सा विद्या या विमुक्तये।

A Frustrating Farewell to Lucknow

2011-04-26T13:28:00.001-07:00

Ahh, How I am going to miss my interesting Lucknowi neighborhood; a microcosm of modern India. I lived in the richest part of Lucknow with some of the most splendid new houses I have seen in the country. Famous Bollywood Heroin Ashwarya Rai has a mansion just down the street, with every luxury imaginable. But in the vacant lots surrounding the bungles of Lucknow's wealthiest are amongst Lucknow's poorest. Recent village transplants squat in these lots until they are kicked out and bring with them the country: compounds with tied up water buffaloes next several rows of growing vegetables and sari clad women cooking on wood fire chulas.

A little further down my street is another displaced village family that had built a little stand to wash and iron neighbors clothes. Initially, I had brought my clothes to the washerman, but soon discovered how alcohol was a higher priority to him than washing clothes. I had given him my bedsheets, but didn't get them back for a week. I visited the stand to find his wife frantically ironing a giant stack of clothes, she told me that he had drank too much (ANJALI AND HER SIBLINGS) and had gotten sick, which was a common occurrence. She could not have been older than 24 (her husband was in his early thirties), but her eyes were worn and sad. As she tended to the clothes and household chores, and as her husband slept off his hangover, her children played on the streets. The kids were a fixture in the neighborhood: the younger siblings were perpetually naked, playing or drawing in the dirt plot in front of their house or by the nearby market. I often saw the oldest child, Anjali, who is about five, running errands in the market for her family and taking care of her siblings. With a overworked, stressed mother and an absent father, these children essentially raise themselves.

Although I still hate their father; it is inexcusable to spend a large chunk of the family income on alcohol when your children are emaciated and live in squalor; it would be difficult to not find compassion for the family. Seeing that I had accrued quite a bit of items in the six months, I ended up giving the wife all of my kitchen supplies and some extra notebooks I had to Anjali, whose eyes lit up. Her mother told me that she loved to draw and told me that she wanted to be an artist when she grew up.

A couple hours ago, just as I was to get in my taxi bound for the airport, I realized that I had many extra pens and that I should give them to Anjali. I ran over to her shanty and gave her the pens and my final farewell. As I was running back to the taxi, I heard a frantic, 'Sir, Sir, Sir!' I returned to the gate of the plot she lived at, she had run into their families room to grab something. With a tremendous grin on her face, she presented me with one of the notebooks that I had given her. On her own, she had spent the day practicing writing her name in English and writing numbers up to a hundred.

As I sat in the taxi taking one last pass through Lucknow, I couldn't help but welling up a bit. I have no idea what is in store for Anjali's future, just from our interactions and seeing her work and dedication as a five year old, it is clear that she is bright. But she has all of the cards stacked against her in terms of caste, gender, class, and family support.

In the past six months, I have been so fortunate to meet many more Anjalis through my work with rural government schools. Although these children are amongst the most marginalized in India, they are brimming with love and curiosity. In the last month, I have been going out to student's villages allowing the opportunity to talk to them out of the school's purview and meet with their parents. As I have gotten to know these lovelies, I have found that most young children worldwide, they are untethered with ambition. These children want to be doctors, teachers, engineers, lofty ambitions for children of mainly illiterate farmers. They see the role that education will play in shaping their future and study with impressive diligence. But will they aspire to the goals they have set and escape the grinding poverty that they were born into? From what I have seen in my time in Lucknow, I am not hopeful.

Why? Easy.

Teachers don't care. I spent many days in government schools where I haven't seen a single teacher actually teach. I've been in a school where the teacher spent the day teaching English to her three year old son from the same textbook of the third grade class she was concurrently neglecting. At another school, one that we considered to be one of the best in our study, I saw teacher tell students to go out to the fields and pick vegetables for them. When they returned, the three teachers spent the rest of the day chopping their families' evening meal and ignoring their students. As much as I enjoy three middle aged, upper class women talking about what they like to cook and complaining about their jobs, I soon grew restless and decided to teach the kids myself. The kids were AMAZING, they hung on my every word while I taught them how to read time in English as well as a Hindi film song. When I had to leave, a group of children grabbed me and pleaded that I stay for the rest of the day to teach them. Sadly, I had to leave, but these children thirsty to learn, blocked the path on my way out. Another day, I arrived to the school to find very few children, the teacher told me that the children were always tardy and didn't care for their studies. I went house to house in the village gathering the children that I could and ending up walking back to school with Pooja, a bright third grade student that I remembered from a class that I had taught. As we walked through wheat fields on the way to school I asked why she was an hour late for school. She quickly responded, 'What is the value? My teacher never teaches.' A third grader. I had nothing to say. She was right. The children are not the problem.

Most parents don't care. Most parents in lower classes see the short run gains of having their children work in the fields or shops and thus bypass the future economic opportunities. I've talked to them, they know that that government schools are bad, but they don't have the capital to send their children to private schools. This is obviously a larger socioeconomic problem; as much as I know that every child deserves a high quality education, who am I to tell a family of eight living on less than two dollars a day to send their kid to school? Food, shelter, and clothing obviously need to be in place for a child to make use of an education. The degree of poverty in some of the villages I have seen in UP is overwhelming. I could tell you about the families of six sharing a fly infested 80 square foot room or the distended bellies of children living on a daily diet of two chapatis and achaar. I could go on and on, but I've heard this before much like how terrible the schools are in India. I tisk-tisk and shake my head, as we all do, but when you see this poverty in person and how it cripples the childhoods of millions, it slaps the sleep out of your nights. These children are born into this life, just as we are, nobody has choice in the matter. But for these children, those from lower castes and classes, they are born unwanted by the society that receives them, they have no choice to be born into poverty. It is not their fault. The children are not the problem.

The government does not care. The Chief Minister of this state was born unwanted, untouchable, and after a career as a government elementary teacher was elected to take the helm of the most populated and one of the most destitute states in India. Every indication of hope that things might change right? I live next to a sprawling park, a sprawling 200 million dollar (DOLLAR) park. The park commemorates, much the many of its ilk that stain this city, the ascendancy of megalomaniacal Mayawati. But in the 14 year wake of victory, nothing has changed in the schools, nothing. If a Dalit, former teacher cannot empathize with her kin and make strides to ensure that all children have a chance to learn, I honestly don't know who will. Children have absolutely no power in this society and obviously no political voice. The children are not the problem.

Children are not the problem, the main problem is the adults surrounding them that continue to fail them.

I guess the more nuanced answer is the apathetic haze that sludges across the minds, practices, and institutions of this country. From the teacher that will take a month of medical leave to prepare her son for board examinations, thus bypassing her duties to her students. To the parents that don't organize and confront the terrible tax-draining teachers that do not care about their children. To the politician running on a ticket of education, then crumpling it promptly after elections and hope returns to haze. To the richer classes and castes that are constantly making sure that their children maintain their family's status and reap the benefits of modernizing India, but never looking below their balconies at the festering injustice. To the developed 'us', living in cultures that breed escapism and materialism that is not readily compassionate to the problems in the lower hemisphere let alone down the street. If there is a child anywhere in this world who is not receiving a quality education, that is not reaching their potential, that is being exploited, this is not their problem, it is an adult problem, it is all our problem and we all need to take ownership over it in some way.

I am heartened by the many whose paths I've crossed that have dedicated their lives to caring, but collectively we haven't reached a critical mass. In my adult life, I have seen or been part of dozens of innovative projects in India, well intended to make change towards a more equitable world. And sadly, I've seen very few that have been met with success. We can put computers in classrooms, we can give teachers trainings, we can set up micro-credit lending centers, we can do a lot of things. But if people only think of themselves and do not fundamentally believe in social equality, obviously these programs will have a minimal impact. Programs need to focus on changing attitudes before addressing the topical issues, but obviously this is a much tougher nut to crack.

I leave with a burdened heart, sagging on the thought that these amazing children will not fill my life with joy and inspiration every day. I leave shattered that I don't have the answers and didn't do more to fix the unjust society that they inherited. I know that they will alway play a role in my life and that I will continue to fight for them in any way I can. But obviously it is difficult to bear the thought that I won't be able play a larger role in their education and lives in the coming years. Uck, I miss them already.

Our Research

2011-02-01T20:14:00.000-08:00

Sorry Folks,

I had the best of intentions to maintain my blog while working and living here in Lucknow, but, alas, time flies by, and memories of such intentions fade. BUT, I have tacked on this blog to my NY resolutions. Although I have had a mixed bag with my other two resolutions (orange fight in the Himalayas, like a snowball fight with oranges, total success, watching Tron dubbed in Hindi, total fail, I waited too long and it is no longer in theaters), I am feeling good about this one.

Alright first blog, about my research work. This won't be laden with chuckles, but I feel important, so lets hope I can hold your attention:

So I am working with Digital Study Hall, a project that uses advances in video technology to improve teaching quality in semi rural government schools. So why does teaching need to be improved? India government schools are pretty uniformly horrible, to the degree that if any parent that can afford to send their student to a private school will do so. This leaves the children most marginalized by society, in terms of caste, class, gender, locality, are stuck in the worst schools.

Oh my gosh where to start with the problems of public education here? As you can probably tell already, one of the most fundamental problems are the overarching societal discrimination in terms of caste, gender, and class that permeates through all of India's public systems.

There is the bureaucracy: languid, corrupt, ineffective, and completely frustrating.

There is also the institution of teaching, which is plagued with inept training, a lack of rigorous teacher selection, and a union that makes America's look like a perfect system. Teachers are fairly well respected and get paid pretty well here, but there is absolutely no oversight. I have actually heard here, 'What is the point of trying to teach well, when my paycheck comes in whether my students learn or not?' Teachers have a ridiculous amount of leave time, which, believe me they utilize. At all of our schools there is at least one, typically two or three that simply do not come to school. They are on medical leave, family leave, personal leave, which can accumulate to an entire year off. Additionally, the government views teachers as field workers for other programs, so much of the time, teachers are working on polio vaccination campaigns, voter registration, census duty, etc.

In light of all of these issues, we are working with teachers to improve teaching and student learning. Obviously there are good schools in India too, mostly in the private sector. One must not forget India's prominent educated class that has be dispersed in highly technical fields across the world. Our aim is to share those (Above photo from www.dsh.cs.washington.edu/)

best practices in the private schools with government teachers through our in-service training program. We partner with really great teachers in private schools, record their lessons covering state standard curriculum for all subjects, then burn them onto DVDs. We then give the DVDs to teachers in government schools, along with training and staff support (i.e. my great research peer, Esha, and me going out to schools once a week to monitor the progress of each teacher and offer feedback). The intention is not for the teacher to merely play the film while the student passively watches: the teacher mediates the content for their students, pausing to check for comprehension and infuse their own examples and styles into the lesson. Ideally through this process, government school teachers will start to adopt some of the aspects of good pedagogy from their private school counterparts. Check out our website for more info.

Overall, I think that the program has been a success, especially with para-educators who are appointed by the government to teach the lower primary grades and are given very limited training. We have found that the majority of the para-educators really have a desire to improve their practice and are very receptive to constructive feedback. And with this effort, we have seen dramatic improvements in teachers interactions with students, offering more examples, asking more questions , etc.

We also have seen how students are really receptive to our content. Recently we have been showing the films to students without teacher mediation and have been surprise how students have maintained focus throughout the lesson, self-managed behavioral issues, and worked through sticky aspects of the lesson through discussion, referencing available material, and actively engaging in activities shown through the DVD. In a couple interesting cases, we have seen students ask their teachers to use more techniques that they have seen in our DVDs.

Working with mainstream teachers has proven to be a bit more difficult though. I do believe that we have seen some basic change in teaching patterns in this demographic but it isn't as stark as with the para-educators. I think we hit a wall with the perception that they have already received training. Unfortunately, I have also seen the education that a government teacher has to go through, and it is just as bad if not worse than what is being provided in the primary school buildings. There are varying levels of investment in our participating teachers for sure, but troubles me is this perception that once a student teacher leaves their preparation program, the process of becoming an educator is over. It is of my belief that a quality educator is always evaluating their craft to provide the best possible education to their students. And what is more troubling for me is when I see teachers say that their students just cannot learn. I hear this time and again, but never hear how they might have to modify their teaching strategies to meet the needs of the students. It's more like, 'I taught them, it is there fault if they don't get it.'

There are obviously other factors at play. I often times hear, 'They are poor, they cannot learn.' Or, 'They are simple, village children, they cannot learn.' All of the teachers we work with come from high castes, they live in Lucknow, they would be considered middle to upper middle class. When I started to go through the class registers in our focus classes, I started to see only scheduled caste or tribal names, essentially the lowest strata of Indian society and a majority of female students. Additionally, all of the students live in the village in impoverish household. In other words, the backgrounds of teachers and students couldn't be more diametrically opposed. And if a teachers believes that a student cannot learn because of attributes beyond their control, e.g. locality, class, gender, etc., what incentive do they have teach in a rigorous manner or make use of a program like this?

The teachers that we work with are not bad people; I really enjoy their company and truly believe that some of them really do care about their students and respect their profession. They have an incredibly difficult job to educate India's most marginalized students through all of the obstacles that the central, state, and local government place on them. But what I cannot accept is teachers giving up or taking advantage of their position at the expense of their students' education, which I unfortunately see more often than not.

But to give you just a picture of how frustrating the job of research can be working in Indian schools, take a look at these fun facts:

- Indian government schools recognize holidays from all faiths, meaning a continual string of breaks. Many a time, I have arrived to a locked up school to realize it was a Shia or Parsi holiday that I have never heard of… Many students and teachers take the liberty to extend holidays for more popular celebrations (Dusshera, Holi, Deewali) for up to a week.

- Teachers acquire personal leave that they lose if they don't take by the end of the calendar year. This means many teachers take up two to three weeks leave before the Christmas vacation. They also do this fully aware that:

- Every year, the district or state closes all schools due to the cold. This year it was pretty bad, it got down to freezing temperatures, so classes were suspended for three weeks. Added to the personal leave and Christmas holiday and the week after the closure where students still did not come to school, there have been some schools where they children hadn't seen their teacher for over a month and a half!!!

