B is for Bollywood

The boisterous nature of Bombay (Mumbai if you will) brought out the frugal in me. Lucky for me,  in India, the Salvation Army is a chain of guesthouses rather than clothing swaps. Stepping into this humble abode, the man behind the desk seized an opportunity with his fair new customers. Thus, the next morning, along with 500 Rs. apiece, me, Luke, and two other guests were ushered into a taxi and driven 2 1/2 hours to a Bollywood film studio. Upon arrival, we were immediately rushed into hair and makeup and I sat wide-eyed for an hour while two women combed, straightened, and pinned my locks while two men contemplated what to do with my unusually red complexion. After I had a glamorous up-do and eyes to kill, I was ushered into wardrobe where I was slipped into a black ballgown, some faux jewelry and strappy silver heels. Needless to say, the whole experience left me pretty disoriented.

Helping me back into reality, a small Indian man ushered me onto the movie set and I stepped into an exquisite rendition of an Indian wedding scene. Then, the four of us, having been reunited again, spent the next six hours standing as guests of the wedding in multiple positions, holding drinks (mixed with gasoline so we wouldn't drink them), and 'starring' in the upcoming Bollywood movie "No Problem" with the former Ms.Universe. Not bad for a day's work.

This whirlwind Bombay experience goes to show you that the totally unexpected can actually happen with just the blink of an eye. And, even a teacher like me can go from 'dirty backpacker' by day to movie star by night. Voila!

Treasure Trunk

Arriving in Hampi feels almost like you've entered the twilight zone back to the paleolithic era when there was nothing standing in the way of your prey except, well, you and a massive boulder. The landscape there is so awe-stikingly bizarre that it seems to have simply emerged out of a dream, where you feel like anything can happen. In this 15th century Hindu temple complex, roaming around neverending ruins I felt something akin to Indiana Jones, about to unlock the hidden secrets of ancient pasts. Climbing up to the little temples at the tops of mountains of boulders makes you really aware of how close you can actually get to the edge while also being insanely jealous of the climbing powers of monkeys.

Probably my favorite thing that happened while in Hampi, however, was getting blessed in a temple by an actual living godess. Laxmi, a large Indian elephant kindly accepts rupee coins for a quick blessing. She collects the money with her trunk, passes it to her attendent, and then swings her trunk back around to rub you on the head. Simply amazing. Her magical blessing in this magical land far far away in the heart of India made me wonder if normal 'modern' life still exists. For now, however, I don't mind waiting a bit longer for it to reappear.

Keralan Coast

Every once and awhile there arises that need for, well, a vacation! Luckily for me, being on India time and all, after five long months of break-free school time, I have a nice long six weeks to sit back relax and finally travel. So far, I’ve had the pleasure of visiting a few places along the Indian West coast in the state of Kerala. Think hot, jungly climate, friendly and often too friendly people, sprinkled with a white sandy beach. Oh yeah, and yummy black coffee too!

Being in Varkala, for the first time in a long while, I felt peace. There are no car horns constantly beeping the Airtel cell-phone tune and people actually say hello. Not the, “Yes, hello Madam, would you like to come into my shop, looking free, buying no problem?!”, but the smiley kind only beach life can conjure up with an actual, “good morning.” The Arabian Sea is beautiful and life seems pretty easy there.

Moving upward along the coast to Kollam only to catch a ferry onto Kerala’s bread and butter: the backwaters. On this amazingly beautiful (sorry, no other way to describe it), I finally got to see the Romantic version of tropical India. And yes, it’s as good as it seems. Slowly skimming along the water that houses fish, ducks, watery plants, and the local community, you can feel the immense power water has over our lives. Seeing people bathe and brush their teeth in water that most people would never even dare to dip their little toe into is something that will always continue to astound me. After getting to Allepey on the ferry, not having had quite enough of the backwaters yet, the tourist route led me to spend a night on a houseboat. Again, all at once utterly peaceful and astoundingly beautiful, I am beginning to see why Kerala has been dubbed “God’s own country”.

After fighting past persistent small stout elderly Indian women to get on another ferry in the scorching city of Ernakulum, I now find myself on the little island of Fort Cochin. Full of Portugese and Dutch influences alike, I can’t help feeling like I’m in a little country town in Europe. This is actually almost disconcerting. Yet, the subtle reminders in the forms of overly friendly shopkeepers, unforgiving rickshaw-walas, and the occasional cow peeing in the middle of an intersection keep me in check. Thus, for now, I think I’ll just enjoy celebrating the Dutch holiday Sinterklaas in a formerly Dutch colony while nibbling on some yummy Western food.

