TravelStream™ news feed for member rowlandson on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/rowlandson en-us Copyright ©2010 TravelPod.com Wed, 21 Mar 2007 00:41:53 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1166861400/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1166861400/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1166861400/tpod.html Wed, 21 Mar 2007 00:41:53 -0400 "I can't believe impossible things." said Alice.

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New Delhi, India

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

I love, love, love, Clement Clarke Moore's, "T'Was The Night Before Christmas," however, it needed to be changed up a bit this year. So, with thanks to India, the work of PRIA and the kindness and wisdom shared with me by my colleagues over the past three months...


T'was the night before Christmas in New Delhi and all through the flat,
Not a creature was stirring except the Gecko and Rat.

The stockings were hung on the railing with care,
In hopes that in the morning, they would be ready to wear.
Dressed in three layers, toque, wool socks, and mitts,
I had just settled down, and was shivering to bits.
You see it is cold in New Delhi at this time of year,
And you have to dress warm or risk freezing your rear.

When out in the lane there arose such a clatter,
I jumped out from my mosquito net to see what was the matter.
Away to the balcony I flew like a New Delhi Blue Bus; (they remind me of the Calgary Stampede Brahma Bulls the way they drive).
Looked out over the railing to see what was the fuss.

The fog, haze, and smog made it tricky to see,
My eyes searched in the night; I wondered what could it be?
Materializing in the darkness - it seemed like magic or art,
Before me were were eight massive water buffalo and an ancient old cart.

With a little old driver, so knowing and wise,
"Could this be St. Nick," I thought with surprise?!

Methodically and slow his coursers they came,
And he cooed at them softly and called them by name;
Now Rama, now Rafa, now Pradeep, and Sita,
On Chandaka, on Charini, on Gurmeet, and Mita.

To Bihar, To Gujarat, To Kerala and The Taj Mahal,
Now Chello (Hindi for "Let's Go!") sweet buffaloes, Chello, Chello you all.
Like the men with their bicycle rickshaws in early morning Delhi traffic they came,
Heaving, Determined, and focused; they plodded up the dirt lane.

Up to my front steps, the big animals snorted and puffed,
Panting from carrying that cart full of all sorts of neat stuff.

It was stacked three stories high and was an engineer's wonder,
If it all fell, it would look and sound like Indra's lightning and thunder!
There were heads of cauliflower, and bundles of sticks,
Books, balls, and kurtas (Women's shirts), and stacks of red brick.
There were prayer beads and Ganesh's of all shapes and sizes,
Sitars (musical instrument), and bangles, and many other surprises!

I shook my head pondering the contents of my dinner meal,
What else could cause this dream to appear so real?

I had food poisoning a month ago - 24 hours of stomach pain,
Never eat a warm mayo and cabbage sandwich, while riding a train! (Lesson learned).

I rubbed at my eyes and looked up with a start
There he was - hands in prayer - the man with the cart.

Standing before me so strong, yet serene,
From the pictures I had, it seemed like Mahatma Gandhi!
Deep, thoughtful brown eyes, his dimples how merry!
Shining black hair, his nose, like a cherry.

His authentic bright smile, reached from ear to ear,
He had lived many lives, of that, it was clear.
He was thin like a rail and walked with a cane,
But the energy that surrounded him was like the monsoon season's rain.

With a gentle bow of his head, he said, "Namaste,
May I rest for a bit, it's been such a busy day!"

I said, "Are you Santa? Is this real? Can this be?"
He said, "If that "name" makes you more comfortable, it is just fine by me.
I am the spirit of Christmas, no matter where you go.
The spirit is about giving, and the love that you show."

I questioned, "Where is your red coat, the elves, and reindeer?
Where is the sled, and the cups full of holiday cheer?"

He said, "It matters not what you call me, it matters not my look,
Can you judge by the cover, the contents of a book?
People paint me in stories, the way that feels best.
Sometimes they give me a huge belly, sometimes I'm a bird in a nest!

The spirit of Christmas occurs every day,
many people can't practice it, they're too busy they say.

So, I come once a year and visit each place.
I put on different shoes and change the colour of my face.
I grab my cart, or my swan, or one of my old trusty sleds,
And I sing different songs and wear different threads.

