greetings! long time no hear from, i know. but i've been busy, and i'm lazy. a lethal combination, oxymoronic really. the sort of desperate struggle for your core values that defines the modern human in the face of ceaseless homogenization, commercialization and endemic idiocy. when you value the quiet, the good, what must one do in the face of this onslaught? soldier on? buy a new hat? what if you don't like hats? in that case, can you instead replace your organs with mechanical replicants, powered by a machine-hate for the organic? everyone wants to be a cyborg in the modern era. interface with me! will they accept you if you only have 50% or less of your birth-parts? can you feasibly, morally, destroy those who counter you with hate, ignorance or inane questions? this is inane. in this face of my and our rapid degradation, must we destroy ourselves to be born anew? but i digress.
when you wander the streets of beijing, what does one see? faceless cyborgs? radioactive mutant love-porcupines? communists? its hard to say. but this city is thriving, no matter the populace. chinese and waiguo's [foreigners] pour into the space like gloopy denizens of a strange honey-world, battling for living space, jobs and a seat on the subway [chinese people win, usually]. however, the chinese have superior queuing skills, compared to those of india. the mad free-for-all exists, but is slightly less hazardous for one's health. so much is going on, people everywhere, street vendors vending all variety of vendable wares. you can buy pirated books, music, pineapples (pirated? the cyborg clone rearing its head again?), sweet potatos, clothes, guinea pigs, all life's staples. and haggling is on like donkey kong! i think america needs to embrace a haggling lifestyle, in addition to bringing back bartering. 'dont have any money you say!, well just trade me your rendered body fat for the keys to the kingdom!' what an option, what a lifestyle.
language instruction is going well, my mandarin has definitely improved since i've been here. it's such a funny language though, some of the ways you say things are positively hilarious. for instance, i was telling my laoshi (teacher) that i hadn't been to san francisco, but my parents had, albeit before i was born. this is expressed by saying i had not entered (the world) with success. sadly, we are all failures.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
buns, buffalos & beards
Buddhist monks like sticky buns. The grounds of the Mahabodhi temple are littered with packaging from the mass-produced sticky bun company, delightedly serving snacks to the thousands of monks praying, reading and performing ritual ablutions while facing the Bodhi tree. The mess is staggering after the monks leave around 4.00 pm, leaving the Mahabodhi caretakers to sweep, dump out the brass pots filled with water and flowers that ring the temple, roll up the carpets and prepare for another day. In all this monk madness, thousands of pilgrims stream through the grounds everyday from all the countries of the Buddhist world; reading Pali scriptures, spinning prayer wheels, throwing coins at colorful Buddhas. This, the holiest of Buddhist sites, is countered by Varanasi, in the state of Uttar Pradesh. On the banks of the Holy Ganga, Shiva's city is a riotous, howling monolith, inhabited by humans for thousands of years. Let's get one thing straight. Shiva is a pothead. The guy loves to smoke his chillum, do his meditation thing, maybe sometimes spring for a bhang lassi with the wife. Thus his city sports the finest of drug wares, offered to you by likely and unlikely suspects all over the ghats (steps down to the river, used for bathing, cricket matches, kite flying, clotheswashing, what have you) and the galis (alley streets that lead to the ghats). Shrugging these fellows (and children) off is an art, accomplished most easily by a serene benignity, a measured and studied neutrality of expression and action that leaves these easily excitable folks distinctly nonplussed. Once you shoulder your way around, through, over packs of these guys, Varanasi opens its arms to you, sweeping you down to the banks of the Ganga, simultaneously serene and chaotic. Early morning baths by the pilgrims, a couple farmers washing their (filthy) buffalos, washer folk beating clothes on a stone, this is the morning tableau. In some of the galis you find yourself caught up in a solemn procession bearing a body swathed in brightly colored cloth down to the main burning ghat. Manikarnika ghat is an incredible vista; the site of several hundred public cremations daily and a true depature from the realm of my normal experience. Dying and being cremated in Varanasi is particularly auspicious, as those who do escape the cycle of reincarnation into moksha (liberation). A truly amazing place. Fast forward to Amritsar, via Agra and Jaipur, skipping over falling ill on the train, subsequent sickness, the Taj and Jaipur jewelry scams. The holiest city of the Sikhs, Amritsar houses the golden temple, a place I found far more amazing than the Taj, by virtue of it being a living expression of the Sikh faith, rather than the cold stone of a lover's tomb. There is housing for pilgrims on the grounds of the temple, and even a dorm for foreigners, filled with all manner of fellow travelers. The temple is situated in the middle of a holy water tank, patrolled by spear-wielding Sikh guards. Pilgrims line up to file through the temple, which itself is inhabited by a range of Sikh holy men, some singing and playing instruments, live music that is broadcast through the grounds of the temple. Additionally, Sikh temples offer a unique feature that relates to the inclusiveness and equality that is intrinsic to the faith; a free dining hall. A whopping 70,000-80,000 meals are served here daily, and the all-veg fare is really tasty. However, I think such a feature would be dangerous for fat Americans, as food is brought to you, buffet style while you sit, and topped up at your desire. If you have a passionate interest in beards, Amritsar is the place to go. Fantastic facial hair, combed and curled, groomed and gushed over, the kind that men (and women) dream of having, the sort of beard that has roots in its owners soul. The place is a beard-lovers wet dream.
