ECU In India

I couldn't resist....

2006-06-13T03:51:00.000-05:00

Here are a few good pix, taken by a few of us, during our travels through India.
There are a couple more articles in store for the Daily Reflector (June 17 and 25).

I may have a few more posts left in me just yet, so keep stopping by!
There are some shots of the waterfall in Dharamsala; a photo of Nathan with another stringed instrument; photos of a fine doctor from the Tibetan medicine school offering us a lecture on her profession; Dani holding a baby; a soda with so much carbonation that it yielded a rather large bubble.

Cooler Daze in India

2006-06-09T11:00:00.000-05:00

We have made it to McLeod Ganj, a Tibetan village just north of Dharamsala. The weather is cooler, the streets are safer and the flavor and tone of the region is very laid back and relaxing. There are more westerners here than in the other places we’ve visited.

In the past few days, we’ve taken quite a few trail walks in these hills, most notably to the Tibetan Children’s Village and to this massive waterfall. The source of the waterfall is the snow runoff from the Himalayan mountains a few hundred miles away. After climbing to the waterfall site, a few of us took the plunge and, for the first time in a month, got to swim.

Independent projects are underway these days. Ashley and Dani have met with a woman who conducts research on Tibetan nuns; JT has met a film director at the Tibetan Institute of Performing Arts; Nabeel has approached a doctor of Tibetan medicine and has a few capsules that he hopes to bring back home to analyze under a microscope and spectrometer; Bob has met with a Tibetan metal smith and continues with Aleta to craft collages of scraps and bits of Indian street life; James and Geoff will soon spend a few days in solitude on a meditation retreat.

It is interesting to be in McCleod Ganj. This is the home of the Dalai Lama, and many, many Tibetans who have fled China (which claims to view Tibet as part of China). The precariousness of the terrain seems to inform, or illustrate in some way, the careful balance required of surviving on the edge of a precipice. There is an unsettled feeling here in spite of the cozy, homey spaces the Tibetans have managed to carve out for themselves. They are refugees, but have managed to create institutions and organizations that will ensure that their culture and traditions will continue.

This is the final blog… as far as I can tell. I leave tomorrow morning for Delhi, and then I’m off back home to the United States. I may post a line or two of reflection when I get a chance.

The rest of the group will remain in Dharamsala for a few more days before they, too, leave India for the places they call home.

Thank you for reading and for your messages of support of our endeavors here in India.

Commerce and Communion in India...

2006-06-06T00:55:00.000-05:00

The latest article is up in the Daily Reflector... Check it out!

http://www.reflector.com/featr/content/features/stories/2006/06/04/india.html

2006-06-05T04:09:00.000-05:00

Amid the hundreds of robed monks and Buddhist tourists who come to the small Indian village of Bodh Gaya, there is a roadside shop that sells masks and chains. Key chains, that is. The masks are hyper bright and eerie-scary. It’s harder to say which is most scary: There’s Tweety Bird and Batman and a Donald Duck masks that are slightly off in their look and coloring, as though a warning signal has gone off because the masks before you do not jibe with the icon ingrained your mind. There are also silvery cat masks; a clown too pink to be pleasant, like everything you ever feared in a circus has culminated in this one mask. There are devil-masks, complete with horns, a few skeletons, and a lone mask of Hanuman (the Hindu monkey god). We felt oddly ill at ease looking at them, but like so many car wrecks, we had to stop.

And of course, for 20 rupees apiece, Nathan and I could not resist buying a few to share with our loved ones back home. A few days later, on the train from Gaya to Delhi, he tried to spook out our train attendant by taking his morning tea with the cat mask. The gesture elicited no response.

Bodh Gaya has been a great place for resting for us. In our own time, and as part of a group, each of us has made it to the Mahabodhi Temple, the site of the Buddha’s enlightenment. Of course, when he was actually here, there was no stories high monumnent, no crystal-embedded throne, no little stupas and pillars of worship dotting the areas. At the beginning, there was one simple tree and one man. The current bodhi tree at the site is a descendent of the original bodhi tree, according to the guidebooks.

One evening, James, Derek and I went to visit the temple after dark. It was a nice evening, and the moths and all light-loving insects (so, all of them) were out in full-force basking in the spotlights that illuminated the temple and the tree. We walked along the temple’s outer path, and then sat outside in front of the great bodhi tree. The tree is protected, behind bars, so to speak, to protect it. Two of its many large limbs are held up with metal supports and people offer it water daily. On occasion, the tree will drop a few leaves. From dawn to dark, people come to sit around the tree, or inside the temple, or on any one of the little platforms and cement shines that surround it. On this particular evening, as we sat under the tree, avoiding the insects that would haphazardly bombard us (but not bite or sting) from time to time, the three of us were able to watch a monk become ordained. It was a small ceremony, just a few family members were present and three monks in dark red robes. The man, whose head was already shaved close, was dressed at first in street clothes, a Tshirt and pants. At one point, he kneeled and offered the monks a beautifully folded cylinder of cloth. It occurred to me that these were his robes, and would soon become his sole possession. Monks of other orders (you can tell by the color and style of their robes), stood or sat around the small group. A few of them took photos and smiled with these giddy grins. There was one who clasped his hands, rejoicing at the site. At the end, his mother offered him his alms bowl, and many of us around the temple, gave small offerings of money, incense and food. The guard came by and said it was time to close the temple.

We left the temple and walked back to our hotel and heard loud music. We didn’t think too much of it, but when we arrived in the lobby, we found that JT and Jamie and Bret, Josh, Dani, Nabeel, Geoff, and Nathan were about to go where the music was. It turned out it was the beginning of a wedding, called the Bharat. The Bharat is a procession the groom’s family makes to the bride’s village. This particular bharat had the feel of a dance party parade. Leading the procession was a rattling generator, which fueled the cascade of lights and music that flooded the streets. Men balanced wheels of light and tinsel on their heads; there were others in red uniforms and band caps with trumpets and horns and drums at the ready in their hands. A Public Address system attached to a silvery cart was responsible for the musical broadcast. The parade had just started, and there was lots of dancing. Many of the boys in our group got pulled into the fray and danced in celebration of a couple they were never going to meet. They eventually filtered out of the craziness, one by one, and the parade went on its way, through the hard-packed dirt streets of Bodh Gaya, to a bride and her family.

Living in Transition and Stasis: Bodh Gaya

2006-06-01T06:18:00.000-05:00

In the past few days, we have transitioned geographically from Khajuraho to Varanasi. Now we have arrived in Bodh Gaya. We have traveled across the parched land by Jeep and train and motor rickshaw, passing the time by playing games, offering each other “top three” best songs of all time or catching a few zzz’s when we can. In Varanasi, we waited on a train platform for hours, melting from the heat and drinking overpriced bottled water and soda and Lays brand potato chips. Now that we are in Bodh Gaya, a feeling of calm has crept over the group. We know we’ll be staying here for a few days and we are glad to make whatever stasis we can find feel like home. This afternoon, Many of the students went off to see a matinee in Gaya. I have asked them to deliver a full report for the blog when they return.

