I Love Kerala

Okay, I just got off the boat: two days cruising the backwaters of beautiful Kerala, the southwestest corner state of India. And in the last week in Kerala I have realized that I am in love with this state. Let me count the ways:


(Disclaimer: Although I may be on land now, my body is still on that boat; everything is swaying and I am pretty nauseous. Hopefully this is coherent. This list is not in any sort of order)

1. Lungis- All men (aged 35 +) wear lungis, a cloth rapped around to wrap around one's waist (man dress), which are quite possibly my most favorite attire (although I have kept my lungi packed as not to gain too much unwanted attention). They are very comfortable and extremely functional, when it gets hot or one needs to do some demanding work, there is a procedure of folding it up which give's one full maneuverability. My favorite sights was seeing a bus of men heading to work with dress shirts, brief cases, and their lungis. Now that is a working culture that I want to be a part of.
2. Another male aesthetic note: all men have mustaches here, I know this isn't exclusive to just Kerala, but I love mustaches, and have seen some beautiful ones here that were worth a mention.
3. There are dolphins here! We saw them jumping just offshore from this beach near Kochi.
4. Coconuts are used in everything, including their village wine, known as Toddy, which is dangerously delicious. Much better than the village wine I have drank in Rajasthan which was made from a root.
5. Staying on a fruit related topic, bananas are everywhere, even cigarette and paan stands sell bananas. And they are absolutely delicious, they are different than most of the ones you can get in the states, much smaller but oh so good.
6. Kerala is noticeably more developed than the north where I have spent all of my time, and the effects are quite visable. For instance, women work everywhere, gas pumps, fruit stalls, Internet cafes and are constantly in the public sphere, which was quite shocking for me coming from the North, where it is very rare to see a woman working anywhere outside of the home. Also, girls make eye contact with me here! In all of my time in India, going on almost a year, I have not made eye contact with a single girl, and here girls actually say hello to me. This newfound attention from Indian women is a bit jarring for me, but I will take it. Oh, the literacy rate of this state is quite impressive. Our travel companion, Rose, was bedridden for a couple days with the Delhi Belly, so this freed up time for me to visit Kottayam, a city boasting a hundred percent literacy. For some reason I thought that this would be interesting to see, this utopia of India, where all, from the business man to the farmer, are engaged in meaningful debate and discussion. But I have found sightseeing for literacy doesn't yield the best experiences, and upon reflection, it was about exciting as it sounds.
7. Quite diverse in terms of religion, which is interesting to see: about a third Muslim, a third Christian, and a third Hindu.
8. Traveling around the countryside, seeing beautiful church after beautiful church, it is clear that at least in this region of Kerala, Christianity is most visible, a strange departure from my almost entirely Hindu experience of the North. And Although I wouldn't necessarily consider myself a christian at this point, seeing a shared set of experiences, structures, and customs (albeit in a different form. For example, those that know about Arthi, a ritual fire offering in Hinduism, in kerala, I have seen people performing a similar rite in christian temples that resemble any other Hindu temple that I have seen), especially during this festive season with decorations, costume (we have seen many santas), etc., I have found some comfort in this culture, it is not as alien as it can get up in the North I guess.
9. An interesting twist in the politics of this region, given the diverse religiosity of people. This state is communist and has been for a long time (I am not exactly sure how long). And just as visible as the religions, so is the communist allegiance, despite the relative decline in popularity as of late. The Communist Party of India-Marxist or CPIM is everywhere, with posters, rallies, flags. Interestingly, I even saw a Laal Mandir as I call it, a temple drawing entirely from Hindu architecture colored red with the communist logo. I went to the communist bookstore in the bus stop and picked up a communist planner in Malayalam, the Keralan native tongue, and a cd by the People's Choir, a branch of the CPIM, which was interestedly awful. It was also interesting to see villagers painting lifesize protraits of Che Guevara by candlelight, weird.
10. Attitudes are much more laid back here it seems. People are far less aggressive, even in established tourist spots.
11. Rickshaw drivers give you acurate fares!!! This has never been the case in any place I have traveled in the north.
12. A conscience salve for the tenative tourist: there are very few beggars here, I haven't been asked for money once. Sometimes I feel guilty of the privilege that I have to go on these travels, and admittedly, in more developed areas, like Kerala, I feel that it is a little easier to travel as bad as that may sound.
13. And most important: They drink Coffee here, sweet, sweet, love of life coffee that I cannot get in any decent form in my Himalayan abode. It is also ridiculously cheap, maybe 10 cents a glass, and really delicious. While wandering through the backstreets of Ernakulam, I stumbled upon, Broadway Diner, which turned out to be a refreshing deviation from the Starbuck esque establishments that I have been frequenting in the bigger cities. This place had not experienced a single change since India gained her Independence some sixty years ago. It was like walking into a time portal. Creeky chairs, marble tables, old display cupboards with aging signs, cobwebs, dark lighting, steady hum of old fans. Most importantly, they had this warm radio from the forties that played old Hindi film tunes, and strangely enough, obscure American Psychedilic rock. The shopkeep had taken over when his father died, and sat behind this large wooden bar taking money all day. He had impeccable English, we talked about stocks for some reason. The cavernous back rooms where the kitchen bathroom living quarters had no electricity or running water and really hadn't changed since the building had been erected. I absolutely loved this place, I never wanted to leave. I spent about 6 hours there and drank about thirteen cups of coffee ,(they were small though), while conceptualizing with my friend Christoph about a non profit community based cafe/bookshop with a subcontinent focus that we want to start in the US in due time (I might elaborate about this more later). Good times.

