Ladies and gentleman, I have arrived in Kolkata, a truly nostalgic Indian city. This is the place where I first ate real Indian food, made my first Indian friends, saw my first real manifestations of urban poverty, and the first place where I lived among Indians. It is great to be back in this humid, chaotic city full of mixed faces. Any race or ethnicity imaginable lives in Kolkata. Everyone blends and has a place. Everything is held in the heavy, pungent air.
My friend Vishal offered to pick me up at the airport last week, but informed me on Saturday that he would be out of town for business until late Sunday evening so I would have to get a pre-paid taxi at the airport. Of course when I get off the plane and walk towards baggage claim, whose friendly face do I see? Smiley Vishal with the lopsided dimples. I haven’t been so surprised or thrilled in a while. I literally could not stop smiling. Once we got into the city, we went to my favorite dosa restaurant outside of New Market. This place is a tiny little hole in the wall that smells faintly of masala and limes—a strange combination I know, but still wonderful and vibrant. Outside of the restaurant are bangle vendors yelling at every female passerby for business.
Vishal and I caught up for three hours over two dosas, two chais, and many laughs. We spoke about religion, our work and research, and our plans for the near future. Currently Vishal is still coordinating the volunteer program that I went on last summer, but he has been directed more into the social entrepreneurship program that employs women from the slums and markets and sells their handicrafts. The company is struggling through the global recession. What once was an office filled with orders for sari blankets, purses, and other crafts for sale abroad, has become an empty file folder on a desk, women receiving handouts from the foundation’s reserve, and slow search for future markets. While the news about his work is extremely depressing, he seems optimistic and motivated. “The only way to get through hardship,” he says, “is through faith, perseverance, and optimism.” I guess that’s an inevitable side of this type of business. All depressing elements aside, it was wonderful seeing him and catching up. It’s good to be back.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Train Escapades...
Sadly I have not updated with posts in quite a while and its high time I do so. Recently I’ve been really busy in Jaipur, recovering from illness (I’ll fill in about that later), developing my independent study project, visiting various NGOs, catching up on my Hindi homework, and living life. On March 6th-9th, a group of my friends and I traveled to Udaipur, a beautiful city in southern Rajasthan. The trip, rather impromptu, was quite a test of personal strength and ability to function, even through the worst of circumstances, alone.
Usually I talk a pretty big game about having a “strong stomach.” The last time I was India, I barely suffered from any of the typical “travelers’ illnesses” and managed to enjoy the majority of food. I worked in an urban slum, drank questionable water from time to time, and ate street food. My confidence had blossomed into cockiness as I entered India again, this time as a student. The first month and a half of my stay proved to be rather stable, never feeling more than just a stomachache.
The morning of the day we left for Udaipur I felt lethargic, queasy, and completely unlike myself. I slept through the majority of my classes at school in the library waking up ever so often to the soft nudges of my friends checking in on me. My Hindi teachers looked concerned that I planned to travel that very night. Even Mrs. Singh, who barely enters into matters that are not her own, spoke to me about considering the option of staying behind. My cockiness got the better of me. I let the warnings pass by hoping to prove to myself that I could be strong and in fact let mind trump matter.
The group had planned to take an overnight train to Udaipur that would arrive at seven in the morning. In the train station I felt completely fine, blinded and energized by the excitement of a trip on an overnight train to a beautiful city with my friends. I was not listening to signals my body was sending. That very night, after all were peacefully in bed snoozing away under worn woolen blankets in the AC car of the train, I jerked out of bed feeling more violently ill than I had ever felt in my entire life. A sudden wave of sickness, desperation, and fear overcame my whole being. How quickly could I get to the bathroom? Can I leave my belongings unattended in the train car? How am I ever going to survive this feeling? I decided to bring my purse and camera with me, leaving my overnight bag. I occupied the small squat toilet bathroom for over two hours in waves of illness, all alone in a train in the middle of rural Rajasthan. No parents stroking my back. Friends peacefully sleeping. The feeling of total and utter vulnerability piercing me. I managed to make it back to my seat, weak, dehydrated, and exhausted. I slept two hours before the train arrived in the Udaipur station. Of course I looked utterly terrible and my friends noticed my change in behavior immediately. Several friends assisted me the whole way to the hotel and got me into bed. Not completely unwillingly, I slept alone for the morning and most of the afternoon. I called my parents just to hear their voices and to commiserate over my sudden sickness. My mother, always caring and sympathetic in these situations, was a comforting ear as I lay, head throbbing, in the middle of a hotel room.
