Seva: Volunteering in India

One of the most important facets of my trip (which, so far, I have not written very much about) has been my experience volunteering at a school called Chethana Trust.  My original intention was to work with an organization here in Mysore called Odanadi, however, since nothing in India seems to work the way you expect it to, I ended up instead working at an after school program run by the wonderful people of Chethana Trust.  

The center was founded by two Psychiatrists and caters to an oft neglected part of Indian society: individuals with disabilities.  There is a day program for children with disabilities such as Down Syndrome, a vocational school to help older students to develop a trade, and an after school program for children with learning disabilities.  They also recently opened a beautiful school just outside the city that caters to all students with the goal of providing individualized education, something sorely lacking in most children's educational experience.

Two amazing women: Dr. Rajini (left) and Surabhi, one of the teachers.

For the past four months, I have been volunteering with the after school program.  I've been working with children ages 5 to 15, teaching them everything from simple reading and writing to cellular biology.  Though some days have been more challenging than others, every day has been rewarding.

This is Saria

After 4 months of practicing spelling, this is as close as she
could get to "I'll miss you"... touching nonetheless!

I have learned so much from the heartbreaking stories of some of these children.  In classrooms of 50-60 students, learning disabilities go completely unnoticed and unaddressed.  One of our students was repeatedly beaten at school for failing to perform a "simple" writing task that, given his entirely diagnosable disability, he found extremely challenging.  What's even more sad is that even once parents are made aware of their children's disabilities, they often refuse to acknowledge them out of pride and cultural pressures.  They would rather watch their children struggle than get them the help they need, if that means labeling them as somehow "inferior."  One of our more severely dyslexic and hyperactive children was pulled from the program for this reason. 

The lucky few who I had the pleasure to work with affected me deeply and taught me so many things.  There are moments I'll never forget, like when they made me eat freshly picked clover (a delicacy!), when they left me in charge of their pet locust, or when I accidentally confused a girl's name with a delicious breakfast food.

Poori

Purvi

I will miss their bright smiles and beautiful faces, and I feel lucky to have spent time with them.

Coming home

It has been over a month since my last post (I knew I would be bad at this blogging thing), and since I last wrote I finally purchased a return ticket!  I am now just two short weeks away from the end of my trip.  After four months of living here, leaving comes with mixed emotions.  I'm excited beyond words to spend the holidays at home with my family, but I will be sad to leave India, especially when it has blessed me with so many amazing people, opportunities, and experiences.

Things I will miss:
-The people!
-Fresh coconuts

Oh sweet nectar of the gods

-The colors.  From temples, to saris, to floral garlands draping recently puja'd rickshaws, bright colors are inescapable

-My favorite coconut-loving street dog Roger

What a dapper fellow

-Daily chai with my amazing new roommates
-My students

Cute little monsters

-Dosas
-Pollution-enhanced sunsets

#NoFilter #SmogFilter

-The amazing Saturday "eats and sweets" that I never thought I'd get to enjoy in India (rose and honey creme brulee, gyoza, pear frangipane? yum.)

-Harrowing rides through Indian traffic and the accompanying adrenaline rush
-My guru, Saraswati, one of the most inspirational women I've ever met! Kicking butt and taking names at 72 years old.

Things I will not miss so much:
-Hand-washing everything
-Bucket baths
-My nightly serenade of barking dogs, honking rickshaws, and howling monkeys
-Constantly covering my knees and shoulders and being on the lookout for unwelcome advances from nefarious individuals

-Haggling with rickshaw drivers
-The ever-lurking threat of food poisoning, especially when fresh vegetables are involved

-Blowing black soot out of my nose after spending any considerable amount of time outside

-Leaning uncomfortably over weirdly and inconveniently designed Indian sinks

Setting out for this trip I dreamed of filling my passport, yet somehow I'm coming back with just one new stamp.  Still, I don't regret a single moment of the four months I've spent earning that stamp... plus there's always next trip ;)

Festivals and Bananas

The past few weeks have been a very festive time for Mysore.  People from all over the country come to see Mysore’s elaborate processions and lights in celebration of Dasara, one of the biggest holidays in India.  The city swelled with people and traffic, all of which culminated in a grand procession of floats, performers, and elephants that have been training for weeks.  Unfortunately, this procession is so famous, it was virtually impossible to get anywhere near it.  But that didn’t stop us from trying!  It was worth it just to see how creative people can be in looking for a good viewing spot.

Yeah, that looks safe

After about an hour of trying in vain to find a spot where we could see something other than people’s backs, we gave up and went to an air-conditioned coffee shop, where we could watch the parade on TV.  Luckily, fate delivered another (perhaps even more amazing) procession into our laps.  I was taking a dawn motorcycle ride with a friend to the top of Chamundi Hill to see the sun rise when we noticed what seemed to be an unusually high volume of people gathering.  So, we decided to stick around and see what happened.  Being literally the only westerners there, we were the object of much attention.

