Satya-da buying veggies, Laxmipour 

Rickshaw-walla, Laxmipour 

"Dad" 

Village school, Laxmipour 

Esty and Satya-da on the back of a cycle-rickshaw enroute to his village Laxmipour 

Villagers bring milk to the city via Sealdah Train Station 

"Pirate Patches" 

"Mom"  

The IPSL 7 on our last day at Loreto College, Kolkata 

Esty hiding from the cold in Darjeeling 

Buddhist prayers in Gangtok 

Buddhist monks enjoy the view at a monastery in Darjeeling 

Unknown Hindi film actress posing at overlook in Gangtok 

Waterfall in Gangtok, Sikkim 

Steven (the Australian) with young monks at Enchey Monastery, Gangtok 

Nepali girl at Botancal Garden in Gangtok, Sikkim 

Monks at Botanical Garden in Gangtok 

Pink snow-covered peak of Mt Everest! 

Sunrise from Tiger Hill 3 

Sunrse frm Tiger Hill 2 

Sunrise on Tiger Hill 1 

The end is near

It is late morning here, and though the sun is doing its best to exhaust me and keep me locked in doors under a cooling fan with a glass of Electrol (home-made gatorade) in my hand, I am fighting it :-) My host parents finally let me leave the house yesterday to spend the day with my family friends. Dr. and Mrs. Bose took all 7 of my friends out to the Tollygunge Club, a beautiful and world-renowned golf club, for an afternoon of swimming, strolling and dining. To relax after our hearty lunch we took a drive around the Salt Lake neighborhood of Kolkata so that we could see firsthand the product of all of the Development and Globalization that we have been studying. The area was full of futuristically designed building housing an array of impressive institutions including Law schools, IT centers, and more. Salt Lake seemed to be the perfect place for young professionals to live and work, although the neighborhood is some distance from the entertainment center of the city.

One thing that never ceases to amaze me about India is the constant juxtaposition of old and new, traditional and Western, and rich and poor everywhere you look. Even in the ritziest neighborhoods it is not uncommon to find a cow wandering the streets undisturbed, or see a few children with threadbare clothes barely covering their bodies running around. After spending 3 months here, the experience of peering out the window during a smooth ride in an airconditioned car and seeing an entire slum composed of scrap pieces of metal and plastic across the street from the manicured lawns of an Information Technology firm has become less disturbing and more realistic. Rather than causing me to feel as much pity and guilt (though avoiding sadness in a developing country is impossible), I instead see adversity and strength and "progress" and hope and growing pains and reality, and what I come away with (aside from some confusion) is motivation.

I'm not quite feeling like new, but I am much recovered from my 5 nights in the hospital, and from my position of health I am now able to look back and laugh at what seemed to be a true comedy of errors. It never occured to me that all I needed to do to imporve my Bengali skills was to enclose myself in an environment where I was at the mercy of a staff of individuals who spoke no English, and upon whom I had to rely to have all of my basic needs met. I was so lucky though, because for most of the times that I was conscious (and not drifting in and out of a feverish sleep), I had people taking care of me. The nurses were incredibly affectionate, almost to a fault. Every time one of them thought to pass by my bed, whether or not I was sleeping, they found it necessary to caress my forehead; perhaps they were checking my temperateure, or just trying to let me know non-verbally that they cared, they succeeded is startling me awake several times per day. All of my classmates came to visit me, as did both of my host parents, and even Choto-da, our big brother and cook, came to visit me! Umma, my mother surrogate Aunty came to visit, and brought me fruits and drinks, and helped to decorate (and imporve the smell of) my hospital room by bringing me gorgeous flowers! Her husband Dr. Bose even made an appearance to help me understand what on earth was going on with me medically!

Tomorrow Luke will leave for his travels around India (he is going to visit Darjeeling for a view of the Himalayas, Bhodgaya for some meditation, Veranasi to see the most holy city in all of India, and then head west to enjoy the beach at Goa, and the big Bollywood city of Mumbai), I'm not ready to say goodbye yet! Anna and Zach will also leave tomorrow for a 2-day trip to the Sunderbands where they will hopefully catch a glimpse of some tigers while on their boat tour, and then Zach will head of to travel around India as well (in addition to the cities that Luke is visiting, Zach will also cram in Chennai and Hydrobad!). The 3 girls will all head home on Saturday, but before that we are going to visit Choto-da's village on Thursday! Esty and I are headed to the Royal Jordanian office and the travel agent to radically change our itineraries (due to my newly weakened health status), so I will send updates soon about what I will be doing, and more importantly, when I will be returning home!!!

meteorology

Today is a muted day. If I were at home I could be sure that the sky was warning about an appoaching thunder storm, but here I have no idea. I'm feeling warm and slow and dark, and just need some familiarity. It is getting harder to keep moving forward at such a breakneck rate any more. The stimulation of a new class every day, my papers piling up, not to mention the personal drain of my service and the general chaos that is India...I feel surrounded by it all, and heavy on top of that with a longing to not be apart from what is so important to me.