Man, I think I studied the wrong language, I should have studied Malayalam in college (by the way my Hindi does absolutely nothing down here, Hindi is within the Aryan language family, while Malayalam is in the Dravidian family, so there are very few similarities in vocabulary, pronunciation and script. I am completely helpless here which has been a huge source of frustration, although my Hindi isn't great, I can get by and am much more comfortable in this regard, traveling in the North).

Alright my head feels like it is about to fall off, I still feel like I am on a boat. But hope that your New Year's was merry!

Christmas Eve

Hello y'all,
I have swapped the posh Juhu life to move in with my friend Cheryl who lives in the slums of Jogeshwari, a former dairytown transformed into a giant slum, more or less, by the urban sprawl of Bombay megacity. Luckily the process occurred about thirty years ago, giving it immunity to government landgrabs, meaning sweet, sweet housing security for Cheryl, who has been having trouble finding a place. Her room is warm and cozy, but quite tiny with no running water, upstairs (which means unbearably hot) and with an asbestos covered tin roof (which makes it even hotter). For toilet accommodations there is a drain in the corner for urine and a bring-your-own-water shared toilet further down the slums for other business. Although it has been tight staying with her and my friend Rose, and my back is a little sore from sleeping on the concrete, I actually have preferred staying at her place over the Shreedar's bollywood beachside flat.

I really commend her for the bare bones lifestyle in which she lives and how she never complains about it. Although I do realize how difficult it is for any foreigner, especially a women, to live in India, it is refreshing to hear Cheryl lack of complaint about her living situation, especially after the group vent at the midpoint retreat last week.

The experience for me has broken many of my conceptions of the slum. For one, all slums are not utterly impoverished, there are varying levels of and within slums in terms of economic status. People get by, they work hard and don't have much materially, but few people go hungry. Compared to my experience in Juhu, with wealthy individual living in these castles cordoned off by barbwired walls and security guards, it is a nice change to live for a few days in a completely open and close knit community where everyone knows and for the most part, cares for each other, shares food. We have been able to meet so many warm hearted people in her neighborhood and all of her social activist neighbors (I actually got to spend Eid, a Muslim holiday eating delicious mutton and chicken, so long Ashram lifestyle).

Tonight should be fun, Cheryl's friends have started a library and student group in their slum and tonight we will sing some social activist songs that they have written and do some program with some kids I guess. Then Rose, Cheryl, some of her friends, and myself will have a gift swap. We are out Benjamin who is sadly stuck in Istanbul with visa troubles preventing his flight here this morning. Hopefully he can get it all sorted out soon and meet up with us in Kerala.

Hope everyone has a merry Christmas, and perhaps hope you all will open a present for you Bombay buddy.

All of you are in my thoughts.

Educational Surveys

I wrote this blog quite a while ago, but haven't had the adequate internet access to post it, so here it is, just in time for the holidays:

In this holiday season, I would like to share some of my experiences and thoughts with you that will hopefully make us all think about what we are truly thankful for, and what we can do to contribute to humanity.

As part of a grant we recently received from Plan International, for the last couple weeks, some colleagues and I have been traveling around the rurals of Uttarakhand in means to ascertain a baseline of the quality of education in government schools. For the next two months straight, we will be busy with teachers trainings, which means have around 50 government students and teachers at our school. The survey will hopefully show that, an academic year from now, that our trainings have brought out a change in the teachers. Unfortunately I am not so hopeful.

The survey experience, for me, was a mixture of extraordinary beauty and terrible depression. It would be hard not to find the beauty in the subtle differences of each area of Uttarakhand, from the awe inspiring Ganga flowing through Uttarkashi, carving out stark mountainous walls on either side, to Gairsain, with its more moderate foothill mountains, densely covered with oak and pine forests. This region continues to surprise me; around every bend is impressive new scenery.

There was also the beauty of all of the children we encountered as well, so curious, so creative so much potential. When we first visited each classroom, the children's submissive nature was quite apparent; the classroom had an oppressive atmosphere, children sat straight and silent, while their lumbering thuggish teachers wandered about. But outside of the teacher's eyes, the layers quickly melted and they opened up to us a bit. But I really cannot forget their beautiful smiles and laughter.

First of all, let it be said I live in a bubble. The children and teacher at our school transcend these labels, opting instead for a more familial relationship. It is paramount at our school for the child to realize the equality of all people, including their teacher. Out of this a learning partnership is formed, where everyone is learning and challenging each other. In the morning we all meditate and sing together; in the classroom, all sit around the teacher, and in the lower grades, mostly on the laps of the teacher. Although I had read the literature about the realities of the Indian educational system: physical abuse, terrible infrastructure, the high dropout and low performance levels, I had been coaxed into this idyllic environment. It wasn't that I didn't believe that that was out there, that this milieu existed, but, given that all of my time here, I don't think I wanted to.

The true reality of education in government schools in India, is that they are like those of the military: and bad ones at that. Every morning, children stand in ordered lines, numbering off then barking out call and responses as if they were at boot camp. They then file into their classrooms and into more prescribed lines, where they sit quietly, and if they don't sit quietly they get beat, if they miss an answer they get beat, in fact, if they are Nepali or from a lower caste, different from the rest they get beat. Beatings are rampant. In every school without exception, the teachers continuously beat the children, at one school, to the point that the village chief, or Pradhan, filed several forms trying to get him removed, unfortunately to no avail. Chalk that one up to inefficient and irresponsible governance. Obviously, the teachers would not admit to such beatings, except for one teacher, with disarming candor, actually beat her children in front of us. She admitted to us that she had no idea how or why she became a teacher.

