भारत में एक महीने के बाद

So, I’m finally starting that blog I promised so many of you I would write. Firstly, sorry for the delay – a reliable Internet connection is not very available in India, but now I’ve finally settled down into an apartment near to our study centre and will hopefully be a little more online from now on. Secondly, I have no idea where to begin. I’ve been in India for over a month, so the initial culture shock is over and I don’t know anymore how to relay to any of you just how normal and frequent it is for me to walk out onto the street beside a sacred cow, or almost get killed at the hands of a crazy rickshaw driver, or be blatantly stared at because I stick out like a sore thumb. It feels like I’ve been here a lifetime already, but everyday I encounter something new, exciting, frightening, and interesting, so I hope that this way I can share my experiences with you all.
Luckily, I’ve kept a journal from the first day I arrived and onwards, so that I’m able to dip into those seemingly long gone days and provide an update on my travels so far. So here you are, straight from the pages of my diary:

20 June 2009
We’ve had two and a half days in Delhi so far and I’ve been trying so hard to comprehend my surroundings that they seem unprocurable. The city is always bustling and the streets are never empty as even at sunrise you can catch all of the rickshaw wallahs sleeping on the ground or in their carts. People sleep and live alongside dogs and cows and goats in the pockets of slums, squeezed between tall buildings. It’s all very surreal, but a little exposure to the city goes a long way, I’ve found.
Went to the Sikh temple called Gurudwara today. It was built in the 1600s and shines over our part of the city, Connaught Place, from three giant gilded domes. It also has one huge, rather murky blessing pool where people go to bathe in the holy waters. Some sad looking Koi fish were swimming in it, barely visible beneath the dirty surface. Sikhism is very focused around nature, but I think that in this case the Sikhs might have to just concede to the city, which has very little natural elements about it…
Reading the newspaper this morning I see two sad events in a little column to the side – one British student, 19 years-old, was raped by two taxi drivers after she arrived to teach English to village children. The other is the story of a pregnant woman who was killed by two policemen. It says they pushed her from a train because she wouldn’t pay the 100 rupee bribe.

22 June 2009
My first bad day in the city. Had a really awful morning! I was set on going to the National Archives, to see if there was any information on my four-times great grandfather, who may or may not have been in India as a child. I heard from the owner of our hostel’s restaurant that getting inside was simple, as long as you had your passport with you, but apparently that only applies to Indians. So, as I wasn’t allowed inside without a letter from my embassy and my university, I just decided to walk to India Gate, a nearby monument that looks a bit like the Arc de Triomph (it was a gift from France in honour of India’s independence, they have a habit of doing that). Everything that ensued was just a mess.
First I had a rickshaw driver come up to me, trying to get me to agree to a sight seeing trip with him as my driver, saying, “3 hours, 550 rupee only, just for you madam because it is my birthday.” He pressured me and pressured me but I refused until finally he just asked me for some sweets for his two little children, which I didn’t have, then made a disgusted face at me and drove away. It really made me feel like shit.
Then I got more trouble when I began walking to the gate and found that I was the only white person, let alone white woman, in a really deserted place full of staring men. A couple of street kids ran up to me trying to take a picture of me with my camera, but I shooed them off. Next thing I know a crowd of three older guys were right next to me, putting their arms round my shoulders and grabbing for my camera to give it to those kids, saying, “Picture! Picture!” I felt really cornered and scared, so I ran quickly as I could, snatched my camera back and walked in the opposite direction, fighting back tears. It felt like nobody was going to cut me a break, then a little girl came to my side, probably 7 or 8 years-old, and asked me if I wanted some henna on my hand. I told her no but was distracted, feeling really upset and furious, so she grabbed my hand and started drawing on it anyway.
As she pulled me to the side and sat me down, talking to me in very good English, I was amazed at how wizened she was for such a young girl. She warned me about those men. “They just want to touch you here, and here,” she pointed on her body. “It’s very dangerous around here, you know?” On her forearm I could see a tattoo of something in Hindi, but couldn’t read what it said. She was there with her brother and they both looked like they lived on the streets. I gave them 100 rupees – too much for henna but I thought at least they are two people who really need it. If they get to keep it, that is.
Caught a ride back to the hostel and was ridiculously ripped off again. What a sucker I am just for having white skin and blonde hair.

28 June 2009
We’ve had two full days in Mussoorie now. It’s gorgeous, and the mountain air is such a nice break from the smog and pollution of the city.
It was a ten hour bus ride from Delhi to this little hill station, plus a taxi ride up some very narrow mountain paths that was nauseating for some. The drivers here are pretty crazy, even when they’re make hairpin turns at really high altitude! At least the views took my mind off the journey, as we could see all the way down into the valley, which kept getting smaller and smaller the higher we went…
I now live in a little cottage in the town of Landour, just above Mussoorie. I have a sweet little room all to myself, but despite all of this we’re basically one step above camping. I get to shower about once every three days until the rains arrive and replenish our supply. Flushing the toilet is also very limited, but I’ll spare you any more details.
I’ve made the trek down into town twice to do some exploring. The roads get so steep that coming back is like doing thirty minutes on the Stairmaster from Hell. There’s a lot of nature and wildlife on the way up, though. We have two kinds of monkeys, Langurs (big, white and scary) and Bandars (small, brown and scary). We’ve noticed that the locals carry around rocks when they walk anywhere, just in case a quick retaliation and a little intimidation becomes necessary. Unfortunately amongst all the green surroundings the locals’ idea of trash collection is to dump all of their rubbish directly over the mountainside. Their thinking must be that once out of sight it’s out of mind, but the growing mounds of rubbish at the base of Landour is proof that it’s just not so, and it’s pretty sad to see baby Bandars crawling through a river of crisp packets and nappies when I’m on my way to the Internet café.
Hindi classes will be starting next week. Can’t wait. I’ve been trying to practice what I already know but surprisingly most people don’t seem to want to talk to me in Hindi. They either just answer back in English or wait until I start speaking in English. I have no idea if it’s because my Hindi is just terrible, or whether I’m insulting them because so many people speak English quite well, but I’m kind of disappointed about it. Hopefully that’ll change s that I’m learning this language for an actual reason!