It’s funny though how despite almost racing down the mountain at the sound of the last school bell just seven days ago, as soon as you’ve felt the harsh coastal rays for even just a few hours, you’re almost ready to climb back up those hills even for just a quick breath of cool fresh air. However, having been down elevation-wise for even just a short week, I have noticed the effect seeing the sea has on the spirit. Whether it awakens or extinguishes it I’m not quite sure, but the leisurely West coast feeling definitely sweats itself under your skin. I guess for now I’ll just keep on soaking it all in.

Slightly Cyclonic

Just about three days ago, all of Tamil Nadu was hit by a cyclone. What exactly does that mean for Kodaikanal? Well, along with the bout of rain that’s been lasting for two straight weeks, there has now also been torrential downpour for seventy-two continuous hours. Most of the power lines have been cut, which means not only the fact that there is no hot water, but more importantly that nothing, absolutely nothing, is choosing to be even slightly dry. The road up the mountain has been blocked off by a landslide, apparently caused by what I hear was a very large boulder that decided to plummet down the ghat.

So, how do Kodai residents deal with this winter cyclone exactly (as apparently this happens every year)? Well, the answer to that lies in two simple words: Christmas music. Thus, while I’m stranded on this very soggy mountaintop in early November, rest assured that all the way up here, I’m full of good cheer at the thought that St. Nicholas will soon be here.

So, in my damsel-like state of desperation (and for a few laughs?), I’ve included a link to a very inappropriate (but also, in a way, quite appropriate) Indianish Christmas song. Enjoy.

Late Night Escapade

Out in Kodai late last night, I found myself in an unusually precarious situation. Sitting around a bonfire singing songs with some locals, I barely noticed the massive bison staring at me from across the flames. Thus, on my way home after hours through Kodai, aside from avoiding the usual miscreants that may be lurking in shadows, I must now also remember to make my way very slowly as not to startle any large bison that may be out for a late night snack.

Samsara

Every once and awhile, I find myself in one location more than once. Seeing as I’m constantly drawn by my own curiosities, I rarely seek out repetition in fear of boredom. However, as I’ve learned this past week, sometimes revisiting a specific place can also help bring about new revelations.

I was asked to return to Bylakuppe to chaperone a group of high schoolers to an Interschool Program organized by the Foundation for Universal Responsibility by His Holiness the Dalai Lama. In short, this was a week full of intense dialogue regarding various religions, global awareness, and approaches to conflict resolution. Overall, things that are basically all  my cup of tea.

Even though I had just visited the Tibetan community of Bylakuppe three weeks ago, this time I was able to experience almost a completely new side of Bylakuppe. That is, the Tibetans themselves. Throughout the week, I had the opportunity to study jewelry with a Tibetan refugee, learn the art of silk brocade Tongka making, sit amidst ten people who spoke only Tibetan for an entire day, envy the genuinely beautiful laughs that Tibetans emit on a regular basis, stand next to three giant unfinished bronze Buddhas, cry with elderly Tibetan spiritual seekers, visit a nunnery (below), and finally get to see Buddhist monks in their ‘natural’ habitat (not roller skating this time).

Since I can’t share all of these experiences fully, I thought I’d just quickly show you a glimpse of what was certainly the most bewildering thing I saw in Bylakuppe this time. Every sundown at the monasteries, there occurs an event known as a debate session, a sort of ritual that challenges all the 2,000 something monks at once on their knowledge of Buddhist philosophy in a very demanding way. Basically, one monk stands over his seated disciple, yells a riddle at him, and the seated monk must respond by the time the stander lurches forward and claps in his face (usually about 5 seconds). Every time their hands clap together, it is supposed to signify heaven and hell clashing together. If the monk answers correctly, order will be restored. Who knew it was that simple?

