another fun video

Punj-English
http://www.vimeo.com/731064

videos - are these working for everybody who tries?

Goindwal Sahib and River Beas
http://www.vimeo.com/724935

Chandigarh Rose Festival, Part 1
http://www.vimeo.com/724984

http://www.vimeo.com/724976

Cheharta Gurdwara http://www.vimeo.com/724976 About this video:

http://www.vimeo.com/725016

Chandigarh Rose Festival, Part 2 http://www.vimeo.com/725016 About this video:

http://www.vimeo.com/724956

Palki Takht in village http://www.vimeo.com/724956 About this video:

Thick Description

"Thick Description", as a term in anthropology, owes its origins to Clifford Geertz. In order to be scholarly or, well, correct in my citation and paraphrase, I need to consult my class notes. Fortunately, those are all thousands of miles away, so lets forget what I actually learned about ethnomusicology in classes on the subject, and stick with what I learned to remember, which is probably just as good.

Geertz' emphasis on thick description came about in a field dominated by structuralists, particularly Claude Levi-Straus. The idea of the structuralists that you had to locate a culture or behavior according to its structure (for instance, the totem masks of these people slope downward, whereas those people's slope upward), for Geertz, had gone too far afield from the actual art of anthropology. It became about labeling and abstracting instead of reflecting the life that people were leading. Therefore Geertz wanted to avoid this by filling his accounts with 'thick' descriptions. I think of this along the lines of, if you can actually described something in enough detail (a theoretical asymptote), then there really is no need for further analysis - a third-party observer will simply re-live the experience instead of needing an abstracted description. Or, as David Newman put it in Form V Humanities, none of this historical theory is interesting to me at all - what is interesting is to know exactly [the Medici, Elizabethans, Greeks] actually did in their lives.

I will spare you all the thick description of my subject, Sikh kirtan in the Punjab, for the moment; but thinking about Geertz led me to realize that, despite the photos and videos, most of you probably have no idea what exactly I do in my life these days. Whether or not that's true, I'll try to give a brief play-by-play of a couple days, in the hopes that (even without commentary) it is illuminating. *Note, if you think Geertz was taking the easy route, don't knock it until you've tried it. It's a lot harder to describe in simple language 'without commentary' than you'd think.

Day (20th Feb.)
830am. I begin the day with the expectation of going back to Preetnagar village to meet my friend Sarbpreet, visiting Punjab from the US. Before I get out of bed, I remember that, the day before, his uncle told me that he had to return early to the States (actually told me his flight was "pre-poned" which is the first time I've heard that usage). I decided to go anyway to attend the drama that night, but realize as I get out of bed that I'm not feeling all that well. This is fairly run of the mill, as I can't really control everything that goes into my body in the course of a day (filtered/unfiltered water, im/properly cooked vegetables). I take my battery of naturopathic pills, head out to street to purchase some groceries. Despite the abundance of roadside carts selling vegetables, some superstition keeps me going to the actual supermarket (cutely named "6/10") - they probably buy their produce on the side of the road. Still, it's all fresh and delicious, and I pick up a bag of oranges, bananas, guavas, and figs.

11am. A little while later, all the boys from my neighborhood are out and about in the streets (I haven't yet been able to understand why, even though they're all school age and upper middle class, they never actually seem to be at school). One of them takes me on a motorcycle ride to "see the totas ('chicks')" at the Ranika Bagh gardens while he does some errands. We drive across town, stop at a bakery so I can pick up some tea biscuits to bring to my hosts in the village, then as we are outside his friend's house, the below-pictured 'snake-blesser' sidles up for a few pictures.

12pm. As I get back home, my ragi has come and his waiting to take me to the village. I quickly pack and, one the half-hour drive to the village, he tells me that "he has no time" because there was a death in the family - his niece was stillborn - and his family has all arrived. He says it rather non-chalantly, so I don't press my incredulity as to why he didn't just cancel seeing me and stay with them. A deeper side of spirituality shows through, however, when I offer my condolences and he says: "No 'sorry', only God to give and to take back."

1pm. On reaching Chugawan village, he goes to deal with his family, and I am fed a delicious lunch of Saag (mustard leaves) and chapatis at Gurdarshan's house (my Amritsar host's brother). At around 3pm, the ragi returns to retrieve me (in which time I've been reading in the open center of the house), and get back on the motorcycle to go to Awan Lakha Singh village. I have visited here once before with him to the house of his relations (always remains murky exactly how people are related, because in Punjabi there are many words that combine cousin and brother - hence people are always referring to cousins as brothers, and strangers as cousins). These people are true Jat (farming caste) Punjabi peasants: tall, broad-shouldered, hard-working. The younger boy and girl are learning tabla and harmonium, so the ragi gives them a lesson (in between lots of chatting), and I am fed this amazing sweet made of basmati rice, and warm whole buffalo milk (goes straight to the hips).

