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

Circus Du India

A few days ago I attended an Indian circus. I went with a group of American students from Rhode Island I met in Vrindavana. Foolishly, I was thinking an Indian circus--considering India's seemingly lax attitude towards safety and health--would be some crazy experience of tigers juggling midgets in the lotus position or something. What I was completely forgetting was that India is an incredibly poor country with a schizophrenic personality.

The circus was a pathetic attempt of Indians trying to duplicate a western activity. All of the performers, while their acrobatic skill was certainly worth praise, were incredibly unenthusiastic and would even bicker amongst each other on stage (as was the case when one girl accidentally fell of a human pyramid). They also had an elephant (I'll save my anti-animals in circuses talk), which had a plastic cellphone advertisement slung over the elephant's back.

From just the little bit of India I've seen, there seems to be a really weird identity crisis going on in India. One minute they're traditional Indian, the next they're western. Schizophrenic personality. It's such a weird sight seeing a man riding on a cart being pulled by water buffalo for his transportation chatting on a cellphone, or Hindu devotees in their traditional robes and shaved heads whipping by on a motorcycle.

The circus, however, really brought forth what I perceived to be an uncomfortable westernization of India. It appears, to my western eyes in India, that many Indians leap at anything westernish. Anything that has to do with the west is good in their eyes. Even if they don't really quite grasp it (as was the case with the circus), it doesn't matter, because it's western. Same thing with bollywood; I saw a few bollywood movies on the plane over here (one of them being the exact same story as Mrs. Doubtfire, but Bollywood-ized) and they're really pathetic. Bollywood doesn't seem to get it and all it seems to care about it appearing "western."

I feel it's unfortunate, not that devotees shouldn't ride on motorcycles or that Indians can't have cellphones, but this weird post-colonial mentality of what I've seen many Indians possessing in Northern India. Then again, as they're walking around wearing Tommy Hilfiger jeans and really tacky "western" jackets, I'm wandering around in a traditional dhoti and chattar... who's to say which is better?

I just think it's weird.

Hari bol,
Dylan

Govardhana

It's been awhile since I've last logged onto the interwebs, due to me being in hiatus at Govardhana. At Govardhana there is a hill, cleverly named "Govardhana Hill," which according to Hindu mythology/scripture, Krsna lifted by his left pinky finger to save the people of Vrindavana during a torrential rainfall (he used the hill as an umbrella, to give you a better picture). Govardhana Hill is a strange giant rocky hill, stuck seemingly out of nowhere and surrounded by the town of Govardhana.

While at Govardhana, I had the privilege to stay at the Govardhana ISKCON ashram, which was essentially the Eastern version of a monastery. There was only one other white person at the ashram, he was from South Africa, and the only one who spoke English fluently. Therefore, it was a quiet stay. However, the quietness and peacefulness of the ashram facility was a delight after the madness of Indian streets. It was wonderful just to sit on top of my room (yes, on top. It was a really cool set-up where you could climb stairs onto your room and sit on the roof and look at Govardhana Hill) and read, or nap in the sun or sit in meditation and not be pestered by every small child for a few rupees or by rikshaw men insisting you get a ride from them.

The story of my arrival at Govardhana, however, is a humorous and thought-provoking tale. I had received word that an ISKCON bus was leaving from Krishna Balarama Mandir (the ISKCON temple) for Delhi to attend the Ratha Yatra--the Ratha Yatra is a big festival where people pull GIANT (I mean stories tall giant) statues via ropes. It was supposed to be an incredible sight, so I asked around and was informed to arrive at the Prasadam Hall at Krishna Balarama Mandir at 6AM. I did so, found a bus and hoped on. The drive to Delhi is approximately 4.5 hours. My bus stopped after only 1 hour. Something was not right.... Everyone started walking and I, in my confusion and inability to communicate efficiently with anyone, started following them. However, I realized that I had left my pack on the bus (my pack which contained all of my money, clothing, passport, etc, due to the Ambrose group leaving therefore rendering me homeless again) and seeing as how I was unsure whether the same bus would be at the end of this mysterious walk I was starting on, I figured I'd play it safe and just carry my pack. I was still under the foolish impression that we were going to Delhi. So I started walking, carrying my pack of approximately 50 lbs.