Bhodgaya: The Quest for Enlightenment

The actual experience was wonderful :-)
Luke, Brandi, Zach and I participated in a 24 hour period of silent meditation. The definition expands beyond the common conception of sitting with eyes closed in the half-lotus position, to include Walking Meditation, and mindfullness while eating and moving in general. We began our session at 5pm with Instruction, and finished at 6pm the following day.

Here is a schedule of our day:
5:00AM- Wake up
5:30AM- 1 hour Seated Meditation session
6:30AM- Practice mindful eating at Breakfast
7:00AM- 1 hour Walking Meditation
8:00AM- Seated Meditation
9:00AM- Walking Meditation
10:00AM- Seated Meditation
11:00AM- Practice mindful eating at Lunch
12:00PM- Naptime
2:00PM- Seated Meditation
3:00PM- Walking Meditation
4:00PM- Seated Meditation
5:00PM- Instruction session (speaking-when-spoken-to allowed)
6:00PM- Walking Meditation
7:00PM- Teatime
8:00PM- Seated Meditation

Anna did not participate in the session, preferring to enjoy the quiet time to relax and read, and Esty and Jess decided not to proceed with the session within the first 45 minutes of meditation. I don't think this created very much animosity within the group, although it did cause problems because while the 4 of us were off meditating, the other 3 were off shopping, eating, and spending money...which we found out later would be necessary to pay our driver, make a donation to the monastery, buy tickets to the local Buddhist temples and ruins, and feed and hydrate ourselves for the next 2 days. We ended up all running out of money becasue some of us had to spot the cash to pay for the above necessities, and had to borrow money from our driver until Brandi could get to an ATM. We are still in the process of sorting out who owes money to whom!

Pre-Meditation Session Journal Entry from Bhodgaya

..."We arrived in Bhodgaya at dawn this morning , and were incredibly hospitably welcomed by one of the monks. He told us quietly about how he has taught in San Francisco, Seattle, Hawaii and Dallas, and offered us tea and biscuits while our rooms were being cleaned. Residence at the International Meditation Centre includes free housing and provision of meals for as long as you need, one day or up to a lifetime. The grounds are small, but calm and clean, and are surrounded by a rural area where rice is cultivated and oxen are cared for by people who live in homes with walls as thick as a single brick, covered in roofs of thatched hay.

All 7 of us made the journey, though only some of us are excited by the opportunity to take instruction in meditation and practice a 24 hour period of silent mindfulness. Anna did not want to come in the first place, and Esty usually doesn't like group adventures. I am not sure whether Anna's disinterest comes only from a discomfort with the practice o meditation as a Buddhist art. I noticed also that as a Christian she did not participate in the Saraswati Puja last month...

The other visitors here, 3 men as I have seen so far, are maintaining a solitary quiet, and have been pacing the grounds with slow, deliberate footsteps, their eyes downward. I don't think that I have ever practiced mindfulness, actually practiced it, through all of my activities- walking, eating, sitting, all of these can be forms of meditation... I have inquired a sense of inquiry about the word "practice," particularly after reading "Can Humanity Change?" a dialogue between Buddhist scholars like Walpola Rahula (author of "What the Buddha Taught," read it) and the thinker Krishnamurti (Google him and find out about his foundation in California).

The other kids are sleeping now, Brandi and I are sitting outside until lunch at 11am. More and more I feel that sleeping is a waste, a way to pass through the hours without maintaining consciousness. What is the point of coming to this place if you aren't going to be awake to experience it? Although, when Brandi and I first walked about, exploring within the walls, looking at the yard, feeling the cool morning dew on our feet, noticing the garden of herbs, onions and chills growing, climbing the stairs that lead heavenward to shady balconies where all that can be heard is everything: my own breathing, the scribbling of Brandi's pen, birds chirping, monks chatting, construction going on, leaves rolling on the round, flies buzzing near my toes, a sheep bleating alone somewhere, prayer flags flapping in the wind, the nearly imperceptible footsteps of a woman carrying freshcut vegetables in a basket on her head, a man slf-consciously locking the door as quietly as possible and ten pacing away like a ballerina with toes pointed and arms behind his back...I remembered that coming to a specific sanctuary where silence, relaxation and concentration are offered, yeahes you the arbitrariness of location. You can (and should) practice life the way you see fit in whatever environment you find yourself.

