Speaking of Godesses and Mothers

February 10
Yesterday I got a hug and a mantra from Amma. If you haven't met Amma, you should. She is the guru mother of thousands of devotees all over the world. John has been to see her a few times in the states, so when he said he would like to check out her ashram in Kerala, I said I was willing to give it shot. Of course, I had some fears about all of it. (I know, I know, Marcia, Marcia, what are you so afraid of) Guess I'm a slow learner. John understood my fears and assured me that we could leave at any time.
So, about the hug. First, I had to go through all these steps to get it. Like get a token, wait in several different lines and endure a bunch of controlling women all charged up with "mother shakti" telling everyone what to do.
Second, I had to overcome a bunch of awkward feelings about being hugged by a complete stranger in front of thousands of other people.
Third, I had to take off my shoes and walk around in my bare feet in a room full of strangers.
But, I overcame the obstacles and managed to settle into a pretty sweet hug from Amma. Once I hit her shoulder, everything else just melted away and I was just resting there in her arms. I could have stayed there for hours.

I can vaguely compare it to one other hug that I got from my own mother. A couple years ago I lost my sister Joanne to cancer. I spent a hard night vigil at the hospital with my older sister Ann keeping Jo safe and comfortable while she was dealing with the difficult pain she was in. It was a night of great sadness, little sleep and too much time to look into the void. My mom showed up the next morning, completely distraught, but the minute she walked into the room, all I remember is falling into her arms and sobbing there like a five year old for a very long time. Her first instinct was to love me instead of dealing with her own loss. This was the kind of loving energy that Amma projects out to the millions of people that she has hugged.

According to the devotees at the ashram, Amma is a "fully realized being" which means she is in a state of complete bliss all the time. I believe them and even if they're wrong, Amma is pretty amazing as a completely human being. She has brought so much humanitarian aid to the world we should worship her for just that. Look her up. Google her. Check out "Embracing the World". She's amazing.

Mother Ganga

I will probably be reincarnated as a plastic bag for what I'm about to say, so pray for me.

I recently visited the sacred city of Varanassi, which is on the super-sacred Ganges River. The story goes that It's named after the goddess Ganga and that it flows from Vishnu's toe and is blessed it with all kinds of spiritual magic powers including Moksha, which is liberation from the cycle of birth and death. This was the place that John has been longing to visit ever since he missed the opportunity five years ago when he came to India with Jake.

It actually required some challenging planning to get there since it is a very popular place for Indians to visit. All trains were wait-listed with all those pilgrims wanting to have a salvation dip. John even ventured to suggest that we skip Varanassi, but I was adamant that we go there. This was the place he had been talking about for the last five years! The consensus of this billion plus population and John Pitcher is that the Ganges will wash you clean of all your sins, so millions flock there for a dip or even just a sip. I wasn't about to miss that!

Before we arrived I learned that the Ganges is so polluted that it is aseptic. Fish don't even survive there anymore. We watched a documentary special on it a few months ago, and I realized that if John ventured to bathe or splash or even worse, sip from the Ganges River, I may be spending a good portion of our "adventure" in an Indian hospital. But, in spite of all this, I knew we had to go to see Mother Ganga.

Since my visit, I've been grappling with my less than enthusiastic reaction to Mother Ganga. I believe that she is sacred to a lot of folks, but I didn't get all that great a vibe from it all. Maybe it was because I was just a tourist to everyone I met. Maybe it was because I didn't grow up with a family that shared such reverence for her. I'm sure a giant chunk of my indifference is because of my own lack of spiritual evolution, but I spent a bunch of time thinking it was gross. I still can't get my head around how a river that is so revered can be so polluted. The shore was riddled with trash and other smelly things. I read in the guide book that 100% of the cities on the Ganges still empty raw sewage directly into her. And there are sacred cows wandering everywhere leaving their sacred "good luck" behind. Our guide Golu warned us to not step in the "good luck" as we navigated our way around the steps of the many ghats along the river. John managed to get a little good luck, but at least he missed the dead rat next to it.

The atmosphere didn't feel very spiritual either. Most of the time I was dodging folks trying to get me to go to their shops. Men dressed as swamis and gurus and other holy men would anoint my forehead or wrap prayer threads around my wrist and then ask for a donation. When I decided to buy milk for a woman and her baby, I was quickly ushered to a store to purchase an expensive milk that cost five times more rupees. I was sure I must have been missing something, but I wasn't feeling any enlightenment, any shakti. Even the sunrise boat ride we took one morning didn't move me. When I looked at John, he was so serene and filled with spiritual contentment, while I was trying to see whether the men washing laundry along the shore had any of the clothes I had sent off to be cleaned the day before. I felt sad about this. I really thought that "being there" would make it happen and it didn't.

