How We Almost Screwed Up – 4/28/15

                Our transition to Ladakh was very stressful. Everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong, and I am convinced the universe was conspiring against us to miss our flight. We woke up at 2:30 AM so that we could store the luggage that we didn’t want to take with us to Ladakh at 3:00 AM in the hotel. At 3:00, however, we were informed that there did not actually exist such a place for our luggage. After a good bit of confusion and wasted time, we dumped our stuff in the basement and covered it with a bed sheet. Now the time was close to 4:00 AM. We left the hotel in 2 taxis to the airport, one of which arrived at the correct terminal, one of which did not. Alex, Jenny, Chase, and I were at Terminal 1 (the wrong terminal) and waited for the others for a good while before calling them to see where they were. Upon doing so, we discovered our driver’s mistake and hailed another taxi to take us to the correct terminal (another 15 minute drive away). We arrived at the correct terminal close to 5:00 AM where there was slight delay in getting all of our bags checked (we almost forgot to put the med bag – which has needles in it – into a backpack for checking). Next, we headed off to security where some group members got stopped for items in their carry-ons. Among these people, Alex is the most notable. You see, he had forgotten to take out his survival kit from his backpack and had accidentally brought with him 2 Swiss army knives, 3 boxes of waterproof matches, and a length of rope. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had had a machete with him, too. Time approximately 5:30 AM, Ben P and I decide to go to the bathroom (I had chugged 2 liters of water that morning to avoid being stopped at security). Ben, on the other hand, needed to do a number 2. I came out of the bathroom speed walking (our flight was supposed to leave at 6:00 AM and board at 5:15 AM). That speed walk turned into a run as I approached the gate and saw Caleb flailing his arms at me. Ben came a few minutes later and we all hurried onto the plane: dead last with hearts pounding uncontrollably. And that is how we almost didn’t make our flight to Ladakh. 

Agra and Delhi – 4/25/15 through 4/27/15

                After an overnight train to Delhi, we transformed from residents of Banaras into tourists of India. We spent a few days seeing all the sights from the Red Fort to a Jain bird hospital to Raj Ghat (The Gandhi memorial) to the Lotus Temple (and many other things in between). We also took a train to Agra to see the stunning Taj Mahal and Agra Fort. We got up at the break of dawn to see the sunrise over the Taj and got great pictures before too huge of a crowd showed up. Our time in Delhi and Agra was short, but we packed our time with monument visiting before our flight to Ladakh. 

Bye-Bye Banaras! – 4/24/17

                After 7 long months of inhabiting a place, it’s hard to say goodbye. At first, I was displeased that most of my “loose ends” had been left untied. My host family left Banaras the week before and I was living at Dolly-ji’s house, my last day at NIRMAN had been what I thought was going to be my 2^nd to last day, I hadn’t said goodbye to my kathak teacher, and I hadn’t gotten a chance to get pakora (my favorite deep fried Indian snack) in over a week. That being said, my last day in Banaras could not have been more perfect.

                The day started with a long ghat walk with Ben P. We explored a Tibetan temple that we had somehow missed before and took a rickshaw through Godolia (the main shopping area) back to Assi (where we lived). We ate breakfast with the group at the Program House before cleaning it and preparing it for BYP 7.0 and then we biked back to NIRMAN for our final goodbyes. I talked to students, took pictures, and even got to see my graduated seniors (they came back to school that day to say goodbye). Then, I got a text message from my host sister, Madhu, telling me that they had returned to Banaras from the wedding. On the way home I saw my kathak (traditional Indian dance) guru-ji on the street, said bye to him, and then got to eat one final lunch with my host family. Madhu, Deep, and I played Go Fish and BS one last time before I said goodbye to them to get my last food in Banaras – pakora. Over the months in Banaras, I befriended the pakora-wallah (man who makes pakora) who lives near my Hindi class. I would sit and chat with him before class and much on his delicious fried treats. I wanted to pay him one last visit before departing and he even gave me all my pakora free! After getting pakora, I made my last stop at Dolly-ji’s house before heading to the train station to travel to Delhi! In the end, I felt completely satisfied with my time in Banaras, incredibly grateful for all the people there, and super excited for our last month in India. 

Trip to the Waterfall – 7/20/15

                As sort of a last hoorah before our group left Banaras, we took a day trip to a waterfall a few hours out of Varanasi. We packed lunches of puri-subji (fry bread and stewed vegetables) and hiked 30 minutes to a chilly (and muddy) waterfall). The girls swam in their leggings and kurtis and the boys in their running shorts (I think only Caleb and Alex had clothing even resembling swimwear). We spent hours swimming, climbing rocks, posing with the waterfall, and dancing to Bollywood music. It was refreshing to get in the water after a) not swimming for 8 months and b) the heat and grime of the city. I think all of us got at least a little sunburned and when we got back to Banaras we were so exhausted that we didn’t even have the energy to get ice cream as a group like we had planned. 