- During harvesting seasons, it's not even worth it to go to the schools. Parent pull their kids to have extra hands in the field and attendance can dwindle to about ten students in a school of 200.

- There is considerable road work going on out in these villages, and some of the schools are linked only by one road. Since the road work is ill planned, far too often the road is completely choked of for the week or so it takes to finish the road.

- The most fun bit I actually learned TODAY, is that the majority of our focus teachers have been assigned to Census duty meaning that they will not be in the school for the NEXT MONTH. Added to this, this week they have been mandated to take test, therefore no instruction will take place, thus we cannot work with the teachers. SO, in the past three month, some student will have received maybe three weeks of instruction.

- I have also been informed that students will not come to school during the month of March, due to the potato harvest and the Holi festival. Parents pull their kids to have extra hands in the field and attendance can dwindle to about ten students in a school of 200.

Kind of hard to do research when their are no students are teachers in the actual building. It has been a mental exercise indeed thinking through how to navigate these issues. But more so, it is infuriating how all of these factors, from parent's perceptions of education, bureaucratic ineptitude, and teacher apathy, all set up the children that need the most support, most classtime, best instruction, to fail. That is something hard to swallow, but with the status of education as it is right now, I know that an NGO cannot be the only agent of change: there has to be a societal shift of consciousness in the entire society that values these children and wants to see them succeed. For now I am not seeing that shift and it breaks my heart…

So yeah, frustrating.

Getting Even More Mileage from My India Blog...

2010-10-26T07:04:00.000-07:00

Well, well, here I am, back once again in the blogosphere to bother you with my random mutterings from abroad. If you haven't talked to me for awhile, you might be thinking, 'Is he in America? He must be back in America, right?' BOOM. I'm in Lucknow, smack dab in the middle of the subcontinent that I hold so dear to my heart.

So, as you can see from above, I spent about 5 months back at our school in the Himalayas, Ashram Paryavaran Vidyalaya. The last week of my stint in the hills, I found out about this incredible opportunity to do research for Digital Study Hall, a project which utilizes video technology to improve teaching quality in semi-rural schools. Due to India's new ridiculous visa regulations, I had to come State-side for two months until I could start the position. This yielded the most emotional months of my life, having to tearful goodbyes in the ashram, then tearful goodbyes in the States. Let me tell you, it's not easy have two feet firmly planted in different countries across the globe. For my own mental health, and for that of my family and friends, I need to pick a continent and stick with it.

But after a 50 plus hour journey to get to the Lucknow from America, landing down right in the middle of Uttar Pradesh, the sewage belt of India (a name I coined on a bus trip across the state where, I kid you not, the twelve hour bus trip, there was no reprieve from the stench of human feces). Lucknow is the capital of UP, one of the densely populated areas in the world; UP's population is half of America in a third of the landmass). In this seething mass of humanity you can find such things as… child marriage, high illiteracy rate, alarmingly skewed gender ratios, honor killings, dengue, caste-ism; name any social ill associated with India and you will find it here…amplified. (As a side, I also much mention Lucknow has historically been held as the bastion for the highest levels of sophistication in india during the Nawabi era, a distinction that is still present although rapidly eroding with onslaught of modernity. A blog to come).

But within this mess, there is a lot of beauty, namely those inspiring individual who have oriented their lives to changing the status quo. And I am surrounded by dozens of such people working on a project that could have a dramatic impact on not only education, but all of the collateral benefits that come with a quality, critical education, taking steps towards gender and caste equality, women empowerment, health, improved livelihoods and the like. It is hard to be in India, yet estranged from my loved ones in the Himalayas and the beautiful community we have created, but I am doing necessary work, and for now that feels right.

In the blogs to come, I will unfold our work and hope to introduce you to the amazing people that have become part of my life.

For now, I am trying to adjust to the Indian city life and living on my own for the first time (strange I've made it so long). The area I live in is called Gomti nagar, gathering it's namesake from the river that flows just down the road from my place. I have take up a little marble cave, the floor below our office at DSH. While I envisioned my own flat with a little balcony overlooking a park, my cave ain't too shabby. And starting to settling down now beats the prescribed methods of DSH in finding me an apartment to my liking (which was hours and hours of riding around the surrounding neighborhoods on the back of our nice, but reckless driving tech dude, Pratyush's motorcycle asking random people if they knew of any rooms for rent. Not one lead). Despite the downsides (the room is probably 80 sf and I share a bathroom with Ram Dev, who I have to let in the building at 6am everyday), there are bountiful pluses: free wireless internet, a bed, furniture, a nice kitchen, a short commute. PLUS I have a FRIDGE, sweet lawrd, I thought that I would without a cool storage for my time here, so I make sure to do my daily fridge pooja to venerate the machine that we so often take for granted.

The location is great too. We have two huge public parks down the road (one of which is one of the most ridiculous monstrosities that I have ever seen. Blog to come #4). Across the street is a mini mall, where I have already made friends with the grocery and underwear shopkeeps. Down the street is the Prerna school, where I will be volunteering at (Blog to come #5).

Our spot is also located in a really interesting area in that is the epicenter of bourgeoisie, but those bourgies need elaborate homes and the cheap labor that comes with them. Add that to the major public park project down the street, there are shanties in every conceivable unoccupied space around here. I love the contrast and spend my mornings sipping chai in the workers chai stalls. At night farmers come in with their produce, some of the freshest most beautiful vegetables I have seen. I am getting excited for my gas cylinder to come so I can start experimenting with my Indian kitchen.

Uck, this is getting mundane. I'll rap at you when I have something a little more substantial or hilarious to say.

Hope you all are well.

It's been too long...

2010-06-11T19:33:00.000-07:00

I have been terrible about blogging lately, although I have been busy. To prove this to you, oh faithful reader, I present to you this catchup. Here's what you've missed, it's been a lot, so I will try to be brief. Stay with me…

- SAW TWO LEOPARDS: (well this happened within the first two days of my arrival, but I forgot to tell you). I doubled my leopard sighting quota set during my fellowship tenure AND gave me bragging rights over current fellow Charlie whose main goal this year has been to fight a leopard and has yet to see one. To make matters worse for Charlie, the day he left for good, there was a leopard sighting by our room. Poor Charlie.

- Saw Many Whities: APV has been flooded with foreigners as of late, fellows Charlie and Samir invited four other AIF fellows to the ashram, the non-native population ballooning to 7, an all time record. What do you do with so many foreigners? Take em on a difficult hike to an abandoned 100 year old temple to eat watermelons on the roof and look at massive dams.

- Forest Fires: It has been quite dry, a quality monsoon hasn't reached our foothills for two years. For this reason, forest fires have become a fixture, stringing the hills at night like fiery light on a Christmas tree. And with a lack of fire fighting infrastructure, the onus is on the villagers to tame the flames. So that is what we did with the help of a dozen village pals and some large branches to bat out the flames. We would lunge at the flames, hit them as violently as we could, then try to dig a trench around the flames. The most fun I've had in years, seriously.

- Midnight Log Chopping: Oh, should I divulge my culpability? Why not. I did something illegal with Charlie, Samir, Mohan, and Dheeraj bhai. So in the hills, it is illegal to both cut down trees and possess saws. We used the latter to do the former under the darkness and stillness of night, the perfect crime. Mind you, the tree was completely dead and of little use to our Mother Earth. It has come to great use in helping us cook chapati and heat chilly water.

- New Favorite Kiddus - I am so over Babitu. Now it is all about Sageera, who won all of hearts over after visiting her village. She was so excited to see us while also shy, she hit this sort of paralysis where she could keep her mouth closed or look anybody in the eye.

Close second goes to Sanya, who also won us over while visiting her village. Take as evidence this photograph: Charlie was holding her when she swung her right arm around my shoulder and chriped, 'Dosti, dosti,' or 'friendship, friendship.' Break my heart.

Have to give a shout out to Neha as well. The youngest of one of our cutest lineage, I have recently discovered her charms, which include a slight chubbiness and inability to keep her pants from falling down (two traits she's inherited from her brother Golu), and adorable and impressively coherent Hindi, mind you she is 2 and a half. Her gaffs are even more adorable: she can't pronounce her teacher's name (Jyoti), instead calling her moti, which means essentially fat girl.

Enough with the shameless cute kiddie pictures, back to radder things:

- International Rural Couple and Darling Offspring: So we are looking to start a new school in the Anand ji's ancestral village, Prabekh. I recently visited Prabekh to stay with Anand ji's brother, Poorna and his Dutch wife, Nina, who have produced what quite possibly could be the most adorable, precious child in the whole world, Deena (what a suitably cute name!). Deena speaks mostly Dutch with her mother, Hindi with her father, English when both of her parents are together, and Garhwali with her grandmother and other villagers. She is fluent in all, meaning she can melt the hearts in four languages, on five different continents, and a large majority of the worlds population. What power she wields!

Nina is a sweetheart, who made delicious breads daily and introduced me to all sorts of different Dutch spreads and delicacies. Their home is quaint and quite interesting: a sort of fusion of traditional Garhwali and Dutch aesthetics. I also got to spend time with Poorna, who like his older brother, is one of the most interesting charismatic people that I've meet in my journeys. We had a great time carrying water up and down to the house chatting. Oh! And I got to meet Anand ji's mother! She is in her nineties, I gave her the traditional hand-folded 'pranaam' and foot touch of reverence. I had to scream into her ear (she is almost deaf) how thankful I was of her inspiring sons. She said thank you, then something along the lines of, 'And tell my gawddam son to come and see me more often, I am going to die soon.' Eeee. Upon relaying the message to Anand ji, he confirmed to me that she had been saying this for the past 25 years and counting.

- Chad and Erin's Excellent Adventures: Ms. Erin Willig came for a month long stint in India. Although she spent most of her time in the ashram, we got out a bit right before she left. In this time, we received blessings at the mouths of two of the (arguably) most religious rivers in the world, Yamuna and Ganga, spent approximately seven thousand hours too long on mountain buses and shared taxis where Erin was vomited on three times (I was spared, suffering only collateral damage), stayed in the beautiful village of Sangeeta and Sanjay, two former APV teachers and gawked at the abundance of breathtaking completely wooden houses with intricate carvings, surveyed remote Himalayan valleys in the greenest place that I've seen in India (it actually looked quite like Scotland), shared a taxi filled with Gujjars(!), a caste of migratory Muslims that the Indian government has unsuccessfully tried to domestic over the past 60 years, discovered that the holy town of Haridwar (literally the doorway of the gods), was more like a doorway to roaches, 8 billion people, the garbage of 8 billion people, open sewers of 8 billion people, dysentery, and one dirty, dirty holy river (interesting to see how the Ganga get so dirty once it hits where it's worshippers live!), and covered 300 years of interesting Muslim history in 5 hours. Good, good times.

- The Hills are Alive: Ever since I returned from dropping Erin off at the airport, there has been a steady flow music, from the moment I wake up until I fall asleep. Take for example right now: Ram Lila, a performance of the Ramayana is going on in the village below, while the Imam screeches his call to prayer out on speakers turned up full blast. The speakers on full blast seems to be a common theme here, the two weddings that are going on both in the village above and below us are pumping the hottest Garhwali dance jams. The two vyas wallas also got the message as they chant out the Bhagavad Gita in Sanskrit and sing their prayers in the evening in different villages below the ashram. Essentially, these vyas wallas are Sanskrit pandits that have mastered the Gita and recite it verbatim to families that want to commemorate dead relatives in a procession known as Saptaah.

Alright getting a bit more banal. I shall retire and shower you with much praise for making it through this mammoth post. I will try to keep you posted more regularly for my final two months, perhaps I might even throw in a couple of intellectually stimulating, at least more so than cute kids and getting vomited on. I apologize.

Oh yes! One more thing. Looks like I am going to be a teacher. I have been accepted into WWU and Marylhurst University, so depending on who is willing to offer me a better scholarship package, I will spend the next two years studying education in either Bellingham or Portland, really excited. So, just think, one of these days, I just might be teaching your kids world history or helping them improve their English skills for all of the migrants that follow my blog. I caught the teaching bug in the ashram two years ago, so how fitting that I received the news here. These days, I also have the space in the ashram to get some time in the classroom and ponder over what it is that makes a great teacher, how to design effective, child centered curriculum, and how to engage kids to become self learners. I have a long way to go, but I hope that my experiences here coupled with a more formal education will yield good results. Will keep you posted.

Congratulations to our APV graduates!

2010-06-11T08:40:00.000-07:00

... on their outstanding performance on the 10th Standard Board Exams! Out of our 9 students, 7 placed in the top most division in their school, Arun scoring second highest out of the males, Depali scoring second highest for the females. The remaining two scored in the second highest division. I am so proud of all of our graduates and how they are spreading the light of APV!

Generalizations of Indian Ridiculous Buses.

2010-05-04T20:37:00.000-07:00

Ha, just when you thought that my true intentions of blogdom was to shamelessly post pictures of me with cute kids, BAM, I give you something of substance.

Well, not really, but at least this blog is devoid of any picture that would make you coo.

Now, I must concede that my realm of expertise is minimal, mainly lying within Pac-Ten football, the Portland Trailblazers, and certain types of hip music. I unfortunately cannot even add India to the mix given that what I mainly know is geographically situated in the North, a culture that is surprisingly different than the south of the country.

That being said, I occasionally catch a few cringe worthy generalization about India, about religion, poverty, snake charming, and the dabbling of orientalist exoticism. While there maybe some truth is some statements that I have heard, but it is almost impossible to make such generalizations, given that there are thousands of different sides of India.

That being said, yesterday, I had an experience the other day that definitely fit nicely into a stereotype; the shitshow bus ride. While I had been countering with my experiences in Uttarakhand, where, sure, the drivers are reckless, amped up on amphetamines, and hurriedly whip around dangerous roads at reckless speeds, but inside the buses tend to be pretty mild; no rooftop sitting, etc. This particular experience gave me pause about my refutation of such stereotype.

In the mountain, the bus provides a vital lifeline to anywhere outside the village. Meager incomes are preventative for most to purchase motorcycles or cars and rented taxis are quite expensive. Shared taxis are a bit more expensive and only travel short distances. Therefore, the majority are reliant on very infrequent buses and very limited in space. If one were to miss a bus, plans could be shifted for an entire day. This produces a certain kind of desperation in many a bus rider.