Today is “Indian Dress” day. Nathan and James reported they received a few snickers from the hotel staff when they came downstairs this morning for breakfast. “It’s probably the equivalent of an Indian coming to America and wearing a full-garb cowboy suit,” Nathan joked. Many of them have fully embraced Indian music and clothes. Lynda, Dani and Ashley have bought saris or salwar kamiz. In addition to their kurtas (long shirts), a few of the guys, inspired by the two evenings of Indian Classical music in Varanasi, have bought sitars, tablas and a lone wooden flute. Nathan bought a pair of spiffy orange flip flops that gave him blisters. He’ll break them in yet.

It’s amazing to me how each place we visit has its own personality. Khajuraho, in spite of its beautiful temples, had the somewhat seedy feel of a beach town during the off-season. The tourist district around the temples relies heavily on people like us, and so to have 16 people drop in during the Hot Season was a boon for business. Varanasi, aside from the handful of touts and rickshaw drivers outside our hotel, felt too large and ancient to take any real notice that we were there. We were mere blips on its radar screen, just another group of people coming to see the famed Ganges River and to walk through its maze of colorful, narrow streets. In Bodh Gaya, the site of the Buddha’s enlightenment and home to the Mahabodhi Temple, there is a calmness unlike any other place we have visited. There are monks of many disciplines, with shaved heads and a range of colored robes, from saffron yellow of the Southeast Asian monks to the deep red hues of the Tibetans. There is space here for contemplation, and each of us in our own way welcome it fully.

I had the opportunity to visit Bodh Gaya in 1995 and it was interesting for me to see how much it had changed. There are certainly more shops around the Mahabodhi temple, and Internet stores are on every corner. But the Burmese Vihar (where I had stayed) is still operating. The streets are still dusty and made of hard-packed dirt. There are a great many new monasteries that have been built, including the stunning hundreds of feet high Buddha at the Japanese Temple. Yesterday, we visited sites very important to Buddhists. One is Vulture Peak in Rajagir, a place where the Buddha and his followers would stay during the rainy season. There we saw two caves, one where Ananda lived (the Buddha’s cousin) and the other where Sariputra lived (a chief disciple of the Buddha). The peak area is where a rather famous sutra, known as the Heart Sutra, was first expounded. It offers an outline of the key concepts of “nothingness” in Buddhist philosophy.

When we arrived, there were little shops and trinkets and wastebaskets in the form of penguins and rabbits. This was not as I remembered Vulture Peak. There was a brick-paved walkway, and a few meters away, a colorful ski-lift that would bring you to the top of the mountain (but not to Vulture Peak). To my surprise, the entire path to both caves and the peak was paved. Touts with mallas and books and postcards followed us on our walk. A pack of dogs did as well. These were the most relaxed dogs I have ever seen. I think they dug our “pack” and liked being part of it. They didn’t beg or call attention to themselves in any way. They simply liked the company; they liked going for a walk like any other dog might. When we reached Vulture Peak, instead of the natural plateau that overlooked the valley, there was a brick-constructed shrine area, and a brick wall that served as a sort of observation deck. There a man in a dhoti offered each of us a stick of incense and a silk lotus flower to place on the shrine. The shrine was too intricate, shiny gold and white silk and platters of offerings and flowers and money. In the center, right before the Buddha, was a good old American Ben Franklin. It kind of set the tone for me, even though I placed the incense and flower and a money offering somewhere on the shrine. Where was the open, natural space? Why were people demanding offerings and trying to sell us things? Why had the road to this sacred place become so accessible?

After a half hour, we walked down the path and there we found our little pack of dogs waiting for us. We descended to the foot of the mountain, past the postcard salesmen and Limca soda vendors, past the beggars and penguin wastebaskets and men selling Kit Kats and into the refuge of our air conditioned bus. It was hard not to feel disappointed by the change in the feel of Vulture Peak. But many religious sites in India now have a tourism edge to it. On the one hand, making these sites family friendly is a feasible way to build tourism and the economy. Many Indians who go on vacation oftentimes visit religious sites in their own country. There is no Disneyland equivalent here. On the other hand, the question of how attempts to modernize and upgrade changes the tone and feel of these spaces cannot be ignored. Just by being here, we are in a way contributing to it.

But I have to wonder: What would have happened if the path to Vulture Peak was always this easy?

No lions or tigers on Jungle visit...

2006-05-31T07:47:00.000-05:00

James Entry….

Thursday, May 25, we had some time before our midnight departure from Khajuraho, so we decided to venture to the outskirts of the city and view the waterfall. We were informed earlier that the water had dried up in the hot season so there was just a “fall” (no water) but having viewed most of the temples in the area already we were up for a change of scenery.

The beautiful rock structures of the fall gave a real impression of the incredible amount of time that had passed to create it. Surely the gorge must rival the majesty of our own Grand Canyon. It was hard to believe that where we were standing would soon be covered with water during the Monsoon season. We saw photographs of the very spot. The silence of this place was spectacular. We all enjoyed it amid the occasional lively philosophical conversations between evolution versus creationism.

Our tour guides took us further into the park, down a nature train by Jeep and we saw several kinds of animals. There were many antelope, described as “big deer” by Josh. And on the way out, we stopped to observe a group of black-faced monkeys that had congregated in the woods. They looked like animals until you see them interacting and then you can’t help but notice how human they seem. We never did see any tigers or crocodiles. They were too smart to come out in this heat.

Upon our return to the hotel we stopped at an extremely small village and handed out a few pencils to the residents. I don’t think they had visitors often, so we were quite the center of attention when we arrived. I think we were all surprised at how different things were, only a few kilometers outside of Khajuraho. It was a great cultural experience.

James Tyndall

A reflection on Transplant Shock

2006-05-30T07:19:00.000-05:00

Transplant Shock

I am an orchid. My husband is a dandelion.
My name is Aleta Braun. His name is Robert Ebendorf. If you are a regular with this blogspot, then you met him last week. We are both artists.

Several summers ago, we spent most of the season on the road, visiting friends, living out of the car. While I took a painting class at Art New England in Bennington, VT, Bob taught a class in Shrines, Altars and Icons. Before leaving Greenville, we each packed a box or two that we labeled “Aleta studio” and “Bob studio”. The plan was that when we arrived at each point along the way, we would unpack what we needed and set up our little portable studios. The engine on the car hadn’t even cooled and Bob was unpacked, installed and I could hear the ping ping of his little hammer on metal or the snip snip of scissors on paper for collage material.

Meanwhile, my “Aleta studio” box sat on the table as I was scoping out the situation, going for a walk through my new neighborhood – generally assessing the lay of the land, “getting the feel of the place in my senses”. This is a time when I need to sink my roots into the new soil before expecting to see a blossom. Bob, as a dandelion, was doing something similar but it’s easier to have the right conditions for growth.

It takes a while to begin to see a pattern emerge. A few years passed before I named our behavior in terms of flowers. Over time, I watched as Bob would quickly acclimate like a weed to any environment. I, on the other hand, require the right conditions to survive and thrive. If the conditions are too harsh, it invokes “Transplant Shock”.

During the month before our departure for India, Bob and I were soaking and planting last year’s seeds from the Moonflower plants the Butterfly Moths so enjoyed in our backyard at dusk. It was an enjoyable springtime project that allowed us to watch the growth of the seedlings by the minute. After they were large and sturdy enough, Bob planted several in the ground. The next day he was concerned, “the ones I planted yesterday look sort of droopy compared to the ones that are still in pots on the deck.” “They’re suffering transplant shock,” I answered and explained that the quick change in environment gives the plants a jolt and it takes a while for them to adapt as they sink their roots into the new soil. “They’ll be back to normal in a few days.”