I can't judge until I try the 24 hour meditation period for myself, but I am often skeptical when people so deliberately and consciously behave reverently- watching these men (dressed either in their safron-colored linen pants or the trendy jeans of their home country) I am rminded of a group of white-clad peopl from the group Ananda, who visited Shishu Bhvan. They walked around in a similar manner, observing our interactions with the children as if in prayer. For me, it is easy to mistakenly perceive strong faith in an individual or a group as something ingenuine and strived for, rather than natural and true, but I really don't feel any pretension here.

I feel comfortable wearing what I am, and I feel comfortable to un-selfconsciously do what I feel like, though I suppose in order to lose your sense of self (which is the cause of humanity's suffering, the disconnect created by a false duality) it has been prescribed to first master complete awareness of self in order to see its falseness. Krishnaji does not seek truth within organized religion, nor through the accumulation of knowledge, nor through a mediator or a guru, nor necessarily through disciplined practice- as all of these methods require not only that you identify yourself, but that you identify yourself with someone or something else as well. I feel pulled towards this, but still only know it as a concept, an idea, a theory, I don't see it as a truth. And it is not as if I am going to eventually work up to some enlightenment or insight; it isn't something you practice or try to attain, you just see, that is what there is to it.

In religion, Christianity, Hinduism, whatever, you build up karma, good deeds, positive action, righteous living, in the hopes of bearing the fruits of your labor in the next lifetime, or in heaven, or eternal life...Krishnaji radically throws all of this aside by proclaiming that he suffers now, now, and doesn't want to suffer now. But it seems unfathomable to me to dissociate from the self, to lie in truth, while maintaining an existence in this world, with its necessities like food, rest, sex, etc...is it possible to be human without being wrapped up in conditioning? The instant you are born you are in society, you have your mother and father. You can't live without being born, and you can't be born without two people before you, who had two people before them, ad infinitum. But "living," what is that? Breathing, blood flowing, brain cells flashing, movement of thought, perception of time...why be born if it makes you suffer? And why be good if there is no progress?..."

Updates on the Health Front

For some reason at this point in the semester we all seem to be dropping like flies.
Esty, Luke, and Brandi have all been suffering from some pretty severe intestinal distress, relatively consistently, for quite a long time. The three of them all made visits to the alopathic doctor today (as opposed to the homeopathic doctor to whom we usually get sent, where we are prescribed an assortment of powders and globules) because their "Cipro Bombs" (the antibiotics we came to India equipped with) have failed to do the trick. If you have the time, please include their comfort and recovery in your thoughts and prayers...

After our lecture today on the history of Ayurvedic medicine, I ironically fell ill as well. I speculate that my migraine attack was brought about by the strong cup of coffee I drank this morning, but my professor is convinced it is because of the change of seasons and weather....Either way, I could feel it coming on for about half an hour beforehand: I was uncomfortable and nauseous, and my extremities felt jittery, as if wild amounts of energy were stored in my arms and finger tips, and by the end of the lecture I had difficulty taking notes- the letters came out so slowly and were all out of order and sloppy. We returned home and I was suddenly incapacitated by vomiting. No need to worry about me though, Choto-da was there to take care of me. He comforted me by dabbing my tears and calling me his sister, then he made me drink a cup of salty, warm Electrol.

I'm pretty recovered now, after a nap in my cold dark room. Esty and I both took the afternoon off from class, and spent the time lying together under her mosquito net telling stories. We had a pleasant lunch, surprisingly. Choto-da's cooking was delicious! All home-made and fresh: chili dal, green mango chutney, little potato fritters, heaven...and we have begun eating our food with our hands, like Bengalis. Choto-da helps us by critiquing our "form." Who knew what an art it was!

This morning at breakfast the professor commented on the noticeable amount of weight that Zack has lost over the past 2 months. Even I have lost a small handful of pounds, it must have something to do with the food and the heat and the amount of energy we spend at service. Another comical health issue, which might potentially be serious, is my permanent congestion. My nose has been stuffy and snotty since our first week in India, thanks to the pollution- I don't even remember what my voice usually sounds like anymore! The worst part of the situation is that my nasal blockage seems to have moved to my ears, and I have become slightly hard of hearing, which everyone makes a lot of fun about. At least it makes it easier to fall asleep at night, amidst the throbbing city sounds of car horns and chatter. Maybe I will get that checked out when I get home...