This might be why: teaching positions are highly coveted in the villages because the high wages (I know that teacher's salaries make up more than 85% of the Central Government's educational budget) and the strength of the teacher's union makes it virtually impossible to be fired. These two factors lead to absenteeism, with many teachers showing up less than half of the days they are suppose to. We went to six schools, despite the teacher's knowing that we were coming, at every school, only one teacher was present.

In India's Constitution and included in almost every five year plan following, there is much verbage about dedication to universal education reflecting the sentiments of many international organizations, but in practice little has changed. Sure many more students have enrolled, but with the quality component of education virtually devoid in the current governmental educational regime, the obvious civic and social utilities of education (increased participation in politics and civil society organizations, increased economic opportunities and social mobility, etc.) are denied to these children. Therefore, in practice, the school system almost resembles more of a day care scheme for most, staving off the hard realities of their parent's lives for a couple years, until that same adulthood is superimposed onto them. This observation was echoed by many community members that we talked to, who felt that many parents had come to accept that their children were not learning much substantively in the government school, so they view the schools more as day care centers and a free meal (with the Mid Day Meal Scheme) for their children.

Another observation that we made was that there was one teacher at every school for 40 or 50 children. I'll give that to the teachers: it is a difficult task to balance the needs of this many children coming from five different classes. But, here's a novel idea, how about trying? All of the teachers we talked to absolved all responsibility to the government, saying that they are given too much work outside of school to teach properly. Sure they are given letters to write, tasks like getting census info, giving out identity cards to villagers, but, this shouldn't take up too much of their time, seeing that the Indian work week is 6 days a week, and school is only for about 6 hours. There is plenty of time for the small remedial tasks while teaching. One teacher during our recent teacher trainings said, 'Each day I give about an hour to the children, with my other work, isn't that enough?' The other work, a couple of letters she had to write to the government in a week. Sickening.

This absolutions sets up a dangerous chain of apathy: the parents blame the teachers and think that they can't do anything because teachers are lazy and don't care, so the either don't send their kids to school or send them with no real hope of them learning anything. The teachers blame the government and think that they can't do anything because they have other burdens and few resources, so they predominately don't try. The government blames the social issues in the community and is so corroded with corruption they aren't even capable of fixing a broken chair in a school let alone the lack of quality in the schools.

But change must start somewhere. It could start with the parents and communities taking a stake in their children's education, hinted at the above example of the Pradhan. WIth vigorous participation and chopping through this apathy, teachers themselves will be held accountable by their community and different levels of government will start to take notice. Teachers can also realize the importance of their profession and strive to become quality educators. We have heard of a small handful of teachers in Uttarkashi who have actually invested a good portion of their paycheck into their school, giving their lives fully to their children. Teachers can stop blaming others, and take the responsibility on themselves. The government can be held more accountable to shine light on faceless dangerous actions of the bureaucracy. During our AIF orientation, a speaker came to inform us about the Right to Information Act, which enables citizens to obtain governmental documents in question. Although the system has some set backs, the prospects are promising, and to combat the terrible condition of the education system (such as the Pradhan plight through the governmental bureaucracy).

But this all means that somebody has to stand up, and once one does many will follow. That is what we are trying to do with our teacher's workshops, we focus on empowering the children while also trying to invigorate the teachers. In our school, we try to involve the older children in the education process of the younger. This develops personality and self confidence for the older and benefits the younger with a teacher with more relevant experience to their situation (I don't think that any teacher could fully relate to the child's learning process , in that they learned the concepts so long ago, most have computerized the knowledge in their brain, they know what it is and what answers are, but not necessarily why or how it works). Through the surveys, we also learned that many of the teachers didn't actually know competently many of the concepts that they were trying to teach, and admitted that they really didn't have the energy to learn them at this point. But children have boundless energy, curiosity and an impeccable sense of inquiry. Why not tap into this energy to teach and motivate each other, having the teacher be more like a facilitator of discussions and knowledge, instead of forcibly and halfheartedly slopping government syllabus concepts into the child's mind, one after another like on a conveyer belt?

Teachers, thus far, have be more or less receptive of this idea, but we will see what happens when they return to their schools and we do a follow up three months from now. We realize the difficulty of this argument, but we are placing our cards on the fresh minds of the children. We believe that a child's revolution needs to take place to break this danger chain of absolution.

I have been thinking about this lately in terms of how our (being from 'western' developed countries) actions affect those in developing countries and want to take a step back and examine how we all fit within this chain of absolution, but I think I will elaborate a later when I have a bit more time.

Bombay Holidays

So, quite a bit of a departure from my heavenly mountain abode perched atop the Himalayas, I write to you from the thick of the richest part of India, Juhu beach, where I am surrounded by bollywood stars and IT gurus, some of the richest people in the WORLD. Strange. I just spent three american bucks on a delicious cup of coffee. uggh. (but delicious, much better than the Nescafe I drink daily). Tonight, as a contrast only Bombay could provide, I will being staying with a friend (Hindi Program Cheryl, or Kranti) in a slum just down the street. Vah!

I came down the mountains to participate in a midpoint retreat with the other fellows, and after its completion, I have been staying in a major donor and player in AIF, Shreedar's beach house. This actually has been quite an intense experience for me, the pollution of the city, the sprawling slums, the oppressive heat, the wealth, the poverty. Although I have been gone for a matter of days, I find myself constantly have been thinking about Anjanisain, the children, the ashram, the mountains. I'll have to get used to it seeing that I will be traveling for the next month.