So this ride started casually enough, I caught an isle seat next to a dapper young man traveling from the plains. After a couple stops, an older man, presumably an old teacher, boarded the bus, the the young man in a flash, vacated his seat out of veneration for his elder. The very next stop, the older man got off the bus, but instead of the young man retrieving his old seat, a fat sannyasi pushed him out of the way, crawled over me and took the window spot. Sannyasis are pretty rad, they leave all worldly possessions, adopt an wardrobe of saffron robes, and take oaths to live a spiritual, typically ascetic lifestyle. When they are good, they are good, but my close proximity to Rishikesh, international pseudo-spiritual capital (e.g. the Beatle's lived in an ashram there for a time), I have met far too many fake Sannyasis out to earn a quick buck off spiritually incline, but Indian naive tourists. This Sannyasi was suspect; his numerous fat rolls could barely be contained by his robe, long tufts of body hair wafted through the taught saffron, wicked with profuse amounts of sweat,, intense eyes perched below his curly receding hairline. After a while, he tried to speak to me, 'Conetree?' 'Mein Amerika se aaya hun.' 'Name?' 'Chad.' 'Yew come India?' 'Han ji, Mein aajkal Bhaarat mein rahta hun.' Done. I was probably showing visible distain for the sweat marks he was leaving on my teeshirt, so he left the conversation. He instead pick out his cellphone from his purse and partook in a very loud and seemingly angry conversation.

During the Sannyasi era, the bus aisles were getting more and more crowded. I was getting worried that we wouldn't be able to pick up any more passengers, but we hit a sort of critical mass when all emptied the aisle for the roof. While some opted to use the ladder in the back, many more, vying for the coveted front or foot dangling side seats, used open window, pushing away the elbows of those lucky to obtain an indoor spot, jumping to the top. By the next stop, the aisle was again full.

As we approached the town, the Sannyasi saw an opportunity to be the first off the bus, he literally slided over me, luckily my body was covered with his sweat which made for an easy glide, and squeezed through the crowded aisle. I grabbed the window seat and a nice early-twenties lady with her adorable baby sat next to me. Oh, sweet reprieve.

At that moment, a very elderly man made his way to the back of the bus near my seat. It took me a while to notice a baby goat baaahing at his knees, the poor thing looked so confused and apparently hungry. The lady next to me had fallen asleep, and the goat utilized the opportunity to start eating her pants. I tried my best to shoo him away, but he kept coming back for more of that tasty saalwar. Eventually, the old man gave the goat a whack with his stick, which seemed to curb his appetite.

Gaining the window seat revealed the part of the journey that I love most, the breathtaking views of the Himalayas and Ganges. But it also revealed the unsavory bits of the window seat. "Raindrops on my arm? But it's sunny out. Wait, I didn't know rain could have orange chunks in it. Why does that Auntie three seats ahead of me have half of her body out the window? Oh yeah, she is retching out her morning paranthas…onto my arm. lovely"

There it is, it does exist, crazy shitshow busrides. I'll let that one generalization slide for the moment, while I clean off the auntie vomit and sannyasi sweat. (Sidenote: When I return home, I am starting a drum&bass techno dance band called Sannyasi Sweat)

Move Over Ritu...

2010-04-13T06:42:00.000-07:00

All the hits are still here in the Ashram, talking bout Aju, Pintu, Swati, Sudha, Sandhiya, and of course, Ritu. But it just is not the same: all the kids are accustom to my love and attention, which has created high expectations and demands (that I show them tons of attention, that I put them on my shoulders, that I chase them around). Of course, I willingly abide, but it gets a bit irritating at times, even when it is Ritu.

Therefore it is with great pride why I am proud to present my very new favorite kid, Babita. Oh, my Babu, the sweetest child in the world. She is so shy, it takes me about 5 minutes to get her to even say her name. In any case, she appreciates my attention, but isn't persistent. Everyday, she waits right in front of where I typically sit in assembly, waiting for a hug. And that smile, baap re! Babu's the best.

Babu and Chad with Hair
Babu and Chad with No Hair

An APV Update! Finally...

2010-04-13T06:33:00.000-07:00

Aaaahhhh… Right now I am writing from the porch of our new kitchen at APV, gazing upon the green, terraced slopes spilling into the valleys below and the fruit trees gently dancing in the wind. Bijli, the puppy that we had gotten right before my departure is now a bonefide two year old dog! And she is lazily sleeping in the shade in front of me, deaf to the darting birds making attempts at the stale chapati and buffalo milk in her food dish.

I have been back at APV for about two weeks, just enough time to realize how unreal this place is. It seems like just yesterday, I was making the ridiculous journey here from Dehradun (a full 24 hours, which included stints in an overnight train, a shared three wheeler bus, the WORSE bus ride of my life, a boat ride across the Ganga, a three km walk that took 2 hours [it is Kumbha Mela in Rishikesh, the largest annual gathering in recorded history to the likes of 300,000 people], then finally a jeep to APV. uck.uck.uck.). Time has little very little significance here, which is both nice from a personal point of view and terribly frustrating from a professional.

In any case many things have changed, albeit only slightly. Maneesha, or my little Chuha, our principal's daughter and resident child in our ashram, has become the most delightful young women. She now is in 7th grade (sweet lawrd), and has shed, confusingly for her age group, her sassiness. I can recall far too many instances such sassiness, where the wrong use a color while helping her one of her pictures would warrant two weeks of silence and cold stares. Now she is a bundle of smarts, cleavers, and so much of love. Thank goodness she hasn't grown out of the endearing traits that have earned the moniker chuha, or mouse. If you leave out anything of her fancy unattended, such as chocolates, books, brightly colored things, etc., they will be gone within minutes; swept away to one of her many hidden goodie nests clandestinely scattered in our home, Ganesh Bhavan.

The fact that children mature when you leave them for a couple years was quite unsettling for me the first week. I was uncomfortable with the Mohit's bass voice, Deepak's sporty new mustache, Priyanka's growth spurt. The kids that I would chase around the school and tickle, now are mini adults. Completely unfair. At least some of my favs, Sudha, Sandiya(s), Saurabh, etc, have not grown an inch, and maintain the same sweet and inquisitive innocence that earned them their high spots on my echelon of favorites (I know a teacher should not hold biases, but that is no fun). Oh, and sweet Ritu, my fav of favs. She grew an inch and mother decided that it was time for her to look more like her first grade peers (e.g. cut her hair like a boy). Still uncontrollably adorable and able to scale any adult to find a nice spot on their shoulders.

The teachers are doing well. Jyoti and Garima, who came right as I was leaving have definitely matured into their teaching craft. I have especially been impressed by Jyoti, her thoughtful lesson plans, her abilities in the classroom, and eagerness to learn. We all are bracing ourselves for the loss of Mansoora next month. Arguably one of the sweetest, hardworking in our cadre, decided, or well, her parents decided that it was time for marriage. Sir ji is Sir ji, as he has always been Sir ji. He has had much energy in working on projects in the school and community, while developing a philosophy on 'mindfields,' a network of energy that binds all people together and can only be accessed through meditation. Still trying to wrap my head around it, but it is interesting enough. We also have two new fellows here, Charlie and Sameer, with whom I have been sharing a room with and enjoying getting to know.

Meditation has been sluggish and frustrating, as with getting readjusted to the schedule. It has been particularly busy as of late; take for example a couple days ago, when a 3:40am wake up call flowed into a meditation, breakfast prep, a tree felling trip, loading heavy logs down treacherous mountain sides, a ridiculous trip down to the market to pick up 25 pounds of vegetables, dinner preparations, then a birthday celebration for Jyoti. Exhausting. I have been working in the class trying to develop cohesive, interesting lesson plans to catch up our kids on English skills. I am finding, though, that the language barrier can be frustrating. My Hindi has become terrible. Also in combatting the popular opinion of myself as a giant white play toy I have found that discipline can be an issue. I hope that over the next couple months, I can further refine my teaching skills in preparation for a Masters in Teaching program when I come home.

I also have made an important discovery: village women don't forget. When I left India last time, I had amassed a group of mothers in my favorite village, Kantoli, that treated me as their own. They were so motherly in fact, that they all gave me their phone numbers and demanded a call when I returned home to tell them that I was safe. Unfortunately, I was swept up with reunions and documentary film making. I didn't call. They definitely remembered.
To my defense, one of the first things I did upon my return was visit this village, for my mind often wandered to the bucolic idylls of Kantoli; the cobbled houses nestled between rolling wheat fields, the worn, beautiful, aged woodwork, and the kind and hospitable townspeople. Some of my favorite memories and favorite people live in this town.
When I made my way down the village, I found all of the women, with whom I was closest to, singing bhaajans and kirtaans together in a small room (idyllic right?). I became quite disappointed to find that their first questions where, 'Do you remember who I am?' and 'Why didn't you call?' I think I made amends with all of them, although it took quite a few hours, many cups of chai, and many more assurances that I would call them next time, to heal the wounds. Ack, always remember to keep your promises to village women. Always.

All I got for now. Very, very busy and very, very content.

Christoph's India Wedding

2010-04-08T02:35:00.000-07:00

As I am sure many of you know, I planned my return to India and APV around my good friend Christoph's wedding. And those that know this info must also know about the peculiarities surrounding the wedding; so peculiar in fact, that the story has become my most favorite to regale.

If you have not had the pleasure to indulge in my regalement of Christoph's wedding, I will catch you up with the alegrabic equation below:

Chad + Christoph + UW Hindi Program + AIIS Hindi Program = Deep Friendship
Christoph + Brilliant Mind + Hindi = Christoph's Hindi Institute in Delhi
Christoph + Settled + Biological Clock = Desire for Marriage
Christoph + Cute Indian Gal = Crush
Crush + Christoph's Colleagues' Connections = Arranged Marriage for Christoph
Crush Being Muslim = Christoph's Conversion to Islam + Certain Medical Procedures
Sum of All = Christoph's Muslim Wedding! = च्रिस्टोफ की पागलपण

Now, this equation might be a tad confusing, and I entirely don't know what to make of my friend's very important decision. But I do recognize his incredibly thoughtful nature, so I am certain that the beauties and sacrifices of this union have been carefully measured and the gravity weighed. I can also understand the difficulty in meeting women in India given that in my two years in this great country I have made eye contact with only a handful of women, most of those coming from a celibate ashram. So, in a country where the majority of marriages are a compromise of parents, going through the proper familial channels to find a partner is still the norm. In America it is crazy. I guess this makes Christoph half crazy, but I still love the guy and support him wholeheartedly.

So I left England cultivating images of a beautiful crossroad of cultural celebrations and quite excited to see my first Muslim wedding. In many ways, I should have tempered my imagination, for it still was an Indian wedding, and I still quite dislike Indian weddings apparently no matter how white or Muslim they can get.

I shouldn't get ahead of myself, though. Upon arrival to Delhi, I discovered Christoph's flat/Hindi Institute had been completely taken over by quite interesting and compassionate family members from America. I really enjoyed getting to know these people a be privy to their quite beautiful encounter with Rani's (Christoph's wife) family. I was especially impressed how Christoph's father (who is one of my favorite people even prior to the wedding) embraced every aspect of the wedding experience, from hand feeding sweets to Rani's father, to Bhangra dancing with the reception's Yar contingent, to getting henna tattoos on his hands.

BUT, the rest of the wedding was filled with waiting, confusion, standing, paying bribes, offensive Imam diatribes, and a whole lot of dysentery, a lot of dysentery.

So Christoph is white, this should by now be established. There is a tradition in India for workers in the wedding service sector to ask for tips for servicing such auspicious occasions. Unfortunately his white skin effectively amplified this effect, making seemingly every person trying to get at his pockets. Some of the most memorable instances were when the bus driver that took the groom's party to the wedding ceremony in Jaipur asked for 11,000 rupees for a tip and hijra's 20,000 rupee demand. Hijras for those not as familiar with Indian culture, are castrated men who dress in drag and have a interesting place in Indian society. I don't know the entire background but I do know they are considered very auspicious for joyous events, weddings, new houses, etc. They are quite deft in finding such events and demanding exorbitant rates for there blessings. If you don't agree you get a curse. Apparently, you don't want a curse. Christoph got the two hijras to leave with a 500 rupee bill and a promise for more to come later. No curse for now.

Another interesting part of the wedding was the Imam that was arranged to oversee the ceremony. I later learned from a Muslim friend that there is a tradition for the crowd to give the Imam a small donation after the wedding. We had the privilege of having a very entrepreneurial Imam who saw a western audience as a prospective cash cow His way to woo us in his mind was to give a fiery, quite conservative tirade on how the world is converting to Islam. While most of us foreigners couldn't understand his hour long Urdu speech (thank God/Allah/YHWH for this), he did save arguably his most offensive bits for English. "I have been to Canada and the US. I have seen that most children do not know there parents' names, am I right?" Wah. The only enjoyable part of his time on the wedding platform was a song that he preformed brilliantly that has been etched in my heads ever since. "Sweet Medina, sweet Medina, sweet Medina, sweet Medina, very lovely." That was the chorus, sung to hypnosis for about five minutes. Every once and a while he would throw in an awkward tangent, "Medina very nice place for you and me, Medina is nice place and very green." Seriously, I cannot get the song out of my head.
In any case his plan backfired, not only did the Americans not pay him, or know that they had too, but Muslims in the audience did not as well.

Aw yes and the dysentery. Wedding food is infamous for production of gut explosions. Blame this on unsanitary preparation, mass production, and the way it sits out unheated for hours. I knew from the onset that I probably would catch something, but hours of waiting and standing does wonders for one's appetite, so I went in swinging, devouring plate after plate of biryani, delicately served to me by my three personal assistants (white people get the red carpet treatment at many Indian weddings). I went down, actually most of us Americans went down, even the iron belly of friend Luther, who prior to the wedding had been traveling around the tribal regions of Madya Pradesh, drinking the water, eating the food. After two days of unhindered sleep, a terrible fever and headache, and many trips to the loo, I recovered. I view it as an opportunity to work in my stomach preventing such problems in the future, but it was no fun. Especially when I wanted to spend time with the newly weds.

