Semester Break 2010 (Part 1)

Varanasi:

In 1898 American author Mark Twain wrote about his visit to Varanasi: "Benares is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together."

Considered the center of the earth in Hindu cosmology and the holiest place in the world, Benares lies in the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh, 200 miles southeast of Lucknow. It is one of the oldest inhabited cities in the world.

I realized earlier this year that I hadn't really travelled outside of Chennai in the (almost) three years that I have been living here (gasp!). The first year I was trying to get used to Chennai, period. The second year, I was fortunate enough to get some wild gigs outside of the country and travel with my parents and friends around the south.

I decided this year that I would focus my attention on the north: northern cuisine, culture, and religion. For the semester holiday, I booked my ticket and pilgrimaged to Varanasi; the center of Hinduism; the religion I grew up with. We flew to Delhi and then took an overnight train to Benares. I am not quite sure what I was expecting. The city of Varanasi is revered as the center of Hinduism and given quite a bit of importance in the country - I was expecting a small ancient town, well preserved and immaculate. I expected to see a city that was protected by the public; its significance and honor maintained by government protocol. The city of Varanasi is described in both the Mahabharat and Ramayana and should be preserved as a national religious and tourist destination.


It's not. It's actually a giant heap of poverty, disillusioned temple-goers, and death.

I was told by many who went before me, that once I reached the holy city, I would feel an 'energy in the air'; that I would feel hopeful and optimistic; energized by the spirituality. I didn't. Don't get me wrong. I am not one of those westerners who criticizes everything unclean; who carries hand sanitizer in their back pocket; who brushes their teeth with aquafina, and who cringes at everything uncomfortable. But I live in Chennai and I feel the optimistic energy of Chennai on a daily basis. I did not feel that in Varanasi.

While the ghats were spectacular and extraordinarily interesting for Kavita the tourist, Kavita the Indian felt sad and lost at the sight of women and men bathing in one of the most polluted water bodies in the world. The odor of waste and the stench of death hangs low over the river. We took a canoe through the river and watched the activity: men and women washing clothes, bathing, holding poojas, throwing ashes into the water, burning dead bodies covered in orange cloth. I watched fly covered stiff corpses float by our boat and saw demonic crows pecking at dead children floating face down in the opaque brown water. And I saw the navwallas dip their hands into the same putrid water and aggressively take a sip to quench their thirst. I was simultaneously fascinated, disgusted, and impressed.

We paid Shankar-the-auto-driver (let's call him S.T.A.D.) 300 rupees a day to take us around the city for three days. We visited temples, took boats out onto the ganga, drank bang lassi, and even watched a snake charmer, but the best part of the entire trip was by far the street food. Oh. My. God. We asked S.T.A.D. to take us to eat a typical street breakfast and he took us to eat poori bhaji at a roadside stand. Dripping with oil, the thick moist pooris were incredibly satisfying to dip into the bowl of bhaji. We ate with our hands on dishes made of dried leaves and then washed our hands with water from a bucket sans soap. The stand owners eyed us curiously as I awkwardly took pictures of the situation. We then walked across the street and ate sweet pan which was fragrant and delicious.

The trip was worth it, but I left three days later feeling unsatisfied. If you are a religious person, Varanasi might have had a different effect on you. But walking through temple lines; being squashed by hoards of people on every side of you pushing and shoving to get through, and having angry monkeys throwing food and flowers left and right, was not exactly what I consider to be a spiritual experience. Plus, because of the recent bombings and terrorist attacks on temples in Benares, the security at every temple was fierce. We were frisked, prodded, and searched thoroughly before entering. Not fun.

Next stop: Mumbai. Stay tuned.

Diwali 2010

The astonishment never ceases! India continues to surprise, bewilder and amaze me regardless of how long I have been here. What starts off as a typical day can turn into the best or worst day ever. What I normally see as mundane and average, suddenly becomes new and exciting. Relationships that I thought were a lost cause suddenly spark into respectful and happy friendships. And the religious holidays that I had lost interest in experiencing, unexpectedly become the most wonderful and memorable moments of your life.

That is India – unpredictable, chaotic, and beautiful.

If you’ve been reading my blog, you know that last year I didn’t have the best time during Diwali. What was supposed to be an exciting time with close friends and roommates during the Festival of Lights turned into a hellish nightmare of fire, flooding, and a grueling legal battle with an angry landlord. A neighboring child had lit a firecracker on the street that hit our roof – our roof made of straw. (A roof made of straw you ask? My roommates had covered the open roof deck with a thatched hut). The stray firecracker hit our roof, burst into flames, and when my roommates, friends and I returned to the house after dinner, we found our blackened, charred roof on the street – water flooding the house, and no electricity. With candles, towels and brooms, all of us pulled up our sleeves, got on our hands and knees and mopped up the mess. All I can say is: thank god houses in India are not made of wood!

