The Story of India, India, India!
Wow. Wow. Wow.
To start of course, location update as of noon local time, March 14, 2006:
Latitude: 13 degrees 32.2 minutes N
Longitude: 083 degrees 18.3 minutes E
Average Speed: 16.23 knots
Distance to Yangon: 788NM
Sea Depth: 3319 m or 10886 ft
Sea Temp: 28 C, 82.9 F
Air Temp: same
Winds coming from the ESE at 6 knots. Calm seas with good visibility.
Location update as of noon local time (11.5 hours ahead EST), March 16, 2006:
Latitude: 15 degrees 45.2 minutes N
Longitude: 096 degrees 2.6 minutes E
Average Speed: 14.29 knots
Distance to Pilot station: 32.2 NM
Distance from Pilot Station up river to Yangon: 32 NM
Sea Depth: a mere 13 m 36.2 ft
Sea Temp: 29 C, 84.2 F
Air Temp: 28 C, 82.4 F
Winds come from the NNE at 4 knots. Bright but foggy, Brown dirty, murky waters.
Just thinking about writing this makes my head spin. Where to begin is beyond me, and you may find yourself wondering how so much could happen in such a short period of time. India. Wow, India. Let me start by saying that once again, it was like nothing I could of expected. I’ve learned that pre-ordained thoughts and teachings do not mean a damn thing. Forget everything you’ve read about India. Realize that even what I say may mean nothing to you if you were to go there and experience this incredible place for yourself. From the time we arrived to the second we left, it was a period filled with amazement, bewilderment, chaos, and depletion.
Please allow me to begin. We arrived in the sunny port of Chennai right on time. I woke around 0630 and knew we had to be close just by the sent of the air in my cabin and on the ship. We were alongside right around 0800, like we were supposed to be. Once again, the skyline flatly surprised me – there were no towering buildings or skyscrapers, it was nothing too impressive, but it held its own. We were not able to get off the ship until a bit after noon because immigration in India is quite intense. As it was, every time we left the ship we had to have our landing card and immigration papers at all times.
From where we dock it is about a 10 minute walk to where you can pick up cabs or rickshaws. This is where it all began. There were four of us total that were planning on traveling together for the day. You have to walk through yet another check point, the third one actually, and then across two sets of train tracks and then through another gate at which time you are bombarded by rickshaw drivers. Bombarded is not a strong enough word, nor is attacked, beckoned, grabbed, poked, or pulled. As it is, being a male in India gets you more attention anyway. I was behind my pack of three and when I walked through the gate, I kid you not there were at least 15 drivers yelling, pulling, and trying to convince me to drive with them. Once I found the other three, which took severe concentration and ignoring skills to get through this thick mass of people and vehicles, we split into two groups because the drivers only wanted to take two at a time. It was my good friend YuYu and I and we planned on meeting up with the other two at our first stop…we had planned on meeting up at Spencer’s Plaza/Market…little did we know, it was not up to us where we would be going.
We were literally whisked off our feet and into a rickshaw before we had time to think. It was bedlam, insanity, and hysteria all at once. There was a rush like I cannot begin to explain to you going on inside my body. As we began to drive around, it hit us both that we were really in India…our adrenaline was through the roof. Now, you must understand that driving in India is like nothing I have ever heard of, seen or obviously experienced before. It was nothing like driving in any of the other countries I’ve visited thus far; and I thought they were bad and intense. The streets and thick with traffic, people, and garbage. Moped after Vespa, after biker after rickshaw, after city bus after car after truck…there was no space. Not to mention the fact that the streets were also lined with people and stores and crumbling sidewalks. And yet magically, the drivers of these little three-wheeled vehicles weaved in and out of masses of traffic with ease. We told our driver, Giri, where we wanted to go. Ya, that’s a joke. He told us that it was lunchtime at Spencer’s and that he would take us to a few nice stores to start and then get to Spencer’s eventually. We were fine with it considering we really had no plan for the day. Well, once a few stops turned into 5 – at stores which we bought nothing at…we finally convinced him to take us to some places that we could buy things at. We wanted cheap and fun stores. He was taking us to house ware places and the Saks Fifth Avenues of Chennai. Finally, we got to where we wanted to go…which wasn’t where we thought we end up, but it didn’t matter. We kept asking for markets; outside vendor spots with lots of fun stuff. Well, in India, a market is a store…with walls and for the most part, fixed prices...which was not what we wanted. We learned after stopping at a few of these stores that what we wanted to go to was the Bazaar! Of course. If only we had known that three hours before we drove around and went to places we wanted nothing to do with!
Try to imagine these streets. There was a new smell around each block. The one that most vividly stands out in the minds of all the people aboard the ship was the one over the bridge. There were several bridges in Chennai, but this one was most memorable. It was a white bridge with high sides that passed over a shallow, wide, murky river. I’ll be blunt; the scent was that of sulfur (rotten eggs) and human feces. There was no sense in holding you nose because you could taste it the air was so thick with its stench. It was also pointless to even hold your breath while going over this bridge, because there was no way around avoiding this scent. This was one of the many smells encountered during my time in my new favorite country.