I am waiting for a couple friends (Rosie and Yakima Benjamin) here after a midpoint retreat with the fellows, then we will travel around the south of this amazing country, an area vastly different than any other parts of India I have traveled to. It will be nice to spend the holidays with good friends when my beloved family is so far away.

Although mountain considerations have prevented me from being accessible for communication, now that I am in an area with plenty of internet opportunities, I will most likely be busy with travel and not able to utilize such opportunities, but i will do my best to play catch with email for those who have tried to contact me.

pranam and happy holidays y'all

My Hypothetical Thanksgiving

Happy holidays everybody!

Sorry about the lapse of blogs, I have been busy with a recent bout of educational surveys recently added on top up of other ashram work.

But in any case I wish that you all the best during the holiday season, hope your all with your families, well fed, and watch the sweet, sweet college football I miss so dearly.

For thanksgiving, Megan and I made the only dish we could with materials available; mash potatoes; to the chagrin of the whole community that wondered what this lumpy mush was. I thought it was delicious though, especially with daal.

But instead of elaborating on the inanities of the actually holiday, I will share with you a blog I wrote a month ago, an experience I likened to my own thanksgiving:

For those who are unaware, we are in the midst of a Hindustan Holiday/Festival Frenzy: I'm talking bout Eid, Dushera, Deepavali, all the holiday hits. And because of this families are meeting in quite a similar way to the holiday season in the state, this means I got an early Thanksgiving.

Two of the teachers I feel the closest to happen to be brothers and sisters, Rajneesh and Jaya, who also happened to be heading to their village for Dushera. Also their brother is on the path to pandithood, dedicating his life to sanskrit and Hinduism's ancient texts. His guru was sponsoring a yagya, an ancient fire ritual, and he was helping to recite text, which meant for 15 days he chanted sanskrit from early morning to 9 at night! The yagya itself was a bit out of my cultural understanding: big, incredibly abrasive loudspeakers continually barking out groups of people shouting sanskrit, a platform of probably six or so fires surrounded by purified Brahmins (all other castes were not allowed within ten feet or so of the fire), pouring ghee into the flames, and the decrepid guru giving out twenty rupee bills out to everybody.

The ceremony was undoubtedly interesting, but the oppressive heat and my cluelessness led me elsewhere. I found a nice shady spot on a outcropped boulder over the confluence of two beautiful rivers. Lying on my back, I gently observed the swaying leafy branches that cupped by body from the biting sun, and the lazy clouds wandering over the mountains, my nostrils filled with dhoop incense from above, the smoke of chillum pipes from the sadhus below, and the wild basil that surrounded the boulder. Occasionally, I would turn on my side to watch Sadhus performing river pooja in the chilly glacier rivers. In this spot, the chanting loudspeakers were quite pleasant especially when blended with sound of the passing river. It was nice.

It is really hard for me not to romanticize Raja and Jaya's home. From the main road, we winded through a maze of stairstepped wheat fields, stone hopped two streams, to reach his house. Village women were on their way back from collecting fodder and firewood, which they carried on their backs, a load probably pretty equivalent at least in mass to their own bodies, and each one we passed stop Raja to comment about his new beard, how he was becoming a man. Their simple two story cottage overlooks their own expansive terraced farmland and impressively steep Himalayan foothills separated by the pristine river valley of the Mandakani. Raja's parents have long since quit the farming profession, but maintain a modest field for their own needs. Raja's father spread fruit and nut tree seeds in the rest of the fields. It being walnut season, I spent probably the majority of my time there cracking walnuts then stuffing them in my face, from all my pictures, a bloated belly of walnuts is quite apparent. In the evenings Raja and I would explore his childhood river, skip rocks (a universal sport I discovered), and look for fish. He told me how him and his friends would skip school to go fishing. Instead of fishing rods, they would divert the stream, then spend hours trying to catch them with their hands or pots that they would eventually cook them in. The chef would bring a pocket full of chillies, spices, salt, and rice, and cook up a well deserved meal from their dedicated work on the riverbank. I withheld my jealously for his idyllic childhood. I fully romanticized, I apologize.

Because Dushera, Raja and Jaya's brothers ceremony, and the fact that they rarely leave the ashram, there whole family was in attendance, sisters, grandmothers, great aunts, cousins, aunts, were all in attendance. A feast was prepared that reminded of my Thanksgivings at home, of course in a vastly different context though. All of the women were huddled around the mud stove catching up and what not, while the men in the other room were turning up the cricket game to drown them out. Cricket by the way is my new love and substitution for all of the college football I am missing, and this match was a particularly satisfying Indian victory over those cocky Australians. The meal was exquisite, the standard subzi, daal, roti combination but in finer quality, with ridiculous amounts ghee, and a room of people telling me to eat more. After dinner I was joined by Jaya's Nani and her sister under this large comforter while I delighted the family with my renditions of classic Bollywood songs. I told them about how I missed my grandmothers at home and they instantly adopted me, I think I am going on at least five adopted Indian grandma's now. Its great.

