Back to Varanasi, Goodbye India

This will undoubtedly be my last blog while still in India. I've returned to Varanasi, where my trip began one month ago (though I can hardly believe it's been one month). My plane leaves Varanasi at 3PM tomorrow and then out of Delhi tomorrow evening to return to America by 6AM. I've heard here's something like 2 feet of snow to be waiting for me when I arrive...joy. We'll see how I acclimate to the cold after being in sunny India.

It's interesting returning to Varanasi after all this time. I remember lying in my bed the first night here in Varanasi, admittedly horrified at the idea that I had an entire month in this foreign, insanse and intense country. I remember forgoing my original plan of staying in Varanasi for a few days, to instead hop a train to Vrindavan to meet up immediately with my western college friends. I was quite in a panic when I first arrived. Things are VERY different here--and it's a whole lot to plunge into by yourself. Perhaps not the best idea, looking back.

But here I am, continuing the cycle of beginning and ends which is so prevelant in Hinduism. It's better this time around. Varanasi is still overwhelming--it's a huge city--and full of people trying to scam tourists. I've spent nearly every moment here trying to avoid that. But now I'm much more brave; when I arrived here at first I'd dare walk more than 30 meters away from my guesthouse. Both because I had no idea how to navigate the medieval passageways of Varanasi, but also because I dared not face the dreadful and manic traffic in the streets or risk being pounced on by drug dealers or "tourist guides" whilst walking along the ghats.

This time, however, I've been doing much more exploring of the city. I found a large Muslim neighborhood, which was interesting, and watched as people made silk scarves, lumbering over huge machines that were only operated by their hands and feet--no electrical manufacturing lines here. This time around, it's better.

After coming to India, I do have to say I'm much more confident. Just to even navigate walking through the traffic (dodging the cows, people on bicycles and vehicles constantly driving on the wrong side of the street--that being the right side here in India), you've got to be brave. I was joking in Delhi that now I just walk out into the intersection and slap my hands on oncomming automobiles forcing them to stop and yell at rickshaw drivers, just like the locals do. I've learned how to simply say "no" to people peskering me for "guided tours" (I used to shyly say no but would have too much of a heart to just be rude and say "leave me alone"). I've successfully haggled people down from 600 rupee prices to a 50 rupee price, whereas back in the States I used to be horrified at the idea of having to haggle. Such good life skills to acquire--I believe. India is a REAL place. It's very much a survivalist mindset trying to be here. I've learned how to actually be assertive and deny people. Very interesting. I feel a whole lot more confident returning home in a lot of interpersonal interactions.

However, I also come home with a lot more personal and introspective meaning too--as I've tried to share as much as I can with this blog. It's been a wild and interesting trip to say the least. I'll try to post pictures on the internet as soon as I get home. Looking forward to seeing everyone.

Until then,
Dylan

America

I had a very unusual moment in Delhi the other day.


I was waiting in line to go through the bag check and metal detectors to enter the American Centre library--security in India is crazy intense. I'm not exactly sure why, but I know that they have a lot of terrorismish problems between Muslims and Hindus both living in India. For example, there's a nested mounted machine gun-wielding Indian military person at the entrance to the Metro station--very uncomfortable feeling. Nevertheless, I was waiting in line and I just happened to be looking at an Indian police officer and suddenly I had a swelling sensation of what I'd call patriotism--for lack of a better word. Indian police officers also walk around the city wielding AK-47s and other large Russian rifles that look like they're from the Cold War era. As an American, I'm used to seeing police officers walking around with a pistol in their belt--never just casually walking around with military-grade rifles slung around their shoulders or resting in their palms.

Before I continue, let me first say that much of what I'm about to say is simply my initial personal feelings. It's the raw truth of an American visiting India--an arguably stated 3rd world split-personality country. It may not be completely accurate given just my glimpse of India, nor may it always sound "politically correct," but this experience was so incredibly unique and strange--at least, in my lifetime--that I decided I should write about it. Also, it's especially interesting knowing my personal opinions, behavior and "political stances" while living in America. Therefore, I think this is quite interesting.

