Addendum to Shout Out #19...religion and politics

Trip Start Jun 05, 2006

Trip End Ongoing

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Flag of India Srinagar, India
Tuesday, May 1, 2007

     "Oh man there's Abdul and his purple coat. I really don't want to deal with him right now. Maybe I can make it while his back is turned." I hustled across the street speeding it up the last 10 feet into the building. At the top of the stairs I saw that the internet cafe was closed. There was only one other place that might be open. Abdul still had his back turned. Because the other cafe was in the opposite direction, I walked away without being seen. I simply wanted to buy my ticket to Delhi without distraction.
     There were two cheap airlines with the right flights but neither accepted foreign credit cards. My options were limited and unappealing- use a travel agent or make a trip to the airport.
     A block down the street from the second cafe I passed a man in nice clothes and designer glasses. He said hello, and once I responded, he thought we had met before

.
"Remember in Delhi?"
"No, not really."
"Like 2 years ago."
"I wasn't here 2 years ago."
"Aren't you Russian? English?" (White guys all look the same)
"We've never met. I've gotta go and arrange a flight..."
"My brother works for Go...he's general manager. I can get you a ticket."
"Oh really?"
The deal was that I'd follow him in a rickshaw while he dropped off his fianc�. We'd then go and see his brother. I'd pay half the ticket price; he'd pay the rickshaw fare. I knew the situation was shady; that his brother was most likely not an airline employee. At most I expected some kind of fake-ticket scam. The whole situation was a long shot but I only saw it as a risk of losing a few rupees in rickshaw fare. At the time I thought it wasn't much riskier than using a travel agent. The ride was much longer than I expected, ending in a wealthy neighborhood several kilometers past the Old City.
"Do you have 250 rupees for the rickshaw?"
"I thought you were paying for it."
"Alright, go over there and wait with my wife."
"Weren't we just dropping your fianc� off at her house?"
"I live in the same house

. We'll go in, have some chai, call my brother, and he'll take care of it."
Shady deals can go only one of two ways- perfectly, or not at all. He changed too many important variables for me to play along anymore. "I don't have 250 rupees on me, here's 230. I'm not going to your home. I'll just get the ticket from an agent." As I started to walk down the street he grabbed my sleeve. Looking him in the eyes I told him not to grab me.
"You are stupid! I'm just trying to help you because you are here alone. Just come inside and everything will be alright. Have a little trust."
"I'd rather pay the full price than be called stupid!"
"Look, (showing me the cross around his neck) I'm a Christian."
"I'm not." I started walking away again. He called after me, gave the rickshaw driver the money, and chased me down on his motorcycle. Understanding his words became more difficult as he got more and more animated. He pointed to his money and phone saying none of it mattered. A group of kids in school uniforms gathered around us. One translated the details when I didn't understand. I don't remember anything I said in response but I started to get angry as well. I think much of my argument came from the discrepancies in just about everything he said to me

. Words distractedly came out of my mouth simply from wanting to get out of the situation. He noticed the attention we'd attracted and tried to calm down but wouldn't drop it. He caught up with me again down the street when I walked off again. Grabbing the strap of my bag, he wanted me to get on his motorcycle. His wife was waiting at the other end of the block.
"Stop pulling me!"
"I'm not pulling.... this is love." (If I weren't so angry I would have laughed.) To reinforce his point he tried to hug me.
"Stop trying to pull me on your fucking bike!" I jerked away and walked off again. Racing over on foot, he asked, "What did you say about my fucking?"
"Don't try to pull me on your fucking bike. I just want to go."
Pointing to his forehead, "Look at this scar. I'm a Muslim and I pray 5 times a day. I just want to help."
"I just want to go."
His face became inspired hate. Pointing 2 fingers to my forehead, "I'll put blood on your head!"
"For what reason! I just want to go! Why won't you just let me leave?" I walked past with my hands up to show I was bowing out

