Chennai,
India
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Today we went on a quick tour of New Delhi in the morning to catch a couple of the city's highlights before catching our flight back to Chennai. We got to sleep in until eight, which, after 3:30 and 5:30 the previous two days, was glorious. We were on the bus by 9:30 to make our way to the tallest stone tower in the world, 250 feet high and built in the 12th century. Unlike the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the stone tower was built on a strong foundation so even after 650 years it still remains straight and tall. We didn't get to actually go up to it, but instead parked on the side of the road some miles away from it for a quick photo op. I didn't quite understand this, because we spent an hour driving there, so why couldn't we have taken a few more minutes to get closer to the thing? But we did get closer to it. We drove right up alongside it but for some reason kept on going, to a spot on the side of a main road. I didn't mind, but I just found it slightly odd. I also enjoyed being able to see more of urban India, but it bothered me a little bit. Actually, it bothered me a fair amount. It had less poverty than Chennai and certainly Agra, but it was still present. It probably only seemed like less because we were in a major city, so the government could spend money to make it look like it. I hadn't seen trees lining the freeway since South Africa, or beautiful tailored lawns with flowerbeds in the medians. And yet, across the street from the beautiful tailored lawns I could see a man getting his hair cut because the barber's shop on the second story didn't have a front wall. Why, when there is so much poverty, so many people living on the streets even in this major city and running their businesses out of literal holes in the wall, does the government feel the need to decorate the freeway with roses? To make it look pretty, and seem like a real city? Because if they've got nice freeways then it must be developed, it mustn't be all that bad. Well, it's hard to keep up the façade when what you're trying to distract attention away from is only a turn of the head away. Out the left side of the bus, roses and pretty green grass. Out the right side, deprivation, people peeing on the street, women carrying naked children. Seriously, the government can't find a better place for it's money? Perhaps there's some other underlying reason that I don't understand, but it pissed me off. If they're trying to make it more attractive because it's a major city, a place where tourists go, it didn't work, at least not for me. Obviously, for me it did the exact opposite. When we drove by the government buildings I wanted to march right in and ask them what the hell they were thinking. But that's just me. And I'm not entirely rational these days, what with the slew of information I'm being exposed to and new places I'm seeing. But I liked Delhi. I liked how it was more urban but with traits still so incredibly Indian. The cows in the streets still surprised me, every time I saw one. Our tour guide spent a lot of time explaining the situation with the cows for us, which I found fascinating. The cows are seen as mothers, because they provide milk to the people. Bulls cannot, so they're not as sacred. But the cows provide five things that are very important to the Hindu people: milk, butter, which is the only real source of fat in the Hindu diet because they don't eat meat, yogurt, urine which is supposed to heal wounded skin when applied, and manure for their homes. I also particularly enjoyed the story of how cows get high. Because they just sit in the middle of the street, in the middle of the insane India traffic, with no concern for getting hit. The Indian did a study to find out why the cows weren't scared away by the traffic and found that they get high off of the diesel fumes. So not only does the traffic not both them they actually enjoy it. And they never have to worry about not having enough food to eat because the owners of each cow lets it wander freely during the day to find food, either in the streets or from families who save their leftovers for any cows that pass by. Strangely enough, the cows always return to their original owners. I like cows, and I also appreciate religious conviction, so I'm not saying it's strange or wrong for people to feed cows before themselves, or swerve out of the way and into another vehicle or a pedestrian to avoid hitting a cow, because that's not for me to judge. It's simply different. People live in different cultures, and abide by different beliefs. Me, I would feed my family before the cow, and if it came down to the cow or the child, well, I wouldn't choose the cow. But I'm not Hindu. But I enjoyed that story, obviously an incredible amount because I rarely remember specifics. My brain just lets those little things slide. I can't even remember the name of the emperor who built the Taj Mahal for his wife, or the wife's name, but I can remember all five of the reasons why the cow is considered sacred. Weird. I do also remember, however, the story that our tour guide told us about Gandhi on our way to the Mahatma Gandhi museum. He told us about Gandhi's advocation of non-violence, of inflicting aggression upon himself rather than on any person who disagreed with him. Instead of fighting the opponent, he basically fought himself so that the opponent was morally obligated to make a change. He also talked about going back to the basics, talking about giving everyone a loom to make their own clothing so they could take care of themselves. Our tour guide also brought up Desmond Tutu, and how these two great figures were able to accomplish so much without the use of violence. It got me thinking again, about what we can possibly do, what I can do to make this world better. I feel like coming to these places and hearing first-hand accounts from people and listening to their stories of how their lives have been affected by the actions of people really gives me a swift kick in the pants