But if I had to do it all over again, I would. Christoph is a special dude and this indeed was a special wedding. It was such a pleasure meeting both families and in the brief moments that I got to share with Rani, she seems like a real catch, Great sense of humor, quite humorous and self-assured. I think that this arranged marriage thing just might work out. Rad.

My Only Photo of London...

2010-03-24T10:20:00.000-07:00

Bmmr... Blame this to a load of dead rechargeable batteries, a wrong conversion plug, and a stingy me.

Wearing Ties and Washing Babies

2010-03-23T21:13:00.000-07:00

Imagine with me, that I be an Oxford scholar: blue blazer coat of arms adorned on the right side, neatly ironed trousers, cleanly shaven, genteel speech. Well, first I would have to work on the accent. Apparently, I have been accused by a refined local of having the vocabulary, attitude, and accent of a sassy American black woman. I don't really know where that came from or if I agree, but in any case, I don't know if my tawdry speech would fly in England's premiere academic institution. In any case, while the prospect of going to school in England would have been laughable even a year ago, after falling in love with the UK and visiting the Oxford, it now does not seem so distant.

Craig Jeffrey is a fantastic scholar, the bulk of his work focusing on the underemployment of the young educated class of North Indian with particular attention to Dalit or untouchable class. His work has nuanced the conversation about the absolute utility of education as a development strategy put forth by my one of my favorite scholars, Amartya Sen.

Jane Dyson is a fantastic scholar. Her studies have focused on the work strategies of young people in the Himalayas drawn from a year and a half of very interesting field research following children out to the forest for collect lichen. She actually did her fieldwork quite close to the Ashram where I worked, just one district away.

Craig and Jane are married and both are at Oxford. Talk about your South Asia intellectual power couple!

Prof. Dyson and Jeffrey were at the University of Washington during my Hindi studies at the same institution and I was quite keen to work with them when I returned from my last trip to India. But, with budgets being slashed in the US, Oxford offered them an excellent opportunity to return to most prestigious college in their native country. Hard to pass up.

En route to a screening in Cambridge, I decided to try to meet the two scholars to talk about possible graduate work. They invited me to their home for what I had thought might be a brief and formal discussion turned into a quite pleasant evening.

After talking about their research, my academic interests, and possible programs, their one and a half year old son, Finn with his adorable mop of blonde hair and long, wrinkled face, wobbled out of his room after a nap. Then their little four year old bundle of joy, Florence, came bounding in from nursery school a little later, which pretty much extinguished our academic discussions. I quickly learned that two young children pretty much equals the entirety of your energy and attention.

But who cares, I got to play with kiddies! For some reason these children fell for my awkward charms and soon I was fishing in the pond with Finn and pushing Florence on the swing. Jane soon took her leave to go visit a friend and Craig was fast at work making dinner, so I was left to look after the kids. And let me tell you, Florence is no easy one to control, she knows how to get her way. And with her sweet British accent and button nose, it is pretty hard to fight it. So I spent the next half hour trying to keep Finn from wandering back into the house while keeping Florence occupied with a frisbee. Eventually, I had to convince young Florence the merits of going potty inside instead of in the bushes with only marginal success.

After supper, it was bath time for both the kids. While Craig tended to Finn, I was put on Florence washing patrol. Considering that I have never washed a child before in my life and given that my the parents of this child might be my graduate advisors, I found the experience a bit strange. But, you must admit that the level of trust place upon me during the first meeting is pretty encouraging for getting into the program. Or else they are vetting out prospective students unable to babysit for them.

After the kids were wrapped up in their jammies, Florence demanded that I read her a bedtime story which I did graciously, given the that picture book that she wanted was about children growing up in Scottish fishing towns (swoon!). When I finished reading the story and started making my goodbyes, Florence asked, "Are you going to be here in the morning?" I replied that I was staying in a hostel and would be leaving for Cambridge the next day.' Apparently, with my thick American accent, she thought I said I was headed to Sainbury, which is the local supermarket, and replied, 'Well after you bring back the groceries tomorrow, then could we play.' Cute. When I finally established that I would be leaving the UK soon, she said, 'You like it here, you will be back, and we will play.' After my couple days in Oxford, I wouldn't mind if she was right.

(PS- ignore any mistakes in the above blog. I started writing this in London but now am in India and have been awake for almost 45 hours now.)

City of JOY

2010-03-19T03:46:00.000-07:00

Thank god for hair dryers. As I began to blow-dry the crotch of my jeans, dampened by cheap beer and a faulty couch, in a room full of uber-hip lesbian artists smoking cigarettes and dancing to Lady Gaga, I couldn't help but think about the contrast to the night prior. In my final night in Aberdeen, Rowan, her boypal, sweet little Avery and I enjoyed an actually overwhelmingly competitive game of playdough chirades and an early bedtime. Both experiences definitely had there merits: While I enjoyed the spirits and dancing in London, a couple hours spent chasing buses at 1am made me long for the early bedtimes in Aberdeen. Not to mention the consistent dryness of my trousers.

So I am in London now staying on the couch of my girlfriend's best friends brother, Than, who is in art school at London and has slowly become one of my favorite people on earth. Mildly flamboyant, super intelligent, and utterly lovable, sigh… Inspired by the mighty Than I have decided to adopt his nomenclature in describing the laurels of this amazing city; things joy/things not joy. Beautiful.

Here we go:

Things that are London joy:

- A sneaky collusion of all of Chad's joys!

My first day, I decided to romp around Brick Lane in East End. Stepping out of the Tube, I was transported into this weird 18th century Bangladeshi neighborhood. South asian geekout. check

Further down the lane, South Asia gives way to Hipster Haven and I stumbled upon this huge and amazing vintage clothes weekend market. Hip clothes shopping. check.

Adjacent to the market was a custom bike frame shop where I spent an hour gabbing about bikes and Portland to a very friendly tech. Bike geek out. check.

THEN, I grabbed a beer and sat down on the footpath to watch the parade of beautiful hip people seething and sauntering through the crowded streets. Public drinking. check.

THEN, I wandered through Rough Trade East, one of the best record stores that I have been to since Amoeba in SF. Music geek out. check.

THEN, I had THE BEST cup of coffee in my life prepared by the 2009 Swedish Barista champion. World class coffee, check.

THEN, I rounded out my day with an amazing photographic exhibit of 150 years of South Asian exhibits. South Asian Art geekout. check.

A joy explosion in the very first day.

- Good Ol' British History.

Yesterday, we went to Than's dashing and debonair boyfriend's presentation at the Dulwich Picture Gallery. Jordan whole presence oozes of academia, from the tweed jacket, dry wit, to his wide array of collared shirts and blazers and endless informative interjections. I absolutely love it. After the talk, which made the forty or so aristocratic housewives in attendance audibly swoon, Jordan took me on a walking tour of old London, the bits and pieces that I thought too pedestrian and tourist-y for my refined traveling palate. But checking out those spots with a very excited 18th century Art Historian made his kind of sightseeing actually really fun. I saw all the hits: St. Paul's Cathedral, Houses of Parliament, Buckinham Palace, St. James Palace, Westminster Abbey, Trafalger Square. You name it, a scholar told me the significance of it. Awesome.

Not London Joy:

- Lack of Grid System.

Damn those 10th century planners who did not have the foresight of a urban grid system. Any place I want to go to, I have to allot at least an hour and half of being hopelessly lost in these unintuitive, narrow roads. I bought a map yesterday and have found that it has only been of marginal help.

- That Chad Robertson doesn't live there. Oh how grand that would be!

Scotland's Charms

2010-03-13T01:24:00.000-08:00

Well, I should be in India right now, right? So then why has my great blog resurrection yielded my first posting from a cozy pub in the northern coast of Scotland? Well, you have my good friend, Rowan, to blame for this. Alternative pedagogy and cutie kiddies will have to wait. For now, just charming coastal towns, old world charm, and sweet, sweet cask ales. Not too shabby.

I studied with Rowan at the University of Washington during my Hindi days and, brilliant and impressive as she is, has taken a fabulous three year research fellowship at the University of Aberdeen. I have really wanted to see Rowan for a while, so I used a screening of my documentary film as an excuse for a two week romp around the British Isles. The attendance for today's screening was modest, and thankfully so, due to so major technical malfunctions. By the end of the screening, that modest crowd was watching the film from my laptop. BUT, the crowd was pretty into the film providing some interesting Q & A.

But, like I said the real reason for coming was to spend some quality time with Rowan and her brilliant and sassy 5th daughter, Avery, who has been showing me around the forest by their apartment giving me a rigorous werewolf training. She is ridiculously adorable; outside the eye of her mother, she will flip into her Scottish accent which she uses with schoolfriends. Despite only being here for about 7 months, her accent is near flawless. Super cute.

First observation about the UK: It is OLD. When I see a building from the late 18th century in America I about faint. Here that's nothing. Take for example, Rowan's apartment, it is a converted army barrack built 150 years ago, pocked by Nazi blitzkriegs during World War II. (other things that makes Rowan's place ridiculous: it is directly adjacent to a immaculate golf course that hosted the Women's British Open a couple weeks back AND is about a ten minute walk to the sandy North Sea beaches). Rowan's office is in a tenth century building over looking the first campus building, a beautiful 6th century church. In fact, wandering around the narrow, cobbled paths of University of Aberdeen feels like being transporting back to a 10th century town. Ridiculous.

Second Observation: Scotland is overwhelming charming, the kind of charming that makes you want to suspend all of your ambitions, purchase a cottage out in the country and live out the rest of your life herding sheep and eating pub lunches. Overly romantic? Perhaps, but you try driving through the pastoral land budding up to breathtaking craggy cliffs, strewn with cobbled cottages and the ruins of 14th century castles. See what that will do to you!

Rowan has been the most gracious host, finishing up her work early to show me around. Yesterday we went to Stonehaven, a quant, coastal town a short walk from Dunnottar, a gorgeous abandoned castle. The stroll was perfect: we snaked along the coastal wheatfields, crisp blue skies and brilliant sun shining down upon the farmers work and the endless North Sea. The Dunnotar fort stood atop of a prominent peninsula, sides battered into interesting and beautiful cliffs from years of abuse for the sea. Unfortunately, the castle was closed, so we snuck around the back side to see if we would be able to breach the high walls like the Jacobbites had done a couple hundreds of years ago. We found a vulnerable spot, scaling a quite sketchy face, but as we climbed higher, the fall became more dramatic. But the more dramatic the climb became, the more broken beer bottles we found. Eventually we decided that we would leave the contemporary invasions to young, fearless, and drunken Scots. No need for an ER visit at the beginning of my trip. Instead we decided to catch up on the beautiful stony beaches that lay below.

After our walk, we decided to head to the pub for a fish supper and a pint. It is probably a good thing that I don't live in Scotland for I would spend all of my time in pub: 12 beers on tap, 8 on cask, darkly lit with cozy fire place, gregarious, portly barkeeps who bring out your meals revealing their 'chip stealing tendencies.' Perfect. Oh, another very important observation. Fish and chips in America are a sham. In the UK, you get a whole fillet of white fish, deep fried perfection; the forearm sized piece of fish can barely fit on the dish. Needless to say, after devouring my plate, as well as a couple pints of delicious cask beer, I was in dire need of a nap.

Observation 3: British food isn't that shabby! I had definite preconceptions of bland British food, but am finding the local cuisine quite tasty. Rowan has been an amazing navigator, cooking us delicious meals nightly. Favourites thus far include steak pie and toads in a hole (worshire pudding with haggis and blood pudding sausages (!)).

Sipping my pint here in the pub right now, it's dawned on me that it is going to be ridiculously hard to leave Scotland, definitely my favourite spot that I have been outside of India. Excited to explore a bit more before heading down to London.

Blog Revived!

2010-03-06T20:10:00.000-08:00

Hello All,

Just letting the word out that I am going to revive my long deceased blog to document my upcoming trip to the UK and return to my ashram in the Indian Himalayas. I am a bit busy preparing for my departure on Monday but more to come soon.

C.

Chad's Hillstation/Ashram/Village/Vipassana Birthday Bonanza.

2008-05-30T00:36:00.000-07:00

School's closed. Teachers are leaving. It is very sad looking at the empty playground and listening to the silent sounds of the ashram. The early monsoon is bringing back dreary memories of Washington winter depression. So, now the Chad that wanted no more than to stay in the ashram forever is gone for the moment: I am pretty content with my travel plans for the next month.

So I set out to Kausani with one of the ashramites, Ruchi. I tried to keep count of the times that Ruchi vommited on our winding, excessively long (16 hours via 3 different shared taxis and two buses) trip through the Himalayas; I lost count at twenty, the poor thing.

But we made it to Laksmi ashram an all girl boarding school founded by a British disciple of Gandhi. The school is essential a British hill station bungalow set on an expansive plot of vegetable fields, flower gardens, cow sheds and the like, completely surrounded by untouched pine forests. The school is basically a child's haven for about 60 girls ranging from 1stgrade to 12th. They are taught in the school and also responsible for rearing the cows, farming collecting wood, etc for the ashram. Ruchi parted after the first night, but I stayed for a couple more days which actually coincided with my birthday. The beautiful ashram povided me definitely with one of the most memorable and special birthdays to date.

So basically I found out that it is not just the children in our ashram that like me, apparently my likeability with children is pan-Uttarakhand. Within probably a half hour they were at complete ease around me as I was with them. The first morning, I joined about 20 girls to gather firewood in the forest, well I didn't really have a choice, some cuties, Pooja and Diksha grabbed my hands and led me to the forest, giving me a rope to tie the wood that I would collect. Diksha was adorable, she could not pronounce my name correctly, it came out 'child' so she was leading me through the forest saying, 'come Child, come Child.' The forest was covered with fallen pine needles, so it was pretty treacherous, but the paths that Diksha chose were ones where she slid down on her side, a big load of sticks on her shoulder. I basically just fell down these paths sending sticks everywhere, bloodying my hands and delighting of all of the girls watching me from down below. We then tied our stash into about twenty pound stacks which we then carried back to the ashram. The girls were also delighted to see the awkward whitey carrying the heavy load on his head. After we got back, it was wool spinning time, an artifact of the Gandhi influence on the ashram. It was really difficult for me and one of the girls basically spun most of my wool stack, but gave me encouragement whenever I got it a strand right. During this time, they found out that I knew how to sing some of the songs of our school. My mentor, Anand ji, has written over 40 songs that the children sing daily in the assembly, and he had actually come to Laksmi Ashram and taught them a few songs. He had also given them a song book of his songs which they shoved in front of me telling me to sing them. So basically I had to sing two or three songs, completely in Hindi for about 80 people. Pretty embarrassing but they seemed to enjoy it.

