Taming Ganeshji

Last year when I was in Kenya I wrote a pseudo-reflective piece about ‘killer elephants’ – I guess this post is sort of an addendum to that one, written in a more abstract, existentialist fashion.  Before Kenya I never cared for elephants; in the sense that I never really thought about them. They were large, overwhelming creatures that one saw infrequently at the zoo, nothing more.  Never had I ever equated the elephant with the killing machine image that was frequently suggested in Kenya, nor had I associated the creature with the ‘majesty’ of royal India. I might have occasionally thought of Ganeshji, the elephant headed Hindu deity, but of course that was never translated into my real-time perception of the animal.

When I returned from Kenya I was terrified of the elephant – I still am.  In India, by contrast, I feel I am expected to feel a sense of pride and joy at the sight of the animal; as though it takes me back to the time of royal courts and mighty maharajas.  In Kenya, we were told to be constantly be on our guard for the wild creature.  In India, the elephant is grotesquely painted and paraded down the streets of Rajasthan; taming grounds are established in the middle of cities for all to gawk at; elephant rides are prime tourist attractions.  The elephant now intrigues me, mystifies me, seriously frightens me.  In India, more than anything, the state of the elephant sickens me.  It makes my stomach churn with fear, sadness and disgust.  I can’t seem to let go of this feeling, despite how ‘irrelevant’ one might say it is to my experience here.

I call this piece ‘Taming Ganeshji’ in memory of one such elephant sightings – one that was riddled in confusing thoughts about how I should versus how I want to react to my proximity to the animal -  which really got me thinking about why this creature frightens me so,  and why I might care this much.

It’s hard being a tourist in India when a) your cultural upbringing resembles the suitcase that is half packed with heavy material; and b) your educational background makes you think twice about everything you see, feel and experience with regards to international development.  Thus, in Jaipur, when first I saw an elephant being ‘casually’ showcased on the street in the middle of the day, and was subsequently approached by one on my way up to the glorious Amber Fort, I felt excitement and then terrible fear, after which I was overwhelmed with incredible disdain for the men riding the animals as though they claimed ownership over them – as though they had successfully subdued and subverted them, rendering them powerless.  While tourists on all sides of me busily clicked pictures and glanced wide-eyed at the large painted animal, I felt conflicted: Should I smile awkwardly with the elephant and his charioteer, or should I turn my head the other way?  I particularly jumped when the man on top of an elephant told me to ‘hand Ganeshji some money’ for allowing me to take a photo and seconds later the animal looked my way, elevated its trunk and waited for the wrinkled note in my hand. The driver laughed at my exasperated response, as did nearby tourists.

The elephant in Amber Fort was aging and weak; its skin was brittle and stained with paint.  It made me quiver. My dad has an accurate digital play-by –play of my strange reaction towards the encounter.  I realized then that my fear was/is synonymous with mesmerisation.  I am scared of many unexplainable things  - among them birds, butterflies, snakes, monkeys and, of course, elephants – mainly because I find them wonderfully unpredictable.  It’s a beautiful sort of fear. My hesitation at touching the elephant in Jaipur, my refusal to give ‘Ganeshji’ his money, came from this notion of mine that humans are not – and cannot be - the sole arbiters of power; we cannot use our fear of the unknown to control the wild. I was made aware of this fact when my Maasai friends in Kenya relayed frightful elephant stories and I was not about to meddle with the power of nature in India.

I find it wonderful that people are afraid of elephants in Kenya; it displays a sort of intellectual superiority, in my view. The tamed elephants in India may be exotic, may romanticize a history, but they also represent the vulnerability – the inferiority - of the human race in the grand scheme of things.  Thus I find the large painted tusks and obedient trunks not splendid but terrifying and unnatural.  And I’m okay with that.

Certain things should be left wild, left free. My comments here are largely specific to the elephant but what I haven’t mentioned is how symbolic I find my relationship with such a creature.  As I’ve stated in previous posts I’ve often felt suppressed here in India – by family and by societal norms.  I’ve also, through daily experiences and through my work at Jagori Rural, observed the subversion of women and children in diverse contexts.  I don’t think any person or animal should have to be ‘tamed’ by society, by religion, by culture, or by the environment. Sure, there’s a difference between cultural sensitivity and suppression (that’s a different issue altogether), but there’s also a level of individual autonomy – human and animal alike - that I believe should be respected. When I see a sad, powerless elephant at the hands of a goofy looking Rajasthani businessman I get the same feeling as when I witness a young, fragile woman in rural Himachal Pradesh who feels powerless against her violent husband; or a nine year old Punjabi boy who is desperate for an education and is subject to the authority of his alcoholic father.  It’s  all the same thing to me – a gross violation of independence,  the manipulation of nature.

