Cycle

The funniest thing happened the other day.  A group of us decided to go out to dinner on Thursday to this really hip Euro restaurant I stumbled upon on one of my walks.  It was tucked away on a side alley that opened up onto a quiet ghat.  You walk upstairs to a restaurant that could be in Ibiza, capri, or Mykanos.  It was very surprising and very hip.  The food: pumpkin raviolis and sage butter sauces, Thai curries, Caprese salads-- all very unexpected and the waits all very cute.  It was like being at home.
So we decied to go out for the night and we would all dress up in our finest Indian attire.  I wore a dhotis, kurtas, salwaar kameez and saris.  As we were leaving the house another girl turned up, resplendent in her new sari.
She, without a bike, had to sit on the back of mine, while I carted her down the street.  What made this funny was not the ensuing balancing act and simultaneous  navigation between life and death.  But the fact that a tall (lumbu) white boy (gora) in a white dhoti and kurta, was carting around (in true Indian style) a woman in a sari, except this time the woman was a 20 year old blond from Amherst in a pink and green sari.  We received a lot of attention.  Banaras is now my home fo sho

Nya Makan (New House)

I have moved.  I have moved to a wonderful new home.  A home.  My first place where I actually feel at home, of course excluding my Rockford home.
It happened by chance that I saw a sheet detailing a room for rent and I inquired about possible other rooms and this place revealed itself to me!

Before yesterday I was living in an extremley comfortable middle class home with courtyard (soon to be paved in marble) with a housekeeper and a maid.  I had a clean and large room.  I had peace and quiet.  I had a wonderful kitchen.  I had filtered water

Today I live in a third floor walk up.  I have the space for a kitchen but no utensils, stove, gas, nor food.  I share a bathroom with four other people.  I am woken up by the clang of temple bells at 7 in the morning.  My room is small and dingy, but clean.

Why would I do this, you may ask (the thought has yet to cross my mind-- this place is to perfect).  The courtyard house, while beautiful, cut me off to India.  Daily I would forget I was India.  I was in a bubble and if I continued to stay there I would never see Varanasi as my home.  I felt like a guest (the Indian term is Paying Guest) and I felt like the space was never mine.

This new house is immediately on the ghat, the river flows right past the house and I am literally fifteen seconds from the stairs leading to the Ganga.  The house is ringed in by temples and is in the middle of a tangled artery of lanes.  I have left the periphery, the comfort of my bubble, for this wonderful new experience.  This switch is not some type of ironic slumming, or some romantic fantastic foray into poverty.  No instead it is an attempt to integrate my self more fully into my Indian life, to never forget I am in India, and to really try something new and different.  But of course it is all very romantic.

I feel so much at home.  Banaras is my home in a way no city has ever been (well maybe Abensberg and Rockford)

Home Sweet Home

SO, so , so… back from Mussorie!  For two weeks I have dreaded coming back to Banaras- the heat, the crowds, the sounds really are overwhelming- however I am extremely happy to finally be home.  It is not the greatest living in a hotel room for two weeks with another person.  It is nice to be back in my room.  I am starting a photbucket account (so pictures can be seen).

Mussorie was so amazing and wonderful respite from the plains.  It as I have said before was cold and foggy.  Cloud cover and rain could descend at any moment, and somedays we were all stuck for hours in the hotel waiting for the freezing rain to pass. 

My Hindi has become perceptibly better and everyday I learn more.  I am amazed by the amount I can understand now!  It took me three months to get this far in German—I am so excited come April when I am really confident with my Hindi (practice practice practice).

What was great about Mussoorie was to be surrounded by people and to always have company- our group really began forming a great dynamic.  We bonded over our shared intense sexual frustration, our Hindi, our interest in India, our love of sweets chai momos samosas and Kasmiri embroidery.  What to was great about Mussoorie was our everyday interactions with locals, how two weeks there we recognized shop keepers and people on the street.  I loved how routine and relaxed our lives became in Mussoorie.  I too loved the beauty of the place—the stunning mountain views, the sunlight, the crisp air, the fog.  I loved how green and how blue the place was- a stark difference from the brown, red , and yellows of Banaras.

To reach home it required a 32 hour train ride.  The normal 24 hour ride was extended due to the spectral fear of riot in Lucknow and other Uttar Pradeshi cities regarding the Ayodhya Court decision

(Several years ago in the early nineties (?) Hindu fundamentalist razed a Mughali Mosque The Babri masjid claiming the mosque stood upon and desecrated the birthplace of the Lord Ram- a Hindu deity and avatar of the god Vishnu.  The destruction of the Babri Masjid sparked intense communal violence much of it directed against Muslims in Muslim ghettos in big cities -Mumbai, Lucknow, Delhi- by Hindu fundamentalist groups under the auspices of the Shiv Sena and political party of the BJP- a right wing conservative group espousing a HINDU INDIA. Now the case has come to trial about which religion the space belongs to.  And the verdict came out the day of train trip home—thus the delay.  We were safe no fears and the judgment very fair).

Mountain Hat

I got a mountain hat!

Chai Chai Chai

I shall now describe two separate moments in Mussoorie that I have fallen in love with and really emphasize the charm of this town of 35,000 people (remember Banaras holds over 2,000,000). 

Everyday I, often accompanied by others, leave the hotel for a few hours to wander around the town (the Mall, the allies built into the hillside, the numerous interlinking staircases, the woods) invariably we end up at the Mussoorie Sweet Shop.  The Mussoorie Sweet Shop is built into a corner, open on two sides cluttered with tables and benches, a counter selling samosas and sweets, and three employees.  Everyday we drink chai there, sometimes several times a day.  There chai is 7 ruppees a cup, perfectly sweet, perfectly spiced, and always freshly made.  They also sell some of the best Samosas I have ever had, and delicious hot milk with cardamom, dates, and almonds.  It is this Mussoorie Sweet Shop that makes me feel so at home.

