Thursday, August 31 Class, The Irony of Rap Songs

Today was an interesting day at class. Besides it being extremely boring, there were some funny moments. In Veena Kukreja’s class she gave a lecture about colonization, so the first thing she said was “Colonization comes from the word ‘colony’, meaning where people live”. Then she said Nepal and Bhutan weren’t colonized because they have “nothing to offer”. She pronounced the year 1605 as sixteen hundred five. Seriously though, how do MA Political Science students not know the basics about Indian colonization that even I know? Moving on, Shanta Verma was late and let us out 25 minutes late, and NO ONE left early. She also yelled at the students in the front row: “I have told you since the first day that I need the fans, so move the desks for me, do you have a problem?” Then she fielded a question, “That is not relevant to this discussion. I don’t want to waste my time while you just pull questions out of the air”. And she apparently hates China and the USA, and considers it "bullshit" if we discount their role in India's defense strategy. During class, fireworks were going off for student elections, in which they give out posters with color portraits of themselves, it’s great. I was listening to some old school rap songs, and realized just how outdated and ridiculous they were. Don’t get me wrong; I love bad rap music, but honestly it’s pretty funny. The list of coveted items includes: Super Nintendo (While I agree it’s the best gaming system, I saw it at a neighborhood garage sale amongst a bunch of used stuff for $20), credit cards (I get credit cards as junk mail…starting at age 16), pagers (needless to say the most worthless invention in the history of the wireless communications industry), mobile phones (I’m guessing 95% of the aged 15-35 population has a cell phone), grills (I think Paul Wall just needed braces and a boon for his jewelry business, so he made up an entire subculture based on the ugliest piece of jewelry since the chastity belt…how else could a fat white Texas man have a number-one rap song in America, oh yeah because believe it or not America is STILL racist), 20” rims (no one brags about 20” rims anymore, now 24” is the rage, and next it’s going to just be “Monster Truck”), Walkman (I’m listening to your song in on an IPOD), Jaguar (Congratulations, your car breaks down every other week), Roca Wear (Who besides Jay-Z actually wears that?). It’s a safe bet to just stay with the following classic rap accessories, these things never get old: Benjamins (unless the value of the US Dollar continues its abysmal downward spiral), hoes (ok I like dark girls, seriously they’re hot), 40’s (all you need is 2 bottles for $2, and it’s a sure ticket to intoxication), fried chicken (you’re thinking only black people like fried chicken…who doesn't like fried chicken...fried chicken is GOOD), diamonds (always a girl’s best friend), marijuana, plastic bags (for distribution of marijuana), Swishers (for rolling of marijuana), pipes (for smoking of marijuana), lighters (for lighting of marijuana), and cocaine. After lunch of a bowl of rice and parantha I packed my stuff and headed off to catch my night plane to Calcutta.

August 30 Sam off to College, Beekeeping, Fasting

It’s actually starting to cool off in Delhi thank goodness. Meaning that the high is 90 degrees and the low is 75. Sam went off to his freshman year of college a week ago in the blistering summer inferno of the University of Arizona in Tucson. He’s been going to some frat parties and meeting people, and he’s been trying to get a job, too. I called him once to talk about it. He had to go to temporary housing because he was late in turning in his acceptance. He’s late…Surprise, surprise. It’s apparently rush and he says that the Sig Ep house seems boring. Oh well. What are my parents going to do now that both of us are gone? When I asked them, they replied, “Relax and party”. It’s kind of like life here. I don’t have any work to do, so all I end up doing is spending money and eating. Today, I wasn’t as sick, but I wanted to take it easy. I left the house once and that was to pick up my laundry. I talked on AIM and Facebooked, and cleaned up my music files. There was a swarm of hornets in our kitchen, which was inhibiting us from cooking. So, Ro got dressed in a white shirt, white pants, white shoes, white hat, and white bandana; basically white clothing covering his entire body, with two eyeholes. He killed all of them and closed and sealed the vent. So now we can cook, but I fasted again, until 9 pm. That makes it 55 straight hours of fasting; I think this is the longest stretch in my life that I’ve gone without eating. And it was completely voluntary and all in my mind, because I was starving. I either feel like a monk, sorority girl, frat boy during hell week (that actually doesn’t cheat), animal in hibernation, patient preparing for surgery, or really poor Indian. After that I started to get lightheaded (I wonder why), so I ate 12 loaves of bread. Gross but delicious. Mariel, Kim, and Alixs’ tall pale English middle-school friend Reid is here. She apparently made her plane tickets before asking them if she could see them, so now they’re obligated to entertain her for two weeks. Friday is Mariel’s birthday, and the girls are planning to have an EAP pre-party, followed by club night at Fire, a nice dance club connected to the Park Hotel. 40 drunk Americans rolling out via the heavily-policed Metro at night…good idea.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006 Sick, UCSB's Rankings