While heading back to Kodai, I found myself yet again in the middle of a countrywide celebration. This time however, the city of Bangalore was celebrating Diwali, the festival of lights. Crammed into one auto rickshaw with three girls and three pieces of luggage, our driver was forced to laboriously swerve around random spurts of fireworks shooting off in the middle of the streets all around us. Despite all the chaos, there’s nothing like getting hit in the rear end by a few pebbles blasted from the sparks of Indian firecrackers to remind you that you are back in India, a place where anything can happen, and festival season is still here. And, in order celebrate the occasion properly, and with this I mean in keeping with the theme of new beginnings, I did the unthinkable and ate at my first ever Indian McDonalds! I had a 'panir salsa wrap' which is apparently one of the staples of the veg menu here at MceeDees. As a somewhat American raised individual I'm not sure this is even koshir, however, I'm glad I was able to put some spice into my cyclical adventures. Thus, with this Tibetan/ Indian tale of samsara, the ongoing cycle of life, happy Diwali everyone!

Gandhi's Legacy

A few years ago when I was living in Delhi, on October 2^nd, I visited the memorial of one of India’s most beloved heroes, Mahatma K. Gandhi, along with thousands of mourners. This national holiday known as Gandhi Jayanti typically celebrates the affectionately dubbed Gandhi-Ji as the Father of India, devout vegetarian Hindu, political activist, national hero, father, husband, and icon for world peace.

(Gandhi Park, New Delhi, 2007)

This year, I celebrated Gandhi Jayanti by attending a school-wide American BBQ. There was no beef included in the buffet, yet, even though I’m not Indian, I couldn’t help feeling a little bit guilty enjoying my corn on the cob while knowing that Gandhi-Ji starved more than once to save his nation. Perhaps legacies are simply a thing of the past.

Party in Maisuru

On the way back to Kodai, we stopped in the city of Mysore (formerly Maisuru), one of the major cities in the state of Karnataka. There we saw palaces, Tipoo the Tiger's burial grounds (a sultan who stood up against the Brits, did well for awhile, then lost), and a very tall Christian Church that seemed to be aiming pretty high to the heavens. It makes you wonder whether they were trying to make up for something. Anyways, I was mostly impressed by the script that Karnata speakers use as it looks something akin to upside down macaronis. I will admit, however, that the languages here in South India are getting very confusing. For example, here, while there are five ways to tell people to be quiet (from top to bottom: English, Karnata, Tamil, Hindi, and Urdu), camera and mobile usage is presumed self explanatory with a mere icon. Hmmm.

Lucky for me, while being in Mysore, the city famous for it’s sultans and lavish royal families, we happened upon its biggest party of the year: Dussehra. Dussehra is a Hindu festival that usually lasts for about ten days, and involves a lot of colored lights, parades, fireworks, greetings, and food. Not only was I fortunate enough to spend this glorious occasion in the city most famous for its Dusserha celebrations but I got to yet again be part of the holiday honoring my favorite Hindu goddess, Durga.

Durga, the most awesome of all the female goddesses, sprung from the energy of all twelve major male gods to slay a buffalo demon that could only be weakened by female seduction. You see, despite all the male power present in the Hindu pantheon, it lacked a certain element called shakti, female power or essence. This special feminine energy is needed for the universe to exist. Yet, this energy is so powerful that it has the power to both maintain and destroy all the balance in the universe. Durga herself is the very incarnation of this shakti energy, as she is the all-powerful female goddess, capable of destroying demons in a unique feminine way that the male gods could never even begin to conjure up. Basically, nobody messes with this feisty lady.

Thus, my Durga rants and biases aside, happy Dusserha everyone! This tradition of Dusserha (known as Durgapooja in North India) has become so deeply embedded into Indian culture that even now, sitting in my house back in the Christian town of Kodaikanal, the sounds of Indian music and fireworks in honor of Durga sweep through the hills like wildfire. Shakti is indeed all around us. 

Minds for Momos

I just came back from a weeklong fieldtrip with the grade 8 students to a Tibetan refugee settlement in Karnataka, India known as Bylakuppe. Because we lived in a monastery for a week straight, I was not able to blog regularly. Thus, I have pieced together a few snippets from this wonderful week of monks, Buddhism, momos, relaxation, and piece of mind. At first, I thought about apologizing for the length of this entry. Yet, knowing that monks spend twenty-two years memorizing over 1,000 pages of scripture puts certain things into perspective.