Continuing on, I saw this Indian police officer wielding an unnecessary and obnoxious weapon for his post while waiting in line for what I considered to be frivolous and--well, stupid--security checks. All to gain access to an American library where an English writer was speaking who I wanted to see. I wasn't exactly frustrated, I just thought the whole fiasco was ridiculous.

But ridiculous why? As I said, I had this bizarre sensation of American pride suddenly. It was part "my big brother can beat up your big brother" feeling toward the Indian police officer and also part recognition that I do, for whatever reason, arguably live in the most powerful country in the world. I don't care to get into political discussions on this, but being in India has made me realize how exactly privileged I am to be an American and how realistically amazing America is (although I recognize its vast short-comings).

I'm not exactly sure what I want to say about this feeling, or how I could expand on it and its significance. As I said, for the folks who know me intimately back home, I'm sure it's quite bizarre to hear me praising America--I tend to harshly criticize both America and patriotism or nationalism in general. Yet I am an American. I love my nation's history. In fact, while in the American Centre in Delhi I was reading Mark Twain's "Life on the Mississippi." Yes, the irony of sitting in India and reading Mark Twain is obvious, but it's also representative of how much I truly love where I live. Not in an zenophobic "all other nations aren't worth my time" kind, but I simply really identify and appreciate my homeland. I suppose being in such a drastically different place will do that to you; you'll either leave your originally living place for the new found place (as is the case for many of the Western Hare Krsna folk I met who now live in Vrindavan) or you realize how honestly you love your home and the fact that it is your home.

This isn't to say that I'm coming home waving the American flag and drastically changing my politics. As I said, America, for all of its greatness, needs changing (at least, in my opinion). It does, however, mean that I'm coming home with a new found appreciation for where I come from, my national heritage, myths, ideals and values. It means I'll sit along the Mississippi, after having sat next to the Ganges, and love that river even more than I did before I came. It means that I'll come home and cherish the romance of the American West even more than I did before I saw the mountain ranges of India. I'm an American, and while I don't necessarily agree with everything it does (I have, afterall and considering how near I am geographically, been thoroughly reflecting on Pakistan and Afghanistan while here in India), I do in fact love my country.

I'll be there soon,
Dylan

A Living God

"If these Christians want me to believe in their god, they’ll have to sing better songs, they’ll
have to look more like people who have been saved, they’ll have to wear on their countenance the joy of the
beatitudes. I could believe in a god who dances." -Friedrich Nietzsche

Being in India, I've been surrounded by religion. In fact, it was a key reason for me to travel to India. I find myself most often stuck in the middle between the two competing forces in my thoughts on religion: my compassion and interest in religious movements, and my atheistic Nietzschian punk ethos. This means I neither embrace religion nor shun it. It puts me in a peculiar spot. I feel that most people I know who are religious expect me to be religious and my atheistic friends think I'm foolish for even giving God a chance.

However, being in India has given me some time to reflect on my thoughts on God. I was sitting along the Ganges river tonight. I hadn't showered for a few days, so I took off my shirt, rolled up my pants and got into the Ganges. I dipped my hair into the flowing water and washed my arms and legs. Then I returned to my spot on the rocky beach to dry with the sunlight. Considering it was my last day in Rishikesh along the Ganges, I decided to make a little campfire there along the river and just sit and enjoy the view of the Himalayas.

Then, a middle-aged English woman walked by, holding a bowl of flowers with a candle she had purchased from the roaming poverished children selling them for 10 rupees each. She walk near to me along the edge of the Ganges, put her hands together (Namaste' style), assumingly gave some little prayer and then put the lit candle bowl into the Ganges. It's a typical "ceremony" that I've seen performed everywhere I've seen a river in India, from Varanasi to the Yamuna River in Vrindavan and again here in Rishikesh.

I started thinking about the humor in that here I was, simply bathing myself and enjoying a little campfire, while to anyone else I probably looked like I was performing some sort of ceremonious cleansing with water and fire. Then comes this "spiritual" English woman to do her little religious ceremony. I wondered what she wanted in a God.