I won’t go into any more details of the course of the illness because they are pretty unnecessary in getting to the main point of this experience. I improved over the weekend and made the best of my trip visiting havelis (large Mughal style mansions), lake parks, and lake view restaurants. I enjoyed the company of my friends and slept the majority of the train back to Jaipur. It took more than a week for me to get my appetite back and to realize how much I needed that to happen to me. Feeling sick is terrible. It is debilitating, scary, but truly a test of how strong you can be and how, ultimately, you can and should rely on yourself. My cocky bubble burst. I no longer felt invincible and unaffected. The blurry memory of the sitting alone in a small train bathroom without help made me realize that you can get past painful experiences; you can and will be ok without the constant watch of your family and friends. Yes, of course, these people are irreplaceable elements in one’s life, but it is reassuring to know that, at the end of the day, you can feel safe and know that you can take care of yourself.
Usually I talk a pretty big game about having a “strong stomach.” The last time I was India, I barely suffered from any of the typical “travelers’ illnesses” and managed to enjoy the majority of food. I worked in an urban slum, drank questionable water from time to time, and ate street food. My confidence had blossomed into cockiness as I entered India again, this time as a student. The first month and a half of my stay proved to be rather stable, never feeling more than just a stomachache.
The morning of the day we left for Udaipur I felt lethargic, queasy, and completely unlike myself. I slept through the majority of my classes at school in the library waking up ever so often to the soft nudges of my friends checking in on me. My Hindi teachers looked concerned that I planned to travel that very night. Even Mrs. Singh, who barely enters into matters that are not her own, spoke to me about considering the option of staying behind. My cockiness got the better of me. I let the warnings pass by hoping to prove to myself that I could be strong and in fact let mind trump matter.
The group had planned to take an overnight train to Udaipur that would arrive at seven in the morning. In the train station I felt completely fine, blinded and energized by the excitement of a trip on an overnight train to a beautiful city with my friends. I was not listening to signals my body was sending. That very night, after all were peacefully in bed snoozing away under worn woolen blankets in the AC car of the train, I jerked out of bed feeling more violently ill than I had ever felt in my entire life. A sudden wave of sickness, desperation, and fear overcame my whole being. How quickly could I get to the bathroom? Can I leave my belongings unattended in the train car? How am I ever going to survive this feeling? I decided to bring my purse and camera with me, leaving my overnight bag. I occupied the small squat toilet bathroom for over two hours in waves of illness, all alone in a train in the middle of rural Rajasthan. No parents stroking my back. Friends peacefully sleeping. The feeling of total and utter vulnerability piercing me. I managed to make it back to my seat, weak, dehydrated, and exhausted. I slept two hours before the train arrived in the Udaipur station. Of course I looked utterly terrible and my friends noticed my change in behavior immediately. Several friends assisted me the whole way to the hotel and got me into bed. Not completely unwillingly, I slept alone for the morning and most of the afternoon. I called my parents just to hear their voices and to commiserate over my sudden sickness. My mother, always caring and sympathetic in these situations, was a comforting ear as I lay, head throbbing, in the middle of a hotel room.
