Saturday, March 29, 2008
We're Alive...
And enjoying the heck out of India. Currently writing (a VERY brief post) from an internet cafe in Kumily, near the Lake Periyer Wildlife Refuge in Eastern Kerala. We came up the twisting roads into these mountains today, stopping by tea, rubber and spice plantations. This afternoon we each enjoyed an Ayurvedic massage. Tomorrow is a trek through the refuge, then a boat ride, and the next day we fly to Delhi to begin our Northern Adventure. Sorry for the spotty coverage but I promise lots of pics from me, Christi and Kirsten after we finish the trip - for now, we're too busy taking them to plop down at this interweb-bloggy-thingy. Best to all.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Post St. Patrick's Day Stretch
Well, this is the last I'll be posting for a while from my computer, folks. I'm about to start a three week trip South from the Punjab. In fact, if you're looking at a globe, I'm pretty much going to cross the country of India from North to South by train in the next ten days, then fly back up to the North. The exciting news is that I'm meeting up with my sister Christi in Mumbai, as well as her friends Kath and Kirsten. It'll be so nice to have some travel buddies with whom to share my experiences, good and bad. Just that moment of being able to turn to someone who understands and say, "See, that's what I've been talking about".
Oh, and the number of things that stick out to me about Indian culture grow as the days pass, both good and bad lists growing longer. Of course, it's too simplistic to say things are good and bad - to be a true scholar or sensitive human being, I must break down the gradations further. There are things which, objectively, make no sense whatsoever! There are those that, subjectively, are far outside my comfort zone, things which I wish I understood better, and basic human acts and feelings that either attract or repulse me. All of which is rather vague to you, I'm sure, reader of my blog.
What I'm trying to say is that getting ready to leave on this trip has been a good point to check-in on my experience so far. First, to the music. This has been the most rewarding part of being here by far. Though I could have actually seen quite a bit of Indian classical music between Portland, Seattle, San Francisco, Boston, and there certainly are people who teach the music in the States, Indians and Non-Indians, I feel justified in saying that there's just no way I would have absorbed the amount that I do being here. As I wrote before, music is quite literally in the air here - and getting away from the saturation of Western music in our culture, as well as in my life by design, has actually provided a nice respite to open up to this new cultural avenue.
It would be next to impossible to describe how this music has affected me in prose, and in the short-form of a blog post, but luckily I won't have to. I'm bringing it back with me! In the form of a sizable, and growing, CD library of Indian music (how nice when CD's are only $5), and in my harmonium, of which I took delivery only yesterday through my ragi. I doubt that Indian music will have replaced all other music in my life on return to the US, in fact that's simply not possible, but it will have made a home for itself in me, and perhaps precisely in the nexus of spirituality and musical interest that first drew me here. This is not to say I will become a Sikh kirtaniya, or regale you all constantly with bhajans of your favorite deity. It seems to be much more personal than that, and in some ways has linked up (at least in my morning routine) with the meditation and sitting practice I picked up in Kullu.
Now to the other things that, I recognize, are equally part of India, but have proven thus far unable to compute with my version of the world I live in. One is simply the crowds. Someone said, You are never alone in India. If you've been here, you have to laugh at this for how true it is. Any scene, no matter how rustic, will have some person in it. Any line at a shop, bathroom, corner, you simply cannot escape the fact of people. Sometimes it is infuriating and overwhelming, like any train station, but other times it can even have an awesome majesty, like the way the langar hall at the Golden Temple feeds twice the population of Helena everyday for free.
Another is the West meets East divide that occurs everytime I walk down the street. My friend Matt, who is currently in Indonesia, had a post I found very amusing and accurate on this point. He wrote an open letter to the people of Indonesia inviting them to stop laughing/spying on him anytime he sat down somewhere. I applaud him, and reading his post was almost enough to pacify me completely. But I would add, to the people at large who see me in India, that there's no reason to assume I'm eager to talk to you when I go to every effort of body language to indicate that I'm busy or otherwise occupied - yes, I mean you, who pulled my earphones off and stuck your face around the shield of my writing notebook chirping out the ubiquitous "hello? what country?" If I am interested in talking with you, I'm sure I can take my pick from any number of thousands of people who pass by in a minute. Please wait your turn.
So that's all I have for now - have to head off to the train station. Look for text updates from me and the girls starting at the end of the week!
Oh, and the number of things that stick out to me about Indian culture grow as the days pass, both good and bad lists growing longer. Of course, it's too simplistic to say things are good and bad - to be a true scholar or sensitive human being, I must break down the gradations further. There are things which, objectively, make no sense whatsoever! There are those that, subjectively, are far outside my comfort zone, things which I wish I understood better, and basic human acts and feelings that either attract or repulse me. All of which is rather vague to you, I'm sure, reader of my blog.
What I'm trying to say is that getting ready to leave on this trip has been a good point to check-in on my experience so far. First, to the music. This has been the most rewarding part of being here by far. Though I could have actually seen quite a bit of Indian classical music between Portland, Seattle, San Francisco, Boston, and there certainly are people who teach the music in the States, Indians and Non-Indians, I feel justified in saying that there's just no way I would have absorbed the amount that I do being here. As I wrote before, music is quite literally in the air here - and getting away from the saturation of Western music in our culture, as well as in my life by design, has actually provided a nice respite to open up to this new cultural avenue.
