5 weeks in India - 5

Jaipur's most distinct feature is it's nondescriptiveness. A bland city of commerce with no sense of fun, except private parties to which the many DJ shops are a testament. Jaipuris seem as all other Indians I've met, except that their smile is not as readily available as in other parts that I've been to. There are very few foreigners in Jaipur and many Indian tourists filling the saree, jewelry, gems, bangles and fabrics shops. It looks like a transient city, whose sole purpose is to move goods. This focus makes it different from previous places I've been where there is more balance between the material and the spiritual. Large, long and identical looking bazaar streets crowded with shoppers who spill into smaller side alleys which remind me of the equivalent atmosphere in Israel: Hertzel St. And it's small alleys, the difference being in the merchandise. As Nir's daughters were shopping for jewelry, one such side trip took us into an pseudo-agricultural area of several alleys with cows (lots of dung) and fruit packing. We were invited by a Muslim owner of a banana storage facility to take pictures of his proud endeavor. Large and neat piles of green bananas were covered with canvases on which were placed large blocks of ice. Mr. Muhhamad explained that it took 5 days of storage and refrigeration for the bananas (from Gujarat) to mature to yellow and then they were ready for shipping.

Keeping the indian tradition of contrasts, Jaipur has it's pearls. One such pearl is the private S.R.C Museum of Indiology run by the son of the founder. The father, who was an Indian renaissance man, had travelled the world and occupied himself with varied forms of art from painting to alchemy. His life's ambition was to save Indian heritage artifacts and for one man's life work it was an impressive collection. I cannot list here the number of paintings, coins, religious, astrology, astronomy, architecture and other fine items from all over India. However several pieces were really exceptional. One was a magnificent wooden base about coffee table size that held a baby bed on a swing, 2.3 meters tall. The elaborate construction was painted in detail and inlaid with mirrors, gold paint and animal wood sculpts. It even had a small set of bells to ring when the cradle was rocked.
Another exceptional piece was a painting comprised of vertical triangular wooden strips, laid next to each other. When looking at the picture from the left, you see all the faces of the triangle of one side only. When you walk to the right you see the other faces. Both sides depict a different picture. This is similar to Agam's technique, only that the indian picture is from the 19th century. Other items included a water clock that measures 3 hours and holy books written in miniature with ink and the hairs of animals used as pens.
I also learned from the knowledgable proprietor that a: my bronze statue at home of an Indian goddess was of Nepalian origin and b: Shiva's famous Trisul (kilshon) turned upside down refers to a vagina (as a complement to the Shivalingam). The big house, explained our guide, could hold only 10% of the entire collection. But the Indian government had allocated land for a new museum that would hold 80%. See you in 2013.
Another surprise was the amount of Homeopathic dispensaries and even a remedies manufacturing shop. I never saw so many remedies and potencies so readily available. In Israel you have to wait a few hours at best and not all remedies are available. That was cool.
Best Lassi so far was here in Jaipur. Jaipur was the only place so far where I was explicitly asked for tips in the guest house.

Churu
After Jaipur, Nir looked for a less trouristy space and homed in on the next stop: Churu - 300km west of Jaipur. The swift 7 hour public bus trip landed us at 21:30 in a rural town with a Muslim 'feel'. The first thing I noticed were the tricked out auto-rikshaws. Instead of the plain and battered ones in Delhi, these were elaborately painted and at night displayed flashing colorful led lights. A Hifi stereo blasted modern Indian music as we 4 with our baggage clambered onto a single Rikshaw to a recommended hotel.
As we gathered around the reception and asked for accommodation, the clerk first exchanged some words with a seated gentleman next to us who seemed to command respect and after a few words said that they are full. Probably full of @&$! as most of the keys to the rooms were hanging on their nails and this was not a party town. At 22:00 there was nothing to do but stay in. So this was the first time I did not feel welcome in India (except the beit chabad incident in Dharamsala).
Following another failed attempt at lodgings, we sipped Chai at a late night Tea stall, collapsed in our chairs with our bags collapsed on the sidewalk, a man on a motorcycle saw our strange group and offered to scout a place for us. After a while he reappeared with a minivan that took us to a gated and walled guest house. After a short shower, under a roaring ceiling fan, I fell asleep exhausted.

