops, and bustling transit busses. The day after I arrived a local elephant festival was set to take place in the evening, but I had already made plans to catch the train to Trivandrum so I could make my train on the 17th to Pondicherry. I did wander out to the grounds where the festival was held and I saw the preliminary gathering of spectators and a couple of elephant troops that consisted of one or more elephants and a group of drummers. But I didn’t have time to find out what it was all about and soon I was on a train to the state capital.

Trivandrum was another fairly modern city with all the trappings of urbanization. There were Muslim mosques, Hindu temples, and Christian cathedrals peppered throughout the city. There were also various colleges dedicated to language, ayurveda, or I.T. I was even able to find a wireless Internet connection in my room. In general Trivandrum was uneventful.

April 17 - 24: Trivandrum to Auroville via Villupuram and Pondicherry (or now Pudicherry)

Another pleasant trip on the train, cruising down almost to the very tip of India then back up halfway through Tamil Nadu to Villupuram Junction train station. In the evening as the light faded into pinks and grays the train passed through a wind generation farm. The giant white rotors placed all across the plain rotated slowly, generating renewable electricity to help generate the new Indian economy.

I arrived in the early mourning at Villupuram and waited for the entirely more pleasant local train to Pondicherry. Everyone I asked said there was no train. Then when I asked if the train was discontinued they would say that it leaves at 9:30. Some they would point me in the direction of the bus stand. Language barriers, what to do? But I got to Pondicherry no problem and after some breakfast I took a rickshaw out to Auroville to meet up with my friend Ashaman.

I arrived at the Solar Kitchen at about 11:00 or so and tried to find a phone to call Ashaman. There was no phone to use at the café. Then the pay phone required a 1-rupee coin, that I didn’t have, and of course Auroville doesn’t use paper or coin currency so no one had any change. But as I was inquiring for change, the woman for the visitors’ office arrived to open the office and allowed me to use the phone. It’s just a small example of the shift that Auroville is from “regular” India. It was also a slight dilemma that I was only staying for about a week, because Auroville won’t issue a temporary account for short visits. However, I can’t get food or anything without an account. The solution was that I use Ashaman’s account for my visit and deposit an estimated amount that I would use. I was surprised that the office never came across that situation before. The rest of my stay in Auroville was smooth and pleasant.

Auroville is an interesting experiment in human consciousness and social development. I would classify it as an intentional community. A French woman known as the Mother who was the spiritual counterpart to a man named Sri Aurobindo founded it in the early 70s. I won’t go into their whole perception/realization of the world (you can do a search for Auroville or Sri Aurobindo and I’m sure you’ll find plenty of info). However, Auroville was designed to be an international city purposefully designed to reflect and perpetuate the evolution of human consciousness as realized on Earth, a sustainable environment where anyone could come and reside no matter where they were from. A popular innovative French architect was employed to design the city and the massive undertaking was supposed to be built in five years under a substantial grant and the blessings of the UN.

To say the least it was ambitious. There was plenty of space between concept and actualization. The community is still struggling to purchase all the land and meet the legal challenges of the complexity of Indian real estate dealings. Though most of the area envisaged for Auroville was a wasteland of eroding soils and devoid of vegetation there were still Indians who lived on and owned lands interspersed there who were not entirely convinced of the Mother’s vision. However, the pioneering Aurovillians went for it and through time it has developed into a cultural phenomenon. It’s a community of innovators and artisans who are actively living lifestyles that if don’t challenge, transform modern culture. Aurrovillians have produced innovations in water purification and windmills that are of the most efficient available amongst many other achievements. A lot is possible in Auroville and a lot of creative energy circulates there.

One of the biggest criticisms is that Auroville is mostly a community of non-Indians (there is a growing population of Indian residents) that relies on funding from people who can afford to pull up roots from their birth country and come to India. However, I’ll point out that there are developing nations that rely on substantial subsidies from other governments and international banks to float their economies. But that’s as far as the comparison goes. I like Auroville. It’s an integral part and challenge for human consciousness to figure out how to get passed some of the fundamental barriers to our peaceful co-existence on the one place we’ve got. I look forward to seeing where it goes.

During the week I was there, though I didn’t have the chance to “concentrate” in the giant gold golf ball known as the Matramandir (which I was looking forward to), I was able to do wonderful leisurely things. I wasn’t there long enough to get into any of the “serious work.