The next place we found on one of our treks through town, into the northern Landor Bazaar.  This little café, hidden in ally we spied and vowed to return.  What we expected to be a place selling chai, samosas, and gulab juman, turned out instead to sell Swedish Pancakes, Chicken Pesto Pasta, Momos, Oatmeal Raisin cookies, and delicious mint tea.  The space is the size of my brother’s room (pretty tiny) and is surrounded by windows. It I warm and you can look out over the street below, and remain entirely hidden from street life.  What a wonder!

Oh also Mussoorie is filled to the brim with the most beautiful Kashmiri embroidery on pashmina scarves n’ shawls n’ silk cotton wool fabrics.  So ladies place your orders ;) I bought a grey wool shawl for 150 rupees (XE.com)

Oh the Abode of the GODS

Mussoorie.  It seems that for all of us, or at least most of us, Mussoorie is a paradise.  It is hands down I think one of the most picturesque places I have ever been.  When placed into comparison with Banaras, it seems we are on the opposite side of the world.

To begin Mussorrie is cold.  It is covered in swirling mist, it is wet, its weather is entirely and totally unpredictable, which is why this place draws me so.  At any moment throughout the day one can be caught in a rainstorm that rivals biblical proportions.  And while the threat of rain hangs over our head daily, hourly, at any moment the sun can come out to illuminate the valley in the most glorious glow.  I think the best way to explain this (I was unfortunately without a camera yesterday) was while walking along the Mall (Mussoorie’s mostly pedestrian thoroughfare) the cold’s parted as the sun began to set and it was as if I were looking a the unfolding of a baroque painting.  It seemed as if the valley had become a cauldron as mist and fog and cloud slowly spread and the clouds already stationed in the sky reflected the numinous colors of the setting sun.  The sun shot through the clouds in sweeping rays, and everywhere you looked a new composition presented it self—these clouds here are extremely expressive.  As golden sun streamed from behind the mountain, the clouds framing a central point, it really looked as if Jesus Christ could at any moment appear.  It was wild. And then it rained.

We are staying at the Shiva Continental hotel, which is built into the hillside.  We are still doing the requisite 4 hours of Hindi a day, except now Virendra makes a point of forcing us to interact with Hindi speakers, which is great, even though embarrassing.  The other day while walkingI stumbled upon Virendraji and Craig holding Hindi practice in a chai shop.  I dropped in and thus began our whirlwind adventure back home interacting with local shopkeepers and Mussoorie-ites.  Both in broken Hindi spoke to the laundryman, the chaiboy, the phototakingman, the englishwineshopman, the localliquorsellingman, the barber (who I got my first straight razor shave from the next day. AWESOME and my skin is so soft now) thefruitsellingman, etc etc.  Each situation that presents itself Virendra thinks up new and fantastic ways to simultaneously embarrass us and teach us Hindi.  He is a great teacher, and maybe one of the funniest men I have ever met.

What is amazing about Mussoorie is I immediately feel at home.  I feel comfortable and I want to stay here forever.  I never thought I would crave the cold weather, but what it really does it makes me cherish things more.  Could that sound anymore sentimental?  The smells here and the sounds do not accost you instead they complement your memories and form new ones.  The place makes me appreciate warmth, and hot tea, and fires, and sweaters, oh and of course puppies, and chocolate, and daffodils, and big hugs from grandma, and kisses from Santa Claus.

But, here you will catch glimpses of life behind glass, with fires and heaters, and warming curries and you really fall in love.  Mussoorie is like Europe, like Austria, but way better.  It is cheaper.  It is filled with Indians.  It is filled with Indian food.  But hanging about it is a sense of European nostalgia.  Also in Mussoorie I can begin to blend in because here there is such intense mixture of cultures: Nepali, Bengali, South India, Tibetan, Chinese, Kashmiri, Afghani, Central Asian.  It is an amazing confluence of cultures and it is has taken my heart.

MUSSOORIE

On Monday we leave to Mussoorie, and I cannot cannot cannot wait!  I don't know if I have ever been so excited to go anywhere in my life!  Why? Why am I more excited to go to Mussoorrie then I eve was to come to India?  Why?  Well I will tell you.


Currently for the last 3 weeks India has been 90+ degrees everyday.  Everyday you smell of sweat and dust, of dirt, 'that unwashed academic smell of dirty hair, leftover food, dirty cups, and stale stale air."  I am sure you have smelled that smell, and if not I hope you never do.  Everyday you sweat through at least two undershirts, you, who in America never sweat.  Everyday you are simultaneously baked, broiled, and fried under the intensity of the Gangetic Plain Sun.


That is why I am excited to go to Mussoorie!  Mussoorie is in the state of Uttarnachal, in the foot hills of the Himalayas.  It was once the playground of the British Raj, who, like us, retreated in the heat of the summer to the hills.  Apparently in those days Mussorie was the favorite place for bored colonial sahibs to conduct illicit sexual affairs!  Now it is a favorite haunting ground of Indian honeymooners!


We will stay 2 weeks in Mussoorie, where everyday we will work, for 4 hrs, on our Hindi!  Apparently by the end of the two weeks we will be very good at Hindi, or at least that is what I hope.


The train ride to Mussoorie will be  a twenty- four hour affair, as well as a bus ride from Dhera Dhun, but I will gladly endure that in exchange for sweaters, and mist shrouded hills, and cold nights!!!  I have never craved the cold as I do right now! 


This is Mussoorie....

And this is Banaras

Also it must be admitted that both are pretty accurate exaggerations