Saturday July 7,2012
12:35pm
I did it. Good lord in heaven I did it. I left the hostel. What an incredibly invasive city! My nose, my eyes, my ears have all basically been sensory raped. People everywhere, a million different smells attack you all at once and the noise, dear baby jesus the noise. If i ever hear anyone complain about rush hour in Vancouver I will not hesitate to slap the stupid right out of them. Dogs everywhere, chipmunks. Delhi has chipmunks. I have seen 3, how fitting. Simon, Theodore, and Alvin. Alvin nearly became roadkill, but thus is the circle of life. The minute I stepped outside I might as well have been naked (I think I'd actually prefer it that way, cuz then at least everyone would have a legit reason to stare. Go for it man, naked boobies, I feel ya) But no. Whatever, I am white and I am proud of it. I am a proud white woman. I walked around the corner a ways, passed by numerous hole in the wall (literally) stores selling lays potato chips, fanta, and chocolate bars. There are men on the street (again, literally. you know what, let's just save the bracket hassle and note that nothing in this post is figurative)so like I said, literally sitting on the street, selling vegetables, also sitting on the street. Carts of mangoes, dress "closets" (you can't call those stores, my Indian closet is bigger than those things). Then I come to an intersection. So much of me wants to turn around and run home to the comforts of my Indian nook. I will die. If I try to cross this intersection I too will share the fate of poor Alvin. So I stand for a minute and watch an old man turn the corner and carry on down the same side of the street. Done. There was nothing for me on the other side anyway. So I keep walking down Patel Rd, yup I'm that good. The sidewalk is a joke, you have to duck under trees and half the time it disappears or looks as if it exploded so you have to pray to god and walk on the road until the sidewalk resumes. To cross the road... nope, not even gonna go there. Wasn't ready to do it, not gonna write about it. So I get like 15 minutes away from my safe house when an auto rickshaw driver pulls over (I had not planned to spend any money today, or ever until I learn how to correctly use it- watch Chelsea hand out the equivalent of 100 dollas for a 5 minutes cab ride- it would happen). He starts chatting and I kindly try to blow him off. He says he remembers me because of those things that protect me from the sun (sunglasses) he remembers taking me to a hotel (never happened but I go along with it. I figure agreeing is easier than trying to explain he's crazy) Yes, I like the hotel very much! Thank you! He talks to me for a while, on the side of the devil's highway, then offers me a ride to a buddhist temple not far from us. Hmmmm, my spidey sense is tingling. I explain I have no money but he insists its free, scouts honour the whole bit (maybe Loretta and Jason stop reading at this point. Think rainbows and daughters/girlfriends that make good choices) So I say what the hell. A leap of faith! What's the worst that can happen? I get raped, murdered, kidnapped and sold on the black market for sex or my organs? Meh, when in Rome! Besides, nothing bad ever happened to Julia Roberts apart from gaining like 25 lbs and starring in a mediocre film. Double besides, I went with my gut. This old man seemed legit and very sweet. So did the witch that ate Hanzel and Gretel. With that thought I made sure I had India 911 on standby. Turns out he was legit (MOM AND JASON COME BACK!) There in front of me was a remarkably beautiful buddhist temple called Birla Mandir. Red and all huge and stuff, white and gold trimming. Gorgeous. Rickshaw man, Gobal, took me to the building beside it which was beautiful but much more humble. This was the Mahir Buddhist Society of India. This is where the average Joe goes to pray and meditate. Inside was simple but very pretty. Scripture on the walls, which I copied down since you can't take pictures inside. Paintings high above the walls, and in the back a separate glass room to pray. Gobal tells me the Dalai Lama sat right here just last year in December. He comes to India every year to celebrate Buddha's birthday. Is it ironic that both Jesus and Buddha are Capricorns? Anyway, I watched him pray and bow to the statues in the little glass room surrounded by flowers and candles... and water bottles. Then he taught me a prayer chant and how to use the incense while chanting. Don't ask me to repeat it, their language is tough cookies, but what it means is:
I pray at Buddha's feet
I come here to pray
I pray to Buddha
So not as pretty and uplifting in english. Gobal also explained the practice of yoga- the not so lululemon version. He showed me breath and how it lift you. Not gonna lie it was something else to have a complete stranger sincerely want to take time to teach you about his culture and beliefs. When would you ever find someone like this in Canada? Then he took me next door to where the keepers of the temple were. They made us Sri Lankan Chai and he explained more about what Buddhism stands for. Love and happiness, peace and caring. There is no anger. We all die, he tells me. We are born, we are young, we are old, we get sick, we die. Everyone does. So why be angry? You cannot hold on to this anger and you cannot bring it with you so why be angry at all? Here! Here!
