ANOTHER Buddha!

We had a 4 day weekend for Diwali and used the time to visit the Buddhist caves of Ellora and Ajanta - both World Heritage Sites. We took the overnight train from Hyderabad arriving at a painful 4:00 am. However, the caves were more than worth the journey. Fellow Fulbright Teacher, Rodney Kleber (from MA) met us in Aurangabad and together with Erin we went caving.

Tucked in to an otherwise unspectacular hillside the caves of Ellora where breathtaking. The caves served as monastaries, meditation rooms, and temples. Intricate carvings, dating back thousands of years, decorate the courtyards and interiors, the centerpiece of each being one large Buddha statue standing (or rather sitting) several meters tall.

Evan was eager to explore, or should I say run wildly, through the caves and tiny meditation rooms. He became even more excited when he discovered Buddha. In an effort to keep him distracted I showed him how the Buddha was sitting, and how he held his hands. I did my best to explain why he was sitting like that, and where his toes went, and that no, Buddha is not sleeping, just meditating. He seemed confused by the idea of sitting really still for no purpose, but he was hooked just the same. After the discovery of Buddha Evan was on a quest for more. As we went exploring, every cave became a new opportunity to find more Buddhas, and to ask more questions about what he was doing, or why the rock was so old. Before long, every carving became the Buddha. "ANOTHER Buddha!" He would shout with animated delight.

The final cave at Ellora is the most magnificent. Kailasa Temple (also known less glamorously as Cave 16) was an enormous three leveled rock-cut Hindu temple with tremendous carved elephants around the periphery. Absolutely stunning. Evan commenced his Buddha search, despite the fact that it was not a Buddhist cave, but it really didn't matter.

It was a beautiful place and a beautiful experience. The highlight for me being Evan's innocent enjoyment of Buddhist art. The really neat thing is that the experience has stuck with him. He now likes to "sit like the Buddha" legs crossed, hands in prayer. A few times we have averted tantrums by sitting like Buddha to take a deep breath. And just the other day as he was coloring he explained that he was drawing a cave with a Buddha inside.

Devaraja Market

One of my favorite things about India is the bazaars. They are colorful landscapes of chaotic energy. Stall after stall of fruits, flowers and sweets piled high, all of which can be yours for the right price. I love the vibrant bustle and chaos. The bazaars are also a photographer's paradise. The enticing displays and animated vendors make wonderful subjects, as do the saree clad shoppers with enormous baskets atop their heads.

Mysore has a wonderfully colorful fruit and vegetable market called the Devaraja Market tucked downtown. Our driver tried to divert us to the pricey tourist trap souvenir markets - but we wanted colorful, cheap fun and asked to be dropped at the market. Begrudgingly he obliged.

We spent almost two hours roaming the alleyways of the marketplace. We found lanes filled with thousands and thousands of bananas of every conceivable variety. Apple and potato vendors with displays that defied gravity; succulent stacks of papaya. But there was more to be had than just fruits and veggies. The incense-wallahs enticed us with free hand made samples and a demonstration of their craft. Perfumers mix scents to our specifications. There are floral garlands by the meter and colorful tikka powder by the kilo. You might also have a key made, or buy a wooden spoon.

Two hours and 100 photos later it was time to leave the intensity of the market behind and head for lattes in the air conditioned comfort of Cafe Coffee Day.

The Backwaters of Kerala

The homes, boats and scenery slip by silently as we coast through the backdrop of the lives that inhabit these waters. We are not the only houseboat on the water, nor are we the only foreigners, so the locals do not even give us a second glance. It's peaceful, and beautiful, out on these waters. The network of communities lining the canals and waterways seem just like other Indian villages, only they inhabit narrow spits of lands and the only vehicle traffic is on the water.

As we pass through one such village I hear the melodic Call to Prayer competing with the sound of clothes being washed along the banks. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. The sound of wet fabric hitting the rocks. I watch a solitary canoe glide by noiselessly.

We anchor for the night on a tiny, palm lined spit of land between two waterways. Silence. We enjoy a sumptuous South Indian dinner and share a bottle of Indian wine as we watch the sun slip below the clouds on the horizon.