It would be next to impossible to describe how this music has affected me in prose, and in the short-form of a blog post, but luckily I won't have to. I'm bringing it back with me! In the form of a sizable, and growing, CD library of Indian music (how nice when CD's are only $5), and in my harmonium, of which I took delivery only yesterday through my ragi. I doubt that Indian music will have replaced all other music in my life on return to the US, in fact that's simply not possible, but it will have made a home for itself in me, and perhaps precisely in the nexus of spirituality and musical interest that first drew me here. This is not to say I will become a Sikh kirtaniya, or regale you all constantly with bhajans of your favorite deity. It seems to be much more personal than that, and in some ways has linked up (at least in my morning routine) with the meditation and sitting practice I picked up in Kullu.
Now to the other things that, I recognize, are equally part of India, but have proven thus far unable to compute with my version of the world I live in. One is simply the crowds. Someone said, You are never alone in India. If you've been here, you have to laugh at this for how true it is. Any scene, no matter how rustic, will have some person in it. Any line at a shop, bathroom, corner, you simply cannot escape the fact of people. Sometimes it is infuriating and overwhelming, like any train station, but other times it can even have an awesome majesty, like the way the langar hall at the Golden Temple feeds twice the population of Helena everyday for free.
Another is the West meets East divide that occurs everytime I walk down the street. My friend Matt, who is currently in Indonesia, had a post I found very amusing and accurate on this point. He wrote an open letter to the people of Indonesia inviting them to stop laughing/spying on him anytime he sat down somewhere. I applaud him, and reading his post was almost enough to pacify me completely. But I would add, to the people at large who see me in India, that there's no reason to assume I'm eager to talk to you when I go to every effort of body language to indicate that I'm busy or otherwise occupied - yes, I mean you, who pulled my earphones off and stuck your face around the shield of my writing notebook chirping out the ubiquitous "hello? what country?" If I am interested in talking with you, I'm sure I can take my pick from any number of thousands of people who pass by in a minute. Please wait your turn.
So that's all I have for now - have to head off to the train station. Look for text updates from me and the girls starting at the end of the week!
Monday, March 17, 2008
More Video links, new format (hope it works)
Turban tying, part 1 from Kurt on Vimeo.
Turban tying, part 2 from Kurt on Vimeo.
Elephants do make the rally from Kurt on Vimeo.
Advertising? from Kurt on Vimeo.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
More pics from Anandpur
The Kesgarh Sahib, second most important shrine in Sikhism - brilliantly lit up in the dry evening air of the mountain town.
Guru ka Lahore gurdwara, where the 10th guru celebrated his marriage. Not a bad setting, really...
The ubiquitous monkeys - this one at Bhibaur gurdwara overlooking a huge hydroelectric dam.
Amanpreet Kaur, the niece-in-law of my music teacher, who we stayed with.
Inside another historical gurdwara pertaining to the birth of the 8th guru - this is one of the nicest interiors, as it is all lined with reflecting panels. Most gurdwaras are a plain white interior, draped only with colorful cloths.
Guru ka Lahore gurdwara, where the 10th guru celebrated his marriage. Not a bad setting, really...
The ubiquitous monkeys - this one at Bhibaur gurdwara overlooking a huge hydroelectric dam.
Amanpreet Kaur, the niece-in-law of my music teacher, who we stayed with.
Inside another historical gurdwara pertaining to the birth of the 8th guru - this is one of the nicest interiors, as it is all lined with reflecting panels. Most gurdwaras are a plain white interior, draped only with colorful cloths.
Strange Picture of the Day
Because my connection is super slow today, you only get this picture, but it has a twist. This is the river canal behind Patalpuri gurdwara in Kirtapur Sahib, district Anandpur. It is a historical gurdwara associated with the cremation of one of the Sikh gurus. Supposedly, the bones of his that were not turned to ash in the fire were placed here in the river. Thus, the scene when I arrived was that of pilgrims carrying shopping bags full of, you guessed it, bones. They walk out to the edge of this above-water dock, and empty the plastic bag of bones into the pile in the water (most actually just throw the bag in the water, which is plain wrong, even if not sacrilegious). It's still a very peaceful scene, and of course, my host reminded me, Sikhism does not support superstitions like this one.
Note the pile of bones you can make out in the murky water...
Note the pile of bones you can make out in the murky water...
Monday, March 10, 2008
acronyms
Just FYI, I might be MIA for a few days because me schedule has hit some SNAFUs. I've just come back from Delhi which was A-OK, but then, WTF, I'm heading off tomorrow early morning from Anandpur Sahib with my ragi for a few days. NE-Ways, that's the deal - so look for more pics L8R!
Sangeet Sammelan
I’m posting this now as I’ve just returned from two days in New Delhi. First, I should just say briefly that getting a second look at the Capital city (and this one not fresh off the plane and intimidated by everything) I’ve discovered a lot to like about it. Maybe it helps that Spring is fully in bloom, and long patches of budding trees and landscaped flowers line avenues between Embassies, government buildings from the British days, and tons of performing arts halls and theatres. More than that, though, I was struck by how metropolitan it seems, now that I’ve only been in the cities and villages of the Punjab, and the relatively isolated mountain towns of Himachal. It really seemed more befitting of a major world capital this time, though it still depends where you look – the train station, and all touristed areas in North Delhi, are overwhelming for the more predictable reasons – crowd, chaos, poverty, staggering monuments in decay.