But the message is the same, no matter which place I go.
The spirit is about giving and the love that you show."

With a wink of his eye and a tap of his cane,
He turned his herd 'round, marched them back down the dirt lane.
He spoke clear as day, as his figure became faint,
words of the wise, the ancients, and saints:

"From one single trunk, tree limbs do grow,
They twist upwards and sway, some high and some low.
The leaves that change colour and the branches of fruit,
They all have been nurtured from the very same root."
(Sentiments from Indian Folksongs)

Christmas morning rising, the coming of dawn.
The lesson was delivered, The Teacher Was GONE! Eeeck!
But just like Skywalker, I saw no need for fear,
For Christmas is ubiquitous each day of each year.

I LOVE the word ubiquitous! (Laughing!)


Merry Christmas - I do miss, miss, miss you!

Love and Best Wishes!

Ms Carrie Rowlandson/C:/Rowlie/Carr-Bear/Ms.R/Rowlin/Carr
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1172568540/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1172568540/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1172568540/tpod.html Tue, 27 Feb 2007 08:37:58 -0500 "I can't believe impossible things." said Alice.

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Darjeeling, India

The plan had been to fly to the Andaman's and catch some sun and beach time before coming back to Canada, but at the last minute, I canceled the journey to try and bring the "Muffin" back. Unfortunately, the vet from Kalimpong said she would really not do well to travel for at least a couple of months - the journey would prove too difficult right now. I get that she is in a great place there, and that it was a practice in will and letting go... but...

Darjeeling has been a place of rest for the last couple of days. I've had time to chill, drink copious amounts of tea, catch up on some computer entries, and visit with Darjeelians.

I am sleeping at a place called the Bellevue. It was built by a man who worked for the Dalai Lama for ten years - images of his life dot the reception in old black and white photos. There are pictures of him and an entourage, going in winter time, through Tibetan mountain passes, gun slung on his hip, sturdy horse waiting in the background. Next photo - the horse keeled over in the snow, "but it was okay," the owner assures me, "we revived him and he made it." The rooms have solid wooden floors, wooden framed many-paned glass windows looking out onto the Himalaya Mountain range and each room houses an old hand-made wood burning stove. The rooms are also made even cozier with hand-made Tibetan wool rugs and beds covered in heavy quilts, hand-stuffed with raw cotton. It is so cold here and there are no heating systems... I get my hot water bottle filled and put it under the blankets - by the time I'm ready to get into bed - It's sleepville and the morning comes too soon.

For the past four mornings I have woken up at 5:30 a.m. to see if there will be a view of the Himalayas waiting...no such luck. The cloud and fog is thick and only gets thicker through the day. This morning there was a window for about twenty minutes and I was blessed with a view of the Khangchendzonga... it has a dizzying effect. You look at it trying to comprehend if it's real - it looks like the backdrop from a Bollywood movie set.

I have also been trying earnestly each day to find a monastery called Bhutia Busty Gompa, but I do loops up and down thin winding roads and have not been able to find it. Today I kept at it and success! It was wrapped up in jackets of mist. I wandered up excited to get inside for a look and before I could even step up to the heavy front door, the care-taker monk was there to greet me. "Want a look inside? Follow me. Come please come."

We took our shoes off and inside we went. The smell of incense and vegetable butter oil hung thick in the air. The Buddha was sitting with his incarnations at the front of the monastery, along with treats of rice, wheat, barley, and Butter oil candles burning. Prayer flags and white silky ropes of Kata (prayer scarves) were strung around the sacred statues and colourful flower sculptures from Tibetan New Year continued to grace the altar. The murals in this monastery left you feeling light. The colours seemed dull, yet the murals sucked on your senses. They seemed to shine, almost sparkle where the light from the windows touched them. I always find my breathing slows and deepens automatically in places of worship; it's a nice feeling.

The monk told me that this monastery was the oldest in Darjeeling and was actually moved, by the British, from the highest hill (Observatory Hill - 20 minutes away) because the priests and parishioners in the Christian church next door, found the monk's chanting was too loud and distracting from their attempts at prayer. Ouch. Red face and a silent apology for the ignorance of my ancestors.