We wake in the morning to find the adjacent waterway filled with lotus flowers that have opened in the early morning light. White flowers and lily pads as far as the eye could see, palm trees lining the perimeter. The beautiful silence of early morning (so this is why people wake up early!) I feel far away from India, far away from home. This brief, delicious silence is the quietest time we have spent, and probably will spend on the sub-continent. A short journey in our houseboat will bring us back to the heat and bustle of reality and steer us toward our next adventure.

The Parade!

The purpose of our trip to Mysore was to see the famed Dussehra parade. Who could resist the allure of a parade that promised elephants, golden thrones, and dancing girls?

We met up with the Amstutz Family to watch the parade. Paul is a fellow Fulbright teacher, his wife Karen is a park ranger at Yosemite, and together with their three beautiful daughters aged 3, 6 and 9 they are living and teaching in Bangalore. He and his family are perhaps the most adventurous people I have ever met - they make us seem boring by comparison.

Paul and family got an earlier start and found an excellent viewpoint very near our hotel. As we walked the street in search of the Amstutz family I was in absolute awe of the magnitude of the crowds packed onto the sidewalks, in the trees, and on roof tops. Others packed onto the flat bed trucks that served as roadblocks and impromptu seating. If we saw tens of thousands at the palace the night before, then there were easily hundreds of thousands lining the streets now for the parade. The crowds alone were an amazing spectacle.

We sat, as patiently as possible, in the hot sun for hours waiting for the parade to begin. As we waited we got to enjoy the company of our American friends, swapping crazy India stories, and the joys and pains of travelling with children.

When the parade finally reached us it was more than worth the wait! It was everything a parade should be: vibrant, colorful, loud, garish. There were elephants, drums, dancers, fire breathers, puppets, acrobats, men on stilts, gods, goddesses, missiles, musicians, and a golden throne. It was sensational!

I think the parade speaks best through images, so I will let the pictures do the rest of the talking. Click on the link below to see Pat's slide show:

Mysore Parade Slide Show

Mysore Palace

Dussehra is a Hindu celebration of the triumph of good over evil and is dedicated to the goddess Durga, who, legend has it, beheaded a demon and freed the people. Durga was the patron goddess of the former Maharajah in Mysore, and thus Dussehra is celebrated with vibrant zeal in the city.

Mysore is an historic city, home of royalty and a former seat of power. The Maharajah's palace and it's sprawling grounds are the centerpiece to Mysore's cultural beauty. During the Dussehra Festival the palace is illuminated in the evening with 97,000 lights, and it is a spectacular sight!

I think it is safe for me to say, without exaggeration, that there were tens of thousands of people who came out to see the palace. I could not believe the crowds in and around the palace grounds. It was an overwhelming carnival atmosphere with the lights and the hawkers and the popcorn and candy floss. It was a wild scene!

After weaving through the crowds and taking our pictures we began the arduous task of trying to find our driver amongst the chaos in the streets. It was literally like trying to find a needle in a haystack. If there is one thing about India that still amazes me, it is the sheer volumes of people everywhere we go. Tonight, more than ever, the crowds were overwhelming, but as usual we were far from being anonymous. As we tried to find our driver I got tired of the attention and the constant touching of the boys, so for the first time I put up a wall. I used my body to put a physical barrier between the crowds and my children. I ignored requests for pictures and turned away when people reached out to touch Eli. I felt rude, guilty even, but justified - there is only so much attention and touching we can bear.

36 Hairpin Turns and 1000 Stairs

What goes up, must come down, and I was more than happy to be leaving Ooty and our stinky hostel in search of warmer weather and clean sheets. On the advice of our guide we took a bus down the mountain from Ooty to Mysore. It seemed like a great idea since it would be considerably cheaper than a hiring a car. Unfortunately, what we saved in Rupees we lost in time, comfort and frustration.

