Back and forth on the Bombay streets

Good morning to the first day of Bombay! I ate some more snacks from the Salida kitchen and drank the delicious pot of fresh chai delivered to my room along with newspaperThe Times of India. The big news was the India-US nuclear talks and the big (and often dangerous) India-Pakistan cricket match. Then I ventured out into the city to see the sites, and try to preserve the health of my body while playing a real life game of Frogger in trying to cross the street. I tried to pick an Indian and shadow him across-- still unnerving to step in front of an onrushing and accelerating automobile as it brushes past-- one Indian boy did so with a tray of four chai teas in his hand, making me feel more foolish! :)

I saw the Gateway of India, a behomath monument built for one of the British queens just on the Bay, and the nearby Taj hotel (above photo), a truly beautiful structure built by a Parsi in spite, after the Brits wouldn't allow "a native" into one of their own luxury hotels. Make no doubts this is a very luxorious place. They had pictures of such guests as John and Yoko Lennon, Bill Clinton (in Indian dress), Jacques Chirac, and others. The Irish Prime Minister and delegation are staying there now and I actually saw him while standing outside the loo. There was a hilarious photo of him and other cabinent leaders, with their wives, standing on a beach and wearing Indian khurtas and saris. It was like a scene from a strange Bollywood movie! W. Bush will be staying here March 1-3. Heard rumors the advance security team is taking up many rooms this week already. Also had some delicious food along the way and checked out the market stalls.

Then chanced my way into an old synogoge and was greeted by an older Indian man inside. I asked him how long he traced his own family's Judiasm, thinking the British Raj must have somehow been involved. To my shock, he said 2,200 years!!! I was to find out that the Indian Jewry really does go back that far (the Old Testament actually makes reference to India). Two sects from around that time have been historically established, the older one called Bene Israel. Other Indian Jews trace their ancestory from 1-2 centuries back, from the Middle East. I met one elderly man whose grandparents came from Iraq. And many now had children or grandchildren settled in Israel. I drank some chai with this one man and marvelled at seeing this truly Jewish and yet truly Indian man before me.

After leaving I added to my foreign country haircut list by visiting a barber and getting a trim. After it was over he offered to give me a head-massage that ended up being like a very exotic interpretation of a noogie. It left me more than a little perplexed but also, strangely enough, invigorated. I later stopped inside a "Vipassana hotel" I'd heard about and then, while crossing a street, felt a tap no my chest and looked up to see Louis, a French Canadian I knew from Toronto! He had been at Dhamma Giri for some time and was in their Pali workshop. We went to a cafe and I got a fresh lime soda as we caught up.

After that I decided to head back to the synagoge for Friday night services. Very traditional-- women on the top level and men below as Hebrew was recited. Jet lag was kicking in somewhat now and I was wondering if I should have given myself a rest-- as it turned out, I'm glad I didn't! After the prayer session ended, the rabbi invited us all to his home for a Friday shabbat meal. I spoke with some members of a New York tour group before leaving-- they were on a two week tour called "India through Jewish Eyes." We walked a kilometer or so and past the Taj again to go to the Rabbi's rooftop apartment that overlooked the Bay and the ships on the water. An amazing Jewish food spread was laid out as I met Jews from Israel, Holland, UK, Hawaii, and other places. Many were in India through an American organization that provided young Jews with community service in NGOs in developing countries.

The meal was long, interspersed with various prayers and stories in English and Hebrew. The rabbi and one of the New York members apparently seemed to question my commitment, offering some pointed advice and leading questions at times. They seemed pretty skeptical of what kind of first name I was carrying and I didn't bother to offer up the last...! What they would have thought of that! The rabbi cautioned us against being in a country of idol-worshippers and exhorted us to start conversations telling the locals that our One God has explained this is not correct, and the New Yorker encouraged me not to search in a quest of other cultures in place of my own. I smiled and thought something like be happy. :) The rabbi, through the night, liberally adminstered shots and small glasses from the 2-liter bottle of Chivas Regal he was holding-- ah, rites and rituals, and everything in between!

But what can I say, what a special opportunity and what an experience. It reminded me of one Paris night I was standing on the corner and was similarly invited to a shabbat meal.