5pm. The ragi telephones my hosts in Preetnagar, but they are busy preparing for the play. So we drive on to the little village of Lopoke to meet another friend/cousin/brother. Here, we are instantly welcomed, as happens in every home of every little village I've seen so far. I should be more specific, a home in a village essentially only requires a brick wall for perimeter. Within this perimeter, there will be several enclosed rooms, also of brick or concrete, with a few staple pieces of furniture in good shape. In the main, outdoor portion, there are usually cows or buffalo tied up, the cooking is done outside over a fire (dried cow dung, or the methane thereof), there is a woven bed for the elder, respected members of the house, a few plastic chairs to be offered to a guest (me), and other sundry items as toys and clothes out to wash. Still with very little to give, they go above and beyond. We are offered first cold water to drink, then hot tea. Someone is sent to town to bring back samosas and sweet chutney (delicious!). The ragi introduces me, and I try to entertain with the token Punjabi phrases I've learned will draw smiles, as well as discussing how many shabads and ragas I've learned so far.

7pm. After this incredible display of generosity, and a round of me taking pictures with everybody, the ragi drops me in neighboring Preetnagar. Though scheduled to begin at 7pm, the play is delayed because no audience has shown up yet. Not to worry, I am informed, the audience is all coming from working in the fields, and now that it is spring (Basant), there's light longer so they will come later. No problem, I chitchat with my hosts, who I haven't seen since my much earlier post about them. I also meet a gentleman named S.P. Arora, who teaches English in Amritsar, and is filming a documentary on the history of Amritsar and environs. Clearly, vis a vis my earlier post of Preetnagar, he too deemed it important enough to make the cut.

830pm. As the play begins, we are led to the outdoor theatre and given seats of honor in the front. At our feet, all the village children are at the edge of the stage to watch the play, and a crowd of probably 250 fills (really to the brim) the seats behind us, despite the cold weather. Men and women sit separately, but I'm still moved to see a turnout like this in a village. The play is a family comedy with an ultimate political message about the dangers of globalization and moving away from the traditional values of Punjab, India. I can't understand most of it, but I catch enough words to follow the action, something I definitely could not have done when I first arrived a month ago. At the conclusion of the play, as part of the announcements, I am introduced - and my reason for coming, of which the only part I could catch was "PhD, Music" (yeah, right).

10pm. After the show, a buffet dinner is served in a room lit by only one flourescent bulb. It's the typical satisfying fare of chapatis, dal, raita (yogurt with gram flour balls), and a sweet gulab jamun pastry (oily, but amazing) for dessert. My hosts are busy attending to the players, and invited guests, and by the time they're done they have to go home. I'm shown to a hostel-style room in the theatre building, where I'm sleeping for the night. I'm tired enough that it's cleanliness is enough to make it very inviting.

*** I thought I had a few days more of description in me, but I'm already exhausted after writing one day, and I don't want to tax your reading patience. More details will follow subsequently. Right now, it's almost midnight and I'm crashing from tiredness of today and the sugar high from all the treats I was offered in the village today ("three cups of tea"? try thirty)
Good night, all.

new pics and videos

More text to follow soon I promise. check out the videos at my Vimeo page!

This is me with the laborers at a clay factory...And by factor I mean they spend all day digging out this old riverbed with hand tools, loading the dirt onto tractors, which are taken to make bricks in kilns all across Punjab.
Out in between a few miniscule villages, a field of mustard flowers, which will be turned into delicious Saag (from the leaves) and mustard oil (pressed from upper chutes and flowers).
I look remarkable calm, don't I? Considering this strange man insisted on putting this snake around me so he (or it, I couldnt quite tell) could give me a blessing. The worse part is that my phone happened to ring in my pocket while this thing was around my neck, with little preventing it (in an vibrated or ring-tone-induced state) from going right for my neck

"Mind Prepare" (also see pictures in below post)

This might be a rather rambling post, I admit at the front end. That’s because only little things have been making it on to the net as of late (still difficult to access because they’ve never come to set it up in my room), but my thoughts are far more widespread as I go through this experience.

Another thing I’ll say is that I haven’t really talked about the Classical music or the Sikh religion much – even though the purpose of my research is the intersection of the two.
Fear not. I am absorbing a huge amount of information about both, through many means. I’ve become an avid reader of Sikh and Punjabi history, which, since this area is one of the cradles of civilization and the ‘doormat’ for every army or tribe coming and going from the subcontinent, is quite involved.

On the music side, my iPod is always humming with everything from the latest albums by well-known artists of Gurmat Sangeet (Sikh music) which are actually quite fabulous, to the classic albums of hindustani music, to old Hindi movie tunes and some qawwali to boot. All of this is attempt to ‘get inside’ the sound of the music here. Other than the occasional 80’s song from the US that’s playing in a café, or the sampling of Western pop that my contemporaries here have on their MP3 players (a bizarre blend of Eminem, Akon, and the Backstreet Boys – even though they all have posters of Britney and Madonna, they don’t even know THEIR best work), I never hear Western music.

The big change is hearing people sing out songs as they work, bike, or clean that aren’t familiar at all. I don’t mean just that the song is not familiar, but all the aspects of the song are unfamiliar – the melodic structure, the words, the style of singing. And yet this is the equivalent of the car mechanic mouthing well-worn Johnny Cash songs as he works. Perhaps this doesn’t come across well in my description, but what I’m try to say is that the realization impels me to try and get inside the whole world of music as much as possible – not that it is really possible in a few months.