My purpose for going this weekend was the two-day Sangeet Sammelan (classical music festival) taking place at the Kamani Auditorium. There are many such festivals in Delhi throughout the year, but when I saw that this one fit my calendar, I decided it was too good an opportunity to miss (how often in my life will I be able to go to Delhi for a weekend of great Hindustani artists?); and the express train is only 5-6 hours from Amritsar, so it works to go for just a couple days.
I also had a somewhat dramatic arrival at the concerts. Someone warned me a few days before that these types of events in Delhi usually required expensive passes to be purchased in advance. This gave me reason to fret as I was hoping to go essentially right from the train to the concert. Luckily, in defiance of other types of Indian bureaucracy, there was a contact number listed. I called the number, asking for a pass and explaining I was coming in that day. The nice gentleman, Mr. Bawa, said that was no problem, and I should come at the time after my train arrived. When I came in the rickshaw, the security guard informed me that there were no passes at that time, I should come back around 4pm. Even though I overheard him tell the woman behind me in Hindi to come at 5pm (which cast some suspicions on his reliability) I went away and came back at 4pm. The same guard then informed me that, actually, the passes were all “finished.” Fortunately for my quick thinking, I whipped out my phone, dialed the nice Mr. Bawa, who came out from inside and, in front of the guard, handed me a free pass to come inside for the concert!
Another detail is that the first night was devoted to honoring the singer Pandit Jasraj who, amazingly, was the first Indian classical singer I had ever heard in person, in the fall of my senior year at Harvard, just as this music was beginning to capture my interest. So it was somewhat fitting that he be there on hand the first time I experienced a concert with a competent understanding of the music. There was a terribly awkward award ceremony for him, when the auditorium had barely thirty people in it, and the MC paused for applause every time he said Panditji’s name, but after that we proceeded to the good stuff.
The concerts were absolutely mesmerizing. I sort of surprised myself with endurance, attending over ten hours of music in two days (divided between North Indian vocal, sitar, violin, and South Indian vocal and vina). There were times when my mind wandered a little bit, but by and large I was tuned in to listening to the ragas, making mental notes and questions, which I wrote down, later in the hotel. It probably won’t do me much good to go into technical observations or even wax poetical about the experience, since I don’t have any recording of it to be able to take you there, but I’ll try a little using a specific example.
The first vocalist was a female singer who was introduced as having a singing style “as grand as the monuments in the city from which she hails”, meaning Agra, the home of the Taj Mahal. There indeed was something grand and sculpted about the way she unfolded the raga (which, fortunately, was one I actually knew so I could follow it much better!). In contrast, the singer who began the program on the second evening was a large man who had a very different style.
At first, it rubbed me the wrong way and I resigned myself to enduring the performance without enjoying it. Whereas the female singer had a very open-throated sound on the unmetered opening section, this guy struck me as very nasal, producing the sound almost out of the side of his mouth. His presentation of the raga was very close to boring – he only added one note at a time, holding each for a very long time, and barely adding any ornamentation to the approach or ending.
As this introduction part went on for another twenty minutes, though (did I mention these performances are long?), I became aware that I was hearing things I didn’t even know to listen for. His ‘nasal’ way of singing, I realized was actually producing incredibly rich overtones that resonated with the tanpura (drone) and even the tabla (pitched drum). Further, it was only by holding the notes for such a long time, and not obscuring them with complicated slides, that you could truly get inside this sound, as if you were hearing the note for the first time. It also made much more explicit, somehow over this long time-format, the distance between the notes. Even neighboring ones, which can be quickly jumped over in the fast taans, felt like separate planets arranged in the solar system.
The real kicker is that, back in the hotel, I went back to the section I had been reading about the different gharanas, schools or guilds, of vocal training. Though each has its own style, it didn’t mean much to me when I read it out of context – but I skipped back to the section on the kirana gharana, which this male singer represented, and I saw in print exactly the things I had thought! This gharana, it said, was ‘note-oriented’ and less concerned about the text or meter, instead adding one note at a time, each with its own inflection, to convey the totality of the raga through its notes. I feel like this is one of those life-learning experiences that educators always tell their kids about. If only the above would fit into a hallmark card I could send it to my teachers to know that their efforts were worthwhile…
**PS. Nick - you have to know that I wrote this post before I had read your email asking me to explain the Kirana Gharana...creepy
My purpose for going this weekend was the two-day Sangeet Sammelan (classical music festival) taking place at the Kamani Auditorium. There are many such festivals in Delhi throughout the year, but when I saw that this one fit my calendar, I decided it was too good an opportunity to miss (how often in my life will I be able to go to Delhi for a weekend of great Hindustani artists?); and the express train is only 5-6 hours from Amritsar, so it works to go for just a couple days.