Thus began my thoughts on God. What exactly do people want in God?  To me, religion is either two things: 1. A source of pleasure (e.g. eternal salvation) or 2. A source for thankfulness. I don't mind the second option; in fact, since being in India I've created a sort of prayer I say before every meal, not thanking any "god" but the universe, the farmers, the server, the water which grew the seed into the vegetable I was going to eat, etc. We ought to be thankful to something/one. If people need a God to be thankful for the very essence of existing...well that makes sense. However, I do have a problem with the first option.

I remember, while attending my Lutheran elementary school, hymns and prayers about our "living God." That God is a source of life-fullness. I enjoy this idea, but I think we really ought to critique what we mean by "life." Is life always a positive thing? No, I should say. There's plenty of cliches, but life is in fact the constant motion between good and bad, pleasing times and miserable times. So what's all this about our Christian God--a supposed God of Life--granting us eternal bliss and salvation in Heaven for? I say "hell no." I want to be ALIVE. I don't want comfort when I'm upset (well, I do, but you get what I mean), I don't want healing for my sicknesses. If God is in fact a living God, I want to live: I want to enjoy the beautiful sights of Himalayan mountain ranges and laugh with my daughter when I return home, and I want to feel the sting of homesickness while far away and bear the brunt of Iowan winters.

I'm with Nietzsche on this one. If these supposed holy men, who've attempted to instruct me on proper breathing techniques or mantras to chant while here in India, want me to believe in God, they'd better start dancing--dancing between good and bad, pleasure and sorrow. In all of it, I'll dance.

A Day in the Life...

I woke up around 6:30AM. I was already an hour late for the morning Kriya Yoga session (which I hadn't attended since I arrived anyway) at my ashram, so I figured I'd just lay in my stiff wooden-with-a-one-inch-mattress-bed for a bit more. The marble floors and walls of my small room were very cold, having been chilled from the nighttime air and the lack of internal heating in the building made everywhere outside of the pile of woolen blankets I had draped over myself cold. After dozing for a bit more, I checked my watch and noticed it was close to 7:30AM. I got out of bed, put my toe-socks on (not a toe-spot for each toe, but oriental style toe socks separating the big toe from the rest of the toes so that sandals can be worn) and wrapped my chattar around me to retain as much heat as possible before going outside. I walked out the main ashram building, put my sandals on, and walked over to the smaller kitchen building. Greeted the Indian cook, got myself a mug and pour myself some fresh chai. It was delightful and warm, sitting in the chilly kitchen room. I moseyed around for another hour until breakfast, and ate a nice small dish. Afterward, I walked down Laxman Juhl road to the internet cafe and chatted with friends back home on Facebook for about an hour--a total of 20 rupees...or 40 cents. As the sun was beginning to peak over the top of the Himalayan foothills which surrounded the little valley Rishikesh town, I began my trek to discover the lost Maharishi Ashram. When The Beatles traveled to India in the 60s, they stayed at the Ashram. However, since then, it's been shut down and closed to public access since someone was caught growing drugs there (go figure). It's apparently been neglected and run down. There's a guard there, but some local Indians informed me that if you give him ten or fifteen rupees, he'll let you in. As I started walking across the suspension bridge across The Ganges River, I could feel the sun beginning to seep into my bones and warm me. I continued walking past the town in the direction which someone had informed me--not entirely sure where I was going. I kept walking and walking and walking. Now I was definitely outside of the town with nothing but Himalayan woods and hills around me. The road was desolate and only one or two Indians walked along the road with me. I kept asking them "Maharishi Ashram?" and pointing down the road and they would respond in Hindi, which I assumed as being a confirming "yes." The road began to get steeper and the climb more difficult. I turned off the main road onto a smaller gravel pedestrian pathway. It was even steeper and no one was in sight--only monkeys. I'd look up in the hills and imagine that a tiger would be creeping along the crest of the mountains. I passed a sign, in the other direction that I was walking, that read "End Elefhant Zone: Be Careful." Looking to the side of the road, I saw a group of peacocks quickly running away into the deep of the woods. I kept climbing, hoping to finally arrive at the mysterious Ashram. Finally, after a nearly vertical climb, I arrived at a small concrete building with a man selling water. I asked "Maharishi Ashram?" and he responded "Siva temple." I looked at him puzzlingly. "No Maharisih?" "No. Maharishi Ramjoohla" he said pointing back in the direction I had came. Ramjoohla was a landmark I knew and it was far away, nearly back where I had started. I sighed and started walking back.