At the end of our exhausting day after going store after store after store after market after bazaar…we finally asked our driver to take us to a good South Indian food restaurant that also served beer. As you might know already, it is virtually illegal to serve alcohol in India because of the strong Hindu presence. In the Hindu faith, drinking and smoking are considered bad decisions. Our driver took us to a wonderful garden restaurant that served delicious beer. We ordered three dishes, not knowing what they would be and they ended up being fantastic. Our driver ate with us and really looked out for us the whole daylong. We felt he deserved a good meal from us considering rickshaw drivers tend to be in one of the lowest castes in society. Which leads me to the caste system in India.
India is home to one of the oldest civilizations and religions in the world. In fact, it is home to two of the East’s most common religions; Hinduism, and Buddhism – which directly derives from Hinduism. In India however, society is set up quite differently than the US. In the US you can be born into poverty and die the wealthiest man in the world (the American Dream)…in India however, it is quite different. If you are born into a caste that is low on the overall scheme of castes, you will remain in that caste for life. The same goes if you are born into a top caste in society, you stay there. You marry into that caste, you do the work expected of that caste. There is no ladder like progression in Indian society; however times are changing. Another interesting fact about Indian culture is that the vast majority of marriages are still arranged to this day. The parents and eldest Uncle tend to be responsible for the arranging. Ads are put into the classifieds section of Newspapers, and family members are constantly scouting amongst friends and distant family relatives to find a match. Astrology is very important to Hindu’s and it is taken into consideration when seeking a match; if the horoscopes don’t match up in the sky…needless to say they won’t on the ground either. There are upsides and downfalls to this idea of arranged marriage, but let me just say this. In India, the second most poplous country in the world, the divorce rate is a mere 10%…in the US we are pushing 50%…need I say more? But again, I’m not saying it is all great and well in the world of arranged marriages and caste system societies.
Now, let’s keep moving here.
After our lovely dinner, YuYu and I headed back to the ship so I could pack for my overnight trip to Erode that left at 2200. I got back, packed and 30 of us were on our way to the train station to catch train number 6669 Yercaud Express. Now for the train station. It was kind of odd moving as a mass of about 30 or so…especially when our skin colored exuded the fact that we were tourist. The train station had a scent of its own, not to mention the fact that it was home to probably a few hundred people. Literally. It was filled with people sleeping on the cement floor, or on a matt. Families of 3 and 4, elders and infants filled the station. Whether they were permanent residents of this indoor facility, I do not know. It could have been a safe and perhaps cooler(?) place than somewhere on the streets. We made our way to track one where our train was leaving. Our train left at 2330 and we were about an hour early for it. None of us branched too far from our herd, but we still got a feel for the place. It was once again, chaotic and in your face the whole time. There of course was your typical business traveler as well; briefcase, newspaper and beverage in hand, heading home for the evening just like a NYC to CT commuter. Thankfully our cabins and seats were reserved. We had first class sleeperettes…forget about Amtrak…hell, forget about MetroNorth. Well, no, I take that back. Take the MetroNorth trains and put sleeperette cabins in them and there you have it. Let me just back a up minute. As our train was arriving and slowing backing into the station, people were jumping over each other and pushing others out of the way to board the second-class cabins, which had no reserve seating and there was no limit to how many the train could hold. Within minutes there was standing room only and these trains were almost a half-mile long! The second class cabins weren’t air conditioned and the doors were kept open while traveling, the windows were like jail bars.
We found our cabins and bed assignments and settled in as best we could. Thankfully there was a food stand open that sold all kinds of chips. They were Lays brand, but the flavors were one hundred million times better than the flavors in the States: Spanish Tomato (like French fries with a sweet Ketchup), Indian Masala (very spicy, very good), Latin Flavor, and of course American Cheese and Onion (the most bland and unexciting of them all). The Spanish Tomato was by far my favorite. The sleeper cabins are weird to describe. There were about 28 beds per cabin. They were sectioned off in fours, two on top two on the bottom, perpendicular to the car, with a little table coming off from the wall in the center. On the opposite side there were bunks lining the wall the whole way down, running parallel to the car. The beds had the typical vinyl type, pleather lining on them and frankly, they were quite comfortable. You were provided with two sheets, a blanket and a pillow. Of course it just so happened I got the “section” that only had two beds in it, a single bunk if you will and that person wasn’t a part of our group. There were curtains that could be closed in each section and personal lights above each bed.
When there are 30 college kids traveling together and your in a new place going to somewhere you know nothing about, there is bound to be antsy folk and a buzz filling the air. Of course we didn’t go right to be, and its good we didn’t. There were six of us up chatting away when this nice young fellow comes up to us and asks if he can talk to us. We were stunned really and were thrilled to welcome him into our conversation. He was a native of the city we were going to and was in Chennai for his cousin’s wedding. We peppered him with questions and he did his best to find the words in English to answer them. He was 20 years old, like the most of us were talking to him and he was studying business. Commerce, I think. His father owned a business and he would be assuming it once he retired. He was in the upper ranks of the caste system, but still not at the top. His name was Abilash and he was more than willing to talk about anything we wanted. From India and its ways, to the US and its unruly ways, he shared all the knowledge he could and was so happy to talk to us. It made us all think, if we were traveling on an overnight train in the US and there was a group of foreigners chatting away, if you were traveling alone, would you go up and blatantly ask to engage in conversation with them? Chances are you wouldn’t and I must say, I probably wouldn’t either. Most of them time you steer clear and far from them.