I spent today sick in bed. I unpacked my things, wrote in my journal, and did laundry. A bunch of people are working at NGOs, which seem only slightly fulfilling. Brianna is writing a textbook on environmental law, the girls are working 3 days a week for a women’s rights group, Tara and Snehal are working in a school, and Christina is teaching English (it might help if she actually spoke English, though). I was thinking about symbols exclusively found in India. Sony and Nike labels are painted onto cars and luggage, swastikas adorn walls of temples and houses, Stars of David on Muslim temples. I didn’t eat all day, trying to flush out all the bad germs in my body and recover quickly. I tried buying bananas, but the man selling them on a cart charged 5 Rs per banana, which is more than you’d pay in the US. I was stalking people on AIM and reading their away messages as usual, and I read this fact on Kaitlin Lester’s profile: According to an article in the newspaper: "The Princeton Review quizzed 115,000 students about 361 U.S. colleges and reached this conclusion: UC Santa Barbara was voted the No.10 party school and ranked No.14 in liquor consumption, No.14 in marijuana usage and, not surprisingly, No.358 in hours spent studying (third worst in the nation in the last category)." Oh UCSB, I love my school. Good thing my parents are paying out-of-state tuition for this enriching college experience.

Monday, August 28 Taj Mahal, Agra Fort, Akbar's Tomb in Sikandara

I woke up at 5 am, and Nikhil and I took a taxi to the Taj Mahal to see it when it opened at 6 for the sunrise. We were amongst a handful of tourists there, which made for great pictures. It was totally peaceful and serene, definitely worth the sacrifice of 750 Rs and sleep. Instead of yellow like last night, the marble façade of the Taj was now painted pink in the sunrise. The tomb was so quiet in the morning, and Hindus bathed in the sacred ghats on the banks of the Yamuna in back of the tomb. I hired a photographer to take my photo in a series of picturesque spots. We took a bike rickshaw back to the hotel, and had breakfast before leaving for Agra Fort, another World Heritage site. The fort was surrounded by 2.5 km of red sandstone ramparts to deter invaders. A crocodile-filled moat was surrounded by a high wall with holes for archers, surrounded by a dry moat filled with lions and tigers. In a day you could be breakfast for crocodiles, killed for lunch by guns, and supper for man-eating tigers. The doors were built along curving pathways, designed to deter elephants who could not make fast turns. Construction began in the 16^th century. Inside the walls were a series of beautiful archways, thrones, mosques, prisons, and houses for the wives of the emperor. A colonnaded hall enclosed Akbar’s throne, from which the view of all columns were unobstructed. The emperor had 300 concubines, one for every day of the year (because Muslims have Fridays off). The concubines’ residences were guarded by eunuchs, who were physically stronger than women but didn’t have the desires of men. Eunuchs gained power because no one could oppose them. If you refuse to give them money at births or weddings, they will strip their clothes, embarrassing you in front of your entire family. They could rule India; people are so afraid they’ll strip that they won’t even keep them in prisons. They are also used as playthings by men inhibited by the strong sexual separation in India. The prison was beautiful, made of white marble with semiprecious stones as inlays. It housed Shah Jahan, imprisoned by his own son Auranganzeb. Shah Jahan didn’t mind being locked up, so long as he had a view of the Taj Mahal. Because he was nearsighted after being nearly blinded by his son, a mirror was installed that had a view along the river, of the Taj. The rest of Agra fort is still used by the Indian army as barracks. I went in the luxurious pool upon returning to the hotel. A bunch of us tried playing underwater telephone, which was hilarious and utterly impossible. I stocked up on lunch at the Five Star. They had beef kebabs, with which I filled several plates. On the way back to Delhi, we stopped shortly at Sikandara, the site of Akbar’s tomb. It was like the poor man’s Taj Mahal. They only had like two employees. The security guard offered to be a tour guide; that’s smart, he’s trying to make money for being here. Then the tomb’s caretaker was also a tour guide and singer. When Amber asked him if it was the real tomb, he replied by belting out a song about Allah in Urdu. Hilarious. The tomb complex was enormous, and was in the center of a garden divided into four quadrants. There were wide avenues leading from ornate gateways to the tomb. I went to use the bathroom, but they tried charging me, so instead I walked a couple feet and went in the bushes. While I was peeing, hawkers continued to try and sell me jewelry. The ride back was long and boring. We stopped at a rest stop that charged 30 Rs for chai, while the shack 10 feet away outside probably charged 3. The whole drive I felt sick to my stomach. I suppose it’s the result of eating five plates of beef at lunch. Delhi traffic was horrible. When we got back to the apartment we found our bathroom had been used and our stuff had been moved. I was mad, but it could wait because I was too sick.