One day, I met up with Ashaman and my other friend from Bellingham, Rachael, and their friend Johnny (sp?) - an old original - and we went several hours by crowded bus after crowded bus and a couple hours of moonlit hike through the brambles to the top of a high hill above the Tamil Nadu plains. (The bus ride of course was an adventure itself)

At the top were old ruins: a temple, a granary, crumbling walls, built up pools but also miraculously perched boulders and nothing but the calm clear night above us. The din of India was in the distance in the mourning, but the only thing that woke me prematurely was the slight chill through my sleeping bag liner. That next day we moved from shade to shade alternately taking adventures in the sun to slide into the cool algae green pools, or hop through the rocks and boulder tunnels, or explore the ruins. We didn’t see but one man who came up to meditate for a short spell.

One pool we cooled in was choked with water plants and we squished into the mud at the bottom. I had to do my best to not imagine what’s lurking in the mud. I opted for the adjacent pool in the sun. As I let the water settle around me, about seven little frogs surrounded me, staring at me. It was a little creepy, or maybe endearing. Until I felt one nibble at me under the water. I splished right out and tried my luck again in the plant choked pool. Eventually, time got by and we headed out, back to the busses and the long journey to Auroville. I was quite red and burnt by the end of that episode.

Ashaman took me to the local Aikido class. It was sure nice to be on a mat again. That’s one thing I’m missing from home. But it was fun to work with Ashaman and a handful of Aurovillians who had trained quite differently. We got to explore things in new ways.

I also got to experience Earth Day in Auroville. I’m told, in the past it was celebrated quite grandly, but this time it was a little quieter. Regardless, if anything brings out the hippy dippiness of a place, it’s sure to be Earth Day. There were some interesting innovative technologies on display and a substantial vegan feast in the evening. After the dinner the performances began. First, there was a really adorable production of a musical play by a first grade class of Tamil kids. Then there was a fantastic local Tamil drum and dance group. But the hippy stops were pulled out when the main act played. It was a trio of characters who sang “sacred” Hawaiian songs and rainbow chants to “reggae” rhythms while the crowd of dancers frolicked and twirled around the stage. Maybe I was letting my analytical mind impede my creative self.

Regardless, Auroville is as they say more than the sum of its parts. Like anything, there are things I’ll agree with and things I won’t. My time was short there and I moved on.

April 24 - 27: Auroville to Agra via Chennai and another two-night train

Back on the trains again. I really like traveling by train in India.

After a layover in Chennai for several hours, in which I walked around the city, I took off to Agra. I swear that everywhere I visit in India seems a lot busier and more built up than when I visited in 2002. I remember Chennai as being a lot quieter. However, it still stinks like sewage.

I arrived in Agra really early in the morning and waited in the train station for the sun to rise. Then, since it was still in the mourning cool, I decided to walk in to Tajganj - the area of hotels and shops around the Taj Mahal. Why not? It’s supposed to be quite brilliant. So I took the time to walk in (turned out to be 9 km). About every fourth of kilometer a rickshaw driver would slow down and announce, yes he’s driving a rickshaw. Rickshaws really can’t be a lucrative business; the market’s way oversaturated. So this was what passed my time while walking, declining rides from quite a few rickshaws drivers.

On the first day I just poked around outside the Taj and admired the (insert any of the clichés you’ve heard about it, they’re true) of it from the rooftop restaurant at the guesthouse I stayed at. But I also went down alongside the outer walls to the back. It was really nice back there. None of the tourists go back there. There was just a goat herder and her stray goats and a couple of lounging security guys. I bantered with the security guys a bit, took some pictures, and went around to the other side to shoot some profiles as the sunset passed the (really polluted) Yamuna River.

The next mourning after watching the light unfurl on the dome and minarets, I dove into the already significant crowds. I anonymously negotiated through, seeking out different angles than the common tourist shots. They’ve all been done a thousand times, but taking photos of it is like treasure hunt. It is quite beautiful and every shot just gives one refraction. Another Interesting aspect was to see it up close, with all the flaws: cracks and pockmarks and erosion. For a human’s finest example and dedication to perfection it’s grounding to see the interrelationship of perfection and imperfection.

But that’s about all the patience I have for tourist traps, so that afternoon I took off to Delhi to prepare for the next chapter, about three months in Ladakh.

Ladakh…

I’m now in Ladakh and adjusting to the drastic changes. I couldn’t get this out to you right away, because internet is not as easily accessible (gasp, I may go through withdrawals) and while adjusting to the altitude some sort of something was inside my intestines creating all sorts of chaos that you don’t want me to describe in detail. Let’s just say I turned green and humbled myself to the gods of anti-biotics.

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Photos

Nyima and Dolma in Pune
Hanging Tough, Look out Chinese Rulers