We did end up getting to sleep. I slept with my small bag and big camera under my pillow. I was abruptly woken at around 0515 by the gentleman above me. I woke up and he asked where I was getting off…in my crazy daze somehow I managed to answer Erode. He said, “O no my friend, you still have another hour. Return to sleep and have a pleasant day.” “Thank you very much, same to you,” I said. Well that hour flew by and it felt like a minute and a half. We got off the train in our destination and headed for the buses. They were more like large vans that comfortably fit 11 people. Air conditioned, though most of the time we just opened the windows. Now for Erode.
You must understand that none of us knew what our time in this village/town was going to be like. Not our trip leader, not the director of the field office, none of us. It was about 45 minutes to the Jayaramapuran Estate where we would be spending the night. As we drove through the rural roads, India came to life. Even though it was only a bit after six in the morning. Cows, goats, roosters and chickens lined the streets. Realize that cows are sacred, and it is illegal to eat cow in India. This is for many reason, all stemming from the Hindu faith. But consider that the cow is much more valuable alive than it is dead, as an edible piece of meat. While alive the cow provides a huge amount of resources for its family. It can be a mode of transportation; it can plow the fields to plant the crops and of course reproduce. Its dung has many uses; the obvious, fertilizer, but also it is mixed with water and spread over floors in houses and acts as a sealant and covering to dirt floors making it easier to sweep and keep clean. The urine can also be collected and used, but I can’t specifically remember for what. But I digress, back to Erode. We arrived at the estate, and I was stunned. It was a beautiful, tradition, Indian farm home on its coconut grove. The house itself was one square acre. There were four courtyards and numerous rooms. Now, don’t think in terms of American homes. It is not like it was laden with furniture and gorgeous home décor. The furniture was basic, if any at all. All of the beds were wood frame from the far itself and the mattress were stuffed with the silk cotton grown on the farm. Silk cotton is a variety of cotton that is too fine to weave into thread so it is used for stuffing. This house did have American-style toilets, as opposed to the hole in the ground. There was even a guesthouse if you will which is where I ended up sleeping. The family had been hosting Semester at Sea students for the past 17 years and loved doing so. We met the heads of the household, Mr. and Mrs. Jayarama. Their daughter Raj, who was in her 40s, was also there to help and their daughter-in-law, Purni – along with her two children, 6 and 10. Their son and other daughter were not there, work was the cause. They told us to put our stuff down by our beds and come back to the main courtyard for some tea or coffee (or both) and some socializing. The main courtyard was a long, long one, some 75-100 feet. It had a raised platform in the shape of a cross with a roof over that section. The four opened sections were plain cement with painted designs on the floor. There were plastic deck chairs, enough for all of us that we sat in and drank our delicious tea and phenomenal coffee in while chatting with our new hosts. There were probably 7-12 servants that brought us our tea and coffee on trays and took our cups for us. However, they were treated like family and that was apparent as soon as we arrived. Clearly we were staying with a top caste in Indian society, and a liberal one at that which you’ll hear about in a bit.
Once we finished our beverages, it was off to walk through the coconut groves and see the abundance of other crops and plants that grew on the 80+ acres. We crossed the street and began our way down a path lined with coconut trees. We got to a spot where there were three workers climbing up and down the trees with ease getting the coconuts from the top. They’d bring back down three or four at a time and did so like it was nothing. We kept on walking and passes Guava trees, nutmeg bushes, and silk cotton trees. Interesting tid-bit, nutmeg needs lots of shade to grow therefore it is planted in between coconut trees whose palm leaves create a beautiful awning over the budding nutmeg. We passed by their well, an open dug square about 20x20 feet that was 70-80 feet deep. Let’s just say this water would not pass for well water in the States. On our walk back, the gentlemen who were climbing the coconut trees had taken enough down for us and chopped off the tops and we were able to drink the milk out of them. The Brits realized how nutritious this milk was and drank it regularly, in fact, it can be injected intravenously it is so nutritious. It is not the thick coconut milk you might be thinking of, it would have to stay on the tree another month to get there. This had a semi-sweet taste and was more watery than milky. They also gave us a chance to climb the coconut trees the way they did. I was just dying to try. The first to try it was my friend Steve. Just to give you an idea, Steve’s arms are about the size of my thighs, so he is quite physically fit. When you climb the tree, you don’t have shoes on (they made us keep our socks on because of our soft, pampered feet), and you place you feet into a sling that holds them together. You are then sort of harnessed in around you back and the tree and from there, up you go. You must lean back the whole time and one arm in sort of under the harness with the fingers facing the ground pushing back and up as you try to move up the tree. The other is out to the side, sliding the harness up as you go. This may sound simple, but it is far from it. Needless to say, even with all Steve’s strength, I was still about to out climb him as far as height goes. Most likely because of my weight – muscle isn’t everything.