He went on to tell me about the painted murals on the walls. They were painted with the powder from natural stone from Tibet and there was powdered silver in some of the colours - it was the silver which made parts of the mural sparkle. He halted his history lesson abruptly and closed his eyes, he hummed a little and then looking at me directly said, "You like to swim, no?" I laughed out loud. "I'm sorry?" I said. I felt my stomach lift and drop. He said, "You good swimmer, very strong swimmer, correct?" He was running his arms frantically through the air in a front crawl stroke. In my head I was thinking, "Oh God, what's next." He said, "Be careful around big water, swimming pools okay for you, but no fooling around, party, ha ha near the big water." I was laughing and said, "Okay." "AND, you good at bike, you like to go fast - I see you riding too fast, you slow down." I nodded and said, "okay." "You drive too fast and walk too fast, all things you slow down." I squeezed his arm and then his hand and said, "Thank you, very helpful." My last day in Darjeeling and I had found my very own fortune teller. He closed his eyes and chanted, hummed, rocked back and forth and gave a couple more tidbits of gentle advice.

I wanted to ask him about a particular text from Buddhism, I got out the sound, 'um' and before I knew it he was whispering, "We have in this monastery the original copy of "The Tibetan Book of the Dead." I said "yeah right." I was just about to ask him about the very book! He said, "yeah man, I can show you, come, come." He took me by the arm and led me to a shelf and pointed beyond the glass door to a block with a cloth package in the middle. "It is here in this monastery, no other monastery, this one. People have tried to copy out the book, but each time, when they have finished one section, they die. Expire!" With this he flopped his head sideways, eyes closed, tongue stuck out the side of his mouth. "Now, no one tries to copy it anymore. There are books out there, but they are baby books. This one the real thing. This one over 3000 pages!" I was in awe. He opened the glass door and pulled on the book, but it didn't move. I thought, "if the Tibetan Book of the Dead does not want to come out, let's not push it, eh." But my monk was showing me that book. He heaved on it. I thought the glass cabinet door was going to shatter or the book was going to let go of its resting place and scatter into 3000 pages across the floor of the old Bhutia Busty. "Oh God, O God - let's just leave the book where it is," I was praying frantically. The glass door strained, and out the book slipped resting in the monk's hands. "See!?" He said proudly, "The real book." He explained how the pages were made and flipped some pages to show their resilience. It was beautiful and scary. I wanted to admire it and I touched it lightly, but really I was happy to let him put the book back where it was safe from my klutzy karma. He put it back with the same vigour that he had taken it out. I prayed, "be careful, be careful, be careful." Seems once the book was free from the dusty shelves that locked it in, it wanted to stay out. He pushed and twisted it until it finally slipped back into place. I sighed with relief. Then we headed over to his "kitchen," sat together quietly, the 70 year old monk from Darjeeling and the 32 year old teacher from Calgary, enjoying tea and a lunch of Dal, rice, and salty potato.

I walked back up the steep pathway towards Darjeeling town, trying to slow down - my thoughts, my steps... It wasn't a race, there were no winners or losers at the end of the day. "Om"

With gratitude for things built to last, like the original ancient copy of The Tibetan Book of the Dead

Carrie
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171081800/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171081800/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171081800/tpod.html Sun, 25 Feb 2007 07:04:38 -0500 "I can't believe impossible things." said Alice.

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Darjeeling, India

Before I knew it, I was kicked back out into unknown territory and heading into North India... how exciting! 

I met up with Laura who I had met at the Ashram in Trivandrum. We decided to take on North India together and decided to begin with Darjeeling.

Imagine vistas of the Himalayas, emerald green terraced hills, villages perched on steep ridges, ancient Gompas (monasteries), and acres of tea plants.

We set out on our first day to go through the process of attaining visas to travel up into Sikkim. We strolled down Hill Cart Road and saw a pup about 50 metres ahead curled up on the sidewalk. It is common to see street dogs all over India. They come in every shape and size - some are healthy, full of life, shiny coats, and full of bounce. Others are scabby, mangy, limping, starved, and fighting for survival. Some street dogs travel in packs and others go solo, but each day is a venture in finding food and staying out of the way of Alphas, whose focus is staying on top of the DOG-FOOD-CHAIN.