Bombay certainly is a different city than that of the north-- I enjoy it. :) Less hassles, less wild and scary packs of dogs, less scams (though still the random whisperers trying to hawk you drugs from time to time). I leave here after the weekend to go to Igatpuri and Dhamma Giri/Tapovan. Still no word if Goenkaji will be there. But it should be very quiet with a 45 day course going on at the site in the meantime. Today I went to the Prince of Wales museum, another absolutely fantastic British building that left me in awe at every turn. Some of the exhibits were in typically Indian style rather wasting away behind dust or dirt, some 2000 years old art wasn't protected in any way. The only thing security seemed to care about is if you took a photo without first paying the 30 rupee charge. The most fascinating thing for me here were the Buddhist sculptures about 600 years after his death. Below a photo of sun setting just outside my room...

And some ice cream waiters-- labor costs are so cheap here, usually adds up to dozens of people being employed and not having much to do but play Centerball most of the time...

For photos of Bombay, click here!

When a travel day is not a day

The title line should say it all! The "day" started out with a three hour drive from Salida to the Denver airport, and following check-in I immediately tried to follow my new jet-lag regimen given to me in the form of a book by a friend at a Colorado Vipassana course. The book is the result of decades of research into jet lag developed at the Argonne laboratory and followed by the US Special Forces. I wasn't able to follow every single detail in the book, which should begin three days prior to flight regarding a diet of various proteins and carbs at various appointed times, but I was now trying to get in line with India's 12.5 hour time difference as I sat and waited for three plus hours in Denver... afternoon here, but early morning over there. I tried to quiet all my bodily and mental functions and actually mustered up the courage to lay down on the floor for a couple hours to stimulate the 3 am it really was in India. Then, as dawn broke in Bombay and we boarded the aircraft, I turned the dial on and tried to "wake up." I did some stretches out of my seat and watched three straight movies-- all pretty good :) -- and realized the only thing I could have remembered to bring (for the airplane at least) was some visine for the eyes and something else for the dry nostrils.

In London I walked into the terminal and almost immediately chanced upon a free shower room. They were bucket showers only, but it worked, and upon exiting saw the multi-prayer faith room, where I went in to sit my hour. But sheer exhaustion was overtaking me, alas, given my ardest efforts to trick my body I certainly was not in Bombay, it did not feel like noon, but I managed the painful hour, and opened my eyes to be surrounded by about ten Muslims standing around and kneeling on small prayer carpets. Then I followed the directions received from the wonderful website http://www.sleepinginairports.com/ and found the "Quiet Seating Area" section, an enclave hidden in the back of Terminal 4, and set down to eat my lunch of sandwich and celery+PB. After making a brief acquaintanceship with an Indian family also en route to Bombay (and asking them to make sure I wasn't still asleep seven hours from now when the plane was to depart), I drifted off and on to sleep in this chilly room, it wasn't ideal, but with no sounds and dim lighting it was about as good as you could hope for.

It was still the middle of a Bombay night when I boarded at 9 pm UK time, sharing the row with two oversized and rather silly Germans in their fortys who giggled most of the flight where they happened to be awake. "Our meditation is... we are drinking beer, go to the beaches, and riding the motorcycle" they explained after asking me what brings me to India. Later I was to see them stuck in hopeless Bombay traffic on the way to our hotels... With lights and food I stayed awake for a fourth movie (four more than I saw during my whole two months in Illinois last fall), the superb "Lord of War", then drifted into airplane sleep again. Got off in Bombay and barely took a sniff of air when I knew I was in India again... greeted with a warm and quiet smile by the customs agent who I found out is also a Vipassana meditator and knows Igatpuri too.

Into an 8 dollar taxi ride of about 2 hours into the heart of the city, immediately realizing I have packed way too many warm clothes and hardly anything for this hot tropical climate and exhaust-ing and exhaust-full city of cars and people.... unbelievable traffic and children hawking just-released book and bunches of limes... finally arriving at the recommended Chateau Windsor Hotel and getting a pot of hot chai tea with milk and sugar delivered to my room, turning on the TV with Oprah speaking, then going to a very nice restaurant next door and getting my first full meal and lassi. The waitstaff stood right behind me as I ate and whenever I was getting low on my plate, he spooned me some more of the delicious spinach dish from the bowl before me... felt a little odd being hovered over so, and so attentively, rather like the time in Thailand my friend and I walked into a bathroom and received back massages at the urinals... when the meal finished I was given a bowl with a fresh lime, and after asking what to do with it, dipped my hands in... good thing I didn't just assume it was for drinking!