Part of our fan club

Fortunately, a family sitting nearby flanked us and warded off the onslaught of grinning teenage boys.

Our adopted "Auntie" 

While we were waiting for the unknown festivities to start, we noticed people walking through the crowds with baskets full of bananas that were adorned with sprigs of sage.  Everyone around us was buying bananas... for what reason?  We had no idea.  Suddenly, we heard an explosion, and saw smoke rising nearby.  Our ‘adopted family’ laughed at our surprise.  As it got closer, we saw the source.  Roughly every dozen feet, a team of men would pack a small cart full of some kind of explosive, and then a man with a long, smoking stick would light it on fire.

Safety: not a priority

This caused an explosion with flames reaching tens of feet into the air and bits of (hopefully harmless) “shrapnel” spraying the crowd.  I’ve never been that close to such a powerful explosion... you could feel it through your entire body.

We noticed everyone was preparing their bananas, the main event was arriving!  Several hundred people were using thick ropes to pull a cart with enormous wooden wheels, on top of which stood several live people and a deity.  People cheered and shouted "Mysore!" as it lumbered down the street.

Our new friends passed us bananas and excitedly instructed us to wait until the altar got closer and then throw them!  The goal was to get our bananas stuck in the top, for good luck.  I will never forget the sight of hundreds of bananas flying through the air and pelting the elegantly decorated shrine. 

It was bananas (ha!)

Exiting the festival was daunting, as thousands of people bottlenecked through alleys and around parked cars (not to mention our shoes and pants were coated with mushed bananas).  Some small children nearly got trampled when one fell in front of the dense and unforgiving crowd.  At one point I’m fairly certain I could have lifted my feet and continued to move purely through the pushing throng of people all around me.

Like most other experiences in India, it was strange, colorful, devotional, exciting, and full of men.

Sticking it to the 'men'

The best way to fuel my desire to do something is to tell me that I can't do it.  This almost resulted in my being disowned when I told my mom that I was going to skydive in Hawaii whether she liked it or not, because "what are you going to do about it?" (many hours of profuse apology later, we eventually reached a peaceable agreement and I jumped out of a plane at 14,000 ft. You're the best, mom!).  This week, I was told flat out by at least a dozen different men that women cannot ride motorcycles.

Oh really?

I’ve had a ‘need for speed’ since my dad took me 100 mph in his 1989 Mazda Miata convertible (shhh don’t tell mom) as a child.  In fact, my dad has encouraged this behavior as long as I can remember.  Just this past year we went for a spin at the BMW test track in a 414 horsepower M3, because nothing says father-daughter bonding like spinning out on the skid pad.  I got my motorcycle license 5 years ago (as soon as my mom would let me), and settled for driving a Vespa around Honolulu for the past 2 years.

The Ferrari of scooters

The point is, I have complete confidence in my ability to drive almost anything, including a motorcycle.  The men of India, however, had a very different idea.  I’ve been craving a motorcycle trip through the gorgeous countryside, so my friend Alexis and I set out to try to find bikes to rent.  Apparently, although the roads of India are full of men on motorcycles, it is extremely uncommon for women to drive them.  Scooters yes, motorcycles no.  We were literally laughed at, and told that it was "too complicated for us to possibly learn".  Another man had two friends with bikes ready to rent, but when they found out they were to be rented to women, the owners refused.  Patriarchy runs deep in India.  Helmets aren't even available in women’s sizes or feminine designs.  Even one seemingly westernized Indian friend asked, wouldn't it just be better if we rode on the back of a man's bike?

After several frustrating days, we finally managed to rent two motorcycles.  We were feeling pretty good about this accomplishment, and told one of our few supportive male friends we were "sticking it to the man."  He replied, "No no, you're sticking it to the men."

300cc's of bad-assery

Now that we had sweet wheels, we needed somewhere to take them.  So, we organized a trip to a nearby temple and set out after breakfast.  Two ladies on two motorcycles, and three men on two scooters (and one more man on a motorcycle).

Biker chicks

The temple itself (Somanathapura) was beautiful, with layers upon layers of intricate carvings.

Many carvings had deep spiritual significance...

...others were just ancient smut

We were of course followed by small children who wanted to take pictures with us

I'm not sure why they found me so funny

It was an incredible day, and one that I will never forget.  I think my favorite part of the whole experience was the look of confusion and utter shock on the faces of the men we passed along the way.

Our motorcycle gang

Food!