I need to digress a bit and explain that I know I have my own spiritual path, but sometimes I'd like it to happen more easily or obviously for me.

So, we left Varanassi and my greatest memory seemed to be tasting the street food. I felt sad and disappointed. And, I felt more confused about the whole spiritual journey than I had before.

After a few plane rides and some discoveries about the meaning of "budget" hotel, we eventually ended up in touristy Varkala, Kerala. (Just trust me when I tell you that if you ever go to Trivndrum, "Kukie's Holiday Inn" will not be what you expect.)

Varkala was like going to Ogunquit or Kennebunkport India. It has more westerners living and working and vacationing there than Indians. But something happened today that helped me to reconcile at least one of my spiritual dilemmas.

We headed down to the beach this morning and took a long dip in the ocean. As I was diving and floating and surfing about in this amazing vast body of water created eons ago by some power greater than myself, it reminded me of Hermit Island, an ocean side campground we have journeyed to every summer of our marriage. Sally has been there every summer of her life. It occurred to me that Hermit Island is my Mother Ganga. I already worship her. I have shells and stones at home that I'm certain are imbued with healing, powerful, spiritual energy. I have made a promise to myself and my family that I would make a pilgrimage there for the rest of my life and I'm absolutely positive that God has bathed in the waters around Hermit Island. I realized that Mother Ganga was someone else's source of spiritual power, but it didn't have to be mine. What I realized I had learned in Varanassi was about how to show reverence and gratitude for something that you believe has spiritual meaning. So, I think I'll honor the goddess of Hermit Island and do a Pooja to her this summer.

Teachers and India

Teachers and India.

So, today in Varanassi, we are riding around visiting temples in yet another Tick tick with our new driver/guide, Sukol. He's actually very engaging and knowledgeable about Indian culture and religious customs.
At one point I mention that I'm a teacher and he gets very enthusiastic. He tells me that in India, "teacher is better than GOD". I laugh, because I'm sure he's joking and he turns, stops his Tuck tuck (which is something you just don't do in India) and says that it's absolutely true. He says there is a special day in July called Guru Purnima, which means "the full moon of the guru" or teacher.

Get this. On Guru Purnima, students go to school, but they don't have lessons. Instead, they bring gifts to the teacher and bend down (yep) and kiss the teacher's feet and ask for her blessing. No exaggeration here. Straight from Sukol's mouth.

I tell Sukol that teachers are not so revered in America and he is shocked. Yeah. The kind of stop-the-Tuck-tuck shocked. He says that it is a great honor to go to school in India and students are very grateful because their teachers help them to be successful and have a better life. He says that the teacher is more important than God because you need to have the teacher teach you before you can know God. Makes me want to rethink the division of church and state ( just a little)

I start looking around and I start to get the idea. Little, hungry, sad kids come up to me and ask me for pens. The kids in those uniforms look healthy and happy and very different from the kids that tap my hips and put their little hands to their mouths and ask for "fooood pleeeease".

Mukol, another Tick Tick driver tells me that the schools are very strict. You have to "wear clean uniform every day". You have to shower every day. You have to buy books and notebooks and pencils. I see the kids walking home from school in their little uniforms and they are full of life and great positive energy. It's a privilege to go to school in India and they know it.

I'm having a delicious South Indian dinner with Rosey, a caretaker of a B&B in Ganeshpuri, who invited us over for dinner one night. When I told her that sometimes it frustrated me that my students didn't seem to care about learning, she gave me some thoughtful, obvious and helpful advice. What struck me about her advice was that she had such strong clarity about the truth of what she was saying.

"You take one aside some time and you say, 'Your parents have worked hard so that you can come to school and be successful in your life. Your teacher works hard to help you to be successful in your life. Now you must decide if you will work hard to be successful in your life." Rosey's advice, and what I have seen gives me a thoughtful perspective about the privilege we all have with free, quality education.

Too bad Guru Purnima happens in July. I'd like to declare it a national holiday, but not a day off for the students. I wouldn't mind a new scarf and having my feet kissed a few times.