I also had a somewhat dramatic arrival at the concerts. Someone warned me a few days before that these types of events in Delhi usually required expensive passes to be purchased in advance. This gave me reason to fret as I was hoping to go essentially right from the train to the concert. Luckily, in defiance of other types of Indian bureaucracy, there was a contact number listed. I called the number, asking for a pass and explaining I was coming in that day. The nice gentleman, Mr. Bawa, said that was no problem, and I should come at the time after my train arrived. When I came in the rickshaw, the security guard informed me that there were no passes at that time, I should come back around 4pm. Even though I overheard him tell the woman behind me in Hindi to come at 5pm (which cast some suspicions on his reliability) I went away and came back at 4pm. The same guard then informed me that, actually, the passes were all “finished.” Fortunately for my quick thinking, I whipped out my phone, dialed the nice Mr. Bawa, who came out from inside and, in front of the guard, handed me a free pass to come inside for the concert!
Another detail is that the first night was devoted to honoring the singer Pandit Jasraj who, amazingly, was the first Indian classical singer I had ever heard in person, in the fall of my senior year at Harvard, just as this music was beginning to capture my interest. So it was somewhat fitting that he be there on hand the first time I experienced a concert with a competent understanding of the music. There was a terribly awkward award ceremony for him, when the auditorium had barely thirty people in it, and the MC paused for applause every time he said Panditji’s name, but after that we proceeded to the good stuff.
The concerts were absolutely mesmerizing. I sort of surprised myself with endurance, attending over ten hours of music in two days (divided between North Indian vocal, sitar, violin, and South Indian vocal and vina). There were times when my mind wandered a little bit, but by and large I was tuned in to listening to the ragas, making mental notes and questions, which I wrote down, later in the hotel. It probably won’t do me much good to go into technical observations or even wax poetical about the experience, since I don’t have any recording of it to be able to take you there, but I’ll try a little using a specific example.
The first vocalist was a female singer who was introduced as having a singing style “as grand as the monuments in the city from which she hails”, meaning Agra, the home of the Taj Mahal. There indeed was something grand and sculpted about the way she unfolded the raga (which, fortunately, was one I actually knew so I could follow it much better!). In contrast, the singer who began the program on the second evening was a large man who had a very different style.
At first, it rubbed me the wrong way and I resigned myself to enduring the performance without enjoying it. Whereas the female singer had a very open-throated sound on the unmetered opening section, this guy struck me as very nasal, producing the sound almost out of the side of his mouth. His presentation of the raga was very close to boring – he only added one note at a time, holding each for a very long time, and barely adding any ornamentation to the approach or ending.
As this introduction part went on for another twenty minutes, though (did I mention these performances are long?), I became aware that I was hearing things I didn’t even know to listen for. His ‘nasal’ way of singing, I realized was actually producing incredibly rich overtones that resonated with the tanpura (drone) and even the tabla (pitched drum). Further, it was only by holding the notes for such a long time, and not obscuring them with complicated slides, that you could truly get inside this sound, as if you were hearing the note for the first time. It also made much more explicit, somehow over this long time-format, the distance between the notes. Even neighboring ones, which can be quickly jumped over in the fast taans, felt like separate planets arranged in the solar system.
The real kicker is that, back in the hotel, I went back to the section I had been reading about the different gharanas, schools or guilds, of vocal training. Though each has its own style, it didn’t mean much to me when I read it out of context – but I skipped back to the section on the kirana gharana, which this male singer represented, and I saw in print exactly the things I had thought! This gharana, it said, was ‘note-oriented’ and less concerned about the text or meter, instead adding one note at a time, each with its own inflection, to convey the totality of the raga through its notes. I feel like this is one of those life-learning experiences that educators always tell their kids about. If only the above would fit into a hallmark card I could send it to my teachers to know that their efforts were worthwhile…
**PS. Nick - you have to know that I wrote this post before I had read your email asking me to explain the Kirana Gharana...creepy
Friday, March 7, 2008
Images from Himachal
I loved this picture with all the distances, in the main square of Dharamsala.
How Very Tibetan. A view over Mcleod Ganj when I awoke in the morning feeling refreshed and off to hear HH speak.
This goes with the video about Tibetan Opera.
I mean...what more can you say?
My wonderful host in Kullu, Sneh (Linzee).
View from the Royal Castle in Nagar over the Kullu-Manali valley. Yes, I was having a cup of tea while taking this picture.
A Kashmiri gentleman who, we believe, was transplanting apple trees from the fertile valley here up to Kashmir. The scenery was just too stunning for words, so it didn't matter that we didn't really understand eachother.
In Manikaran, the building to the left is the main gurdwara, and the spaceship-shaped one is a Shiv Temple. Both are fed with the hot springs and have baths as well as other functions that use the heat (like the langar kitchen, for one!)
Still life with blizzard in the Himalayas, from a distance.
How Very Tibetan. A view over Mcleod Ganj when I awoke in the morning feeling refreshed and off to hear HH speak.
This goes with the video about Tibetan Opera.
I mean...what more can you say?
My wonderful host in Kullu, Sneh (Linzee).
View from the Royal Castle in Nagar over the Kullu-Manali valley. Yes, I was having a cup of tea while taking this picture.
A Kashmiri gentleman who, we believe, was transplanting apple trees from the fertile valley here up to Kashmir. The scenery was just too stunning for words, so it didn't matter that we didn't really understand eachother.
In Manikaran, the building to the left is the main gurdwara, and the spaceship-shaped one is a Shiv Temple. Both are fed with the hot springs and have baths as well as other functions that use the heat (like the langar kitchen, for one!)