We made our way back to the Estate where breakfast was awaiting us. I’m sure your thinking eggs, bacon, pancakes, maybe some french toast or home fries…omelets perhaps? WRONG!!!!!!!!! First off, we were staying with traditional Hindu’s – all the food was vegetarian, mostly vegan in fact. I was thrilled. Anyway, breakfast we severed on stainless steel plates, and there was a rice type soft patty, a spicy chutney, a potato and onion soup and a delicious rice, it was all eaten with a dosa which is like a thin crispy crape. I also tried the rice dish that just the family was eating; they chose not to serve it to everyone because it was a BIT spicy. I tired and it and loved it even though I was breathing fire. All the food is eaten with your hands if you chose to. I was in the American minority being one who ate ever meal with my hands…are you kidding, get to eat with you hands and not get in trouble to be looked down upon?!!? Of course. One thing though, you could only pick up and touch the food with your right hand if you really wanted to fit in. Two reasons, the right hand is holy and therefore used to feed yourself, and second, you use your left hand to wipe yourself in the bathroom…I don’t think you want to be eating with that hand. Anyway, Purni and Raj noticed how much I loved the food and kept telling me to get more and had their servants keep bringing me more food. Four plate fulls later, I was basically immobile – but overwhelmingly satisfied.
After breakfast we headed into the village part of town to see the locals at work. We went to a place where they make sugar. I was stunned. First off, its still early in the morning and the sweat is already dripping down my body. You learn to enjoy the constant, sticky layer of sweat that encases your body the whole time. We arrive at this village/factory if you will, and what a site. Hut after hut, child after child. They were thrilled to see us and posed for as many pictures as possible. After walking around for a minute or two, we were taken to the first sort of step in the sugar making process. First the long sugar cane stocks are stipped of additional foliage. From that, a person loads about 6-10 stocks at a time into a rolling crusher. It extracts the juice and expels the plants waste beyond. The extraceted liquid is funneled into these HUGE pots. They were about 12 feet across. The liquid is boiled for an hour and a half inside these kettles. The waste from the crushed stocks fuels the fire that boils the sugar. A woman sat right by the pot constantly pushing the dried, shredded stock under the pot, fueling the scorching fire below. While the liquid is boiling, a gentleman continuously skiffs over the top with a sort of sifter, he collects the impurities and excess that boils out of the sugar liquid and dumps it into a strainer that drains the excess back into the big pot. This waste and impurities is later used to make molasses. After the sugar has boiled for an hour and a half, two men take and pour the liquid into wooden frames that a right on the side of the big pots. They do so bare handedly. Once in the wooden frames, the liquid begins to cool and thicken. After a bit of time, a woman begins to hoe the liquid, turning it over, allowing it to evenly cool. As it cools, you can see it get grainer and grainer, like wet sand. The color was that of a wet sand and a pure light brown sugar. Once cooled enough, it was piled up in the corner at which time two other ladies came with square pieces of wet cloth and began balling the sugar. The cloths were filled with sugar, a round, sort of tear drop shape was made by banging it one the ground while in the cloth and then it was removed and left to dry solid and sent to the market place. It was a truly impressive operation. The balls of sugar ended up being all about the same size because of the squares of fabric used and the repetitive technique. It was a flawless operation that was completely self-sustainable with no waste what so ever. What I failed to mention was that these huge boiling vats were under a hut, with a big roof and half side. It was slightly underground and the steam and heat coming off of these things was astronomical. I walked into the hut and was immediately drenched, even more than I already was. It was like getting a facial of steam and being washed off with your own sweat. Some thought it was gross; I thought it was part of the experience.
We tried some of the sugar and it was delicious. The sugar they were making would be sold in the market to locals or go on to be used to make brown sugar. It was also incredibly healthy to eat sugar in this pure form. Since it was already pure glucose, the body did not have to do additional breaking down, unlike when we eat our nasty white processed sugar in which the body has to break it down three or four times before it is in pure glucose form. From there we went on to the next village/factory – a coconut rope-making place.
We drove for about 15 minutes to another part of town where we arrived at a coconut rope processing plant. Once again, a completely self-sustainable place where nothing goes to waste. Once the meat is removed from coconuts, the shell is left out to dry. As you know, the coconut shell is stringy and coarse hair like. This factory (I use the word factory because they were taking a product and creating something else. Everything was outside, with either hand built machinery, or very low tech machines helping the most human labor actives) took the dried out, stringy shells and turned them into a strong and hearty coconut rope. The shells were put into a tumbler, which had teeth in it to further break down the shell and make it so the strings were all separated. This coarse strings were piled up and damped down with water and would sit for some time. Women would then be carrying huge bundles of this dampened coconut string to yet another tumbler. The basket the women were carrying on their heads were made of a metal, they were very spacey (lots of distance from on piece of metal to the next) and lightweight, about 3.5 feet across. This dampened string was dumped into the second tumbler, which fined out and broke down the string even more, individualizing the pieces even more. This drier, lighter, fluffier coconut string (each piece about 4-6 inches long) was taken inside the barn where it would sit and then be bundled into 34Kilo bunches where it was then sent to be wound into rope.