We arrived in Delhi 12 and a half hours after taking off from Ohare Airport. I was actually feeling pretty energized after taking a homeopathic remedy called “No Jet Lag”, but nothing can prepare a person from eastern Carolina for the overload of the senses that awaits you on the streets of the Pahar Ganj district in Delhi.

Nothing hindered our arrival at the Star Paradise Hotel, across wider streets into a narrower one, across cow dung and mangy dogs, along a dimly lit passageway with public pissoires, merchants with carts or shops, chaotic travel that later reveals itself as a language of horns, headlights, shouts and gestures designed for the safe and rapid transit of everyone involved, under a crisscrossing tangle of dusty black utility wire, into our people-only alleyway and through the doorway of our new Delhi home.

It didn’t take long to realize that “we were not in Kansas anymore, Toto”. The water, the pillows, the bedsheets, electricity, generators. It was kind of like camping in a room. Within minutes of lying down to sleep, Bob’s breathing shifted into that familiar soft sound of sleep while I lay awake for hours in spite of exhaustion. This sleep trend continued for days, rather nights. The very act of falling asleep, that millisecond of changed breathing, seemed to push me right back into consciousness. Within a few day , I was sick with fever. The sleepless nights were full of anguish and deep peacefulness, a crazy mixture of obsessive thinking and joyful half-awake reverie and prayerful meditation. “What was I thinking when I decided to spend a whole month in India?”; “I wanna go home!” I hadn’t yet arrived in India. My mind was struggling with the differences; the assault on the senses; my sense of cleanliness, personal space and order. Chaos seemed to hold the upper hand. Where is the equal measure of order? The patterns hadn’t yet revealed themselves to me. My usual avenues to happiness via beauty, nature and connection hadn’t yet thrown me a bridge to this new culture. Nor were my eyes open. I had pulled my resources inside for self-preservation. I was experiencing transplant shock.

Because I work professionally with people’s health through their feet and hands, (Reflexology), I always consider it an insightful gift as well as growth potential for compassionate understanding when I myself am challenged with a sickness. The delicate balance of vulnerability one feels isn’t readily seen as a doorway to new possibilities. What worked for me during those long hours of sleepless nights was a continuous return to the breath, which relaxed my body and mind. The amazing thing is that I never felt tired during the days.

The next day by mid-morning Bob and I followed a hotel worker through the curving maze to Dr. Pancholi’s clinic, a very simple whitewashed place that gave me a good feeling once inside. He gave me the reassurance, medication and advice to let me know that all would be well. I knew this myself, but when vulnerability sets in, it’s good to put together a team of allies.

Later that day, I was writing in my journal when my body mind and spirit arrived in India.
…one of the many men on our hotel lobby who appear to be workers was our guide. Bob gave him 40 ruppees. The streets leading there were full of sights, sounds and smells. Children sitting on crates peeling and cutting onions. Flies everywhere. Men making and heating chapatis. Cows lying down. Cows walking. A man tenderly stroking the ears of a reclining cow. I saw the sensuous bud of a horn emerging from the crown. ( I just realized I am now here. I have arrived!) Ah, the body mind connection. My senses are awakening.

This moment of awakening triggered the signal to send out my first transplant roots into the new soil. I am here. I am happy, healthy and enjoying myself, the special time with my husband, the group, the people of India. The orchid part of me is thriving, gathering information through well laid roots that will translate into vibrant green and beautiful blossoms. Bob, my dandelion, hasn’t missed a beat.

I wonder how the moonflowers back home are doing?

By train and boat, Transit-ion afoot....

2006-05-28T08:14:00.000-05:00

Click here for the latest article in the Daily Reflector!

We are now in Varanasi, and there is some complication with me using my trusy USB drive to post photos. So I'll post them when I can. But we are all well.

We took a late night train from Mahoba (the closest train station to Khajuraho) to Varanasi and rode in sleeper cars. It was nearly 2 a.m., by the time we boarded the train and promptly fell asleep in our compartments. It looks impossibly small at first for eight people per pod to sleep but we were all pretty comfortable. In the morning, we played a range of games: cards, Travel Scrabble (Nathan won), chess and checkers.

We took a sunrise boat ride along the Ganges River yesterday morning in Varanasi. It was a stunning array of colors along the ghats (steps that lead to the river). There are dozens of ghats in Varanasi and each one has its own function along the river. Hindus from all over India come to visit the Ganges and to bathe in it. Even though our group is interested in fully experiencing India and all of its religious traditions, none of us was willing to bathe in its sacred but dirty waters.

We visited Sarnath, a place where the real Buddha gave his first teaching after enlightenment.

Varanasi is home to beautiful textiles and music. We found a ery good shop near where we are staying at the Assi Ghat. For the past two nights we have enjoyed classical Indian music concerts, and a few of the students have taken lessons in tablas or sitar or flute or voice. A few have even taken the plunge and bought some rather large, um, instruments. I can't wait to see how they transport.

We leave for Bodh Gaya tomorrow... can't wait! I may post a few photos later if I can...

Erica

2006-05-25T05:35:00.000-05:00

Here are a few photos... enjoy!

Yoga police at the Taj...

2006-05-25T05:31:00.000-05:00

Bret, in his wisdom, decided to do yoga at the Taj Mahal in Agra the other day and nearly got kicked out. He had just received that morning his first-ever Indian shave-and-a-haircut and looked to the untrained eye quite authentic in his new white kurta (a long shirt) and pants. And there he was, in full-fledged sun salutation, making himself at home with the downward dog and cobra postures. He is a tall man and when he stretches out, he grows even taller. For all his height he remains graceful and at ease in the pose, and for the ten or so of us who were relaxing around the perimeter of the Taj it was enjoyable and relaxing to watch.

Geoff, who is always game for something new, joined him and together they stretched amid the tourists and the marble mausoleum. Ten minutes had passed and a guard came over to Bret and asked, “Is that yoga you are doing?” Well, yes, it was. She told Bret to stop practicing yoga, and trouble started when Bret asked why. Another guard arrived a few minutes later with a pistol (and had a back-up man who wielded a rifle). He made it clear with his presence (but perhaps not in his words) why Bret couldn’t finish the sun salutation. What we could piece together was this: the Supreme Court of India ruled that (?) no photographs of people doing yoga could be taken at the Taj Mahal. I have to say we were surprised that this question would have become a matter for consideration by the Indian Supreme Court. The guard said that, anyone could do yoga out on the lawns, but any photos that we had of people doing yoga at the Taj Mahal would have to be deleted. The issue wasn’t the yoga itself, he said. It was the documentation of it. My feeling is that Bret wanted to continue to debate this matter, test the boundaries of performing (in its origin) a Hindu stretching exercise at a Mughal Islamic temple. Perhaps the prospect of the gun, and having to sit in his white kurta on the dirty floor in an Agra jail cell deterred him from taking the matter further.

Weathered by our senses...

2006-05-24T05:42:00.000-05:00

Sorry we haven’t been posting for the past day or two; I have been a bit busy “on deadline” I like to call it, attempting to assemble the next article for the Daily Reflector. It will run on Saturday, so keep an eye out for it!