Took a small walk and ended up in the former Raj building of the Asiatic Society (whose pioneers built the scholarship base that modern Buddhist studies are since built upon), and saw an absolutely exquisite library inside that looks like it has not changed even a bit since 100-150 years ago... really a remarkable place like you see in many Indian cities that is Old British + very many years of neglect + Indian tempermants and then you can visualize it. Was invited to sit in on a conversation between 81 year old man and a young woman in a beautifully colorful sari. He was explaining the history of the building and the great men of the Raj (their larger-than-life statues were all around us now)-- was none too happy the British left and say Indians have none of the discipline the Brits had and that's why the country has fallen to pieces. He went on to say (many subsequent times) he was from a farming family but self-educated himself in engineering, English, and the histories of Persia, US, UK, and India (as for my own history, Lincoln, Jefferson, Washington, and Franklin were the "great men"). Also a Vipassana meditator. We walked to another antiquated room where he bought me a chai tea and beamed when I told him I was a teacher-- "A noble profession indeed!" Went back outside into the main hall of the library where pigeons were still flying overhead, utterly exhausted now again, make my way back to the hotel and take another bucket shower and collapse for 11 hours sleep... Here are two diverse views of the city! One shows the new skyscrapers pushing their way over a city that still has no real refuse system, the second of the splendid and overbearing Victoria Station left by the British...

For photos of Bombay, click here!

A quick end of a course and...

We stopped in Joshua tree for another small portion of a Vipassana course. It was wonderful to be in the desert and see these unique trees all around-- do a google search to see what I'm talking about if you haven't already. There were nearly 200 people at this course, and at this time, about 600 total people sitting in California (including North Fork and Occidental) and nearly 80 servers... can you imagine! I have never worked such a big course and a task such as cleaning tables after mealtimes or preparing salad took take a single person an hour or even more.

We came a day late due to a heavy rainstorm that knocked out the power for about 17 hours. Luckily they perservered and even chopped vegetables by candlelight. One Israeli told a humorous story about bringing a menorah but deciding not to light it due to it (quite obviously) being a rite or ritual. Then, on the last night of Hanukah, the power was out, so all nine candles were used in the dorm anyway for practical purposes... hmmm.... Here are a couple caricatures my Israeli friend drew of me-- this used to be his livelihood and now he's a cartoonist-- you be the judge of how lifelike either are...

Unfortunately I did get one of the bugs floating around, hence few photos for the ride home-- I was in pretty miserable shape, observing sensations as I could. Stopped in the same place in Alberquerque and went to the same family owned Mexican restaurant that was just fantastic, and could barely talk half the time due to the nine-part band that serenaded us and other tables! As for now, I'm just trying to get cured before my next depature gets underway-- and a recent and painful visit to the dentist is not helping matters!

And here is a photo of my mom at another famous old time hotel, El Rancho Lodge, with dozens of signs portraits from 1940s and 50s era stars of the silver screen...

Dreaming of Sunny Christmas... and other holidays...

Almost 90 degrees one day in LA... man oh man, talk about California dreaming on such a winter's day! Some nice time with family and even a rare smile on my grandfather's face for a photo! I toured the various strip malls in the area and did my part as well to watch my quota of Hollywood in this entertainment capital of the world. Actually did see "Munich" in the theatres which impressed me immensely. And also benefited from the good ethnic foods in the area-- a Jewish deli, various Italian and Mexican fares, lots of Asian restaurants too but somehow missed these. And finally got to some good games of chess as you can see in the studious photo below, where I found out my grandfather is far more aggressive on the chessboard than I've ever seen him in real life! He was chasing me all around and into so many corners that for nearly 30 minutes both games my heart was beating and throat was dry trying to figure out where he was going and how to get there just a moment before. Luckily in both cases I managed to escape the hand I felt slowly tightening around me, and elude it long enough for him to make some oversights of his own... a thoroughly entertaining time, and he was holding home court advantage!

