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.
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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.
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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.
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These little guys were characters |
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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.
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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.
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The girls and their fan club |
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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.
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