After that I took a break from the ashram and kiddies to check out Anasakti ashram, where Gandhi has stayed and written the book where the ashram got its name. The ashram is at one of the highest points of Kausani where I saw the most spectacular view of Himalayas that I have ever seen.

Then it was back to the ashram where I spent the afternoon climbing trees in the cool forest, picking kaphal, this moutain fruit that is like a raspberry cherry with the girls. In all honestly I must have eaten about 400 of these damn delicious berries; the girls folded their salwaars making little pockets in the front and were constantly forcing berries from their stash down my throaght.

As the sun went down, we went back to the ashram for evening prayer. When prayer concluded, one of the teachers asked me to give a presentation in front of all of the girls about my life and 'aims.' I said in my best Hindi, which is still pretty bad, that Lakshmi ashram was a very special place and that I had an amazing time working and playing with the children. I said that in the whole world, Lakshmi Ashram was my second favorite place only after my ashram and that the experience would stay in my heart forever. Then a couple girls stood up and gave speeches filled with hyperboles about how great I was. After all of the nice words, about 15 of the younger girls surrounded me and gave me hugs. They said not to forgot them and their berries when I left and to come back as soon as possible. Break my heart. Best B-Day Ever!!

But I am coming back sooner than they expected. I was invited to a village wedding in Kausani so I will be going back in a couple days. I plan to spend the whole day playing with the kids then go to wedding at night. I can't wait.

I realized just after leaving the ashram that I hadn't spoken a word of English the whole time I was there and could fully communicate with the girls, there was very little lapse in understanding. Quite honestly, the last year of rigorous Hindi studies paid of fully for the experience I had in being able to talk with the girls teachers in the ashram.

And more days of only Hindi speaking in sight. I will be staying with two friends that know almost no English in their village with their parents who I assume are in the same position. Here is a schedule of the rest of my time here.

Friend's village visits:
Ashramites Ruchi and Vimla are from villages in Kumoan. Uttarakhand is roughly split into two regions based on language and ethnicity: Garhwal and Kumaon. While I have lived and travelled in Garhwal extensively, I know nothing of Kumaon and am looking forward to the ridiculously hospitality I am about to receive.
Almora/Nainital:
These are two famous hillstations of the British Raj. Admittedly, I have a space in my heart of these vestiges of British Colonial rule. I love living in the village, but the American in me also like to kick back with a beer in an old British clubhouse watching socialites and white collar tourists playing golf or yachting on the lake.

Ashram:
A million miles away, after I am through with my indulgence, it is off to Rishikesh for a retreat with a Swami that I met a couple months back. He is actually Belgium, who has spent considerable time in a Christian monastery, became disillusioned to a certain extent, embraced Hinduism, became a Swami, and now runs an ashram. Although he is Hindu, he holds very inclusive religious views; at the inauguration of the ashram, monks of several faiths were invited to celebrate and chant together, the alter in the meditation room displays statues of the Buddha, Jesus, and Shiva. I draw my religious views from multiple traditions and I am excited to sit down with him a while and live in their community.

Vipassana:
Vipassana is a form of Buddhist meditation, typically associated with Hiyana buddhism practices in SE asia, although it is practiced by many regardless of faith. I am going to participate in a ten day silent meditation retreat in Dehradun. Ten days in complete silents, no outside stimulus in the forms of books, pencils, television, etc. and 12+ hours of meditation might sound a little intimidating, but I feel prepared enough for it. My meditation has been stagnating as of late and hopefully this will give me a boost; when I meditate in my ashram, I always have something to look forward, my bed, the day's work, the children, a book, but there it will just be me and my thoughts. I also have a lot to figure out about what I am going to do when I get back, so the reflection I believe will be helpful.
Then back to the empty ashram.

Then off to Corbett National Park, a famous tiger reserve to meet up with the rest of the fellows. Luckily it is located in Uttarakhand, so I can swoop back up to the ashram for another couple of weeks with the kiddies and friends, then it is back to states. My plane ticket is for the 23rd of July. Gawd, this year has flown by.

The New Recruits

2008-05-25T00:41:00.000-07:00

Today, some of the teachers and I set out on a PR and recruiting mission to find some more students for next year's enrollment. We set our sites on Ghoghas, a village of about forty Muslim families very near to the school. We only have one student from the village which is a terribly low number for the village's close proximity.

The village was really strange. As in most areas in the mountains, there is a strong current of out migration by the male members of the village. No different in Goghas, but the interesting part about this town is that the Muslim status of the men give them a easy pass into jobs in the Near East (mostly Dubai, Iraq, Iran). The international stamp on this village is seen through have every man that you encounter (rare except if back on vacation) speaks impeccable English. This differs considerably from the Hindu villages that I have been to where it is just Garhwali and Hindi. In any case, these jobs are very lucrative which can be seen in the constructions of their homes. The composition of most of the Hindu villages around here are of the traditional (beautiful) stone homes with slate roofs. A sign of affluence in the village is the standard brick/cement monstrosities that predominate popular Indian architecture. With remittances flowing in, almost all of the homes were exactly of this boring ebb. There were maybe two traditional houses that I saw.

To exemplify this strangeness, take the case of Khadir. We meet Khadir actually in a traditional mountain house on the porch with his father, an elderly man completely in Muslim garb, kurta pajama, white cap, long beard, red checkered scarf. His father was smoking a probably fifty year old hookah, heated with wood coals, sitting on a haystack right next to his water buffalo in his courtyard. Pretty traditional, right? Khadir on the other hand, was was wearing Levis, a tight army shirt, gelled hair, and cologne so strong that we could smell him two houses away. The moment that the first word left his mouth ('man'), I knew that he had a lot of American friends. Every other word was 'man' or 'dude,' flavored with a 'know what I mean?' here and there. Khadir actually is a baker working for a Near East company, providing services to American troops in Iraq. Since he can't leave the army compound for the sake of not getting killed, he is dependent on the troops for friendship and has befriend many Americans, who gave him the new vocabulary, the new shirt, and presumably awkward, unbefitting strut that he tried to pull of. Khadir was great though, very kind and gentle. He was really impressed by the school and took us to many of the homes. By the last home that we visited, Khadir was actually doing all of the convincing to the families.

But we were able to recruit six students from this village. We picked up another two beautiful children from a family living slightly above Ghoghas. The exciting part of this recruitment is that us teachers had barely any part in it. One critique of the school has been that we do not have enough contact with the families of our students, which we couldn't deny a year ago. During the early years of our school, the parents really couldn't understand what we were trying to do and because of this, made them fearful. Many parents took out their children out of the school (enrollment was about 250 about four years ago, it is about 80 now). But since my arrival, we have been trying to make a concerted effort to bring in the parents to their child's education. We weren't sure how our parents have been perceiving our unique pedagogy, but through village visits recently, we have found that many families are quite pleased with our teaching methods and strong allies. Therefore, the have included the parents of our children into the recruitment process. We took four parents along with us to Ghoghas and they were amazing. They described the school, defended critiques, and ultimately persuaded parents to send the children. It was beautiful to see the turn around. It was also beautiful seeing these parents, all women, eloquently navigate the treacherous paths to the remote homes of perspective students. I have noticed that typically when an Indian woman leaves the house, even to do mundane things like shopping or traveling, she will look her best. These women were dressed in beautiful new saris and their finest jewelry, traversing rocky, steep, dense paths; paths that even my outdoorsy friends would wear hiking boots are at least shoes to travel on, these women were wearing flipflops. Amazing.

The content of the new students really pleases me as well. Right now we only have two or three Muslims in the school. Six of the new students are Muslim. Also the two Hindu children come from Harijan or untouchable background. Don't be fooled by the imposed name; all of the untouchables in our school are the cutest children and thus the most touchable. It was strange interaction, coming to that house. All of the people we were with were from higher castes than the father, so he would not offer of us chai, as for it would pollute the higher castes to receive chai from a Harijan. I was longing for a chai after the long hike; he could have at least offer the other Harijan, myself (those outside of the Hindu faith and do not have a caste are also untouchables) some chai. Actually, that is another terrible thing about India is that foreigners technically are untouchables, yet it has been my experience that I get unnecessarily exulted almost everywhere I go; people offer me chai, sweets, friendship, all sorts of things. But for many they will treat the untouchable down the street as if they were a feral dog.

This caste discrimination used to be apparent in our school, some of the students taken out of the school in the beginning because we allowed untouchables into our classrooms. But after four years of the intervention, caste has melted away. One day, I asked a friend about the caste of some children during recess. As he rattled them off I was surprised to see that almost for every Harijan that he pointed to was playing with a Brahmin, the highest caste. In terms of religion, the Hindu/Muslim divide isn't very big in our village. It is a problem in the cities where Muslims are treated like second class citizens and outwardly and inwardly discriminated against daily. But in the village it is a bit more relaxed, and it is so small that everyone kind of needs to get along to make it all work. Plus, in terms of economic status, the Muslims are on a higher rung than most Hindus with their foreign money. You couldn't even point out who is Muslim in our classrooms, they are fully integrated in our school.

Unfortunately, there is a group of students that haven't integrated as well. APV has received a growing number of Nepali children. Because of an open border with India, many Nepalis have settled in Tehri Garhwal, predominately picking up manual labor jobs. Many Aryan Indians in the mountains have met their growing presence with discrimination and xenophobia. For example, schoolteachers are notorious for beating the Nepali far more than other children. Our reputation for equality and non-violent classrooms has been a pull factor behind the influx of new Nepali students. Also, one of the APV teachers is Nepali herself, which is a large source of pride for the local Nepali community. But recently, two parents pulled their children from Kindergarten and third grade citing that the ‘Nepali students were corrupting their children.’ This is obviously an unfounded discriminatory rant. Their is one Nepali girl in the third grade, Sunita, who is probably the best mannered child in the school. If she were to say anything corrupting I would be shocked. As for KG, that is just absolutely preposterous; the children Pintu and Aju are so innocent and sweet. Furthermore, our teachers are responsible, if there was any 'corrupting' behavior, they would not let it continue. But even in the school, children tend to group along ethnic lines, there hasn't been the same integration between the children of different castes and religions. But the younger children seem to mingle a bit more freely, if we can set a precedence at younger ages of tolerance, hopefully it will build on itself. It takes time.

In any case, I am really grateful for our new recruits, I believe that they will be a great addition to our loving community.

catch up

2008-04-24T22:49:00.000-07:00

So here is my last two months in shorthand (in no specific order of importance):

- I lost two bulleted lists of the events that happened in the last two months that I wanted to share with you (and yet I endeavor on).

- A moth flew into my shirt while I was sleeping, providing me with what might be the most terrifying wake of my life.

- I wore shorts to bed WITHOUT socks, I made it through the winter, an achievement that I regularly pat myself on the back for.

- A film crew came to the school to shoot a documentary. Two days of non stop filming from 4am to 11pm, quite possibly the most exhausting days of my life.

Side Story Digression: On top of that my 'friend' from Jodhpur that I met two years ago during my internship with Rupayan Sansthan decided to give me my very first stab in the back by a friend. So I had asked for his help on the film not because I need his expertise (we were going to hire a camera, which in India comes with a camera man) or equipment (I have basic editing equipment on my computer), but because I wanted to spend time with him and his family when we were to edit the film. I thought that he was on the same page until the last day he told me that he wanted the copyrights to the raw footage that we shot. This opened up a pretty ugly fight between him and the ashram placing me firmly in the middle. I calmed things a bit by yelling at him, but he ending up taking the raw footage. Now I had spend the next couple weeks plotting about how I could get the film back and wonder why he would try to take advantage of my friendship and an ashram of selfless individuals.

- Friends Jimmy and Ben reaffirmed my trust in humankind by agreeing to help me edit the film in the US and giving me many nice letters.

- Spent 28 hours on a train from Haridwar to Jodhpur 5 of which was spent in standstill. For those have been to Rajasthan, the scenery gives about as much as if you were to stick a couple branches in your childhood sandbox. But I did see at least 100 beautiful peacocks which was nice. I also saw at least ten gazelle looking things and some wild donkeydeer hybrid things (I'm not much for nomenclature, I apologize). The beauty of Rajasthan truly lies in it's people, with the women's colorful dress and abundant jewelry, to the Rajputs with their large turbans and larger mustaches. It lightened my heart to see my favorite sight in India once again, the Rajput, dhoti and all, carrying milk jugs on his 50's style bicycle. Although the beauty of the mountains is breathtaking, nothing beats an old Rajput on milk duty.

- Spent way to long at my friends house editing. He seemed to care more about his projects than helping me with mine, so I eventually left without editing the film as we intended, but I finished a 7 minute trailer (which I hope to post soon on the website). The whole experience was frustrating, but at least I did get to spend some time with his mother who is an absolute sweetheart, and brush up on my Indian copyright laws.

- Next I went to Jaipur where I gave a presentation about the APV school and my experience in India to the study abroad program I did two years ago, at the Minnesotan Studies in International Development (MSID). Quite interesting that the quietest person in class was the only to come back to give a presentation to date, and no less about Hindi, when I had by far the worst Hindi in the group (my inability to pick up the local language was notorious amongst my peers in the program; they deemed me, quite offensively but nevertheless not without a grain of truth, the 'hindi tard.' jerks). But it went well, it was great to see my old teachers, and the current class seemed enthused about the class and wanted to help me show my film in the US.

- In Jaipur I got an email from a friend who I did the MSID program with and traveled together after the program. In Sarnath we attended a Tibetan Buddhist ceremony where the Karmapa, the second highest Lama in the Tibetan Buddhist tradition (after his holiest, the Dalai Lama) had blessed us and wrapped a red string around our neck. He said that when the string fell off it would signify that auspicious change would come into your life. Hers had just fallen off, which coincided with the possible entrance into a great Med school program after being rejected the first round. Maybe about an hour after responding to this letter, my string fell off while drying off from the shower.

