Saturday, July 22 Drive back to Delhi from Mussoorie, yuppie lounge

Today was one of the happiest days of my adult life: We went back to Delhi, never to return to Mussoorie again. I managed to pack all my stuff into the two bags I brought somehow. Then I ate some breakfast and got into an Ambassador cab, which took me down the hill to Dehra Dun, where we loaded onto Sikh charter buses. No more Mussoorie/Language School/Oakland/mildew/mold/water shortages when you have diarrhea/horrible boring food, miserly managers who lie to you, etc.! I am so glad to be leaving that place, I hated it to no end, and have been waiting for this moment for four weeks now. I love bus rides because there’s always so much to see. It was really rainy in Dehra Dun, and people were out doing their normal everyday things. We got into Uttar Pradesh, which was flat and rural, with everything cultivated by mostly wheat farms, but some rice and other stuff. It was really rural in Haryana, too, and there were little dwellings made of brick. As usual, everyone was out on the street. It was sunny, which was nice…but which meant it was a fireball outside. Actually, I can’t complain about the heat because it’s cooler in Delhi than it is in most of the United States because they’re having a major heat wave. And they’re having rolling blackouts in California and New York. Watch, Americans start coming to Delhi in the summer monsoon for a pleasant summer away from the heat and power blackouts…haha. But that US heat wave is probably caused by God punishing them for burning half the world’s greenhouse gases but only having 0.5% of the world’s population. But who’s counting? We got into Delhi, and you could tell. There were expressways, people everywhere, buses and motor rickshaws, and rich Westernized people. I love Delhi. There were a lot of tents set up with people watching plays and videos about Shiva. This is because it’s the end of a holy week. Thousands of young men pilgrims (identifiable in orange shirts and short shorts) went to Rishikesh and Haridwar to get water from the Ganga and carry it back in shiny, elaborately-decorated water containers, to their temples, to be used for puja for the next year. There were thousands of pilgrims and water containers everywhere and portable toilets on wheels, it was very colorful. We got into to YWCA on Sansad Marg at 6. It’s actually pretty comfortable weather here. I was the happiest man alive. I even had my own room because Derek had to go to Hyderabad. That dream was shattered when Maia of all people, had to room with me. That sucks. I took a nice shower and did some laundry and unpacked. I’m planning on staying in this palace until they kick me out. The food and water alone is reason enough. I had dinner, which was amazing tandoori and other Indian food (and not sketchy!) Then I went with my future housemates to Greater Kailash, an extremely rich, Westernized, young area. The houses are all multiple-storeyed, gated, and guarded. We went to a hookah lounge and bar named Shalom, which was ridiculously nice. It was dark, and the drinks all cost nine dollars each. The Indians here are extremely wealthy by Indian standards. But I found it extremely boring; I was with the upper, upper echelon of Indian society (it almost didn’t seem like reality because there are beggars right outside the door), and lounges bore me to death. I could be doing the same thing in my hotel room for free. Lounges are for boring hedonists who over-glorify ambient lighting and beautiful rich people. Please, I don't need the “nice ambiance” and American prices, give me a cheap bar where I can just get drunk and be annoying and loud and meet other fun people! We got lost on the rickshaw ride back, so much so that we went the wrong way on a One-way street. I’m still alive, though.

Friday, July 21, Party for teachers, switching houses

Today I spent sleeping in, taking a shower, and then going online for three hours. Vijay made us sit down and talk to him and the manager of Dev Dar to see why it was so horrible. Honestly, I don’t care, I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m not going to fight for future generations. There was the party for the Landour Teachers. It was awkward; just like a company Christmas party. The food was really good, and tandoori-style (which really made me mad because this whole time we didn’t have one tandoori dish). The school servant came, but was forced to sit in the dark corner without any company. It was really sad for me to see that, even among a really Westernized group of intellectuals. In rural India, this would be greatly exacerbated. After that, Mariel, Kim, and Alix wanted me to live with them in the Palace place with them, Tara, Snehal, Ro, Purin, and Nikhil. They have AC, marble floors, a bar, high-speed internet, beautiful bathrooms, lounges, an awesome location super-close to campus and the Metro in Civil Lines. I really wanted to live there, so I asked Erin if it was ok if I opted out of our house (because I don’t hang out with those people, it’s far from campus, and I really don’t want to room with a girl). She was pissed, and didn’t say anything, but was hurt/pissed, I could tell, and said she’d discuss it tomorrow on the bus ride. What would they do, force me to stay there? I didn’t sign anything. So like five minutes later, she said it was ok, no hard feelings, and that she’d just have a single in the same house. I’m so stoked to be living with those people in “the palace”, as we like to call it.

Thursday, July 20 Hindi final, party in Dev Dar

The Hindi final was today. Worst/best day of my life. There was an oral part, in which it’s one-on-one and you would say the answer and Joshi would correct you until you got it right. Then came the chai break and the written part of the exam. The written part was pretty hard, but cheating was rampant, as we were allowed to do it anywhere and Mariel, Kim, and I cheated off each other. I’m convinced the teachers wanted us to cheat; they’d give us hints, etc. I actually think the exam didn’t even count. They asked us to bring our homework and quizzes so they could check them off, and they didn’t even look at them. Welcome to the world of Indian education. That kind of made me angry because I studied really hard for this test, and people like ---- (who one of his group members called “one of the dumbest people I have ever met” and doesn’t know any Hindi) just copy off Hindi speakers and get the same A as them. Plus it’s suspicious if you’re an idiot and turn in a perfect test. But I hastily finished and ran out of that place. Never again will I have to study here! After that I went to Chardukan and ate a pancake and Ramen, and sat and talked to Mariel and Kim for five hours straight. Then we all went downtown to eat. On the way I got a haircut, which is an experience. It took an hour. They start out by cutting your hair (and I told them to only cut a little off, but they took massive chunks out, so I just told them to do the whole thing). They have no electric cutters, it’s all single-blade razors like they use in the military. They shave you, and it’s such a close shave, I don’t know how they do it, especially without cutting the patron. If I was a barber it would look like someone had been attacked by leeches. These barbers’ fathers and grandfathers have all been barbers, so they know what’s up. Then they shampoo your hair, but you’re face-down in the sink (that smells like sewage) and they use cold water. Then I wanted them to dry my hair, but I guess they don’t use towels because “dry” means barber massaging my head for a good 15 minutes. It was pretty good, except that they hit your head really hard and squeeze your shoulders, it’s painful. When I was done I looked like a schoolboy, with a part and greased hair. I ate with the others at Kalsang, the Tibetan restaurant. Then we sat in Four Seasons for a while and I got ice cream and mocktails, while the others got drunk (I hate being sick!) After a couple hours we went home via cab, where Kelsey was extremely awkward and wasted, telling us that she loves everything and eventually made out with Kim in front of everyone. Then we started a Dev Dar dance party, but Santa Cruz people were in charge of the music. They are all complete idiots and were blitzed out of their minds. And they criticized me for playing Eighties when they chose to play Rage Against The Machine. It was fun, but really weird. I’ve learned that everyone else is pretty much on the same page…except the Santa Cruz people. They are really weird, and just plain dumb. I can’t even carry on a conversation with them sometimes. They’re all too drugged out and I hypothesize that they can’t sense our humor because they’re too dumb. Honestly though. Kim and Ro were drunkenly going to hook up, and Maia heard them, and asked if she could join in. What?!