about doing something. Our tour guide, this man's life was changed because of Gandhi. I spoke to a man whose life and whose family life was forever changed because of that great man who promoted non-violence. I wish that reading books or hearing things on the news touched me as much as actually speaking with these people and hearing their passion and seeing their tears, but it loses something in the translation. So my mind started going, wondering if I could somehow set up a foundation that gave grants to students to travel in between high school and college, instead of going to school right away, so that they can really see what's out there and what they respond to before they go to school to further their education. I don't feel that my three years have been wasted at all, but I feel like I wouldn't have spent my freshman year taking random classes and I could have gotten into philosophy sooner and double-majored in IR. If people who truly care, like those of us on this trip, about changing this world, going out into it and being inspired by it seems like the best place to start. I'd talked loosely about the Independent Honors Program, weighing the option of doing another nine months of school after I graduate to go to D.C., Great Britain, Tanzania, India, New Zealand and Mexico to take classes studying Globalization, but now I know for certain that's what I want to do. Surprise, surprise, I'm always wanting more. As if going around the world once wasn't enough, I've making plans to go and do it again. But I knew from the beginning that my semester at sea would either satisfy my desires of travel and I would realize that I'm just not cut out for living in international communities, or it would solidify my desire for it. Well, guess which one it's done. Again, surprise, surprise. I guess some things never change. Ever since I was little, it was always one more time, one more time. Dad, throw me over your shoulders one more time. Let me go around the mountain on my four-wheeler one more time. I want to go skydiving one more time on this trip. That's me. I find what I like, and I'm hooked. I'm hooked on the world.
We went to the Gandhi museum and got to visit the preserved home where he spent his last days, walk the path of his last steps, and visit the memorial erected on the place where he was shot. I took some pictures of me with a pretty stupid look on my face because I didn't feel comfortable smiling so I just look pissed off. But in reality, I felt overwhelmed. Standing at the spot where he was killed, sailing around with Archbishop Tutu, it can feel like a little bit too much sometimes, as great as it is. I tried to imagine the scene from the movie, with everyone gathered around him, and how they must have felt watching him die on that patch of lawn. But he knew. He said he was willing to die for his cause, if that was his fate. And it was. Right there, where I was standing, my foot resting on the imprint of his next to last step. His final step is part of the memorial, a fresh flower resting on it. After spending a few minutes there, I got out of the way so others could take pictures as well and I spent some time walking through the gardens reading some of his quotes. My favorite was "My life is my message". I wish I had that kind of devotion to something. But I am too much a woman of the world to completely give it all up. I want the normal things too, so I'd never be able to live as completely as he did for my message, if I ever have one to share. It surely is inspiring, though. I also took a picture with the world peace gong before getting back on the bus to head to the hotel. I thanked the tour guide and asked to take a picture of him, which he did. He also joined my male harem. Well, what he said was that if I ever decided to return to India and form a male harem, I had to be sure to give him a call.
. I promised to do so and went in to pack my bags and check out. We had time to spare even after lunch, so Lauren and I bought cokes and sat in the one of the tea lounges, little rooms set up down the middle of the lobby with couches and chairs to sit and drink tea, or cokes in our case. We stared out over the pond and talked about our emotional exhaustion.
. India is just so incredibly intense. It gets under your skin and deep into your brain and fills your heart without you even realizing it. You can realize it, feel it, acknowledge it, but even then it still gets to you in ways you can't anticipate. I wanted something mindless so I bought an Indian copy of Seventeen and an Indian rag mag. I slept on the way to the airport and made it halfway through my rag mag before falling asleep on the plane. I'd really wanted to go to a hookah bar that night, but even after managing to get on the bus that beat the other four busses of students returning from trips so that we didn't have to wait in a huge long line to get back on the ship, we were all too exhausted and too clean to go out and get dirty again. So I unpacked the things I'd bought, put Grey's Anatomy on my laptop, and went to sleep. I'd heard wonderful stories about Varanasi and have to say was a little bit jealous, but if all goes according to plan I'll be back in India in about two years through IHP and we stay for seven weeks, so I can go see the Ganges River then. Am I spoiled? Yes, I'm a little bit spoiled. As if I didn't have a good enough time on my trip. More than anything I was just ticked at myself because the first real memories I have of learning about India in my history books was about the ceremonies and rituals performed at the Ganges. And yet, I didn't even read the trip ternaries that included a visit to the city of Varanasi where I could see the river because for some reason I wanted to do the shortest trip to the Taj offered so I could have more time in Chennai. Silly me. So yes, I'm spoiled sometimes. And I have to say, it's nice to know that I am still me. I was worrying that I was losing myself in the emotion of India. It feels good to recognize an old feeling within myself, even if it is a touch of negativity.