- And what auspicious events followed the parting of my holy thread? No med school, just Delhi belly, depression, and a filthy bout of heat exhaustation. Maybe no one has gotten the message yet that my string is gone, or maybe my life's just been to good to get any better.

- So next Delhi, to run some errands and see my fellow fellow friend, who is also from the good ole Washington State, Naina. I also got an unexpected encounter with a past MSID friend, Carissa, who I hadn't seen, well, exactly since the day I received my acceptance letter from AIF. She just happened to be in Delhi the same time as I, getting a work visa in Thailand. It was very excellent to see both.

But, that aside...

- I got screwed by the rickshaw walas, subji walas, the post wala, for every wala there is, chances are I got screwed by them. Added to this continuous chain of screwage was the intense heat of Delhi that I was running around in.

- The only solace that I found in Delhi was at Rodeo's, my favorite bar in the world. It the only place (or at least that I know of) in India where you can get a pitcher of beer served to you by a Indian in complete country/western gear, including red hankerchief ascot, polished boots, and lean black cowboy hat, WHILE sitting on a horse saddle barstool. I have become a bit famous there for my Hindi and since I stop there whenever I am in town I know most all of the bartenders, a few which are from Uttarakhand.

- But no amount of rodeo's can hide oneself from the muck that is the plains. Promptly after leaving Rodeo's, Naina's purse got stolen by two goons on a motorcycle. Ugg.

- And then I got heat exhaustion, spending the night moaning with a headache and body cramps. Apparently, you need to drink a lot of water in the heat when you are walking around, who knew? My temperate Himalaya abode requires very minimal water intake, and the water intaken is not like the yellowish brown sludge that is filled with critters with an itchin to make your stomach explore, nor like the kind that comes in a bottle and costs about a third of an average Indians daily salary.

But I had to move on a get back to the ashram, 55,390,200 kilometers away from India or the cruel, cruel world for that matter, so I pressed on to catch a bus back. What I didn't anticipate was that it is peak season for holy pilgrimage to the bevy of temples in my state, so all of the buses where packed. This roughly translates into smashing yourself into a seat with two other very sweaty people, and having an pot bellied, even sweatier Indian man's pelvis on your shoulder the whole 9 hour journey. Luckily, I had some entertainment, I read the news that was filled with rapes, about how a rape victim had been beaten to near death by the family of the accused raper, about how a family killed their daughter over an affair she had with a low caste man, etc. (My God!) Too much, I had to go to my book. What is that about? A true account of a motherless child who shifted out of an abusive relationship with her father into an abusive relationship with her new husband at the age of 13, also the year she became pregnant with her first child, while she too was a child (although depressing, it gives an amazing subaltern account of courage and strength amongst the many obstacle in place for India's impoverished females. It offers with great articulation and clarity a voice that unfortunately is left unheard, or articulated for. If you get a chance you should hunt down a copy, A Life Less Ordinary by Baby Halder). I thought of all of the 13 year old girls in our school and how with a twist of fate could be married with children and about cried. All of this with a sweaty dudes pelvis on my shoulder, belly on my ear, and a case of heat exhaustion. More or less, I wanted to die.

But as I approached home, I saw one of my favorite kids, Swati, coming down the other direction in a car, When she shot me a big smile on her face after seeing me all of the shit in the world that had acquired in me the past two weeks just melted off. When I finally got to the ashram and met with everybody, then promptly passed out for two days, waking up to the laughter of my fellow ashram mates in the morning, the playful chirps of the darting swallows, and the smell of the freshly blossomed roses and cherry blossoms. Pure heaven, my friends.

Call me an escapist, call me what you want, but nothing is going to get me to go back to the plains in the next three months only out of extreme necessity.

I like it here just fine.

And I am going to miss it terribly when I am gone.

Seeds of Change

2008-03-13T03:20:00.001-07:00

So I believe I have written a blog about the dismal conditions of government schools: teacher's absenteeism and apathy, rampant beatings, rote memorization, low achievement levels, high dropout rates, etc. Our school have been working on an intervention with 28 government schools in Uttarkhand, providing trainings and materials in hope to significantly change the current educational order. Upon our initial survey of the schools, I must admit I wasn't very hopeful.

But I just got back from a week of surveying participating schools and was shocked to discover that a lot of what we introduced in the training has been applied in these schools. There were about two schools that did absolutely nothing and threw a fistful of excuses at us as to why they couldn't implement the program, which revolved around not being able to introduce anything new into the curriculum because they were already overburdened. This is pretty absurd considering that all the methods we introduced were meant to be complimentary to the existing government curriculum. But the rest of the schools showed dramatic change. At almost all of the schools, the children meditate regularly. These are government schools! This is truly amazing. The teachers were all accolades about meditation, they said that it was useful to calm the children, and by products included heightened concentration and ability to pick up new concepts easier. In many of the schools the teachers meditated with the students, just the symbolic act of a teacher sitting on even ground with her children is an amazing change from the oppressive school atmosphere we noticed before.

Also, it was quite touching to hear the children singing quite beautifully the APV songs in their school. Music is a very important piece to our pedagogy, we have about 35 songs or so and we taught about ten to the school children that came to our training. The children had memorizes many of these songs and sing them daily in school. We visited one school after school hours had concluded. The kids gathered with some of their friends to show off their skills to the APV team and gawk at the whitey. But when they began to sing for us, I was shocked to see that the children's friends, not enrolled at the school, had also memorized APV songs. This demonstrates that the children are sharing with their communities the APV pedagogy and perhaps that our intervention is having a farer reaching effect than we had initially planned.

To further this point, two teachers that participated in the program have become so passionate about it that they have set out on their own initiative to teach our pedagogy to neighboring schools. This is an amazing indicator that teachers would take time out of their schedule to spread our ideas because they feel so strongly for our methods of teaching and how it has brought about changes in their school.

Another important observation is the change in the learning atmosphere. The children and teachers seemed much more at ease with one another. In schools where previously we saw very timid, quiet children in front of their teachers, now were joking, laughing, asking questions with their teachers.

Finally, the substantive concepts that we introduced at the training, the math concepts have been covered in class, those children that attended our training have been teaching other children. For the most part the teachers have found our methods and materials extremely helpful

Hopefully this moment can be sustained. We have the government on our side which is very strange considering the uniqueness of our project. The highest educational government official, Pandey ji, is fully on board and told us that he wanted to make sure that our pedagogy is used to guide the direction that primary education in Uttarakhand. I am also working on a proposal with Plan International to expand our project under their new 'Learn Without Fear' campaign, which would enable us to touch schools all over India. Pretty exciting prospects, perhaps we are seeing the seeds to the children's revolution that my mentor has envisioned for so long.

Stars and Yars

2008-03-13T03:18:00.000-07:00

Last night, while walking back to my room after night meditation, I became completely consumed by the sky. I couldn't make it to my room, my steps slowed gradually to a stand still, then I just stood there and gawked for about a half hour. You think that after seven months here I would become immune to the immense beauty in these parts, but not true. The new moon and power outage sucked away any possible light, leaving a cluttered fabric of stars, I would like to think all of the stars, sick of trying to shine over an overlit earth, all decided to move to this space of utter darkness to reward those in the rurals that can truly enjoy their splendor. And enjoy, I did.

My renewed beauty stupor probably has something to do with the influx of friends visiting. With every friend that comes, I get a new fresh set of eyes to reevaluate my surroundings, the extraordinary that became too ordinary when your day is spent doing ordinary things (the mountains lose their luster when I am handwashing my t shirts). My most recent visitor, Luther (or Slam Sahib 'Sir Slam' as we call him on the basketball court), probably had his hand in this star incident. He played papa with me one night and taught me all about the constellations. Actually, he taught me a lot of things, but constellations was about the only subject that didn't punch me in the face intellectually. He is a pretty smart kid, studying Sanskrit at Berkeley, so other conversations were about obscure 8th century Buddhist sects that he discovered while reading about them in original sanskrit literature, nerd. Luckily, he really isn't too bookish or really that anti social/nerdy/or just flat out strange as others in the Sanskrit field, thank god. Pretty interesting that luther fella, it was great to have him here.

Slam was here to experience Shivratri, an important Hindu holiday that I know nothing about. All I do know is that people fast all day, so I decided to join in on the self inflicted starvation for Shiva with the rest. My family is not really of the Lent persuasion, so I have never performed a fast before. And I must admit that it wasn't too hard for me, I really didn't feel too hungry. Perhaps it was because I remained busy all day. Luther and I decided to try to find an ancient Shiva temple located a couple miles below the ashram. But in the market, we got intercepted by a couple of my favorite children in the school, Heena and Shubam, who begged us to come to their house. I had been to their house previously and really loved the visit. They live in a very traditional stone house with slate roof, with a front yard of three water buffalo (quite possibly the chubbiest animal in the world and thus my favorite) and terraced fields, at this point of the year, filled with the small yellow flowers of the mustard crop. As an added benefit, they have this precious little 5 year old sister, Diya, who looks like a monkey and I love to play with. So we spent a couple hours playing cricket and drinking chai. We also ran into some more kids from the school, my other favorite family, the Balodis, at the village's small Shiva temple, where we played with more kids. After that we went to their house for more play and more chai, Preethi painted a mountain on my hand with henna, that looked more like a zen painting of shunya.

Unfortunately, no ancient temple found, but we did get climbed on by a lot of kiddus and receive quite a bit of chai and fruit in prasad, which one can eat while they are fasting and probably kept me from fainting. But I think my favorite experiences have been interacting with the children in their families out in the village. I live a pretty sheltered life in the ashram, and rarely get away from my room/school/dining room/meditation room routine, so it is always great to see how the children live outside of the school environment.

Chad's a'teachin

2008-03-03T04:04:00.000-08:00

So it has recently occurred to me that I spend too much time on my computer doing the promotional, administrative thing, advocating for the school but not participating with the school much outside of the daily asssemblies and playing with the kids during recess. It also has occurred to me that I only have about four more months here, and to think that I will not be able to spend everyday with these children five months from now tears me apart.

So I have decided to take a more active role in their education, trying to utilize the holistic, challenging pedagogy of the school. I was inspired recently in reading an excellent book by Amartya Sen, Identity and Violence to make a lesson plan. Sen posited that recent academic thinking in regards to economics and politics has been surprisingly reductive, relying on the categorization of countries and their people's actions and decision making by overarching, stereotypical cultural norms, most commonly of the popular religion. This approach enumerates the differences between communities and puts in place large barriers in cooperation that we collectively cannot seem to surmount. But this frame of mind, views the individual and community as belonging to only one identity category, typically along religious lines (e.g. the muslim world). But this is highly flawed and is dangerous when used to shaped domestic and foreign policy, which increasingly is the case. As a result, we can clearly see that the currency in such policies in our recent history have contributed to a rise in violent factionalism and communalism in the last century, especially in the Indian context, the partition violence of 1947, Anti Sikh Riots of 1984, Bombay Riot in 1992, the Gujarat Muslim pogroms of 2002, which continues to this day with Gujarati CM Modi's dangerous rule and rhetoric.

This view denies, inherently, that every individual is made up of a complex multiplicity of identities that interact with one another. While one might ascribe to a religious tradition, that tradition in itself does not make up the totality of their existence, and while that tradition may influence and shape their decision making process, it is not entirely responsible for their every decision. If one critically thinks about who they are they will find a vast array of connections, communities, interests, etc. which can be quite contradictory to their stereotypes. For instance, I am an American who lives in India, a Christian by birth who no longer practices and is interested in the religious traditions of India, a heterosexual male who is also a feminist and a proponent of gay rights. And our varieties of identities also vary in importance contextually as we interact with others in the world. For instance, one's identity as a music enthusiast may be more important than one's national identity when at a record store, concert, or in discussions with other enthusiasts. While one is applying for a visa, the importance of one's national identity most likely would supersede music enthusiasm. But in no way are these two identities entirely exclusive: one's taste in music is regionally linked to other's musical taste and a person can take great pride in their own national identity because of the nation's musical heritage.

So I set out with my very limited Hindi skills to illustrate this fairly complex idea to the sixth grade class with a lesson plan called मैं कौन हूँ? (Who am I?). The first day, we had a brainstorm about the composition of our identities and we all made lists of about forty identities that we have ranging from familial relations and friendships, to religious, educational and political affilliations, future ambitions, character traits, passions, physical distinctions, etc. We all then made Who am I? Charts, writing all of our identities in Hindi and English and drawing a picture to represent each indentity on a large piece of paper.

The next day each child presented their identity chart and we made a group list of identities. The children were then to stand in a large circle while the teacher and I called out the identities. Those that ascribe to the identity would come to the middle of the circle and join hands. In this exercise, the children were able to see their similarities and differences with classmates that they might have been unaware of in the past. We then sat in this circle and I offered the question, 'Say that someone came from a distant country and wanted to know who you are, but they wanted a simple answer, just one trait from your identity chart, what would you say?' What happened next was quite beautiful. One child began with human being, yes, we are all human beings it is what separates us from all else in the world. Then we asked, but what about the differences between humans? Then another student piped in, oh yes, our Indian identity is by far the most important. Then organically the children started questioning each other. But South Indians live much different lives than those in the north. But I our lives are much more different than that of those living the northern plains, Uttarakhandi, that is most important. But Uttarakhand contains a loose ethnical split between Garhwali region and Kumoan, So Garhwali. Yeah, but there is quite a difference in between people living in different districts, so Tehri Garhwal district. But what about our villages. Oh, yes villages are most important. But then what about our families? That is the most important yes. Not until a half hour of discussion did we introduce religion, which then left the kids puzzled. They concluded completely on their own that it was impossible to view themselves as just one identity. It was quite an amazing experience for myself to see them work out this difficult question on their own and come to a conclusion without directly telling them it.