Last Day of School! – 4/16/15

In typical NIRMAN fashion, Ben and my last day of work was not totally what we expected due to seemingly random cancellation of class. Our going away party was planned for the 16^th (the day before we were actually supposed to be done working) and that went really well! All of the grades from the middle school and high school came to give speeches about me and Ben (sadly, my 3^rd and 5^th graders were not in attendance) and give us presents that they had made/bought. They talked about how friendly Ben was and how I managed to “make even the most boring subject [history] interesting.” Next, class 8 had thought of games for me and Ben to play like charades and a dancing competition. We had cake, samosas, and “cold drink” (what they call soda, regardless of if it is cold or not) to celebrate and got pictures with all of the students and staff members. Even though we were sad to leave that day, we thought we would still have one more day as employees of the school (volunteers of the school? We weren’t paid…).

The next day, however, was another one of the seemingly countless number of state/national holidays, and the school was closed. Don’t worry, Ben and I went back a couple of times to say our real goodbyes to all of the people we love there.

Spiritual Cleansing and Caste – 4/12/15

                In Hinduism, there is a huge emphasis on being clean, both physically and spiritually. Most Hindus take baths in the morning after they go to the bathroom to clean themselves after becoming physically dirty from the poop, but also spiritually dirty from it. I don’t have any qualms with being hygienic, but sometimes I feel like the obsession with spiritual cleanliness goes too far. After all, spiritual cleanliness is one thing that keeps the caste system alive and well and pretty much the excuse higher castes used to allow untouchability to exist. It used to be, as I am sure many of us learned in world history class, that touching a low-caste member of society meant that you had been spiritually dirtied. Even though now most (if not all) Indians would say that untouchability has been largely stopped in most parts of the country (if not the whole country), I personally know some conservative Brahmin families who would not eat food from the hand of a low-caste person.

What’s worse is that this aspect of “cleanliness” now has very little to do with being physically clean. Sure, I can fathom that at one point the practicality of many of the rules in Hinduism to keep you spiritually clean also helped keep you physically healthy. Touching someone who spent his days handling human feces might make you sick. Attending a funeral and being in the vicinity of a body who maybe died from an infectious disease could be dangerous for yourself. I can see why taking baths after these sorts of things came about as a tradition. What frustrates me is their continuation into the present as a method of perpetuating caste (not to mention it’s rather inconvenient, but that’s another point). Before people in India can be treated as an equal regardless of caste, everyone must do away with the notion that some people are less spiritually clean than others. Way easier said than done, however. As one person put it to us, gods must die before the caste system can be removed from Indian society.

Deep, my host brother, was so scared of me when I returned home from Stephen’s host dad’s funeral. Even after I bathed, washed my clothes, and changed into fresh kurta-salwar, he insisted that I go to the Ganges, fetch water and sprinkle it over my backpack and all of its contents that were with me. He then instructed me to get my bike washed because it too was spiritually unclean and contaminating the house. Ashok Sir died from kidney failure, not Ebola. It made me so sad to see Deep terrified of me and all of my belongings because they were spiritually soiled. He wouldn’t even come into my room to talk to me for a few days.

I am sure that living in arguably the most orthodox Hindu city in the world has somewhat biased my perception of this aspect of Hinduism and I know that many Hindus actively work against the stigmas of spiritual uncleanliness, especially in relation to lower castes. If I could, I would love to spend more time in big cities and small villages sorting out my thoughts on this issue, but until then I just hope that spiritual cleanliness is used more to promote healthy living (as I believe it was originally intended) and less as a way to perpetuate caste. 

Death in the City of Light – 4/6/15

                When I came to India, I never been to a wedding nor a funeral. I was excited to go to an Indian wedding (and fully expected to) and never really gave any thought to the possibility of going to a funeral. Living in Banaras, a place where people come to die, I’d seen funeral processions and bodies burning on the ghats, but it was not so sad because I did not know those people. The only other time I can think of someone who I knew who died was my friend’s mom in preschool. Even then, the only memory of her that I have is at Sunday school she taught us the song that goes “I see London. I see France. I see _______’s underpants!” and we thought it was hilarious. I don’t remember finding out that she died, but I do remember asking my parents, dressed all in black, if I could go to her funeral with them. When you’re three, though, death doesn’t hit you the same way as when you’re older and can understand it.

Stephen’s homestay father passed away early Monday morning. To say that it was totally unexpected would be untrue. After all, he had been undergoing dialysis treatment for some time and was so weak he could barely walk to the bathroom from is bed. That being said, it also was very much a surprise. We hadn’t really thought of death as something that could actually be an immediate result of is sickness. Just last Thursday we were at their house for Stephen’s birthday with him, singing songs, eating cake, and dancing (he sat in a chair and looked on). We helped carry him up the stairs to his bedroom after the party and said goodbye without giving it a second thought.