This year however, my friend Ayesha invited me to Delhi and invited all of my friends from KMMC. So we set off: Jimmy, Brian, Christy, Emily and I to Ayesha’s house in Vasant Vihar. I finally experienced my first real Diwali in northern India – (I chuckle to myself as I reflect on my only experiences with Diwali: Konkani Diwali functions dancing to Bollywood songs hardly having any religious or cultural relevance to the Festival of Lights – then eating Dhalitoi and sheeth). We arrived on Friday morning and after taking some time to rest, we went to Ayesha’s parent’s office where they were holding a Lakshmi pooja for prosperity, wealth and good health. That evening we came home, dressed up, and spent the evening lighting firecrackers in their front yard and on the street. It was truly the most exciting Diwali I’ve ever had.


The next day Ayesha took all of us out to Chandni Chowk to experience Old Delhi. I’ve been to Delhi many times now and honestly, up until that point I hadn’t been very impressed with it. To me, it has always looked and felt like suburbia hell. It doesn’t have the bustling energy of Bombay, or the small town feel of Chennai. But when Ayesha took us to Chandni Chowk – I understood. The streets are filled with kind, good-natured people. The architecture is interesting, and differs greatly from one building to the next depending on religious origins and British influence. The Red Fort is majestic and stately. And the food – oh the food! We stopped at the famous Parathe Wali Gali and feasted on stuffed fried parathas that ranged from aloo to banana. Oh. My. God. The banana paratha was probably one of the most heavenly things I’ve ever eaten. Then at the end of the street we shared a pista kulfi falooda. I don’t even like kulfi, but man! That was amazing.



We spent the next day relaxing at home and having an amazing home cooked lunch of baingan bharta and rogan josh.

All in all the Diwali weekend was a blast. Unfortunately, we all had to leave on Sunday and prepare for another grueling week at KMMC. But there was light at the end of the tunnel. Next stop: Varanasi.

To be continued…

Mother India

I read the most wonderful article the other day about one woman's experience as an expat in India (thanks Arch!). It is one of the most accurate and touching blogs I've read thus far and I relate to it 150%. Check it out:

http://www.theaustralian.com.au/news/features/mad-for-mumbai/story-e6frg8h6-1225934717682

A New Experience

The last two days have been extraordinarily overwhelming, but I sense that I will thrive under the pressure. I got here Tuesday night at 10 pm and was greeted at the airport by Liz, the program coordinator, and Michael who is the percussion faculty. In the car, they explained that while orientation for the students was to begin the next day, most of the planning/construction hadn’t been finished yet. We got to the apartment and most of it is still under construction. The ground floor and 1st floor have been finished, but apparently they’re building another apartment and a “gym” on the 2nd floor. So when Liz said that I was to live in, “one of A.R.’s houses”, she meant a building that Rahman bought. We each have our own apartment with bedroom and living/kitchen area, but attached to mine is the “common” room which the other apartments can share. But who’s going to open the door and sit in a room that’s attached to mine? Probably not anyone. So it’s as if I have a giant apartment all to myself. It is bigger than any studio/1 bedroom apt I’ve seen in Boston and the equivalent would probably go for 17-2000 a month over there. And it’s WITH air conditioning. I am gleeful. Originally the male and female faculty were supposed to share this building, but word got out and apparently it was a big deal so they put the men in another building down the road. They’re living in more of a communal house with rooms attached to a common area.

From what I have seen so far, Chennai looks like any other city in India – less intimidating than Mumbai but much more lively than Bangalore. The mosquito bite count has begun - 2 so far. The school is literally two blocks away from the apartment and although the outside looks kind of run down, they have done a beautiful job with the interior design. KM Conservatory shares the building with Rahman’s studio…where he still records. So we will get a chance to see it soon and hopefully record at some point. They were recording something for a new movie today but I didn’t hear the name of it. New plasma tvs line the walls and the walls are made of that glass brick material (you know what I’m talking about? It’s not a glass pane, but it looks like bricks but made of glass). Across the street is a building under construction which will become a performance hall and have classrooms, and next to it is Rahman’s first home which he’s giving up for the school. The building we’re in right now is the equivalent of the “student center” and holds the administration as well as practice rooms and a small cafeteria.

My first day of teaching was today and I feel quite inept. I’m not exactly a charismatic speaker, and with these kids today, my efforts were met with silence and total bewilderment. I set up audition times for the following day so I can hear what level they’re all at, and almost all of them said they had never learnt an English song. So I said, oh don’t worry, it doesn’t have to be classical, it can be a folk song, or pop, or whatever. They nervously looked at each other and then said they had never even heard a song…sung…in English. (I somehow find this hard to believe but whatever.) So they are coming to class tomorrow to sing twinkle twinkle little star and I have to somehow teach these people everything there is to know.

It’s quite sad actually. If you ask any of them what their goals are, not even one of them says “to perfect my instrument,” or “to be a well-rounded musician.” Every single one says, “I want to be a playback singer for Rahman,” or “I want to compose like Rahman.” Exposure to Rahman is their goal, not the music. I just hope they understand what they’re in for because it aint easy my friend. Are they willing to spend decades perfecting this craft? I doubt it.

Rahman is on tour in London right now and we will be having a formal dinner with him on Sunday with the Administration and faculty. I met his sister who is overseeing the first few days of the school and his mother who came to bless the occasion. Neither of them seem like they’re related to a man like Rahman, but I guess that’s normal.

So we’ll see. The first day was interesting…more to follow.