The other fellow at the ashram, Megan, also came on this trip and we found out that Kedarnath, a famous mountainous Hindu temple, was quite close, so we gave the family a day off from coddling the foreigners and headed up the fourteen kilometer trek to the temple from the nearest city. Kedarnath is part of the panch kedar yatra, one of the five abodes of Lord Shiva. According to the Mahabharata, after the Pandavas victory, they wished to atone their slaying of Kauravas and pay homage to Shiva. Seeing them approach, Shiva disguised himself as a bull, but the Pandavas saw through this and tried to subdue the bull. The struggle that ensued tore Shiva's body into five parts, his back landing in Kedarnath, manifesting itself in the form of a large boulder in the current temple, which pilgrims decorate, cover with ghee, and touch their foreheads on. The temple itself was stunning, seated in a high mountain valley at about 12,000 ft. I left the temple with a greasy forehead.

Oh yeah, so I have been to a lot of HIndu temples in my days, but I had a quite strange experience at this one. On the way out of the temple, the prasad walla called me over to give me some food offerings from the shrine. I obliged, thinking he would merely give me some rice and I would be on my way, instead, he pulled me close to him, and proceeded to hug me, take off my cap and stroke my hair, all while making shhhh and kissing sounds. I had no idea what was going on and this had never happened to me so I thought that it was normal and allowed him to do so for probably ten minutes or so. But when he started trying to put his hands in my mouth, I said, that's enough, the hugs were pleasant, but he was beginning to cross the line. When I looked up at him he had this look of pure love, which really creeped me out, seeing that he had not done said act to any other person in the temple but me. I gave ten rupees and got out of there. Later Raja assured me that this act was not at all normal. But all in all it was a great trip, we reached the bottom with sore legs from the 24 km of hiking in a day, and to a two hour wait for our taxi driver who apparently was drinking with some yars. He navigated the dangerous mountain roads home smoking bedis and shouting at his friends who joined us on the ride home. eeeee.

Sorry

I had photos for all of these posts but for some reason, dehradun internet isn't cooperating. One day the pictures will make it on here, promise.

Path to the Buddha Field

The last week I have been working really hard with the website and teaching English to the teachers, I have essentially had no time to myself, so the last couple days I have taken a break and wandered the mountains after dinner.

Anand ji told me about this clearing on the northern slope, named, quite appropriately as I would find out, 'the buddha field,' so the mission was clear; I must embark on the path to the buddha field.

So I fastened up my camera and headed up the steep incline of the path behind the ashram looking quite arbitrarily for a path that headed north. I found a couple but they didn't look promising. Actually, the path that I did choose had more to do with awkwardness than inclination: I saw a couple school girls walking home, with a look of, 'my god who is this strange bearded white dude doing in the middle of the forest!' so I jetted off on the nearby northbound path. It looked well worn so I decided to follow it. I tried a few side paths, but found that they all were up to my chest. I soon figured out the reason why: during the day, villagers let their water buffalo wander the forest to graze. I learned this because there were two huge water buffalo in the middle of the path munching on some shrubbery, not wanting to let me pass. So I stood there for some time, telling them to go ahead, but they apparently didn't understand English. So I picked up a rock and quite literally herded them to a clearing probably a couple kms away. It was good practice for my हट-हट's and hisses that I hear herders shout constantly.

So, all of the paths around here remind me much of those in my home in NW Washington. For those NW Washingtonians, they are much like all parks, with dense evergreens, but I guess with more scratchy shrubbery that were attracted to my sandaled feet and hat . This path was no difference, but all after passing over a few creeks and abandoned stone fences, the whole forest opened up. But, It was strange, the effect that the change in scenery had on me. My whole mind cleared, and suddenly rushed with joy, and remained, in the same manner as the honey like sunset that was descending like sap over the spectacular views of the endless mountain ranges. There were these sparse expanses of deciduous trees much like those in South West Oregon and Spokane alternating with dense spots of eucalyptus trees. The mixture produced beautifully sweet lingering smell. At this point, I didn't know that I had stumpled upon it, but it was pretty apparent that I had found the buddha field.
So I walked around for a bit, took in the views of the mountains and Chandrabadni temple, threw out a couple namaskar's to some of the old pahari men walking past with their Nehru caps and thick lathi walking sticks, then headed on back, for I feared the sun would set soon.
Actually on the way back, started to realized that I passed a couple stone fences that I didn't remember. I got a little nervous, and started to jog down this trail that snaked alongside a little creek. The trail was pretty worn so I knew it would take me somewhere familiar, and luckily it did. It spit me out right next to this creepy abandoned home that I had explore the previous week. I had a little time, so I went in, got creeped out, then continued on past another creek back to the ashram, where I took in the last bit of the orange half light of the sunset, and talked with Anand ji about how he can cure any injury with nettle and urine treatment. Weird. He also told me that I had, indeed, found the Buddha field. Rad.
So I used the last of my rare free time to type out this last blog before I head out to Dehra Dun tomorrow, where, with stable internet, I will finally post all these blogs (I have been writing them on my laptop when electricity prevails). Horrah!
नमस्कार

Bonding with the kiddus

I finally had a breakthrough with the children the other day. I really haven't had much experience with little kids before, and I guess the language barrier has added another layer of difficulty. Since I have gotten here, during the school time, I have kind of sat back and observed, but not interacted much with the students. Of course, like all children, they have been very curious and bombarded me with all sorts of questions in Hindi, and from what I could understand I responded in terrible Hindi (a year is nothing for learning a language, at least for me), but I never felt really comfortable with them.