I won’t go into any more details of the course of the illness because they are pretty unnecessary in getting to the main point of this experience. I improved over the weekend and made the best of my trip visiting havelis (large Mughal style mansions), lake parks, and lake view restaurants. I enjoyed the company of my friends and slept the majority of the train back to Jaipur. It took more than a week for me to get my appetite back and to realize how much I needed that to happen to me. Feeling sick is terrible. It is debilitating, scary, but truly a test of how strong you can be and how, ultimately, you can and should rely on yourself. My cocky bubble burst. I no longer felt invincible and unaffected. The blurry memory of the sitting alone in a small train bathroom without help made me realize that you can get past painful experiences; you can and will be ok without the constant watch of your family and friends. Yes, of course, these people are irreplaceable elements in one’s life, but it is reassuring to know that, at the end of the day, you can feel safe and know that you can take care of yourself.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Lesson Learned...
Patience is a greatly underrated virtue. When you least expect it, the patience that you lacked at a time of little importance comes back and slaps you right across the face. Let me elaborate.
In my homestay, the laundry is done by my younger host sisters once or twice a week, depending on the regular, if not persistent, wardrobe needs of my older host sister. We have a washing machine in the backyard and a drying rack for all of the clothes. Two weeks ago, I gave a rather large batch of clothes to my host sister Lakshmi. In it contained several new kurtas (the long tunics paired over scrunched leggings—very fashionable among young Indian women). The next day I saw the dark colored clothes perched on a drying rack and the day after the light colored clothes similarly situated. For two days following I asked Lakshmi if I could have the clothes back to iron them. She obediently returned all of my dry, yet wrinkled, clothes to my room minus a pair of these leggings and my favorite navy blue kurta. I waited a day to see if the kurta would appear, but it didn’t and I, being possessive over my clothing in a country where I am lacking a general volume of clothing, did not hesitate to ask here where the pieces were. Over the next several inquiries (which spanned over a week) I was directed to my host mother, then back to my host sister, then back to my host mother all over again. I felt lost, vulnerable, taken advantage of. I assumed the worst. I wondered why my host sisters, technically the daughters of the family’s main servant, would want to take my clothes when my host parents so generously provide them with everything they need. Was it an act of power? Was it a display of their superiority over me in their environment? Was I being handed off from woman to woman with meaningless answers because they were purposefully trying to confuse me and teach me a lesson not to ask stupid questions? No, no, and no.
Today, when I returned home after a long and eventful trip to Udaipur, I saw a stack of neatly pressed and folded clothes lying on the coffee table in the living room. My navy blue kurta and black pants were at the top of the pile. My face brightened as I lunged for the clothes. All of fears of loss and deception dissolved. My host mother simply smiled and said, “When you wait, you see beauty in things that come slowly.” Here words are humbling even as I write at this very moment. In our hyper-prioritized, time-constricted lives in the U.S, we place emphasis, energy, and negative emotion on the things that ultimately do not matter. The loss of an insignificant kurta outfit having little monetary value and somewhat small sentimental value plunged me into a set of emotions that internally forced me to turn against the women in my host family—women who have been nothing but hospitable, kind, and warm to me. The twinges of anger and frustration I felt when I sorted through my clothes every morning hoping to find what I thought had mysteriously vanished were completely unfounded. My host mother sent away the clothes to be pressed so that I would look and feel better in them. Despite the two weeks it took for the clothes to return the intention and meaning behind the gesture amounts to so much more than the waiting period. In a very silly way, this interaction restored an element of my faith in people and in the inherent urge we feel to do good and help others. As trivial as the example may be in reality, I deeply questioned my tendency to jump to conclusions and pass judgment. Throughout my life, I have been guilty of this far too many times, losing friends and alienating people in the past. The simple act of doing something nice for someone without informing them coupled with a language barrier can lead to miscommunication and misunderstanding, yet it should never warrant silent and unforgivable judgment. The pace in India teaches many lessons that I hope will resonate in me over the remainder of my life. Time does not condition the meaning of actions, the journey and the intentions do.