In any case, somehow I feel a little guilty about replacing all the songs on my iPod with Indian music – like somehow Western Music will be waiting up for me at the kitchen table when I get home with a look that says “why didn’t you call?” Nevertheless, it’s a good experiment, and I think it’s beginning to show effects in my training here. It must be partly sub-conscious, for whereas I can’t possibly absorb all that new music on an intellectual level in a short time, people here have had it programmed into them since birth.

But I will talk about music and Sikhism more in later posts. Lately I’ve had to wrestle with my own feelings about this experience from the inside. In preparation for coming, and in the initial weeks of being here (after I could assess what would be possible), I drew up a list of general things I wanted to accomplish. Among them were to try and become as proficient as I could in knowledge of classical raags and theory, and performance structure common to Sikh kirtan; to learn the rich religious and musical history of this region by reading and traveling around, and to have conversations/interviews with people I meet here on how they identify with this history; to absorb the quotidian life of the major Sikh community in the world, so I could write about how the life of Sikhs in the US does/doesn’t reflect that; to learn enough Punjabi that I could become at least a temporary resident here; and finally, to be a tourist some of the time and see some other historical/exotic parts of India.

This may seem like an ambitious list, and it also may seem to have many holes in it. But it gave me enough that I thought I would be very busy and stimulated all the time. But it hasn’t always worked out that way. As I near the end of my first month in this country, I have to acknowledge to myself that I’ve struggled to bring that list and myself together. Some days I feel quite aimless – that I have a docket of things I think I should do, but I question whether any of them are worthwhile. Or, because of a few logistical frustrations, I end up staying put for a whole day in my neighborhood reading or practicing, and then feel like I’ve wasted a day in another country, doing something I could do at home.

One thing I didn’t anticipate as a big enough factor was simply culture shock (duh!). Put simply: some things aren’t done the same over here. I expected far more ease of public transportation, and that I could be more independent in terms of going places. Not only is public transportation not as extensive as in the US/Portland/Boston, but it’s terribly crowded, impossible to find information about, and generally not suited to a solo foreigner. Furthermore, even if I were to get somewhere like a historical village or gurdwara, getting around in English in the countryside is not as easy as I had thought, and I quickly become uneasy because of the amount of attention a light-skinned Westerner attracts. In short, I’ve come to rely mainly on hosts and acquaintances here to aid me with transportation. Although people have been very generous in this regard, involving someone else is another cultural influence that results in my plans coming out looking significantly different than when I made them.

The other main cultural difference I’m beginning to come to grips with is more subtle and internal. This begins in the place, of course, of learning the patience that being in another country requires. But it goes to the practice of this music, and dealing with my impatience. Not just impatience to be proficient in the music – but a sense that I need to be ‘doing’ more, ‘seeing’ more, or should just blow of the whole project and live in an ashram in the mountains for the rest of the time. Prudently, I’ve resisted these impulses and tried to keep myself to the project and places I intended, because I believe they will be more rewarding ultimately.

The change it takes, though, is something you could call ‘spiritual’, but I’m just as comfortable calling a kind of relaxation technique. Not surprisingly, things tend to stir up my anxiety here, and it’s difficult to process them without any close friends and family (or even native English speakers) around. So I tend to carry them with a tangible external and internal tension. Even silly things like how quickly I’m progressing learning this raag, how can I get to the train station today to buy my ticket, or how many calories did I consume eating that stuffed paratha for breakfast?

What I’ve found is that if I try to practice this music in that state, it simply doesn’t work. My voice sounds tight, without any fluidity, I can’t reach into the higher notes, and my improvising with the notes sounds contrived and discourages me; a self-fulfilling prophecy. However, if I keep at it for long enough, sometimes I forget about that stuff and find that, without noticing it, I started actually ‘playing’ with the music. My teacher Gurbhej calls this “mind prepare” (in his yoda-esque English it is “you must mind prepare”). When I asked him further about this, the metaphor he came up with is that of food (unsurprising in Punjab, now that I’ve sampled most of the delicious specialties).

He says, “When you are hungry, anything tastes sweet. You don’t need roti (bread) and dal, roti all alone will taste sweet. Mind-prepare is to make your heart hungry for music. Thus any raag you feed it will also be [sweet].” As a side note, a food metaphor was also his explanation of why certain raags are assigned to certain times of the day. “In morning you hungry, but you don’t eat ‘dinner’, you eat ‘breakfast.’”

I think I’ll save the religion piece of this for another time. But it’s at least a half-formed musical notion that probably many of you will be able to relate to. It’s honestly something I’d half-forgotten about Western music, especially singing. Because I have the capacity to get through some piece, even if I don’t really feel like it, that sort of detaches it from the original purpose (though we can debate at length about ‘purpose’ of music). Put simply, if you’re not making sounds you enjoy, what’s the point?

images of Punjab

No I'm not playing some kind of traditional Indian flute here. This is actually my first attempt to eat raw sugarcane right out of the ...well...cane. If you've never tried, you have to grab the (very) tough shell in your back teeth and strip it off to reveal the juicy part underneath (if you don't believe me how juicy it is, I will soon upload a video of a street-side cane juicer, the product of which was absolutely heavenly).The two-year old son of my host, Avi Raj.
A dinner out with my friends from the neighborhood. At center are the ubiquitous chapatis (flatbread), then you have cheese naan, paneer tikka masala, and dal makhni, a Punjabi regional pride.
View over the River Beas from the Goindwal Gurdwara, founded by the third Guru, Amar Das.
Pre-wedding procession through the streets (groom's party) led by a marching band.
The famed well at the Goindwal gurdwara. Also dug by Guru Amar Das as an anti-caste symbol - forcing all the local Hindus and Sikhs of different castes to draw water from (and bathe in) a common well without discrimination. There are 84 steps down into this deep well. The common observance is to pause on each step, read through the Jup Ji Sahib (prayer), then go down to the well and dip in the Holy Water. A full recitation takes about one full day.