After circling Ooty for an hour and a half in a desperate attempt to fill the bus, I was stiff and uncomfortable. I was sitting on top of the wheel and therefore had considerably less foot room and my knees were jammed into the seat in front of me. When we finally started our arduous journey down the mountain my personal discomfort turned to abject horror. The driver, obviously a seasoned veteran of this road, sped up between turns overtaking cars, cows and motorcycles with little regard for blind curves. The engine was revving hard never leaving second gear and the brakes were creaking and groaning around the turns. The road down from Ooty has 36 hairpin turns (I wish I were making this up) and at each turn there was a large yellow sign indicating what number hairpin we had just survived. Knees jammed, teeth clenched, legs asleep, I counted down and began to wonder if the $15 we saved was really worth it.

We arrived in Mysore five hours later (more than two hours behind schedule). Our hotel, I was pleased to note, had such modern amenities as air conditioning (suddenly necessary again), cable television, and best of all sheets that did not smell of mildew. We didn't stick around long though... Next stop Chamundi Hill.

Chamundi sits just 2 km from the center of town. The 1000 meter hill provides a scenic backdrop to the tidy and charming city of Mysore and sitting at the summit is a stunning and dramatic temple. In order to reach the temple pilgrims must climb the 1000 stairs leading up the mountain - the less pious can drive. For us there was no question - we would climb!

It was a beautiful, albeit sweaty, journey to the top. There were lovely views of the city, flowers, trees, and most interestingly - hundreds of large hairy spiders hanging in webs above the stairs.

Once we finally reached the summit a fog had rolled in making the temple seem even more dramatic in scale and beauty. There were thousands of people around the temple creating a kind of festive spiritual atmosphere. Pilgrims bowing in prayer sharing space with hawkers selling balloons, noise makers and flutes.

I am happy to be in the swirling chaos of this place.

Postcard from Ooty

Ooty... how I wanted to love you.

I was so excited to go to Ooty - a real, honest to goodness hill station. Mountains, trees, fresh air, tea plantations, I could hardly wait. We hired a car to take us up the long, steep and winding mountain road to Ooty. Our driver was a madman passing cars on every turn, but despite this fact the drive was fantastic. We passed through acres and acres of lush, green tea growing on impossibly steep terraces, and the views of neighboring mountains, valleys, and towns were stunning.

When we rolled into town I was still excited. It was cool - sweater weather for sure. The air smelled wonderfully of eucalyptus and the view of town from our hostel was lovely. The room? Well it would have been charming had it not been for the lack of heat and the smell of mildew emanating from the beds. Trying to stay positive about the situation, I decided it would be like camping. And off we went to explore what would turn out to be a disappointing, dirty, stinky little town.

Tempted by our guidebook we ate what I considered to be over hyped and overpriced pizza for lunch. Then headed to the botanical gardens for what started out as a lovely afternoon. However, shortly after our arrival rain moved in quite suddenly and ended the serenity. As we left the gardens the rain subsided enough to allow us to explore the Nepalese bazaar, which ended up being stall after stall of the same stuff. However, we did find some GREAT woolen shawls for a steal and stocked up from a beautiful Nepalese woman.

The rest of the sites we visited that day were disappointing and the cold gray weather began to wear on us. We returned to the hostel and built a fire and spent the best part of the day warm and relaxed, enjoying one anothers company.

Day two turned out to be much more fun. We hired a guide to take us on a full day trek through tea plantations, remote villages and up a mountain. It was really beautiful despite the fog and the occasional shower.

Our guide turned out to be quite friendly and knowledgeable and taught us all about the growing and harvesting tea as well as the people who depended on it for their livelihoods. He also shared the history of the region and educated us in local flora and fauna. We passed through a small village where we enjoyed a delicious hot meal in a tiny, dark, unmarked restaurant with a dirt floor. As we headed out of the village to ascend the mountain our guide pointed out a cow that was afraid of white people. Which sounds ridiculous, but he really did appear spooked as he watched us pass. The mountain we hiked supposedly had a superb view, which unfortunately, we were able to glimpse in for mere seconds before the fog enveloped the landscape again. Our guide told us we were unlucky to miss this view but later reminded us - for the second time - that we were truly "blessed" to have two sons.

I was happy to warm myself by the fire that evening, but couldn't wait to move on to warmer climates.