And here is a last photo I life of the candles I took-- like the dynamitism of this flame and seeing the little hairs of the wick stick out-- try clicking on it to see a bigger view...

An interesting drive...

My mom and I left again from Colorado to make Los Angeles for the holidays. The weather just kept getting warmer and warmer for me! Illinois to Chicago to Colorado and now gradually, the southwest and SoCal. After all this time in the south, when it comes to time to leave a few weeks from now, I'll forget our globe is still in the winter season! Our first stop was in northern New Mexico, not a long drive, to the neat mineral hot springs of Ojo Caliente, where we met a family we know from Vipassana. There were about seven different kind of mineral pools to soak in, and one that was actually *almost* as hot as something you might find in Japan! (Waters in America, I find, can't really come close. Average Japanese pools most of my countrymen and countrywomen would wince upon setting their pinky in. The hot standard over there-- it almost burned the skin just to touch it... ahhhhh!)

Then as we were going through Arizona, we ended up taking a detour that took us over the old Route 66. It was really quite fascinating. We travelled over old dusty roads that narrowed and hung over cliff edges, roads like I've never seen in this country. Hairpin turns that cut its way through empty desert vistas and followed the track of a lost byways that once upon a time totally transformed this country. Can you imagine what the land must have been like before it had a highway system connecting it? The Route 66 that traversed from Santa Monica to Chicago was a first of its kind, prompting a multitude of old jalopies to take advantage of this new found freedom--and now abandoned but certainly not forgotten, not where there is a dollar to to be made, and today countless shops, restaurants, hotels, cafes, and anything else you can think of hawk just about any kind of "memorabilia" imaginable, even those built on the new expressways several dozen miles off the old route. Still, driving through the 66 style has its high points. Like there are a few towns that, for certain glances, really look fairly unchanged. Old style lettering advertise the cheap hotels, with dusy glass doors and a lazy breeze to boot. Or check out this shot in a small town called Williams of the left. In black and white here you'd hardly believe it actually came from my own camera! And here's a copy of an old gas station we passed by in one desolate area below...

Then we made another stop at the fascinating small town of Oatman. We even saw the old Oatman Hotel where Clark Gable's honeymoon sweet has been untouched. This town was thirty miles of equally untouched roads away from anything whatsoever, and yet there were a few other visitors and yes, again the ubiquitous hawkers. But there was something kind of neat about it too. Dirt roads and even an old-timer dressed in sheriff's uniform. It was an old mining town and burrows, which previous had been used for the mines, never quite left with the people, they stayed on and now roam the areas wildly (with signs warning the human visitors to their distance-- the animals have been known to kick and bite!) Here is a picture of three such creatures, with an equally authentic raggedly old shack behind them. (The photo above is of my mom in the dining room of the Oatman hotel, decorated with what is said to be 20,000 $1 bills-- the room extends quite a ways)

And finally-- here's a shot of that desert cactus. The photo is a bit deceiving, though-- this cactus actually grows at a ground level about five feet below where I am standing!

writings on india...

Here are a few short snipits of India... long but interesting (and sometimes funny) stuff!


Nashika Bus Angel

Picture this: you’re traveling in rural India as a white-ass, pink-nosed Westerner in a sea of tan-ass faces; some dark as coal – and it’s getting close to dusk. Problem # 1: you’ve gotta get from Nashik back to Igatpuri, and the only cabbies left this time of day are sharks – those shysters only too happy to quote you a 400 rupee price for the same ride that would cost 35 in the daytime.

Problem #2: your sweetheart/spouse is at your side. This normally wouldn’t pose difficulties, but she ain’t got no saree or baby in her arms. Worse, her hair is stylishly close-cropped, making her out to be some kind of heathen.
In addition, she’s out there looking somewhat independent, thinking for herself: strike three. Hey, it’s India. The worst they could do is stare; not that they ain’t starin’ at the relative high luminance of your light complexions already.
The upshot is, aside from your obvious fears of being so goddamn foreign, is that, statistically, you’re much less likely to get mugged here than in the states – but it sure doesn’t feel that way.