Next morning, the sound of the Mouazzin confirmed the fact that it is a mixed town of Hindus and Muslems. Whether due to the demographics or culture, the feel here is more austere and serious. Most people do not smile at us but some do. English is rudimentary here including local signs. Cars are outnumbered by auto-rikshaws and mule-drawn Tela's.

We hired a Rikshaw driver for few hours to get a tour of the surroundings which told of the city's glorious past. And what a past it must have been. The old part of town is a large neighborhood of resplendent houses from the 17 and 18th century. Obviously very
Rich people lived here but now all the buildings are abandoned and run down. Here and there some workers are busy with restorations but the task seems limitless compared to the number of houses. Every house is painted in detail, depicting important people, soldiers on horses, camels and different scenes. Several had long wall paintings of the famous When I say every house, I mean the is no white wall anywhere inside or out, everything is hand painted. Every inch of these buildings is a testament to opulence and self importance. We were allowed into one of the houses that was being restored and were even more awed at the interiors, which looked like an Indian version of Louis XIV. The large and tall rooms contained all the original furnishings, lamps, carpets and paintings from the 18th & 19th century. It would have made a fine museum. The stark contrast of these interiors of the past and the current surroundings says: this place once was. Now it looks like an abandoned 'Neve Tzedek'.
The tour took us also to several temples, including a Shiva Pani (water) temple, where a large man-made and sloping canal created a pool of water at it's end; The water being part of this temple's rituals in the past.
The view of the town from a high roof reminded me of an old European city.

After a water soaked day before and a night under a powerful ceiling fan, I finally succumbed to cold. We all got a cold. The next morning I started eating garlic and a homeopathic boost from Nir hoping to get better by the next day when we all go back to Delhi. I stayed in all day and after a weak and miserable night sans fan (during which the bhajans sung at 3am sounded from far away very much like the sounds coming from a synagogue) I felt better. On the road again.

August 21

5 weeks in India - 4

We took om an ambitious task, to reach Delhi from Chitkul in Himach Pradesh in one day. The drive took 20 hours: we left at 5AM and arrived in Delhi at 1:30AM the next day. Our plan was to to travel to pushkar in Rhajastan and our car and driver were scheduled for 6AM, so we stretched a little more with no sleep and pushed on to Pushkar, another 10 hours. Having napped in the car, we went for a walkaround and I got a shave a local barber. The shave included a facial massage, a ‘hair’ massage J and finally, bent over the barber’s chair, a back rub. The fatigue from the last 30 something hours dropped without a trace.

Pushkar is a small town surrounding a small naturally formed lake. Many Ghats (A broad flight
of steps leading down to the bank of a river or body of water) lead to the lake, which is one the holiest places fir Hindus. This ancient city is supposed to have over 1,000 temples (a temple can also be a small alcove in the street).
As the story goes, when Brahma wished to find an abode on earth ‘round 60,000 years ago, he threw down a lotus flower. One of the petals fell in Pushkar where a lake formed. This story requires all Brahmins to visit Pushkar and its main Brahma Temple.The hurried slightly proud walk and bothered looks of the Brahmins marching to the temple reminded me of our own ‘Haredim’ hurrying to their temple. Same same but different as they say in Asia.

The place reeks of religious tourism. A main Bazaar road leads to the central Brahma temple along which hundreds of stall offer religious offerings like flowers, incense, sweets and more. As we strolled past one of the Ghats a teenager gave us flowers and offered to lead us to the lake. I didn’t like his swagger as he lead the way so we ditched him. As we arrived at the lake we were immediately escorted by two dubious looking types (Brahmins in plainclothes) who guided us through what we thought was proper etiquette at the lake. We sat sepaprately with our ‘guides’ and mine made me recite words that sounded hollow and before I could even finish throwing the flowers in the lake, he started asking for money, stating the foreigners always gave in ‘green’, i.,e dollars. He drilledthe word ‘green’ in my ear until I started looking at Liron who looked like she was having the same experience. We seemed to be in synch and as she gave a moderate amount to her guy, I sat up and told my guy that the money is for both of them. As we walked away we heard the vultures arguing about their cut. It is customary to receive a red and yellow wristband when visiting Pushkar lake and we both got the same thread from our guide. Later we learned that the bands differ for men and women. What a ripoff.

