Chandigarh

Here's the third one from my stepmom:

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It’s 10 am Tuesday here in Chandigarh, a 10.5-hour difference (later) from Ottawa time, and we’re getting ready to take the train to Delhi for one night and then spend seven nights on the train through Rajasthan, back to Delhi for next Wednesday, and leaving for Canada that night.

From yesterday's email -- did you know that each Hindu temple is dedicated to one of at least 300 gods? And can you guess where we were when Godfrey’s glasses were snatched? We were in fact at the temple of the monkey god Hanuman, of course! I guess we hadn’t angered him too much as he gave the glasses back!

Yesterday we spent the day at a local park called the Rock Garden. I kept on saying to Godfrey, “How will I ever describe this? They’ll never believe it.”

At first you enter this unassuming room (open to the sky) with a few odd-shaped rocks on broken-pottery stands but then it just keeps on growing -- bigger hallways and faux houses, little waterfalls and then bigger waterfalls, grottoes of towns and epic stories with hundreds of 18-inch tall ceramic men, monkeys, bears and monsters. At the end of it all, we emerged to a large courtyard filled with children from a local school playing soccer and swinging on swings that were 20 feet tall and suspended from stone archways. The only things real about the place were some lovely trees that edged the top of the stonewalls and even then some of the supposed tree roots were made of stone and cement.

One man, Nek Chand (clearly Joe Silverman’s Indian soul-mate), started this incredible park on a piece of land he didn’t own but that was subsequently bought by the government and turned into a park. Godfrey figures this surrealistic rock maze started small and turned into one huge obsession. But it is a lovely place filled with Indian families and school children having a good time and many of the children were curious and confident enough to come over and talk to us, which we quite enjoyed.

We’re now off to pick up my shawar kameez (Indian woman’s pants with a long tunic and scarf). I had picked up a cotton set earlier and found it quite comfortable to wear. The Indian women of all religions dress very modestly but few wear saris anymore.

Dharamsala and McLeod-Ganj

Here's the second e-mail from my stepmom:

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If two words could sum up India, they might be ‘blow horn,’ or rather as it appears on the back panels of all trucks, /B/L/O/W/H/O/R/N/. Gaily decorating trucks with a devil to ward away evil spirits attached to the rear bumper tooting their horns night and day. The constant blow horn of India is not the frustrated honking of Canada. Rather it is a greeting to the other drivers, politely letting them know that they are about to be passed on a one-lane road... and a warning to nearby pedestrians to run for their lives! The chaos that is India is always full of surprises and somehow it more or less works.

Three days ago on our way from Shimla, we walked up Jakhoo Hill (8,054 feet) to a Hindu temple. We were warned at the bottom to carry a walking stick, not for the steep climb but to scare away the monkeys. Red monkeys were everywhere, little newborns to big alpha males the size of a medium-sized dog.

At the top of the hill, there was a beautiful view of the Himalayas, a gaily-painted temple, and quite a few local people milling about. But we scarcely had time to take in the scene as one of our agile, mischievous friends jumped on Godfrey’s backpack and nimbly made off with his glasses!

I must tell you that we awoke that morning to the sounds of monkeys galloping back and forth over our tin roof. Over breakfast, I told Godfrey and Samantha the children’s story, "Caps for Sale." It’s about a peddler who has all his caps stolen by a troupe of monkeys. So back at our temple, there was Godfrey pretty well blind, Samantha holding onto her glasses tightly, and I was watching our monkey who was now on a tin roof holding onto his prize. I decided to keep a close eye on that monkey and fished out a cookie hoping that I might trade it for the glasses. No such luck and I decided to be smart and part with the cookie when a big alpha male at my feet looked decisively at both the cookie and then at me.

By this time, all his brothers, sisters and cousins eager for a little entertainment had joined our monkey on the roof. People had few suggestions on how to get the glasses back but then an older gentleman took a stone, threw it at the roof, and the monkeys scattered. I initially thought this wasn’t such a great idea but then I saw the one that I thought was our monkey was no longer holding the glasses. A search party quickly found the glasses on the ground, not too much the worse for wear. No doubt we were the best entertainment in town that morning – for the local people and the monkeys!