Sunday, August 27 Fatehpur Sikri, TAJ MAHAL

We all woke up extremely early for the second leg of our journey, from Jaipur to Agra. The drive took six hours, and the road was mostly good, but it was apparent we had reached Uttar Pradesh when the road became bumpy and filled with potholes. Uttar Pradesh has 200 million people, and is the cow belt of India. It encloses most of the Indo-Gangetic Plains, a vast, agricultural area stretching from Delhi to Calcutta. It is the heartland of Hinduism, but is also important to Muslims and Buddhists. The most famous sites of Mughal India can be seen here, exemplified by the Taj Mahal. The Mughals were a Turkish Muslim military ruling family who invaded and ruled northern India for two centuries until British rule. Gunpowder and superior military power enabled them to take over most of India. They let local kings rule over their territories, acting as a federal government, taxing these kings and amassing wealth. With this wealth they were able to build many cities and monuments, mostly in their capital cities of Agra, Fahtepur Sikri, and Delhi. We passed a highway Bharat Petroleum station where six employees waved to us to stop and get gas. Only in India would you have six people whose job it was to advertise to buy gas on the road. The turbans worn by laborers are different from Punjabi ones that are more often seen by Westerners. They seem racially offensive because it is a cloth tied around the head, but not in any particular way. On the way to Agra we stopped to view Fatehpur Sikri, which many people told me to visit in India. The royal city of Fatehpur Sikri near Agra was the seat of Akbar The Great’s government. The tolerant Akbar, the beloved Muslim ruler, was told by a holy man to construct his capital at Fatehpur Sikri. There he built a city, combining Hindu and Muslim architecture. The city was abandoned due to a lack of water, leaving the elaborate palaces, formal courtyards, reflecting pools, human-sized chess board, harems, tombs, and mosques largely intact and unspoiled. The complex was surrounded by huge sandstone walls, and had a white marble mosque with intricately-carved windows. You can pay to make an offering to the Sufi tomb, and hawkers are everywhere, selling postcards, jewelry, and marble handicrafts. We got into our hotel in Agra soon afterwards. Turns out Vijay is friends with the owner of Clarks Amer hotel. Luckily he made friends with the owner of a chain so we can stay here for a discount in both cities. I opened the curtains of my room and almost had a heart attack because a monkey was looking right at me from the window ledge. The hotel had good lunch, including a veal stew! I was shocked. We all got on the bus for the Taj Mahal. I got all dressed up in my best clothes because chances are, today I’ll be taking the photo that will be used as my Christmas Card. I made sure my hair was perfect, too. I was really excited to visit the Taj Mahal, because even people who don’t particularly enjoy touristy monuments are surprised and blown away by the beauty of the Taj. We had to offload the bus for an electric bus to minimize pollution around the building. Then we got off next to a swarm of hawkers, camels, horses, and bicycle rickshaws. The mode of transportation gets progressively smaller; what is next, a dogsled? While walking to the gate, hawkers were harassing me, so I told them I wasn’t interested in buying any jewelry, but I pointed at someone else and told them they were interested, and amazingly, they went to harass them. Usually the only thing that works is ignoring them. Indians are very optimistic people; ‘No’ means ‘Maybe’, ‘Maybe’ means ‘Yes’, and ‘Yes’ means ‘I’ll Take Two’. The Taj Mahal is the most famous example of Mughal architecture, and the most famous building in India. It is one of the Seven Wonders of the World, a World Heritage site, and timeless symbol of love. The Taj Mahal is a mausoleum built in the 17^th century by Shah Jahan as a monument to his wife who died in childbirth. It is situated on the south bank of the Yamuna River, originally meant to face an equally-commanding identical black marble monument. Unfortunately, his son Aurangzeb imprisoned him and did not allow him to realize this dream. The tomb took 20,000 workers and 22 years to complete. It is covered completely with shiny white marble that changes color depending on the surrounding sky. The Taj is adorned with semi-precious