So the two of ya start walkin’.

Soon, there’s a bus stop over yonder packed with those tanks they call busses – colossal, box-shaped, virtual rolling battering-rams crammed with cackling passengers. Your hopes start to sink, however, as soon as you begin attempting to decipher the hieroglyphics inscribed on the front and sides of each bus. Everywhere you look, the same baffling array of symbols is slopped on –with yucky paint – in bizarre patterns, but no English or anything even remotely resembling it can be found. Even the signs in the grungy parking lot sport the same nonsense. And once again, you’re front and center; you can feel the searing heat of the gawkers’ unrelenting starin’.You’re stuck, screwed....
Ouch! – better think about hoofin’ it, dude!

Suddenly, a bright young gentleman pops out of a scrum of idle passerby.
“You are from which country?” he asks politely. Immediate relief floods your body/mind as you get to talkin’. His English is impeccable, as can be expected from a senior in Indian college – while he explains the drill: in this area, only Marathi is spoken; many don’t even speak Hindi. English is, for the most part, or rather, the ALL part, “out of question.” On that note, he adds, with that trademark Indian nod of the neck: “no one is going to help you.” Implicit in this is that even if they could, they wouldn’t.
At that, he immediately turns and pokes his head into each bus, hammering away at the crew in fluent Marathi, sussing out, in short order, the proper tank-bus going to Igatpuri.

Our Angel had arrived, seemingly out of nowhere, and gone out of his way to help, with an abundant sweetness that bubbled over as we continued to talk.
We mentioned Dhammagiri, the Dhamma in general, and wished we’d had some pamphlets! He and a few listeners nearby seemed genuinely interested, their glassy eyes fixed on us and him as he translated what we said.
That hellishly noisy bus ride cost 25 rupees each. Pink-ass Westerners win round one.
Game over!

Oh, well, not quite. The bus driver, who spoke perhaps three words of English, including, but perhaps not limited to “twenty five”, and “rupees” let us off in Igatpuri proper, but well away from that market-laced part we all know so well, so we were left with a fair bit of walkin', but no matter.
Hey, this was ‘uptown’; still fairly rural, reasonably impoverished, eerily lit and mysterious. What the heck – a little sightseein’ wasn’t so bad after all.
Strolling without eyes downcast, we became awash in smoke that wafted from some partyin’ that was goin’ on in plain view – and this was indeed ‘dancin’ in the street’ – I mean, these dudes were circling a bonfire of scrap and who-knows-what else, jumpin’, chanting, singing and waving their arms wildly.
Who cares if they were chanting mantras?
The sheer joy they seemed to be experiencing – while engaging in the sensual pleasure of their choice – filled the night air and made us feel safer somehow.
We were still a bit uptight, of course, though closer to ‘home’, and this time, there wasn’t as much gawking; our glaring whiteness seemed to blend in, or at least not be as noticeable to the natives. Whew!
Best of all, there was a deep feeling of satisfaction at having told some possibly ripe individuals about the Dhamma, along with the hope that it took.
We can never forget that dude – a very special being in a burly, geeky-student fleshsack; a Deva or Brahma reborn to spread his wealth of metta and panna around on earth once again.
Perhaps a Maha Acharya who was awaiting the proper time to get that push, that tiny tweak, that would enable him to return within this Sasana to teach with gusto any and all waiting Devas, rupa-Brahmas and human beings – even pink ones.
May he get the Dhamma!