Still life with blizzard in the Himalayas, from a distance.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
There's a series of wires and satellites...
that could connect me to you! I've posted my local India mobile phone before on this blog, and if you are desperate to hear my voice in real time but can't be bothered to Skype, etc, my friend Pam found and recommended the following link:
http://www.nobelcom.com/phone-card-details/hello-india-10374-1-129.html
Apparently it's a great deal, and we had a lovely chat this morning. Just please be aware of the time difference if/when you're going to call!
http://www.nobelcom.com/phone
Apparently it's a great deal, and we had a lovely chat this morning. Just please be aware of the time difference if/when you're going to call!
Trip to Himachal Pradesh (Long post)
The last week I spent traveling outside of the Punjab in the neighboring state of Himachal Pradesh. I should explain perhaps my impetus for traveling at all, though it may become clear that at the beginning I felt I had to justify it to myself more than was necessary. Though the purpose of my grant was to come to the Punjab to study Sikh sacred music in the context of North Indian classical music, I made no secret of the fact that I was not going to spend three plus months in India without seeing a good deal of the country. Mind you, I knew it would be different than ‘traveling’ for three months in India, in which time I could see a great deal of the country (but would be several times more expensive), but I assumed that I would be very engaged in my research the rest of the time.
Well, after one month or so, I felt like I was getting a little stuck in the mud. Yes, I was learning music at a rapid pace, absorbing quite a bit of the Sikh culture of the Punjab through people I met, learning the language, and forming some pretty amazing memories in the idyllic farming villages and their gurdwaras. However, the days began to blend into one another, and I felt myself stagnating. I had become enough part of the culture that I had some friends and contacts, but I was not so comfortable (as I would be at home or in, say, Western Europe) that I could move about easily and independently. I felt that I had become a little dependent on my subjects here, and they on me.
With all this in mind, I knew from my friend Stefanie in Portland that the Dalai Lama was scheduled to give his spring teachings in Dharamsala, HP at the end of February – only a hundred miles or so as the crow flies (note, though, that in India the crow instead perches on the roof of the local bus, which takes at least seven hours and makes innumerable stops along the way) – so I decided to go. As an aside I should say that even at this juncture I encountered some resistance from my contacts here, who seem to feel empowered to set my schedule as they would like. I ultimately followed Christi’s advice of writing “Dharamsala” in pen in my schedule book, then opening it and pointing to the dates with shrug of resignation; people seem to understand that in the West our schedules function as brutal overlords whose edicts have a binding power.
To skip ahead a bit: given the part above about how I had to justify to myself and the locals about why I was traveling to Himachal, I could never have predicted how profound and important an impact it would have on me. I have returned now to Punjab full or more clarity, energy, self-confidence and, to some extent, greater appreciation for what I am doing here.
I arrived in Dharamsala after the long, bumpy bus trip, having made friend with two Russians on the bus (virtually the first Westerners I’d spoken to in person since arriving). She was from Siberia, and he a student from Belarus who had come from music school in Cologne. I played them some Hindustani classical music on my iPod and we split an orange while finding a hotel once we arrived in Mcleod Ganj. Unfortunately, I lost track of them after the first night – I lay down with a splitting headache from dehydration, and they decided the room was too expensive and moved on to another hotel. I realized I was in a bad way, tried drinking tons of water and found two aspirin in my first aid kit, but it was that level of headache where you feel drunk with pain and can only lie down in misery.
The plus side is that, because of this episode, I awoke around 7am the next morning feeling 100% better and very refreshed. I walked out of the hotel in time for sunrise over the Himalayas, cool evergreen air of the morning, and crowds of saffron-clad Tibetan monks bustling by (boy, sounds like I’m writing one of those travel books, but it was true). On the walk to the temple I spoke with an American woman who gave me the low-down about the Teachings, and it turned out the mobile phone I intended to use to hear English translation (HH the Dalai Lama teaches in Tibetan) was not allowed into the premises.
Then we ran into some other Americans, who said the morning session had been cancelled, so I seized the chance to go for a hike – again the first serious exercise I had seen since arriving here. In my enthusiasm, I may have been overambitious – turned into a ten-mile hike gaining almost three thousand feet over wet snow – but it was worth it. I had a giddy smile on my face the whole time, including the relaxing stop at a tea stall clinging to the side of the mountain at 8000 feet. On the way up, I made the acquaintance of an elderly Austrian gentleman. Other than that, the lower part of the trip was filled with Australian hippies and Israeli druggies, not to mention the French alpiners or the monkeys who were always digging through the trash and waving their bottoms as people (the monkeys were pretty bad, too).
After the ecstasy of that climb, I experienced the scene of the Teachings. Since the schedule was not at all clear to me on the second day, I ended up sitting in the same position for about seven hours. I knew there would be very full crowd who had reserved seats, and wanted to grab one of the open spots while I still could. After an hour of sitting, though, while the temple was still mostly empty except for Tibetans and monks, HH himself came out to do some chanting. People lined the sides of the pathway, and other lamas waving incense surrounded him. A hush of anticipation fell over those assembled as for a rock-star, but he never missed a step in his kind, grandfatherly gait, alternatively waving his blessings, and humorously guessing the nationality of someone kneeling at the railing: “Korea? China? Taiwan, ah yes!”