Gobal has two sons who are in college and a wife who lives in a village far away. He lives here to work and only sees her every 6 months, sometimes a year. Jesus Chels, suck it up over your 2.5 months ya big baby. I tell him I should get back, he gives me his number and tells me whenever I want to learn more about India he will come for me. Sweet, but I think my time with Gobal has come and gone. The Canadian in me questions how much kindness is too much kindness? Coulda really dodged a bullet with that one.
Here's the real kicker, I get dropped off at exactly the intersection I feared when I first ventured out. What a delightful coincidence. This time I pray to Buddha I don't become tire tread. It really wasn't that bad. India is making me see what a giant incubated baby I am, and I am determined to overcome this.
On the way home I tried to guess which way we needed to take in order to get me back. I was right every time! Jason, you'd be so proud! I have my wits about me! Until I got to my street and questioned why I chose the reference point of "the building with the monkeys in front of it" to decipher mine from the 20 others on the block. Yup. At least I took of photo of it before I left, thank Buddha!
Side note: I just googled Buddha's birthday and it is definitely NOT in december, which means there's a good chance none of the information in this blog is at all accurate. Probably wasn't even Sri Lankan tea. What a hack. Bullet-dodged.
12:35pm
I did it. Good lord in heaven I did it. I left the hostel. What an incredibly invasive city! My nose, my eyes, my ears have all basically been sensory raped. People everywhere, a million different smells attack you all at once and the noise, dear baby jesus the noise. If i ever hear anyone complain about rush hour in Vancouver I will not hesitate to slap the stupid right out of them. Dogs everywhere, chipmunks. Delhi has chipmunks. I have seen 3, how fitting. Simon, Theodore, and Alvin. Alvin nearly became roadkill, but thus is the circle of life. The minute I stepped outside I might as well have been naked (I think I'd actually prefer it that way, cuz then at least everyone would have a legit reason to stare. Go for it man, naked boobies, I feel ya) But no. Whatever, I am white and I am proud of it. I am a proud white woman. I walked around the corner a ways, passed by numerous hole in the wall (literally) stores selling lays potato chips, fanta, and chocolate bars. There are men on the street (again, literally. you know what, let's just save the bracket hassle and note that nothing in this post is figurative)so like I said, literally sitting on the street, selling vegetables, also sitting on the street. Carts of mangoes, dress "closets" (you can't call those stores, my Indian closet is bigger than those things). Then I come to an intersection. So much of me wants to turn around and run home to the comforts of my Indian nook. I will die. If I try to cross this intersection I too will share the fate of poor Alvin. So I stand for a minute and watch an old man turn the corner and carry on down the same side of the street. Done. There was nothing for me on the other side anyway. So I keep walking down Patel Rd, yup I'm that good. The sidewalk is a joke, you have to duck under trees and half the time it disappears or looks as if it exploded so you have to pray to god and walk on the road until the sidewalk resumes. To cross the road... nope, not even gonna go there. Wasn't ready to do it, not gonna write about it. So I get like 15 minutes away from my safe house when an auto rickshaw driver pulls over (I had not planned to spend any money today, or ever until I learn how to correctly use it- watch Chelsea hand out the equivalent of 100 dollas for a 5 minutes cab ride- it would happen). He starts chatting and I kindly try to blow him off. He says he remembers me because of those things that protect me from the sun (sunglasses) he remembers taking me to a hotel (never happened but I go along with it. I figure agreeing is easier than trying to explain he's crazy) Yes, I like the hotel very much! Thank you! He talks to me for a while, on the side of the devil's highway, then