In my homestay, the laundry is done by my younger host sisters once or twice a week, depending on the regular, if not persistent, wardrobe needs of my older host sister. We have a washing machine in the backyard and a drying rack for all of the clothes. Two weeks ago, I gave a rather large batch of clothes to my host sister Lakshmi. In it contained several new kurtas (the long tunics paired over scrunched leggings—very fashionable among young Indian women). The next day I saw the dark colored clothes perched on a drying rack and the day after the light colored clothes similarly situated. For two days following I asked Lakshmi if I could have the clothes back to iron them. She obediently returned all of my dry, yet wrinkled, clothes to my room minus a pair of these leggings and my favorite navy blue kurta. I waited a day to see if the kurta would appear, but it didn’t and I, being possessive over my clothing in a country where I am lacking a general volume of clothing, did not hesitate to ask here where the pieces were. Over the next several inquiries (which spanned over a week) I was directed to my host mother, then back to my host sister, then back to my host mother all over again. I felt lost, vulnerable, taken advantage of. I assumed the worst. I wondered why my host sisters, technically the daughters of the family’s main servant, would want to take my clothes when my host parents so generously provide them with everything they need. Was it an act of power? Was it a display of their superiority over me in their environment? Was I being handed off from woman to woman with meaningless answers because they were purposefully trying to confuse me and teach me a lesson not to ask stupid questions? No, no, and no.
Today, when I returned home after a long and eventful trip to Udaipur, I saw a stack of neatly pressed and folded clothes lying on the coffee table in the living room. My navy blue kurta and black pants were at the top of the pile. My face brightened as I lunged for the clothes. All of fears of loss and deception dissolved. My host mother simply smiled and said, “When you wait, you see beauty in things that come slowly.” Here words are humbling even as I write at this very moment. In our hyper-prioritized, time-constricted lives in the U.S, we place emphasis, energy, and negative emotion on the things that ultimately do not matter. The loss of an insignificant kurta outfit having little monetary value and somewhat small sentimental value plunged me into a set of emotions that internally forced me to turn against the women in my host family—women who have been nothing but hospitable, kind, and warm to me. The twinges of anger and frustration I felt when I sorted through my clothes every morning hoping to find what I thought had mysteriously vanished were completely unfounded. My host mother sent away the clothes to be pressed so that I would look and feel better in them. Despite the two weeks it took for the clothes to return the intention and meaning behind the gesture amounts to so much more than the waiting period. In a very silly way, this interaction restored an element of my faith in people and in the inherent urge we feel to do good and help others. As trivial as the example may be in reality, I deeply questioned my tendency to jump to conclusions and pass judgment. Throughout my life, I have been guilty of this far too many times, losing friends and alienating people in the past. The simple act of doing something nice for someone without informing them coupled with a language barrier can lead to miscommunication and misunderstanding, yet it should never warrant silent and unforgivable judgment. The pace in India teaches many lessons that I hope will resonate in me over the remainder of my life. Time does not condition the meaning of actions, the journey and the intentions do.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Living Americana
As a student abroad, one tends to feel longing for familiarity and comfort. Now, five weeks into the program I have begun to miss trivial luxuries like bagels with cream cheese and lox, warm baths, or feeling safe walking around at night. While I have adapted pretty well to India and I love living here, I miss having an American life. Yesterday, however, I felt as if I was living an American life relocated in India. I had a test in school in the morning, checked my email and posted pictures in the program center. After school, despite my two hour interlude hectically buying train tickets at the Jaipur railway station, I went to Central Park with friends, played cards and ultimate frisbee. At 7 o'clock we walked to a mall, bought sodas and journeyed over to my friend Sam's house for a birthday party. Sam and Hily were both celebrating birthdays, 20 and 21 respectively. We had the party on the rooftop terrace, a popular venue in India, listened to music, drank cold beers, and ate pizza. Even though we were surrounded by the Birla Mandir (Lakshmi Temple), the Queen's hilltop palace, and wedding fireworks, our environment felt strangely American--a feeling I had sincerely missed. Dancing and shouting song lyrics with friends while eating familiar food transplanted me back to my college life. We weren't harassed or prodded for looking American, sounding American, or acting American, but existed within a small rooftop bubble, safe from the dangers of uncertainty. Those moments of comfort are rewarding, but in the end I really like feeling disjointed and challenged in a new environment. Swaying in the strange flow of Indian life is much better than static life. I like being thrown out of place, but ever so often a little rooftop party makes all the chaos worth it.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
A Normal Day in the Life...