. An older Muslim man spoke with him and he stopped the pursuit. I was free from the predicament I created. I also had a long walk in which to ponder the whole encounter. I didn't understand all that I do now, but I knew there was much to learn. My anger subsided quickly.
     My thoughts swung to religion and the devout. In many religions, the devout often miss out on any sense of ultimate truth- the source of it all. It's like swinging for the fences with closed eyes. Even if contact is somehow miraculously made, the ball sails over the fence and the devout batter remains clueless. "That's not in the book. I felt a jolt in my hands and the ball was gone. Where does it mention hand-jolts and disappearing balls? There's no hand-jolt ritual that I know of. No, I never felt a jolt. There was no contact. How blasphemous of me, such a lowly and wretched being, to think such a thing. The ball has simply vanished in the name of..." The essence has been scribbled away in covenants and other people's words. Religion makes it possible to remain devout for a lifetime without experiencing much beyond ceremony; repeated words, specific hand movements, spinning circles, mantras, or in the extreme, beating ones head into the ground 5 times a day; rites without rights and a strong reliance on blind faith.
     And why did I go with such a person on such an obviously foolish trip? In pretending to be ignorant- going along with such a devious scheme- I truly became ignorant. I ignored all the evidence as it was presented and lost the experiential wisdom of the moment. I didn't listen to all of the tingling hunches or blatant hesitations coming to mind as we spoke. I ignored it all in the hope of an easy solution. I had become devout. That afternoon changed everything for the remainder of my journey.
     I had a long walk back