Point being, the next time I see an elephant in a zoo (or on the street for that matter – I haven’t left India yet) I might look once, but I will always keep my distance. 

The Big Orange Bus

I’ve made a discovery: I wasn’t cut out for blogging. I philosophize incessantly and write too much to be considered a ‘blogger’ in the true sense of the term.  I wait until I have a lot of profound material and then publish it, like one would publish a detailed article, or a personal reflection piece.  I wrote an entry in my journal a month or so ago in hopes that I would soon transfer it over here – but I keep thinking, ‘What more can I add to make this next entry simply amazing? How can I get people to identify with me and to think along with me?’ My mind consistently runs on such convoluted terms.

I wanted to write in such a manner yet again.  I wanted to share humorous anecdotes about medicine men and spirit ladies, about tranquil elephants and possessive monkeys, about mathematics, poetry and the never-ending paradox that is this wonderful country, India.

So i’ll start with the following scene: You’re on  the big orange bus that takes you to work every day, the Raju Bus they call it;  it is crowded as usual, with school kids, mothers and children, young boys,  and a great many uncles. It’s a terribly bumpy route that zigzags up the mountain, passing a number of small connected villages on its way to the town of Dharamshala.  One would think a ride like this would exemplify the chaos that is India – its population density and its pseudo-development. And yet, there is a serenity to these mornings on the Raju Bus.  Over top the chatter, conductor whistles, and the push and shove, is the smoothness and romance of old Indian film tunes, with their sweet music and profound lyrics.  It’s as if the music turns more sacred as the roads get bumpier;  it’s as if India’s bittersweet centre  is right there, waiting to be tasted and enjoyed.

These were the revolutionary thoughts I had on my journey to the office this morning. I’ll pause here, with this comment that my experience in India is exactly like my daily trip aboard the Raju Bus – a bewildering experience that is adorned by remarkable poetry.

Pong Dam for a Christmas Picnic. Such beauty.

At the Masroor Rock Temple on Christmas Day.

Eating 'Khatta Orange' at Shahpur with my colleagues. They really wanted to capture my expression.

Look at the colours of the mountains. This is the road on which I live.

The girls saw me taking pictures of them and they got excited.

Pong Dam - you can barely see the horizon.

Boys laying seeds in the dry fields.

Women Labourers in Kand Village.

Photoshoot with schoolgirls on my way home from work. They loved the camera.

Some of my work girls  - they had adorned me with a bindi just before this photo was taken.

Once Restless Now Revived

I realize that every time I write a new post I spend the first paragraph apologizing for the hiatus I’ve taken in between the preceding entry and the next one. So I’ll keep it short this time: I’m sorry for the large time delay in my reflections. India keeps you fairly busy, I find, even when you least expect it to. I have been riding this rollercoaster of a journey for enough time now that I forget to stop, sit and process. But I’m doing it now. I’m riding the train from Chandigarh to Delhi and so I figure I’ve got some time to sort through what’s been going on in the last little while.

I guess I last wrote when I had just gotten to Ahmedabad and had begun my work at Taleem Research Foundation.  Unfortunately, that experience didn’t exactly work out. I tried it and I discovered how restless my whole self becomes when I’m surrounded by monotony. A bland routine of going to a box-like office and spending the next nine hours of every day staring at a computer screen statically editing a terribly lengthy and incoherent document on a topic inconsistent from the Foundation’s work was draining me out, making me a slave of unproductive research. I got out of there as fast as I could and began my re-discovery of India by first journeying to Rajastan and then by looking elsewhere for a professional experience that I fit into.

Success followed, but not before I had lived for a month in Chandigarh – too long a time to spend there, in my opinion. In India, Chandigarh is home. But it’s also a place where family seems invincible. The subtle power of the family is so strong it pushes mightily down on you, no matter how hard you try and fight it.  So I had to get out of there too.  I was becoming restless  and angry; I went through periods of time where I longed for the freedom of home, where I could go the post office and to the market by myself – where I alone have an ATM card and I alone choose how to use it.  

I was starting to resent this decision of coming to India and was clouded by my desperation to leave that I forgot about the irreplaceable experience I’d had thus far. I forgot about the amazing connections I’d made with the family that seemed so far away just a few months ago.  This reality became all too clear when, mid-November, my family lost one of our pillars: My grand-aunt.  I won’t go into detail because that’s a novel of an experience by itself, but it was the first time that I saw the strength and beauty of family, and when death made itself really visible to me. While my familial bonds became that much stronger, the veil between me and death became just a little bit less opaque. It has been tough attempting to manipulate such a veil, so that I am affected by it but so that I also learn to live despite its presence. I’m getting better at that and I’ve been grateful to have family around for this.