From the amount of signs in Hebrew in Pushkar you’d think the place is holy to Jews. About 20 something years ago, Israelis discovered Pushkar with its cheap lodgings, remote location and free atmosphere, perfect for Karachana. Hordes of Israelis poured in and took part in reshaping the place. Signs in Hebrew advertise the best tailor (4 of them), best falafel, burekas, shakshuka and postal packaging. I think only the religious stalls were free of them.

What all this partying has done was to anger local government and impose stricter laws on drug dealers. Rest assured, it’s all there, but ‘Private’ is the keyword here, as I was told that undercover policemen scout the main bazaar. Strangely a ‘special’ Lassi is still available and considered legal and some sign actually advertise this.

The monkeys are very different here than in Dharamsala in shape and character, Here they are more playful and unafraid. They raided our hotel swimming pool overturning chairs and using the grounds as their playground. As I was watching the spectacle, a bold one jumped on the 2nd storey balcony where I was standing, ran along and came down centimeters from me. Next to the room, I placed unfinished chai glasses on the floor for pickup and the monkey overturned the glass and started slurping the chai from the floor, eyeing me all the time.

Later, hotel attendants started trying to chase the unimpressed monkeys and even resorted to buckshot in the air, which helped only for a while. Savitri templeOne highlight of pushkar is a steep hill leading to one of the two brides of Brahma – .Compared to the masses of people converging on the main temple, very few seems to want to perform Bhakti (active religious devotion) by climbing this hill. The view from the top (as was the climb for me) was breath taking. The temple itself was modest and a welcome respite from the noisy and neon-lit restaurants and temples in town.

Sono’s Story
Liron, my travelling companion, headed back to Delhi to catch her flight home while I prepared to hook up with Nir and his 2 daughters in Jaipur. Leaving Pushkar early morning after a torrential night had me walking the 15 minute distance to the bus depot. A slippery walk turned to a screetching halt at the end of the Bazaar road, where a 200 meter long pool of murky water sepaprated me from the bus depot. A boy pointed out to me a man-driven Tela (2 wheeled cart) whose driver took me across, himself wading in the muck with the boy in tow. later we came to the depot where the boy Sono (as I later learned was his name) asked me for chappati butter. I agreed but when I offered he sit with me and eat a chappati-butter he switched tactics and asked for a kilo of butter (150 R) Figuring I had no more time to backtrack to the store I offered him some money. After some negotiations we settled for 70R and a Thali. As we ate and talked he explained that his father died and his mother lives outside the city in a tent with his smaller brother and that some days he spends nights on the streets. His task for the day was to bring home butter. I asked why the village people do not support each other and he said that because of difference in caste, the tent dwellers do not mix. If the police catch him begging he claimed his mother has to bail him out for 50,000 rupees so he runs fast.

After having eaten I was still waiting for my bus, Sono took out something and offered it to me s a gift - a green plastic whistle. I admired this little boy's sense of reciprocity but refused a last ditch effort for more money, my phone number so he can call for money or my bag after I empty it. That is their way and they don't seem to come away angry or offended if their wish is not fulfilled. I still got my feet wet walking the additional 100m in pouring rain to the bus that took me to Jaipur.

In the bus Monsoon rain coming down in torrents, collecting in the grooves of the windows and then deftly seeping into my right sleeve. I arrived about 3 hours later in Jaipur, which turned into little Venice (not the quaintness, the water).

August 16, 2011

Sidenote: Beggars should not be confused with Babas - men who resigned earthly possessions and attachments and wander through India with nothing but their clothes. They seem to have a role in society as spiritual guides, sometimes with mystical powers. They have the power to bless and are an embodiment of the Indian phrase "sabkutch milega": anything is possible. Meaning their ability to trust in a power that will guide them and sustain them in their journeys. As even Babas are human, some of them may not be genuine or they may be real but with no real wisdom to confer. One such Baba (later in Jaipur) was invited by us to sit and have Chai, only to produce for our shopping pleasure a picture album of Krishna, Shiva and of himself in the last Kumbmhela. 50 rupees. We declined.