Just to give you an idea of the strength of these men and women. Remember Steve, whose arms were the size of my thighs? He wanted to try carrying a load of the dampened string on his head. He walked over to do so and even when he tried lifting the basket from the ground to his head, he struggled. Marcus and I helped lift it above his head at which point he couldn’t even let it rest on his head it was so heavy. He shakily struggled as he walked the 30-40 feet to the tumbler. The women doing this lifted with ease and carried it on their heads without hesitation, keep in mind these women’s bodies were also the size of my thighs. Of course us crazy Americans were told we could climb the pile of drying out coconuts and so we did. It was massive mound of them and it was like being a kid again and jumping into the pool of balls, except these were much bigger and did hurt if you jumped the wrong way. It was funny, you would try to walk and then fall or sink into the pile because its not like they were flat or solid! From there we went into the barn where the dried out fluffy strings were stored and we jumped around in that stuff too. We did flips and all sorts of silly shit as the children and families looked at us like we were some sort of group of village idiots. Let’s be frank, we basically were. Also keep in mind that it is getting to be later and later in the morning…closer to noon now so that sun is really beating down, down, hot, hot.
Next stop, one of the local village schools where 2nd, 3rd and 4th graders went. This was a cement building with two classrooms. Each with about 25-30 students, maybe a bit more. They spoke minimal English, but their smiles made it not matter. We had stickers for them and they loved it. It was one of those days that teachers dread because the students get so riled up and excited from the visitors. The kids were so damns cute. You’d take a picture of them and tey would grab your arm wanting to see the picture on your camera., Their eyes lit up when they saw the picture of themselves. Some of them wanted to take pictures of us and of course you let them. As we were handing out stickers, they would oddly only put them on their arms…the bottom side that is. They would then run to the next SASer with big smile and hand out for another sticker. Then they’d come back to you, wanting yet another sticker. It went back and fourth the whole time we were there and it was just adorable. They were learning English, and they did the alphabet and the numbers up to 15 for us. We were there for about a half an hour and you could tell it clearly made their day, and probably their week. They lined up outside on the porch as we left and frantically waved and screamed goodbye. Just across the street was the local village.
We perused our way through it, getting to stop in two of the houses. One of them was of a lower caste family in which they were more than happy to show us their home. It was all cement with a big courtyard, and a roof only on the perimeter. The husband and daughter (she was older) were crushing tamarind seeds and taking out the most peanut like shape object inside. Tamarind is a sweet-sour spice that is used in lots of Indian dishes, not to mention candy and drink flavors as well. We toured this nice house, much bigger than I expected. Of course we had to remove our shoes at the door, to be expected at all house and places of worship while traveling in the Eastern Hemisphere. We then found an upper caste house, of which had a television and refrigerator. It was a fully roofed house and quite nice inside. This village had about 500-600 residents and maybe about 10 houses like this. You could compare it to an American style house; eating area, kitchen, bathroom and washroom, bedroom and living room. Again, a minimal amount of furniture, but all in all, it was a nice place. From there it was back to the estate for lunch.
We arrived back and our lunch was just beginning to be served. We would be eating on the floor off of fresh banana leaves. We had three different rice dishes, two chutneys, a soup, and two sweet dessert type things. Again, they kept on feeding me, knowing full well that if they put it in front of me, I was happily going to consume it. After that we had a little naptime. It was very, very needed. There of course was no air conditioning where we slept; however, there were these ceiling fans that could out fan any damn ceiling fan in the US. It was like there was air conditioning. Jumping ahead, we even got cold during the night while this fan filled the room with a wonderful, cooling breeze.
After our much needed nap, it was off to the market. This was a market that went to a different village each day. This was the type of place you think of when you think of market places in India. It was in a vacant field and had vendor after vendor of only life essentials - clothes, fabrics, and food. No souvenirs or any tacky shit because tourist don’t go to these things. And that’s what made it all the better. I bought two three meter sections of fabric, which are called lungis, for less than a buck each. There were full size bath towels for about fifty cents and even canvas shopping bags for about fifteen cents. It was fantastic. We roamed around there and perused through as locals did their weekly shopping. After that it was back to the Estate for some coffee and tea followed by dinner. And my, what a dinner it was; my mouth is drooling just thinking about it right this very second.
After dinner it was social time. We toured the rest of the house, looked at family photos and wedding albums and got to know our hosts. They shared anything with us. Their knowledge was abundant and there was no wrong or rude question. I cannot even being to process what I learned from sharing an entire day with this delightful family. The next morning was a sad goodbye when we had to leave at 0645 because the second group was arriving. We had our coffee and tea, took lots of photos with the family and we were off to a big school in a different part of Erode.