Golden Temple at Dusk.
Sitting with a dilruba played by one of the Hazuri (in-house) ragis at the Golden Temple. This is a fretted and bowed instrument, that has a very voice-like tone. Unfortunately, in the actual performance in the temple, it always takes a backseat to the droning harmoniums and miked voices of the ragis.
With "baba", a gentleman who comes once a month down the street banging his drum to ask for food or money handouts. This was on the first of the month of Basant, and you could hear his drum from several houses away. I came down and gave him a 100-rupee note, which he then went to the neighbors asking if it was real!...apparently the typical donation is 5-10 rupees, of which I was not aware. Plus, the 100-rupee note has Gandhi's face on it, for goodness' sake, so how could I not give it to this guy?

More Bhangra photos...

...just for fun, and just in case there's a secret demand out there (mainly to laugh at my pitiable attempts).

Video Links, in case they didn't work for you before

http://www.vimeo.com/690350

http://www.vimeo.com/690355

http://www.vimeo.com/690379

http://www.vimeo.com/690382

http://www.vimeo.com/690399

http://www.vimeo.com/684789

http://www.vimeo.com/681706

http://www.vimeo.com/681659

Good Fences make Bad Neighbors

Another occasion of the last week was my visit to the Attari-Wagan border crossing between India and Pakistan. This is one of the main tourist draws of this area, and surely with Pakistan still in a state of martial law, and India the world's most populous democracy and religious hotbed, this would be a sober and weighty affair. Quite the contrary, it was simply a big dance party.

Sure there's a big fence with barbed wire (electrified), and it's exciting to be only a few yards from Pakistan, but the action was very slow, and mainly people just shouted slogans, cheered, and danced. Also, I don't know where they learned this style of martial parading. I think the British might have been playing a big joke on colonial India by 'teaching' them that this was the way real troops behaved...and dressed.


It was actually an enjoyable atmosphere, but nothing like what I expected. When I visited the North/South Korea border four years ago, it was decidedly more tense. There, the positive spin they tried to put on the DMZ was how many native plant and animal species had flourished with no human interaction in this zone for fifty years. Yea right, squirrels with shrapnel vests are not exactly 'flourishing'.

Once again, I was grateful to ride to this landmark with my ragi, instead of being swindled and cramped with other tourists (mainly British). As it was, when we arrived, their was a special VIP seating, apart from the masses of domestic tourists, where I was cramped with other tourists (mainly British).

More Things Seen

This one just makes me chuckle

Mom I finally found out why no one's happy with their Medicare drug benefit:

Important

I forgot to add a very important thing to the last post: my cell phone number here in Punjab. Not that I'm expecting everyone to call, based on international rates, time zone (please be aware of that), and schedules. IF, however, you were tempted to give me a ring, via landline or Skype, it is as follows...

011 (int'l) + 91 (India) + 98 7826 9997

Now I'm off to eat some dinner!

Also, I think I fixed the video link posted below, but someone please write in the comments if it can't be accessed.

First Day of Spring

No kidding. In Punjab, it's officially the first day of Spring. According to the Sikh calendar, the second to last month of their year began today, and the new year falls on April 13th, or Vaisakhi day, about which there will be much more to come. Anyway, the day is called Basant, which translates to 'spring', and so for the last few days I've been learning the raag called Basant (which actually has many variations, but also many appearances in Sikh scripture). I was pleased with myself to be able to go to a major gurdwara in town on basant day and recognize that they were playing basant raag, in various forms.

Over the end of last week, I spent a few days in a village called Chugawan, about 30 km from the house I'm staying in Amritsar. Village living is a whole other side of India from city life, as anybody who's been here can attest. It has its disadvantages, namely that westerners are even more of a foreign sight, and the center of attraction. Even when I would go out accompanied by someone, down the narrow alleys of this town (by narrow I mean you could reach both walls if you put your hands out), I felt slightly uncomfortable. It didn't help that the power was frequently cut even at night, blacking out everything but generator-run single lightbulbs, or that the kids of the village who had heard about me being there would come up to the door of the house to stare in at me.

However, the plus sides is the relaxed pace of the families, the sense of being more in touch with community and nature. I say that in an idyllic way - this is a subsistence life, and probably the pastoral charm that I see parallels the hunger that many people here feel to get out of there and go have a nice car in the West, etc - things I take for granted.