Purulia- Rural Village and Home of Chou dancing

I returned on Tuesday afternoon from a trip to Purulia, and am already headed off again traveling. This time we are headed to Bhodgaya, where the Buddha attained enlightenment. We will be staying at the international Meditation Centre in Bihar, and I am ready for some beauty and relaxation.

Our trip to Purulia
We were accompanied by Professor Arnaub Ray (one of my personal
favorites, he is a bit nerdy, a linguist if you please)and
one of the actors who had been rehearsing the Greek tragedy on our
rooftop. After a fitful night's sleep on the barren train (no a/c, no
pillows, no blankets, no food...) we arrived early in the morning at
the surprisingly nice hotel, had breakfast, and hit the road for a
long car trip to the rural village where they make the elaborate
masks for Chou dancing. Getting to that village was relatively
anti-climactic (partially because I wasn't so interested in the masks,
nor was there much to see, though I did have a good time tickling and
chasing some of the local kids around...), but mostly because the drive
was sooo beautiful!

The rice paddies are gorgeous, there are cows and oxen and dogs and
sheep and goats all over the place, and the people are majestically picturesque.! En route we suffered several car problems (a rod fell
out of our tire, the boy's car overheated a few times, we'd have to
stop on a winding mountain road to allow trucks overburdened with
people and goods to pass...), but the breaks were great because we got
the chance to walk around, take pictures and write in our journals (I
know, nerdy). One particularly good stop was in a small village where
I got out of the car, hung out with some young rural boys, and ate
sugar cane under an enormous tamarind tree. At this stop we heard news
that the boys' car had fallen behind, and were warned of a "Mad
Elephant" on the loose....

We had two lectures (both in our hotel rooms), one was about Chou
dancing, and the other was about Jhumur, a type of beautiful classical
singing accompanied (and in my opinion OVERSHADOWED) by
out-of-this-world drumming. The highlight of the trip was the Chou
dance performance: the entire village crowded around a small cleared
area (the young children sat directly behind us vying for our
attention, the adolescent boys stood behind them staring at us, and
the rest of the village sat all around focusing on the show). The
drums are incredible! And the dance is amazing too, full of
outrageously elaborate costumes and masks, with crazy martial arts and
acrobatic stunts. Then our professor and the actor guy ( a local hero
in that village for some reason...) bought two bottles of this local
liquor, honestly similar to bathtub gin, made of flowers that
elephants occasionally get drunk from eating.

We went back to the hotel, had dinner, then lounged around with our
professor smoking cigarettes from Bangladesh and drinking this terrible alcohol. We
had to get up at 4am to catch our train, didn't get back to Calcutta
until noon, showered and had lunch, then had to go to our class at
Loreto College....Less than ideal circumstances, but well worth the journey :-)

I might not know, but I'm learning

Rajesh
Rajesh died yesterday. He went to the hospital the day before, for the fourth time in as many months. I just realized that I haven't previously written about him, and I Wonder why. He was a beautiful boy, very sweet, and clever- not nearly-unconscious like most of the others. He had a bad case of TB, and what I assumed to be either Polio or Cerebral palsy because his limbs were so twisted, emaciated and stiff. He had a younger brother, Rakesh, whose body is the same, though his lungs were better and his mind worse.

Two Italian women, both of whom are leaving on Saturday, have been here with me through the long haul. One woman, blonde with short straight hair, has worked very well with Sanjoy- pushing him physically and socially. The other, shorter with short curly brown hair, loved Rajesh and spent lots of time sitting with him in her lap, reading stories and feeding him. Lately, he had been getting worse and worse; eating less, with a fever that increased impossibly each day. His breathing was always labored and noisy, but the last few days his respiration was unnaturally fast- you could see each shallow breath struggle to escape through his twitching nostrils.

I sat on the roof at breaktime, listening to two teenage volunteers (who have been here only a week) talk about how at home "they just don't know what its like here, man." I didn't want to hear them say that it is impossible to teach the kids here because they don't speak English, I wanted to ask her if she noticed that a little boy died, and now his little brother is all alone and he isn't even aware of his loss. I feel a big separation now between all of those new, smiling volunteers who come and go and wax philosophical and speak in big, important voices, and people like myself and the two Italian women, who have progressed through the awe of this city with its poverty, bustling masses, sick children and prosthelitizing missionaries, and have gone through several stages of questioning and awareness. We've stopped complaining about the way things are, or feeling self-righteous about "giving our time."

Instead of just questioning how to change things, we simply come every day and act. We follow our instincts, get to know the children as individual people, and know that all of the wonderful and productive things we are doing to challenge the kids and the system are nothing but a drop in the bucket- but that's ok, because every moment with these kids, all of the time both frustrating and miraculous, is fulfilling and joy-inspiring.