3 July 2009
Bought a beautiful Banarasi sari from an old shop that’s been around since the 1930s. It’s gorgeous – bright blue, pink, and purple embroidered with flowers and gold. Mum would be proud, I thought while buying it. Too bad she doesn’t like my new nose ring (“It’s just not feminine Jessie”)…
There’s a lot of remnants of the British colonial days at the bottom of Mussoorie. The city was basically brought about because of the cantonment stationed there, and because the soldiers living there fell in love with the mountains and the wildlife so much that many decided to stay. I can see why. My Hindi school has been running since the end of the 1800s, when it was decided that the soldiers better learn some of the native language if they were going to communicate with the locals. Now a lot of missionaries come here to learn Hindi, which is funny because half the vocab in our book is religious and the other half is sort of instructions on how to talk to farmers.
Just around the corner from school we have an old colonial cemetery, where many of the soldiers and brigadiers who stayed for good have their final resting places. I love old graveyards. Just past our cottage, as well, there’s a little market called Sister’s Bazaar, though it’s really only got one shop called Prakash’s where you can find amazing home made cheddar and really expensive booze. We’ve just been sticking to some cheap Indian whisky called McDowell’s and two kinds of atrocious vodka, ‘Magic Moments’ and ‘White Mischief.’ Their names have turned out to be an accurate prediction of the outcome of a night spent drinking them. But anyway, the bazaar is beside a long row of little bungalows that formed a small hospital back in the day where nuns would tend to the soldiers, hence the name. Then at the bottom of the hill, past the main Mall Rd, there’s a spot called Gun Hill. Here you can see all the way down to Dehradun and further, on a clear day. Nearby there’s a colonial manor called Everest House, home to the man who mapped out Mt Everest, and the old cantonment itself. All in all, Mussoorie has become an interesting mix of those old days and modern times. As I walk back up the hill I see a tiny general store existing happily between a Baskin Robbins and a Coffee Day. At least it’s surviving…

8 July 2009
Woke up this morning to a really foggy day. We could see the mist crawling up the side of the mountain, almost like it was reaching out to grab at rocks and Deodar trees and pulling itself towards us. It finally caught up with me when I was on my way to school. At that point the fog became so thick that I couldn’t see where I was going anymore. Then, just when the air couldn’t condense any more, the clouds popped like water balloons on top of us. It rained for about fifteen minutes and everyone got drenched, but we loved it. And after this brief tempest, it seemed that every last droplet of fog had been wrung dry, so that the air was completely clear and fresh. Suddenly the Himalayas seemed so close. For someone with bad eyes, it felt like I was suddenly seeing clearly. On one of the opposite mountains I noticed a little village and a Buddhist monastery there that I had never noticed before. I gazed across the valley for a few minutes then kept walking to school, humming to a tune inside my head, “I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles…”

13 July 2009
Some of us were in Haridwar and Rishikesh this last weekend, but I decided to stay behind with a smaller group of friends to relax in Mussoorie. On Saturday we went to a nearby temple dedicated to the Hindu goddess Surakangda. As the protector of the warrior caste, in pictures she’s always depicted riding a tiger, carrying weapons in each of her six hands that she uses to fight off demons. The temple sits at an altitude of 10,000 ft, but the closest we could get to it by taxi was the 8,000 ft mark. From there it was a grueling, steep 2km hike to the summit. I was disgusting by the time we reached the top! It seems that a good portion of worshippers pay for a horse ride up and save themselves the trouble we took reaching the top, but the view at our destination was reward enough for me. I don’t know how else to describe the sight of the Himalayas any more, just a beautiful range of snowy mountains that never fail to take a bit of my breath away. I went into the temple to perform puja, and when I came out of the tiny, incense-filled room, the mists had once again quickly enveloped the temple, blocking everything beyond its grounds from view. I sat on one of the boundary walls, dangling my legs off the side of the mountain and watching my feet disappear from view. I was literally sitting in a cloud.
It must have been a good place to meditate, because my mind was rushing through the thoughts of my experiences here in India. I can’t believe it’s been such a short time when I already feel like I’ve changed so much. And I’m coming to the realization that I have so many exciting opportunities open to me in my life, as long as I can be open to them myself. Things will be so different when I come home to California, and that brought out so many emotions – fear, excitement, guilt. Sometimes I just wish I knew where I’m headed towards in life. When I get home Jade won’t be there, and Mum and Dad and Hamish will be who knows where, which means I’ll be totally on my own. Sort of like sitting on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a cloud…
I should stop now. I think the Santa Cruz yoga fanatic–vegan-hippies are rubbing off on me.

More to come about the last two weeks soon…
बहुत प्यार