Postcard from Varkala

By the time we arrived in Varkala it was dark. Although we could not see much, we could hear the soothing sounds of the ocean lapping the shore and the distant twinkle of the cliff top lights across the beach. After settling into our hotel, which were charming round "chalets", we headed to the beach to find some food. We took a table in the sand and ordered beer. It was the start of a wonderfully relaxing three hour dinner where lifetime friendships were forged over chutneys and coconut rice. Eli slept soundly and Evan happily made railroad tracks in the sand.

In the morning light we discovered that Varkala is small, laid back and very beautiful. Despite the dramatic setting it was not however a beach for sun bathing. We arrived with suits on ready for a day in the sand only to find a small handful of fully dressed men loitering in the sand. There were also an army of stray dogs and the sand was a minefield of poop. The surf was intense and the rip tide strong. We quickly abandoned our plans for a beach day and sought out the Taj Garden Hotel where we spent an incredibly relaxing day sipping pina coladas in the pool and dining on an "opulent" lunch (as described by Lonely Planet).

Later in the evening we walked along the cliff top and did some shopping in the myriad of Nepalese handicraft shops, t-shirt stalls, and souvenir stands. We bargained hard for some great gifts for our friends as well as for ourselves. A leisurely dinner capped off another relaxing day.

The view from our hotel

Riding the Rails

We took our first train ride today on the famed Indian Railway. I wish I could say I did it gracefully. Alas the unbearable heat, cranky children and the odd anxiety of finding the right car got the best of me.

The train system in India is vast and complicated, and yet in many ways surprisingly efficient. The cars are comfortable and clean, and snack vendors and chai wallahs (tea vendors) keep you fed and caffeinated. The downside of the Indian railway system is that while all the cars are clearly marked, the order that the cars will arrive in is anyone’s guess. So it becomes necessary to stand in the middle on the platform, preferably near the middle, watch the cars pass and then hurry in the direction of your car. The other staggering negative is that there are no formal announcements at any of the stops. So you must know the approximate time of your arrival and watch for your stop – very unnerving when it is your first time to a destination.

We had an enormous suitcase – two if you count Erin’s, a diaper bag, camera bag, laptop and two children thus making quick mobility limited. So as the train approached I watched anxiously for the Third Class A/C cars to pass by. Luckily for us they stopped near the middle of the train, and thus a short walk from our lookout. As we rushed aboard, the car was cool and welcoming, the man blocking the first set of empty berths was not. He smiled politely and pointed us to the next set of berths, which were covered in blankets, food wrappers and even a pair of socks! I became horribly panicked and confused as we tried in earnest to communicate. Eli, hot tired and hungry wailed uncharacteristically.

We were getting no where with this gentleman who was saving the seats for his friends and my anxiety was only growing. In a sudden fit of hot anxious disgust I whined: “I just want to sit down! I don’t care where!”

To which the unflappable Erin smiled and soothingly said: “OK, we’ll sit here. It will be fine, we’ll just move this stuff.” She set to work moving the blankets, trash and socks while Pat stowed the luggage. After which we happily took up residence in our new berth. The cold air quickly calmed me. Eli was pacified by a snack, and before long Evan fell fast asleep. After we enjoyed a hot cup of tea I was able to have a good laugh at my own foolishness, and decided maybe this train stuff is not so bad.

The tourist in me

So I purchased a skirt today. Seduced by it's orangey coolness I gave in to the ever decreasing price of the seller (and still spent a buck too much). I was pleased with my new skirt. I decided it would keep me cool in this hot, sticky weather. I was pleased that is, until I started seeing my skirt all over town. In every souvenir shop and even on other tourists! Oh, the horror! I was suddenly embarrassed by my new skirt. Embarrassed that in this city of tourists, I suddenly looked like one of them. You see, I was feeling a bit self righteous when we rolled in to Fort Cochin. Suddenly we were surrounded by tourists and trendy restaurants and good coffee!! It was strange to dine only with white people. It was relaxing not to be the center of attention. And fun to eat and drink the delicacies of home. But at the same time I didn't want to be associated with them - these other tourists. I live here. India is my home, however temporary, and I am proud of it. I realize of course that in Fort Cochin and for the rest of our holiday I would be a tourist in every sense of the word. But I began to feel bad for the other tourists in Fort Cochin. If this is what they saw of India, than they were missing the best parts. The fancy coffee shops , swank restaurants and fancy shops were great, but this is not how Indians live. For us it was a wonderful break from the routine of our Indian life. It was a treat to drink coffee and eat carrot cake and quiche. It was nice to be anonymous in a crowd, and fun to shop in the stores. But I hope my fellow tourists had other opportunities to see the real India, and experience the warmth and hospitality of her people. Otherwise I fear they have missed the real magic of India.