Today I had my first real exam of the semester. After arriving at the SIT program center by our usual autorickshaw, we were broken up into groups of 7 to take the written exam. What was supposed to take 2 hours ended up taking most people 40 minutes. I felt pretty good about my Hindi exam — it wasn’t too difficult. Then again I am learning a completely different language, alphabet, and writing system. I’ll be pleased if I retain what I’ve learned. After the written exam and an hour break, I took my oral exam with one of my Hindi teachers, Goutam-ji (aka Mr. Mehr). He is extremely hilarious around the classroom and is always cracking jokes with us on all of our excursions. For the majority of the time he is our teacher, but he also serves as a translator when he goes on field site visits with us. I feel really lucky to have such an involved group of Hindi teachers who try to get to know us as individuals rather than just as students.
During the oral exam, we had a short conversation and Goutam-ji asked me a number of questions regarding the size of my family, the occupation of my father (not my mother interestingly enough — the patriarchal nature of the society really does shine through, sorry mom), my hobbies, what I am studying, etc. He asked me vocabulary questions and we went on for more than the assigned 15 minutes. At the end of the session he asked me to write different words on the white board, something I am much weaker at. Spelling in the Devanagri syllabary is extremely difficult. There is just the slightest difference between retroflex and dental sounds, aspirated and unaspirated inflection.
In the afternoon we had a lecturer who spoke on the future of Indian urban planning and thoroughly went into the issues of caste and religious segregation in the cities. He spoke of how Muslim and low caste communities are regularly located on the outskirts of the cities away from the amenities provided by government municipalities. The issues of real estate negotiations, transfer of property between communities and the prejudice intertwined in all of this is unfathomable. In the afternoon, I went with my friends Katie, Chloe, and Kedryn to a 70% off sale at a fancy saree boutique near the Lakshmi temple in Jaipur. I have never seen so many women swarming over clothing in my entire life. Gorgeous, posh women dressed to the nines were pouring over all sorts sarees, salwaar suits, individual cloth pieces, and scarves. I felt extremely awkward in my heavy backpack and short kurta next to these sophisticated women. I ended up buying several salwaar materials and a two scarves. After the sale, I met my friend Josh for a run around our neighborhood. We met at around 6:30 and discovered a beautiful part just near our house. We ran about two miles around the complex and watched the sunset. I can definitely say that it was a good day.
During the oral exam, we had a short conversation and Goutam-ji asked me a number of questions regarding the size of my family, the occupation of my father (not my mother interestingly enough — the patriarchal nature of the society really does shine through, sorry mom), my hobbies, what I am studying, etc. He asked me vocabulary questions and we went on for more than the assigned 15 minutes. At the end of the session he asked me to write different words on the white board, something I am much weaker at. Spelling in the Devanagri syllabary is extremely difficult. There is just the slightest difference between retroflex and dental sounds, aspirated and unaspirated inflection.