Wednesday, July 19 Sick...again

Went to class and claimed the Dev Dar couch…again. Because I’m sick…again. I give up. This place SUCKS. I have gotten sick every single week here. I don’t eat raw fruits or vegetables, I only drink bottled water I buy, I brush my teeth with bottled water, I close my mouth while showering, and I only buy food from clean places. In other words, I’m not eating of the things I usually eat that could get you sick. Yet I continue to perpetually be sick. Right now I have a sore throat, fever, and upset stomach. I officially have no immune system. I spent the entire day on the couch, and watched Kill Bill and Aladdin before spending the night on the couch, also. Dev Dar food makes everyone sick (their kitchen is disgusting and there are mice), and we’re supposed to have a party with the teachers Friday but they don’t want to come if we’re having Dev Dar food. Then, my room in Oakland smells like mold and everything is mildewy and doesn’t dry. I’m actually being poisoned. Alix said her camera said “Condensation error”, my Rainbows molded over, and part of the ceiling is black with mold. And I have become a Mountain Man. When I come back to the US I’m going to have dreads, not have showered in weeks, have a fu man chu moustache, and smell like dirt. In short, Dev Dar food is making me sick, thus exacerbated by the conditions in Oakland. Plus, it’s boring and isolated. I didn’t come to India for either of those qualities. I am wasting my summer here. I can’t wait to leave this hole.

Tuesday, July 18 Dinker's Words of Wisdom

Today in class people were asking Dinker about his political views. Apparently he is a raging BJP (super conservative Hindu party) fanatic (yet his son-in-law is Habib the Muslim), and believes that terrorists should be instantly killed “even if there’s only a little bit of evidence”. He also gave an example explaining how populated India is: Apparently at any given time, there are as many people on the Indian train system as the population of the whole continent of Australia. Then he explained how he is writing a textbook on owls and fairies…what? Oh man, I’d definitely buy it. He was also telling us that STD stood for Standard Trunk Dialing, and also “something dirty” (as he grabbed his genitals). And Taslim told us that if we wanted to have a “fun time” with marijuana, Dinker knows how to get it. Every day is a new adventure with Dinker. He also explained how India has all these engineers who have no opportunity, so are driving taxis. So what do they do? The government puts them to work….in their new SPACE program. What is this, the sixties? Seriously, everything in this country is 30 years behind schedule. But about the space thing, that’s seriously the biggest waste of time and talent (it’s like when Madeleine Albright said “we have all these nuclear weapons from the Cold War, we should use them”). It’s like those intellectuals like Condoleezza Rice whose specialty is in Russian studies during the Cold War. Now what do they do? They’re all professors at Linfield or some other random college. We were also discussing how because the fee for Indians to the Taj Mahal is 40 cents compared to the foreigner price of $30, Non-Resident Indians have been known to get fake Indian IDs (which consist of a photocopied piece of white paper with a picture of a random brown guy on it), and you could probably get one made at the local fax/phone shop. But it’s also sketchy….like drugs, where if caught the minimum sentence is 10 years in prison. What’s also weird is how when you introduce yourself in India, you give your “good name”, for which you can tell one’s caste and jati and place of origin. Or in other words, you’re telling your social hierarchical status. That’s like asking an American how much your annual household income is, your race and ethnicity, and how many people you manage at work. I also learned the word for miser is “kuhnjuus”. Just sound that one out for yourself and you’ll know why I nearly peed myself.

Monday, July 17 Real World Delhi, Shopping downtown

During class we just found out our final was on Thursday, not Friday. Good thing they tell us three days prior. The teachers don’t care at all, it’s actually really funny. During the “5-minute” break, teachers all gather in a circle and talk, while the students do the same, neither party wanting to go to class. I was talking to a couple others after class. We thought: What if there was a Real World: Delhi?!? Just imagine Jessica Simpson trying to cook food here. Or going to Chandni Chowk and getting mugged and stabbed. Or carrying around a Gucci purse amidst the largest slums in the world. Or feeling guilty and trying to help every single leper and beggar she sees. Or stumbling back home, alone via motor rickshaw after a night of clubbing in a five-star hotel and getting attacked. Or trying to go to the squat bathroom in a dingy place, using a whole bottle of disinfectant. That’s one Real World I would regularly watch. As much smack as I talk on Delhi, it’s Versailles compared to the festering cesspools that are most other Indian cities. Yes, it’s dirty and hot and smells like burning garbage, but at least it has the modern conveniences of any large modern city. Anyways, after lunch I went downtown with Mariel, Kim, and Alix. We stopped at Kashmir Art, the little shop at which they had bought like eight Pashmina shawls each, and they knew the guy really well. He got us all tea and had us all sit in his shop. I had to go to the ATM and post office, which took forever, and it was raining so I bought this awesome kiddie bumble bee umbrella with antennae. Then these four Delhi-ites came up and started talking to me. They sounded Australian, because they worked in call centers in Gurgaon, Haryana at Australian firms. I thought I was talking to Uncle Stephen and Wendy. I ended up talking to them a while and eventually they took me out to lunch at Four Seasons. They are really rich and consumerist by Indian standards, with nice phones and clothes. They were really interested in me, and got my number so we could party together (they drink 10 drinks every day they claim) when I get back to Delhi, in Haryana, where all the call centers (and all the young rich Indian hipsters) are. I’m really interested in this subject, because it exemplifies globalization and India’s changing economy very well. Manmohan Singh, India’s prime minister says, “India is a rich country where poor people live”. True. I want to go to the call centers to see it at work, and maybe even see if I can work there (they said a lot of foreigners work there in high positions). After that I went back to Pashmina man’s stall and he invited us for chai. We walked through these alleys to his small three-room house. The living room was the size of my dorm room, and housed god posters and statues, the proportionately huge TV, couches, coffee table, and lots of textiles. Their family, including the wife, uncle, son, and daughter, are all from Kashmir, but live half the year in Mussoorie to pray on tourists like us. They were really nice and gave us chai and snacks before taking us out to dinner at a local restaurant, which was dirty so I was hesitant to eat everything. I had mutton, paneer, rice, naan, and dal. They love dal here. It was nice of them to be so hospitable, that’s India for you. Well, almost, considering we made him the richest man in Mussoorie. We went to a dessert stand while this Sikh man (who claimed to be a lion) took pictures of us with his lens cap on, and told us he hated my friends but liked me, while he then stroked my chin. Aaaaaahhhh! I told him to get out of here. Then we walked all the way up to Dev Dar, which was extremely hot. Today was a really good day, I got to spend time with Indians and see how they lived; this is what I aim to see in India more than anything else. Well, besides the Taj Mahal. We were walking back from Dev Dar and they didn’t see me in the dark, so I mumbled something, and they all freaked out, and Kim was like “Who’s there”, while Mariel without saying a word, sprinted up the hill. It was hilarious/I felt horrible.

Sunday, July 16 Americans being cheated by the locals

I called the parentals and we ended up talking for a long time, costing me $12 for the call. As expensive as a fifth of Bacardi! It was good talking to them, though. I spent the day on the couch of Dev Dar (the couch on which I have resided for the past 5 days) and studied Hindi for a while and took a nap and then we watched Anchorman, after which this random old white woman started singing to Carry On My Wayward Son really cacophonously. So apparently the EAP group is the laughingstock of Mussoorie, as told to us by these 7 year old Mussoorie kids. This is because the owner of the hotel gloats about how he’s cheating 50 dumb Americans. Also, the entire town has power and water all the time, and we (at arbitrary times) usually don’t have water and have occasional blackouts. The water thing is ridiculous; it’s the middle of monsoon (there CANNOT be a water shortage), and we have to yell at them to turn it on (which means flipping a switch). When we ask why it’s turned off, they tell us “the monkeys turned it off”. Oh please!!! Our teacher told us to just find out where the switch is, and turn it on ourselves. Moreover, we are paying 400R a day (which is ridiculous by Indian standards) without water or toilet paper and BAD food in BULK. They run out of peanut butter, for example, and say they don’t have any more that day. But…the owner of Dev Dar is also the owner of the adjacent convenience store, selling peanut butter. Go over to your shop and refill the peanut butter for your hotel restaurant. And then we realize that in the kitchen that they claim has nothing in it and they post a “keep out” sign, there is a whole load of food. That is so proprietary; we have to buy toilet paper and water at his store because he doesn’t provide it in his hotel! WTF!