Me in my new tourist skirt with Erin and Eli

A Postcard from Fort Cochin

October 13th. Our Dessara Holiday began today. A long awaited vacation from teaching and living in our little fishbowl. We are travelling with another US teacher named Erin McGraw who is stationed nearby in Hyderabad (her apartment in Hyderabad is perhaps only 10 miles from ours, but given Hyderabadi traffic it is an hour plus journey). Erin hails from Rutland, Vermont, and is a fantastic, unflappable, travel companion. Between tantrums, train anxiety, poopy diapers, hungry and tired children, and hungry and tired parents - travelling with the likes of us isn't for the faint of heart. Lucky for us, Erin took us in stride.

Our journey begins with a flight to Kerala, a small coastal state in the south western corner of the country. It's hot and sticky here on the coast, like Florida in the middle of summer. The air, the landscape, and the language are all different and new, but the scents and sounds remind me we are still in India.

Tonight we are staying in Fort Cochin, a former Portuguese port town. The town is small and pleasant with a warm intimate almost European feel. After checking in to our great little hotel we headed for lunch at the Teapot Restaurant. Here, at the Teapot, we realized that we were in a tourist hot spot. The restaurant was full of Europeans (and only Europeans), and the menu and decor were designed with a western palette in mind. Over pots of tea we laughed at the novelty of blending into the crowd. What a welcome change!

After lunch we headed to the docks to see the Chinese fishing nets. Stopping on the way to visit the Catholic Cathedral and to do a little souvenir shopping. Then we grabbed an auto to Jew Town (I swear I am not making this up). Jew Town is a shopping district that happens to house one of India's only Synagogues. Most of the shops were Kashmiri and sold many of the same types of Kashmiri handicrafts. Tall Kashmiri men with brilliant blue and green eyes worked the shops and offered us "Temptation Prices" on all sorts of handmade goods. Although the merchandise was beautiful we weren't feeling all that tempted. The purchase of the day, however, was a little toy auto rickshaw for Evan. It was like a dream come true for him to have a toy auto. He told me: "I don't like trucks. I only like autos." Between the plane ride and the toy auto it was a great day for him.

After an early dinner of carrot cake and the finest cup of coffee I have had since coming to India we headed to a performance of Kathakali dance. Kathakali is a famous regional dance that the guide book advised was not to be missed. I had my reservations about going, but was very glad we did. The performance was mesmerizing. The performers, wearing elaborate costumes and make-up, use hand and facial gestures to act out a story to the beating of drums and the singing of the narrator. My feeble description does not begin to do justice to the artistry of the performance or the fun in watching it. Evan went to the back of the theater and happily played with his auto on the dirt floor for 2 hours, while Eli slept - drums and all. A successful first day!

Happy Halloween!

Since coming to India we have been immersed in many Hindu holidays and celebrations each more elaborate and colorful than the next. As October rolled around, we decided it was our turn to introduce the neighborhood children to the greatest of American folk traditions – Halloween! Pat's father graciously sent us a box of party decorations, balloons and face paint, which arrived just in the nick of time! A few weeks before we made piñatas with the children which we then stuffed full of candy, pens and toys. We found pumpkins for carving - which was a huge hit - and apples for dipping in carmel.

I then agonized over what sort of costumes to make for the boys, since supplies were limited and I knew the other children would have simple costumes, if any. In a flash of inspiration I decided at the last minute that Evan could be a stoplight - since I had balloons and little else, and Evan's current favorite game is "Red Light, Green Light. Since Eli is so mobile and probably would have tried to eat anything I could think of putting on him, I transformed a box into a wrapped gift. Eli was delighted to sit in his box and play, and I was happy because it also kept him out of trouble. All in all I was pleased with my last minute ideas.