We are in Khajuraho in the off season. We toured the temples of the Chandela Dynasty, melting in the heat. The temples were built in the 10th through 13th centuries and there are 32 still remaining. Each temple honors a Hindu God or Goddess (Vishnu, Siva, Kali) and its exterior is inlaid with sandstone sculptures. The day grew hotter and hotter and many of us felt completely fatigued, baking in the sun, listening to our docent talk about the sculpture. One of the last temples was in honor of the god, Surya, also known as the sun god. As we headed for the temple, the sky suddenly paled and became overcast and thunder rumbled in the air. We ran toward the temple (removing our shoes) as a strong wind blew over us and the rain began to fall. So grateful for the rain, I handed my bag and shoes to Lynda and ran out into the storm, taking in the drops as they stung and slapped my face. I was soon joined by Dani and a few others. The wind was so powerful, it might have swept both Dani and me away if we hadn’t been clinging to each other.
“The rain yesterday was liberating,” Dani said afterwards. “I mean, that was on the list: get caught in a rainstorm in an exotic location. I can cross it off the list.”

For me, I felt like the entire day worked to pound out aspects of my senses in extreme ways: the sun nearly dried me out. The rain soaked me thoroughly and the wind nearly blew me away. A gathering of lime green parrots convened in a tree at dusk as we walked toward the Siva temple. Upon entering the temple, each person had to ring a bell at the threshold overhead, and we stood on the stone mound around a huge lingam (a stone cylinder) and the men began to chant and clang gongs in rhythmic pattern. It grew louder and the vibration of the chanting rang through my body and rattled my eardrums. The extremes of the day left me peaceful. I felt weather-beaten: baked by the sun, blown by the wind, doused by the rain, and moved by the sounds of people as they pray to god.

In the news....

2006-05-21T20:01:00.000-05:00

http://www.reflector.com/local/content/news/stories/2006/05/21/20060521GDRindia.html

Sahelian: Friendship in Hindi

2006-05-21T19:53:00.000-05:00

Opportunities for friendships exist wherever we go. Just this morning, a sign for Mehndi (a henna temporary tattoo) caught our eye as we walked down a small but busy street in Agra. Our whole group (minus Dani, who had to catch up on a few z’s) had just enjoyed breakfast at a rooftop restaurant and had taken in the view of the Taj Mahal as the sun rose (we arrived at 6:30 a.m.). All the gals had discussed getting Mendhi, and when Linda and I saw a sign “home Mendhi,” we knocked on the door and were greeted by a very kind Siddiqi family. From an expansive collection of henna booklets, Reshma and Nabiya helped us pick out a few patterns for our hands and they began the task of pasting our hands in intricate floral patterns. I know how a cake must feel when it is getting iced. We bantered about in English and some Hindi, and the brothers were both very helpful to me as I tried to grasp their language. In the midst of having our hands painted, I learned a few new words in Hindi, the most important being Saheli (friend) another was sundaree (beautiful). We took milk tea, my favorite beverage in India, aside from lime soda and lassi. Actually, I can’t make up my mind. The entire family was so cordial and friendly and within an hour our hands were covered in a stiff paste the color of dark chocolate. The red stain began to set on our skin and we pledged to return in the evening for the final treatment.

We then returned to our hotel to pick up our tickets for the Taj Mahal and to touch base with our group. Our hands were stiff and we were afraid to move them too much and so everything we did was with one hand. Fortunately for me (as a Southpaw, along with Forrest), my strong hand was free. We walked through the streets again and saw Bob and Aleta who told us to go see Raam at the Gupta medical Shop. Because my arm was scraped by the wheel of a donkey cart earlier in the day, and I needed a bandage of some sort, we went to see Raam. We approached a small shop and saw a man sitting behind the counter. We asked him, “are you Raam?” he looked at us with surprise. He did not know how two foreign women knew his name, and, just earlier, two other Indians had approached him at random and said, “are you Raam?” For a moment, he told us, he thought he was getting famous, but he wasn’t sure how. He noticed our mehndi and mentioned that his sister teaches mendhi and invited us into their home to meet her. There we met Viruvru (forgive the spelling; Raam if you read this, please write with the correct spelling of your sister’s name), who was reading from an English-Hindi reader. We sat and talked and the fan was turned on; Raam’s mother appeared with hot chai and a cousin named Pami arrived. Pami is in tenth grade and enjoys studying biology, and so she and Lynda hit it off immediately. They talked about becoming doctors (Lynda is going to medical school in the fall) and Viruvru and I read from her school book. Our circle of friends widened when Bob arrived. Raam’s father called him out into the street, and moments later he appeared with Bob. More hot tea was delivered and we sat and talked about our lives. I told them how my husband was a goldsmith/professor and we learned that Viruvu (spelling!) not only had an MA in sociology, but that she also studied acupressure and excelled at sewing. She is also in the process of looking for a husband and we have no doubt that a woman of her talents and beauty will find a most suitable groom. In Raam’s shop is a super-fly computer (he is studying to be a software engineer) and I showed him our blog. His little sister gave each of us an image of Ganesh from her collection. We expressed our thanks and gratitude went back to our hotel for lunch.

It has already been a full and satisfying day, and Lynda and I have yet to pass through the gates of the Taj Mahal. Enjoy the photos… we are leaving for Khajuraho tomorrow by train and jeep and I can only hope that there will be Internet access.

Erica

2006-05-21T05:26:00.000-05:00

Derek in India #2

We rose near sunrise and walked to a nearby hotel with a rooftop view of the Taj Mahal. As the sun soaked the eastern face of the domes and minarets, the city began to awake. Somewhere distant, a single voice sang, accidentally accompanied by a blacksmith's rhythmic pounding, resounding from some other quarter. Gradually, activity came alive on nearby rooftops came to life. A man fed table scraps to a trio of monkeys. Another man contemplated his hands as he sat framed by a yellow doorway. Below, boys gazed skyward, their hands darting and tugging, working their kitestrings. At first, they displayed their skill by causing the kites to spin and swirl, but suddenly, one colored kite moved under a white one higher up. The sawing began, and the white kite fell to the ground defeated.

Elsewhere, jewel-green parrots flapped and soared and comlained upon landing. Groups of pigeons cut and jutted with military precision at the command of some unseen hand.

And all the while, the perfect symmetry of the Taj Mahal stood before us, its curves and lines playing with the changing light and shadows.

Our conversation lagged at first as we gazed from the sublime to the mundane. Bit by bit, monkeys' antics called forth a comment from one of us, and slowly all the expected discussions emerged. One table explored movies and snipers and electronic equipment, another sifted through the minutia of small change in India, and yet others stand and stare in the distance, occasionally sharing muffled remarks and silence.

And now, the city has opened its eyes, stretched, yawned, and sat up. Horns chirp and blare in annoyance below us, as birds chatter and whistle above. The smell of rotting eggs that greeted us at dawn has been replaced by the scent of wood smoke and cooking bread. The sun strengthens, and the day has arrived.

Dancing with Cricket...

2006-05-20T07:14:00.000-05:00

Whether we are crashing a courtyard game of cricket, or spending an evening as the guests of a wonderful Delhi family, we have squandered no opportunities for friendship and fun here in India.