Saturday, July 15 Downtown Mussoorie

I got to sleep in this morning. My stomach’s still not feeling good, so I had some toast, and then I went on a walk with some of the guys to town. We were planning on going on a scenic walk, but we just ended up taking an exaggerated, hot, roundabout way past a lot of pigs to Mussoorie. What made the trip worthwhile was the fact that we saw Liz with a big raspberry on her knee and frown on her face. Apparently a monkey had chased her down the road, and she tripped and fell flat on her face. She was not amused when I began to laugh hysterically. I’m sorry but that is funny! At the time it probably wasn't funny, but looking back on that, how can you honestly not laugh? I tried to use the State Bank of India ATM for the first time today, and I couldn’t get it to work. They call it “credit” instead of “checking” account. Eventually the guy waiting behind me in the vestibule had to help me, and he got it to work like it was nothing. Having worked for two years in a bank you’d think I’d know, yet some Indian kid had to do it for me. I ended up walking with him and talking about how he’s studying IT in the US if he passes this really competitive English vocab and colloquial American English test. Then I met up and ate at a good Tibetan restaurant and we had dessert, which included Indian apple pie. It had like spices and raisins in it, and dehydrated apples. Definitely no Marie Callender’s (or Costco). We took cabs back and watched The Day After Tomorrow, a movie so bad it was good. If anything, it just made the issue of global warming hilarious instead of something to be taken seriously. I walked to town with some other people and we had dinner at Taslim’s. Worst experience of my life: It took three hours to complete our meal (which was expensive and the size of an appetizer), the weird white people from the party yesterday were there. Men were wearing skirts and talking about how horrible America is, sitting on my chair while I was in it, etc. I had to leave early, take a taxi, and get extra food at a stand BY MYSELF it was so boring.

Friday, July 14 Epic Party in Dev Dar

Thank goodness it’s Friday. Again, I had stomach problems, a fever, and headache, so I lay on the couch at Dev Dar from 1 until 9, listening to my iPod, drinking four bottles of Aquafina, eating bland food, and going to the bathroom. I hate Delhi belly, this is the second time so far I’ve gotten sick. Not fair, my immune system is basically nonexistent. I slept for hours before getting up at 11pm and heading down to Dev Dar for the party in the patio area. And let me tell you, this was a dance partaaaay! They had a disgusting amount of workers to make it possible, and it was an all-day affair in planning to get it to work. There were like six porters carrying speakers on their backs that were bigger than they were. They had a DJ with lights, and then they brought in a DDR dance floor, which lit up. You could hear the music from Oakland, well over 300 meters away. I love how they urge us to conserve power, yet they do stuff like this. Please. However, we ended up playing music on some random person’s iPod. There was a lot of bhangra and American party music going on. I was going crazy breaking it down, as usual. Everyone but me was drunk and high, it was kind of awkward but still awesome. I'm pretty sure that might just be the worst part of having Delhi Belly....I can't drink! WHAT IS THIS?!? Anyways, They changed this one song in the middle of it, and Rudy threw a tantrum like a seven-year-old, and they changed it back. It was really fun, but got weird fast. And somehow it was extremely homo-erotic…and not in a funny/joking way. For example, the Indian hotel worker men who smelled really bad tried dancing with every American girl...and guy. I and everyone else was really uncomfortable, and even though it’s their custom and I should take it was a compliment that they like dancing platonically with me, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still extremely awkward. And then someone invited the Brown University students, who were really off and Bohemian. An example to illustrate my point: This one 35-year-old bearded white man was grinding on these other Brown U guys the entire time and they made out and danced in Eiffel Tower poses….all while carrying his infant son. The owner of Dev Dar and local business owners also came and were dancing. I’ve noticed that Indians actually like dancing and having a good time partying. They’re all smiles and want to dance inclusively, with everyone, young and old, and men and women. Alcohol and sex is not part of their party culture. Americans, on the other hand, like getting wasted, being crazy, and promiscuity. This means alcohol and drugs are indispensable at parties, and guys dance with girls (because girls like it) and the point of the party is ultimately to hook up or do something worthy of a “One time when I was trashed, I…” story. This means partying together is exclusive to one’s respective age group. This, of course, is a generalization, but such trends largely seem to be true in my experience. I ended up staying awake until 2am, the latest I’ve ever stayed up in India. Then I was awoken by incessant knocks at the door at 3am. I was pretty sketched out. Turns out to be the drunk worker man asking if Amy was there, which she wasn’t and he already knew that. Creepy, and completely and utterly unnecessary.

Thursday, July 13 Oh, the monotony

Today I packed up and left early by bus for Nepal to go to Mount Everest Base Camp at 15,000 feet. Hahaha, yeah right. Instead, this is what I do. The routine hasn’t changed once in the last three weeks. I get up at 7:30 and get dressed. Getting dressed means putting on the same thing I’ve worn for the past four days without showering (if you must know it’s my acid-wash jeans, electric blue fleece, and matching electric blue sandals, and a medusa-like hairdo from lack of shampoo). I walk down the hill to go to breakfast at Dev Dar. Then I went to four hours of Hindi class. The first teacher, Joshi, comes 15 minutes late every day so we don’t end up starting class until 8:35. Then Habib, who uses a Gelly Roll and has a love letter written on the cover of his textbook, Afro-picks his hair while quizzing us, and when class gets out he runs to go play ping-pong. Then there comes the unnecessarily long chai break. The third teacher, who we call Teacher #3 because we don’t know her name (even though she knows mine and thinks I’m a good student because I come early and finish my homework I was supposed to do last night), teaches grammar while time actually STOPS. Then Taslim, the fourth, is a good teacher and when we tell him we’re tired, he goes, “Well, you should sleep more.” I love the language barrier. In classes we learned fifty new vocab words and move at lightning speed in dictation, comprehension, reading, and grammar. It’s ridiculously hard and fast. So, the classes go by fast…and by “fast”, I mean excruciatingly slow. We have to wait in the pews of the church between classes because the last one is in the BELL TOWER. I love separation of church and state. When it’s over, lunch is out. Every day without fail, we have dal and chapatis and rice for lunch. Then it rains and my umbrella has four holes and three of the spokes are sticking out, so I don’t even get the point. And my green backpack I have taken all over the world is disintegrating and now has a huge hole right in the front, plus the fabric comes out of stitch and gets stuck in the zipper. Shivani’s starting a fund to buy me some un-ghetto stuff. It’s not like I can’t afford new stuff; I just choose to spend the 100R I have at the time on banana pancakes and the internet. Besides that, the afternoons and evenings are spent squandered, doing nothing the rest of the day. I feel sick to my stomach every day, it’s never normal. Then there’s dinner, which is weird. I always end up eating a ton (not like that’s anything new but I’m never satiated here). We’ve decided it’s because I have a tapeworm in my large intestine, whom we named George. Then I usually study Hindi (for 15 minutes before complaining and giving up) and walk back home using the flashlight on my Nokia (obviously designed for the Third World). And this is what I do EVERY day here in Mussoorie. It’s getting so boring and routine, and I get cabin fever every day. The only thing to do is study Hindi, be sick, spend money, eat, and wait to eat. But, on a good day you might get lucky and get to watch an American movie, go online, gossip, and attend Oakland parties. We’re so bored here that conversation has been fully exhausted. We have nothing left to talk about…except gossip and food. Everyone is getting or has gotten sick, including Ajay, Eleyce (who has a stomach bacteria that won’t die and has been hospitalized for the last four days), Nikhil, Rohit (both of them), Shannon, Mariel, Kim, Daniel, Joslyn, Maia, Erica, and me. And a bunch of people have been getting really homesick and even started crying in class or on the phone with parents. I think because there’s nothing else to do. Other parents (mostly girls’ parents) get sad, too. Then there’s my parents; who don’t answer the phone when I call, condoned coming back after the holidays because the flights were cheaper, and who claim I have to pay for everything (but then I check my bank account and there’s a random $500 deposit). But I’m glad they’re like that because I have freedom to do whatever I want and they don’t care as long as I’m happy here. I’m getting homesick, but it fades in and out. I actually can’t wait to go back to Delhi at this point. If I could choose one word to exemplify the Mussoorie experience, it would most definitely be “ughhhh”. :)