Most people found out via a text from Caleb-ji on Monday morning. I was showering when Caleb sent the text and then didn’t check my phone when I got out and left for the program house. When I walked in and Caleb told me the news, I didn’t know what to feel. It was sort of a sad numbness. I didn’t know Mr. Sachdeva that well, but of the people in our group I knew him best next to Stephen. He volunteered at Nirman before he got sick and would joint teach the 6^th graders math with me. I had snacks and water at is house a few times and bonded with him over the University of California Berkeley (where he received his master’s degree and where my older brother studies now). It didn’t feel real when Caleb told me. Ben P and Jenny were sitting quietly at the program house in a sort of gloomy silence. We heard the plan for the day – no work, meeting at 11:15 at Stephen’s house for a short ceremony, and then the boys would accompany the procession to Manikarnika, the big burning ghat where open fire cremations take place (girls are not supposed to go). More people trickled in to the program house and joined us as we sat in a cloud of melancholy. In the kitchen Muni-ji (the woman who cooks breakfast for us) was blasting cheery Bollywood music that was eerily out of place, but none of us bothered to ask her to change it.

Upon finding out about Mr. Sachdeva’s death, many of us suddenly felt the need to contact our family and make sure they were still okay. Death seems so unreal sometimes. You sort of get double think knowing that you’re going to die someday, but at the same time not actually expecting it to ever happen. When someone does pass away, however, reality gives you a punch and all of the sudden everyone becomes so mortal. It seems like anyone you know and love could just be gone in an instant. The worst scenarios jump into your mind and you just want the comfort of knowing that the people you love are still alright.

Hemant-ji showed up for our yoga class, but we told him to cancel. He sat with us for hours, though, first talking about culturally what you’re supposed to do when someone dies (since all of us were clueless on the matter) and then about other things, occupying our minds so we would not have to dwell on the sad news until eleven. At an Indian funeral you are supposed to wear brightly colored or white clothing (anything dark is considered inauspicious). You bring malas (flower garlands) to place on the body and once you arrive are not supposed to leave until after the body as left the house on the procession to the burning ghat. The procession consists of close friends and family members and typically involves carrying the deceased, wrapped in colorful cloth and covered in garlands, on a stretcher to one of the two burning ghats in Banaras, Manikarnika (the bigger one closer to the old city) or Harishchandra (the smaller one closer to Assi). During the procession the family/friends chant “Ram nam satye hai!” (Ram’s name is truth – Ram is a warrior king in Hindu mythology). After visiting the home with the dead body, Hindus believe that you have become impure and must bathe/wash your clothes before touching anyone/thing or going into the house. More of my thoughts on this practice in another blog. As it got later in the morning, our group split up to change clothes, tell our host families, etc. before coming to meet Stephen and is family at their house.

I didn’t expect to cry at the funeral. I’m not usually an extremely emotional person and very few of even my close friends have seen me cry. But while at Stephen’s house, I couldn’t stop the tears from creeping into my eyes and falling down my cheeks. In fact, I started crying on the bike ride over as I mentally prepared myself for the funeral. Sure, I wasn’t extremely close to Mr. Sachdeva, but I still felt immense pain thinking about what his family must be going through. Just thinking of my own father dying sent tears to my eyes and when I put myself in Stephen’s host sister’s shoes I couldn’t help but cry in earnest. When I arrived and saw Kushi and Pari (Stephen’s host nieces), I cried more because they had just lost their wonderful grandfather. What sent me bawling, though, was talking to Stephen’s host mom. I had visited her just on Wednesday to tell her about Stephen’s surprise birthday party and even then she had cried at the thought of Stephen leaving Banaras. Now, she was hysterical with grief, sobbing in garbled Hindi and English, asking what she will do when Stephen leaves in a few weeks and she will be all alone. To say it was an intense emotional experience would be a vast understatement.

What was perhaps even more disconcerting for me, though, was seeing the corpse. Only his head was visible (everything else was wrapped in colorful cloth and malas) and while I was placing the garland over is legs I simultaneously wanted to stare indefinitely at him and also shut my eyes and bolt out of the room as fast as possible. You read in books that people look peaceful in death, that they look like they’re just sleeping, but I did not find that to be the case. He certainly did not look like someone peacefully sleeping. Something was gone, was missing that made him now almost inhuman.

This funeral procession was a less traditional and orthodox than the practices that Hemant-ji had explained to us. The body was taken to Manikarnika Ghat in a hearse rather than carried by men on a stretcher and most people traveled behind it in either cars or rickshaws. Even though in Hindu orthodoxy it is believed that the soul cannot be properly released from the body unless the funeral rites are performed by the eldest son, the funeral rites were performed by Stephen’s host sister (Stephen’s host brother lives in America and could not arrive in time for the funeral).

                As weird as this might sound, I feel like this has overall been a healthy growing experience for me. I still fight back tears every time I write/edit this blog and think about what happened. I still wish that he were here and I could ask him for tips on how to manage the unruly sixth graders or talk to him about his days at Berkeley. But I can also find some consolation in the knowledge that he is no longer in pain. That he is in heaven or reincarnated into a body who will be taken care of and loved by his family (following whichever faith). His passage (or expiration as an Indian might say) has pushed me to really ponder life and death and made my experience in India more grounded and whole. I can now say without a shadow of a doubt that I have experienced some of the highest highs and lowest lows of my life while here. Rest in peace, Ashok Sachdeva.