As anyone who knows me is probably already aware, I love food.  When I think of past vacations or cities I’ve visited, often the first thing that comes to my mind is that one meal that still makes my mouth water.  For this reason, a good portion of my phone’s memory is dedicated to photographs of food.  I was surprised, then, to find that I’ve actually taken very few pictures of food since I got here. 

I’ve always loved Indian food, but it turns out that what passes for ‘Indian’ in the United States actually represents only a tiny fraction of the foods of the Indian subcontinent.  From what I’ve seen so far, the food in the U.S. is almost exclusively north Indian.  The names of foods on menus here are almost entirely unfamiliar to me, and the tastes are more foreign still.  Through trial and error (and a little help from people who know better than I do) I’m starting to figure out what I like.  With one exception, though, I’m still not blown away by any of the food I’ve eaten so far.

That one glorious exception is a ‘street food’ called dahi puri.  It’s similar to a food that a good friend once described to me as ‘Indian nachos,’ and consists of bite-sized, deep-fried, pastry like shells filled with chickpeas, yogurt, tamarind sauce, and who knows what other fabulous ingredients.  The combination is heavenly.  The best one I’ve had so far was from a small stand on the side of the road, and I was so enamored I forgot to take a picture (so I’ve borrowed one from google).  

Yummmmm

Apparently dahi puri is something that is only served in the evening (why not lunch??).  I’m still trying to figure out what exactly is served at what time of day…

For example, most everything in this picture is considered a breakfast food.  On the left are the accoutrements that come with nearly every meal, coconut chutney and sambar, a tomato-based soupy sauce.  On the right are the four things that appeared on my plate even though I only ordered two of them.  The white one, front left, is idli.  Despite having it explained to me repeatedly in broken English, it took a google search to convince me that it is in fact made of (de-husked) lentils and rice.  It doesn’t taste like much, but dipped in the chutney and sambar it’s delicious.  The two in the back are kesari bath and khara bath, which (again thanks to google) I now know are made of semolina.  One is sweet, the other savory.  The doughnut-like thing in the front left is I think called vadai?  It’s soaked in oil, slightly savory but nearly tasteless.  I don’t like it at all, but for some reason they keep serving it to me.

 The most common breakfast food here is called a dosa.  I’m not a huge fan, so I don’t have any pictures of the typical dosas (masala dosa- super fried and oily, or set dosa, basically a savory pancake), but here is an onion dosa that was actually super delicious. 

Most restaurants and households here serve food on metal dishes.  I’m not sure why this is, but it makes for a very interesting alarm clock when my landlord’s family does their dishes every day at 5AM.

 

Dessert or pond scum?

 Because this is a town that caters largely to yogis, it’s actually surprisingly easy to get western-style food, although it often has a distinctly Indian twist.  For example, this delicious homemade pasta was served with baby corn and took over two hours between ordering and eating.

I've now taken an Indian cooking class and a western-style baking class and somehow managed not to take any pictures of either, but here is a crème brulee made by the same pastry chef who taught the course.

Apparently it took him 2 years to find a blowtorch in Mysore

Another memorable meal was from when I was sick, shortly after arriving.  I was lying around my apartment in a daze, recovering, when I heard my landlord’s wife knocking urgently at my apartment door.  She burst in with a set of dishes, all stacked on top of each other and clipped together, and proceeded to take them apart and tell me what each of the foods were.  I was so deeply touched by this loving gesture and was thanking her profusely as she left when she said, “125 rupees! You pay tomorrow.”

Home cookin'

One last note on what is perhaps my favorite Indian food of all, chai!  The chai here is simply sweeter, creamier, spicier, and more delicious than you could imagine.  It (like everything else) is served in metal dishes, with a clever twist so as not to scald yourself on a regular basis.

The chai is served piping hot in a small metal cup, with a wider, shallower cup underneath.

You can then pour out the chai, either a little bit at a time or all at once into the broader dish in order to cool it and save yourself from third degree burns.  At this point I'm so spoiled I think it will be difficult to drink "chai" back in the states ever again...

I now have internet in my apartment for the first time in 6 weeks, so (hopefully) my posts will be a little more regular (and if anyone wants to skype, hit me up!).

Weeks 3 and 4

Since I last wrote, I’ve been busy.  I went on a safari, explored a cursed temple, destroyed several small children in Connect Four (and then was badly beaten in speed-Connect Four)… my thoughts seem to occur non-linearly these days, so I’m just going to post and talk about a few of my favorite pictures from the past ~2 we

Indians tend to load a lot of people on scooters.  It’s extremely common to see 3 (the legal limit), and not at all uncommon to see an additional child (or goat, or giant pane of glass??) packed on the front. So, coming back from a restaurant one evening, four people, one scooter, with no rickshaws in sight, we thought we’d give it a try…

Shh, don't tell my mom!