Wednesday, July 12 Attacks on Mumbai and by leeches

This morning apparently there were bombings in the new Mumbai subway where hundreds of people died. Mumbai is a target And Delhi is on high alert; awesome I'll be living there in a week. But I feel like although Delhi is the capital and administrative center of the democratic (Westernized) nation, Mumbai is more populated, crowded, picturesque, wealthy, and is the center of Indian culture, finance, and entertainment. Whereas Mumbai is like New York, Delhi is like the Washington D.C., the capital but a little-brother/wishes-it-could-be-as-good, sprawling, inland, polluted, ugly, deserty, in comparison to Mumbai. I love my opinion of my place of residence for the next six months. Experts believe that Al-Qaeda is responsible for the attacks. I think people just blame Al-Qaeda for everything; 9/11, London bombings, global warming. Al-Qaeda just likes destroying anything new and beautiful I guess. That is, if you consider capitalism and Westernization beautiful. I like iPods and Aquafina, though, so I can’t even talk, though. Some people emailed me with their concerns for my safety, which was considerate. Others just sent me drunk Facebook messages, which of course I LOVE as well. The bombing is all over the press, it’s a big deal. Planes are delayed, they’re still looking for leads, the train security is high, etc. I spent the afternoon reading How to Win Friends and Influence People, which I have meaning to read for years. People made fun of me for it (maybe because I had my pen out and was taking notes), but whatever. It actually kind of led me to question it: How is Dale Carnegie going to prove to be the most popular person? Would he have like 3000 Facebook friends? Jk. And he writes, “The Orientals have spent five thousand years studying human nature, those cultured Chinese”. I went on a walk with Maia and Lena through the Dev Dar Woods. You could see the snow-capped Himalayan peaks really well. I stepped in a huge pile of cow dung and apparently a leech. It was on my toe sucking my blood, so I freaked out and knocked it away. I stepped on it and it squirted dark blood everywhere, like a Pollock on the sidewalk. I didn’t even feel it sucking my blood, and it kept bleeding forever. I’m assuming I’m not going to get sick because they use them in medical situations….Yeah, in like the 15th CENTURY! What is the point of leeches in the circle of life? No one knows. It’s like spiders; yeah, they kill other bugs, yet who even wants a spider in their house (is that somehow better than a fly?)?!? I watched Clueless (on the hard drive of Rudy’s computer…not surprising). My stomach is churning.

Tuesday, July 11 Motivation for learning Hindi

I read that the top 4 languages by number of speakers go: Mandarin, English, Hindi, and Spanish. If I actually learn Hindi somewhat well, then I’ll have 3 of the 4 covered, which is a huge percentage (like 1/3) of the world. Chinese is too hard to start learning now, and I have way too much competition with native Mandarin-speakers as is. This motivated me to start studying harder in Hindi (actually just in my mind…in practice I’m just lazy and don’t do anything). I wrote some postcards to family and members of the Sig Ep summer diaspora. I couldn’t send anything to people who neglected to post their address on facebook. I’m getting homesick again. I think because I’m just bored here and there’s nothing to do except dwell on the subject.

Monday, July 10, 2006 Ode to a Snickers Bar

I called Mom because it’s her birthday back home, and I had to buy other random stuff to break 100R. So I bought a Snickers Bar and ate it. As I bit into the creamy nutty caramelly chocolate rays of light came from the sky…aaaahhh. They teach in Global Studies how globalization is a bad thing; that Snickers bar is the strongest argument for globalization you can make; I should just write term papers with Snickers bars imbedded in them and I’ll always get an A. Class is getting boring and monotonous and the work is now piling up. Every day I always think how glad I am that it’s Hindi I’m learning. It would SUCK if I had to learn English. Not only is English the language of finance, technology, science, the internet, business, politics, arts, 50% of the world, but it’s also hard. This means you HAVE to learn English and you HAVE to be successful at learning it, especially in India. You can get by without knowing Hindi. I had lunch and wrote in the journal and went online for hours. Sadly, I look forward to Mondays because I allow myself hours of internet time after the usually busy weekend.

Sunday, July 9, 2006 Rishikesh commercialized town

I had a dream where I was in the car with Dinker in the Mercer Island Library parking lot. He was smoking bidis and got really high and I was getting contact high. Then a Mexican family rear-ended us and we got mad, but we realized they were high, too. Next thing I know, we went up to the clouds and were floating in a crazy Indian music video with fire and dancing and colors. The slogan for my malarial medicine with weird dream side effects should be: “Every night’s a new adventure when you’re on Larium!” It was thundering and lightning. So we couldn’t go to Chilla, the national park. So instead we ate a leisurely breakfast at Big Ben (not AC because of the power outage) and took a Vikram through the monsoon to Rishikesh, an hour-long drive. On the way we passed a lot of dilapidated concrete buildings that were poorly-built, more little shops and restaurants, and forests that were flooded. Everyone waved to us and people didn’t even seem to mind the rain. They trudge through it in their cheap plastic sandals and slacks. Rishikesh was depressing and all industrial on the main bank. It's famous as the center of hatha yoga in the world. The Beatles went there and made it famous, and now a bunch of weird white people come to "reach enlightenment" at one of the many ashrams along the Ganges. There was an open marble square with statues of Krishna advising Duryodhan and Shiva, and there were little statues of the other gods built into the tree-trunks. Cows and a few tourists were milling around. It bordered on the Ganges, with marble ghats descending into the water, today enveloped in fog. Across the way were the green hills and cloudy skies of the holy city. In the city I saw a doctor’s office offering ultrasounds, and it had a sign saying “Disclosure of sex of fetus is prohibited under law”. Why have ultrasounds, then? That’s a major problem in India, and interesting because even though the law prohibits it, people still find out the sex and abort female fetuses. We walked across a bridge over a large riverbed where I witnessed two pigs having sex (I was too slow on the draw for a picture) and then not 200 meters away a man defecating right in the open. Some squatter towns were built on the banks, made of tarp, stones, and sticks. The kids were all playing in the water and trying to catch fish with nets. We walked through some ritzy residential neighborhoods and an outdoor produce market. There was a lot of rain, and a mix of rainwater, gasoline, spit, urine, garbage, and shit flowed down the overflowing gutters. We took a 200R cab back to Haridwar to catch the cab back to Mussoorie, which took 2.5 hours. I was glad to get back, not have to deal with annoying fellow travelers, and eat some pizza for dinner. I give it to Monday night until I get sick from the Ganges.

