Barbara,
your letter just came in as a pleasant surprise. Hope u and your family r all doing well. I just cant express in words how much i liked it. I recieved your letter just two days b4, and i cant just count how many times i have gone through it. U look really attractive in the photograph which u had sent along with the letter. Going through ur letter, made me think as if my sisters and i r still in front of u in Delhi, talking 2 each other as long lasting friends. Hey anyways any chanches of ur coming 2 India.
Lest you think I'm getting depressed, the tears of my response are more a sense of wonder and reverence, a feeling of being in the presence of the Divine -- even amidst the squalor. The contrasts of India are such that it's at once the poorest of countries but one that is filled with people who literally shine with their presence. I think my tears have to do with humility and a yearning to understand and be more like these folks who have so little, but are so rich in Spirit.
And yes, the interactions were so heartfelt and powerful.
Two days back from India and it's happening again - tears at the slightest provocation. I could chalk it up to jet lag, but it didn't happen after Thailand, or even the emotional jolt of Vietnam.
Monday afternoon, a few hours before we planned to leave for the airport, I left the Park Hotel and walked to an Internet shop in a filthy basement two blocks away.
My friend Phool, the Sikh doorman, wanted to know where I was going and tried to get me to take a taxi. I protested, saying I could easily find it myself, as I had been there a few hours earlier. He kept insisting, and I kept refusing until he finally asked the designated cabbie to walk with me, for protection.
I said I was fine, but the young man came along anyway, until I shooed him away. Within a mere 200 yards I was approached by five men selling handkerchiefs, three tuk-tuk (three-wheeled vehicles that run on propane, also known as auto rickshaws) drivers offering rides, one who persistently told me he could show me the “real Delhi” and all the sights for 100 rupees ($2.50). When I told him I had seen them all, he asked me if I was a tour group leader. I said no, but I could be, and he left me alone. The next two men were selling sunglasses, “very cheap—no buy, only look.” I waved them off and continued on my way.
I headed into a subway passage that leads under the maddening traffic spinning around Connaught Circle, on the look out for street kids to feed, and pickpockets to avoid.
The grace and power I witnessed in the poor people of India I met on my first trip here two years ago was a life-lesson. People I met who had no shoes, who worked long hours in back-breaking jobs but had a presence that was not about a perceived balance of power between us based on wealth was challenging and instructive and the reason I cried for three months after I returned home. It was also one of the reasons we sold our large home and moved to a much smaller one and gave away about half of our stuff--furniture, clothes and things we have carried for many years. It's why I hope to live in an even smaller way, to make a smaller footprint in the world on our return, both for ourselves and for the future of world, by reducing our energy-impact on global warming.
1.The sign on the bathroom room door in the 3-star Mondovi Hotel restaurant in Panaji reads:
"This restroom is for the exclusive use of the esteemed guests of the hotel. Right of admission strictly reserved."
The toilets were western-style but users had to self-flush with a nearby bucket of water.
2. Before leaving a restaurant in Anjuna I asked the waitor how do I hail a taxi - stick my hand up in the air and whistle?"
He replied, "Oh no, mum, tourists never have to find a cab - they will find you." As we walked down the street cabbies hounded us with "Do you need a cab," Do you want a ride," which we didn't, as Anjuna is only three blocks long.
3. Many addresses in Goa, even on business cards and printed on brochures are done so in terms of proximity. "Across from the Post Office," or "To the left of the footbridge."
From the street, the building with the large "Cyber Cafe" sign looked promising. Then we entered the 10x10 foot first floor open-air office and saw the steepest, smallest circular staircase we've ever seen as the only way up to the second floor. We ascended to find a 10x10 foot room with no glass in the windows that held six computers, two of which were working. The sign said broadband, but it's clearly dial-up. When we sat down there was one other customer - an Indian who was on a nasty porn site- I told Allen in a loud voice to "watch out for that guy - he's looking at PORN." The man quickly switched to other sites, then left.
The highlight of the day was a stop at Gandhi's Smitri -place of martyrdom. There's an exhaustive museum of his life and last days. One interesting exhibit had a list of books he had read - Shakespeare, Tolstoy, and Henry David Thoreau's "On Civil Disobedience."
For the uninitiated, the chaos of India starts in the preboard area of your flight to Delhi. Despite repeated please of a Condi Rice look-alike gate agent that "people take their seats as only First and Business Class ticket holders may board," numerous Indian nationals jump the queue, release the retractable tape that is designed to keep them out and literally storm the gate .
I have my first book contract - updating the southern state of Goa for Foder's guide to India. Hence, we will be going to Goa and Delhi the end of August and into September. They'll be using my writing and photos. I was planning to go there anyway so this is an awesome opportunity.