Street Food

Street Food

I'm a big fan of Bizarre Foods starring Andrew Zimmern. If you don't know about him, he's this jovial guy that travels the world and tries all kinds of, yep, "bizarre foods". I have sat for several hours watching episodes of his adventures in countries all over the world eating cow testicles, fish eyeballs, spiders, grubs, worms, maggoty cheese. In every episode he finds a market place and wanders about trying different street foods.

I watch and wonder what it might taste like to sink my own teeth into a fried scorpion. Or what entrails wrapped in intestines is like. I recall an episode where he walked the streets of Delhi, an area called "Chandni Chowk", trying varied golden deep fried morsels. Foamy, milky, creamy treats. All sorts of stuff that looked really appetizing on TV. I insisted that we plan a stop in Delhi and take a spin around that block.

Well, since I arrived here, I've had some new "insights" about the standard of clean for the vendors of these food stalls. Well, the standard of clean all over India has challenged all of my clean standards. I recently reassured my mother, who was concerned about my serenity in India, that it's amazing what a tolerance for dirt and a sense of humor has done for me while traveling.

Anyway. Let's just say that my eagerness to try street food has waned. A few "challenging" episodes with Indian restaurant food has made me "timid" about trying street food. I actually decided to cancel the stop in Delhi and just head south instead. But a part of me still felt like I was missing out on something. Passing by those crispy looking, fried balls of gold stuffed with spices and potatoes and all sorts of other surprises still called to me. My food shakti had been activated by my guru, Andrew Zimmern and now, I felt like a bizarre foods wimp. Andrew would have been disappointed in me.

Here in Varanassi, the holy city, as others were searching for their spiritual salvation, I found what I thought was my own salvation. It started with a stop at a food stand with our Tick Tick/Guide, Sokol. We stopped for a chai and I noticed a pile of those golden balls. I asked what they were and he told me they were samosas and within seconds I was trying one. Then I had to try one of the other balls, which was a tomato, stuffed with spiced potato and deep fried. It is then served chopped into pieces and covered in spicy, savory dal and chili sauce. Yep, they were delicious. I felt great. I was emboldened by my new enlightenment.

The next day John and I wandered out into the market around dinner time. The streets were alive with people wandering through all sorts of food stalls. Giant woks were bubbling with hot oil and men were scooping out all types of crispiness. People stood and sat around eating snacks out of little metal plates. We strolled up to a Momo stand. Momos are steamed dumplings filled with vegetables like potatoes, beans and corn. A nice boy quickly invited us to sit down and we began to eat these delicious, little morsels. We dipped them in spicy sauces. Next we wandered to a Dosas stand. Dosas are crispy, savory pancakes that you roll up and dip into spicy sauces.

I was so pumped. It was easy once you got started. Other foreigners stood by and were soon swept up into the snacking themselves. Indian boys got to practice their English on us. Andrew would have been proud of me. He frequently talks about the important connections that sharing food brings to different cultures. I felt like an ambassador for Bizarre Foods as I wandered about snacking my way to nirvana.

That is until...John commented on the fact that they probably used WATER in the sauces. "Oh my Shiva!" I had broken the cardinal rule of my Bizarre Foods Guru. Never drink the water.

Suddenly the water was everywhere. I went back into a stall to wash my hands and the plates were dripping with it. (No paper plates in India. Way too expensive.) Then there was the fresh fruit juice poured into a glass, with drips of WATER in it. Feeling a little strange, I started to wander back to our hotel and as I wandered I watched as young men squated on the filthy ground next to water dripping from an ancient faucet to rinse and re-use the little metal plates that lay on the wet ground. The waves of nausea started to surface. I envisioned myself with all sorts of unpleasant reactions that I need not describe any further. I eagerly sped home looking forward to my daily dose of antibiotics and a slug of BOTTLED water.

About the Guide Books

Guidebooks are great resources and they give wonderful advice, but sometimes it's important to just ignore the guidebooks and say "yes".

Lonely Planet guide warns that rickshaw drivers will want to be your guides and take you everywhere. So. my first instinct; when Abir met us at the train station, instantly told us that we reminded him of his mother and father, and offered to bring us to all the best places in Jaipur; was to say, "no thanks". But Abir's insistence and our politeness threw us together for the next day. He said he would be at our hotel at 11 and we would go to the Amber Fort. And we did, along with his brother-in-law Sabir. Sabir laid it on pretty heavy and had all types of activities planned for us. We tried to hold firm and slowly we found a place in the middle that we could agree on. So, Abir, coached by the experienced Sabir, was our personal tour guide for the whole stay in Jaipur.