Saturday, July 8, 2006 Haridwar, Bathing in the Ganges

I had a dream where I woke up Chris Goodrich and he woke up and got mad and stole my glasses and white shirt, and wore them while yelling and banging on glass. Anyways, I was glad to be able to finally take a nice shower. There was even hot water (the pinnacle of luxury on my trip to India), but it was so hot in the room that I didn’t even use it. We got ready and headed out to see temples. We took a Vikram for cheap to the cable car at Mansa Devi. We had to pass a lot of streets and bazaars, littered with garbage, sewage, animals, and people. We stood in line for tickets. Indian people don’t get the concept of line, or queue, as they call it. They just try and go right up to the front, which makes me angry, so I end up putting my arm right in front of their neck similar to a Musketeer holding their enemy at bay with a rapier. They push you, and are touching you the whole time. No personal space. We had to wait for the cable car in a weird bay that reminded me of the line at Disneyland. The gondola took us up the hill into the clouds to Mansa Devi Temple. We walked in and had to remove our shoes and pay someone to take them. It was wet and muddy and gross to walk around in. There was a line even for the temple procession. It was like a museum exhibit, where there is a set path demarcated by ropes and fences, and little statues and prayer spots along the way. There were a lot of rich Hindus that gave money (in auspicious amounts, like 11R, 51R, 101R), prasad (including flowers, rice puffs, incense, garlands, ribbons, and flowers) to the priests that attended each statue. The statues were in little boxes that you are supposed to enter. Then you give your offering to the priest, who gives it to the statue, while tying a lucky string onto you, burning incence, giving you holy water to purify you, givng you a bindi, and chanting and praying. The statue is of a god, most commonly Santoshi Ma (new goddess from popular culture), Hanuman (the devoted monkey), Ganesh (the elephant-headed bringer of prosperity), Shiva (the blue untamed destroyer, and creator in linga form), Vishnu (the preserver in various avatars), the goddess (the wild destroyer Kali). The devotee is supposed to pray and look into the statue, and receive darshan, where the god is watching back via the statue, seeing you are offering to it and therefore will answer your prayers. I performed puja myself (one to Ganesh, one to Kali, and one to Shiva). I want what some of the gods offer, but I am not Hindu. This is for several reasons. I am not vegetarian (although I think it’s good for the environment and health if you are) and like beef, I think too much emphasis is placed on money at temple puja, and I hate how karma is the justification for suffering and misfortune. For example, if someone is born an untouchable female leper who begs and sweeps trash off the street and is shunned by society and beat by her husband, karma says that she was bad in a previous life to deserve this; and that is the justification for her suffering in this life; and by continuing to suffer she will not gain moksha (because she is not a Brahmin), but be born a Brahmin in the next life so she can ultimately gain moksha. I don’t follow any doctrine that religiously justifies the caste system and oppression of women. It creates and reinforces division and hierarchy among Indian society, instead of assimilation and inclusivity, like in other societies. I do, however, believe in reincarnation, I like how one can be Hindu and another religion, and how it actually condones this. For example, the Buddha and Jesus Christ are incarnations of Vishnu. Anyways, we took the cable car down and took a bus to Chandi Devi Temple. The bus stop had a lot of fat Indian ladies. There are some fat Indians (most likely rich ones), but the vast majority of Indians are short and really skinny and dark. The bus went over the foggy and misty Ganges. We took the cable car up to Chandi Devi Temple, on another hill overlooking the Ganges and Haridwar. There were a lot of begging lepers along the paths. It’s karma, right? The monkeys came up to us and took Jackie’s chips. We took our shoes off and walked in the gate, covered in Swastikas (which is a Hindu symbol). We went in the temple, pretty much the same thing; a procession of more little puja stations in an indoor temple. The priests all hassle you to come and perform puja (and donate). Even the temples seem commercialized. One of the priests thought Erin Eve was my wife haha. We went back to get our shoes and Erin’s weren’t there. So she walked all the way back to our hotel through puddles, dirt, mud, asphault, trash heaps, urine, and feces. Yum. I went to lunch with Jackie because Ajay took like 30 minutes to take a shower, and kept asking all day what our plans were. Aaah. Then I learned that Jackie didn’t know what “heinous”, “toasted” or “paneer” means, she forgot to get malaria pills and isn’t taking any, and she didn’t know the EAP program had the ILP in Mussoorie. Wow. And she doesn’t kill bugs, which made me angry because the chair I was sitting on was crawling with cockroaches from in the cushions. I had a thali meal and took a nap, but everyone slept for three hours while I got antsy and went out. I saw some dharamsalas along the river, where pilgrims go to stay. Then I watched this carpenter make tools, and a Sikh man approached me and invited me to sit down in his auto parts store and join him for tea. His English was good, and he said he was both a Hindu and a Sikh, worshipping a picture of Shiva and the ninth guru. This is possible, as there are a lot of Sikhs in Haridwar. However, all the Muslims live in a different town, where they can eat meat. His shop was in the family for three generations, and his son had died and as a result his wife was sick. He had a boxer dog, which is expensive and rare. I walked on, and heard chanting. In a hole-in-the-wall puja station, I found a group of old women sitting in the room and singing songs about Kali-Ma, and beating a drum and tambourine. They smiled and pulled up a bench so that I could sit and watch. I felt like I was a real Indian guest that afternoon. I gave money as a donation and went back to the hotel. We all got ready and went out via rickshaw to Har-Ki-Pauri Ghat again. I decided to go in the Ganges because 1) I want to be cleansed of my sins and purified, 2) I want to say I went in the holiest river in India, 3) I’m going to Varanasi but the Ganges there is: stagnant, in a more populated city, the receptacle of the remains of corpses, and literally 300 times more polluted than bathing water, and 4) I want a picture of it of course. So, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I don’t have any open wounds…which is iffy thanks to Jordan Bowman throwing my sandal across the courtyard during Serenades, thus making me walk barefoot and get glass stuck in my foot and having to go to Student Health the next day but they couldn’t find any glass, leaving nothing certain except for a deep wound that may still be open. Well, I went in, anyways. I walked down the steps of the ghat into the holiest of rivers, the Ganges. It was freezing and moving quickly, and felt like I was swimming in milk with debris in it. There were flowers and prasad floating by, along with who knows what. I had to hold onto the rails to make sure I didn’t get carried away or fall. I dunked five times, which is supposed to be the auspicious number in order to be purified of your sins. A crowd of Indian tourists gathered around, and one Indian man kissed me on the cheek while taking a picture. Weird. It was awkward because they were all talking to me and laughing but I didn’t want to open my mouth. Then I I’m inclined to say that if I don’t get sick at all, I’ll actually believe in the purity and power of the sacred Ganges. If not, I’ll just be miserable, have a mile-long parasite growing in my intestines, and never even think of converting to Hinduism or giving any more money for puja ever again. After that I put on my clothes. The River had some sediment that made my skin sparkle and glow...which was pretty cool and seemed divine. It was actually really refreshing from the humidity and heat. I watched the tail end of the Ganga Aarti ceremony again. Then we all ate at Chotiwala, a busy Indian restaurant, which was really bad but chances are it was safe, so it’s ok. Then we shopped at the bazaar. Common items were vials for Ganges water, brassware, carvings and posters of Hindu-pantheon gods, toys, sweets, water and snacks, and ‘Om’ paraphernalia. Haridwar is known for its Ayurvedic medicines, and there are lots of pharmacies. Every one had a big bag of Purina dog food on the front counter. If that’s their “natural” way of healing diseases, I think I’ll stick to my Immodium, Pepto Bismol, and Tylenol thanks. We walked through the crowded streets to the hotel, where we watched a Soap opera on TV in Hindi. Really corny.