After a bizarre period of needing to get away from family and then being drawn back into the familial sphere during a time of mourning (in addition to semi-facilitating an amazing 10 day theatre workshop for young college girls), I made the decision to leave Chandigarh, so that I could avoid being smothered by family at the same time that I could be close to them for the rest of my time here.  Thus came Plan B: The Move to Dharmshala.  

A decision motivated by my Aunt’s colleague who is passionate about women’s empowerment as well as by my longing for a grassroots experience with human rights and women’s issues, I got my things together and headed up north to Dharmshala, the home of the Dalai Lama and a place in incredible cultural flux – a place I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d get to see any time soon, a place I didn’t think I’d ever have any connection with.  But, life is full of surprises. And so it was that I took an incredibly bumpy (and quite hilarious) bus ride up to the Himalayas, where I’ve started the next phase of my Indian journey. I was given a shared apartment above a family home in the small village of Rakkar, about 15 Kilometres north of Dharmshala and was introduced to all of my team members, who I’ve come to love for their incredible generosity and for all of their quirks, which make my Himalayan experience equally surreal and comedic.

 

I work at Jagori Grameen, a feminist organization dedicated to the facilitation of leadership and empowerment of youth, women and marginalized farmers in rural Himachal Pradesh.  My colleagues are a mixture of international volounteers, social activists from across the nation, and local village girls and boys dedicated to the Jagori cause. It’s a dynamic work environment which has its deficiencies (which NGO doesn’t?) but also has an incredible spirit. I’ve spent 2.5 weeks in this setting and I already feel more fulfilled than I have ever felt in the last 4 months.  It’s an intense, very cold, sometimes alienating experience that I’ve dived face first into. I can’t wait for the next 3 months of work here. I’ve already begun a rather difficult village library project that I’m anxious to get off the ground.

The work environment of Jagori aside, being in the Dharmshala area is itself fascinating. Surrounded by an incredible mixture of local Pahari communities, international tourists and activists, as well as large clusters of Nepalis and Tibetans, the cultural fusion going on here is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.  The bizarre manifestation of spirituality and socio-cultural cleavage between Tibetans and Indians is, for instance, all too apparent during the dark of the night – when alcohol and drugs are floating around like candy and relationships between foreigners and locals far transcend established conventions of social behaviour. By contrast, the increasing prominence and popularity of monasteries, nunneries, Thangka art Institutes, Tibetan markets and Dalai Lama teachings alongside existing Nepali and Himachali art and artifacts gives the place an incredible diversity during the day.  

I am still trying to understand the intricacies of the place but so far, it’s been an incredible experience; my body is adjusting to the consistent temperature fluctuations and the intense physical exertion as my mind tries to take in the socio-cultural complexity that surrounds me. 

Picture this: a small coffee shop style eatery in McLeod Ganj, the Tibetan  and tourist hub about 5 Kilometres North of Dharmshala, sharing its space with an internet café, adorned with crisp furniture and flat screen TVs, specializing in Tibetan and Italian delicacies as well as amazing herbal teas, and playing Indian film music like it’s not strange at all. This is one among many bizarre and yet fascinating aspects of the Dharmshala area that I’m just starting to explore.  I hope I can get the time to reflect and write more often while I’m here.  Maybe then I’ll get to share with you some of my unique experiences riding the big orange ‘Raju Bus’ to and from work, spending time with my very special colleagues and new friends, and experiencing Jagori on my own. It should be quite the thrill ride.

Until my next ‘stop and think’ moment.

I wish I were that balanced.

Prayers at Jama Masjid, Ahmedabad.

Swaminarayan Temple, Ahmedabad

The simple life.

Beautiful spot. 

Mughal architecture. Old City, Ahmedabad.

This bull was a bit too close for comfort.

Indian English

This post is LONG overdue - I hope I won't have to say that for every subsequent post I write.

LSAT is over, finally. Let's hope I won't have to take the exam again (though I think that's pretty much a given).

So since I wrote last there's been a lot of strange/cool/funny/crazy things that have made this trip to India a constant adventure. I'm no longer living in Chandigarh with my grandparents but have now made my way to Ahmedabad, in Gujarat, where I'm just starting to maneuver my way around a hectic and completely unfamiliar work environment.