The next day we took the exercise a step further. The Partition of India and Pakistan in 1947 to date has been the bloodiest single incident in the subcontinent's recent history. During this period, millions of Sikhs and Hindus migrated to India, while millions of Muslims went the other direction into newly carved out country of Pakistan. This dramatic flow of people, coupled with communal angers that spurred on the division, sparked unprecedented violence taking the lives of an estimated 500,000 to over a million people. I brought in the identity charts of three fictitious people who had been murdered during partition; a Sikh, Muslim, and Hindu. LIke many people living in pre-Partition India, they had many similarities, vocations, interests, ethnicity, language, familial relationship and frienships, etc. The only thing that separated them, and ultimately cost them their lives, were their religious affliation. I presented these charts to the children and they read out all of identities of each of the individuals and concluded that they had much in common and how it was unfair that the a person could be killed by one identity when they have so many important other identities. I then presented a two more Who Am I? Charts for two boys in the US. I remembered a story that I learned in class about an African American child from the North went to visit his cousin in a small town in the south during the summer break, I believe in Alabama. He said hello to a woman coming out of a store, a common practice presumably in the North at that time, but not in the South. Within a week he had been lynched by a hate group. I made an identity chart for him as well as from a white boy of his same age in the same community. I have found that working with boys in India that it is clear that boys all around the world share similar interests and I think one wouldn't be hard pressed to have find a white boy with very similar interests as the boy who was lynched. I then asked if this white boy would have said hello to the women, what would have happened?, and if they had so much in common then why was he killed? I then asked them to write a couple page paper about their feelings about the lesson and what they had learned. Pretty heavy stuff to lay on sixth graders but they really seemed to be engaged, thinking pretty critically and through their writings and presentation during assembly, I feel confident that they understood what the lesson was about and had reflected upon it.

Recently I have switched to lighter topics. I have been teaching English through basketball (we have a sparsely used basketball hoop, a situation I am trying to change), where I have also gotten to introduce to the children the joys of wall sits. Also I am working with kids on writing simple songs in English. I am currently in the process of teaching the second and third graders a song about animals that dance. I am very proud of my line about elephants, 'I cannot wear pants but I can dance.' Unadulterated brilliance.

But the more time I spend with the children the more impressed I am with their spirit, intellect, and wit. It is really going to be hard to leave this place.

A 100 pound sack of flour, donkey plop, cow urine, sore wrists, and stinging nettles.

2008-02-11T22:24:00.002-08:00

So it's been a while since I have used this space to tell a story, well I guess it has been a while since I've used it at all. Hopefully the following story will give you a portal into my sometimes very strange life:

Every month we have to earn our coming meals by carrying up our full month's supply of food up the hill to our kitchen. Doesn't sound too bad perhaps but realize at the minimum, there are 16 people in our ashram, so times two rather large meals a day times 30 days times 16 people, it equals a very sore back. The bags of food range from 20 kilos to sixty (for reference, I weigh 75 kilos).

To add to the fun, our ashram is located on top of one of the steepest parts of the trail on our side of the month, a path cobbled by awkward jagged rocks. Once you pass this treacherous terrain, then you must walk up a series of steps that are basically flat stones built into the walls. These wall stairs look harmless, idyllic maybe, but with a hundred pound sack of rice on your back, not the case. One memorable experience, the first time around, I fell with a sixty pound bag of potatoes on my head, much to the delight of the three laughing girls behind me. Oh the other thing is nettles love to grow on these walls as well, adding another factor of fun. Many a time I have fallen off these walls carrying something to find my load spread across the field and two very itchy legs.

So I was trying to explain this to friend, Ben as we walked down the hill to gather our rations, a lesson I had planned in my head to explain how not to fall on the treacherous path. After about the time I finished explaining to him the subject of the forthcoming lecture, I found myself disoriented laying on the path, sore knees and wrists, on a pile of donkey plop. So, in probably one of the most ironic moments of my life, I had caught my foot on a stray rock, sending my body airborne on a very steep part of the hill (you could probably imagine my body being perfectly horizontal), to fall onto the rock path below...all the while, explaining to a friend how not to fall. And just to my luck, donkeys were carrying dry cement up the hill (lucky are those who have the horses do their dirty carrying work) leaving a feces trail behind them. I happened to fall atop their plop. Luckily, if one can adequately apply this word properly in regards to falling in donkey shit, it was old and dry. I guess it could have been worse, smelly and demoralized is much better than the itchiness and uncomfortableness that would have occurred if the feces were nettles, or gasp, feces on top of nettles.

Now think of what a caring friend would do if you were walking aside your bud during this horrendous event. Offer you help and support? Help him up and brush him off? Perhaps even offer to wash his sweatshirt while his swollen wrists heal. All very probably responses to a dear friend.

What do you do if you are a friend named Benjamin? Such a good friend, once perceived, that someone would lovely alter this name to Friendjamin. Well of course you would fall to the ground in hysterics. Yup. Jerk.

But it is fine, I brushed the donkey shitdust off my shirt and hobbled onwards, two swollen wrists and knees in tow. So the body is injured, but I am no sissy, and it makes no sense to give up on the task at hand with some scratches. Not to mention the fact that the women and children carry here in the mountains carrying similiar heavy loads daily, and they don't have the choice to give up. If they give up, then their families don't eat, their cattle go hungry, their family shivers through the night. I live in a much more cushy situation, so what is a little extra pain here and there, perhaps it would make me a stronger person.

Ben and I reach the rations room, the only thing left is about 120 kilos of atta, the flour we use for chapatis. The man I am, trying not to show my weakness, decided to take a probably 60 kilos sack (again I weigh 75 kilos), sling it over the old shoulder, and hobble, more cautiously, up the hill. Pretty soon, I realized my weakness as I huff, puff, waddle, waggle, drag, drudge, trudge, juggle, stagger about half way up the path, then collapse on a wall, with two very sore shoulders, two very swollen wrists, and one very broken ego. But not as broken as it could be.

Sir ji, my mentor who probably weighs 55 to 60 pounds, roughly less than the sack; a very small, ascetic, seemingly meek man, saw my situation and asked if he could assist me. I thought about it a bit, said no a couple times, but then, looking up at the rest of Treachopath, I agreed. Then I looked down from Treachopath at my very small mentor, then over to my heavy bag, and immediately regretted the decision. The offer was obviously an sympathetic gesture by an extremely nice man, with probably no idea that the recipient would allow him to share in on the torture. Upon the realization of what I had just said,I tried to grab the bag but he intercepted me, damn it, and in true Indian fashion, he sacrificed his comfort for mine, slugging the bag up the hill. I only let him take it up a quarter more of the way.

But in this process, he let me in on a little pahari secret: The middle space between the shoulder blades makes an excellent resting place for ridiculously heavy bags while navigating uphill paths, and effortlessly stabilizes the carrier's weight. Much better than the haphazard, sling it to one shoulder until the pain is unbearable, now sling it to the other, repeat, repeat, repeat, collapse. With this insight I was able to make it up the rest of the path surprisingly with ease. But the damage had been done, not just because of my body, but because I had revealed the secret; I was injured. The doctor went to work.

Now Sir ji has two treatments: stinging nettles and piss. If one shows internal symptoms, the former is to be slapped for an unnecessarily long period of time on the affected area by a conspicuously smiling Sir ji, the latter is to be discreetly rubbed on the affected area after production. If the problem is external then one is spared from the former, and the latter is to be taken orally (you read that right, one should drink their own piss). If the problem is acute or in advanced stages, replace one's self production with that of a sacred cow's, urine purified by processes way outside my cultural experience. But the substitution of animal urine for one's own raises interesting questions about the morality of methodology, or at least levels of disgustingness or of which one will induce vomit more rapidly.

Until this point Sir ji's remedies have remain merely a comical occurrence, something that I never immediately had to deal with, but could watch as other's squirmed in accordance to the above prescription. Sir ji is the resident doctor and his office hours tend to be either before or after meditation. Therefore I am privy to the ailments of my fellow ashram mates and have grown quite accustom to the Sir ji treatment:

"Hmmm... you have a gashing wound, It's become infected... Urine, it looks pretty bad, better take it from a cow. After the urine is dried, I slap you with some nettles."

"Hmmm... Sore throat, bout a week now... here stand still, nope can't get any nettles down there, better gargle some cows urine."

"Hmmm... tennis elbow, eh..."

Well I guess you probably get the point by now.

So I always secretly laugh in my head when anybody asks for remedies, telling myself, 'Is it going to be nettles or piss' then I admire my incisive wit. I duck the coming wave of piss/nettles whenever I am sick or injured by simply not complaining to anybody, something very difficult for me, given my proclivity to complain about anything to any ear available. But one must adapt in new dangerous environments.

But Sir ji knew what's up; he could see the limping, he could see the pain in my eyes, and I knew I could no longer duck it any longer. I would have to cross my fingers, pray not for piss and throw my piss/nettles dice into the piss/nettle crapshoot, hoping for the best.
'What happened Chad?'

'I fell. But it's not bad.' I added at the last minute, hoping to maybe influence the decision towards my prickly foe, over my salty one.

'Hmmm... swollen wrists. I'll slap some nettles on it.'

Pheew. Crisis averted, I could go to sleep to night without a tangy aftertaste in my mouth. After a quick meal I retired to my room and collapsed under my covers. Once my body was at rest the pain all over my body began to swell and I discovered the complexity in which I fell, unveiling areas of pain which I didn't previous think was possible. There was no way I was getting up for some time and passed out for twelve hours, missing that evening's and morning's meditation.
The next morning after our meal, I went upstairs to used the computer for some emails. The door was open to the outside and I could see Sir ji pacing back and forth outside. I knew he had one thing on this mind. Damn. I thought he had possibly forgotten. He finally peaked his head in the door, shoving a fistful of nettles into the room, with a big grin on his face.

'Time for nettles?'

'Not yet, I am typing emails and I think adding more puff to an already puffen hand might make the task very difficult.'

'Very well, let me know when you are done.'

Damn. But at least I had bought myself some time, our computer is ridiculously slow, it takes on average about an hour or hour and a half to send a email some days. Or like this day, you sit in the cold room for two hours and the phone keeps booting you off so you get nothing done.
But when the power finally went out, no more excuses, I had had to face my pending itchy hand. I summoned Sir ji and he came nettles in hand. I stuck out my arm, lifted up my sleeve, turned my head, closed my eyes and starting wincing. Sir ji slapped the nettles against my wound for about two minutes. It hurt, but surprisingly the pain subsided shortly thereafter. Some mildly itchy lumps remained on my wrists but nothing too serious.

Also, surprisingly after a couple hours, the swelling in my hand went away and my wrist was much more mobile than before. Had it worked? I think maybe so. Now don't go scouring the forest in search of nettles to slap on your chap lips just yet. I asked the resident med student in the fellowship program, Miss Vaani, about the Sir ji nettle treatment. The response I got was more or less a dubious look and a shoulder shrugged 'eeehhhh.' Maybe the power of a nettle slap is beyond the scope of western medicine. We might have to do a series of tests on this.
But in the mean time, I am going to use the nettle treatment when need be. I'll keep you posted on the efficacy of nettles on which region.

All also let you know...gulp...about the piss treatment if things get really bad.

Ben Left...

2008-02-11T22:24:00.000-08:00

Ben left the other day.

I can already tell that he left a mark.

His departure marked several very touching scenes. His last assembly, we played the song that Ben and I had written one last time for the kids. After this the assembly was over, Sir ji asked the children if they had anything to ask or say to Ben. Everyone stood uncomfortably for a while, obviously not wanting the moment to end, having to say goodbye to their new giant blonde friend. Some awkward silence was broken by the gossipy whisper of the eighth grade girls. They asked Ben to sing him a song which made sense. Ben had song his own songs with guitar in many of our assemblies and without fail, the three gossipy 8th grade girl had been sitting at his side looking at him adoringly with those dreamboat googly eyes. Ben is one of the few singer/songwriter with a 8th grade village Indian girl fan club.

But on the fly, he played a song that he wrote about leaving when he left washington some six months ago. He prefaced the song by saying that leaving the ashram had brought about many similar emotions that he faced upon his first departure, how the ashram community had adopted him into the family and how close he became with the children made it difficult to leave, but nevertheless he had to go. The trip would be bittersweet, but to a much different tone than the departure from the states, swapping the comfort of that life for excitement of the unknown. Now he was swapping the comfort of the ashram to the comfort of his home, which apparently can overweigh a Himalayan paradise. But one can easily see why, a month of drinking nescafe and the absence of microbrew is torture for the Seattleite, or probably more likely a loving family, an excellent girlfriend, and bucketful of close friends can draw one away from social work with amazing children on a meditative spiritual path. Wait a minute, Ben is totally selfish, what a jerk.

I kid, I kid.

But after the song ended you could tell it affected the children, they didn't want him to go but couldn't think of anything to say to keep the assembly going. After a couple minutes of silence, sir ji said, 'chalo' and the kiddus sadly scampered off.

After his last meditation, Sir ji ended the session early, apparently so we could have an hour long affirmation session about how great Ben is. We went around the room saying how great Ben was, how he was the perfect fit for the ashram, how much we would miss him. Ben must have left that session pretty high, I bet.

In the morning he was presented with gifts, a shawl from the ashram and even more important, a package of pictures and fond wishes from the third and sixth grade. Highlights from the third grade was probably that everyone spelled his name wrong, calling him Ven sir and the picture that they drew of him on the back of the card which was a dead on rendition of a digital surfdude sasquatch. Those kooks.

After some hugging everyone in the ashram (which was amusing for me to watch, seeing the girls akwardly squirm through their hugs. Apparently hugging giant unshaven blonde foreign men, let alone Indian men, isn't woven into the fabric of mountain village life), we took off to wait for the bus. I decided to go down with Ben to Dehradun to run some errands and see him off.
While we were drinking some chai waiting for the bus by the side of the road, one of the KG saw Ben and immediately started dancing, doing the sprinkler. Ben taught the kids that dance in one of our dance classes with the younger kids. Way more satisfying than a mere wave, and the kid would not stop dancing, even when his father, who was walking with him was shaking his finger at him. Ohhh...precious moments.

I exited the train after making sure that Ben had found his seat. Despite it being around six in the morning, when we got on the train, the platform was bustling with activity, but when I left, I found it barren. The only things I could see is the dimly lit vendors idly looking off to the distance, and what I assumed to be a tearful lover trying to hold on to her husband before he took off to the moving train. Not the best situation to be alone for essentially the first time in a month (Ben had more or less been attached to my hip in the ashram). And then his damn song about leaving, the very one he sang at assembly, crept into my head as I walked down the dark streets to find the vikram that would take me back to the hostel. For me his departure was also bitter sweet; I loved having Ben around, our days tended to be one long joke interspersed with some creative motivation to work on our respective projects and playing with children. But I also can be a very private person who enjoys his own space, space that has been inhabited by Ben for the last month, so I looked forward to returning to that form and being a bit more productive in terms of the projects asked of me.