5 weeks in India - 3

Travel 3

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The state of Himachal Pradesh is a mountainous region of the Himalayas, therefore traveling is mostly up or down. The mountains range from 1km to over 6kms. This means traveling on roads built on mountain slopes, sometimes paved and sometimes not.

It was a new experience to ride in car with a sheer drop of a kilometer about 50 cm next to where I was sitting - for 8 hours. This distance of half a meter can shorten considerably if 2 cars need to pass in opposite directions. A car can also mean a truck. Of the 10 hour drive from Dharamsala to Kinnaur valley in Kalpa I think about 10% of the shoulder was protected by a fence, and another 20% by large stones. The rest of the way leaves no room for error, if you go off the road you don't come back. Exercise relaxing your sphincter.
I experienced 2kinds of 'breathtaking': one where we passed a truck and the front wheel passed inches from the exposed ledge and another kind at the sheer size of my surroundings. It's hard to grasp the scale of the space when traveling on a road but when I look at mountain across from our road and see a thin thin line snaking around the slopes, I understand that this is the road that we came from.
Due to a landslide our original route was blocked so we took the scenic route which extended our trip by several hours and landed us in Rampor (original name: bunghole) at 11pm.

Himachal Pradesh (called HP by the locals) has a lot of water and many large rivers. These are harnessed for electricity by the government. All the large rivers either contain a hydroelectric plant or have one under construction. This requires huge amounts of labor and workers are brought to live by the plants or construction sites which are scattered over many kilometers of the rivers. So in any journey through HP you will see little labor camps where women and men (usually without their families) live and work for months on the local project. This also includes mining and cement production. The amount of dust and mineral particles in the air (when it's not raining) seemed dangerous. Can't blame our driver for not wanting to stop to eat at one the worker towns scattered all along the rivers. They look grim, grimy and smileless. Rampor, which I mentioned earlier is a small town which serves the regional workers as an entertainment center, providing restaurants, shops and alcohol.
After a night drive in the Himalayas, The next morning we passed Mandi, made it over the mountains and arrived at the valley of Kinnaur. And in keeping with contrasts of India, it is a gem in grimebucket. Mountain people herding goats and going god knows where up and down the mountains. The houses are built on narrow slopes so visiting neighbors or bringing home firewood means going up or down and at pretty high angles. These people are fit.
The valley nestled in theae mountains is wide and full of apple orchards, apricot trees, passionfruit and other green stuff. Apricots are wild, free and people sun-dry them on the roofs. When I asked for an apple juice in local restaurant the owner sent his boy to pick apples from his orchard for the juice.
Strangely, there is a stark contrast between the giant mountains and vast spaces to the claustrophobic life on the narrow slopes. Unless you live in a valley, your space is always vast but narrow. Seeing a father and a 4 year old walking quietly in front of him very close to the edge made me think of what a western parent would think and how wrong they would be. Another astonishing sight was seeing a group of people going down a steep road in the mountain with one elder walking with his hands folded behind him. What graceful balance.

We settled in a beautiful guesthouse run by Ram. I later heard him identifying himself to our Indian driver by his full name Tota Ram. When I asked my driver why he introduced himself to me only as Ram, he said he might be embarrassed by the first part of his name Tota, which means Parrot.

Morning. A great fog rolls over the entire valley to the sound of rain shedding it's last morning drops. I'm sitting on the terrace of a guesthouse in the tiny village of Chinni with a Chai and I can hear from the Tibetan monastery across, the Mantra of Avalokitesvara sung by the local women. This side of mount Kailash, the tears won't stop.

Leaving Beautiful Kalpa, we continued into the Kinnaur valley and reached one of it's most eastern points, its last outpost before the Indo-Tibetan border, Chitkul. Here the valley widens and a rough river flows into the valley from Tibet. The town is a development outpost (ayeret pituach) of about forty homes, a monastery and a school. The place feels much rougher than Kalpa, also because of it's elevated position (3400m), no trees and a wide plateau exposed to winds. A narrow path along the roaring river leads out of town towards the border. We walked the kilometer+ hike up to to the military camp, which no one is allowed to cross. Walking back we took a higher trail which led us through fields of green wheat and patches of peas. As we munched on the pods which were incredibly juicy, we met a column of Indian soldiers walking to their border post and I couldn't miss the name tag on one of the men 'Surender'.