As the children arrived we set them to work making spiders for the giant web that Pat made outside. Then we brought out the face paint and the girls went crazy with delight! After much discussion, they all decided to be princesses - but different princesses, of course. While the girls applied their make-up, the boys of the group, who were all a bit older, got a lesson in how to carve pumpkins. Evan was content to paint with watercolors and Eli, happy as always, rode in the carrier. The whole apartment was buzzing with excitement and laughter. Everyone was having a great time, perhaps most especially Pat and me. After a long week of bad weather, poor health and homesickness it was a joy to introduce Halloween to these very special children. They wanted to know what Halloween was, why we celebrated it, and how it was different in the US. We happily shared the traditions of costumes, trick or treating, mischief making and even the once important religious significance of the day. Since festivals are of such paramount importance here in India many insisted on shaking our hand and saying "Happy Halloween" when they arrived. It was as always, very endearing.

After pumpkins had been carved and lit, faces had been painted, and carmel apples eaten it was pinata time! Since there would obviously be no trick or treating, pinatas seemed to be a logical alternative to collecting lots of candy. We strung our homemade pinatas on the roof of Sudha's house and all the children, including Evan, got to take a swing at it. The last "child" also being the oldest at 19, smashed it open to great fanfare and commotion. While the children descended on the fallen booty with screams of delight, Evan stood back innocently concerned, asking "What happened to that balloon?"

I have always loved Halloween - what's not to love about dressing up, free candy and spooky decorations? This year, however, was not only very fun, but also very special. I finally felt like I could teach the children something interesting and fun about American culture, and in return the children reminded me of why my experience in India is so meaningful.

The Overnight Train

October 24th 10:30 pm. Gunakal Train Station.

We are on an overnight train from Bangalore to Hyderabad. This train marks the end of our vacation, although as is always the case in India the journey is a big part of the adventure. We have just pulled into Gunakal Station. This station is nicer than most. It is well lit, there are chairs, trash bins, and tidy tea stalls. It is also bustling with activity at this time of night. I watch anonomously, unnoticed from the hidden comfort of my 2nd class air conditioned sleeper berth, cloaked by tinted glass. Eli sleeps beside me, Evan and Pat sleep above, and Erin, like me, lies on her stomach, rivoted, watching this spectacle of constant motion happening just beyond the glass.

I see saree clad women with bare feet carry bulky jute bags on their heads. Bands of moustachioed men rush to the next train. Three intrepid souls sleep on the platform floor. A pair of young girls wearing long skirts and jasmine in their hair giggle into their hands. A smartly dressed man with a club foot hobbles by. A muslim man sits watching. A preganant woman waddles to a chair to sit. A young man hurrys by carrying an equally young one-legged man on his back. Mysterious women in burkas pass by. An old man in dirt-caked clothing shuffles by wearing shoes of different sizes.

The train leaves the station and heads back into the blackness of the countryside. When I look up this time I only see my own reflection half lit by my tiny bedside lamp. I become aware once again of how different I look. How strange I must seem from the outside looking in. India is a mysterious place - so different, so foreign. I am captivated by the ceaseless activity, the unbounded energy. I relish these expireneces - seeing India at it's most human. No pretense, no pride, no shame. No flute hawkers, no foreigner's price, no touts. Only people living, waiting and boarding trains.

Ganesh

One of many Ganesh shrines scattered around our neighborhood

Ganesh is the famed Elephant-headed god who is revered as the remover of obstacles and a bearer of good luck. The Indians have a particular fondness for Ganesh - as do I. I love his elephant head, his interesting history and of course, his status as the remover of obstacles. Each year in India there is a 10 day Ganesh-fest, more precisely known as Ganesh Chaturthi, that brings more color and revelry to an already colorful and exciting place.

Ever since we arrived small groups of young boys would come to the door to collect money "for Ganesh". I happily contributed a few rupees to each group of wide eyed boys, not really sure where Ganesh's money was going -but since I always received a receipt it seemed legit.