More to come soon, I promise.
More to come soon, I promise.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
the fuzziest sweater vest
It's been awhile, so I'm just gonna ramble along. In Kolkata after finally escaping Varkala after five weeks. When you build a nest for yourself someplace, padding it with comfortable friends, food and locale, and settle in for some serious downtime, it becomes quite hard to remotivate yourself to get a move on. Caught up in indolence; my sad life. Kolkata, on the other hand, is a complete 180 from Varkala. Scads of people everywhere, human traffic jams on use-every-inch-of-space back alleyways. Shops selling all the shit you could ever want and never need. Street food! My god, the street food here is amazing. Need a meal? Buy a Bengali curry and rice plate for 30 rupees. Snacktime? Peruse the samosa, momo and sweet carts, or buy a hot kati roll, stuffed with paneer, chicken, egg or mutton. The options are endless, and its hard to go wrong with anything (unless you contract an intestinal parasite...) A study in difference, Kolkata is not the 'Black Hole' of yesteryear. Like the rest of India, a strong 70s theme of mustaches and bellbottoms runs through the populace like a current. Thought you saw a mullet? You did. Sweater vests in a range of colors, men wearing fuzzy pink that would look appropriate on a seven year old girl. People pissing next to the sidewalk, people living next to the Hooghly, take no prisoners traffic ceaselessly honking, swerving at the last second to avoid hitting the peds. All around, this city is awesome. Mind you, I haven't been here during the monsoon, the worst season for Kolkata (although the hot season is a muggy second-best) as streets flood and the city, rich already in decay, creeps a little further into ruin.
An Indian anecdote: Seller A, who runs a small factory for incense and oil production, tells you that Seller B's product is substandard and watered down, available to you at a cheaper price because it is cheaper and of less quality. Seller B, who plies his wares in the central market, assures you that Seller A is full of shit, and his product is of the highest quality, but he chooses to sell to people at a more equitable price. Truly a man for the people. Seller C, a seemingly wealthier merchant, serves you chai and offers you the same goods as Sellers A & B for even more money than Seller A, while telling you the facts of life (in relation to oil sellers). This same process occurs in the trading of all merchandise (maybe not food, generally cheap across the board); silks, cottons, drugs, trinkets and jewelry. Who can you trust in this maelstrom?
An Indian anecdote: Seller A, who runs a small factory for incense and oil production, tells you that Seller B's product is substandard and watered down, available to you at a cheaper price because it is cheaper and of less quality. Seller B, who plies his wares in the central market, assures you that Seller A is full of shit, and his product is of the highest quality, but he chooses to sell to people at a more equitable price. Truly a man for the people. Seller C, a seemingly wealthier merchant, serves you chai and offers you the same goods as Sellers A & B for even more money than Seller A, while telling you the facts of life (in relation to oil sellers). This same process occurs in the trading of all merchandise (maybe not food, generally cheap across the board); silks, cottons, drugs, trinkets and jewelry. Who can you trust in this maelstrom?
Saturday, January 2, 2010
why is it so?