Once I had returned to the main road from the pedestrian path, two student-aged Indians on a motorcycle whizzed by with silly smiles on their faces waving and saying "HI" to the foreign white kid (me). I returned their wave and they sped off. Soon, however, they came back and stopped in front of me. "Where you from?" "US," I answered. "Do you want a lift?" My face lit up. "Yes!" They smiled and I hopped onto the back of the motorcycle. I felt like the scene in Darjeeling Limited (cliche' yes), riding 3-people on a motorcycle through India. The boys were very inquisitive of me, what I did in the US and why I had come to India. "Why not?" I responded and they laughed. Eventually they dropped me off at Laxman Juhla. I was tried from the walk to the mistaken Siva Temple, so I decided to go out walking again the next day in search of the Ashram. That's India for you. You may not get where you wanted to go, but I did find a small Siva Temple, which I doubt many westerners have visited, I had a pleasant walk through Himalayan woods and I got to hitch a ride on a motorcycle with some Indian students.

Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da,
Dylan

Landscape

Plenty of folks have been inquiring as to the landscape here, in India; or, at least, what I've seen of India. So, here goes:

I can't really speak of Varanasi, which is more-so in central India and a bit to the east, because of it essentially just being a huge city. Imagine Chicago, but built in the medieval era with small winding stone corridors, wild hogs and bonfires everywhere. However, the Ganges River goes right along Varanasi--which I could see with the view of my guesthouse while I was there--and it's a vast river. About as wide as the Mississippi I'd say and considerably clear, considering all the garbage which unfortunately gets tossed into it. The landscape, otherwise, was pretty much like it was in Mathura, Vrindavan or Govardhan (which are all near each other, a bit south and east of Delhi).

To describe the landscape of Vrindavan is a lot like describing the landscape of Iowa: do you want me to describe it before "civilization" took it over, or before? In Vedic literature, Vrindavan is described as a beautiful area, lush with forests, peacocks and greenery. However, now it honestly resembles a lot of Iowa: farms. Vrindavan is very dusty--that's a good one-word to describe it: dusty. Not as in old (albeit it is incredibly old), but sandy sort of dusty. I was reflecting on it and Pakistan came to mind. Not all too surprising considering, when you think about it in relative distances, it's not too far from Pakistan. The Yamuna River runs along Vrindavan, which is as clear as the Ganges, but not as wide. Still nice. There are trees here and there--except in oasis-style special areas where folks have taken care of the greenery for tourists--but they're not exactly like any American trees I've seen. Some palm trees, but also scrawny, reaching big trees with little tuffs of leaves. Makes me think of some of the photos I've seen of Africa. Of course, there's also the occasional huge tree, about as wide as an old American west redwood, but the trunk looks like it's wrapped in vertical vines. Neat looking. As for grass, it's pretty much non-existent--except for touristy-areas. There's some bushes and shrubbery, but again, it resembles the kind I've seen in the American southwest more than our midwestern lush bushes and plants. The sky is clear and blue, once the sun comes out; and the sun makes all the difference between being quite cold and considerably warm. It hasn't rained since I've been here, though for the first week-or-so in Vrindavan, there was heavy, heavy fog, which is typical for this time of year. Viewing ancient Hindu temples or wandering sadhus through a mist of fog is quite the sight, let me tell you.