It took about an hour to get to the school that we’d call home base for the day. When we arrived there breakfast was waiting for us. Yum, yum, yum. As you can assume, this stint in India just reassued me that Indian food is by far my favorite food in the entire world. We ate off of dried banana leaves this time that were ten times stronger and sturdier than any paper plate in the US. There wasn’t even a soggy spot after eating off them where there was something wet on the plate. And of course, the best part about it is that it is completely biodegradable and there is no excess waste and no harm done to the collapsing environment. After breakfast we got back into our van-busses and were headed to see a few temples. The first one we stop at was just this little thing on the side of the road. It was a temple where husbands and wives come to pray for children. There are swings and cradles that couples leave gifts on in hopes of it bringing them a child in the near future. Couples that can’t have children might spend their entire life praying to the same cradle, hoping, just hoping that the gods will fulfill their wishes.
From there we went to one of the biggest temples in Tamil Nadu (the Indian State of which we were in). It was a very important temple for a few reasons. Number one, it was a temple for Shiva, one of the three main gods in the Hindu faith – Braman, Vishnu, and Shiva. And secondly, because it was a place where three rivers converged which was considered very holy because rarely do you find three rivers converging. The thing was, one of the rivers was underground, so it was out of site. If this is actually true, I don’t know and frankly don’t care because it was a respected belief and meant a lot to the Hindu people. We walked around the grounds of this massive temple and a few of us did as we were supposed to and washed our feet in the water of the river. There was a man and boy next to me while I stood there in the water and he was washing their clothes. Garbage and pollution floated by us while doing so. Mind you, you can’t walk on the grounds of the temple with shoes on, so you’re barefoot walking all over the grounds on the hot marble and granite slabs that makeup the walkways. We went from worship spot to worship spot, learning more and more about each god and why things are done. Keep in mind also that Hindu’s believe there is one god. One god for all faiths, and that this god transforms himself into the hundreds of gods they worship for different reasons. It is said that there is a god for each Hindu born. We learned of the gods and what they stand for, and we came to understand why Hindu’s have the third eye, as some call it - the dot of red or yellow in the center of the brow. It is a form of enlightenment; they believe it helps to keep them close with god at all times. You might also notice that Hindu’s usually have ash smeared above that on the forehead; this is the keep them in close connection with death, constantly reminding them that in death, you simply return to ash. Hindu’s are traditionally cremated and their ashes are spread into a river, most hope it can be the Ganges, the holiest river of them all, but any moving body of water will suffice.
There are a number of animals that a sacred and considered holy in the Hindu faith, we talked about the cow, but the other important one is the Elephant. Now, as culturally renowned as this may be, it was still quite depressing. At the main building in the Temple was an elephant with a beautiful headdress and a painted face and trunk. The elephant was trained to take your money (he raised his trunk to your hand). He then passed the money back to the guy standing there next to him and then the elephant plops his trunk on your head as a blessing. I was kind of forced to take part in this, but it was a cultural thing. Regardless. Once we were done at the temple, it was on to a local carpet weaving center/factory.
We arrived on this little side street that was as wide as our vehicles. The streets were once again lined with people who seemed to be anxiously awaiting our arrival. We entered the building, which was the shop part and then walked to the back, outside where the weaving center was. This was the only pit carpet-weaving center in South India; these types of carpets are commonly made in the northern part of the country. It was a large loom; in fact they were all different sizes, with a big hole in the ground at your feet below it. You sat on a pillow on the ground and your feet went into the pit where there were foot pedals to maneuver and control the actions of the loom. We got to take part in this and actually make a section of a carpet. The one that I was worked on was 5 feet wide and 9 feet long. The worker making this carpet would be finished with it by the end of the day! It took a few tries and you did have to think because there is some right-left coordination necessary. They are beautiful, thin cotton carpets that last for years and years. Most times in Indian families they are passed down from generation to generation.
From there, it was on to the disabled children’s school. This was a school that was connected to the one that was our home base for the day. Children from the ages of 4-16 with polio attended this educational center. They lived there, most of them permanently and the parents could come and visit them on Sundays if they chose to and the kids get to go home twice a year for two celebrations. We were greeted with a special welcome. A guy and gal from our group were both sort of blessed I could you would call it. There was a ceremony type thing, they put rose lays around their necks and smashed a coconut. It was oddly charming. When we went upstairs to where the kids were anxiously awaiting our arrival they started doing a clap as we entered the room. The look in the eyes and the smiles on their faces was enough to make you cry. They did three performances for us. The first was a traditional dance done by four ladies (girls in this case). Two of them dress as men and it is a dance done to traditional Indian music and each uses a silk scarf as a prop the whole time. The next was a number done by 6 men (boys in this case). Again it was tradition Indian dance but it was much more lively and almost reminded me of something Michael Jackson would of done…I know, that’s really weird, but its what came to mind. What was so amazing about all this was that these kids all had polio. Some of them were walking on the sides of their feet with they toes and bottoms of their feet curled so far under it was painful just looking at them. The final performance was a karate show. Eight of them came out and did a big group thing, followed by some dual fighting between two of the elder karate members. It was truly astonishing to see what these children could do regardless of their disabilities.