Friday, July 7, 2006 Haridwar holy city on the Ganges

There was class and a quiz I did really well on, by complete luck. I ate some lunch, and then Ajay, Jackie, Erin, and I got picked up by the Sikh cab driver (what's new) for Haridwar. I was carsick on the way down to Dehra Dun, the capital of Uttaranchal, a typical Indian city with lots of forests, storefronts, vikrams, bicycles, cars, and people everywhere. It looked really dirty (again, what’s new). It took 2.5 hours to get to Haridwar, a holy Hindu city located at the point where the Ganges emerges from the Himalayas. The green cloudy hills slope down into the large, sediment-filled cloudy Ganges. A huge gold statue of Shiva against the backdrop of the Ganges and sloping green hills greets you as you drive in. It is hot and humid, not like Mussoorie. We checked into the really nice three-story deserted hotel, Hotel Sachin. Since it’s the off-season it was dead. Next time I’m not going to make reservations. We walked out of the hotel, and walked down Railway Road, the main drag. The train station was across the street, so there was a massive congregation of pilgrims (dressed in white loosely-draped cloths with prayer beads, walking sticks, dreads, and orange facepaint), drivers, taxis, bicycle rickshaws, horse carriages, and Vikrams. It was a lot to take in, even a small Indian city (population 220,000). It smelled like rotting garbage and incense and feces, traffic and cattle and poor Indian workers and pilgrims filled up every inch of space on the street, and all you could hear were high-pitched honks, rickshaw motors, and Hindi. There was refuse and feces everywhere, as people just discard both wherever they please here. The roads were narrow and had traffic circles centered around statues of Shiva. Shops abound, selling everything from shoes to samosas to breath mints to fruit to prasad. It was a typical Indian city, all aspects of life occurring right on the street. It was really dirty, especially for a holy city. It is so holy that Muslims don’t live here, and there is meat is nowhere to be found. We walked through the bazaar to the Ganges and walked over the bridge. The Ganges splits off at Haridwar, like a flood plain. The main section’s banks are lined with bathing ghats, steps into the river to bathe in the water. It is “thought” that dunking five times in the contaminated Ganges (the holiest of rivers) will wash away the sins of the bather…Yeah, that, and their intestinal lining when they get diarrhea and cholera. But there were a many Hindus old and young, rich and poor, all religious, washing and drinking in the Ganges. Damn, I guess there are a lot of really sinful Hindus. Then again, I’d probably have to make weekly trips here if I were a devout Hindu and do what I do on a daily basis. The Ganges itself is extremely fast-flowing at Haridwar, and ropes and poles are erected to make sure you don’t get swept away in the current. Boys would swim out and in again, it looked pretty dangerous considering not more than 200 meters away, the waters poured through an immense blue hydroelectric dam. I doubt there’s a human or salmon ladder, either. We walked along the banks past lots of rich Hindu tourists, pilgrims, Sadhus, and prasad-vendors. The prasad included wooden beads, colorful cloths, pink or white flowers, and orange flower necklaces. Further from the river were pilgrim camps (dharamsalas for the poor and ascetics), which consisted of puddly fields filled with tents made of tarp and wood, with fires. People did everything from shit to sleep to eat to gather firewood to play in the puddles here. This is the off-season; every certain number of years this site receives the Mela festivals because it’s one of four holy Hindu sites. This means that every twelve years Haridwar hosts the Kumbh Mela, the largest religious congregation on earth, in which over ten million pilgrims of all castes and class and religions converge in the city. That would be DIRRRTY. This “Holy” city and river is dirty enough right now, the lowest point in tourism of the year. I can’t even imagine during that festival. And people go to purify themselves? I really don’t understand the idea of purity and pollution…Drinking Ganges water will purify you, but touching someone of an untouchable caste is extremely polluting…? We crossed the Ganges to Har-Ki-Pairi Ghat (the footstep of God), where Vishnu is said to have dropped heavenly nectar and left a footprint behind. Today it’s a small canal with lots of steps going up from the ghats on either side. The temple rooftops shelter miniature god statues and priests with rattails and facepaint and orange and white cloths. There were people everywhere, mostly rich urban Indian families on holiday for the weekend. People began to gather around the main ghat, and they all sat on little plastic sheets. We were the only ones not on one; once again, they’ll bathe in the parasitic Ganges but can’t sit on the clean concrete floor. We sat there for a while waiting for something to happen. Thousands of people gradually poured in to watch the ceremony at sunset. This uniformed officer asked for donations. He also doubled as a policeman, donation solicitor, and cheerleader. Bells started chiming and drums were beaten, while people went and bathed in the milky water. People descended the steps, prasad in hand. The prasad was flowers in a boat made of leaves, with a lit candle in the middle. They said prayers and held clasped their hands, and set the prasad free in the Ganges as an offering to float to the gods. The priests at the ghats alo lit these big offerings on fire and were waving them in the air as the bells chimed. It was pretty cool to see that many people watching and singing and chanting along. It was over when the bells silenced and everyone stood up. At this point, everyone gave their offerings to the river, the Ganges glittering with the lights of the prasad. We walked through the busy, noisy, well-lit, market, quickly, because we were hungry. The four of us ate at the really upscale (upscale meaning I spent $3 total) Big Ben Air-Conditioned Restaurant, I had a Thali meal with soup, roti, rajma, dal, paneer, papadum, and ice cream. Then I came back slept with all the fans on.

Thursday, July 7, 2006 Venting about traveling in groups

I’m pretty much over my stomach bug, so I started eating normal Indian food. I watched Margaret Cho, which was funny. I’m starting to get really homesick. That sucks…considering I won’t be home for six months. I had to plan my trip to the nearby town of Haridwar. I really want to just go alone so I can do my own thing, and that way I am forced to do everything myself and interact with locals rather than Californians. I also want to stay in cheap hotels and take the bus. But Erin wasn’t down for that because she’d get sick. And then when we were talking about traveling in general, she said, “we should travel like every weekend, everyone in our house, and whoever wants to go can go”. That is exactly what I fear. When it comes to that point I am going to make a fuss at everyone who wants to tag along or make me go with them. I despise traveling in big groups of conspicuous and often naïve, ignorant, whiny, spoiled white tourists. Even though it sounds introverted and antisocial, it’s actually the exact opposite. I don’t want to insulate myself; I can hang out with California people and be in luxury when I get back; I can’t hang out with Indians in India at home. And I am forced to fend for myself in a foreign culture, immersing myself. I can do whatever I want whenever I want. I don’t have to feel bad for not waiting up for someone, getting waited up for, or doing something I or the other party doesn’t want to do (but has to because that’s what everyone else is doing). And if I make a fool or hero of myself, it only affects me; I don’t want to burden anyone else. Plus, in a country where guests are welcomed, I feel that one traveler is not a burden to accommodate, while two creates distance and a burden to the host. One more thing; the above philosophy would be so much harder to apply in action if I were a woman. So, thanks Dad, for making me have a y-chromosome

Wednesday, July 6, 2006 Recovery Day

I woke up still sick. I love that. I took more Cipro and although it sounded like a cat was purring from inside my intestines all class, my stomach thing went away for the most part. I still didn’t eat any Indian food, though; all those spices wouldn’t be good for the weak stomach. I did some internetting, and then I watched Lagaan, The Mighty Ducks of Bollywood films, which was entertaining although it was four hours long and entirely about cricket (which I know entirely nothing about). It was uplifting, as it should be, because many Indians go to Bollywood films to live vicariously through idealistic characters, for a few hours escaping the plight of their everyday lives. I planned my trip for this weekend to Haridwar and possibly Rishikesh, but everyone seems to be going to the latter, so that’s annoying. I almost don’t want to go with anyone; that way I can just do whatever I want whenever I want.