Our Guest House manager was only known as 'Didi' (sister). She is 31 and manages the place most of the time with a baby on her back, and 2 small hyperactive kids running around. Her husband and brother help out and they all live on the premises. Didi runs the place like a 'balaboste', barking orders to the employees and her children. One child, 8 years old, is so severely disabled, that he does not leave the parents' room. Didi also brews alcohol from apples. Didi and everyone here has a harsh life. In the winter the village is disconnected from main roads and snowed in for months.
Sun burned, we left early morning for the 16 hour drive back to Delhi.

August 11th, 2011

5 weeks in India - 2

Sticker on indian van: slow drive long life, 2 children one wife.

Our Delhi-dharamsala flight turned back due to poor visibility. We returned to Delhi and booked a car and driver for the next day for the 12 hour trip. My partner asked for a good car, I asked for a good driver. A knowing smile and warm eye contact with the booking agent got us an angel the next morning.

The Hare Rama Guest house in Delhi can best be described by the Hebrew word 'jifa'. The beds are metal door cabinets placed on a scrapwood base. The sheets feel alive. Size is slim to tiny and the A/C can be turned on and off from the main board in the hall (which got me lightly electrocuted once). Somehow this place has managed to attract mainly Israelis for the last 15 years. reason is they care. India breaks down often on a local level, but the HR people will do their best to fix things quickly. They also take care with the food, using mineral water in their fruit juices. The chaotic surroundings can be intimidating to a westerner but the HR is cushioned on all sides with money changers and travel booking in the building and a post office for parcels is across from the entrance. did I mention 24hr room service?

Sitting in Dharamsala, eating Ayurvedic fruit porridge for my constitution (Kapha), Dharamsala seems a much easier place than Delhi - but somewhat sadder. It is after all a residence for a people undergoing what they consider a holocaust but with the theft of their land to boot. The place looks to me a little like a way station for lost souls. The local Tibetans have a decent life here (underscored by The fact that the place wakes up late) but it׳s not their home. Tibetans are restrained, meticulate and mechanical. They turn the prayer wheels, meditate with their beads as a means for stopping the mind and being in peace. Tibetans wear uniforms. No wonder the is an affinity between Tibetans and Jews.

Although everyone here behaves relaxed and spiritual like, the underlying stress and sadness is felt. I would call Dharamsala the Las Vegas of spirituality. It is a smorgasbord of treatments and courses in meditations, yoga, tibetan massage, Ayurvedic healing, tantric projection, chakra unplugging, singing bowl massage, panchakarma purging, and the list goes on. You can choose a hundred ways to heal and most will probably work, but my impression was that the level of knowledge here varies.

I enjoyed a Ayurvedic massage with steam which left me limp and content. The steam comes from a pressure cooker which feeds steam via a hose to a tea pot. The pot is then moved across the back (in my case) and feels like warm ethereal hands caressing the back. After 2 treatments with some medicine my back is back. Bombolenat Hare Om. I later learned that stricter practitioners use only their hands to produce heat, rubbing them together.

A lot has changed here in two years, according to my travel partner. She refers, sadly, to the fast paced development of Dharamsala. It does look like the balance between materialism and spirituality is shifting here.

Adjay - our driver from Delhi to Dharamsala turned out to be a native Dharamasalian. He is in his mid twenties, worships Shiva and Ganesh, has a guru and has experienced samhadi. As we passed holy smoke on the 10 hour drive to Dharamsala, we got to know a gentle and centered man. His driving was different than Delhi drivers. He would allow others to get in front but knew when to floor it too. When we got to Dharamsala it turned out that he lives 5 minutes from our guest house. We had our man.

Adjay is a lucky man In any term. He is young, good looking, has inner peace, owns a car, a chai shop and several cows.

I should say here that the calmness or openness of many Indians I've met enables them to keenly asses any person in front of them. After 12 hours we were all confident of the mutual common ground and after 3 days I was honored when he called me 'Anji', a greeting between friends or pals.