I'm glad I'm here at dhamma giri,a safe refuge. Total immersion at this stage might be a bit much. Igot to my hotel in mumbai at about midnight after a nervous, smelly, chaotictaxi ride. on Sunday morning went straight to Victoria station and gota unreserved ticket for Igatpuri at 4.30pm. So I had a day to kill. Ididn't anticipate doing muc except loking at my watch constantly andmaybe nervously trying a popular backpacker restaurant from lonelyplanet. I strolled over to Marine drive to look at the bay. This 16year old youth called viki came up and offered to shine my trainers.We got talking and he started to teach me a bit of hindi. He's fromJaipur. His father shines shoes there trying in vain to pay off debts.Viki, his mother and two sisters live god knows where in Mumbai, vikitrying to shine shoes and the others begging on the street. He saidwhat he wanted was a shoeshine box, which comes with a licence toshine shoes at stations and so on… he was angling for money, but veryopen and friendly about it. He pointed across the bay to a hilly,foresty bit with tall buildings. He said there was a jain festival anda good park and he would show me, plenty of time before 4.30, so wetook a taxi. A nice part of town, gated, guarded apartment buildings,but with a woman collecting warm poo from a cow's anus outside,children playing cricket in a dusty square, a man walking a monkey.Viki was chewing paan and spitting red. He made an excuse while Ilooked at the jain temple and dodged next door to make a deal with asouvenir shop owner to bring me in. He then came back and persuaded meto look…I was obviously not buying and the salesman lost interest inme almost instantly. Viki explained quite openly what he'd done. Wesat I a park and practiced more hindi. He brought up the box again.900rupee. It would allow him to support his mother and sisters. Allthe advice I'd had went through my head: don,t, whatever you do givemoney. The worst mistake I made was giving money. You'll just make itharder for all the other foreigners. You'll push up prices. But Ifound myself asking more questions about this box. Maybe I am naïve,maybe I find it hard to say no, maybe I want the story to have a happyending. Where can you get the box? There was no way I was just goingto give the youth money. Ok, so let's go to the box-seller, justenough time to get there and back before 4.30. We took a taxi toMumbai central. Massive rusty warehouse of girders and struts, suncoming in through dust and smoke, crowds, smells and noise. Got onto apacked train with no doors, youths hanging out, past concretebuildings that had never been painted and never would be, out atBhandra, through the crowds and goats, into a tuktuk, out and into alabyrinth of alleys and gutters, women and children, families visiblethrough open doors, the sky a kinked strip overhead, up a rusty ladderanto a carpeted room where half naked children slept as India playedsrilanka at cricket on an 80s TV. The box-vendors: two brothers notmuch older than viki. They wanted 1600rupee. No way. Menga he. 800 mycounter offer. 1050. I take out a 1000 note. They smell money and takeit. Viki has the box. He's pleased. He says I've done him an honour.There's time to eat so we dip into a veg thali place In a bhandraalleyway. My first real meal in India. Not bad. Another tuktuk, thisone with a cd player and huge speakers, the driver in his nid-teens.Deep, mysterious Indian trance music almost drowning out the horns andengines. Viki sorts me out with a train direct to Victoria. We don'twait to buy tickets. It's a waste of time, he says, nobody will check,Nobody does. I get to Victoria and catch my train. I wish Viki well.It was a lot of money. It could even have been an elaborate scam, himin cahoots with the brothers, I don't know.

Hello everyone from India... Where to begin? I've been here only a week or so and I have to say I find it hard to believe that the outside world there is still existing as I left it. It's funny, you come here to see something exotic, something spiritual, to see people living their lives in different fashions than we know in the West or in the modern world, to see how people can live and even be happy without the very basic necessities... and then there's times when you just feel like forget that, maybe we've lost our relationship with nature but give me clean streets, comfortable beds, safe food, ventilated rooms... what times are these? Like when you're on a train crammed with too many Indian men than the uncomfortable cusions should allow, smoke all in your face and they're spitting betel and tobacco over me out the window, or on the floor... this is on a 20 hour trip that took 26 hours mind you, with just fans to help us and sleep only comes when exhaustion all but rocks you into a deep-rooted fatigue. Recovering from a bad case of heatstroke, no food, and a half liter of water left but the Indian next to me keeps swiping my bottle and takes generous sips. I took a walkman with me but have tried to use it as little as possible; I see music as an escape and would rather delve right into the atmoshphere and soak it all up, good or bad. But with my stomach in knots and throat dry, it is all too much, so I blast out some Tupac and try to take myself away from it.... when a man comes down the aisle hobbling, a bum asking for change, this is nothing uncommon because we are stopped at a train station. But when he is next to me he pulls up his pant leg and I see his skin eaten away at the shin, the flesh and bone open... Oh God how can this be? As if it can't get worse.... and traveling alone there is no Western friend around to share a sympathetic or even horrified glance, I just wanted to yell profanities out the window at having taken in such a reality. Or walking through the slums of Calcutta and Varanasi, the luckier families not on the pavement living 15 to a room-- a 'room' can we call it that? A hovel thrown together with brick and straw and you can see it before your eyes disintegrating, slime all over the floor... the streets filled with trash, animal and human waste, the stench totally and completely indescribable... and amognst all this children running around barefoot, food venders selling some greasy paste wrapped in day old newspaper, beggars and lepers, goats, cows, sick looking dogs, need I go on? I'll be damned if you don't feel the tears welling up to your eyes the first few days of this. I would go back to my hotel room (costing a whopping $2 for a single with shower/toilet per night) and collapse on my bed, and when I regained the energy I went back out to face this all again.