I loved the chanting, as when I’d heard it before, which involves that incredibly-low tone, if you’ve ever heard it. Also, when several monks are together on this low part, one point is to create staggeringly present overtones like someone whistling in your ear. The teachings themselves I had resolved to hear without translation – as someone else agreed, you can read his teachings in English anytime, how often do you get to hear him speak in his native tongue in person? Luckily, I think this led me to pick up more on the total ambience. The Teachings, at least the ones I attended, were less like a lecture, and more like a pep talk. He essentially was taking up passages from old Buddhist texts and explaining them with an emphasis on practice. HH alternated sections of animated speaking with the fast patter of mantras, and another call-and-response chanting style with those who were following the original text.
It was a very remarkable affair, and arresting in how the environment of the Teachings, as well as the presence of HH himself, communicated to me so immediately a tradition that is similarly ancient, colorful, and erudite, and yet so simply about peace and understanding.
The unpredictable and enriching part of my experience was only beginning. Although I had told my friends in Amritsar I would return after a few days in the mountains, I pressed on from Dharamsala to Kullu, another bumpy and curvy eight-hour ride through the mountains (I actually caught a taxi down the mountain at 3:30AM and the bus at 4:15AM, but was rewarded for this insanity with watching the sunrise over the Himalayas…so not bad). I had heard the Kullu-Manali valley praised in tourist books for its natural beauty, but another part of the reason I was going is I had a contact there through a friend in Montana (a distant cousin who she’d never met). I had corresponded with Linzee when I first arrived in India, when she told me Kullu was very cold and snowy, and then over a couple days before I arrived. In hindsight it seems something was conspiring to bring me to this place, because of how well everything fell into place; my reaching there just when she had some time free and the fruit blossoms were coming out in the valley.
My contact had told me over email that she’d been living in an ashram here since the mid 80’s, and so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from our interactions – I was picturing something very structured, where I could come up to the outer wall and maybe wave hello. It turns out it was nothing like that, and she could not possibly have been more generous with her time, energy and space. We met the first day and discussed our lives, past and present, and as I described my Sikh project she responded by telling me about Swami Shyam, the inspiration and leader of the ashram. The valley was incredibly beautiful from the vantage point of a high Hindu temple, and something about the place and company made me very open to whatever this experience was going to bring.
That night, Linzee arranged a dinner party in her apartment (which, if you’re picturing something austere about an ashram, was the most comfortable and homey place I’d been since entering this country) with several of her friends. I soon realized this meant a delightful company of expat Canadians and Americans from the West and New England. They were all educated, artistic, and most importantly committed to their spiritual quest and able to talk about it in the most down-to-earth ways. My host, despite her great humbleness, showed her prowess that night by giving a ‘lead-in’ to post-dinner meditation that put me right at ease and kindled my excitement for a meditative life.
To make a long story somewhat shorter, that spark was fanned to a substantial flame over the next few days, as I met more of the community and listened to their guru, Swamiji (“ji” for respect) speak in person - I even got to have a one-on-one interaction with him in front of the whole group. After this interaction, people responded to me with compliments saying how composed and insightful I came across with this guru. It seemed strange, though, because I was hardly aware of anything looking back at the memory except feeling interested, and an intense and reassuring clarity in his response.
I had asked him a question about one of his teachings called “Non-doership”, which my hosts had explained to me the night before. This one had caught my attention because I was coming to this experience with a sense that my time and work in the Punjab seemed at times like I was spinning my wheels and frustrated at doing a lot with very little result. The idea that there was a non-doer as a higher truth is what drove me to ask for his explanation. He responded by cutting right to the core of my motivation, despite that I’d only met him a few minutes before – (I paraphrase) ‘we are always doing; we cannot stop from actions, such as eating, moving, sleeping, playing music; but if we expect the result of this action to satisfy a desire, we are never satisfied – ie we always need to eat more, move more, play music more, etc. So first, dedicate your action to God, or to your mom and dad (laughter), that way you will not be doing it to get the result yourself. Non-doership is knowing you are perfect (in that your soul, and not the form of the body and the world), and then doing action.’
It’s hard to explain in a short space, but this answer and others, plus being open to meditation in that space, has brought about a big change in me. Over those days, and since being back, I feel much less anxiety than I did before. I am more confident in my choices and am gaining more clarity about myself from practicing the music and sitting quietly. I left those new friends in Kullu hardly able to express how enjoyable my experience was, as it was also filled with walks in the valley, tennis, hot springs, lots of great eating and great conversations, or to thank them for helping to bring me the tools to make this experience really powerful, when I didn’t even know I was missing them.
As I returned to the Punjab, to bigger, dirtier and more crowded cities – leaving behind the green mountain abodes of hill people and tiny hindu temples for the traffic, the turbans and friends of my first month, I felt a kind of comfort in this familiarity. That first period was certainly not wasted, but it was difficult and had to be gone through. Seeing other Westerners on my travel helped me to appreciate that not many people choose to do what I’ve done – plop themselves alone in a vastly different culture and language, expecting everything to fall into place and pursue a project. Of course it was bound to be difficult then, but whereas the first month was about gaining that outward familiarity with the place, I predict this next month will be about gaining inner familiarity with myself, now that I have been thrown into relief by my environment, and by the presence of HH the Dalai Lama and Swamiji. Stay tuned for pictures soon.