We also saw some lovely village gurdwaras by driving through the countryside. That was definitely a high point. The sun was out, the fields were green (wheat, basmati rice) with yellow flowers (mustard leaves which make a delicious treat), I was riding on the back of a motorcycle down roads that were barely roads and trafficked by oxen, wedding parties, and bicycles. This is one historical gurdwara in a little town called Sorhian. My music teacher was telling me that he will serve as the hazuri ragi (hired, in-house musician) here in the fall for a few months.I also put in an appearance at the local school, where my host teaches English. This is the 8th standard class (a little unclear on the comparison to the US system). I was brought in as a ringer, so they could hear the pronunciation of a native English speaker. Especially at schools like this, they primarily are learning grammar for a written test, and there is a very marked accent when they are saying their English lessons - it resembles British pronunciation more (which I tried to correct as much as possible), but with many oddities of the local languages thrown in. As a guest teacher, I correct their lessons, and they all wanted me to sign their workbooks, then I gave an impassioned reading of the day's lesson, a short story called "The Monkey and the Crocodile." (Note: it's not a girls' school, but the girls sat separately from the boys, so the pictures are separate).

A view of a crowded road outside the Baba Deep Singh gurdwara in Amritsar. Baba Deep Singh was a famed warrior at the time of the Gurus and became a famous shaheeda (martyr). Legend goes that he vowed he would fight his way through the occupying Moghuls to liberate the Sikhs sacred tank (at the Golden Temple, literally "Amrit-Sar"). Unfortunately, his head was chopped off during the confrontation. However, when a loyal Sikh nearby reminded him of his vow, he got up, picked up his head, and carried it all the way to the edge of the sacred tank, where he expired.The other tradition on Basant Day is the flying of kites. These are some of my friends who live in adjoining houses. When I arrived home at the end of the day, they were just sitting in the park, and I incited them to act like true Punjabis and fly kites. Fortunately, they were obliging and not offended, and we went up to the roof, to add our kite to the many that were flying all across the city. These boys have also included me in their nightly cricket game (believe it or not, it's actually not as dull a game as I long though, I actually know what an "over" is now, and I seem to have enough athletic ability to hold my own).

two new videos

And scroll down to read all the new (backlogged) posts

http://www.vimeo.com/user352193/videos

Things seen (random, but to be updated):

Billboard advertising a “Mr. Turban” contest for the city of Amritsar

Signs in red-lettering on hospitals saying “No sex determination done here”, in compliance with Indian national law. Apparently this stems from the fact that, given the gender roles and relative cost of dowries, some couples are more likely to decide against having the baby if they find out it will be a girl.

Respect for Sri Guru Granth Sahib, as installed in a gurdwara, taken to the extreme of reverence while in traffic. On Gurbhej’s motorcycle, we stopped in the middle of the road in front of a gurdwara so he could bow his head. Other bikers are more blasé, simply taking both hands off the wheel while still moving to bring them together in sign of respect.

After my involvement in minor fender-bender between two rickshaws (or, at least it would be if they actually had fenders), the respective drivers continued their argument as to who was at fault through traffic for the next quarter mile; each making sure to stay within shouting-distance of the other and cut one another off as many times as possible.

On a random motorcyclist in traffic by the Golden Temple, a leather jacket proclaiming on the back: “Air Force, Sioux Falls, SD”

Fully painted Indian Elephant being led down the main street, not for a parade, but loaded down with a staggering amount of building materials – I guess once the puja’s over, it’s really over

Historical gurdwara in a little town near Tarn Taran. A beautiful sarovar (pool) with a high, narrow wall on one side. We all climbed up into the top of this wall, and one of the caretakers climbed up and threw his weight back and forth, shaking the wall. Apparently this is supposed to demonstrate some mystical power from beyond that enters the wall and makes it shake, and I suppose if I considered the actual weight on this gentleman’s slight frame, it makes a bit more impressive, but the wall didn’t really seem to shake all the far. I remained skeptical.

Amazing pedal contraptions built for people with quite debilitating handicaps. Just like a rickshaw, but pedaled with one or two arms, and right out in traffic with the rest of them.

Punjabi version of American Idol, featuring popped-up folk songs, qawwali, and devotional. Some discussion of raags and intonation from the judges, though I couldn’t at all follow.

backlogged posts, still more

This post was originally written around february 1

*********
Day three of living in Amritsar. So many things to tell, I can hardly put any organization to it. I’m hesitant to build it up too much as a catharsis of the ridiculous and the sublime, though I go through both of those spectrums on a regular basis. For one, I am actually developing somewhat of a quotidian routine, which is a pleasant change from all travel and intensity.

This means there are definitely ‘down times’ in the day or, for now, lots of time for me to read (Sikh pamphlets, Indian history and music theory, plus the occasional travel novel), to take care of basic needs. One thing that concerns me a little still is how much I find myself sleeping, and still feeling tired during the day. Those who know me well have seen that I often prefer to minimize sleep and fill up time with other activities. Here, I am usually dragging by around nine or ten, get into bed, and not get out of bed until eight.

Part of it is that the sleep is not always restful (ambient noise and cold have something to do with that), and the other that I don’t really have that many things to fill up my night time except reading, and who wants to do that in a cold, dimly-lit room? But I feel like another part is physiological, the stress of having to be extra aware when I’m walking the streets – because of so many hawkers, pedestrians, and traffic – and then the poor air quality and sheer sound volume of the streets must take its toll. Finally, I acknowledge that I’m still a little homesick, and finding my feet in a place so far from those I know and love. Well, I have been assured the night-time cold will disappear within fifteen days, and hopefully by then my life will be full and adjusted and I can sleep just as blissfully, and efficiently as I do at home.

