Adventures and Misadventures

April 21, 2002-Art In the Dark

(photos:Varanasi,
dhobi ghat)


As we neared the shores of the Ganges, a parade of elaborately decorated boats floated past. It was the last day of the festival and floats were decked out in lights, some spouted fire from what looked like blow torches, and people were dressed as gods in ornate costumes. Then there was a blackout. The entire city was plunged into darkness. Except for the candles and the swinging trees of fire held by the priests, it was totally black. It was as if we’d stepped back in time to when the rituals began. The sky revealed itself and the moon and stars were visible. I was spellbound as the priests, drummers, and bell-ringers didn’t miss a beat as they continued their dance of prayers. David has always maintained that worship is an art form. These were the masters.

I was also a bit apprehensive about making my way ashore and through the crowds in the dark, but no worries. By the time we docked, and scrambled onto solid ground, the electricity had returned. We were treated to a hair-raising bicycle rickshaw ride as we raced through the streets back to the car. David’s rickshaw came pretty close to an unsavory encounter with the wrong end of cow suffering from Delhi Belly, but the skilled driver swerved just in time. We emerged from the throng and were relieved to see our car waiting. We slipped into our cocoon and were home free.

April 22, 2002-Confessions

We had dinner with Todd and Zane last night and thoroughly enjoyed their company. Todd is from a small town in Minnesota and is a former Catholic who is now a Buddhist. He’s a psychotherapist. Zane is from Ireland and owns a beauty salon in Santa Monica. They wear wedding bands, but I don’t know how long they’ve been together. We discussed our Ganges experiences and they said that when they were on the water at night they just hoped to escape without getting splashed. They blanched when I told them my hand went in when I placed the candle in the water.

They joined us for breakfast this morning after they’d been to the Ganges for the sun ceremonies. We shared our perceptions and experiences and then came their confession. They’d taken the plunge. They’d done the dip. Something overcame them and they felt compelled to strip to their underwear and walk down the steps of the ghat and into the river. They didn’t actually swim or go under the water, but they did pour it over themselves. They felt satisfied in taking that step and overcoming a fear. I detected a cringe when I asked them if they had any open sores. We exchanged travel war stories and they told us of an incredible experience a friend of theirs had. Their friend had been chased down the street by a mob of lepers on skateboards in Delhi. In the perspective of the most depraved black humor, we burst into laughter. Skateboards seen to be a favorite mode of transportation for lepers. Reminds me of Porgie and Bess. I think it’s a bit over the top even for South Park.

April 23, 2002-Friendly Skies

It was so hot (110 degrees) that the government was considering closing the schools a month early. I managed to stay cool since the clothes I had washed out the night before were still wet. I don’t think the heat was the reason why some airport workers were in their bare feet and soldiers were wearing Nikes. We filled out yet another survey of satisfaction for our guide (this country is obsessed with surveys) and prepared for the ordeal of going through check-in and security. We flew India Air to Bombay last night. The airline doesn’t have a fine reputation and it lived up to it. It made the slogan of Sahara Air sound promising: “An Emotionally Satisfying Airline.”

We started in Varanasi where they confiscated our batteries. We had to sign our lives away for them, the batteries were tagged, and they stamped our boarding pass so we could retrieve them with our bags. If you read the following three times, you will get the sense of how our evening went. For each time we got on or off the plane, this is what we had to do: put checked luggage through security, get tags for carry-on luggage (including fanny packs and water tote bags), check in and get baggage tags for checked luggage, go through passenger security and have carry-on luggage x-rayed, opened, and searched, passengers bodily frisked, identify checked luggage, walk out gate to the plane where hand luggage is opened again and passengers are bodily frisked again. Each time there’s a frisk or a bag search, the boarding pass and luggage tags are stamped. All the stamps and boarding passes were inspected as we boarded the plane. We were told these precautions were instituted after 9/11.

Safety demonstrations were done in Hindi first and, since there wasn’t enough time before, demos were done in English after take-off. At each stop soldiers boarded and searched the plane, and we boarded a bus for the terminal. At Delhi, the bus dropped us off at the baggage loading dock and we had to climb over a low wall, step over (what else) rubble, and find our way to the terminal. Two things came to my mind. One was that perhaps all the news footage on TV showing the rubble and devastation in Afghanistan and the West Bank was filmed in India. The other thing was that being frisked was not so bad and I might consider becoming a lesbian.