Life here is a luxury. Far more relaxed than the other parts of India I've traveled in, life just goes at a slower pace here. The tourist scene, while sometimes obnoxious, is more subdued than in Goa, India's other tropical paradise. Amazing Keralan dishes that have a profusion of coconut and fresh caught fish have provided the majority of my diet here. Everyone you meet in India, foreign or Indian, tells you how beautiful Kerala is, and its true, there is lush verdant greenery everywhere. But palm trees can only go so far. The mental image of a thing somehow doesn't correspond with reality. It is beautiful, true, but perhaps its more the feel of a place that gives it its beauty. There is consensus, such a thing is beautiful, but why is it so? Standards of human beauty have changed throughout history; have standards of landscape beauty correspondingly changed as well? Or is there something intrinsic that speaks to us about the beauty of certain places? People go mad for sunsets and sunrises (if they wake up in time), but why? Is it through depiction of a thing as beautiful, or because of some inner knowing that a thing has beauty?
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
thin veneer
there was a bar. people there, foreigners and indians alike. drinks, laughter, companionship; these things were natural and welcome. two small dogs playfully chewed on hands, feet, bags, bangles, all were welcome into their maws. beers, wrapped in newspaper, the ultimate stealth covering, surrounded our table. multiple tongues flowing, english spoken with a score of accents over Richard D. James. suddenly there is no music. lights are turned off, indians hunker down. they know.
confusion reigns among the westerners. 'are we getting kicked out?' 'shit, i'm not done with my beer.' nothing seems to be happening. sitting in the dark, giggling, there is no tangible reason for the darkness. i mean, its only 12.30! the police are coming, we're told. we wait for the moment to blow over. i joke about feeling like i'm back in college. not quite.
suddenly, four khaki cops are there. striding around, imperious. they hold the traditional indian police stick, a seemingly quaint convention from the past. things escalate rapidly. there is shouting at the owners, the workers. indians we are hanging out with are grabbed, shouted at and then slapped, hard, in the face. we start yelling, 'stop, those are our friends!' an indian is released from police cluthches, another grabbed and pulled by his lapels. they don't look the police in the face. they are questioned, and respond or not, the only answer is being slapped in the face. we are told to disperse. the workers tell us to get out of there, that its ok. we protest, 'this is fucking bullshit man, they can't just hit you like this.' 'its ok, just go.' many leave. a few of us cluster together, watching as the cops leave with one man, press marching him down the cliff road. we decide to follow; as western tourists, we have somewhat of a free pass with the police, it becomes a far more serious encroachment if they hit us. because we don't have dark skin.
we follow, but they are moving too fast. they don't stop when we yell at them. disappearing into the darkness we chase after. at this point, its too late. we find them, and they've beaten the shit out of this guy with their quaint sticks, no longer so innocent when covered in human blood. the worker from the bar is surrounded by his blood, his arm looks broken. he is in bad shape, but manages to escape when we finally get close enough. the police run off, unwilling to face such a large group, now inflamed with anger. they pretend to chase off after another 'rule-breaker'.
returning to the bar. an indian tells me, 'the police are mad because there are so few tourists. when there aren't many tourists we can't afford to pay baksheesh (bribe money) to them.'
fucking horrible.
confusion reigns among the westerners. 'are we getting kicked out?' 'shit, i'm not done with my beer.' nothing seems to be happening. sitting in the dark, giggling, there is no tangible reason for the darkness. i mean, its only 12.30! the police are coming, we're told. we wait for the moment to blow over. i joke about feeling like i'm back in college. not quite.
suddenly, four khaki cops are there. striding around, imperious. they hold the traditional indian police stick, a seemingly quaint convention from the past. things escalate rapidly. there is shouting at the owners, the workers. indians we are hanging out with are grabbed, shouted at and then slapped, hard, in the face. we start yelling, 'stop, those are our friends!' an indian is released from police cluthches, another grabbed and pulled by his lapels. they don't look the police in the face. they are questioned, and respond or not, the only answer is being slapped in the face. we are told to disperse. the workers tell us to get out of there, that its ok. we protest, 'this is fucking bullshit man, they can't just hit you like this.' 'its ok, just go.' many leave. a few of us cluster together, watching as the cops leave with one man, press marching him down the cliff road. we decide to follow; as western tourists, we have somewhat of a free pass with the police, it becomes a far more serious encroachment if they hit us. because we don't have dark skin.