stones inlaid in the white marble, and scriptures from the Koran chiseled into the façade. Immaculate gardens of grass, trees, and reflecting pools surround the tomb. These gardens allow the person buried there to ascend to heaven from heaven on earth. It is not a typical Muslim tomb, which is supposed to be located at the center of a garden. The tomb itself is completely symmetrical except for Shah Jahan’s tomb alongside his wifes’, not part of the original design. Demonstrating the beauty of the Taj, the designers placed optical illusions within the building to make it more ascetically-pleasing. Because the eye sees far-away objects as closer together and smaller, the minarets face outward (which is also beneficial in earthquakes), and the calligraphy is small at the base and gets progressively larger as it goes up the tomb. Just as impressive as the outside, the inside is covered with floral carvings and semi-precious stones inlaid by expert families. This art is extremely difficult, and the families keep the art a secret. When Hillary Clinton asked one such family the secret, they replied, “I’ll tell you when you tell me the recipe of Coca-Cola”. Sadly, the Taj has become extremely commercialized. Everyone who goes to India comes here. With a ticket you get a bottle of water and booties for your feet. I’m surprised you don’t get a free toy with your ticket. Vijay says he’s been here about sixty times so far. Good thing he gets the Indian rate of 20 Rs, compared with the foreigner price of 750 Rs, 37.5 times more expensive. Some of the Indian people tried to get in fro the Indian rate, without any luck. I thought of one way I might have been able to; pretend like I was a deaf person. For obvious reasons, security was stringent (prohibited items include electronics besides cameras, extra clothing, tripods or bipods (how a ‘bipod’ is possible is beyond me), arms, explosives, food, and cigarettes). I’m glad that security is very tight. However, I hardly see the Taj Mahal as a major terrorist target; it’s the most beautiful Muslim building in the world. While my friends continue to remind me to stay vigilant in India, I feel like the safest places for me to be during terrorist attacks are mosques. Blowing up a mosque if you’re a Muslim extremist would be like killing your own mother. Waiting in line, I got really antsy and almost peed my pants. The place was swarming with tourists. Walking through the sandstone doorway, the white marble of the Taj Mahal was visible, absolutely stunning. However cliché it sounds, this is the most beautiful building I have ever seen. Because it was sunset, the white marble was reflecting the yellow skylit color. Tourists crowded around, waiting to take pictures from the perfectly symmetrical spot in front of the reflecting pool and row of trees leading to the tomb. I obviously went trigger-happy snapping photos. I also had people take numerous photos of me. We got a guide to explain about the mausoleum, and then we took a 40-person group picture. The center of the complex has a pool and benches, the most photographed spot of the Taj Mahal. From there I went to the tomb itself, which was very intricate and the inside was the fake tomb of Shah Jahan’s wife Mumtaz Mahal, who is actually buried in the ground under the tomb. You must remove your shoes; however, you can touch the building if you want. The sun was setting over the dirty Yamuna River in back, which faced the rest of Agra, including Agra fort and a lot of farmland and power lines. The onion-dome of the Taj became purplish red, matching the color of the sunset behind it. We left the monument because it closed. I don’t think they’d like the idea of a slumber party at the Taj Mahal. Everyone was harassed by hawkers while getting on the bus. My ear is still resonating with the sound of “Friend, friend, friend, friend, friend,” etc. One kid was trying to sell postcards from outside the window, so Kelly closed it, which he opened again. Kelly closed it again, and his hand was caught in the window, so he screamed, reminding me of a bratty kid yelling at an evil babysitter. He didn’t leave, and as the bus started to move, he jumped and grabbed onto the windowsill and rid it, still trying to sell us postcards. Unfortunately I had already bought five books to send to people, because I give him an A for effort. When I got back to the hotel, Nikhil had bought swords, and we had a swordfight.