Of course what we failed to realize was that we were expected to do a performance in return…eeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhh. It was painful. We started with the chicken dance and all the kids looked at us with blank stares on their faces wondering why the hell we were flapping our arms up and down. I was then talked into singing Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon,” yeah that felt a bit weird singing a song all about loving and kissing to a bunch of elementary Indian kids. Again, I was stared at with blank faces. We then did the electric slide to some upbeat Indian music that was kind of funny. Thankfully, we ended with that and there was no more embarrassment needed. They were still thrilled to have us there. Each time Semester At Sea goes there, which is twice a year, they donate $300USD, which is about Rs12,000 (Indian Rupees). That is a huge contribution considering the top donor on their contributors list gave Rs51,000. From there we went to the main school for a fantastic lunch. After that they realized just how tired we all really were from going non-stop since 0600 and let us take an hour nap in the hostel. It felt kind of odd sleeping in one of the resident’s bed, but it didn’t matter because we were all exhausted. We all kept saying that we should have done a number from “Annie” or “OLIVER.”
After our little nap we had another performance by I think 16 or so girls from the main school. It was another traditional female Indian dance that was fun and flashy. From there we went onto a Medicinal Plant where they make herbal medicines.
It was a very interesting experience. The first thing that hit me was that there was construction going on around where we going. Very basic construction, the foundations had just been poured and they were starting to make vertical wire frames and were pouring some cement columns. This was impressive to watch. The men stood on top of the column, and some at the base and awaited buckets of cement from the women. The ladies walked back and fourth with buckets about 2 feet across filled with a rocky cement. Again, the tremendous strength to do this all day long - it was remarkable. Thankfully, while we were standing outside the sky open up and peed all over us. It was incredibly refreshing. After that quick shower we toured the medicinal facility. There were literally hundreds and hundreds of herbs and roots and wood pieces and stone products this company used to make homeopathic medicines. These medicines are used to treat about 700 people per day in hospitals all over the state of Tamil Nadu. Granted that is a small number compared to the population, but more than 1300 private medical practices use these medications as well.
This facility was created with a Rs500 investment…that’s about $11USD. Today, it makes close to $5,000,000USD per year. Take 10% right off the top of that because it gets donated to charities and also helps fund the village that this facility has adopted. Little did I know, the people making the new buildings outside were residents of that village and they were now employed thanks to the expansion of this medical facility. Also, the children of the village are now getting an excellent education. After our tour we had a chance to walk through and meet a bunch of them. They come to a place at night to do the days homework before going home for dinner. They were adorable. I just so happened to plop down with a group of kids who were in the ages ranging from 6-11. They spoke very little Englihs, but what they did know was very proper and quite funny to listen to. When I would ask, “What is your name?” Each one would respond with, “My name is…” A few of them even repeated the “What is your name?” and then went on to answer the question with, “My name is…” All of them said the same thing when you asked them “How are you?” “I am fine, how are you?” they would ask. It was adorable. What became quite comical was that these kids wanted to talk to me but I couldn’t understand them and they could barely understand me. So here I am trying to entertain about 8 kids who don’t really speak that much Englihs. I laughing at the jokes I’m cracking because they don’t understand what I’m saying and I was working so hard to get them to understand me! I tried to find out if they had heard of America, or knew what it was…I told them not to worry about it either way and that they shouldn’t worry about learning about it. I laughed, and they just all looked at me with a blank stare. Still trying to get them to understand, I was trying to explain that we came to Chennai on a big ship. It finally dawned on me that I should draw a ship for them and try to explain that we came around the world by boat. I started doing so, they all ended up saying ship with me and then I drew India and they all screamed and got excited but we had to go before I could get the America on the paper. O well.
Then we had a half an hour talk-through meditation session, which was fantastic. My body melted as we were talked through this half an hour, most of us couldn’t understand what we were being told, but it didn’t matter. From there it was back to the home base school for dinner…yet another amazing meal. After that, it was back to the train station for the overnight ride home.
This train ride was a different story. We played cards for a bit and the wonderful Indian lady tour guides that were traveling with us loved watching us play. They were greatly entertained by our sarcasm, jokes and forms of entertainment. Also very bright, educated, and informed ladies. It wasn’t long before we all were fast asleep, but the morning came quicker than anyone wanted. We got back to the ship right around 0600; I took a shower (after three days of not having done so, just a few face washes) and was back to bed. I was looking forward to having another day in Chennai.