This all changed with when I met adorable Ritu. In the beginning of our daily morning assembly, we all meditate for about twenty minutes or so. One day, I opened my eyes slightly to see this adorable tiny little kindergartner, Ritu, sitting directly opposite of me on the other side of the assembly hall with this huge grin on her face. This obviously was ridiculously cute, so I cracked a smile, which she responded by laughing hysterically. For the duration of the meditation whenever I opened my eyes she would giggle, which would make me giggle; this happen probably 8 times. After the assembly, she ran up to me jumped in my arms and said खिलाओ! खिलाओ! which basically means play with me. I threw her up in my arms a couple times, and a new best friend was born. She insisted I come to class with her and I obliged, and every day since I have carried her on my shoulders to class. Anyways we get to class, where I found a high concentration of all of the hard hitting cuties in the school who instantly showing me all of the English, math, and Hindi that they knew. Soon the class devolved to us all dancing and me chasing everyone around. I learned a valuable lesson about children: Although I had been so self conscious about my Hindi, they didn't care. The only language that I needed to know was the language of play I guess.

So, after the class, on the way up the hill to my room to do some work on my computer, I was walking behind a couple third grade girls, who all of a sudden yelled 'मुझे पकड़ो!' essential 'grab me or let's play catch' and sprinted off. So, I started chasing them. Gradually kiddus started joining in, and next thing you know, I have about 45 kids chasing me around the school (even the sixth graders who are 'way too cool' for पकड़ो). Since then, I have a school load of new friends, some of the sweetest smartest kids to teach, learn, and play with. I really wish that I didn't have so much office, administrative work to do, so that I could spend more time with the kids, but I will have to find a way to mediate my time with them.

But it is nice to establish a close relationship with the children so that later, I will be able to develop lesson plans and hopefully teach. Right now, I am just learning about the educational philosophy of the school, but from what I gather, it is very demanding of the teachers. A main piece of the pedagogy of the school is to link government syllabuses, made up of dry rational concepts that are tested at the 5 and 8 grade level, to the right, creative side of the brain, to avoid rote memorization. This is typically done by explaining the processes (at least in maths and sciences) then linking it with a physical demonstration so that the concept is not just an abstract equation, but something felt, experience, and thus retained. So, for example, we all know that 1/2 + 1/3 = 5/6, easy right. But if I were to tear a piece of printer paper in half, than another into a third and give you, how would you go about explaining that these two pieces equal 5/6? It just looks like two disjointed different sized pieces of paper. If you try it, (which I suggest you do if you get a chance) it is quite frustrating, the concept is so simple and has been drilled into our brain, but when you need to find out what it truly means in the physical world, it very difficult to answer. I don't think that any adult that we have asked this question to, has been able to answer it sufficiently. (If you do try I can give you the answer later).

Also, these syllabuses are that they are constructed at the national level, and thus also with a large degree of uniformity. This is problematic given India's great diversity (If you travel from one end of India to the other, you will find that every 50 miles, there is a different dress, language, diet, God, etc.). A centrally administered syllabus denies the rich local knowledge and material available in each region. Therefore, the teachers here try to link the syllabus to the children's local experience as well.

It really takes a lot of creativity to come up with valuable lesson plans, creativity that I really don't have now. Anand ji says that it will come back to me, it can be developed with meditation, which I am getting plenty of. We'll see.

But, anyways, Ritu is the greatest, the apple of my eye. Lately, I had really considered not having any children, but how can this mindset remain when I am surrounded by adorable and brilliant children?

नमस्कार

A day in the life...

Here is an intensive breakdown of my life on the ashram.

3:30 AM- Wake up call, I roll around for a couple minutes and then do a couple push ups to wake me up.

4-5 AM Meditation- watching my busy mind, and surprisingly not squirming much.

5-6 AM: Yoga with Joseph ji, a wandering spiritual, abandoned Christian Keralan, who has settled here to live on the ashram. Great Guy. Realize that the sun has yet to rise and the nearby mosque has already conducted two prayer sessions over the loudspeaker.



6-7 AM: SLEEP...Although I am trying to train myself to work on less sleep. For those that know me and my sleep patterns well, then you will also know that a dark cloud of failure lingers over these ambitions.

7:00-7:30- All of the teachers gather for breakfast, which they call lunch, and is more like dinner. Rice, Dal, chapati (Indian bread), a couple subzis (vegetables), and a sweet dish. It is are largest meal of the day, which is fine with me. And are bhagwan, the food is delicious! Which probably has something to due with me not cooking, although I am suppose to. I instead do a terrible job cleaning dishes and have three 19 year girls hysterically laughing at me. good times.

7:30-8- Make some great Keralan coffee (thank you Joseph ji, way better than terrible NesCafe that everyone drinks here) and sit out and look out to the morning mist in the valley. Then it is music with the teachers. I am surrounded by a group of amazing musicians, which is fantastic! I am learning dholak, a two sided India drum, whose son, the tabla, gets all the glory. But I am taking to the harmonium and picking it up pretty quick. Strangely, I find myself longing for a harmonium much of the day, wishing I were playing it. They also have a guitar, which the male teacher's keep insisting that I teach them to play. There country songs are coming along nicely.

8:00-as short as humanly possible- First I take my bucket bucket of fresh Himalayan spring water. Delicious tasting but terrible feeling. ooohhhh the coldness. I spend the next 15 minutes screaming profanities and wishing I were dead. And it isn't even that cold yet, winter's a coming.