In the afternoon we had a lecturer who spoke on the future of Indian urban planning and thoroughly went into the issues of caste and religious segregation in the cities. He spoke of how Muslim and low caste communities are regularly located on the outskirts of the cities away from the amenities provided by government municipalities. The issues of real estate negotiations, transfer of property between communities and the prejudice intertwined in all of this is unfathomable. In the afternoon, I went with my friends Katie, Chloe, and Kedryn to a 70% off sale at a fancy saree boutique near the Lakshmi temple in Jaipur. I have never seen so many women swarming over clothing in my entire life. Gorgeous, posh women dressed to the nines were pouring over all sorts sarees, salwaar suits, individual cloth pieces, and scarves. I felt extremely awkward in my heavy backpack and short kurta next to these sophisticated women. I ended up buying several salwaar materials and a two scarves. After the sale, I met my friend Josh for a run around our neighborhood. We met at around 6:30 and discovered a beautiful part just near our house. We ran about two miles around the complex and watched the sunset. I can definitely say that it was a good day.
Pushkar Debrief
It has been quite a while since I last posted, but I can assure you that it is for a very good reason. The group just returned from a week-long excursion to Jodhpur, Jaisalmer, and Bikaner. In addition, I traveled to Pushkar, a small hippie settlement in the middle of the desert, with several of my friends the weekend prior to the trip. I can honestly say that this was one of the best trips I have ever taken in my entire life — educational, fun, interesting, stimulating, diverse, and emotionally moving.
A group of my friends (12 of us) left Jaipur on Saturday morning, February 21st and took an AC taxi to Pushkar. We arrived at the hotel in the mid-afternoon, checked in, received delicious (and free!) mango tea. All of us were desperate to check out the falafel restaurant that came highly recommended, so we ventured off into the streets of Pushkar wandering through the markets. On the street I purchased a camel leather notebook with a stone of amber on the front, for use as a future journal. I’m hoping to write in it as often as possible. Last summer I returned home from Kolkata with a composition notebook full of letters, poems, notes, and ideas, something I will treasure forever. I plan to replicate it over the semester.
The falafel restaurant, The Third Eye, is run by Israelis who have emigrated to Pushkar and have essentially established a hippie colony. I ate some of the most authentic falafel I have ever had in the Israeli diaspora, with French fries inside the falafel sandwich itself! In those moments I really missed home and hummus and tahini I eat regularly with my family. All of the Jewish kids in the group kept reading all of the Hebrew signs around the restaurant and hotel with pride. I even had a very short conversation with an Israeli guy in Hebrew (dad, you would have been proud). On the way back into the market I happened upon the Chabad House and an Israeli guy came out wearing tefillin and a kippah. He asked me first if I was Australian and then if I was Jewish. I was with my friends so I didn’t stop, but it was extremely tempting to sit down with a bunch of hippie religious Jews and feast in India.
For the rest of the afternoon we wandered around Pushkar and happened upon the Brahma temple, the only one of its kind in the whole world. In my honest opinion, the temple does not stand out from many of the other temples that I have visited here; nonetheless it does hold great significance for many Hindus. It is the only Brahma temple in the entire world, drawing pilgrims from all parts of India. After the visit to the temple, my friend Josh and I wandered through the streets of Pushkar and happened upon a religious musical gathering near one of the ghats on the lake. As I crossed the threshold into the ghat to start taking pictures of the lake, an old man stopped me and said I had to participate in the pooja before I could start taking pictures. At that moment I recalled my friend Becca telling me not to do the pooja because it meant jumping into the lake and exposing myself to multiple parasites and bacteria. I was extremely hesitant. Luckily, Josh, who looks Indian because his father is Bangladeshi, is extremely outgoing when it comes to interacting with Indians so we decided to play along. We sat at the water’s edge separate from one another and were tended by individual priests. I was given a red powder bindi and was relieved of my bad karma. I placed a blessing on my family and friends, poured a little bit of the lake water on my head, and made a 100 rupee (roughly $2) donation; with that I completed the ceremony section of the pooja. Josh and I then proceeded to walk around the lake to see all 52 ghats at sunset. We sat with other pilgrims, walked shoeless through the pigeon poop, soot and waste, and felt completely satisfied as the sun fell behind the horizon.