Well, after one month or so, I felt like I was getting a little stuck in the mud. Yes, I was learning music at a rapid pace, absorbing quite a bit of the Sikh culture of the Punjab through people I met, learning the language, and forming some pretty amazing memories in the idyllic farming villages and their gurdwaras. However, the days began to blend into one another, and I felt myself stagnating. I had become enough part of the culture that I had some friends and contacts, but I was not so comfortable (as I would be at home or in, say, Western Europe) that I could move about easily and independently. I felt that I had become a little dependent on my subjects here, and they on me.
With all this in mind, I knew from my friend Stefanie in Portland that the Dalai Lama was scheduled to give his spring teachings in Dharamsala, HP at the end of February – only a hundred miles or so as the crow flies (note, though, that in India the crow instead perches on the roof of the local bus, which takes at least seven hours and makes innumerable stops along the way) – so I decided to go. As an aside I should say that even at this juncture I encountered some resistance from my contacts here, who seem to feel empowered to set my schedule as they would like. I ultimately followed Christi’s advice of writing “Dharamsala” in pen in my schedule book, then opening it and pointing to the dates with shrug of resignation; people seem to understand that in the West our schedules function as brutal overlords whose edicts have a binding power.
To skip ahead a bit: given the part above about how I had to justify to myself and the locals about why I was traveling to Himachal, I could never have predicted how profound and important an impact it would have on me. I have returned now to Punjab full or more clarity, energy, self-confidence and, to some extent, greater appreciation for what I am doing here.
I arrived in Dharamsala after the long, bumpy bus trip, having made friend with two Russians on the bus (virtually the first Westerners I’d spoken to in person since arriving). She was from Siberia, and he a student from Belarus who had come from music school in Cologne. I played them some Hindustani classical music on my iPod and we split an orange while finding a hotel once we arrived in Mcleod Ganj. Unfortunately, I lost track of them after the first night – I lay down with a splitting headache from dehydration, and they decided the room was too expensive and moved on to another hotel. I realized I was in a bad way, tried drinking tons of water and found two aspirin in my first aid kit, but it was that level of headache where you feel drunk with pain and can only lie down in misery.
The plus side is that, because of this episode, I awoke around 7am the next morning feeling 100% better and very refreshed. I walked out of the hotel in time for sunrise over the Himalayas, cool evergreen air of the morning, and crowds of saffron-clad Tibetan monks bustling by (boy, sounds like I’m writing one of those travel books, but it was true). On the walk to the temple I spoke with an American woman who gave me the low-down about the Teachings, and it turned out the mobile phone I intended to use to hear English translation (HH the Dalai Lama teaches in Tibetan) was not allowed into the premises.
Then we ran into some other Americans, who said the morning session had been cancelled, so I seized the chance to go for a hike – again the first serious exercise I had seen since arriving here. In my enthusiasm, I may have been overambitious – turned into a ten-mile hike gaining almost three thousand feet over wet snow – but it was worth it. I had a giddy smile on my face the whole time, including the relaxing stop at a tea stall clinging to the side of the mountain at 8000 feet. On the way up, I made the acquaintance of an elderly Austrian gentleman. Other than that, the lower part of the trip was filled with Australian hippies and Israeli druggies, not to mention the French alpiners or the monkeys who were always digging through the trash and waving their bottoms as people (the monkeys were pretty bad, too).
After the ecstasy of that climb, I experienced the scene of the Teachings. Since the schedule was not at all clear to me on the second day, I ended up sitting in the same position for about seven hours. I knew there would be very full crowd who had reserved seats, and wanted to grab one of the open spots while I still could. After an hour of sitting, though, while the temple was still mostly empty except for Tibetans and monks, HH himself came out to do some chanting. People lined the sides of the pathway, and other lamas waving incense surrounded him. A hush of anticipation fell over those assembled as for a rock-star, but he never missed a step in his kind, grandfatherly gait, alternatively waving his blessings, and humorously guessing the nationality of someone kneeling at the railing: “Korea? China? Taiwan, ah yes!”
I loved the chanting, as when I’d heard it before, which involves that incredibly-low tone, if you’ve ever heard it. Also, when several monks are together on this low part, one point is to create staggeringly present overtones like someone whistling in your ear. The teachings themselves I had resolved to hear without translation – as someone else agreed, you can read his teachings in English anytime, how often do you get to hear him speak in his native tongue in person? Luckily, I think this led me to pick up more on the total ambience. The Teachings, at least the ones I attended, were less like a lecture, and more like a pep talk. He essentially was taking up passages from old Buddhist texts and explaining them with an emphasis on practice. HH alternated sections of animated speaking with the fast patter of mantras, and another call-and-response chanting style with those who were following the original text.
It was a very remarkable affair, and arresting in how the environment of the Teachings, as well as the presence of HH himself, communicated to me so immediately a tradition that is similarly ancient, colorful, and erudite, and yet so simply about peace and understanding.