8.15-9.15- My only free time of the day, or Chad Time as I like to call it. I am constantly with teacher and students so it is nice to get away for a while. Typically I read, recently I have been engrossed with Orientalism by Edward Said. A fantastic read basically about the misconceptions in which the West has constructed perceptions, history, and an academic field of the East reflecting the dominating social structures and the West's fascination with categorical sciences. I wish I could spend more time with it. I typically have to lock my door to my room to keep the hordes of children that love through my stuff, mess with my phone and send text messages unwittingly to random people. Those kooks.

9:15-10:00- Assembly time, we meditate with the children for about ten minutes then sing songs, with the headmaster/guru Anand ji on harmonium, and the children on drums and tambourine, ADORABLE!!! My heart melts everyday at this time, the kids are so precious. What Anandji has done here is something truly unique and impressive. Definitely my favorite part of the day.

10am-1pm- Sit in classes with the teachers, help teach in whatever capacity I can. I am a pretty awful teacher at this point and my spoken Hindi is even more awful, but I try. Recently, I have been given many assignments more on the administrative side, creating a website and material for distribution to interested parties, applying for grants and the like.

1-2pm- Chai break, sit in teachers lounge with all of the teachers drinking chai, eating a few chapatis, and looking confused at the fast Hindi/Garhwali language spoken around me that makes no sense. After chai, I chase kiddus around the school until I am physically exhausted. They love it, but the perception of me is slowly turning into everyone's play toy, which I don't know if I have the stamina for. But it is hard not to, I will reiterate, these kids are ADORABLE!

2-4:00- Back to work, like for instance, we just got a grant from Plan International, an international development funding agency, to implement our progressive model in rural government schools. We are going to conduct a survey at 12 schools in two districts to access the situation at the school before we give teacher trainings and materials, so that when we return in 6 months we can compare if anything has substantive changed from our program. So right now I am working on a questionnaire to administer to teachers and students.

4:00-4.30- Second and last meal of the day, a dinner much like breakfast. Again delicious, I like this eating twice a day, it is the perfect amount of food.

4.30-6:30- After dinner, I dedicate my time to the teachers. Typically this is in the form of English. I also help them with lesson plans or teach them how to use computers and different programs. Every once in a while, I try to wander about in are foresty back yard, in search of panthers, black bears, wild fruit, and perfect look out views for the sunsets. Usually all I find is two scratched arms from the overabundance of prickly things in the forest, and nasty side aches, but it is worth it.

6:30-8- All of the teachers meet up in the meditation room to work on their english. I bring my Hindi books, but typically I just help them.

8-9- More meditation, I like how both of the times we meditate together are the times when I am the most exhausted. This session usually goes a little better, I have a tad more energy.

9-9:45- I have started a conversational class to work on the teachers spoken English, which is going well and the teacher seem to really enjoy it. I am trying to get them to articulate their thoughts on social issues in simple english, and then talk about how we can present these issues in class. And right now we are writing songs in English, that I will later put to music on guitar, which we will teach the children. By this time, my eyes are barely open, but the dedication and drive of these students definitely keep me going. They are all amazing.

9.45- 10.15- Typically I will bravely battle the hand sized spiders that move into my room during the day. Then I pick up a book or maybe type out a tasty blog, then call it a day, or more likely pass out from fatique.

This is during the workweek (mon.- sat.), during the 'day off' replace 5am-1pm with weeding the playfield, creating something for the kids to play on, farming, and other physical labor. Life's a bit intense but I love it.

Chandrabandi Mandir

I had one of the most memorable moments of my life, one of the few times in my life when I was truly happy, the kind of happiness that permeates throughout your whole body, through every single cell, it seems. So let me explain.

Living here on the ashram, we, as you might imagine, follow a fairly strict ashram schedule. At 3:30 we wake up, at 4 we meditate. This has definitely been an adjustment, but the meditation I believe has been very beneficial. I have not meditated for quite a long time, but I have just thrown myself back into, meditation at least two hours a day. Anand ji, my boss/guru, has also given me great questions about the mind in relation to the body and brain, and given me his interesting insight into his perception of reality and the role of meditation.
So after an invigorating meditation session, I had decided to explore a bit in the time before breakfast, given that the ashram's backyard is a vast network of forest trails, rudimentarily linking villages and amazing vantage points. We ended a little early and it was still dark out, so climbed a bit to a higher clearing and laid on my back taking in the vast blanket of stars above. And I have never seen so many stars! The ashram uses very little outside light, when there is electricity, as well as the surrounding small townships, so the night sky is absolutely pristine. I waited until the raising sun painted the sky a light purple color, and utilized the half light to make my way to the top of our mountain as to see the other side. I was greeted by a striking view of himalaya stacked upon himalaya, with such a dense forest cover, I couldn't imagine anything inhabiting such terrain but animals. In the valley lay the early morning mist sneaking up the mountain side. I hiked up a bit to take a seat on a rock to take in the sun rise. When the sun hit the cloud cover it shot godshine into the valley turning the mist a brilliant orange, and spreading pastels across the sky. It was amazing, simply put.

About five kilometers away, on the next mountain peak, is located a seventh century BC Devi temple, Chandrabadni. For those familiar with Hinduism, this is a very important temple in the story of Shiva ji and his first wife, Sati. For those not familiar, basically, Shiva and Sati were madly in love with each other, to the disapproval of Sati's father, Daksha Prajapati. Later, he conducted an important yagya prayer ceremony, involving the construction of a fire, and invited all of the important Gods, except for, of course, Shiva and his own daughter. Sati, being quite stubborn, forced herself into the ceremony, even after suffering much verbal abuse from her father. Once inside and blinded with anger, she obliviously ran into the ceremonial fire and was burned to death. When Shiva received the news, he was filled with tremendous rage. He, first, chopped of the head of Sati's father, and picked up the charred remains of his wife and flew around the HImalayas, weeping and beyond consolation. Now, in this state of immense grief, Lord Vishnu and Lord Brahma became worried that Shiva ji was losing his Godly force, or Shakti, which was dangerous to the world order, given that Shiva is the powerful God of destruction. Vishnu and Brahma summoned up their shakti, sending a heavenly fire bolt (sudarshan chakra) down to earth, piercing Sati's corpse into 108 fragments that were scattered across the world, every place becoming a holy site (some priests contests that stonehenge is one such site). Chandrabadni is where the largest piece, her torso, settled.