Our pup, who garnered the name, "Muffin," lay still with eyes trying to make contact with the humans walking past. She was walked over by the pedestrians ahead of us and each person looked down on her as they passed over her. Some people looked sorry, some looked annoyed, and others looked right through her. As we approached, I wondered what to do... Both front legs and paws were an absolute mess. I was convinced that the bones in her one leg were completely shattered and the other leg was ripped wide open. I was certain that she had been hit by a vehicle (they speed down Hill Cart Road with wild impatience) and had been injured for at least a day (many of the puncture wounds and lacerations in her front legs were crusted with blood or congealed ooze). Beyond her injuries, the fur on her ears had been taken by mange, which left her looking more like a bat than a pup. Fleas coursed her body, and her bones pushed through her skin from tip to tail. Her coat was patchy at best, matted, and covered in dirt.  

Laura carefully picked her up and we began the journey back into the centre of town to find a vet... there was no other way for us. I wondered if there would be a vet to put her out of her misery. I was familiar with the process in Canada of animals being put down when their suffering was greater than a basic quality of life. There was certainly no other hope for this pup. She was a street dog. She had no use of her front legs. She was starved. What was there for her if she couldn't even manage the task of sniffing through piles of garbage for food? In my mind, she was either going to be put down, or left to die on the streets.

The walk to town was painfully slow. At one point, Laura looked at me with fear and said, "She stopped shivering. Check her, I think she's dead." The pups eyes were wide and alert. I said, "Nope, she's wide awake, keep going." We asked numerous people for directions to a doctor and ended up at the Federal vet station - the gates locked. It was a public holiday and there would be no vet for the next two days. I burst into tears.

It was too much. The misery side of India flooded me. Laura looked at me sternly and said, "This is not what I expected from you. Hold it together." The traffic officer who had brought us to the gates looked around helplessly. A man, who had previously watched us searching for a vet, carrying the pup up and down numerous streets, now looked at us with further irritation. He was obviously annoyed at us for trying to save what was obviously a hopeless situation. He motioned us, snapping his fingers, to follow him. I got that it must have looked pathetic for a pair of foreigners to be walking up the streets of Darjeeling with a street dog, when there were starving and helpless humans in the same dire situations all over India. We followed him...

He took us to a pharmacy that sold Dog Food.

Thankfully, the owner had a vet that was on-call and happened to be in the shop. Laura followed him into a tiny room and the door closed. Painted on the door was, "VETERINARY." I sat on the "waiting" bench relieved at the thought that soon the pup would be out of her misery. There was high pitched screaming coming from the room and then it stopped and Laura came out. She said the Vet reiterated what I had suggested, the pup's one leg was shattered and the other one was no better. He had splinted her one leg and stitched the other. He said, if we could take care of her for the next few days, she might make it.

I was horrified. Had he considered putting her down? What would happen after a couple of days? She would be put back to the street? There was no way this dog was using her front legs for weeks. How was she even going to urinate or defecate? What was going on here? I shook my head and went to the back room to speak with the vet. I asked him about putting her down and he responded with, "Well, she might make it. Her legs might heal. Let's see what happens in a couple of days. Besides, where would we bury her? You'll need to give her these injections four times a day, these pills three times a day and these pills two times a day. Keep the wounds clean with this powder." I replied, "I'll need gauze, cotton, gloves, puppy food, and flea spray." I walked back to our hotel and all I could think of was the vet's comment, "Where would we bury her..." Are you kidding me!!!!! That was the least of my worries in a country where people walked over and around dead things all the time and where piles of "stuff" were dumped in rivers, front doorways, over ridges, and on the sides of roadways, sidewalks, or WHEREVER.

