All Creatures Great...

Monkeys are revered in India - after all without the great monkey king we would have lost our Helen. But they’re feared too for practical reasons (rabies) and otherwise. A couple of years ago rumors of a half-monkey, half-man creature that stole babies spread through Delhi. Mobs lynched suspects and the old city lived in fear until the hysteria passed.

Outside Shiva’s temples for a few coins cobras will dance for the charmer or a giant creature will wrap itself around you. It’s my weight and at least twice my length but its head is as light and fast as a feather, it’s eyes unflinching. I would have fallen with Eve too.

But it’s not just the great creatures that leave an impression. In Bodhgaya I counted the bites left by mosquitoes and bedbugs and lost count after a hundred every time. In Rishikesh I escaped both except there was a giant cockroach in my room. Ahimsa. Non-violence. We left each other in peace.

Then one day it took off. It could fly! But it was like a drunken pilot, unable to control itself in the currents of the ceiling fan. I dove under the sheets every time it swerved near. Ideology was quickly discarded. But perhaps it wasn’t its time, perhaps fear made my aim poor, but it would live in the room a lot longer than I.

Dominant Genes

He went to New Zealand from India and married a local woman. He died young and his family lost contact with that distant land until his granddaughter came to learn a little of the culture that was written all over her face.

Native Tongue

I speak Hindi now 90% of the time, faltering only when the idea is complex (above 10th grade level unfortunately). It’s a wonderful unfamiliar feeling where everyone knows your name (or at least how to spell it).

But English is creeping in everywhere in urban India down to lowest socio-economic levels. Even when it’s written in Devangari script, the word is still “parking.” So it was a shock when I heard ‘mitti ka tel’ instead of the ubiquitous petrol. I know English is a necessary part of India’s future but something is lot in the English translation of ‘the oil of the earth.’

Steps on a River

Ghats are steps that lead to holy waters. On the ghats of Varanasi pilgrims welcome the sun in the morning. Then come the locals to bathe and the animals to drink. The dhobis wash and lay hundreds of colored saris to dry in the sun. At sunset, boys play cricket, families buy snacks and stroll as if it were a promenade. I took a morning boat ride and cast a lock of my niece’s first-cut hair into the Ganges.

A Blanket

It was low season so he shut down his shop early and invited me to his evening round of prayers. There was durga mandir, hanuman mandir, ashrams, holy kunds…. After the first hour I lost count. I could only mimic his gestures uneasily. “You are Hindu, yes?” he asks me.

The old city is blanketed by religion. An orange seller takes my money and obtains blessing from the little murti (idol). The widows beg at every corner to collect money for their cremation. A temple crumbles in the decrepit courtyard that also houses my favorite restaurant. A middle-aged man rushing somewhere, stops and backtracks for a quick prayer. A sadhu sits on the pavement and blesses dentures for better fitting.

Rickshaw Ride

It took only a day of walking in the sun to quell my uneasiness at being pulled by half-starved 60-year-old rickshaw drivers.

Chow Mein Dreams

They weren’t having much luck begging outside a temple just outside of Varanasi. The youngest two gave up and sat in the shade where I was reading the paper. We peeled oranges and they told me outrageous stories that made me laugh but didn‘t move me to part with my cash. It was lunchtime and I relented. I asked them what they wanted to eat, money no problem. “Chow Mein and Coca-Cola,” they screamed. Their day wasn’t such a loss after all.

Freedom Ride

I never imagined of luxuries such as a car as a teenager. I wished instead that I was a boy so my parents would let me drive a scooter and I could explore the city at will. But it just wasn’t done - not by the good daughters of the middle class. Now, nearly 20 years later, you still don’t see very many Indian women on two-wheelers in New Delhi. Thanks to the economic boom they’re in cars. But in small towns such as Varanasi I saw dozens, zipping along as heedless as any male driver.

Of course there is a backlash. A Hindu woman eloped with a Muslim man from a small town in the heartland to Mumbai where the courts intervened to make sure they wouldn‘t be arrested. There were lamentations and recriminations in her community. We’re giving the girls too much liberties, they said, and issued new guidelines: curfews, no more cell phones, and no more scooters you can ride to freedom…

Street Pride

The street food of Varanasi is famous. I tried a dozen "chats" - don’t even ask me the ingredients and the numerous variations. And I would top it with fresh sugarcane juice. I guess that would be my greatest vanity, my stomach hasn’t rebelled once in India.

Buddhist Pilgrims

There are aspects of Buddhism that mystified me in Bodh Gaya and Sarnath - the prostrations to the 35 imaginary Buddhas, the cheap labor of the conscripted child monks, the monastery construction boom amid the squalor of the poorest people of India - but nowhere else in this crowded country did I find the serenity that existed at the Buddhist sites.

'New' Buddhists

Buddhism was lost to India for nearly a millennia when a Dalit (‘untouchable’) leader led a mass conversion to escape the caste system. But Indian Buddhists are still rare. I saw only foreigners at the pilgrimage sites even though all English programs stopped in the off-season.

But I walked in accidentally to a Buddhist talk in Hindi. The small gathering welcomed me with tea and biscuits and shy invites to dinner at their homes.

Little Choices

I don’t defend child labor, but I always ask those who object to it what the alternatives are for the illiterate, landless family of eight, of ten, of a dozen. Still, after Pappu who manages a store daily from sunrise to past sunset, after Khusboo and her baby sister who cook chapattis for the dhabba customers, after Rekha who collects garbage instead of going to school, the retorts don’t come as easily.

Night Train

My friend told the railway attendant to take good care of me, an Indian woman traveling alone - overnight! The attendant took me out of the crowded carriage to a spacious, higher class one, made my bed and served dinner well past service time.

I shook his hands gratefully for the little comforts. He didn’t let go until I shook it free. A little later he was back, shaking me awake. “Everything OK, madam?” Yes, yes, but he didn’t let go, rubbing his hands all over my arms and shoulders. “Such a nice, nice girl.“ He returned twice, stopping only when I woke the other passengers by shouting at him. I woke periodically through the night unsure if he was standing in the shadows.