The routing was from Varanasi to Lucknow to Delhi to Bombay. We were not to change planes. The only good thing I can say is that the flight attendant was marvelous and had a great sense of humor and the food was good. We flew along the Nepalese border and had a great view of the Himalayas. Our routing didn’t change, but after the pilot broke the plane by coming in too fast and landing too hard in Lucknow, it had to be repaired. She seemed to have learned her lesson and the other landings went well. We deplaned and re-boarded. In Delhi, they decided the repair was inadequate so we deplaned and got on a new plane.

They Are The World

It was 84 degrees in Bombay (Mumbai) when we miraculously landed only twenty minutes late. Our batteries were waiting near the luggage carousel with their little numbered tags that the guard carefully checked against our 3rd set of boarding passes. We hopped into our car and were whisked away to the Taj Palace, the finest hotel in India. To get there we actually rode on an eight-lane highway part of the way. There were no cows, but shanties lined the road. I was riveted and stunned by the sight of them all. We asked each other, ”How can this be worse than what we have seen?” Made of paper, tarps, cloth, tin, etc. they were their own cities. I caught glimpses of TVs and electric lights inside. Our guide today said that people from rural areas flood into the city looking for work. Some of them save enough for a government apartment in a slum, but cannot afford to maintain it. They then sell it and move back onto the streets.

We got an upgrade on our room since they didn’t have a non-smoking available. The Taj, overlooking the mammoth Gate of India Arch and the Bay of Bombay, was built in 1903. It’s in pristine condition and is a must see where tourists come to gawk. The lobby is a study in elegance and taste. The people in the lobby reflect that atmosphere. Since the restaurants have a dress code and we travel simply, the only place we can eat in the hotel is the coffee shop. Beef has reappeared on the menus and is promoted as “only Australian” (no mad cow disease). This is the most international hotel we’ve been in. The wealthy and business people gather to trade influence and share economic riches. It ‘s a microcosm of world diversity where Hindus in saris, Arabs in robes, Sikhs in turbans, and Israelis in kippot sit at neighboring tables in peace. Perhaps we should do away with political leaders and let business people run the world. A professor of Davids, Ellis Rivkin, called that Global Capitalism.

We hit a new low in transportation. Our car was a TaTa, and Indian made car, whose A/C didn’t work. Our guide was expecting us to be Italian, but threw a switch in his brain and changed to English with no effort. He was a textile technologist, but prefers the tour industry. Our tour was more interesting than we expected. Our guide was very knowledgeable about the Jewish community in Bombay and had led several Israeli groups. There were 15,000 Jews in Bombay, but there are only 5,000 now. There are eleven synagogues. When Jews first came, they went into the olive oil pressing business since no one else was doing it. They prospered and were respected and, at times, protected by the Hindu regimes. Some, like the Sassoon family have been very philanthropic. We saw a Bene Israel (K’hila K’dosha Tepherat Israel) synagogue, a sephardic type and the oldest group. The small and tired looking sanctuary was built with the bimah (pulpit) in the center. There was a woman’s section and the engraving above the ark was the same as at Temple Israel in Akron. They have 500 families who belong and have services twice daily and on Shabbat. The other synagogue we saw was also Sephardic (Jews from Spain, Portugal, & Middle East) but only had fifty families who belonged. The founders were from Baghdad. It was a larger building painted blue and white with tall columns, mosaic floors, and stained glass windows, but was in terrible condition. They used prayer books that were left by people who visited from all over the world. Some of the books were in Persian and Hebrew and some, donated by the American Joint Distribution, were in English and Hebrew. One that we saw was from the Rego Park Jewish Center in Queens, New York. That’s where my family belonged in the 1940’s-1950’s and where I went to religious school when we lived there.

Getting To Know Mumbai

This area, whose population is around 16 million and is the financial center of India, was originally a series of islands. The British filled them in and the peninsula that was formed became Bombay. The English got this land from the Portuguese as part of a dowry and sold it to the Dutch East India Co. for the equivalent of ten pounds sterling in gold. Most of the buildings we saw were from the 1850s and gothic in style. It was only in 1960 that the state of Mahrashta was formed wherein Bombay is located. The Parsis from Persia arrived here in the 8th century and brought Zoroastrianism. They still have a wealthy and thriving community. Part of their agreement with the Hindus was that they wouldn’t allow non-Parsis into their temples so there would be no danger of Hindus converting. The Parsis don’t bury in the ground or cremate since they don’t want to pollute the earth and they worship fire, so they erected a Tower of Silence for their dead. It’s still in use today. The bodies are laid out on sloped platforms and vultures do the rest. The bones slide into a well where rain washes the residue through a filter so the soil below stays pure. The problem today is that there is a disease devastating the vulture population and the Parsis have had to resort to chemicals. Zuban Mehta is a Parsi.