I'm learning that happiness is not the same as contentment. Happiness has more to do with recognizing that every person, action, object, moment in life can fill you up and make you whole without making you full- if anything, it makes you more hungry for new experiences and challenges. Similar to the way that getting used to a place and a routine of activities decreases the difficulty of getting the tasks accomplished through familiarity, but doesn't decrease the overall work load because each time you have mastered an objective, you realize there is more to do.

Dirty nappies and roly-poly
My mom used to say, in reference to my relationship with Bill, that I wouldn't know what love was until I had to change a screaming child's shitty diaper- well I'm learning. I got a fat lip wrestling with Dona, the blind and autistic girl, to try and take off her shit-smeared dress after changing her dirty nappie. Speaking of nappies, the Massi who folds and delivers them after they are washed gave me a kiss today, because she is small and old and no one ever pays attention to her. Again on the nappie front, I acheived a somewhat major accomplishment today- I can now tie the diapers on the way the Massis do it!
Here is the trick: A nappie consists of two square-shaped pieces of cloth, one is folded in half to form a triangle (and has a small loop of fabric sewn onto the tip, which will come into play soon), and the other is folded repeatedly into a rectangle (this piece will bear the brunt of whatever the child unleashes upon it). The triangular cloth is laid down, with the rectangular piece on top of it, going from the apex to the hypotenouse, then the child's butt is laid upon both of these, with the tip of the triangle poking between his or her legs legs. The children are pretty used to this routine, and the less handicapped ones will remain relatively still while you go about the business. Now comes the fun, skillful and fast-paced part. Pull the tip of the triangle up through their legs to their waist, pull one of the other traingle points (now become straps) through the loop sewn onto the apex, cross the two straps tightly, flip the child onto their stomach, and tie the straps in a neat not on their back. Done. This will not fall off or move.

My morning was spent quelling temper tantrums, of those kids who were not allowed to join the rest at the playground, with puzzles and crayons. One boy(Jotish) understood enough to put similar-looking pieces together, and would clap if two pieces fit, but he was not concerned with the overall picture it produced. Shilpa, a less developed girl, was more interested in putting the pieces dilligently (and repeatedly) into the box and dumping them out again. It is amazing to watch the development of a child's motor skills in real life rather than out of a text book- one heavy boy, about 6 or 7, who is autistic and kept in a playpen for most of the day (and depending upon which Massi gets him ready for lunch, has his ankles tied together when in his seat), can only walk if I bear most of his weight for him, and keep him upright, but he is incredibly proficcient at rolling around on the floor, which I gave him plenty of opportunity to do today :-)

Sofia is late to class!

My day at service was wonderful as usual. I spent the whole morning with the semi-handicapped kids (the ones who can run around and eat and speak a little) instead of with the severely handicapped kids, as a special treat to myself. It was so much fun! I've started developing good relationships with the Massis, so I can just sit and chat with them, and they teach me some pertinent words in Bangla (for example, "cheeba" means "chew"- which is what you tell a kid after you shove food in his mouth). Time spent there is so light-hearted and loving, and I'm laughing most of the time- especially today when the toddlers were doing urban Indian dance, I can't wait to demonstrate! Just picture children (who already wobble in an uncoordinated way when they walk) bounding from leg to leg, with their arms in the air, index fingers pointed up, shrugging their shoulders, precious!

I've had an epiphany for how I am going to earn money this summer- be a nanny! (preferably to a filthy rich Greenwich family...)

Last night Esty and I played nurse to a badly injured puppy. He had a gash on his right hip that was so deep you could see the layers of fat, muscle and even bone, but he is still in good spirits- his tail wags when you pet him, and he still drinks from Mama's udders. While Esty distracted him by washing his face and body, I cleaned his wound and applied some antibiotic ointment to a piece of gauze, and we taped him up. Its funny how stray animals become part of the family.

Not everything is perfect in Kolkata though...
I've had trouble sleeping for the past few nights , I guess Tom's coming anniversary is affecting me more than I thought it would. I feel like I am going through a milder form of the initial grief and anger that I went through when he first died- I'm even having the terrible visions I got last year, before I fall asleep or if I have a quiet moment to myself. I feel like I really need to be around other people who are going through the same thing, it is really hard to feel normal and process my thoughts when no one around me knows what is going on. And even if I tell them, they won't feel the same loss and sadness, so they can't relate, and I don't want just a pat on the back and someone to say "there, there."

What else can you do? I just have to feel happy and lucky to have so much love in my life.