I am meeting people here, though. In addition to the folks I met during the aforementioned office adventure with Livtar, my host Navjit and I have grown closer. Yesterday, he took me on his bike to several shops looking to buy a mobile for my time here. I kept insisting on the cheapest model but, as has become somewhat regular on this trip, I was mostly excluded from the ensuing negotiations. Regardless, I ended up with a decent phone, that I can probably resell for at least half the value when I leave, and today I will get the SIM card and finally have working communication here. This, and the (hopeful) arrival of Internet in my room (which has happened if you’re reading this post) will finally keep me a little more plugged in to this world and your world.

There are many other categories of things to discuss, but I mainly wanted to get to the progress of my kirtan lessons with Ragi Gurbhej. Before that, though, one note about how I was befriended by my neighbors on this block. All the houses on this street (as you will see from imminent pictures) are built with large patios touching one another. While I’m sure it makes for cozy gatherings in the heat of summer, I had never seen anyone else from my patio. But I was surprised yesterday coming home from the market by four boys on the patio right outside my room (luckily I have a room lock which was in place).

Having just come from the street, I was in no mood to be indulging with people who proffered the customary (heavily-accented) “Hello?” and “where you from?” I brushed past them into my room as they were laughing to themselves. Once inside, however, I sat down for a moment, cleared my head, and realized I was not being fair, to them or me. So I went back out with a different attitude, engaged the conversation and found four likable young guys who all live in adjoining houses (meaning, yes, they had just climbed onto the patio from theirs). Between 15 and 23, taking high school boards to finishing medical school, I’m glad to know some people in the neighborhood. Already they’ve demonstrated to me that no one can come and go on the street without their every move being scrutinized – I guess it’s better not to be in the dark about that.

To the lessons, though. This is definitely the high point of the day. I thought it could be quite awkward, initially, due to the arrangement. Gurbhej lives in a small town about 20km away, and he rides his motorcycle in for the morning lesson (a lot like Easy Rider, except no flowing hair because of the turban). Since Navjit and his wife are away at work, the only place to hold the lesson is in my cramped bedroom. However, since this is all out of my control, I just made the best of it, put a mat on the floor with the harmonium, and waited. Well, if it’s awkward for him at all, he never lets on. He pulled up, came right up the stairs, and soon we were singing away at full volume.

I definitely lucked out. This ragi is a very likable guy. He is fairly young, probably late 20’s or early 30’s; his English is a limited, but he has a good capacity for communicating in combination of language and playing – despite the language barrier I think I learn faster from him than most people do from their neighborhood music teachers; his energy and enthusiasm match mine, as well as his ambition for what we will accomplish; there is a deep intensity to his features and his singing, but after a time a short attention span gives way to his much more playful and curious side.

We have started learning a shabad in a similar method as the ragi in Portland was teaching me, except with notation and writing in Punjabi here. Gurbhej, however, is impatient to get to the good stuff – improvisation (taans), tone color, the functional mechanics of the raag. The other method requires one to first the learn the shabad in the simple notation, and practice it ad nauseum. While I acknowledge this rote method is more standard, widely-practiced, and useful in the long run, I appreciate that Gurbhej as intuited my high objectives with a time restraint and his skipping ahead. Plus, he has already told me that he thinks I am “very intelligent in music.”

So I find myself immersed in Raag Bhairu (which, incidentally, is the one I’ve been listening to most on my iPod in Indian Classical recordings, where it is called by the Hindi name Bhairavi). He writes technical terms of Indian music in my notebook, many of which I’ve come across in my theory reading but, interestingly, also many I have not. On the first day we learned the notes of the shabad for the asthai (refrain) and antra (verse), and today I got the full text. It is inspirational, but also intimidating, to hear him riffing on the raag in my little concrete room – the full-throated tones echoing out over the houses in the morning light.

backlogged posts, again

This was originally written on January 30th

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If you’re reading these blog posts, then I’ve made it back to Amritsar where I can find an internet connection. The past few days have been very interesting – as if in a completely different world than my first four days in India. In contrast to the noise, people, grime, people, and all the people everywhere, I stayed in a very nice home with three gentle and well-educated souls. This little town was about 30km from Amritsar, and I came here on Sunday because these folks are arranging for me a place to stay in the city through their contacts, as well as music lessons with a ragi, who is a friend of theirs.

As these things go, however, things did not quite fall into place at the right time and right way. One thing I do understand of the situation is that this past weekend was a national holiday, Republic Day, so many people traveled and were not around to make arrangements. The more peculiar part of the holdup, however, has to do with the perception held by my hosts of my accommodation needs, with a peculiar insistence on the type of food.

For instance, they have turned down offers for me to stay with Punjabi families because the home-cooking will not be “to my taste” (i.e. too spicy, not Western enough). They are holding out for a place on one of the main avenues of Amritsar, on which many of the Western-style hotels are situated, with the idea that there I can get the occasional burger, pizza, pasta, etc. While initially I felt defensive of my status as an ‘intrepid traveler’, ultimately I think I have come around somewhat to their way of thinking. After all, it was by eating only Indian food (and not very spicy at that) for the first week that I overtaxed my stomach in the first place. Obviously, I will grow somewhat accustomed to it, but in the time I stayed in Preetnagar they consistently made less spicy (but still delicious) portions for me of very hearty food. Consequently, my stomach feels more or less back to normal, and I realize that I should put trust in their wisdom and knowledge of intercultural food – after all they have many relatives in the states and have visited frequently.