we follow, but they are moving too fast. they don't stop when we yell at them. disappearing into the darkness we chase after. at this point, its too late. we find them, and they've beaten the shit out of this guy with their quaint sticks, no longer so innocent when covered in human blood. the worker from the bar is surrounded by his blood, his arm looks broken. he is in bad shape, but manages to escape when we finally get close enough. the police run off, unwilling to face such a large group, now inflamed with anger. they pretend to chase off after another 'rule-breaker'.
returning to the bar. an indian tells me, 'the police are mad because there are so few tourists. when there aren't many tourists we can't afford to pay baksheesh (bribe money) to them.'
fucking horrible.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Gora
Sucharita summoned up all her mental strength to remain alert and firm. 'Aren't you a member of some party too?' she asked.
'I am a Hindu. Hindus are not a party after all. Hindus are a community. So immense is this community, it is impossible to express its essence by confining it to any label. Just as the ocean can't be described by its waves, Hindus can't be described as a party either.'
'If Hindus are not a party, why do they resort to party politics?'
'When you try to kill a man, why does he try to defend himself? Because he has a living spirit. Only a lifeless stone would lie passive in the face of all assaults.'
'If Hindus take for an assault what I understand to be my faith, what would you advise me to do?'
'I would urge you that, since what you consider your duty is a painful assault on the great entity called the Hindu community, you must ponder very carefully whether there is some delusion or blindness within yourself, and whether you have contemplated everything from all angles, in every way. It is not proper to cause such a great disruption, taking the customs of one's own party to be the truth, through sheer force of habit or out of laziness. When a rat begins to nibble away at a ship's hull, it goes merely by its own convenience or natural instincts; it does not realize that boring a hole through such a great refuge will cause far greater harm to everyone else than the little bit of ease it will gain for the rat itself. Similarly, you too must consider whether you are thinking only of your own party or of humanity as a whole. Humanity as a whole - do you realize the magnitude of what that signifies? How diverse are the natures, tendencies and needs that it encompasses? All human beings do not occupy the same position on the same trajectory - some confront mountains, some face oceans, others open fields. Yet no-one can afford to remain idle; everyone must move on. Do you want to impose your own party's sole authority upon everyone else? Do you wish to turn a blind eye, imagining there's no diversity among human beings, that everyone is born into this world only to enlist with the Brahmo Samaj? Those brigand races who believe it's best for the world if they vanquish all other races to extend their sole empire, who are too arrogant about their own power to admit that the distinctiveness of other races is of priceless benefit to the world, who spread only slavery across the world - how are you people different from them?'
For a moment Sucharita forgot all her arguments. Gora's voice, deep as thunder, swayed her entire soul with an extraordinary force. She forgot Gora was arguing about something, aware only that he was speaking.
'It is not your Samaj alone that has created the twenty crore people of Bharatvarsha,' Gora continued. 'On what grounds do you seek to utterly flatten out this vast Bharatvarsha, by forcibly seizing the responsibility of decreeing which course of action is suitable for these twenty crores, or which beliefs and practices would ensure sustenance and strength for all of them! The greater the hindrances you encounter in your impossible attempt, the more angry and disrespectful you will feel towards your own country, and the more your contempt will alienate the very people you wish to help! Yet, the Lord who made human beings so diverse, who wishes to preserve this diversity, is the very One you imagine that your worship. If all of you truly believe in Him, why are you unable to recognize his decree? Why does pride in your own intelligence and your own party prevent your from accepting its significance?'
Observing that Sucharita was listening in silence without trying to offer any reply, Gora felt sorry for her. He paused, then continued in a gentler tone:
'Perhaps my words strike you as harsh. But don't view me with hostility as a member of the enemy camp. Had I perceived you as an enemy I would not have spoken to you at all. It pains me to see your natural broad-mindedness confined within the limits of a party.'
Sucharita's face grew flushed. 'No, no,' she protested, 'don't worry about me at all. Please continue what you were saying, and I shall try to follow your argument.'