It was a long and sleepless night. The hotel manager initially said the pup could sleep in the equipment room. We told him that was not possible. He finally relented and let her stay in our room. We promised to keep her quiet and tended to... The pup came out of her shock (and off of the injection the vet had given to her) in the evening and every ten minutes from 7:00 p.m. to 8:00 the next morning, she let out hair raising screams of absolute agony. I was freaked. What the F$#@ was going on??? No sedative, just a mild pain killer, some amoxyl, a social worker from Ireland, and a teacher from Canada were all the pup had. I was irate with the vet for not giving us a sedative to knock her out. We slipped warm water to her lips. We gave her mouthfuls of puppy food. Laura, who had been surprised at my mention of having her put down, was now ready to accept the inevitable.

We trudged back to the vet in the morning. This time, I headed to the back room and Laura sat on the bench outside. The vet touched the pup and she screamed out, pushing with her back legs to get back up into my arms. The vet looked alarmed - he said she was in extreme pain and the infection in the one leg was worse than the day before. I wanted to say to him, "Ya Think???" I pinched my lips together and breathed. I said to the vet, "It's time to put her down. She screamed all night and there is nothing we can do for her." He looked at me and said, "My job is to keep them alive, not to kill them. You can give her this sedative tonight to help her sleep." I think what he wanted to say was, "to help you sleep." If there was a will in her, in the vet, and in us, then what might be possible?

That day we tended to her every need. We petted her, stroked her patchy fur, nuzzled her, and kept her as comfortable as we could. We took her to a Tibetan restaurant during the dinner hour and the owner let us bring her in. We asked for a cup of Tibetan noodle soup and the lady made a special batch for the pup. That night there was no need for the sedative. The pup was getting stronger and I thought I saw a slight wag of the tail when we held the last tablespoon of Tibetan soup to her mouth. That night there were fits of whimpering, but nothing compared to the first night. In the morning she was struggling to stand, so I supported her upper body as she put weight on her back legs. She looked up at us and wagged her tail.

We carried her with us wrapped in blankets and people began to recognize us as the foreigners with the sick dog. The Tibetan lady continued to allow us to eat in her restaurant, the hotel manager continued to let us stay in his hotel, and meanwhile the vet and the pharmacist were looking for a place for our pup. A pet sanctuary in Kalimpong (three hours away)was pressed to take her - they were at capacity, but if we were willing to bring her, they would find space. That night we bought chocolate hearts from the famous bake shop in town (Glenary's) and dropped them off to the people who had helped us with the pup. We even ran into the man who had walked us to the pharmacy/vet -I had hoped we would bump into him, as there was no way for us to find him. He had a choice that day too - help or not. We all had choices; the owner of the Tibetan restaurant, the hotel manager, the traffic officer, the vet, the owner of the pharmacy (HUGE animal lover), the man who led us to the pharmacy, the foreigners...

The hotel manager said when we were leaving, "We are told from the time we are young that there is a God or reincarnations of God - Shiva, Vishnu, Brahma, etc. We pray to them, but we can not see them. We don't know for certain that they are there, we can only just believe. With people like you, we know they are there. We see you act with mercy for something like this dog. I see God when I see you holding this dog." We both started to cry.

We bought the front row of the jeep to keep the dog from being squeezed or jostled during the drive. We ignored the stares of the people packed into the back seats.

We arrived at the Goodwill Pet Sanctuary in Kalimpong on Bong Busty Road. We carried our little Muffin down the steps into a beautiful garden. Healthy and happy one-legged , blind, limping, scarred dogs greeted us. Some barked, some ran circles, some chased each other, vied for our attention, or slept in sunny patches amongst flowers and greenery. It was a dog paradise. We told the doctor about how great our Muffin was. How strong she was for making it through that first night alone on the sidewalk, and the next few nights. How she refused to go to the bathroom in her bed and would hold it til you could get her to a place to relieve herself. A street dog that was trained and wasn't that amazing?! He told us not to worry and that she was in great hands.

We opened the large kennel where our pup would be kept til she was healthy. We placed her blankets carefully in the cage and a lady brought her a bowl of warm and steaming mush (rice, vegetables and a bit of honey on top). She sat up perfectly using her stronger front leg to balance. We looked at her now and saw only a prize show-dog - a super dog. We gave our last cuddles and Laura began to sob. I closed and locked the cage door. I had told Muffin to make a good impression and she was doing as she always did, teaching us about bravery, courage and will. I looked at Laura sobbing and, laughing through my own tears said, "This is not what I expected from you. Hold it together." She laughed choking back more sobs.