As it turns out my donations as well as those of all my neighbors were going to purchase large Ganesh idols that would sit in tent houses scattered around the neighborhood and the city. Ganesh was everywhere. It was impossible to walk more than 100 yards in any direction through our little neighborhood without stumbling upon yet another idol. Each Ganesh was different, some were as small as one meter, some as large as three meters. Some where garishly colored, others were plain. But all enjoyed a shrine attended by young men, and an evening ritual of prayer and party.

Every night, just after sunset, the puja to Ganesh would begin, culminating in the sharing of lemon rice and wild drum-induced dancing. It was always a sight to behold. The drumming would last late into the night often after midnight, as the revelers paraded the streets. At the end of 10 days, in a parade rivaling Thanksgiving in New York, 10,000 Ganesh idols were brought to the Hassain Sagar (the large lake in the middle of Hyderabad) to be submerged. What a spectacle! We watched live from the dry comfort of our living room as idol after idol was hoisted by crane and dropped into the water.

However, the most memorable and certainly the most exciting Ganesh evening came just two days into the festival. On this particular evening, our landlord was taking us out on a little adventure to visit a Hindu temple just beyond the city limits. As the landscape became more rural and the traffic thinned we suddenly came upon a large Ganesh idol being pulled down the road by a tractor, surrounded by dozens of men, all of whom were covered in hot pink tikka powder, dancing to a cacophony of drums.

As we stopped the car I suddenly realized we had forgotten the camera. Of all the times to forget! This was just the opportunity I had been waiting for - and no camera. Thankfully our landlord took a few shots to memorialize the experience. As we approached, the excitement of the revelers hit a crescendo. We were presented with lemon rice wrapped in a banana leaf and each of us was adorned with a hot pink tikka on the forehead. As the drumming commenced again Pat was invited to dance. He initially declined, but quickly realized this was a dance worth having and jumped into the fray with arms up. The men of the procession loved it! They grabbed Evan too and he was hoisted onto someones shoulders - to his credit, while slightly alarmed he remained calm. Once the dance was complete all of the men scrambled to shake Pat's hand and offer their thanks. There were about three dozen pink men, and Pat shook hands with them all, offering his thanks in return for another once in a lifetime India experience.

Pat getting down for Ganesh

The Camel Ride

The morning started very badly. Pat woke not feeling well again. Evan was cranky and Eli bumped his head. A curtain of misery descended on the house. Each in our own way, we were feeling sad and homesick. It seemed the honeymoon was over. Thankfully, however, our funk was nothing that food and rest couldn't cure. By the afternoon we slowly began picking ourselves up out of the mire we were all wallowing in. It started with some good old-fashioned “angry music” (as Pat likes to call it). We turned on some Ani DiFranco, comforted by something distinctly western and befitting of our mood. We sang along and danced like fools reliving memories associated with each song: “Remember when we were driving to New Foundland and we met that weird guy…?” “Remember that crazy hike…?” Even Evan got in on the fun and danced along as we all played ball together. Memories lead to daydreams about the comforts of home: Sal’s Pizza, Starbucks coffee, pho with chicken, fresh air, autumn leaves, fresh apples… I could go on and on. Our day dreaming quickly turned to laughter about the frustrating parts of India – unsafe food and water topping the list. And then the camels arrived.

From our backdoor I spotted them lumbering up the street. Excitement ensued as we rushed to find wallet, camera and shoes so we could go for a ride. Since we are white and obviously made of money (another frustrating aspect of India) the camel boy wanted to charge us five times as much as everyone else. After some serious haggling the camel boy relented and Evan went for his first camel ride with Verajita. I was afraid he would be scared and cry to get down – instead he screamed with delight and ended up having the time of his life.

While Evan rode the camel I ventured to Sudha’s house. She was making an Indian sweet that she wanted to teach me to prepare. We talked and laughed and cooked and learned and ate the sweets. Then she made savory treats and we ate some more. As we snacked, I suddenly became aware of my own happiness and the fun I was having. Hours before I had been pining for the comforts of home. But now, enveloped by friendship and food I realized that this journey would end all too soon. Sal’s Pizza will wait for me and autumn in New England will come again next year. But the joy of riding camels and learning to cook in Sudha’s kitchen will pass far too quickly into happy memories.