The other sticking point was that of my own entertainment, which I also have come to appreciate. After all, they could comfortably put me up during my time here, and the food and surroundings are amazingly tranquil and welcoming. Furthermore, the ragi from whom I am to take lessons lives much closer to their village than to Amritsar (and he has also offered me a place in his small village). However, my host has stood firm that I would wither from boredom out here. It’s true that it is much more the rhythm of a cruise ship than a city: morning tea, late breakfast, reading in the sun, a walk, lunch, more reading, afternoon tea, another walk, dinner, TV or radio (when there’s power), then bed.

I think ultimately I will see this as a good time have gained my bearings. On my own in the cities, I felt pretty lost. Here I have people to teach me words for food, to talk about music, Indian history, philosophy. Also, I can work on my own reading, learning Punjabi, familiarizing myself more with my recording equipment, etc. In some ways I will be nervous to leave here and be thrown back into a less predictable urban free-for-all. However, they are probably right that this is where the real stimulation for my music project and view of India will arise.

A final thing is that I feel a bit confined to this nice lifestyle after two days. On Monday, in late afternoon, I was playing with my iPod out on the steps of the house, when I was moved by the pleasant afternoon sun to go for a walk. I traced the roads I had earlier walked with my host back to the main road, passing only a few people working in the fields. The main road was much busier and I was definitely an object of focus for each passing vehicle (it’s generous to call some of them vehicles). I was a bit wary, but had entered this wonderful state of walking through fields while listening to famous Indian classical recordings on my iPod. I was beginning to achieve this fabulous state of consciousness, as the sun sank in a huge red ball, I could smell the warm, fertile fields of mustard and rice, the sparse trees and bicycle rickshaws, all of it melding as one with the ancient and perfect forms and ripples of the music.

By the time I returned to the road to my host’s house, however, I realized that my hosts had panicked, sent dozens of people looking for me, and were scouring the roads themselves. For good reason, it turns out. This frontier area is one of the most active drug-smuggling regions in the world – and any of those teenage kids who smiled at me or stared curiously could be a front for some smack-dealer who wants to sedate me, steal my passport, money, etc. So for now I’m resigned to stay within the compound. *sigh* this is India.

backlogged posts, finally

This was originally written on January 29th, two weeks ago
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Another day (or two, since I’ve had internet), another few cold nights in the Punjab, another few stomach gurgles in adjusting to the food. On Sunday, I took a ride outside of Amritsar about an hour (by auto-rickshaw…knows how far it really is?) to a little hamlet called Pritnagar. I went there to stay with a gentleman named Hirdey Pal and his wife Parveen, who are related to my excellent contact in Boston. Among their many generous hospitalities, I passed the entire afternoon in conversation with, or rather as a fascinated audience to, Hirdey Pal Ji. Among his many attributes as scholar, philosopher, and farmer farmer, I was quite struck by the story of his life and this little place called Pritnagar (PREET – nugger). I wish to share some of that story now, just because of how interesting it was.

The story begins with Hirdey Pal’s father, a young man who distinguished himself enough in youth to gain enrollment to an elite school (where the Colonial Brits only granted admittance to 10 Indians a year). After this study, he served in World War I, as part of the empire, and then wound up studying engineering at Michigan during the 20’s. In addition to excelling in his field, he tried to absorb what he saw as the ‘good’ aspects of American culture, and was quite drawn as well to Thoreau and Emerson.

He returned to India in the 1930’s with a vision and philosophy, the philosophy being one, amazingly, of Love at the center of a self-sustaining community. Before he put it into action, he briefly ran a magazine devoted to this idea, and then in the late 30’s moved to spot in the center of the Punjab where he founded the Town of Love (in Punjabi, “pritnagar”). As Hirdey Pal summed up his father’s vision: “Love is not a position, but a recognition.”

The founding of the town attracted a crowd of hearty intellectuals who were devoted to the same idea, and Pritnagar took off. With the engineer/visionary at the lead, there was a boarding school constructed out of mud walls (plastered over) and a thatched roof, and individual homes were made according to plans way ahead of their time – basically today’s “pre-fab” in a place where buildings are still just brick and concrete. Local craftsmen were taught sustainable ways to make furniture from abundant elements, dig responsible wells, and use the sun’s energy for heating. No house of worship was built in town, despite the fact that the town drew from the Punjab’s muslim, sikh, and hindu communities – it was a secular town with no walled-in houses, and they didn’t want any other kind of internal boundaries to spring up.

While this part all sounds pretty amazing, and my host grew up in this paradise-world until he was 14, the rest of its history is marked by soul-crushing turmoil. In 1947, the sub-continent was partitioned into India and Pakistan and, as luck would have it, Pritnagar found itself right on the line of division. “Guillotined” is how my host describes what happened to the idealist experiment of the town. The times became so confusing at Partition – in fact, Pritnagar was initially assigned to Pakistan, and only later re-assigned to India – that the community fractured. Those who remained found themselves at the heart of the Indo-Pak war that followed, wherein the building behind Hirdey Pal’s house was requisitioned for officers, and the adjacent field contained cannons lobbing shells onto Lahore (did I mention that Lahore is only ten miles as the crow flies?).