He is, in fact, a type of local 'tzfoni'. He does not drink and (I quote) smokes only with good people. All the people he introduced us to seemed also to be 'good people'.

Larger Dharamsala is a collection of small towns built on mountain terraces. Going anywhere means steep roads, which turns any outing into a serious workout.

Streets are so narrow that cars either have no side mirrors or they are folded in - permanently. A 10 minute drive up the narrow and rocky mountain with a 3 wheeled roofed motorcycle (taxi) really left me in awe of the driver's capabilities and calm. They reminded me of beduins going up mountains with their camels. Unlike the mountains, a traffic jam in the small Bhagsu square can cause a two hour Block where pedestrians have only room to skip over water pipes and shop stairs to get around. All this in conzstant honking and fumes coming out of rikshaws, cars and motorcycles

Sipping gingerlemonhoneytea on a terrace overlooking the valley of dharamkot, I saw an eagle fly, below me. Unfortunately, littering has changed the pristine landscape and many small waterfalls are full of plastic bags and garbage.

Dharamkot is one of the higher towns and therefore cheaper (climbing, remember?). Israelis have found here a kind of Sinai beach in the lush mountains. Many signs in Hebrew promise kvisa, burekas and Hebrew keyboards in the Internet places. The Hebrew word for this type of gathering is called 'Karachana'.

Compassion, Indians and Chabad: we moved 3 rooms in 3 days in Delhi, I was electrocuted and such, I did not consider these negative experiences. This is how most of India works. However, the basic compassion that any Indian showed me seemed to be lacking in Bhagsu beit chabad. This is the story: where ever I go here I sweat profusely. So much so that in every shop, stall, house, with any encounter I saw concerned Indian faces when they looked at a middle aged sweaty man. Most offer water and one Indian thought I was going to have a heart attack. My partner had to drop off a package at beit chabad so we arrived there and were met by the local rabbi, a young guy. He talked with my partner, did not offer us to sit and completely ignored me in my pool of sweat. After a minute or so my partner and I left and I said to him before turning around and walking away: "goodbye and thank you for the glass of water." and so it goes.

India has an openness that allowed me to visit Samadhi many times so far.

Tomorrow we're leaving and traveling to the Kinnaur valley.

Subhratri (good night) Dharamsala. Om mani padme hum.

5 weeks in India - 1

India, after 3 days....is amazing.

I'm sorry to disappoint you all but i have a few crummy pics from my ipod and there's no free wifi here, so i can't upload them. Thing is they won't do justice or even convey anything of what this place is, or can be to whoever is open to it.

You can watch hours of indan traffic but when you're in it, you get it. It's not chaotic at all. It requires attention and since people here (india) seem to be more "here" than people there seem to be anywhere, they can manage a kind of free flowing traffic that moves millions of people a day using as many types of vehicles as they have gods. Pedestrians and drivers weave, flow, they move aside, but in the end everyone gets home (after hours in the streets and roads for 3 days i saw no accidents. What i consider a near-hit, they probably consider normal driving.

You can get stuck on the squalor, filth and suffering but you'd miss out on magic on a national level. It's the people's attitude of acceptance here that makes me feel more free in my choices than anywhere else I've been. That is, as long as my choices do not include western amenities, but that is changing fast too. Mcmeat is already here.

There is no ignoring the suffering of the poor here. Life for many indians is very hard, but then so it seems too for the young students with their tents and many others. But i rarely see a beggar smile anywhere in the world and one smile i got here opened a huge FEELING OF JOY in me. It's not that everyone is smiling and happy (don't be daft) but the general attitude of the people here creates a city vibe that is crazily enough - relaxed and not bound to time. In all this chaos and traffic and noises, smells (alternating between sublime and sewery) you don't get that "busy" tense vibe - and don't tell me that were it not for the "situation" we'd all be meditating on the beach.

Food here is amazing. I'm keeping it local and vegetarian. No western food. So far, so good.

it seems I've been here a week from the amount of things that have happened...can't put it all in at once..

2morrow to Darhamshala with car, since our plane to there had to turn back due to poor visbility.

We're healthy, we're happy.

Layla tov,