That evening we returned to the hotel and sat on the roof for several hours sipping lassis and talking about life and India. We had dinner at the hotel restaurant, a pure vegetarian place with all organic produce. It was really delicious. The next morning all of the girls in the group received sketchy massages from the hotel masseuses, all men. I obviously kept my clothes on and stayed pretty tense for the entirety of the massage due to my heightened sense of male libido (from the sexual repression in this country).
Overall, I had an amazing two day vacation from the busy city life of Jaipur and a lovely escape into some hippie and Israeli culture. If you ever get to Rajasthan I unhesitantingly recommend Pushkar for a lovely weekend away and a great shopping retreat.
A group of my friends (12 of us) left Jaipur on Saturday morning, February 21st and took an AC taxi to Pushkar. We arrived at the hotel in the mid-afternoon, checked in, received delicious (and free!) mango tea. All of us were desperate to check out the falafel restaurant that came highly recommended, so we ventured off into the streets of Pushkar wandering through the markets. On the street I purchased a camel leather notebook with a stone of amber on the front, for use as a future journal. I’m hoping to write in it as often as possible. Last summer I returned home from Kolkata with a composition notebook full of letters, poems, notes, and ideas, something I will treasure forever. I plan to replicate it over the semester.
The falafel restaurant, The Third Eye, is run by Israelis who have emigrated to Pushkar and have essentially established a hippie colony. I ate some of the most authentic falafel I have ever had in the Israeli diaspora, with French fries inside the falafel sandwich itself! In those moments I really missed home and hummus and tahini I eat regularly with my family. All of the Jewish kids in the group kept reading all of the Hebrew signs around the restaurant and hotel with pride. I even had a very short conversation with an Israeli guy in Hebrew (dad, you would have been proud). On the way back into the market I happened upon the Chabad House and an Israeli guy came out wearing tefillin and a kippah. He asked me first if I was Australian and then if I was Jewish. I was with my friends so I didn’t stop, but it was extremely tempting to sit down with a bunch of hippie religious Jews and feast in India.
For the rest of the afternoon we wandered around Pushkar and happened upon the Brahma temple, the only one of its kind in the whole world. In my honest opinion, the temple does not stand out from many of the other temples that I have visited here; nonetheless it does hold great significance for many Hindus. It is the only Brahma temple in the entire world, drawing pilgrims from all parts of India. After the visit to the temple, my friend Josh and I wandered through the streets of Pushkar and happened upon a religious musical gathering near one of the ghats on the lake. As I crossed the threshold into the ghat to start taking pictures of the lake, an old man stopped me and said I had to participate in the pooja before I could start taking pictures. At that moment I recalled my friend Becca telling me not to do the pooja because it meant jumping into the lake and exposing myself to multiple parasites and bacteria. I was extremely hesitant. Luckily, Josh, who looks Indian because his father is Bangladeshi, is extremely outgoing when it comes to interacting with Indians so we decided to play along. We sat at the water’s edge separate from one another and were tended by individual priests. I was given a red powder bindi and was relieved of my bad karma. I placed a blessing on my family and friends, poured a little bit of the lake water on my head, and made a 100 rupee (roughly $2) donation; with that I completed the ceremony section of the pooja. Josh and I then proceeded to walk around the lake to see all 52 ghats at sunset. We sat with other pilgrims, walked shoeless through the pigeon poop, soot and waste, and felt completely satisfied as the sun fell behind the horizon.
That evening we returned to the hotel and sat on the roof for several hours sipping lassis and talking about life and India. We had dinner at the hotel restaurant, a pure vegetarian place with all organic produce. It was really delicious. The next morning all of the girls in the group received sketchy massages from the hotel masseuses, all men. I obviously kept my clothes on and stayed pretty tense for the entirety of the massage due to my heightened sense of male libido (from the sexual repression in this country).
Overall, I had an amazing two day vacation from the busy city life of Jaipur and a lovely escape into some hippie and Israeli culture. If you ever get to Rajasthan I unhesitantingly recommend Pushkar for a lovely weekend away and a great shopping retreat.
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