Then we bawled for the little Muffin the entire way back up the steps and into the taxi. The pup was up on her hind legs, hurt paws up on the cage door, bawling for us... We asked the cab driver to take us to the area's monastery, where we walked around miserably in the cold, wondering about the suffering that comes with attachment. We knew it was in the pup's best interest to be in the sanctuary with full time care. The dogs there were so healthy and so full of bounce. We eased the pain of leaving the little Muffin with the fact that we all enter each other's lives for moments. Some moments are meant to last longer than others.

With gratitude for pets like "muffin," who some jokingly named, "Lucky." We know we were the ones blessed for finding her.

Carrie
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1172391420/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1172391420/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1172391420/tpod.html Sun, 25 Feb 2007 06:50:12 -0500 "I can't believe impossible things." said Alice.

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Darjeeling, India

Speaking to an elderly man on the street about the cavernous space that exists between the rich in India and the poor, I commented, "What To Do?" and shook my head looking to the ground. Usually, "What To Do?" is followed by silence from the other person. It's just a saying when there are no answers. Not on this day.

The little old man looked at me and said, "In this world there are two answers to the needs of the poor and marginalized. One is God and one is Humanity. I can not speak for God, but I," and with emphasis on the "I," his eyes sparkling, pointing to his heart, he cheerfully continued, "I can always choose Humanity."

Another traveler spoke up, "But it is so hard when no one else is doing anything. It makes me frustrated. Take the water problem... if I'm having 3 minute showers and everyone else is installing 4 shower-headed showers and taking 20 minute showers - WHAT IS THE POINT OF MY THREE MINUTE SHOWER???!!! (She threw her hands up to the sky)" He looked at her and said, " I can not speak for you, but I (he again pointed to his heart) can always choose Humanity."

It made me think of the poem by Rudyard Kipling...

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son! --Rudyard Kipling

I was filled up with India. I kept coming back to the fact that this country nurtures EVERY religion in the world. I have sat and chatted (or smiled back and forth) for hours in rickshaws, buses, trains, office buildings, and parks with people of the Sikh, Muslim, Jewish, Christian, Jain, Zoroastrian, Hindu, Buddhist, Tribal, and Bon faiths. Beautiful, wonderful people.

I sat and played "Competition Sudoku" with a Muslim guy for hours on a train. Then his mom and dad joined in, but they played "co-operatively" together. The family told me all about how they had escaped to Australia from the African continent and started a fruit stand and now they have a fruit market. They said they have to work hard, but at least there is no war.

I Sat with a Sikh family on a park bench one fine New Delhi day. The family was in Delhi for a wedding that would host 800 guests. The Dad loved poetry and was sharing with me a book of poems written by a Christian Minister. He said he liked the tenants of the Christian faith...and it was too bad more Christians, like George Bush, didn't practice their faith better.

Drinking tea with a monk in Ravengla at his monastery. It was such a cold day and he must have noticed us shivering, so he invited myself and another foreigner into a tiny little building that housed a couple of old photos of various notable Lamas. He put some wood into the old, hand-made metal stove and brought us hot butter tea. He told us his parents were Nyingmapa Buddhists (many various forms and sects of Buddhism exist) and granted him permission to move to the Nyingmapa monastery when he was nine. He decided after years of study that there was something more for him in the Bon faith and switched monasteries. Now at the age of NINETEEN, he was preparing for three years of deeper study. I asked what he meant by "deeper study," and he said, he would be going into a cave or deep into the forest and would remain silent for three years. During that time he would meditate, eat little and sleep little. He was excited about it, but asserted that he knew it would be difficult. He seemed to be a wise old sage. It haunted me for days after, how "foolish and childish" my mind and movements were as compared to the fluid, gentle, and peaceful way he carried himself and the compassionate manner in his speech. Interesting how an old body can carry a child's mind and a young body can carry the mind of a learn'ed Monk.

Listening to a Parsi man speak about losing his Dad... "He was a cool dude," he said and he looked away from me. He showed me a family photo - it's engrained in my mind. There they all were. Beautiful mom, proud dad, cool brother, gorgeous two sisters and the baby brother with the HAPPIEST smile right in the middle of the photo. It was the smile of a soul who had everything he could have ever wanted - A Family who loved and cared for each other.