I was later reassured to find out that my friend, the driver, is a former motorcycle racing champion (or at least second place).  I was less comforted to know that his butt was not in fact touching the seat the whole time we were driving. 

Fun? Extremely.  Will I do it again? Probably not.  When even the locals are laughing at you, you’re probably doing something stupid/crazy.

Speaking of driving, here are a few pictures of common Indian road hazards.  Cows (who have more of a right of way than pedestrians), road-blocks, and even a “road work ahead” sign. 

Cleverly hidden in the shadows to keep things interesting for scooter drivers

yes, it's a branch

Fortunately, Indian automobiles are paragons of road safety.

I think the best part of our safari through Nagarahole National Park wasn’t the safari itself (although seeing wild elephants was pretty special), but the sights and sounds of the country roads we took to get there.  As a friend here said, the most beautiful thing in India is the children.

On another outing I visited the temples of Talakadu, which were recently excavated from under ~30 feet of sand.  The sand dunes seem wildly out of place in this fertile river valley, and legend attributes their presence to a curse.  On the way there, my travel companion and I had stopped to recharge our GPS when we were invited to a celebratory meal honoring a snake god.  We ate food with our hands off banana leaves as people all around us stared inquisitively.  It was fantastic, easily my favorite meal so far. 

The temples were fascinating, but still my favorite part of the trip was again the drive.  We got caught in a rainstorm on the return, but once it had passed, the rays of the evening sun shone through the mist… it was sublime.

 

...and here's a gratuitous monkey

I’m taking my trip one day at a time, but now that I’m starting to get more settled (and no longer ill!) I’m finally feeling truly content. 

India is overwhelming and life-changing… and I think I like it.

Week 1

I’m writing this post from bed: after a week, those sneaky microscopic bastards finally got me.  I spent most of Tuesday in a feverish stupor and in the end saw a doctor (a strange experience) and picked up some antibiotics (doctors visit + antibiotics and other medicine = $3). On a related note, I will probably never eat tandoori chicken again.  Luckily, I’m surrounded by amazing people who were unimaginably helpful in taking care of me.  I feel blessed to have received such an outpouring of kindness from people I’ve only known a week; it only reinforces what a special place this is.

Travel Ganesh says- don't eat meat in India!

Earlier in the week, I took my camera out exploring.  It’s impossible to truly capture how colorful and vibrant India is, but here are a few of my sights and experiences.

With my friend Isabel, I took a rickshaw to the Mysore Zoo, one of the “must see” attractions of the area.  

Even rickshaws have to stop for gas

I’m starting to get more used to rickshaws.  Between swerving around stray cows and weaving in and out of oncoming traffic, they require a certain amount of blind faith in your survival.

Unbeknownst to us, the day we picked to go to the zoo was also one of the biggest holidays on the Muslim calendar, so it was packed.  We soon found that we were as much of a novelty to our fellow zoo-goers as the lions and elephants.  Children were thrilled to have us take their picture, or better yet to take a picture with their whole family.

These little guys were characters 

My Indian family

Fascination with the unusual aside, I think in most cases the children are just excited to have a chance to practice their English.  The inevitable series of questions: “Hello, how are you? What country? Can we take a picture?” (followed by giggles).

On our day off from yoga practice, a group of us took a road trip to a nearby Tibetan village, Bylakuppe.  But first, we had breakfast at Santosha’s, a delicious highlight of many of my days. 

French Press and French Canadian

The land for the village of Bylakuppe was donated by the Indian government to Tibetan refugees and is now home to a prosperous community that includes hundreds of monks who gather at the famous Golden Temple.  The photo requests continued, especially since we were traveling with someone who is 6’7. 

The girls and their fan club

Take a picture with the tall guy!

Inside, the massive temple houses three 60’ golden statues.  We timed our trip so as to be present for the mid-day prayer ceremony, at which point the temple floods with monks chanting in rhythmic unison.  It was a powerful and unique experience. 

One thing that troubled me about the temple, and that pervades many other experiences in India generally, was the stark contrast between opulence and poverty.  Just outside this beautiful and lavishly decorated temple, small children in tattered rags tug at your shirt, begging for money and food.  Every morning as I walk to yoga, the servants of wealthy households diligently scrub their front walks as barefoot women from nearby slums pick through the piles of garbage that collect on abandoned lots.  An orphanage nestled amidst mega-homes has a basket for abandoned babies with a sign that tragically reads, “Do not kill your baby, leave it here.”  It’s strange to see such extreme stratification of wealth socially accepted… then again I feel that, given the brevity of my time here, there is still much more I have yet to learn.