Soon enough, I discovered I was actually at Govardhana and that I was with a group of devotees who were going on the Govardhana parikrama that day. In Hinduism, people often walk around (circumabulate) particular holy places, such as temples, shrines, etc. In this case, the Govardhana parikrama is around the entire Govardhana hill which is 14 miles. Also, as one of the men informed me, it's supposed to be performed barefoot (I've done a LOT of barefoot walking since arriving in India. Ouch). I knew there was the ISKCON ashram at Govardhana, and I also had been told I could stay there, but I had no idea how to actually get there. I assumed the ISKCON group would eventually be ending there and probably taking prasadam (lunch) there, so I had to follow along this veteran group of devotees with a 50 lbs. pack strapped to my back, barefoot. It was probably the most horrible walk/hike I've ever done and I've currently got blisters the size of golfballs on my feet. However, it got me thinking and reflecting. A lot of Hindu philosophy, as with Buddhist philosophy, revolves around the renunciation of materialism and material living--and there I was, at one of the most auspicious places in Vaishnavan Hinduism with ALL of my material goods I had brought with me on my back, causing me immense pain and suffering. It was as IF Govardhana was trying to show me plain and simple the foolishness and suffering which comes with materialism. Quite the interesting, thought-provoking and PAINFUL situation.

However, now I'm back in Vrindavana after my escape in Govardhana. Not entirely sure what the plan is, but I'm either heading south to Mysore to meet some Iowa City friends, east to Mayapur to visit the samadhi (grave) of Carl's, my professor-friend, brother or north to Rishikesh to see the foothills of the Himalayans.

Until then, Radhey Radhey!
Dylan

Welcome Home

After kirtan (basically singing and dancing around) one night in the local Krsna temple, a fellow westerner came up to me and gave me a hug along with a "welcome home." It was the first night I had attended kirtan. It certainly surprised me. The people here--at least the ISKCON folks--have been so incredibly welcoming and friendly. I've really felt "at home." In fact, this entire time in India, I've yet to feel that "woah! I'm in India!" feeling. It's like I'm waiting for it to hit home--and I'm not sure it ever will. What's it all mean?

Well, what do we mean by "home"? This has been a nice meditation on how we're all human, no matter where we are. People are people and they're more-often-than-not friendly. Anyone could literally move anywhere and it could be home.

But we also have multiple homes. I have my home in Iowa with my family, my history, my Alma Matar...I have my home in San Francisco with my memories, my idealism. I have my home in Rhizome with my closest friends. I also now have some sense of a home in Vrindavan, India. It's a special and wonderful place. So many homes.

Hari bol
Dylan

Nature

I watched a monkey snag the glasses off of a young Indian man yesterday. A crowd began to watch in suspense as he began tossing some food, which he had to purchase from a nearby vendor, up to the monkey. I was confused by this, but soon understood its point. Once the monkey got ahold of the food the boy was tossing up at it, the monkey dropped the glasses down to the boy. It was a spectacular and hilarious sight. The monkeys here sure are troublemakers and will quickly pounce on you to grab whatever you have in your hand.

However, this got me thinking about nature and how we understand nature. Indian cities--at least in Northern India--have animals all over the place. Cows calmly walk down bazaars, forcing cars and motorcycles to wait for them; wild hogs are seen leaping into the open sewers to "enjoy" human waste; monkeys and dogs are rampant throughout the streets. As showed by the boy with the glasses, Indians have learned how to live among these troublesome animals. They haven't gone around with a pistol and removed all the monkeys from the city. They don't honk their horns at cows and demand that they be moved to caged in areas. They live among nature.

Back in the states, we have designated nature preserves or special parks set aside where we can leave "the city" and enjoy "nature." As environmentalism becomes an ever-increasing concern and issue, we need to really reflect on what it means to be "natural" or "nature-friendly." Perhaps we should stop insisting that cities only contain humans and domesticated animals. Perhaps we're going to have to get used to avoiding cow dung while walking down alleys as I have, here in India. Perhaps we're going to have to learn how to work with monkeys in order to retrieve our stolen glasses.

Hare Krsna
Dylan

Kund Cleanin'

I made it to Vrindavan and my journey has progressed immensly since reaching this lovely city. Having met fellow white people who are familiar with India, I've learned much in how to avoid being scammed and where to the non-tourists go. I've sat in tiny little temples listening to a world-reknown devotee play wonderful kirtan on his Spanish Guitar, eaten Indian pizza (different, yet not entirely better than American pizza) and played a funny game of catch with Indian orphans. It's been a great time and I'm afraid I'll never see more of India and only remain in Vrindavan.

For those of you unfamiliar with Hinduism or India, Vrindavan is the boyhood home for Krishna--the ultimate personification of Godhead, according to Gaudiyvan Vaishnavism (or the International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON) led by A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada for those of you who may recall the 60s.). According to legend/scripture, there's tons of stories of different "pasttimes" of Krishna around Vrindavan; one, for example, is him leaping on top of a three-headed snake which was threatening the village in order to vanquish it. Those sort of supernatural childish pasttimes. Anyway, around Vrindavan, even today, are different Kunds where these particular pasttimes supposedly took place.

