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.