Yep, we did it all wrong. We didn't agree on a fee in advance. We didn't insist that they do it our way. We just politely followed orders and had some great experiences as a result. When we went to the Monkey Temple, Abir introduced us to these two sweet little boys that were perfect guides and body guards for the wild monkeys all along the walk up the hill. We had chai with the locals and they were much more comfortable chatting with us, since we were friends of Abir and Sabir.

Along the way we got to know our guides and hear all about their lives in India. One of the traps I wanted to avoid while traveling was to get stuck in the "tourist" role the whole time. It's a tough role to escape since we are totally dependent on the tourist trades to get around. I had been feeling like a total tourist up until we got to know these folks. Abir showed us his family's business and, yep, we bought stuff from them, probably for more than we should have paid, which was still about 1/8 of what we would have paid in the USA. But we also got to know his family, have tea with them and share meaningful "broken English" conversations about America, India, politics, religion, family. Abir was sweet. He was about 20 and he had just started learning the trade of being a tick tick driver in India. This would probably be his only career and from the look of things. It was a pretty good job. We got to watch him be gently coached by Sabir as they drove us from site to site. I could tell that Sabir was truly interested in Abir's welfare. These weren't sneaky guys trying to take our money. They were hard working guys trying to earn our money. Sabir was smart and he had good business sense. He had a book of testimonials from other passengers that he shared to show us that he was good at his trade. It was great to watch Abir eagerly try to emulate his brother in law. John just told me that his fondest memory of Abir was when he finally got us to ride with him at the train station, he walked in front of us, arms outstretched, shewing away all the other rickshaw drivers. It is definitely a cut throat competition.

But I was determined not to get taken advantage of again, so when we arrived at the train station in Agra, I was all ready to lay down the law with the next rickshaw driver. When Mukul met us, he announced that we were his guests. That he would bring us places and show us the best shops and all that jazz. I guess I'm just a wimp because every morning, Mukul was at the Hotel Saniya and ready to bring us around. Thanks to my wimpiness, we had another great experience. Mukul taught us some Hindi. We joked about George Bush and Barack Obama. He drove that rickety Tick Tick the 30 kilometers to Fatephur Sikri. He showed us the best FREE place to watch sunset around the Taj Mahal. He recommended GREAT restaurants. We saw the town where he grew up and I got to learn a lot about Indian foods and schools and all kinds of interesting stuff that doesn't even get mentioned in the guidebooks. He also drove a Tick-tick like a NASCAR star. John and I exchanged several wide-eyed "oh-my-god-did-you-just-see-how-we-just-missed-that-camel" looks.

At the end of our stay in Agra, we hadn't paid Mukul a rupee. When we asked how much we owed him, he said whatever we wanted. He would be happy with just 100 rupees. He was very happy with what we paid him and we were happier with our stay in Agra than if we had followed the advice of the guide books.

The Streets of Jaipur

If you ever go to Jaipur, resist all of your natural instincts for self preservation and ride an auto rickshaw or "Tick-tick" through the many streets of the city. In fact, ask your driver to give you a tour of the city or even better, his own neighborhood.

I am still amazed at the variety of modes of transportation that I saw while praying desperately to be spared from any head on collisions with motorcycles, cars, trucks, bicycle rickshaws, bicycles, busses, tractors, horses, camels, mules, water buffalo and, yep, elephants. All of these different mechanical and non-mechanical creatures share the road.

Then there are all the other critters just wandering around on the streets like pigs, cats, dogs, chickens, small children, elderly men and elderly women. One of the guidebooks said the streets of India have their own rhythm, and I think I'm starting to see it. John wondered aloud the other day, "I can't decide if Indian drivers are the best drivers or the worst drivers in the world". I have come to the conclusion that they are the best. Even though they are breaking every rule of the road. Even though they lay on their horns with wild abandon. Even though they never brake for pedestrians. They maintain a calmness that just blows my mind. It's like their in a Zen state. I keep expecting to see some road rage or, at least some angry words, but it's all just part of the flow.

From the back of the Tick-tick, I can see the driver's facial expressions and he remains calm after another car nearly forces him off the road. Maybe I'm just a victim of Stockholm syndrome, (or whatever that syndrome is where you start love your captor) but I have been impressed with the skills of Indian drivers.

Here are a few pics captured from our own little Tick-tick.