Novice Perceiver

Initially, I was a little nervous about heading to a refugee settlement. Naively, all I had ever presumed about these ‘camps’ was dry arid land with lots of people living in very difficult and primitive conditions. Once in Bylakuppe, I quickly altered these judgements. Pulling into the area, I suddenly felt I was no longer in India as all around me I saw a huge clean beautiful landscape with little clusters of developments and industry neatly erected underneath slews and slews of prayer flags. The Tibetans in this community have done an unbelievable job creating a living environment that both satisfies their needs and adheres to their beloved culture and tradition.

Chosen Path

On the way to Bylakuppe I was told to sit in the middle of the bus in the middle of the row so I could blend in with the children and escape the problems that could arise from me being a foreigner in citizen-only part of India. Fortunately for me however, the police seemed to be conveniently diverting their eyes this time. Even here in India there is no avoiding this whole ‘Free Tibet’ business.

Mind Games

During the rainy season, Tibetan monks meditate for three months straight. After this time of serious devotion and practice, they get precisely eight days off. Coincidentally, we are visiting during exactly those eight days. What does this mean exactly? Well, in short, there will not be any meditations, rituals, or debates to witness. Rather, this week is about watching monks play ping-pong, squirt water guns, watch the latest Korean flicks, listen to their ipods, and take part in a feature-length documentary film starring Miss Tibet. I plan to meditate on this paradoxical span of one short week just long enough to figure it all out.

Soul Survivors

One morning I went to the Tibetan Children’s Village in Bylakuppe. After watching 1600 students drill through their morning assembly, I had the opportunity to meet and chat with some of the young ladies from grade 8. Their stories all go something like this:

“When I was eleven years old my mother told me to leave Tibet. So I went with a group of other children, all strangers, on a month-long journey across the Himalayas on foot. Some of the kids died and many suffered from frostbite along the way. When we finally reached Dharamsala, India, someone split us into three groups: future monks, nuns, and students. Thus, I went by bus to Bylakuppe to study until I am twenty years old. Then, hopefully, I can go back to Tibet see my family and serve my country by being a teacher. I only get to talk to them here once a year, on Tibetan New Year’s. Maybe one day I’ll get to see them again."

These brave young teenagers are not bitter, angry, or scared. Rather, they accept their responsibilities as young global citizens and playfully ask if I will come visit them once Tibet is free. I would love to be able to oblige someday.

Materialisms

Visiting the Golden Temple includes the following rituals: spinning hundreds of prayer wheels, sitting in front of an enormous gold Buddha, and being summoned to prayer by fifty monks blowing into various instruments crafted from conch shells and animal bones. All this takes place amidst a rainbow of bright reds, blues, yellows, greens, and whites of the prayer flags and the maroons and oranges of monks, nuns, baby monks and nuns going on with their daily lives.

Life, Death, Life, Repeat

At one point I had the opportunity to have a debate with a real live monk. Thus, I sat down for a few hours with a Lama (teacher) named Sonam. Rather than getting into the deep complexities of the eight-fold path and four noble truths, I’ll briefly reflect on the complexities that boggle my mind on a regular basis. That is, the eccentricities in life.

Firstly, at the start of out meeting, upon entering the meeting hall we awkwardly interrupted a monk on roller skates practicing on the marble floors of the large space. This vacation for the monks, at many points, started feeling quite unusual for me. However, like the Lama spoke about later on, the best way to focus the mind on things that truly matter is by distracting it first.

Another memorable moment occurred when a fly landed on the Lama’s shoulder. One of the other listeners in our little group brushed it off of him, feaux pas number one. Then, when the fly landed on the floor next to him, she went to swat it dead with a pen. In an instant, the monk’s hand flew down to protect the fly from imminent death with more determination and compassion than I have seen in a long time. Naturally, the woman was quite embarrassed. The Lama just relaxed back into his cross-legged position and smiled.

Road to Enlightenment
Despite the overwhelming peace of this lovely community of Bylakuppe, the sense of impermanence is ever-present. With this, I do not mean to conjure up any Buddhist ideologies but rather note the face that these Tibetans are simply waiting until the day they can head back to their Tibet. Yet, with Tibetan Buddhism as the main player of Tibetan tradition, this sense of impermanence perhaps takes on a whole new meaning. For now, shoontenjaago (goodbye).