As if that weren’t enough, in the 1980’s followed a near civil-war escalation as Sikh separatist militants variously tried to rally support in this frontier region, and looted, raped and murdered as common criminals. My host vividly recalled an AK-47 held on his chest, and calmly mentioned neighbors and family members who were killed during the conflict. Neighbor turned against neighbor, and once again this peaceful hamlet was ripped up and left for dead. Since then, he went on, most of the houses were abandoned or sold way below their value, so the tiny community that remains is not at all joined to the founding principles of the Town of Love.

Standing in his garden looking at the quiet, green fields, I could scarcely believe that this land and man belonged to the same history I was hearing. What could easily have been mistaken for a sleepy backwater had seen unbridled idealism uprooted by violence and carelessness over the course of the century. As we watched the sun slowly sink over the Pakistani border (which Tom Brady could probably have hit with a slight tailwind), the wisdom poured forth from my host as he expounded on the virtues of simple thinking, agrarian economics, Indian hospitality, and the history of the world’s oldest secular society.

Post by Proxy

Hello loyal mrkurtz readers - Christi here. Kurt asked me to let all of you know that he has been having difficulty accessing the internet over the past few days. He has some great posts written and is just waiting for internet access at his house. That should be happening within the next day or so (hopefully!). Keep checking back for more adventures from India!

Sunday

No superbowl over here. Not that I will particularly miss that ritual, and I was treated this morning to a very different type of communal gathering. The event was an "akhand path", or presentation of the Sri Guru Granth Sahib (Sikh scripture), with all the attendant pomp, kirtan, prashad (consecrated sweet food), head covering, bowing, and throne (the scripture is treated as if it were a human king in his court). This was not in a gurdwara, however, nor to commemorate a particular saint's or guru's day. A couple in the middle-class neighborhood where I reside had added an extra floor to their house, and they wanted to hold an inauguration ceremony, and lunch for all their relatives, as a way of consecrating the new rooms properly.

So people took their shoes off and paraded to the upstairs room, or milled around downstairs where the caterers were drinking sweet coffee, and eating fried pakaurhas (vegetables, potato and cheese). The big surprise, given that I was only invited yesterday, was that I was to sing kirtan myself!

Luckily I didn't have much time to panic, as we packed up the harmonium this morning, and drove over to the house in the rain. With my teacher accompanying me on tabla, I sang one of the three shabads I know, playing harmonium, in a room of about 30-40 people, and over the loudspeakers. I think it was received well, and afterwards my ragi gave a short sermon, where he explained who I was and that I was here to learn kirtan. At least, that's what I think he said, it was all in Punjabi and no one translated for me.

Then some professional ragis took over, and the rest of the time was kind of a blur/bore of meeting relatives, having the same limited conversation over and over (because of language barrier) where I try to explain what city I'm from (the average person only knows New York and California - although one kid today who had worked in Bank of America tech support correctly identified Helena as the capital of Montana), and having too many fried cheese things forced into me. Finally, there was a big lunch with Gajrela, one of my favorite desserts (sweet, shredded carrots), and ultimately I was very grateful to be invited. It took a lot out of me, and I certainly don't have a perfect record in anything like the good guys will have at the end of today.

More internet woes (woahs), a backlog

Checking in Here...

It's been a most interesting few days, and the simple problem of reaching the internet is all that has kept you from hearing many details. As it is, I can only visit internet cafes (and that at great risk to one's sanity by braving the traffic and rickshaw drivers) where I sit at a console and wait for slow service. Meanwhile, on my computer is a backlog of posts, pictures, videos, etc

I have made arrangements to have 24-hr internet in my room, which will bring much needed connection to you wonderful people back home. However, I was told that it would be installed on thursday, then friday, and the next best estimate is monday. So, I'm not holding my breath, but I am holding many stories and musings to be released at the moment I can connect my computer (hopefully during the day on monday in the US, but i'm not promising).

Meanwhile, I'm keeping pretty busy with lessons, reading, meeting people, trying out new food, finding my way around. Today I rode out to the town of Tarn Taran, about 30km from Amritsar, with my ragi. We visited one huge gurdwara, where the central tank is even larger than at the Golden Temple. We took some pictures, sat and listened to the kirtan they were doing, with running commentary on the raag and taal, then stepped outside the complex for some spicy and delicious samosas and a cup of chai. Then we wound through town to a very small gurdwara, that was deserted (kirtan doesnt begin until the evening), but occupies important historical relevance related to the fifth guru, Arjun.

A man running a metal-equipment shop outside the gate engaged us and offered tea. He spoke with the ragi at length with many questions about what I was doing here, and when he found out about kirtan he insisted I sing a shabad for him, then had his eight-year old daughter sing one that she had been working on. I had my digital recorder with me, but unfortunately I balked at the notion of bringing it out to record her, and couldn't have gotten away with it covertly. Anyway, it remains cold here, and that was driven home by riding 30 miles on the back of a motorcycle - but it was nice to get out of the city a little bit, see some fields, and not be in the constant assault of noise and dirt. More to come soon, and keep sending me your questions and prayers.