Hanging out in the Health shack of the Sivananda Ashram with some Israeli travelers. They were talking about how their country was so messed up. They serve their two years with the military when they turn 18 and then they all head for India to try and recover from the experience. They said they try to lose their minds completely for about 6 months and then they will go home and try to re-build it fresh. India is the country for them because they say it is equally messed up, so they feel quite at home with the "craziness." They happily show off their tattoos, talk about how much pot they are consuming, and philosophize about the state of the world and each country in it, sounding like professional politicians.

A mentor was speaking to me about Hinduism. How it welcomes all religions and in welcoming them also adopts aspects of them. I've seen this all over India. Hindus allow all things to float along the "sea of humanity" (Greg Sagar) with them. It's all just part of LIVING this life. I rarely see a Hindu get annoyed. A flood could come along and sweep away the house and worldly possessions, an earthquake could cause a landslide to cover where the house used to stand before the flood, and a snowstorm could follow the earthquake and I swear, based on my experience in India, a Hindu will shake their head and say, "What to do, what to do..." and then they move forward. Life goes on. Each life is meant to learn lessons. You accept what life hands you and work with what you are given.

So, there you have it. India and all of these religions and everyone moving along in the "sea of humanity," trying to remain unique, yet clinging to the things that hold us all together. There are those who try to debate for "cultural relativism," where we are supposed to notice the differences, and those who debate for "cultural universalism" where we are supposed to notice the similarities. I think the debate itself is the joke.

A relativist yells, "there are NO universal truths!" That statement is universal in itself. Saying there are "none" suggests that there is at least ONE universal truth, and that is that there are "no universal truths." Ha ha - Joke!

A universalist yells, "there are universal truths!" This statement is relativist in itself. Saying there "are" suggests that there are segments, chunks, blocks, of truth(s) which opens up any statement to INTERPRETATION of various people's versions of "truth." Ha ha - Joke!

Confusing...maybe, but I just go back to the diversity of religion in India. Indian Muslims, Indian Christians, Indian Sikhs, Indian Jews, Indian Hindus, Indian Buddhists, Indian Jains, Indian Zoroastrians, Indian Bon... Add to this all of the foreigners, refugees, and others...

All raising or being reared in families.
All cheering for India's cricket team in the playoffs.
All traveling on the same highways or railways.
All working together in the same offices across India.
Together. One. All. Many.

Wanting the same thing for themselves, for their families, communities and country... wanting the same thing that humans all over this planet want... The ability to be both independent and part of a community simultaneously. A two year old, a teenager, a 40 year old and a 90 year old... all of us wanting independence and at the same time wanting a tribe. Wanting roots and wanting wings... Imagine a tree trying to fly away? Flapping its branch wings, and straining with every fibre to free itself from the compressed soil? Imagine a bird with its feet stuck in the ice? Furiously flapping its feathery wings and going nowhere? Both Images that evoke serious suffering.

Humans want there to be differences that separate us and yet, we want there to be no differences. Sing it, "Suffering and Joy." The answer is always yes and no - there are differences and there are no differences. We want there to be one answer, one truth that we can count and rely upon.

The relativist will answer, "The same story has many versions." The universalist will answer, "There are many versions of the same story."

We can break human constructions like religion down and focus on their minute details (looking at the individual trees in a forest) and yes, we would find many interesting and wild differences. And then when we look at all religions and their big picture (the forest as a whole), we would see ONE picture... HUMAN KINDNESS.

So the beggar was right! Remember him from the beginning of this entry? He and I were chatting about the cavernous space between the rich and poor of India and it really IS as he said, "In this world there are two answers to the suffering of the poor and marginalized, one is God (ONE and MULTI-DIMENSIONAL) and one is Humanity (ONE and MULTI-DIMENSIONAL). I cannot speak for God, but I can always choose Humanity."

With gratitude for those who point to their own hearts and make individual choices for the good of the group,

Carrie Rowlandson :)
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1172051460/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1172051460/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1172051460/tpod.html Fri, 23 Feb 2007 04:52:16 -0500 "I can't believe impossible things." said Alice.