Soggy September

Greetings from 7,000 ft. above sea level, where in Kodaikanal, I am pleased to inform you, the start of monsoon season no. 2 is officially underway. In true South Asian style, the rains of the monsoon make European drizzles look like a sunny day as here in India, when the rains do finally come, everything and everyone gets doused in a nice layer of torrential downpour. Fortunately, I just heard the rains are due to last through the middle of November, so I’ll have plenty of time to get the melody to “rain, rain go away…” branded as the soundtrack to my autumn.

Whistle While You Work

This morning I visited another orphanage near Kodaikanal called Shenbaganur. Actually, it’s not quite an orphanage but a type of day care center or kresh where single parents can leave their children while they go off and seek work elsewhere.

Walking into the dark two-room building, the children are all standing, heads bowed down and hands folded together, reciting Tamil Christian prayers in perfect unison. The discipline here is unbelievable. The same goes for snack time, as once again, these little children sit in perfectly straight lines, girls on the left, boys on the right, patiently awaiting today’s delicacy.

After playing basketball, cricket, monkey bars, boat sailing in the well, coloring, and reading and writing with the kids, I decided to get my hands dirty and help some of the older girls plant their garden. After a lot of hard work and song singing, we finally got the job done and hopefully, within a few months, these children will have grown their very own beets and cauliflower, which they can then consume with pride. There’s no telling how long the dirt will remain under my fingernails. Yet, the thought of homegrown veggies and full bellies makes it all worth it.

After just one morning of playing and working with these children, I truly admire the patience, enthusiasm, and love the owners and workers (in this case Sisters) of such an organization possess and share all day everyday. I guess in the end maybe we could all use a bit more discipline after all. 

Natural Beauty

A recent bout with a bacterial infection reminded me quite fondly of a few weeks ago when I learned one of my first Tamil words.

It’s just like any normal day in a pre-school art class, where at any moment a child might be stabbing a peer with a pair of scissors or you turn around and find ten children under a table playing 'animals', meowing like cats and dogs with unyielding passion. Today, the project was to draw things from their outside environment. Walking around, one of the little girls excitedly squeals, “Teachah, teachah! Look it’s poo in Tamil!” Clearly confused, I look at her neighbor and assume she’s commenting on this young gentleman’s brown squiggles all over his paper. Real mature, I think. But no, she is pointing directly at her paper and says again, “it’s poo in Tamil”. All I’m seeing is what I presume to be a flower. And then suddenly it hits me that the word for flower in Tamil is in fact poo! So yes, in this innocent sequence of events, I learned that there finally is a way for poo and flower to exist as one in the same.

Bare Necessities

Ah, the secluded mountain life, a way of living many aspire towards. Sometimes, however, the novelty wears off and it simply becomes time to, well, get off the mountain.

After surviving a twelve hour long non-Air Conditioned overnight bus ride full of first class body odor wearers and non-stop starers, I decided to let my hair down (or my sleeves up for that matter) and do what any respectable Indian woman might do when she heads to a metropolis for the weekend with friends: shop. Rupees in hand and Hindi on the brain, I ready myself to bargain my way towards urban retail therapy.

The whole ride down I couldn’t help wondering if it was okay for me to justify an entire trip to Bangalore, formerly known as Bangaluroo, India’s third most populous city to accompany some Indian friends on a tour-de-force shopping trip (with maybe a coffee or two at Café Coffee Day in between). However, sitting in an auto-rickshaw again after so long, my heart yearned back for my former life in Delhi, and the answer came to me as an overwhelming “yes!”

One nice predictable thing about India is that when visiting anywhere, nine times out of ten, there will be a holiday. This weekend many devout Bangalorians were celebrating Lord Ganesha, the elephant god of prosperity, wealth, and good fortunes. Thus, it came as no surprise that throughout the city all weekend long, amidst colored lights and elaborately decorated Ganesha figurines, people were dancing, drumming, and celebrating Ganesha’s givings in true hallucinogenic style. Lucky for me, I was so delirious from my bus ride that while the others complained about the large groups of crazies causing serious bouts of traffic throughout the city, I enjoyed watching people being truly happy. I was especially mesmerized by an elderly woman no fewer than eighty years young, running and dancing alongside the parade and her comrades like a rebellious young teenager. Ganesha truly has done wonders.

By the end of this short trip in this bustling (and supposedly friendliest) Indian city, I am reminded how truly exhausting city life can be. On my way back up the ghat, I can’t help thinking how nice it’ll be to not have to fight with any number of auto-rickshaw drivers so they don’t, quite literally, ‘take you for a ride’ back up on my mountain. Rickshaws haven't even made it up there yet.