It's weird that I keep having experiences that I think have made me the strongest I can be, and then right away I'm shoved into more experiences that test the comfort zone that I've rebuilt for myself, again and again. For instance, last year after figuring out how to operate public transport in Kenya and traveling across cities by myself, I really thought 'you know what, I can do anything.' Still, the moment I am given the opportunity to take a public bus in the traffic-filled city of Ahmedabad, all I can do is try and find a way out.

That being said, I think I was pretty courageous when confronted with the do-or-die scenario that was presented to me after my first day of work yesterday. Okay, I'm exaggerating. But the whole idea of taking the bus got me a little worried once I got myself to the bus stand and didn't even have a clue which side of the bus I was to enter from.   Thank god, once I arrived at the stand there was a girl sitting there, about my age, who was more than willing to help. We became good friends in the 2 hour period that we spent together.  She told me stories about herself, her friends, her school and her life. I did the same. She asked me how I get my hair to be so curly and I told her I envied the fact that hers was so straight; she asked me if her newly tailored outfit was pretty and told me that my Hindi was pretty good. That made me smile. After a long, crowded and sweaty ride, she directed me to my stop - after which I had to orient myself and eventually found my way home, thank goodness. I was so thankful that I met her - this really small chirpy 20 year old, who had lost her parents and her brother in an earthquake when she was in 4th grade; who was living with less-than-pleasant  relatives; who had big dreams of going abroad to study, and who really wanted some excitement out of life.  It's true what they say, the people you meet really do shape you in ways you never thought possible. I hope I get to meet her again soon.

So that's been my Ahmedabad adventure story to date. Along with buying a traditional Gujarati lehnga for Garba festivities on the last night of Navratri and going on a really cool heritage walk of the Old City,  my first day on the job was good. I'll update you on the rest once I find a routine for myself and once I figure out where i'll be living near my work. At the moment I'm staying with my cousin which has been it's own fun. It might be interesting to explore being completely independent though. I might get lonely. But that's what online TV and blog posts are for - provided I have reliable internet, of course.

I have some other less immediate, but equally fun and funny stories from Chandigarh and Delhi, if you're interested.

First off, you know you're in India when you go to the bakery and as you're paying the guy for a piece of cake he is simultaneously updating his Shaadi.com profile. For those of you not familiar with Shaadi.com, google it. It's the path we Indians created towards true love. I swear I had to quickly grab my cake and go so I didn't become this cashier's new eligible bachelorette.

While in Chandigarh too, I learned a new word - a new concept, if you will. I received a text message regarding my flight information from Ahmedabad to Delhi informing me that my flight had been 'preponed' fifteen minutes. Now, this word, prepone, was a little strange to me so I googled it.  This is what dictionary.com told me:

— vb
	( Indian ) to bring forward to an earlier time

Apparently it's a very common word used in India - and it makes a lot of sense! When I discussed it with family members, they'd ask me what we would say in Canada to convey this concept. Ummmmm.... 'the meeting was scheduled earlier than planned'? That's a mouthful when compared to the word prepone that's for sure. And since learning this word I've heard so many people using it. Pretty awesome discovery, I have to say. Although I'm not sure how easily my Canadian friends will catch on. Either way, it's going to be pretty hard to get out of the head bobbing and the Indian English once I come back home.

Some other experiences I can share with you before I take my next blog updating hiatus:

a) My grandparents are pro cockroach killers. When it's almost midnight and they are together violently swatting at the millions of cockroaches that call the kitchen their home, you can officially call them 'cool'.

b) I went to a sheesha bar in Chandigarh a few weeks ago and to my surprise I was the only girl there. I guess others were even more surprised, because I got a few camera phones pointed directly at me.

c) Even though I have some exposure to the differences in organization and punctuality that characterize Indian versus Canadian culture (notice how nicely I articulated that), nothing could have prepared me for the annual inauguration function of first year Bio-chemistry students at Punjab University. It started two hours late, and louder than those performing were the seniors in the back howling, hooting, and shouting crude remarks like you wouldn't believe. If I were back home, I'd have given them some attitude. That being said, it was certainly interesting to observe how students express themselves at these kinds of events.

d) My brief stay in Delhi was amazing. In three days I started to develop a good relationship with my energetic 3 year old cousin Dheera, who speaks better English than I do; I took an early morning stroll in the beautiful Lodhi Gardens; I went shopping and I even got to see a wonderful performance of Kuchipudi (Classical dance from South India) in Delhi's Old Fort. I met some wonderful people and got a feel for Delhi as a city, which by the end of this trip I hope to make more time to do.

Okay so I think you might have just about had enough of this update. I'll provide you with others soon! Enjoy Thanksgiving weekend my fellow Canadians.

this path is gorgeous in the evening

beautiful

enjoying the view

musicians by the lakeside