Friday night and Saturday we spent in Mcleodganj (i.e. McLeod Town – those Scotsmen were mighty lost!) near Dharmasala. In northwest India, it is the residence of the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan government-in-exile. One man told me that each January, many Tibetans trek over the mountains to meet in Mcleodganj and most then trek back to their families in Tibet. The trek takes 3-4 weeks each way and many lose toes and fingers to frostbite in the process but it is the only time of year that Tibetans can leave Tibet without reprisals by Chinese authorities. There is a large orphanage for Tibetan refugee children nearby.

I have to confess that I am completely captivated by the charms of the Tibetans. They have an unassuming manner and a wonderful sense of humour, all the more remarkable for the hardships they have suffered. We visited the Dalai Lama’s residence and the museum and monastery nearby. The monastery’s interior is covered in beautiful paintings depicting Buddhist beliefs. The monks, male and female, are clean-shaven and clad in gold shirts with wine-coloured robes. They are very friendly and the occasional one speaks some English.

They have various practices including one that I will call a debating game. At one point they broke into groups of three. One would sit on the ground and begin the discussion. As one monk explained, “This is to sharpen our minds. The one sitting will make an absolute statement such as all clouds are white. The one standing will refute it and it will go back and forth until one or the other runs out of responses.”

But this is no polite debating club and the debating is accompanied by much gesturing, good humour, stamping of feet, and clapping in an opponent’s face. I can only surmise the third monk in each group was there as referee. For monks who forsake violence, they sure are a rowdy lot!

That night we went to a vegetarian restaurant run by another monastery. The servers were monks (perhaps not the cook though) and the meal was delicious. As we were the last to leave, the monks themselves had also sat down for dinner. Much to her surprise, as we left I complimented the cook on the food and with a bit of a twist, threw in a great clap at the end of my little speech similar to what I had witnessed earlier that day.

The monks roared with laughter even though they hardly understood a word I said. And I was absolutely enchanted by people who could laugh at themselves so heartily and share a laugh with an incomprehensible stranger from halfway around the world!

We are having a wonderful time in this crazy India and despite the obvious poverty, are able to see past this to see a people filled with joie de vivre. We can't help but heartily agree with the young teenager who jumped in front of us this morning exclaiming, “I love my India!”

Delhi and Shimla

My stepmom, Pam, has drafted these colourful descriptions of our travels together with my dad and she has generously allowed me to post them on my website. They capture the essence of India better than I could have (and I'm too lazy to write my own accounts!) Here is one:

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India is wonderful, unbelievable, colourful and chaotic. Often it reduces you to laughter or sadness. 4 lanes of traffic weave into three lanes plus a donkey cart or elephant on the highway shoulder. Foods smell wonderful and occasional open sewers, not. The women and flowering trees are a rainbow of colour contrasting the grey dusty streets.

We've been to see an orphanage and woman's project sponsored by Child Haven, a local Ottawa charity. Despite the beggars often encountered, these projects and many others give a sense of hope. The orphanage is for Tibetan children who are refugees from the troubles in Tibet. They are very bright and full of laughter and regalled us with songs and what they are learning in school. The woman's project teaches young women to sew clothing that they can sell in the market. They also learn how to use the computer and learn some health and nutrition. There was a woman about my age who is a family planning teacher going door-to-door in a poor Delhi suburb giving away condoms and birth control pills. It was good to see these programs are in place despite American government pressure to the contrary.

Today we are in Shimla, about 250 km north east of Delhi, in the foothills of the Himilayas. In fact we can see the snow-capped Himilayas in the distance. We're up over 7600 feet so are finding it a little difficult to breathe at times. But it is beautiful and the people are all very friendly although few speak much English.

This morning we went to the top of the mountain, the old British viceroy's residence and British summer seat of government. It's also the site of the Simla Conference where Indian independence was negotiated in 1947. The structure is Elizabethan and dates over 200 years -- very beautiful. Some interesting pictures of the conference attendees with Gandhi at one point kicking up a storm in a crowd and Nehru sharing a belly-laugh with Lady Mountbatten (Indians say that they were in love).