The unpredictable and enriching part of my experience was only beginning. Although I had told my friends in Amritsar I would return after a few days in the mountains, I pressed on from Dharamsala to Kullu, another bumpy and curvy eight-hour ride through the mountains (I actually caught a taxi down the mountain at 3:30AM and the bus at 4:15AM, but was rewarded for this insanity with watching the sunrise over the Himalayas…so not bad). I had heard the Kullu-Manali valley praised in tourist books for its natural beauty, but another part of the reason I was going is I had a contact there through a friend in Montana (a distant cousin who she’d never met). I had corresponded with Linzee when I first arrived in India, when she told me Kullu was very cold and snowy, and then over a couple days before I arrived. In hindsight it seems something was conspiring to bring me to this place, because of how well everything fell into place; my reaching there just when she had some time free and the fruit blossoms were coming out in the valley.
My contact had told me over email that she’d been living in an ashram here since the mid 80’s, and so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from our interactions – I was picturing something very structured, where I could come up to the outer wall and maybe wave hello. It turns out it was nothing like that, and she could not possibly have been more generous with her time, energy and space. We met the first day and discussed our lives, past and present, and as I described my Sikh project she responded by telling me about Swami Shyam, the inspiration and leader of the ashram. The valley was incredibly beautiful from the vantage point of a high Hindu temple, and something about the place and company made me very open to whatever this experience was going to bring.
That night, Linzee arranged a dinner party in her apartment (which, if you’re picturing something austere about an ashram, was the most comfortable and homey place I’d been since entering this country) with several of her friends. I soon realized this meant a delightful company of expat Canadians and Americans from the West and New England. They were all educated, artistic, and most importantly committed to their spiritual quest and able to talk about it in the most down-to-earth ways. My host, despite her great humbleness, showed her prowess that night by giving a ‘lead-in’ to post-dinner meditation that put me right at ease and kindled my excitement for a meditative life.
To make a long story somewhat shorter, that spark was fanned to a substantial flame over the next few days, as I met more of the community and listened to their guru, Swamiji (“ji” for respect) speak in person - I even got to have a one-on-one interaction with him in front of the whole group. After this interaction, people responded to me with compliments saying how composed and insightful I came across with this guru. It seemed strange, though, because I was hardly aware of anything looking back at the memory except feeling interested, and an intense and reassuring clarity in his response.
I had asked him a question about one of his teachings called “Non-doership”, which my hosts had explained to me the night before. This one had caught my attention because I was coming to this experience with a sense that my time and work in the Punjab seemed at times like I was spinning my wheels and frustrated at doing a lot with very little result. The idea that there was a non-doer as a higher truth is what drove me to ask for his explanation. He responded by cutting right to the core of my motivation, despite that I’d only met him a few minutes before – (I paraphrase) ‘we are always doing; we cannot stop from actions, such as eating, moving, sleeping, playing music; but if we expect the result of this action to satisfy a desire, we are never satisfied – ie we always need to eat more, move more, play music more, etc. So first, dedicate your action to God, or to your mom and dad (laughter), that way you will not be doing it to get the result yourself. Non-doership is knowing you are perfect (in that your soul, and not the form of the body and the world), and then doing action.’
It’s hard to explain in a short space, but this answer and others, plus being open to meditation in that space, has brought about a big change in me. Over those days, and since being back, I feel much less anxiety than I did before. I am more confident in my choices and am gaining more clarity about myself from practicing the music and sitting quietly. I left those new friends in Kullu hardly able to express how enjoyable my experience was, as it was also filled with walks in the valley, tennis, hot springs, lots of great eating and great conversations, or to thank them for helping to bring me the tools to make this experience really powerful, when I didn’t even know I was missing them.
As I returned to the Punjab, to bigger, dirtier and more crowded cities – leaving behind the green mountain abodes of hill people and tiny hindu temples for the traffic, the turbans and friends of my first month, I felt a kind of comfort in this familiarity. That first period was certainly not wasted, but it was difficult and had to be gone through. Seeing other Westerners on my travel helped me to appreciate that not many people choose to do what I’ve done – plop themselves alone in a vastly different culture and language, expecting everything to fall into place and pursue a project. Of course it was bound to be difficult then, but whereas the first month was about gaining that outward familiarity with the place, I predict this next month will be about gaining inner familiarity with myself, now that I have been thrown into relief by my environment, and by the presence of HH the Dalai Lama and Swamiji. Stay tuned for pictures soon.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Back from Himachal Tour
Hello all,
The reason for not posts in the last week is that I was traveling through the neighboring state of Himachal Pradesh. Right now I'm too tired from all the bus travel to post anything by way of details, but you have those and pictures (and videos) to look forward to tomorrow. By way of a teaser:
*hearing the Dalai lama's teaching in Dharmasala
*hike to Triund in the foothills of the Himalayas
*meeting with amazing meditation guru in Kullu
*finding new friends from the West through old connections
*a town that runs on hot springs, including the food!
Love to you all, and good night.
The reason for not posts in the last week is that I was traveling through the neighboring state of Himachal Pradesh. Right now I'm too tired from all the bus travel to post anything by way of details, but you have those and pictures (and videos) to look forward to tomorrow. By way of a teaser:
*hearing the Dalai lama's teaching in Dharmasala
*hike to Triund in the foothills of the Himalayas
*meeting with amazing meditation guru in Kullu
*finding new friends from the West through old connections
*a town that runs on hot springs, including the food!
Love to you all, and good night.
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