And then, I guess it seems, my wandering soul will never be truly at rest, as no matter what I do, where I go, and what my ambitions may be, I will always be looking for greener grass on some other slopey hill. Thus, why not let your inner passions come forwards every once and awhile, step into that pair of jeans and somewhat modest tank top and give in to those bare necessities? Only then may heart, body, and soul remain truly at ease.

Jai Hind

“Jai Hind!” Since being employed in endless political rallies and national campaigns, these two words have become the unofficial catchphrase for Indian Independence. Yesterday, India celebrated its 63rd year as an independent nation. With all the various upheavals the world has seen since 1947, this seems quite a feat. After attending a ceremony honoring both Indian and Korean Independence Day at school, I decided to head out into the Kodai community to see how the locals celebrate such a tremendous occasion.

Tamil music still blaring through the town from last night, I decided to follow the crowds. During the weekends, Indian tourists typically come to Kodai to go boating on the lake. Today however, hundreds of people seemed to be making a pilgrimage in the opposite direction, towards the Saleth Shrine. Lining the twenty-five minute walk uphill towards the church, families with children stopped along the way for balloon animals, ice cream cones, numerous other types of kitschy paraphernalia, and to here and there drop a few paisa in front of the poor. I started to wonder what kind of magical experience awaited me at the top of the hill. When I finally reached the top, I suddenly found myself waiting in an extremely long line. Feeling impatient, I maneuvered my way out of the standstill and walked around to see what all the commotion was about. Almost immediately, I saw what the crowds had come all this way for on Independence Day: church. Suddenly, I remembered. In all my anticipation for Independence Day, I had almost completely forgotten about St. Mary’s holiday. The crowds of people waiting in line had come all this way to see a shrine erected in her honor.

After they paid their respects to St. Mary in this uniquely Indian church, awaiting the churchgoers was a large fair complete with rides, snacks, and more people happy they made the effort to come up here on this special day. After touring the venue and drinking a quick chai, I headed back down the path just in time to see a colorful procession of St. Mary vignettes make its way up the hill. I now know, and will never forget, that up here on top of the mountains in South India, August 15^th is a day for St. Mary and also that up here, nestled deep in the protection of the mountains, Indian Independence feels exactly sixty-three years away. Jai Hind!

Dual Anticipation

It’s the night before Indian Independence Day and all I can say, is that nobody does holidays better than India, or even in quite the same way. Actually, tonight is the culmination of two holidays, which highlight the melting pot of traditions that is Kodaikanal, India. On this eve of the largest national holiday of the year, the Christian (and predominantly Catholic) citizens of this little town on top of the hill also celebrate the start of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

In order to celebrate the festivities in a truly unique Indian style, the center of town has been strung with long strands of palm fronds strings and blinking colored lights, all culminating around one very large image of the Virgin herself, surrounded in auspicious red lights and two enormous speakers, which, coincidentally enough have been blaring a lovely mix of Tamil music for the whole week. Things like these remind me that although I am living in a seemingly Western part of an Indian world, I am still in India. And for this, I feel truly blessed.

Shoes off in Candy Land

Descending down from Kodai into the plains takes, well, quite a bit of patience. Rumbling along in a fifteen passenger bus playing the latest Tamil tunes, the winding solitary road down the mountain takes no less than 3 ½ hours to navigate successfully. Luckily you can stop for a quick bite of extremely yummy masala dosa (if your belly’s up for it of course). Yet, after this transportational adventure, at last, you descend on into one of Tamil Nadu’s major cities, Madurai.

Stepping off the bus, I instantly am reminded that I’m not in Kodai anymore, as once again, every square inch of space around me is swarming with city life. I quickly feel my salwar kamiz cling to my person in that special way that only 110 degree heat can offer. My body, having finally acclimated to the cool wet mountain temperatures, does not like this heat, and I can feel my pores wide open, gasping for a breeze.

Jutting up through the entire city like an obelisk from Candy Land is the main temple of Madurai. Walking towards it, street vendors invite you into their sanctuaries, cleverly hidden away from the heat in shady alcoves. At the temple, I remember the naïve vulnerability of tourism as clouds of men with postcards, incense, and ‘stuff’ swarm like locusts around me, their latest prey.