Tomorrow we're off to Dharamsala, the site of the Tibetan government-in-exile and the residence of the Dalai Lama. Dharamsala is closer to Tibet in the west and is apparently very different in culture from the Hindu area we've been in to date.

Living in Luxury

Check out the review my house got from Ryan, an AIESEC trainee from the UK.

Yeah... my place is SWEET! (It's almost embarrassing!) Little do people know that I could never afford such luxury on my own.

Church in Chandigarh

Minni, my neighbour, who's about my age (24, I think?) asked me a few weeks ago if I could take her to church. She's Sikh, but she was curious to see what a church was like. So even though I hadn't been to mass at all in India, I woke up earlier than noon on a Sunday and took her to the only Catholic church in town, named simply "Catholic Church".

The outside of the church was stark, but beautiful. And the inside was also quite bare. Not enough benches for everyone, so they had fold-up chairs set up. There was standing room only in this church.

The priest made us all move to another building to start the services, I'm not sure why. There, we saw some little girls all dressed up in white, very frilly dresses. Maybe it was their first communion?

Singing was accompanied by this cheesy keyboard with a preset drum beat - lots of people singing hymns in English, Hindi and Punjabi.

After about half an hour in the building, we walked double-file back to the church. It was neat to see all the women lined up in their colourful Punjabi suits and salwar kamiz!

There they had a service, mostly in Hindi, so I couldn't explain it to Minni. It actually reminded me of my childhood Sundays spent as an altar girl in our Chinese church in Ottawa, where I couldn't understand most of the service.

The mass seemed nice, but it just went on and on and on... I thought it would never end... and maybe it didn't! After 2 hours, we decided to leave because it was showing no signs of winding down. They hadn't even had communion yet, nor dealt with the little girls dressed in white. That was the longest mass I have ever attended! Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't all masses in Canada end after 1 hour? I guess they are just more devout here (except for the other people who also left early, that is).

My poor neighbour! I think Minni was expecting us to just visit a church, take a tour around and then leave, which I think is what is done in a Sikh gurdwara (we'll find out when she takes me to the gurdwara). I didn't even think to tell her beforehand what a mass was and why we had to go at 9:30am on a Sunday. I just assumed she knew!

Luckily, I was kept entertained during the mass by this cute little toddler next to me. Her parents were trying to keep her occupied with some little knick-knacks, like a pen and a set of keys. I even lent her my caribeener for a little while. The poor unsuspecting man in front of her kept getting prodded, grabbed and poked in the bum with her pen! He was very patient though - just pretended that he didn't even notice. I think Indians must be used to kids being around.

Off to Delhi!

I have to get up EARLY tomorrow morning to go to Delhi. I have a massage booked in the afternoon (can't wait... my back muscles need it), then I'll pick up Dad and Pam at the airport. A few days exploring the sights in Delhi (and hopefully no more bomb incidents), then it's off to Shimla and Dharamsala. Should be fun!

See you in a week! Now I just have to start packing...

fizzle... crackle... BANG! BANG!

Just got home from the rooftop bbq at the Germans'. Had a nice view of the fireworks that have been going off steadily since it got dark and that I can still hear now. It's a good thing I fall asleep pretty easily. People were setting off crackers in the street, over our balcony, everywhere! All the houses were lit up with lights (like at Xmas) and candles, too.

I was informed by my neighbours that I absolutely HAD to put up at least a few lights. I had bought some diwali light holders (little clay dishes) and some cotton to roll into wicks (that I had been dutifully trying to make into wicks while watching tv - I tried different techniques - twisting, rolling, even braiding. Apparently just rolling will do.), but I hadn't had time to buy any oil. My neighbours gave me a shampoo bottle full of mustard oil and told me to give it all to my guard to set up some lights for me.

The neighbours also showed me the beautiful designs that they had made on the floor. They were both flower-like designs - one made with coloured sand outside and one with fresh flower petals inside. I'll have to try that next year. Will post pictures if I remember later.

I found out tonight that the fireworks will be going on again tomorrow night - tomorrow is a holiday for them as well. Too bad I have to work... Off to bed to test the sleep-deprivation-means-you-can-fall-asleep-no-matter-what theory.

Guten nacht! (I just learned that tonight.)