This is a modern metropolis and cleaner than we expected. It has cleaner rubble. The Malibar Hill mansions of the British are falling down and being replaced by high-rises. Trains run with open doors and people sitting on the roof. And in the middle of this mêlée are three oases. The Hanging Gardens are perched on a hill overlooking the city. They are tranquil havens with red clay paths that contrast with the brilliant floral plantings. There’s always shade and a breeze. Across the street is Kemala Nehru Park that offers the most spectacular view of Chowpatty, the famous beach between the Arabian Sea and the road called the Queens Necklace. The sea is now too polluted for swimming. The third oasis is a grandparent’s garden only for seniors. Each morning tea is served, a doctor is available, and a laughing club meets.

We visited another Jain temple where this affluent community decorated the white marble structure with real gold, silver, gems, and colorfully ornate frescoes to create a wild array of decorative art. We saw them making sandalwood paste to mark their foreheads. When I painted it on, it looked like I just had another freckle. They used rice offerings to create elaborate designs as they prayed and worked their prayer beads. A common design was the swastika, their sign for the sun. It was clearer when they swirled it and made it in a more circular pattern. Several chapels to different gods were around the main altar. Between the chapels, the beads, and the genuflecting, I saw a similarity with what goes on in Catholic churches. As we left, women were setting up for a luncheon in the social hall. Now, that’s Jewish.

On our way to the dhobighat (laundrymens steps) we saw hijras begging. They are eunuchs who worship the goddess Yamana. Only women may worship her so men who are drawn to her or who, as our guide said, “ are born with the tendency to be women,” are castrated so they may enter her temples. They dress like women, are popularly used to bless newlyweds, and are entertainers. Prostitution was a common profession among hijras, but the fear of AIDS has forced many to resort to begging. We stood in the same spot where Clinton stood when he observed the laundry process and I’m sure his pictures turned out just fine. It encompasses a massive area of washing stones, tanks, tubs, vats, and boilers where workers rent space. They collect the clothes (cotton only) on their route, put a laundry mark on each item for identification, soak them in ash water, heat them in water until the water evaporates, add detergent, and beat it to death. Mark Twain said that Indians are the only people who try to break rocks by beating them with clothing.

There are bullock carts in the streets of Bombay, but where have all the cows gone? Not to worry, they have “rent-a-cow.” Since cows are scarce in an urban environment, temples pay women to tie a cow outside a temple and provide cut grass so worshippers can pay to feed it, thus fulfilling a Hindu obligation.

Always creative, Indians also have a variation on “Meals on Wheels.” Office workers have the benefit of a home cooked lunch. A cart circulates to the homes of those who subscribe to this service and uniform pails are provided for packing the meals. Lunches prepared at the homes of the subscribers are picked up, delivered to the workers, and the pails are cleaned and returned for the next day.

Our last stop was Ghandi House. It has an extensive library, exquisitely executed dioramas, and photos of his life and work. He bears a striking resemblance to Ben Kingsley. They’ve kept untouched the room he used when he visited in Bombay. It also has framed letters he wrote to Hitler in 1932 and Roosevelt in 1942. It was very poignant considering how far we have not come. India has been a chore and a pleasure. It’s the most different place we’ve ever been and one of the most difficult. It’s a relief to leave but we may want to come back some day. It’s a country of contrasts, enigmas, and contradictions. It’s a unique place all its own. I would recommend it for any tourist since it can be approached in many ways. There’s no avoiding the depth of poverty, filth, and disease, but we are privileged to be able to retreat from it and regroup in our luxurious hotel/palaces. I have no regrets having come here and will take away rich memories and deep emotions that will continue to enrich my mind, heart, and soul.

We’re off to Kenya at 3:30 AM. We’ll be there for twelve days and don’t know what the email situation will be. I’ll keep on writing and you may get a batch when we reach Cape Town.

Toby