But as I write this during my supersecret productive time between five and seven in the morning, it is kind of sad to not to be able to share this with Ben. During this time after meditation, Ben would stay up with me and work on his personal projects. While I get a much bigger share of the terrible Nescafe coffee pot, I can no longer look over to the left of my desk, just over the space heater, to see Ben sitting upright covered completely head to toe by his sleeping bag and array of blankets stacked upon his lap, book or pen in hand, working away to the candlelight emanating from bedstand beside him.

But Ben's legacy lives on, and I don't see it fading away anytime soon. Everyday, I find a kid singing, 'and you and you and you' the chorus he wrote to the song. Mohan still makes the perfect impersonation of Ben's apparent surfer Hindi accent, 'tum kar rahe ho?' Ben's favorite phrase. The ashram girls still ask me when he is coming back, Sir ji is still slinging him compliments.

It is amazing how much a person can have an impact on the right community in such a short stay. But it isn't to surprising that Ben himself made the impact on this community. He made a great fit, his creativity, love for children, outgoing personality, communication skills. His personality, as well as his contributions to the music and input towards the documentary I am making about the ashram will long outlive his stay.

A hot ashram minute...

2008-01-27T21:39:00.001-08:00

Here is catch up of what the last couple weeks in the ashram has been like. I am adopting a form of writing from friend Benjamin (or Friendjamin), calls memory logging, which is bulleting points that you want to remember without excessive ellaboration. Here it goes:

0. Came home to bitter cold, much more bitter than before we left. The other day it was -6 degrees. It actually snowed a little bit the other day and I joined the kids in catching snowflakes on my tongue.
0. My friends Rose and Ben, have really taken to the Ashram. I had rarely seen Rose who spent most of her time with the teachers and children. When she left she that she really wanted to come back and enjoyed her experience.
0. Two of the teachers left! Without even a goodbye. Minnie went back to Kerala, which is a shame. Also, Sanjay left for good, I think he was getting some pressure from his friends and family to leave. In an extremely patriarchal area like the Indian countryside, men are only men if they have good jobs and a family, which isn't the life one leads while teaching in an ashram school and meditating most of the day. We all loved the guy, but it was apparent that his heart wasn't completely into it.
0. But Sanjay sister, Sangeeta, who is teacher and probably the cutest thing on earth, has stayed, thank god. We taught her a call and response line from a rap song from Plastic Little: B and C: "yo sangeeta, what time you think it is.' S: 'I think it is rap o'clock.' B and C: 'rap o'clock on the dot.' Oh, the precious moments that we cherish.
0. Sanya, on of our beautiful dogs got eaten by a leopard! Actually the day I left, there was a lot of blood on the playground, but we usually lock up our dogs at night, so I thought she might of been spared. I really loved that dog and almost cried when I heard the children devoid of any emotion, say, 'oh yeah, sanya got eaten.' This is especially sad, because undoubtedly she was pregnant having gone through her first season in heat. I think we all earned playing with those puppies from having to endure all of the gross feral dogs milling around moaning hysterically for that terrible terrible month. But we miss you Sanya, rest in peace. (note: we still have her hyper happy brother Lara to keep us company)
0. To add to the danger, Shanti didi told me that five goats in the village directly under the ashram were eaten by tigers! I am pretty sure that there are no tigers in the mountains, but the is an ongoing debate in the ashram about the differences between the leopard that ate sanya and the tiger that ate the goats. In all honesty, I think tiger means bigger leopard. But lots of things are getting eaten these days, I am trying my best not to be one of them.
0. Oh and another indicator of the daily danger that I live in: I got hit by lightening the other day...I think. There was this beautiful thunder/lightening storm where these clouds descended over the mountains covering us and turning the sky this bright yellow. Then the clouds started to sour, bringing forth some of the most brilliant lightening and most powerful thunder that I have ever experienced. Ben and I were sitting in my room chatting and listening to the thunder when we saw a flash of light with a crackle of thunder simultaneously. My body seized up, leaving a nasty headache and we lost power. We immediately and inexplicably burst into hysterics, then went to the roof to watch the carnage. It was pretty neat.
0. All of the girls in the ashram are making hats, meaning ben and I will be the recipients of at least 6 hats each. There have been weird politics around the hats and who makes it. I wish I could get inside the gaggle of giggling girls heads, but it appears that if a girl has a crush on the boy than they will make them a hat. This terrifies ben and I, so we have devised a schedule where we will wear each of the hats only once a week as to not lead anybody on.
0. Ben and I have introduced basketball to the kids, there had been a hoop in the back of school that no one used, but we urged them to move it onto the concrete patch in the front of the school. There had been a basketball explosion it is all that the kids wanted to do. They played so much that within the week, the basketball hoop had fallen off the backboard. And some of these kids have such amazing textbook shooting form without any instruction it is quite amazing. As an added benefit, the basketball court provides a forum for our extreme packing of kids shots and basketball domination, which in turn makes us feel more like men.
0. One goal of mine has been that by the time I leave, I better be able to make chapatis (north indian flat bread, essentially their fork) like a 75 year old grandma. I am well on my way, I can now roll the perfect chapati. The problem now is making the chapatis puff in our wood stove, my mostly burn instead of puff, but I got five more months to hone my craft. Ben has become chapati ball rolling king.
0. I discovered that there is a baker in town! He is a really kind man and his biscuits are amazing. I wish that I couldn't say that I have eaten a whole bag of those delicious morsels in one sitting, but if I did it would be a filthy lie. We also asked him to make a chocolate cake for the other fellow megan's birthday, and the results were much more than we expected. The cake was actually much better than most of the cakes that I have had in the US. The bakery has become a necessary stop whenever I go back to town.

The mentioning of Ben transcends bulleting lists. Ben is in the middle of his month stay and it has been great. At the request of my mentor, he has brought some great recording equipment which we will be using to recording the children's songs for a cd project that we are working on. He has been at working on trying to familiarize the teachers with the equipment recently. Ben has also brought his creativity, song writing abilities, and positive attitude which has been greatly appreciated. Ben has been writing songs for the kids that are mindwarpingly catchy, and immediately are adored by the children. For a recent program that we put on for the children's parents, the kids sang his song and created a dance for it. Equally adored is ben, the man, by the children, they affectionately call him Edge ji after their favorite WWE wrestler. Also Tall boy + blonde hair+ sense of humor +musician = heart throb for Indian women. I think the girls in the ashram have internalized this formula, elevating ben to dreamboat status.

Having a good friend like ben around has been really great for me personally. His creativity is contagious and he definitely brings out a good side of me and the comfort of having a good friend around reflects on my other relationships in the ashram. Although this is not to say that there was a distance between me and the others in the ashram and the children previously, To a certain extent, I feel like I develop friendships dependent of the person I am interacting with, and from the lens of these various friendships I might appear slightly different. Obviously, in developing relationships with the Indians I have encountered a few boundaries due to language and differences of cultural experience, but nevertheless, I feel very close to them. But having Ben around, I feel like I have been able to act a bit more like good old friends know me as, more of what I perceived myself as, more relaxed and a bit more humorous, which I feel that I haven't been able to adequately convey. I feel that having ben around has definitely help to deepen my relationships with those in the ashram as well with the children.

Anyways its good to be back.

Tamil Nadu

2008-01-27T21:39:00.000-08:00

Tamil Nadu:

Here I am, back in the ashram. Once again getting used to the brainsmashingly slow dial up after a month of broadband bliss while traveling (it will probably take at least an hour to post this blog, this shows not only the reason why I haven't been in contact lately and also my dedication against all adversity to blog).

So recap of remainder of my brush with the south. After Kerala, Rose, Christoph, and I headed for Pondicherry, a charming colonial town that was occupied by the French until the 1950's I believe. It was a strange place. The beachfront part of town was on a grid system, there was no traffic, the streets were clean, virtually no poverty, all of the signs were in French. The town was a tempting stop for a young man who has been living a semi ascetic life for the last five months: the french residue made for fairly cheap wine, good baguettes, espresso and cigarettes, all too widely available. We rented a beautiful room with a balcony looking over the Bay of Bengal and lived like we thought a French would (with very limited knowledge of French culture albeit), by indulging in the above four vices while listening to Serge Gainsbourg on my Ipod speakers and reading Michel Foucalt. It was splendid.

We rented some scooters to cruise around the mild streets, see some beaches, and maybe to go check out Auroville, the local wierd French/Indian Hippie fusion Ashram hotspot. We soon found out that the streets weren't so mild when you got out of the grid: we were battling huge cargo trucks, aggressive motorers, dodged cows and water buffalo, the standard Indian road fare. But we did manage to find the Auroville beach which was kind of a trip. First of all the beach was by invite only, which was kind of suspicious seeing that the white foreigners including ourselves could just simply scoot on in, while the upper middle class Indian family in a jeep behind us were shooed away. The beach also seemed to be a small cluster of homes for the aurovillians and a cafe, which was amazing. I picked up a delicious humus sandwich on organic wheat bread and drank drip o-sweet-mother-of-god coffee and watched the too cool for school Indian/French Aurovillians milling about. And what is a hippie ashram without your standard naked children running around causing trouble, products of a hands off parenting style? No ashram in my book. That is why is was validating seeing these two naked, golden locked children running around the cafe knocking down sandcastles, splashing water on everyone, and causing general mayhem. With bellies filled with good food and coffee, we strolled to the beach which was quite fantastic. I decided roast my skin a bit, seeing that basically no part of my body has seen the light of day since the cold hit the mountains three months ago. I don't think the south korean tourist to the left off us could handle the paleish glow emanating from my exposed chest, and moved onwards. This may surprise you, but I am usually not the bod flashing beachbro, but a mixture of seeing exposed skin in the form of board shot bros and girls in bikinis (which I had totally forgotten that women wear anything but salwaar kaameez and saris while living in the mountains) and that before I left, every morning I woke up with headaches from the cold and that it had only gotten colder since I left, I decided to go for it.

After a mild freakout of not hearing from friend Ben Sellon, who was suppose to be in mid flight to India after spending an unintended and presumably desparately lonely christmas and New Years by himself in Turkey, He had forgotten to get a tourist visa for India while traveling, and they Turkish authorities definitely reminded him, while punishing him pretty severely. The next two weeks were spent badgering officials, pleading, etc. until he finally got his visa after the holidays had passed as well as the fun had in Bombay and Kerala. Poor chap. But he met up with us in Pondy, which excited me greatly, although celebrations were short lived. Rose and I soonafter, probably in a matter of hours actuallyafter Ben arrived, fell ill with a bubonic respiratory infections, slapping a heavy 103 ish tempature on our poor systems for a couple of days. Soon Ben was fetching our meds and banana porridge and joining us in our day long National Geography dubbed in Hindi sick binges. It was great though, Christoph had left us to resume his Hindi program in Jaipur, and seeing that it felt like scaling a mountain to get up to go to the bathroom, Ben's help was greatly appreciated.

While still sick, I had to make a break for Chennai to see a friend from my Hindi program at UW, Rowan and some of the AIF fellows placed there for an exposure visit. The first night I was feeling a little better (my hypothesis is that after we experienced some rain in Pondy our room was converted into a cesspool of mold, reinforced by the neon space mold that we found in our bathroom, which filled our lungs accordingly) and stayed with Rowan who is doing her dissertation research currently and living in a pretty posh area of southern Chennai, right on the beach. It was very interesting catching up with Rowan hearing about her research (although my semi delirious state prevented me from comprehending anything too complex). I also got to play with her daughter, Avery, who she brought along for the year. This kid is amazing, she has fully embraced living in India and is enrolled in a English medium school where she is the only foreigner and is learning Hindi. Aahh, now that is a childhood to be jealous of! It was pretty apparent to me that Rowan is a terrific mother and that Avery is going to grow up to be an amazing person.

After my too brief of stay with Rowan I made my way in town a little further to stay with Krishna, Ja, and Gia, three AIF fellows. I came to do an exposure visit with Krishna who is also working with education. Although still feeling like a dumpster, I enjoyed talking about his curriculum projects and listening to him play music. He is a terrific Carnatic violinist and vocalist. Their neighborhood was great too. They lived in a Muslim gali, where most people speak Urdu, which is almost identical to Hindi, with persian script and a more Persian/Arabic influence on vocabulary. I was able to brush off my Hindi and chat with Krishna's shopkeeper and chai wala. After a couple days, Ben and Rose met us in Chennai and we made the couple day voyage back up to my Himalayan abode. Even at the onset of my trip and although I enjoyed traveling in the south immensely, the whole time my heart was left in the ashram, and I was ready to get back to the community and children.

APV Website

2008-01-01T07:53:00.000-08:00

I have forgotten to put up a link to a website that I made for the school, with the help of my visiting friend, Nick. On the site you should be able to get a good idea of what we are trying to do with plenty of pictures. I also included a music section where you can listen to a couple of our songs performed by our children. It turned into a hellish project requiring me to spend my evenings and mornings in front of a computer in a giant room with near freezing temperatures, but its done and you should check it out.

http://www.sbmahimalaya.org/APV/home.html

I Love Kerala

2007-12-31T23:32:00.000-08:00

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)

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.
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.
There are dolphins here! We saw them jumping just offshore from this beach near Kochi.
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.
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.
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.
Quite diverse in terms of religion, which is interesting to see: about a third Muslim, a third Christian, and a third Hindu.
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.
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.
Attitudes are much more laid back here it seems. People are far less aggressive, even in established tourist spots.
Rickshaw drivers give you acurate fares!!! This has never been the case in any place I have traveled in the north.
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.
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

2007-12-24T01:05:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-24T00:03:00.002-08:00

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

2007-12-22T01:07:00.001-08:00

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

2007-11-23T17:55:00.000-08:00

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

2007-10-12T01:09:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-12T00:10:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-12T00:09:00.002-07:00

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...

2007-10-12T00:09:00.001-07:00

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

2007-10-12T00:07:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-12T00:06:00.000-07:00

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.