Tuesday, July 4 Sick all day long

I walked my sick self over to Dev Dar to go eat some toast (one slice of bread was all I could take). The walk alone was miserable and took twice as long as usual. Erin Eve gave me some Ibuprofen for my fever. Then I drank a lot of water and lay in her bed all day. I came out once for dinner. And I didn’t even eat dinner. I slept all day and listened to my iPod. So in the same day I had chills and hot flashes, a sight hangover, massive fever, no energy, diarrhea (actually liquid) eleven times, a banana and slice of toast, six liters of Bisleri water, a lot of drugs (2 tablets of Cipro (strong antibiotic), 2 Pepto tablets, 12 Ibuprofens, a multivitamin, Larium for malaria, and calcium supplement). The reason I couldn’t go back to my room was because there was no water to flush the toilet, no food, and no purified water. In short, it was the most fun day of all. SHOWER ME WITH PITY!!! haha jk. It’s Fourth of July, too, so Luke was setting off fireworks, which sounded like a bomb, making me jump every time. Hmmm…Indian fireworks…that’s a good idea…They probably fill them gunpowder and sand and just explode however they feel like it. It was kind of ironic that I get the worst case of traveler’s illness on the most American day. I don’t think India wants me here. Besides today and last night I’m having a good time here, but I can’t wait to get back to Delhi. That’s a sentence I’ve definitely never heard before.

Monday, July 3 Internetting, Dev Dar Party

I had class and such. Then I went down for lunch and went on the internet for FIVE HOURS straight. I ended up uploading all my photos onto Facebook and a lot onto my blog. I did Hindi homework, ate dinner (pizza), and then came back to preparty at Oakland. I took a lot of Bacardi shots before heading over with Amy and Eleyce to Dev Dar for Maia’s party, where no one else was drunk. But then the White Mischief was busted out and people were drunk and it was all good. We (and by ‘We’ I mean ‘I’) were all dancing and singing to Matisyahu and Daler Mehndi. It was actually really fun. No one could tell I was drunk, I guess I’m just as weird normal. We moved into Cora’s room, which was like a cathedral with high ceilings and windows with no glass. Brianna was wearing these Indian “North Face” waterproof pants, which had a 15” fly and could easily accommodate J-Lo’s massive hips. So I tucked my shirt into my tight pants with no top button and we started a dance party while EVERYONE just sat and watched or took pictures. Then I went back with Eleyce and Amy, and I guess my body just kept throwing up, which was good to get the toxins out. I thought I was just sick from the alcohol. Too bad I ended up writhing in my bed with a 102-degree fever and chills the entire night. My stomach also felt horrible, I had diarrhea and nausea at the same time; stuff needed to come out via any medium possible I guess.

Sunday, July 2 Drive back from Yamunotri

The chai man woke me up again. I packed and was folding my blanket and a huge cockroach fell out….the one I didn’t realize I was sleeping with for two nights. For some reason Dinker thought it would be fun to hike to the next town instead of just take cabs there. The rocky clear Yamuna flowed through more river valleys, which were dark and rocky but covered in moss and grass, so it looked like Switzerland. The drive home was the same except seemed shorter…only six hours instead of eight. Everyone was listening to their iPods, a very antisocial but relaxing ride. In the middle of the ride it got hazy, hot, and dry. They say the monsoons come north. More like the disgusting climate of Delhi just moving north.

Saturday, July 1 Yamunotri Hike

I was awoken by servants with chai…at 6:00! I put it on the table and went back to sleep. Then I suited up in my 100% water/sweat-proof clothing (compliments of the REI/camping fiend, a.k.a. my father), and hit the mountain. I walked really fast. The whole way, the blue rocky snow-capped Himalayan peaks formed the background of the lush, green cliff mountains cut into by the powerful, clear, sacred Yamuna River miles below. This was all were visible against a clear, cloudless sky. I shared the rocky, muddy, zigzag path with Hindu pilgrims, with white or orange Saivite facepaint highlighting their blackened skin, beards, and dreadlocks, dressed in loose white cloths and wooden prayer beads, carrying walking sticks, silver water pitchers, and burlap packs; mules carrying rich lazy Hindus for 100 rupees each way, stones, and grains; and short, young, male, Nepalese or Indian porters who carried rich fat Hindus in wooden-frame palanquins (or kids or old women in little baskets on their backs); and Hindu pilgrims, many of them rich tourists from the cities. We got to the top, and it was actually really anticlimactic. There were shops selling fried foods, puja offerings (like beads, flowers, foods, and gold-lined colorful cloths), bottles so you can take home some Yamuna water, and souvenirs. The temple grounds were steps leading from the Yamuna River to the hot spring baths and to the main shrines to which Hindus perform puja. “Yamunotri” means the “starting point of the Yamuna” (actually I just made that up), and the Yamuna is sacred, hence the pilgrimage spot. I first went into the Hot Springs, which were supposed to cleanse the devotee before puja. It was hot and smelled like sulfur, and Hindu men from age 10 to 100 were in there in their tighty-whitey underwear, relaxing and socializing. Don't know how pure I was afterwards, but it also conveniently doubled as a substitute for the shower I haven’t had in five days. (Yes, I'm dirty). Bob-ji encouraged me to go in the river (and I was the only one who actually went in). I stayed in for like 60 seconds because it was freezing cold…this being at 10,860 feet, where ice is melting off the Himalayan glacier. Then I made a fool of myself by slipping and falling on the stairs. After the hot springs, I didn’t do puja and went down the mountain and two brothers followed me and I spoke to them in limited communication. They listened to my music, and really liked Daler Mehndi. As do I...I wish I had a Video iPod, though, so I could introduce them rightfully. I had lunch at the hotel, but because I basically ran up and down the mountain, I was still hungry and tired. The town is pretty depressing. Poor Nepalese and Indians live here and all cater towards the foreign and (more commonly) Indian pilgrims and tourists. There are thousands of porters whose only job is to carry people or things up and down the mountain or care for the mules that carry people or things up and down the mountain. No one knows English (or needs to), and no one is rich. The stores all sell clothing, snacks, water, and fried foods.

Friday, June 30, 2006 Drive to Yamunotri

We had to wake up really early and pack for our paid-for group excursion with Bob to Yamunotri, the origin of the sacred Yamuna River (the river on which Delhi is built). It was all rainy with no water. Doesn’t make any sense to me. We all piled into cars/vans/Ambassadors, 12 taxis in all. Dinker was the leader, and the whole entire way was chain-smoking bidis. No wonder his voice is so hilarious. The van started, and it smelled like exhaust, so we played it off…That is, until we were miles away from other cars and had every window open, and it still smelled. So, for two hours it turns out we were breathing in carbon monoxide, leaded fuel, and exhaust. The bad: We inhaled dangerous amounts of toxic gases, I was nauseas, that’ll probably take six months off my life, and I will not be able to remember as many Hindi vocab words. The good: I did manage to get extremely high off the fumes. The remedy for the leak was to put a plastic bag over the gas cap, and they told me that the car part (a few loose screws) had been fixed. Needless to say I hopped in another car. We stopped for lunch for exactly 45 minutes at some random road (not even a curb) at Patthar Gad, according to Dinker’s itinerary and the map that he drew and signed ‘Dinker Rai’. The lunch was awesome…a pastry box filled with liquid curry in a bag, oily puris, expired mango juice, and cheese sandwiches. I sat on a weed plant because it was everywhere. They were burning the lunch trash, and I pulled out a marijuana plant and threw it in the fire for fun. The roads were all windy and weaved through deep river valleys, cliffs on one side and steep mountains on the other. The hills were rocky and steep, but colored with the green of terraced rice fields, deciduous trees, grasses, and weeds. I unpacked my stuff in the room with Daniel and Joe. There were three beds, but they came adjoined, so it was like one huge bed. I went through the small hill town north and over the bridge to a small 700-year-old placed called Kharsali Village. The paths were completely muddy and there was cow dung everywhere…If you fall here, you literally will “Eat Shit”. I managed to make it up the steep hills. I was slow and got passed by little dark playing kids in dirty clothes; old wrinkly short Nepalese and Indian men dressed in tweed coats, circular hats, old khaki pants, sandals, and walking sticks leading their mules; and old heavyset short women wearing gold jewelry, shawls, scarves, jackets, and heavy dresses carrying pounds of leaves on their backs and dozens of sticks on their heads. Women do all the informal work, while men try to make a living or spend their family’s earnings smoking, drinking, and gambling. This does not surprise me; sadly it’s this way all over the world. The kids (dressed in warm dirty clothes) greeted us warmly, trying to speak limited English, laughing, and wanting to show us around. They brought us to a temple (more like a watch tower), that was completely steep and dark inside. We got to ring the little bell that looked over the entire (population like 50) town. Then we went to dinner, which was really good but an hour late and flies were everywhere (including larvae in the rice and a cockroach that fell into my khir). I was locked out of my room, so I had to hang out in the big room that smelled like paint because they had fumigated it way too much. Today is just one constant high. There was a huge (probably 5-inch in diameter) brown spider with fangs on the ceiling. So much fun sleeping in a place like this! Then we told ghost stories and while Emily was telling hers, she knocked, and then there was a knock in response that came from somewhere in the room that NO ONE made.