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Darjeeling, India

Back to Darjeeling to sort out details with cancelled flights and the pup...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171958760/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171958760/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171958760/tpod.html Fri, 23 Feb 2007 04:51:14 -0500 "I can't believe impossible things." said Alice.

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Kolkata, India

Kolkata:

- Mother Theresa's Missions of Charity
- Sutter Street
- Indian Museum
- Eden Gardens
- Sahid Minar
- Raj Bhavan
- BBD Bagh
- Ferry Trip - Hooghly River
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171007340/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171007340/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171007340/tpod.html Thu, 22 Feb 2007 05:04:40 -0500 "I can't believe impossible things." said Alice.

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New Delhi, India

It was calming to be back in New Delhi for a couple of days (February 4th to 7th). I had flown back from Bangalore to participate in celebrating PRIA's "New Delhi" 25th anniversary celebrations.

New Delhi was becoming familiar to me. Little was shocking. Even traveling the roads at night (having my cell phone in hand) has become comfortable - not recommended, but sometimes a necessity. It is now "nothing" to me in this busy city to hire a rickshaw at the pre-paid rickshaw stand at airports and train stations, to ignore touts who try to shuffle me in "other" directions, and to know where I am (approximately) and to know where I am going (approximately). Finding calm amidst bustle.

Arriving at the home of my friend, I was greeted with big, warm hugs from her and her daughter. My friend's mom (lovely and sweet) had a bowl of my most favourite desert (also lovely and sweet) waiting and ready for me (she said she knew it was my favourite). Finding pieces of home in the care of new friends.

It was wonderful to visit again with colleagues from PRIA. It was also exciting to meet professors from around the world attending the event and hear them voice the necessity for participatory action in all organizations around the world. What I felt like voicing was the necessity for this "practice" of "citizen participation" to begin at the primary level of education. It is worthwhile for us to teach these habits at an adult level, but I think that primary and secondary teachers have the power to instill these practices right from the start of school AND PARENTS have the power to instill these practices right from day one. What can happen when children are aware that their participation is necessary? Whose voice is left out in important decision-making? Are children's voices heard in politics? In education? As a non-practicing teacher at the moment, I wanted to exercise the notion of the importance of "transparent, accountable, creative, participatory, and responsible" education systems for children and the importance of teachers who parent many of the world's children from 8:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. I also wanted to exercise the notion of the importance of "transparent, accountable, creative, participatory, and responsible" parenting. With our communities becoming MEGA-CITIES (loss of the extended family), what happens to family and family practice?

I love conventions - they always spark new questions and exciting discussion. I am referred to at home as the, "Convention Geek" because I don't want to miss any of the auditorium speakers at teacher's convention - even if it means showing up a little late to "Choir Practice."

As it is with India, I was suddenly "moved" out of the familiar - this time North India beckoned. I was meeting a friend I met in the Ashram in Trivandrum (South India) in Darjeeling, West Bengal. So exciting!

With gratitude for Conventions,

Carrie
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1170058680/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1170058680/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1170058680/tpod.html Tue, 20 Feb 2007 03:20:56 -0500 "I can't believe impossible things." said Alice.

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Madikeri, India

Madikeri -

- Trekking with "Friends" Vijay - our guide - Did you know...
- Washing clothes in the cheap hotel.
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]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171699380/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171699380/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171699380/tpod.html Tue, 20 Feb 2007 03:05:51 -0500 "I can't believe impossible things." said Alice.

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Pelling to NJP, India

Catching the train by 8:00 p.m. A bit of a race.
Sleeper Train to Kolkata
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171612800/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171612800/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/rowlandson/india_2006/1171612800/tpod.html Tue, 20 Feb 2007 03:03:16 -0500 "I can't believe impossible things." said Alice.

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Ravengla to Geyzing and Geyzing to Pelling, India

Pelling:

Pemayangtse Monastary
Chaam Dancing - getting ready for Loosar

Yuksom
Tashiding
Amazing Tomato Soup

Pemayangste - DPC Academy - Yapo - Donation
Blessing
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