It’s hard to say who has made more friends: Bret, with his sackful of toys (including a 1986 Back to the Future car from McDonalds), or JT, who teaches Secret Handshakes and magic tricks to the children who scamper alongside us to practice their English skills and to maybe nab a coin or two if they’re lucky.

When in the Pahar Ganj, we discovered yesterday morning that it is far more preferable to travel by bicycle rickshaw. A gaggle of rickshaws delivered us to meet our bus and instead of clomping through the busy road avoiding auto rickshaws and sleeping dogs, it felt as though we were floating down a river, careening past the busy streets and over the cow patties and puddles that are characteristic of this busy neighborhood.

We had another full day today, going first to Humayunum’s tomb (sp.), an expansive monument built for a Mughal emperor by his wife in the 16th century. Derek told us that after the two designers deemed it complete, they were immediately executed.

We also met with officials from the United States Educational Foundation In India, (USEFI) to talk about study abroad programs and grant opportunities for future travel to India. They told us that 80,000 Indians go to American schools each year; but only 1500 come to India to study.

Our last stop was the Bahai temple, a lotus-shaped building with a luminous marble exterior. One must be silent inside of the temple, and aside from the sound of bodies shuffling in and out of seats, no noise could be heard. A docent for the temple told us that the building was in the shape of a lotus because the flower has high symbolic power for Hindus and Buddhists. “The lotus is the national flower of India. It grows in a dirty swamp. But it is not in the swamp; it is above the swamp,” our docent said. “The Baha’i faith gets rid of all social prejudices. If we can rise above the prejudices, world peace is in our path.”

We had a strange dust and rainstorm fall upon us as we walked from our bus back to the hotel. I learned just now it is the first winds of the monsoon. We arrived damp and covered in dust and other roadside debris, shaken and miserable. But happier times were ahead, and we spent the evening with Gaurav and his family (see earlier entries) at a beautiful social club in the embassy district of Delhi. We stuffed 17 people (no kidding) into two vehicles. Of course the “how many clowns” joke emerged and we had a rollicking good time as Gaurav drove us to the club. The grounds were beautiful, and families languished on the grass or in small clusters of tables. They had arranged for all of our group to have dinner with them. Gaurav’s mother, Manju, welcomed us warmly and ordered dinner and within a half an hour plate after plate of curry and chicken tikka and breads emerged from the open-air restaurant along the perimeter. We had a beautiful time, and the rain stayed away, although rumbles of thunder across the city could be heard from time to time. The best part about this evening is that we are all seeking many more like it when Gaurav, his wife Gunja and baby girl, return to Virginia in a few weeks. Bob’s cogs were already cranking along these lines and he has invited them (as I had) to come to Greenville later this summer. In discussing differences and similarities between India and America, Manju said that for her, strengthening ties with family and friends was what was most important to her. “Now, I have just widened my circle,” she said.
So have we, Manju. So have we.

We have just arrived in Agra by train. The trek from Delhi to Agra was easily one of the most easy and streamlined transitions this country has seen. Practically flawless. Thanks to Derek and our tour guide Chung-pa (sp.). We’ll visit the famed Taj Mahal tomorrow (no, not of the Donald Trump variety!)

Life in technicolor: a dispatch from Bob Ebendorf

2006-05-20T05:50:00.000-05:00

May I first introduce myself. My name is Robert Ebendorf. I am a professor at ECU in the School of Art and Design. It was such a gift to have Dr. Derek Maher ask if I would like to join his group to be part of this odyssey to India. Many of us have never before had the opportunity to experience this cultural enrichment. Today in our global community, the world of communication and education are truly one of the ways not only to enrich oneself but to bring about understanding and harmony between people. Let me share with you a few of my first impressions and experiences upon arrival in New Delhi, India.

It has been interesting to experience the unfolding of the tapestry that Dr. Maher prepared for us in our initial meetings during the months before our departure. Perhaps some of the things that I would like to share with you at this moment come from my background of being a jeweler and working with small details, measurements, use of color, design and form along with problem solving. We all have spent many hours walking and exploring Pahar Ganj, the district where our hotel is located. It is truly a 24 hour circus of people, sounds, smells and motion. There are stalls and vendors on both sides of the narrow streets with a river of people, cows, bicycles, motorbikes, dogs and children coming and going. I have found it interesting to view the many shops and open air stalls along the walkways. The vendors might display a selection of padlocks and keys, not one example, but perhaps 50 of different sizes and various metals. The next woman will be sitting with a table of vegetables arranged in a unique design layout while the following will display a collection of wristwatches and pocket watches while another proves that the watches are waterproof by having them immersed in yellow plastic tubs with 5 inches of water. Then there will be a man and a young boy offering a selection of food that they are preparing using charcoal for heat. At the same time, if you are not careful you could very easily be run over by a Vespa or a three wheeled autorickshaw or run into a cow.

The way that I view all of this is from my personal visual perceptive, the multitude of colors, shapes and forms in the many stalls in many ways become a Jasper Johns painting or a contemporary textile weaving. If one were to look up and examine the electrical wires moving from pole to pole or building corner to building corner the craziness of the wires looping, being tied on, dangling, tied back on become a graphic line drawing. This mixture of humanity, energy and colors become a vortex that draws me in. It has truly been for me a gift to be here in the moment and experiencing India and her people with their many fascinating component parts. We have just begun and I am sure that there are many experiences yet to unfold that will enrich my life both creatively and spiritually.

Water politics... a dispatch from Geoff

2006-05-20T05:47:00.000-05:00

Geoff’s blog entry #1
May 18, 2006
4:35 a.m.

I am lying in bed right now, anticipating my alarm in 2 hours. Maybe it’s the jet lag, or maybe it’s some mystical aura surrounding being in India, but I am not at all tired. I fell asleep around 12:30 and awoke pleasantly after a dream about Ween’s “Here there Fancypants” being strummed (or rather plucked) on a violin at an ECU Orchestra concert. I have not yet gotten sick in India although I feel it is inevitable. I am not the most careful of people when it comes to hygiene in the United States, often drinking tap water from outdoor spigots, swimming in the Tar and Neuse Rivers with impunity, and eating food fallen to the floor. I can only hope that my lack of hygiene in the U.S. will support my health in India, my body already being resistant to monera and protists in the food and water. It’s either that or the pool water I’ve been drinking here, the odor and flavor of which I’ve become incredibly appreciative. Though strong at first, the scent reminiscent of my days as a youth swimming in lightly chlorinated outdoor pools reassures me that the water is good to drink. I have not yet even used Bret’s ‘holy filter’ instead relying only on my decontamination tablets. The tablets are great. Each package contains a warning label urging the user to not touch the pill, that it’s corrosive, harmful if swallowed, if in eyes, if on skin, etc. One is also supposed to wait 4 hours after inserting a tablet into a liter of water. Either this is the reaction time for Cl to neutralize organisms or this is the half-life of the chemical. If the latter, then the 4 hours is to ensure that the pill won’t kill you as well as Pete the Paramecium and Allen the Amoeba.
Showering at night is a good idea. I smelled terrible a few hours ago. I suppose this is all for now.