'I have nothing more to say. View Bharatvarsha through your natural intelligence and natural emotions. Love Bharatvarsha. If you see the people of Bharatvarsha as non-Brahmos you will distort their image and regard them with contempt, and constantly misunderstand them. You will never get to see them from the perspective that allows one to see them whole. The Lord has made them human; they think in many different ways, act in many different ways, follow many different beliefs and customs, but underlying all this is a basic humanity; within all this is something that belongs to me, to Bharatvarsha, something that, when viewed from a true perspective, will pierce its outward shell of pettiness and incompleteness to present before us the vision of a great, noble entity. It is infused with the spirit of long endeavour; in it I can see the ancient sacrificial fire still burning amidst all the ashes, and I have no doubt that this fire will transcend its pretty location in place and time to cast up its flame at the centre of this earth. The people of this Bharatvarsha have been saying many big things for a very long time; they have accomplished many great tasks; even to imagine that all that has become utterly futile is to show disrespect for the truth, and that itself is atheism.'
Sucharita had been listening with bowed head. Now she raised her head and asked:
'What are you asking me to do?'
'Nothing,' asserted Gora, 'I only say that you must understand that the Hindu faith has tried to nurture people of many attitudes, many views; in other words, the Hindu faith alone has acknowledged people as human beings, not as members of the same group. The Hindu faith accepts the illiterate as well as the learned - and not just a single facet of learning, but the growth of knowledge in many dimensions. Christians don't wish to acknowledge diversity; they say there's Christianity on one side and limitless destruction on the other, with no shades of difference in between. Because we follow those Christians, we feel ashamed of the diversity of the Hindu dharma, failing to recognize that Hinduism strives to perceive the One through the medium of the many. Unless our minds break free of the fetters of Khristani learning, we cannot claim the glory of understanding the true nature of the Hindu dharma.'
It seemed to Sucharita that she was not merely hearing Gora's words but seeing them manifest before her eyes; she felt Gora's contemplative gaze, fixed upon the distant future, merge with his words. Forgetting all shame, forgetting herself, she raised her eyes to Gora's face, which glowed with the intensity of his emotions. In that face Sucharita saw a power that seemed to realize the greatest resolves through its own spiritual energy. She had heard many philosophical discourses from many learned and intelligent members of her community, but Gora's utterance was no mere discourse, it resembled a new creation. It was so tangible that over time it could dominate one's whole mind and body. Today Sucharita beheld Indra, the kind of deities, armed with his thunderbolt; as the words forcefully assaulted her ears, shaking the very doors of her heart, she felt flashes of lighting dance through her blood from moment to moment. She no longer retained the strength to determine how far her opinions coincided with Gora's.
'I am a Hindu. Hindus are not a party after all. Hindus are a community. So immense is this community, it is impossible to express its essence by confining it to any label. Just as the ocean can't be described by its waves, Hindus can't be described as a party either.'
'If Hindus are not a party, why do they resort to party politics?'
'When you try to kill a man, why does he try to defend himself? Because he has a living spirit. Only a lifeless stone would lie passive in the face of all assaults.'
'If Hindus take for an assault what I understand to be my faith, what would you advise me to do?'
'I would urge you that, since what you consider your duty is a painful assault on the great entity called the Hindu community, you must ponder very carefully whether there is some delusion or blindness within yourself, and whether you have contemplated everything from all angles, in every way. It is not proper to cause such a great disruption, taking the customs of one's own party to be the truth, through sheer force of habit or out of laziness. When a rat begins to nibble away at a ship's hull, it goes merely by its own convenience or natural instincts; it does not realize that boring a hole through such a great refuge will cause far greater harm to everyone else than the little bit of ease it will gain for the rat itself. Similarly, you too must consider whether you are thinking only of your own party or of humanity as a whole. Humanity as a whole - do you realize the magnitude of what that signifies? How diverse are the natures, tendencies and needs that it encompasses? All human beings do not occupy the same position on the same trajectory - some confront mountains, some face oceans, others open fields. Yet no-one can afford to remain idle; everyone must move on. Do you want to impose your own party's sole authority upon everyone else? Do you wish to turn a blind eye, imagining there's no diversity among human beings, that everyone is born into this world only to enlist with the Brahmo Samaj? Those brigand races who believe it's best for the world if they vanquish all other races to extend their sole empire, who are too arrogant about their own power to admit that the distinctiveness of other races is of priceless benefit to the world, who spread only slavery across the world - how are you people different from them?'