I finally reach the temple, take off my shoes, clear security, and step inside this fairytale of Hindu mythology. The colors of the statues and frescoes are so incredibly vivid that I feel like I’ve literally stepped into a rainbow. Everywhere around me people are doing pujas (worships) on a number of mismatched statues of deities, covering them in white ash for purity, prosperity, and good luck. True, there is nothing equal to the colors of Hinduism. Yet, being inside the womb of such a vivid space does remind me, in a certain way, of all the happiness present in the world and with it not only the experiences but the living.

Last stop, temple market, a covered hideout where the colors from outside have been brought inside in the forms of bold textures, luscious fabrics, and colorful people. Although bargaining wears on both body and soul, in a way, it has this unusual charm in that it constantly forces one to live deep within their own morals and values and whether dueling for the lowest price with someone only trying to make a living is worth those one or two more rupees at the end of the day.

Back on the bus now flashing with rainbow colored disco lights, I am unequivocally exhausted, dreading the ride back up the mountain. Yet, remained impressed on my mind is, “ah, the people, the smells, the chaos, and the heat of India”, following with a smile.

Where the Wild Things Are

I spent this past weekend camping in a town about an hour and a half away from home base. You know, sleeping in a tent, roasting marshmallows, and going on midnight hikes and so forth. This little relaxing adventure took place in the little region of Pundi, an agricultural community teaming with women carrying bundles on their heads, men guiding cattle and water buffalo, and children running up to you and asking, “pen Miss?” On the way there, since our jeep kept blowing up in smoke, I got the opportunity to take a look around as we waited for the vehicle to cool down.

In this area of Tamil Nadu, India I saw, for the first time ever actually, the incredibly innovative style of land cultivation known as roof terracing. This concept is also used in other areas of the world for tea planting because the steppe-like effect on the hills keeps the soil (and thus the crops) from sliding down. Here in Pundi, however, they grow onions, garlic, and potatoes. Sprinkled into the mix of these vast hills of fertile hills are a number of very small towns which may be one of the few places in India where you can by a chai and a snack for just 3 rupees (that’s 6 cents in America dollars). Getting back in the jeep and rumbling along the one-lane stone dead-end road, who knows, you may even be stopped by an unusual roadblock in the form of a bison slowly grazing. No matter though, something stirs within, a combination of fright, curiosity, and awe. Out here, nothing stands in the way of you and nature, leaving you in a bewildered state of bliss.

Today's Youth

Saturday I got the opportunity to help out at a children’s orphanage just around the other side of the lake. This particular shelter houses around forty children under the age of ten who have some of the best smiles in the world. It was amazing to see how everyone has their own role within this little community. Although these children are living in pretty basic conditions under fairly difficult circumstances with little adult supervision and care, they all seem so incredibly happy. It’s this youthful enthusiasm that makes seeing a place that could otherwise be very difficult truly wonderful. All these kids need is someone to share their stories with, hold them, and feign an interest in their lives and a pure love and happiness is sure to result (a cricket bat doesn’t hurt either). Nevertheless, I’m sure this is a place I’ll keep coming back to. I guess, in that sense, these children have certainly put a spell on me.

Road Block

Last night, walking on the sidewalk on my way home, I was suddenly forced to take a detour. In front of me, on the sidewalk, was an unusual threesome, feasting from the day's spoils. Looking closely at the cow and two dogs eating ravenously away, I decided to embrace the hungry diners. I stepped off the path and let them continue grazing.

Sunday Market

Overflowing with a dreaminess that only first day jetlag can provide, I decided to explore and make my way towards Kodai’s Sunday market. Walking down the steep hill, I am instantly reminded of the sensory overload that is India. Amidst all the bright colors, unfamiliar smells, honking horns, and bustling activity, I can tell that this is a place that I want to be a part of, and is a weekly activity I can fully embrace. For this special occasion, everyone dresses in their Sunday best, not necessarily for church, but for the weekly ritual of seeing all the people of the community. Walking along the countless stands selling fruit, spices, earmuffs, and who knows what else, I can’t help wishing I already speak Tamil. My Hindi skills won’t be useful here because the Tamil pride has been so fervently embraced that even India’s linguafranca, Hindi, is not applicable here. Needless to say, despite the language barrier, I am truly happy to be spending time in this little place in the mountains that despite its location still cannot escape the ever-present honking of car horns.