I woke up and found that the ship was vacant. The bulk of the population was in Agra, Deli and Jaepur(sp). I ended up going off on my own for the day that was wonderful. I was once again driven to places I didn’t ask to go to, but it was fine…it’s not like I had an agenda. I visited a few temples and did some shopping. Just driving through the hectic city is fun for me…espically with a crazy driver taking you around in a little rickshaw. I did get to see some cobra’s dance on the street. This guy had two of them, he wanted me to pay to watch the cobras and a mongoose fight (it is a serious deal. The mongoose is one of the cobras only predators in nature, besides of course man, and you never know who is going to win). When he took the mongoose out of the bag he had it in, and its cute little face looked up at me, there was no way I was going to allow myself to be responsible for that mongoose’s death for my entertainment; nature is a different story, entertainment is not. So instead, I happily watched the two cobras he had dance out of their baskets. I kept jumping back and back because they would hiss and snap at the guy doing the charming. One of them started slithering out of his basket onto the street and the guy just grabbed him and the cobra came up and whipped around and snapped at him. My heart was racing the entire time and my driver was just laughing at me. I later asked my driver if he had ever seen a snake charmer die from a cobra bite, but supposedly they are immune to the venom. You must also note that even if the cobra snaps at you, he is not necessarily releasing venom; cobras only have one shot to release that venom, and if they don’t get you, they have no other form of defense mechanism. It could take a few more hours for that venom to build up again in their glands. Regardless, having a snake with a boy crown around its head snap at you is a bit nerve-wracking.
I headed back to the ship for some dinner and was hoping to find some people to go out with that night. My trusty traveling partner and dear friend and neighbor YuYu was back from her day of SAS trips so we decided that we were going to find something to do. My driver from the day asked me what time he should come back to pick me up to go out that night…I told him between 8 and 830. Sure enough, he was there, waiting for us. We wanted to have a drink or two and the only place you can really do that is at the big hotels in Chennai. We went to the Sheraton; it was a 3-star hotel that looked like an American 4 or 5-star. It was beautiful. Our driver waited for us to have our fun and took us back to the ship.
Again our driver asked what time we would be going out in the morning and we told him we wanted to go to Mamallaprum; we knew it was a ways out of the city so he said he would arrange to have a car there to take us. We said we’d be out around 10ish. Sure enough, the next morning when we went out, he was there waiting for us. Off we went in a van with no air conditioning on the hour and a half drive to some of the oldest standing temples in India. They are some of the only temples that have survived years and years of sea erosion. Thousands of years ago, there were hundreds more temples, but the sea is the sea and did destroy a number of them. Luckily, this area was not horribly damaged by the tsunami like some other villages were on the way to this place. We saw vacant lots that used to be villages filled with huts; there was nothing in these vacant fields now. It was yet another scorcher…no surprise when you’re in South India. We roamed around the temple grounds for several hours. Climbed the rocks to see other temples and encountered several monkeys along the way. (Yes mother, real, live, wild monkeys that were no more than three feet in front of me at times…you would of died) We headed by to Chennai for some lunch and to do our last round of errand running. We finally made it to Spencer’s Plaza…it is a massive indoor air conditioned complex with hundreds of shops. I went there because there was an Internet café and a food store…thankfully. Needless to say we finished up yet another hectic day at the mall. We ran into our friend Frank who was by himself so we all went back to the ship together.
There is a sort of tradition that before you get back onboard the night we are leaving, most often you want to have a few drinks before hand. There was a duty free store in a warehouse next to where our ship was docked; it was not technically considered India, which was why they could have a duty free store. Anyway, it was great store where they let us just hang out and have our drinks before re-boarding our palace. It was a perfect end to a crazy trip.
I’m really not sure how to sum up India. What I can say is that India is in your face. All the time. The sights, the smells, the people, the places – all of it is IN YOUR FACE. I’m not saying that is a bad thing at all. I learned later that a lot of people really didn’t like it because it was in their face too much of the time; I felt it never was out of my face. And frankly, I enjoyed every second of it. You come to India with expectations and hopes; you leave with fabrics, god statues, maybe some jewelry, of course shoes, and clothes that will be tarnished with the many and varied smells of the country forever. I can tell you that I have no doubt in my mind I will be back to India before any other country I visit on this voyage. So many things still boggle my mind about the amazing country, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to process it all. All I keep thinking about is how as an American, seeing what America does to foreign countries is startling. We as American waste to most of everything out of every country in the world, and yet we are the ones teaching other countries to take after us and do as we say. Perhaps, just perhaps America and Americans need to open their eyes a bit wider and consider taking after countries like India, where there is no need to waste, mainly because there is not excess. One of the greatest things I’ve learned is that having an excess of something creates waste and damages the future; consider: OIL (American use more oil by double any other country in the world), FOOD (we are the biggest consumers and the biggest wasters of food in the world), TECHNOLOGY (we are a top producer in technology and yet don’t use it to our advantage). Simple things like biodegradable banana leave plates might be a lot better than chemically altered papers and environmentally detrimental plastics that further destroy the future. I wish the big ups would see simple things like this. The funny thing is, W had his chance; he was in India schmoozing and lying his way into their democracy the week before I was and his eyes will never be opened wide enough to realize that every other society and country doesn’t take nearly as much for granted as his greedy, oil-hungry, money-loving, war-fighting eyes do.
And on that note, I leave you.
Up next…the dangerous and iffy state of Myanmar.
posted by Jeffrey Cole LeFrancois @ 3:14 AM
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