Today I spent the majority of my day sweeping one of these Kunds. There's a LOT of trash in Northern India and littering is everywhere. I suspect it's a combo of the same idiocy that we Americans litter so much, but also the lingering sentiments of the Caste system: no one wants to be seen sweeping floors and picking up garbage. However, me and some folks I've met decided to go clean up one of these Kunds which had become overrun with trash, dust and dirt. It was a HUGE area dug into the ground with staircases 360 degrees around. It reminded me of a Colisseum. Anyway, we swept all the trash down from each step to the next until we reached the dirt at the bottom. It took us about 4-5 hours. 4-5 hours of just sweeping stairs. Boring? sometimes. Tiresome? definitely. However, my professor-friend enlightened me with a good something to meditate while doing such mundane work: as I swept down the staircase, it was as if I was sweeping the trash out of my heart. Take "trash" to be whatever you want, but it was a nice liberating feeling having a sort of physical manifestation of guilt or vice or whatever and being able to see it being "swept out." It all felt rather Buddhist--sweeping a giant staircase with a handbroom, which was really just a bunch of bamboo strips bound together at one end. It's these lovely little insights and enlightenments which I hope to carry with me back home. As I'm washing dishes or sweeping out the garage (or whatever), I--we--can all meditate on sweeping out all that which collects in our hearts (and arteries!).

The trip has been lovely and I'm surrounded by friendly folk. I can't describe the smells, sights and sensations of going to the world's biggest HARE KRSNA temple at 7AM and being surrounded by a bunch of lunatic jumping singing devotees. It certainly isn't Kansas anymore. It's Vrindavan.

Until next time. Hare Bol!
Dylan

Varanasi, Ghats and Death

I made it to Varanasi. It was a crazy two-day long venture via plane and sitting around Indian airports, but eventually I made it. And absolutely nothing could have prepared me for India. The minute I got in my taxi to take me from the airport to my guesthouse (which actually didn't take me to my real guesthouse and instead took me to one that they had an agreement with the taxi to take foreigners to. Scams are NOTORIOUS here, as I've discovered), my world changed. The poverty, the madness of Indian traffic. It's really quite indescribable and undeniably overwhelming.

I eventually took a room in the guesthouse, due to me being lost and tired on the other side of the globe, and after settling in, went to go find the Varanasi Ghats. I found them easily enough and then the real insantiy began. For those of you unfamiliar, the Varanasi Ghats are essentially big bonfires along the River Ganges where they burn dead bodies. People travel to Varanasi when they're sick or near dying to be burnt at the Ghats. The Hindu religion (used losely here) also says that if you die in Varanasi you're instantly sent to Godhead and you don't have to reincarnate anymore. I stood around the Ghats just watching and an Indian man, who said he worked for the hospice but eventually scammed me into giving him money for the hospice though I suspect he didn't work for it but used that line to get money from sympathetic foreigners, led me around the Ghat and showed me everything. He brought me up real close to the ghats, so much in fact that I had to hold my hankercheif over my face to avoid the heat and ashes (remember, these are bodies burning...didn't really want the ashes in my mouth--although the man kept saying "no worries. It's holy ashes!"). It was at this point that I saw my first human body halfway through being burnt. Another sight that I'm not sure if it's possible to ever be prepared for. We continued and the man showed me how the brothers of the dead shave their hair, beard and moustache and then he led me to the "eternal fire" (along the way I had to step around some dead bodies covered and lying on the ground waiting for the ghats) from which embers are taken to start the Ghats burning each day. I spent the rest of the day hanging around the Ghats, splashing in the Ganges and trying my best to hide the fact that I was white to avoid scams.

All this death made me start thinking. My venture into India begins in a place where Indians come to die. What part(s) of me did I come to India to die? Naivety? My American outlook? Much has already been vanquished me in as I've walked the corridors of Varanasi, seeing wild dogs and people living in shacks.

However, we must also remember why people come to Varanasi to die. The man who led me around the ghats told me that crying wasn't allowed at the Ghats, otherwise the soul wouldn't reach Godhead. While parts of me have and will die in India, I must keep in mind that spirit which continues to Godhead after dying in Varanasi. It's an incredible place. It's a scary place. It's a beautiful place. It's a wild place. It's a thought provoking place. It's a reflective place. I will come back from this venture undeniably a changed person.

That's all for now. I'm taking the train from Varanasi to Mathura tonight and then from Mathura to Vrindavan tomorrow morning via bus. That's where I'll meet up with Carl Herzig (a professor at St. Ambrose) and some friendly faces will definitely be a sight for sore eyes already.

Hare Krsna!
Dylan