Purity and pollution

2006-05-18T08:55:00.000-05:00

In an effort to prepare us for the glorious chaos of India, Derek discussed during our first few organizational meetings how purity and pollution manifests in Indian life and culture. We see pollution in many neighborhoods, scraps of trash and waste, cows and dogs and chickens roaming the dusty streets, the haze that hovers over Delhi in the morning. We also see evidence of purity, perfection in the structured spaces of the Red Fort and the design of that Jantar Mantar sundial. There are streetside shop vendors who, in spite of the dusty chaos around them, offer perfectly stacked hands of bananas and melons and cloth. Others walk through traffic with a platter of diamond-shaped slices of coconut arranged in the shape of a curved wreath perched on one hand. In our group, we seek out filtered water, tablets, and bottled mineral water. We drink, at minimum, three litres a day to avoid dehydration and general fatigue. Yet sometimes the elements, no matter how much water one drinks, no matter how much protection we seek from sunblock and repellant, will trump us and our sensibilities. It was a hot day, and many of us toted two litre bottles of water. We made our way, via tourist bus, to the Red Fort, built by Shah Jahan from 1628 to 1638, just after the completion of the Taj Mahal when the Mughal emperor decided to move the capital north from Agra to Delhi. Beyond the brick red stone walls of the fort are clusters of marble buildings offering detailed inlay. 32 gardens and many open spaces. Given the hot day and the buildings’ marbled floors, it was easy to see how the Mughals managed to keep cool in weather like this. In its heyday, canals of scented water channeled through the fort. Before we toured the Red Fort, we found a cool space under a tree and Derek offered a brief lecture about the history of the Red Fort. A few men and some families, drawn by the small crowd that our group (by definition) makes, sat and stood among us as Derek continued his lecture about Shah Jahan and the creation of the Red Fort. He told us that the idea of creating a place like the Red Fort embodied Muslims ideas of what heaven or paradise might be like. “These beautiful gardens and flowing waters offered a beautiful vocabulary of describing life after death for many people,” Derek said. “Many of them lived in the desert, and so the words they used to describe heaven are water and lush gardens.” While we were nearly the only western tourists visiting the Red Fort that day (we saw perhaps two or three other westerners), there was no shortage of Indian tourists and school groups of children. Everyone was there on holiday and our time there had this sense of playful leisure that hasn’t quite yet manifested among people we’ve met in the street. Many of us were approached by children and young men, wanting to have their picture taken. There were many giggles and exchanges of: “Where are you from?” We readily complied. From the Red Fort, we walked on the sidewalk amid what felt like a small circus, to the Jama Masjid (an Islamic mosque). There were vendors who sold fake beards and fans and postcards. One man napped, with a scale before him, as he waited for someone who would pay him a few rupees to be weighed. Another sold fresh slices of peeled cucumber, which looked tempting and refreshing in spite of the dusty street and lack of refrigeration. We saw a pair of elephants on the street, and one of them sprayed their nose-jazz on JT. We dodged through traffic to make it to the mosque, walked through a marketplace and climbed the steps to India’s largest mosque. The afternoon prayers were about to begin, however, and the guards did not want to let us in, even for a moment, to view its interior. Our shoes were already off. Lynda, Danielle and Ashley had bought head scarves. I had mine on, too. Nabeel, who is Muslim, was allowed to enter. We all waited outside as the conversation continued somewhere else about whether we would be allowed in. We were not. People moved in and out of the great metal doors of the mosque. And just above us, three loudspeakers carried a sonic version of the activities within the great building. A man sang the call for prayers. It enveloped every molecule around us. Stunning. Nabeel emerged from the mosque and we walked to the bus, which was parked on the other side of the building. To get to the other side, we walked down the hundreds of steps through a beggar’s alley (so it seemed) for there was no shortage of women and children who sought out photos from us, who wanted rupees, etc. In spite of being shut out of the mosque, many of us felt buoyed after having heard the call to prayer. The reality of the poverty in India emerged too soon for some of us. We found the bus and had lunch at the YMCA in Delhi. The YMCA here houses travelers, offers aryuvedic services, and has a fine restaurant. In spite of the sustenance, somewhere between the heat of the afternoon, the mosque-to-beggar’s alley dynamic, and the last few resonances of jet lag, exhaustion had set in for many of us. Rather than going outside to see the ghat where Ghandi was cremated, we visited the mostly air conditioned National Museum. There was an exhibit of Buddhist sculptures and thangka paintings, and the lone remnant of the historic Buddha’s bone. It was enshrined in a tiered wedding-cake shaped pillar of gold and sealed in a protective see-through case. We made it back to Pahar Ganj, where naps never felt so good, where rice pullao was a phone call away, and where the Internet provided slow but steady access to the world outside. We leave Saturday (super-early) for Agra… not sure how reliable the Internet will be in the next couple weeks, but I’ll send dispatches when I can! -Erica

Day 2: Mr. Toad's Wild Ride in an Auto Rickshaw

2006-05-17T21:22:00.000-05:00

James remarked earlier today (May 17) that he felt like he had been here for about a week. I concur. This day has been so full, so varied, that each hour feels like a 24hour period. At 11 a.m., after the flurry of dollars-for-rupees exchange at the money changer down the street, and spending a good hour in the communications store next door, reading email and making arrangements to meet for lunch with Gaurav, a friend of my friend Nancy, we walked to the entrance of the Delhi Railroad Station. The ever-capable Derek arranged on the spot for each of us to travel in groups of three by auto-rickshaw to the famed Connaught Place. Some call it the Connaught Circus. Geoff, wedged between Danielle and Erica, noted excitedly that the rickshaw reminded him of an unpredictable version of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride at Disneyland. I found out later from Gaurav that the rickshaws (actually nicknamed “autos”) as well as the public buses run on natural gas. It occurred to me that the distinct scent and haze of diesel fumes did not hang in the air, as they had in Nepal so long ago.

Our driver was a bit surly at times, and would attempt to drop us off not at the American Express bank location as we had requested, but at any old money-changing station. “No; we said. “No money to change; we meet friends at American Express.” Eventually, we found our friends and were charged, well, a bit too much for our auto ride.
“Fifty Rupees,” the driver said. “Each.” We balked as he insisted on 150 rupees from us. Danielle gave him 100 Rupees (about 2 USD) and I gave him 20 rupees. We found out later everyone else paid 30 Rupees for the entire group. We were stewed about being soaked, but hey, it happens to everyone. We arrived at Connaught Circus and broke up into small groups and walked around the shopping district. We came across Rikhi Ram, Musical Instruments Manufacturing Co., est. 1920. This, as I learned from the Jeremy Priven Travel Channel show, was where the Beatles encountered sitars for the first time. I even recognized the owner sitting in the back room, among employees and other men. The store was rather narrow, the sitars were mostly behind glass and six Americans filled it up pretty quickly. Since we were not in the market for a sitar (not that I know of, anyway) we moved on and discovered another instrument shop. JT, Geoff and Jamie bought these snake-charmer horns that, when blown, sound like a traffic jam. I’m going to try to get a photo of them playing these things later. Maybe even an audio podcast. The shopkeeper, a woman with close cropped dark hair and a beautiful pink sari, made the best-worse face as the boys attempted to play the horn.
“It sounds lovely,” she said, and we all burst out laughing.