When I got to the base of the mountain, I rang the bell on the gateway of the paved path to the temple and began to navigate the zigzags to the peak. When I got to the top, अरे भागवन!, I don't know how to describe the feeling. It really felt like I was perched up in the heavens, peering down on all of what is pristine and good on this earth. The air was fresh and cool, and a small breeze flapped the red triangle flags surrounding the outer perimeter of the temple walls and sailed the fragrant smoke of dhoop, an incense used for pooja in the main temple's altar, into my nostrils. I got there just in time for morning pooja, so I got to watch the priest preform arthi, a fire offering, recite some Sanskrit hymns to the Devi, Durga, then he gave me a bell and I shook it continually while he poured Ganges water on all of the ten or so murtis around the outside of the temple. When the pooja was completed, I wandered around the temple, to find the cloud cover had dissipated, unveiling probably six or so of the big guys, the snow capped Himalayas. I have seen them before in Mussoorie and Darjeeling, but never with such clarity, and never so close. All I can say is अरे वाह.

All of this just in the first couple days in the ashram. This is the happiest I have been in a long, long time. I really hope that this will continue.

First Day

Meghan (the other fellow at my site) and I reached Dehra Dun on an overnight train, where we met up with Mohan, one of the founders of the APV school who assisted us on our trip up the windy path from DD to the hamlet we live in. The trip was pretty sobering, coming from the relatively clean and very modern, metropolis, and most importantly flat Delhi. Dehra Dun, for one, was pretty disgusting, dirty, congested, a really suffocating small town (which in India means probably more than three million), but once we started ascending into the mountains, things really changed. At first there were lush flatlands with what appeared to be rice patties (actually, basmatic rice is unique to this area) and tea fields, then we started zig zaging through the rolling hills, which fluxuated between the flora of what I could only describe in terms of familiarity with the evergreens of the cascades, to the dry decidious trees of southern Oregon.
But as we started to ascended even further, the views became absolutely breath taking. These Himalayas are no joke, the are the most massive mountains I have ever seen, much larger than the Olympics, Cascades, and Rockies, or at least appear that way. We were snaking through these really terrifying crumbling roads, with little protection from plummeting hundreds of feet to our death. The only thing that kept my semi sane driver from crashing were probably these fantasticly clever road signs saying, drive slow or die, life is a long journey, continue it, license to drive, not fly etc. But the views were spectacular during this portion.

Also, I notice quite a lot of landslides that were being cleaned up by crews equipped with very remedial tools like picks and small hoes, it really must take ages to get anything done. Mohan told me that these roadslides are a recent phenomena and I am sure that I am sure are because of a slew of environmental issues that I am not yet acquainted with. Also, one of the most amazing sites is when you get into the real high rural regions, there are this small townships with the liveliness of any other smaller Indian city (albeit on a much smaller scale), literally etched into the sides of these massive peaks, something I have never seen in any of the mountain systems that I have lived in. But in any case, from these observations, I learned a very obvious lesson about physical barriers to education in the rural mountainous area, which is how the lack or disregard of infrastructure plays into the lives of many students. On one hand the roads are few and far between and cannot connect the network of small villages to the schools, markets, hospital, etc. in an efficient manner. But also, In the chaotic milieu that I have described, of roadslides, lack of guard rails, the neglected roads, the craziness of my driver, and with all of the regular Indian traffic of bicycles, scooters, animals, and workers, I actually feared for the safety of these hordes of children that I saw just get out of class and were heading for their homes. I couldn't even count the times my driver almost hit a child.

Oh and I got to see the second largest dam in Asia, one of Nehru's temple of modernity. It was actually terribly depressing. The dam was constructed over a pretty sizeable city, Tehri, that had to completely relocate and become one of the aforementioned teetering mountainside towns. On the ride down to the dam, I saw many abandoned roads going into the artificial lake, roads to the homes and farms of, what I was told, 200,000 people who were displace and barely compensated. The dam itself was a concrete monstrosity, lumbering over the valley, and despite thirty years of work, is still bustling with construction, a testament to the inefficiency of the Indian bureaucracy. I have recently heard that there are something like 70 more dams planned for this area. But the funny thing is despite this massive dam in our neighboring city, where is the power? Not here obviously, there hasn't been power in my room since I have been here. The problem is the electricity goes to the cities, while the mountains and its people must endure the adverse consequences of such construction, without much of the benefits.

But I am slowly adjusting to my new lifestyle. Let me tell you that this place is REMOTE, I am about 5 km away from a market where I can get some things, but other than that there is only maybe 100 people living in our immediate area. But for now, as I type this by candle light I am listening to the Muslim call to prayer in a mosque which I cannot locate, looking at the lights of clusters of villages trickle down the slopes of these massive peaks like christmas lights on a tree, with more stars overhead than I have ever seen before. And at least for now, I have nothing to complain about.