But I met a sadhu (one who basically renounces his earthly life to seek out God) in Varanasi who told me money and happiness have absolutely nothing to do with each other. And it's true. Once you get away from your Western stomach and nose, you see the smiles on the childrens' faces, and the love of families, their togetherness.... life more at the roots. Even one's waste and death are there right for everyone to see... how many people did I see squatting in rice patties from the train, I lose count! We live lives of such material fullness that when something God forbid comes to make a small dent we grimace and grumble and curse everything... I see people living here and just accepting, not like fatalitism, call it a trust in life, or God, or whatever... like when a sleeping man dribbled tobacco juice all over the clothes of another, who just shook his head in a smile. Or another who went to the bathroom and when he came back his seat was taken, there were none other and it was a crowded long trip, but he just stood by the window and watched the scenery go by, not a look of bitterness in his face... such incidents would trouble each of us a little, some of us quite a bit!

From my oh so limited experience up to presence, this is a country of spirit. I have met Indians in which neither of us says a single word, we just look at each other for a minute or so smiling. This coming from a land where we don't think that life can be expressed in ways other than words! It's amazing the signs of faith I've already seen here among the people. Too many to describe....

Indians are very curious, and being the only white person among hundreds at times I feel many eyes on me, and when I return the gaze they don't look away embarrassed but instead keep on staring like I am an animal in the zoo. But instead of letting this affect me I simply look them back in the eyes with a wide pure smile, and they break into one too, and laugh, sometimes a conversation starts up, sometimes no. A fat greasy policeman sat down beside me on the train who only spoke Hindi, but he kept breaking into racuous laughter and shaking my hand. (though was he ever confused why I didn't accept his tobacco-- which I probably would have done just for courtesy if my stomach wasn't waging a war to the end with me)

But the world is changing, and high away up in the mountains I am checking my email... an act which, by the way, I am not so happy with, but I skipped taking my malaria pills for four days due to my stomach, so I wanted to see where malaria wasn't in India. Yeah, at the ghats on the sacred Ganges where they burn the bodies of their loved ones, painted on the walls of cement by the water are advertisments for hotels, internet, book stores, etc. Gotta love the exportation of good ol' American capitalism. The world is changing, and fast. A seven day hike up the Himalays and you can still buy a coke, thanks to porters paid a buck day to lug up crates of it. Some Indians see you just as a dollar sign and try to make as much from you as they can, they've already caught the 'me-first' virus. Capitalism is making these 'backwards' cultures see that they should leave their ways behind and follow ours, so rest assured in a few decades you'll be able to bite into a Mickey D's burger and stay at a Holiday Inn the world over. So better get out here while you still can!

I guess this letter is running a little long, and it's a little strange to write. Besides a few conversations here and there with some Israelis or Europeans (the bulk of travelers I meet here) I'm just looking at things, digging them myself and letting them be.... I brought a journal but for the first time am not using it-- I feel we lose too much when we believe that we can capture it in words. If you truly want to understand anything, let it be, don't grasp it...

For now I'm escaping the heat and humidity down below by staying up north near the Himalayas, though it's still hot, damn hot. I'm in a town called Rishikesh, which was actually where the Beatles followed their guru. Unfortunately the weather is too hot to do all that much in a day, and travel really takes it out of you. At the end of the month I head back for Tokyo, with a couple days in Bangkok so the shock isn't too much. Hope all is well for everyone else out there, hope I haven't taken too much of your good time to read my ramblings....