At 1:30, after talking with touts, buying stamps and postcards and making friends with Sanjeen, 11, and Raj, 12, we reconvened for lunch at the Kwality Restaurant. Do not be fooled by the “Kw” of Kwality. This was a fine, classy establishment with incredible service and quite fancy from what we had seen to date. Our tables were long and were soon filled with bottles of water, and later, plates of naan bread, shahi paneer curry; chicken seekh kabob, navaratan vegetable curry, mutton chops, vindaloo, rice and more rice. I ordered my first of many lassis (a refreshing yogurt drink), and awaited the arrival of Gaurav.

Gaurav arrived and, thanks to Nancy, who had emailed us photos of each other and who was instrumental in bringing us together, we recognized one another immediately. Gaurav was such a pleasure to be around; unfailingly helpful and knowledgeable about Delhi. He has lived for the past three years in Fredericksburg, Virginia, expanding his family’s furniture manufacturing company, but has lived most of his life in Delhi.

After lunch, we all went to the Jantar Mantar, a sculptural sundial of sorts that is supposed to tell the time within 20 seconds of accuracy. In a gated park area, the sundial was plastered in a matte red, with white plastered staircases and these curved geometric spires and ramps. It did have the feel of a skateboard park, and it was virtually impossible to take a bad photo, what with the beautiful symmetry of the lines and the contrast of the red edifice against the blue sky.

This being our group’s first full day in India, we had some free time available to us to relax, or to return back to Pahar Ganj. Gaurav had suggested that I bring a few friends to join us for a drink. So, Lynda, Geoff and I accompanied Gaurav to the Sheraton in Delhi. It was a stunning facility, far too fancy for our dress of sturdy walking shoes and hot-weather travel clothes, but we were greeted warmly by everyone (who knew Gaurav). We went to the restaurant and had drinks. I had a strong Turkish coffee with boiled milk (the teapot of scalded milk was hotter, I believe, than the coffee itself), and a lime soda water. An odd combination, but I wanted, and enjoyed, both. Gaurav had said earlier that it was important to see all strata of Indian society, and our time at the Sheraton certainly offered a stunning contrast to the people and streets and scenarios we had encountered earlier in the day. We stopped by the Indian Habitat Center, a performing arts facility, to see whether there were any cultural performances scheduled for the next few evenings. Then Gaurav drove us back to Pahar Ganj, and ventured with his minivan onto the narrow street closest to our hotel. He observed that it seems where we are staying is more “Indian” than how most Indians live. It is my hope I will be able to see him, and to meet his family (parents, wife and daughter) before we leave Delhi. Gaurav’s hospitality and was outstanding, and I only hope I can return his generosity when he visits Greenville, NC.

In the evening, we had a group meeting on the roof and then traveled en masse to a bakery/eatery. There, we celebrated Josh’s birthday. We never learned how old he was… perhaps he’ll tell all later. The cakes (one chocolate, one yellow/orange flavored) were gorgeous and had “Happy Birthday Josh” written in Hindi. Josh was more than happy to pantomime blowing out his candles. Then he cut the cake and our festivities began. An hour or so later, we returned to our hotel (the air conditioner in our room simply needed a hidden switch to be turned on). Indeed, one day’s worth of activity was enough to fill a week. I wonder if each day will be this full. Tomorrow, we are visiting the Red Fort (designed by Mughal Sultan Shah Jahan) and after that a masjid (Islamic temple). More photos and dispatches to follow… as technology allows!

Arrival to Delhi

2006-05-16T22:54:00.000-05:00

First dispatch... from Lynda and Erica:

OUr journey started in the corner lobby at RDU INternational Airport. We were all on time and giddy and ready for travel. We hit Chicago and met JT, who had flown standby the night before. There were 15 of us from ECU scattered around the Boeing 777 (?) and arrived in Delhi 14 hours later into the welcoming arms of Derek.

Delhi hit us with a blast of hot air and dozens of men who wanted to 'help' us with our luggage in exchange for a fee. We somehow made it into a reserved bus and off we sped (and I do mean sped) to the Pahar Ganj district. The bus was unable to pass easily into our neighborhood and since the hotel was 'just around the corner' we unloaded and walked a good half mile through traffic and street vendors and more people demanding that they provide us service. We're talking bicycle rickshaw drivers, auto rickshaw drivers, bus drivers, baggage handlers, you name it. We were Very American. A single file line of Americans fresh off the airplane and taking in our new, but temporary, home.

This morning we (Lynda and ERica) ventured out early. IT was just about 7 a.m. and we encountered yet again men who wanted to drive us places, sell us okra, and offer us guided tours through the "Charming and quiet" gardens nearby. We refused all offers. There were dozens of cows and dogs, women selling garlands of marigolds and men selling produce and sugar cane drinks [we passed].

We walked a couple of blocks, then backtracked once we discovered our imagined "Shortcut" was not a shortcut. After taking breakfast on the rooftop back at the hotel, we met a mechanical engineer from CHennai, who was obtaining a certification in Delhi. JT came along, the first of our group to surface after nearly 24 hours of travel. Then Derek arose and directed us here, to the ancient communications store with these orange and white bubble cubicles. There is no AC here, althought most of the rooms do have it (not ours; we'll have it fixed today).

FIrst day in INdia. We're still figuring out the photograph dispatch situation... more later. With photos, hopefully! We are all happy and safe. Please write!

Thanks only: Derek's first few days in India...

2006-05-13T22:44:00.000-05:00

Derek's India entry #1:

Arriving, like the seemingly endless process of preparing, has taken a while, but the shift into being in India has taken no time at all. It feels right and good to be here again, to fool around with the kids, the joke with the swirl of people trying to earn a few rupees from me, to laugh from the sidelines with Wes at the absurdity of it all. One could regard the touts and the beggars and the idle curious children as pests interfering with one's experience of India, as so many obstacles to seeing the country itself. Or one can see them as the real fabric of the experience, the foreground enlivening the pulsing landscape. Every bit of it seems required and therefore a delight.

At the same time, the contrasts all around can ache and sting. Two days ago, we went to a currency exchange place to get rupees to pay for the bulk of our hotels and transportation. The stack of bills, many thousands of dollars worth, was nearly a foot tall. When we left there in an auto rickshaw, I was holding a bacg of money with well over a hundred thousand rupees. As we sat in traffic, a thin and spindly heron-like waif approached to beg for a single coin. Yet traffic zoomed away before I could wrestle one from my pocket.

The same day, we wandered the side alleys of Pahar Ganj in search of a zipper and a strong sewing machine to repair my trusty daypack's upper pouch. After being referred from here to there, we found an efficient Sikh material merchant with busy and precise hands. He sat cross-legged in his cramped quarters -- no more than 6 feet across, 6 feet deep, and 5 feet high -- nimbly reaching for bolts of material, spools of trim, and coils of colorful sparkling accompaniments, measuring each length with precise and uniform gestures. He was still executing one order with his hands as he interviewed the next customer to ascertain their precise needs. When my turn arrived, I handed him the backpack and explained that I needed a new zipper. He reached for a small anvil and swiftly delivered 3 efficient hammer blows, and ran the zipper back and forth several times. Amazed by his fix, I smiled and asked him to name his price. "No money," he replied, "Thanks only." I shook his hand and paid my debt.

Everyone loves a good map...

2006-05-12T08:08:00.000-05:00

India is a mere three days away for our group from East Carolina University. Pretty much everyone we've talked to wants to know where we'll be going. They want specifics: The names of the towns, where they are in relation to each other, stuff like that.