offers me a ride to a buddhist temple not far from us. Hmmmm, my spidey sense is tingling. I explain I have no money but he insists its free, scouts honour the whole bit (maybe Loretta and Jason stop reading at this point. Think rainbows and daughters/girlfriends that make good choices) So I say what the hell. A leap of faith! What's the worst that can happen? I get raped, murdered, kidnapped and sold on the black market for sex or my organs? Meh, when in Rome! Besides, nothing bad ever happened to Julia Roberts apart from gaining like 25 lbs and starring in a mediocre film. Double besides, I went with my gut. This old man seemed legit and very sweet. So did the witch that ate Hanzel and Gretel. With that thought I made sure I had India 911 on standby. Turns out he was legit (MOM AND JASON COME BACK!) There in front of me was a remarkably beautiful buddhist temple called Birla Mandir. Red and all huge and stuff, white and gold trimming. Gorgeous. Rickshaw man, Gobal, took me to the building beside it which was beautiful but much more humble. This was the Mahir Buddhist Society of India. This is where the average Joe goes to pray and meditate. Inside was simple but very pretty. Scripture on the walls, which I copied down since you can't take pictures inside. Paintings high above the walls, and in the back a separate glass room to pray. Gobal tells me the Dalai Lama sat right here just last year in December. He comes to India every year to celebrate Buddha's birthday. Is it ironic that both Jesus and Buddha are Capricorns? Anyway, I watched him pray and bow to the statues in the little glass room surrounded by flowers and candles... and water bottles. Then he taught me a prayer chant and how to use the incense while chanting. Don't ask me to repeat it, their language is tough cookies, but what it means is:
I pray at Buddha's feet
I come here to pray
I pray to Buddha
So not as pretty and uplifting in english. Gobal also explained the practice of yoga- the not so lululemon version. He showed me breath and how it lift you. Not gonna lie it was something else to have a complete stranger sincerely want to take time to teach you about his culture and beliefs. When would you ever find someone like this in Canada? Then he took me next door to where the keepers of the temple were. They made us Sri Lankan Chai and he explained more about what Buddhism stands for. Love and happiness, peace and caring. There is no anger. We all die, he tells me. We are born, we are young, we are old, we get sick, we die. Everyone does. So why be angry? You cannot hold on to this anger and you cannot bring it with you so why be angry at all? Here! Here!
Gobal has two sons who are in college and a wife who lives in a village far away. He lives here to work and only sees her every 6 months, sometimes a year. Jesus Chels, suck it up over your 2.5 months ya big baby. I tell him I should get back, he gives me his number and tells me whenever I want to learn more about India he will come for me. Sweet, but I think my time with Gobal has come and gone. The Canadian in me questions how much kindness is too much kindness? Coulda really dodged a bullet with that one.
Here's the real kicker, I get dropped off at exactly the intersection I feared when I first ventured out. What a delightful coincidence. This time I pray to Buddha I don't become tire tread. It really wasn't that bad. India is making me see what a giant incubated baby I am, and I am determined to overcome this.
On the way home I tried to guess which way we needed to take in order to get me back. I was right every time! Jason, you'd be so proud! I have my wits about me! Until I got to my street and questioned why I chose the reference point of "the building with the monkeys in front of it" to decipher mine from the 20 others on the block. Yup. At least I took of photo of it before I left, thank Buddha!
Side note: I just googled Buddha's birthday and it is definitely NOT in december, which means there's a good chance none of the information in this blog is at all accurate. Probably wasn't even Sri Lankan tea. What a hack. Bullet-dodged.
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