Saturday, August 26 Amber Fort, Shopping in Jaipur

Vijay was annoyed because everyone was late this morning. He complained, “I need a stick to beat everyone who’s late”, and then when Nikhil asked for the fans to be turned on, he joked, “Nikhil, you are so difficult”. We drove to Amber Fort nearby. From there, we rode elephants up the steep hill to the Amber Palace. The dark Asian elephants were dressed in colorful robes and painted with bindi and decorations. It was really fun, but the entire way we were harassed by touts on foot. Amber was the original capital, and the fort was ornately decorated with gold, mirrors, and intricate carving. The fort housed swimming pools, ancient air-conditioning systems, gardens, and fountains. The fort overlooks the city of Amber and through the green hills, Jaipur is visible. Everyone was taking group photos incessantly. From there, we passed a beautiful palace on the water, for which we didn’t get to stop because Brianna told us we could just Google it. Next we saw Jantar Mantar, medieval India’s largest observatory. It contained many sundials and astronomical tools used to calculate seasons, time, and the stars. The main sundial was so big that it was marked with ticks for minutes, and you could see the shadow moving across it. It was also completely accurate. During lunch I was embarrassed when Katie asked “What is wrong with this country? Why can’t they just have beef instead of mutton?” Why don’t we just cut up Jesus Christ and put it on a skewer and eat it? After lunch, I headed out to the Old City for shopping. Jaipur is the center for Indian handicrafts because it is here that generations of families produce their unique items. I bought a large number of camel leather, pointed-toe shoes. A tout came up to me and I got him to give me some puppets for 80 Rs. I took a bicycle rickshaw to Hawa Mahal, or Wind Palace, the major landmark of Jaipur. It is a five story sandstone building with honeycomb windows jutting out, from which royal women could inconspicuously watch the main street. I tried shopping for fine Rajasthani fabrics, which were expensive. The reason, I later learned, was that most of the fabrics were wholesaled to Delhi, so they were actually cheaper there. It’s like the Basmati Rice; the high-grade rice cannot be bought in India because it is made exclusively for export. I haggled wall hangings and Indian paintings down to 40 Rs each. I spent $40 and two hours at the painting shop.