So in response to popular demand, to the right is a map of the key destinations in India. Our plan is to fly in to Delhi, then go south to Agra (where the Taj Mahal is). We'll then make our way to Varanasi. To find Varansai: Locate the Ganges River from Delhi and trace it west to Varanasi. From there, we'll visit Patna and Bodh Gaya. For the second half of our trip, we'll visit McLeod Ganj (Dharamsala). To find McLeod Ganj, locate Delhi and look just north of Chanigargh and Simla. McLeod Ganj is near there. Wish us luck on our travels; we'll be taking planes, trains, Jeeps, buses, and the occasional motor rickshaw. More to report later!

In case you want to go... next year!

2006-05-10T10:02:00.000-05:00

A link has been added for those who are interested in joining Derek on the May 2007 excursion to India. This link will bring you a web site with basic details, a few photos, and an overview of the trip.

At right, Bob is one of 17 students heading for India Monday!

Dreaming of Delhi... One more week!

2006-05-08T11:11:00.000-05:00

I have a friend at ECU who works across the street from me. Apparently she has “Erica leaves for India” marked on her calendar. It was she who reminded me May 1 that India was 15 days away. It was she who called a few days later (well, five) and said: “Wow! Ten Days! Are you packed?”

It was she who so lovingly recorded for me Jeremy Priven’s two-part Travel Channel tour through India. I have my suspicions regarding her enthusiasm, however. It would not surprise me if I saw her on the 14-hour flight to Indira Gandhi International Airport or if she was spotted in an auto rickshaw in Connaught Circle or scaling the walls of the Red Fort. Truth be told, she has been somewhat of a cheerleader for my trip. A few months ago, I didn’t think I could get more excited about leaving for India. But I am. The countdown is here!

It will be a week from today that our little group from East Carolina University leaves for India. I am beyond thrilled at the prospect, and yes, I am all but packed. I need to pick up a watch battery at lunch, grab House of Mirth by Edith Wharton downtown at Parker Kenneybrook booksellers in Greenville. Oh Yes. I must also send out a gaggle of news releases and photos of the students who will no doubt become good friends by the end of this 32-day journey. I have added a few stock photos of the sites we'll visit. In descending order, after our group photo, we have: the Taj Mahal, Varanasi, the Red Fort in Delhi and the Mahabodhi Temple in Bodh Gaya.

Speaking of the students… they are all fabulous. There are 15 in all, plus Derek (the director of our program) and me.

Each student is so different, as far as abilities and talents and insights. Josh and Nathan plan to study music, such as sacred chant and musical philosophy. J.T., a theater major, will study traditional Tibetan theater. Lynda graduated from ECU this month and will enter the Brody School of Medicine in the fall. She and Nabeel, a biology major with plans to attend medical school, plan to research eastern and traditional Indian medicine with the hope of informing their studies.

Wes, Forrest and Bret plan to study the history and politics of Tibet. Wes, who will stay on longer than the 32-day trip, will also have an opportunity to conduct research at the National Archives in Delhi. Danielle (who enjoys archery) and Ashley (who plans to work in foreign service) are producing a film on women’s issues. Jamie, who plans to become a math teacher, will look at education in India. James (a black belt in Karate) and Geoff (a master swimmer and budding physicist) plan to deepen their understanding of meditation practice and eastern religion.

Two students are non-traditional. Bob is a professor of metals/jewelry at ECU’s School of Art. Aleta, who is married to Bob, is a Greenville reflexologist and artist who hails from Colorado. Aleta would like to further her meditation practice and possibly look into traditional arts practices, including paper making, fabric design or Thangka painting.

Derek, our guide and all-around Man in Charge, is a religious studies professor at East Carolina University. He teaches courses in Buddhism and Islam. He has lived and studied in India for two years, but this is his first attempt to conduct a study abroad program.

With thanks to Thomas Bland of Raleigh and Scott Wells of ECU, I am joining this group as a writer. My plan is to capture and record the essence of this experience for ECU and the communities in which these students live. I have traveled and studied in Nepal and India and hope my past knowledge of the region will come in handy.

Listen for us on Public Radio East (88.1 FM) from time to time. I’ve managed to figure out how to take audio recordings and will air a few Travel Diaries from the road.

Accounts of our adventures will also appear in the Daily Reflector in Greenville; the Wake Weekly; the Cary News; the Holly Springs Gazette; the Pamlico News; the Elizabeth City Advance; the Rocky Mount Telegram; the News Argus in Goldsboro; the Garner News; and the Carteret County News-Times. Send us links, if you see them online! And don’t forget to post your comments and observations!

ECU In India Podcast!

2006-04-25T09:39:00.000-05:00

Our hope is to generate more Podcasts, like this one when we are on the road. This is the very first audio post for the ECU In India adventure... enjoy!

Giving is the best medicine...

2006-04-19T09:37:00.000-05:00

Efforts are underway to collect medical supplies for our journey before we leave in May. Delek Hospital, in Dharamsala, is an all-volunteer run facility and could always use extra surgical masks, sterile gloves or glucometers. Here is a link to the Delek Hospital web site. Look on the right column of that web site for history and news about the hospital.

With Pitt County Memorial Hospital (not to mention legions of doctors' offices) a mere stonesthrow away from ECU's Brody School of Medicine, we thought it fitting to ask area medical centers for supplies that would be both transportable and customs-friendly.

Here's the list! Leave a comment below or email us at plouffee@ecu.edu before May 13 if you can give!

• ECG Machine (portable)
• Oxygen saturation monitor
• Glucometer
• Fetal heart doppler
• Nebuliser machine
• Gloves
• Pnenmothorax chest drain set
• Pulse oximeter
• Glucometer one touch
• Otoscope
• Unsterile gloves 6 and a half or 7 inches
• Surgical masks (good quality)
• Ambu bag -adult 1 piece

Slide Show of the Dharamsala area

2006-04-11T16:14:00.000-05:00

I just found this slide show this morning. It helps to give you some sense of the surroundings. Norbulingka is the arts center down the mountain from McLeod Ganj.

Pre-departure meeting at Derek's 4-8-06

2006-04-10T10:27:00.000-05:00

Dogwood Tales

So we convened Saturday among azaleas and dogwoods under a cape of clouds that threatened to deliver rain (it never did). The mission was to discuss India plans and to review the itinerary that Derek so lovingly created for us.

The study abroad trip to India is just a month away and discussion has ranged from shoes and medical kits to hikes to Shiva's Tea House in Dharamsala and the Jeeps we'll take to tour Khajuraho.

Building upon a fine and informative lecture about the religious history of India on March 31, Derek continued his outline and included history of Buddhism, Jainism and Islam. I'll post notes from all three meetings as soon as I can figure it out. Photos forthcoming as well, if I can manage it.

Observations:

• Derek always places his trusty map of South Asia behind him when he lectures about India. He used a twig from his backyard as a pointer tool. It was very effective.

Facts:
• Blowing out candles on your birthday cake is actually and ancient custom that indicates the gods receive messages and prayers via smoke that contains intentions

• The Brothers Grimm ripped off Buddha's storytellers via Jataka Tales. One of the brothers learned Sanskrit and the rest is history

Photo on right: Josh certainly is enjoying that flourless cookie! Thanks to Jill for the treats!