However, Rishikesh--where I am not--is a fantastic place for the landscape. It's in the foothills of the Himalayas, though even the foothills make some of the American mountain ranges I've seen look like minute hills. They're full of trees, like the mountains in the American northwest. The Ganges River also flows through here, creating the valley-like area where Rishikesh is nested. There's some sandy beaches, but they're gray and spotted with rocks and boulders--not like the silky tan sand of what we think of with beaches or like the nice silky dusty sand of Vrindavan.

Well, I hope that paints a bit of a picture for those of you who have been asking about what it looks like here. No jungles or anything--that's more Southern India, I believe, which unfortunately I won't be able to visit this trip. Maybe next time....

Hari Om,
Dylan

Comparisons are odious...

A writer once wrote that comparions are odious....but he was Buddhist and much of this trip has been in the Hindu vein--ergo, I'm going to share a bit of what I'll miss and not miss from both the US and India to give you a glimpse of my experience here in India.

What I miss from the US:
-Showerheads (bucket showers get old fast)
-Casinos
-English speaking
-The observance of traffic laws....ahem, India....

What I don't miss from the US:
-Busy, busy, busy
-American food
-Booze
-Political discussions

What I'll miss from India:
-Everyone greeting me/saying thank you/saying goodbye with "Hare Krsna" in Vrindavan
-Cows
-Indian food
-Kirtan (dancing and singing in the temple)

What I won't miss from India:
-Having every single person blatantly and prolongedly stare at me
-Having to haggle for every single purchase, starting from a ridiculously high price
-Open sewer systems and toliets as holes in the ground
-Consistently trying to hide my white skin, as to avoid being hassled

Hare Krsna,
Dylan

p.s., I'm in Rishikesh, in the Himalayans and it's undoubtedly the most beautiful part of the trip. Utterly fantastic. Living at a yoga ashram, 3 meals a day provided and yoga classes for approximately $6/day. Awesome.

Longing

Well, today's the day. I'm leaving Vrindavan in just about an hour, traveling via bus to Agra to see the Taj Mahal and then continuing via bus way up north to Rishikesh and the foothills of the Himalayans. Looking back, I'm amazed I've stayed so long in Vrindavan. When I had originally planned this trip, I was picturing myself spending days on trains, zooming across all corners of this massive country and seeing as much of it as I could. However, in reality, I've spent two days in Varanasi (semi-central India), four days in Govardhana and weeks in Vrindavan. As my time is closing fast in India, I guess I ought to start traveling.

Last night, as I was sitting and singing along in the Krishna Balaram Mandir (temple) kirtan, I thought to myself "This is the last kirtan I'll have in Vrindavan...possibly for the rest of my life." I have no idea when the next time I'll make it to the other side of the world will be. It made me sad. I can already feel myself longing to be here in Vrindavan. All the harsh aspects of India aside--cold bucket showers, rampant monkeys, mounds of litter--it's still been a home for me, as I mentioned in a previous blog post. I've made friends, more or less, here. I've gotten to know the Hare Krsna folk and have enjoyed singing and dancing with them on a daily basis.

Vaishnavism (the particular form of hinduism which the Hare Krsna movement falls under) really emphasizes longing. The entire philosophy behind the religion is that we ought to be longing after God; if God's supposedly with us, where is (s)he? Vaishnavism teaches that the ideal relationship one can have with God is a loving one and that we should daily want to be with him/her. I think these ideas are applicable to all religions, not just hinduism.

The western philosopher, Friedrich Nietzshe, (who actually was arguably more of an eastern philosopher than western, though he was German), writes a lot on longing. It's an interesting situation. We've got a cliche' in the west for it: "Distance makes the heart grow fonder." I think the state of longing is overlooked in much of our lives; we always want to actually have what we're longing for. Nobody likes to long for something, we just want it. But I think there's something special in longing--in itself--not just as the emotion that takes place before we get what we want.

Well anyway, I've got to go take prasadam (breakfast) and then catch my bus. A warm thank you to Vrindavan--I'll surely miss her/him.

Hare Krsna, y'all,
Dylan