Thursday, June 29, 2006 Tibetan Village

Had class, but I guess our class is advanced. That’s weird, considering I don’t study or do any homework and don’t know how to properly structure a sentence, read Hindi script, or recall yesterday’s vocab words. After class I went and ate some lunch, which were puris that were glistening with heart-clogging ghee. That gave me a huge food coma…and when I’m 55, will contribute to my heart attack/triple bypass surgery. Sarah York called me, the first American to call so far (pretty awesome, wifey). Mariel, Alix, Kim, and I walked downtown to the bazaar and caught a taxi to a nearby village called ‘Happy Valley’, which is a Tibetan community established after Chinese people usurped Tibet, kicking out and displacing the most peaceful, harmless people on the planet. Oh Chinese...It was weird; I didn’t see any adults out. The kids were all playing around after getting out of school. There were lots of kids in Western uniforms coming from the large blue school to the candy store, playfield, or home. The Dalai Lama established the school in order to teach the future generations of Tibetans in exile how to return to China to form an independent state. The Tibetans looked more like Asians, than Indians (and by 'Asian' I mean Chinky). The women wore the traditional vested dresses with wool apron, almost what you’d see in the Andes. The signs were all in Tibetan (a more lively and jagged script than Hindi), as well as in Hindi and English. These features provide accurate endorsement of the conception that India is in no way a homogeneous society, but rather a ‘thali’ of different cultures, religions, peoples, ideas, towns, and geography. We passed through a colorful shrine gate that led to the Buddhist temple on the top of a mountain with a view of the green, lush foothills with the rain clouds rolling in. The pathway was indicated with barbed wire and ropes, with colorful cloths inscribed with prayer chants tied on, catching the wind. Then we took a taxi back in the monsoon downpour. Slippery flooding roads, crazy drivers, and 500-foot cliffs are always a perfect combo. We had a meeting with Robert Goldman, the study center director, who just arrived from Delhi. He is an old Jewish man (who wants us to refer to him as Bob-ji) whose expertise is Sanskrit…a 3,000-year-old, dead language.

Wednesday, June 28 Party in Oakland

I bought a 2liter Coke for chaser for tonight, and on the way some guys were like, “You must like Coke” and I go, “No, you mean, chaser”. Then a light bulb came on in my head. I was thinking, “Coke is just known as chaser in Santa Barbara. I should make a dictionary for my experience at Santa Barbara. So I spent all afternoon and evening making my Santa Barbara Dictionary. It is huge and includes stuff on UCSB Campus, Isla Vista, Greek System, California, People, Parties, Sports, and Communication. It’s intense and thorough. Afterwards, I busted out the alcohol and started taking shots with Mariel, Alix, and Kim in their cottage downstairs, in Oakland Cottages. It’s an awesome running joke how we live in Oakland. So of course we listened to Bay Area music. Then, a bunch of girls I don’t talk to took massive shots of my alcohol and it was gone before I could even get wasted. So I had to settle for a buzz. Ugh. Joslyn was even like, “I’m just going to take these shots out of the bottle”…like she bought it or something. I don’t mind sharing, but not with 50 people, and not with people that don’t pay when they take my alcohol and I don’t even get drunk. I tried taking shots of Bacardi, but they put stoppers on them, so it went in my mouth drop-by-drop, and I ended up spitting it all out in the sink. The others bought alcohol, including ‘White Mischief’ vodka (my returning nemesis) and ‘1000U’ brand, which said on the label was ‘Super Strong Beer’, ‘Injurious to health’, and ‘Contains between 5% and 8% Alcohol by Volume’. It also tasted like whole-wheat bread. Then there was also these ‘bidis’, or little hash-leaf cigarettes with Shiva-only-knows-what in them. I guess I did a good impression of Dinker-Ji, the head teacher Kramer/drunk Irish man (PS I love how in Hindi ‘Ji’ is honorific, so you call your teachers G, and also love how his name is ‘Dinker’). Then a bunch of random people from the Brown University program (I can’t just call them ‘the Brown people’ because that would get really confusing) showed up, including a guy with Peter Culberson’s face, board shorts, Timberland boots, and a ponytail down to his butt.

Observations about this India program so far

The hotel Dev Dar Woods is pretty awesome, all meals and water included. The food is pretty good. Breakfast is usually toast, cereal, eggs, and a banana. Lunches are usually dal, rice, some other Indian dish, and roti. Dinners are dependent upon what side of the bed the chef woke up on, previous dinners including Chinese, pizza, or Indian. The living situation is manageable, and I hang out in the main lodge a lot but I like being in Oakland (yes, I reside in a place called Oakland) because a lot of the people are here. The view is awesome, too. However, now let’s discuss the negatives. The power goes off in the middle of the day every single day, no exceptions. You can’t drink the water because it’s contaminated (and even locals get sick). Then again, not like it matters, because it sporadically runs out, so you can’t even take a shower or flush the toilet. Needless to say our rooms smell. Which I don’t understand, considering it monsoons every single day. And if it’s this hard to get running water, you can forget about hot water. I still haven’t taken a warm shower. I’m kind of used to it. I’m gross and I know it, but so is everyone else (I don’t think one girl has showered since we got here). I definitely have perpetually matted hair and dirt under my nails. The weather usually starts out sunny and then rains every day at two o’clock, and gets sunny again. When it rains, the water drips into the chimney, flooding our room. There has been no day where my stomach feels normal, but it’s not like I’m sick or anything, it just likes to remind me that I’m in India. There was a mouse spotted in the dining room, scurrying from the table to the cupboard. And, while sleeping, you can hear scurrying in the walls. The monkeys are also always making noise and the rabid village cow chases people. EAP knows how to really make its students comfortable. We have a lot of down time in the afternoon after classes, and I’ve been usually hanging out with the other students, going into town, reading, or going online or journaling for way too long. Hence this entry.

Tuesday, June 27 Class

Second day of Hindi class, so I got up and put on my new acid-wash jeans with a front pocket. Although they were size 32, they fit so tight on my thighs I felt like I was a generation behind schedule...slash a woman. Plus, they were flared at the bottom. What makes you think anything in this country is ordinary? I spent the entire afternoon reading Culture Shock India.