For a moment Sucharita forgot all her arguments. Gora's voice, deep as thunder, swayed her entire soul with an extraordinary force. She forgot Gora was arguing about something, aware only that he was speaking.
'It is not your Samaj alone that has created the twenty crore people of Bharatvarsha,' Gora continued. 'On what grounds do you seek to utterly flatten out this vast Bharatvarsha, by forcibly seizing the responsibility of decreeing which course of action is suitable for these twenty crores, or which beliefs and practices would ensure sustenance and strength for all of them! The greater the hindrances you encounter in your impossible attempt, the more angry and disrespectful you will feel towards your own country, and the more your contempt will alienate the very people you wish to help! Yet, the Lord who made human beings so diverse, who wishes to preserve this diversity, is the very One you imagine that your worship. If all of you truly believe in Him, why are you unable to recognize his decree? Why does pride in your own intelligence and your own party prevent your from accepting its significance?'
Observing that Sucharita was listening in silence without trying to offer any reply, Gora felt sorry for her. He paused, then continued in a gentler tone:
'Perhaps my words strike you as harsh. But don't view me with hostility as a member of the enemy camp. Had I perceived you as an enemy I would not have spoken to you at all. It pains me to see your natural broad-mindedness confined within the limits of a party.'
Sucharita's face grew flushed. 'No, no,' she protested, 'don't worry about me at all. Please continue what you were saying, and I shall try to follow your argument.'
'I have nothing more to say. View Bharatvarsha through your natural intelligence and natural emotions. Love Bharatvarsha. If you see the people of Bharatvarsha as non-Brahmos you will distort their image and regard them with contempt, and constantly misunderstand them. You will never get to see them from the perspective that allows one to see them whole. The Lord has made them human; they think in many different ways, act in many different ways, follow many different beliefs and customs, but underlying all this is a basic humanity; within all this is something that belongs to me, to Bharatvarsha, something that, when viewed from a true perspective, will pierce its outward shell of pettiness and incompleteness to present before us the vision of a great, noble entity. It is infused with the spirit of long endeavour; in it I can see the ancient sacrificial fire still burning amidst all the ashes, and I have no doubt that this fire will transcend its pretty location in place and time to cast up its flame at the centre of this earth. The people of this Bharatvarsha have been saying many big things for a very long time; they have accomplished many great tasks; even to imagine that all that has become utterly futile is to show disrespect for the truth, and that itself is atheism.'
Sucharita had been listening with bowed head. Now she raised her head and asked:
'What are you asking me to do?'
'Nothing,' asserted Gora, 'I only say that you must understand that the Hindu faith has tried to nurture people of many attitudes, many views; in other words, the Hindu faith alone has acknowledged people as human beings, not as members of the same group. The Hindu faith accepts the illiterate as well as the learned - and not just a single facet of learning, but the growth of knowledge in many dimensions. Christians don't wish to acknowledge diversity; they say there's Christianity on one side and limitless destruction on the other, with no shades of difference in between. Because we follow those Christians, we feel ashamed of the diversity of the Hindu dharma, failing to recognize that Hinduism strives to perceive the One through the medium of the many. Unless our minds break free of the fetters of Khristani learning, we cannot claim the glory of understanding the true nature of the Hindu dharma.'
It seemed to Sucharita that she was not merely hearing Gora's words but seeing them manifest before her eyes; she felt Gora's contemplative gaze, fixed upon the distant future, merge with his words. Forgetting all shame, forgetting herself, she raised her eyes to Gora's face, which glowed with the intensity of his emotions. In that face Sucharita saw a power that seemed to realize the greatest resolves through its own spiritual energy. She had heard many philosophical discourses from many learned and intelligent members of her community, but Gora's utterance was no mere discourse, it resembled a new creation. It was so tangible that over time it could dominate one's whole mind and body. Today Sucharita beheld Indra, the kind of deities, armed with his thunderbolt; as the words forcefully assaulted her ears, shaking the very doors of her heart, she felt flashes of lighting dance through her blood from moment to moment. She no longer retained the strength to determine how far her opinions coincided with Gora's.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)