. As unfamiliar parts of the Old City became somewhat familiar, I took more time to enjoy it. I stopped to photograph a fort on a hill- one of 2 orienting landmarks of the walk- and an older Muslim man started walking with me. We looked at one another a couple times without speaking. It was like we both weren't sure our words would be understood. I said hello and found that he could speak little bits of English. He loved the fort and said it looked best from the side of the hill we were on. It was a brief talk but he was exceptionally nice. When he got to the temple he asked if I wanted to join him. My mind was more focused on getting to a travel agent before they closed. It was Saturday, the agents were closed on Sunday, and I had my fill of Srinagar. Instead, we shook hands with broad smiles and I walked in the direction of the next hill...5 kilometers away. He had no scars on his forehead. The evidence of his prayers was in his presence.
    Further on, two young men stopped on a motorcycle to offer me a ride. I was on a busy road in town and had a long way to go. I went with them. They wanted to show me the "real Kashmiri culture" but I only wanted a lift to Dal Gate. I wanted my ticket. They went past a turn to Dal Gate, showed me an uncle's car dealership, made two passes by an old girlfriend, and made a big show of having me on their bike. One told me not to tell anyone, but quietly said the conflict was purely political. The way he spoke was more telling than what he said. War is business and too many people make money from the conflict. The extremists on all sides gain much power in continuing to promote it. Religion is an easy tool for manipulation. Especially in countries where the religion and culture are so intertwined. It's a continual game of us versus them righteousness. Because the offenses go to the core of their lifestyle, it's much easier to fabricate conflict among culturally religious communities.
     Culturally, Abdul and Rashid are Muslims- born of Muslim parents, raised with Muslim habits, living in a Muslim community. For them, religion is more about the people they come from and the ways of life associated with those people than the specifics of ritual and practice. Their quest is in a Muslim context but they remain open to other contexts. They are not devout or extreme. One of the hardest explanations I've had to make in Asia- where religion and culture are deeply intertwined- is that I am not religious. Not professing a religion is roughly equivalent to saying I have no family, no people, no origin, and no belief. I am no-one. (I take great joy in the thought that Buddhist or Hindu sages speak of there being no I, Me, or Mine.  In that sense I am religious- I am no-one) Saying I'm not religious confuses many people not familiar with western culture.
     As we turned through an intersection a soldier whistled for us to stop. We kept going. I asked if he wanted us to stop because I was with them. The other passenger grabbed the driver's long beard and said, "No it's because of this." The driver wore a long white shirt, loose white pants, and a white Muslim skullcap.  Though humble and friendly, he was born into a culture of extremes.  By affiliation he was extreme.
     When I saw that my ride was going nowhere closer to Dal Gate, I hopped off and walked. I managed to buy a ticket just before the agents closed down. A homeless man approached me in between different agencies. (Once I knew all the flights I could get and what they should cost, it took several visits before I found an agent who did what I asked without trying to sell me a more expensive ticket.) He spoke no English but made gestures to show that he was pointing out the beauty of the day. He then extended his hands outward from under his chin, palms facing up, and said something about god and the sky. A couple of men walked by chuckling at the sight of a homeless man trying to tell me about god. I thought he might have it more right than anybody I'd met that day. The mystery was still alive for him.
     The next day I went to see Mohammed. I took him more specific information on the hopeless idea of migrating to the U.S., the U.K., or any other English speaking country. His best option in terms of finding work outside India was Dubai. Over a million Indian laborers work in poor conditions in the U.A.E. A newspaper on the table had an article about a mob that had gathered outside a mosque after a service. They marched across town to rampage a cafe said to tolerate "immoral acts" among the youth, i.e. kissing and handholding. The cafe was destroyed and 3 cars were overturned and torched in the street. No couples were witnessed in any of the illicit acts when the mob broke loose.
     I left Mohammed and the friend who'd joined us when the hotel manager started paying close attention to our discussion. The hotel isn't good about paying the staff their small salaries. Mohammed's friend, a recent college graduate, works 22 hours a day on the promise of 2000 rupees (a little over $40) monthly salary.
     Abdul was waiting for me outside. He had been staking out the hotel since I left for Gulmarg. I managed to avoid him only by staying in another area. The conversation became an odd mix of interrogation and self-pity. "How was Gulmarg? Do you want to have some tea? How long have you been back? Why didn't you find me when you got back? Such is my misfortune...you talk with the hotel employees but...."
"If that's how you want to see it Abdul. Yes, it is your misfortune."
"Do you want to have dinner at my place? Do you want to have tea? I knew you weren't going to find me."
     Abdul claims to be a man of peace. He is not violent.  He's generally nice, but he wanted to hold me hostage. He wanted me to fall in line with his grand program of peace, love, and tourism so we could hold hands and skip to the beat of time immemorial. Until I fell in line, he sought to mentally beat me into submission. He was not at peace. Rashid was a man of peace. He sought nothing more than genuine interaction and took whatever came beyond that. I am not a peaceful man. I can accept the differences in people without much concern for imposing my will, but I have little tolerance when it comes to relating to certain differences. Once that line of tolerance is crossed, I am quick to dismiss. Abdul crossed that line before I went to Gulmarg so this conversation held no interest to me. It was the end of our mental battle.  In such games, the only power is that which is given. I took back whatever power I had lent him in continuing our duel.
     During the days in town after my cancelled flight, I walked into a restaurant in a secluded alley. Although the ovens are gas, without electricity most of the places were closed- finding a place to eat had been difficult. Two couples in dark corners of the room both bolted upright when I opened the door. "Oh yes, this is one of those places." My hunger overpowered the mild discomfort of knowing I was an unwanted presence. The waiter brought me a menu and looked out the front door while I thought of what I wanted. The couples went back to kissing. I was ultimately told they didn't have any of the options I wanted. It may have been my fortune to escape prior to the arrival of the holy mob.
     In Delhi, I spent an extra day in town checking out New Delhi. During the spring the Mughal gardens next to the Prime Minister's residence are open to the public. I managed to sneak gum through the first round of security, but not the second. Sneaking contraband through security has become a minor joy. The last garden contained plants mentioned in various religious texts. Most were citrus, olive, or henna. After my religious experience in Kashmir, I looked for the tree of judgment, the orchard of guilt and shame, or the vine of suicide bombs, but those would only exist if the entirety of god/life/love could be found in a book.

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