Friday, August 25 Rajasthan, Jaipur, City Palace, Five-Star Hotel

The Golden Triangle is the Delhi-Jaipur-Agra circuit, which includes four states and quintessential North Indian tourist destinations. For us, EAP prepares the excursion for this weekend. We had to all assemble at the Study Center at 5:30 am, and we hopped on AC charter buses for Jaipur in Rajasthan. We got information sheets explaining the destinations. Talking about Jaipur’s different attractions, it read, “Pretty dolls from various countries are on display in the compound of the school for deaf and dumb children”. I was wondering why we do all our traveling by bus, when the train system is so efficient. Just imagine Vijay calling up Indian Railways, “Hi, can I make a reservation for 40 Americans please?” On the way out of Delhi, we passed the modern high-rises of Gurgaon and the rest of the cultivated flat southern Haryana plains. The Delhi-Jaipur road was well-paved and maintained. We saw a few other charter buses with tourists in them. It’s kind of weird…You’re old and rich and white, why aren’t you flying? The semi trucks are all decorated, painted with colorful motifs, pictures of Indian flags, cows, birds, lettering saying “National Carrier”, “All-India Permit”, “Use Dipper at Night”, and “Blow Horn”. We stopped several times for bathroom breaks, and it’s a funny sight to see five tourists in a line peeing on the roadside at once. We passed a gasoline truck, with the back painted Rajasthan means “Land of the Kings”, and is India’s most color-charged state. So, since I’m colorblind, can I get charged less? Rajasthan is the land of feudal kings known as Rajputs, who lived according to a strict moral code of honor. Even the British had a difficult time controlling the territory. The land is mostly rural and impoverished, but visitors are drawn here for its fairy-tale cities and colorful beauty. It was dramatic; the red dry soil against the green of the wheat fields, and the rocky hills accentuated by the yellow or red of a turban or a sari. The houses were made of mud and dung, with hay constituting the roofing. Women in bright blue and yellow saris walk on dusty paths between red-dirt fields, carrying bundles of hay on their heads. Men adorned in large white or red turbans and white draped clothing sit under trees playing cards or tending their cattle. Enormous camels pulled carts filled with people and hay. We finally got into Jaipur, a city surrounded by rugged hills crowned with forts and walls. The inner city, known as the Old City is touristy and completely painted pink. Outside, the rest of the city is the dirty working capital of Rajasthan. The hotel was nestled in a part of town filled with hospitals and office buildings. Vijay had written that “we will be staying in reasonably good hotels”. If by “reasonably good” you mean the five-star, $120 a night, Clarks Amer. And the best part is that the UC Regents are paying for the entire thing. A well-dressed doorman with a Rajasthani turban and an amazing Civil War moustache greeted and opened the door for us. We had lunch, which was extravagant and ice cream was dished up in a cube of pure fattening goodness. I had five plates of delicious food. Afterwards, we all went by bus to the Old City for sightseeing. The Old City was painted pink by the Maharaja upon Prince Edward VII’s visit, because it was his favorite color...woman. Today, everything in the walls share a dark pink color and Indian architectural style, with black and white signs leading to bazaars selling everything from fresh vegetables to Rajasthani fabrics. It’s beautiful, minus the dirty roads, power lines, and congested traffic. Camels, cows, motorcycles, rickshaws, and cars all occupy the gridded streets. The City Palace is located in the center of town, and is now a museum. It is extremely touristy, and we were greeted by a snake charmer. An entourage of hawkers harassed everyone, selling peacock fans, chess sets, postcards, and jewelry. One man even asked for money for making weird funny faces that we could photograph. The museum was ornate, ceilings inlaid with gold, made during British rule. I saw the world’s biggest silver container in the world, used by the Maharaja while he was studying in England. His mother told him that drinking the water in England would be bad for him; sounds familiar. The world’s second-largest chandelier was also housed here, as well as a vast assortment of beautiful paintings and Hindu texts. The armory housed an artistic assortment of guns, knives, and swords. My favorite display was an arrangement of weapons that spelled out “Welcome”, with a caption reading “a collection of backscratchers and daggers”. Rajasthani men in red turbans and white suits could be paid to be photographed. We saw a handicrafts emporium (Vijay probably got a huge commission for bringing us), which was extremely overpriced. We had a painter demonstrate his job, which was kept in the family for generations. He told us that he doesn’t make the squirrel-hair brushes himself because as he said, “Have you ever tried to catch a squirrel?”. I swam in the nice pool after returning home. That was short lived, because once it got dark, a horde of bats started swooping over the water at my head. I ate dinner and then headed to the bar on the rooftop, overlooking the city. It was really nice except for the weird pornographic elevator music.

Thursday, August 24 Hellish Classes, Opposites of the US, Dinner at Shrikhandes

Professor Veena Kukreja is just too boring, I’m sorry. Today she told us that South Asia faces the “Triple A’s”. A’s she identifies as ‘Awareness’, ‘Aspirations’, and ‘Identities’. I don’t understand, seriously. Ok, but seriously, who did she have to sleep with to get this job? She probably wrote her PHD dissertation on the ‘Triple A’s’. And that’s why she’s still at prestigious Delhi University. The next class was actually interesting, but since it was 85 degrees in the building I was falling asleep. She was talking about refugees who all come to India from Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Somalia, etc. You know your country sucks when you are immigrating to India. Student elections are going on right now at Delhi University, so a bunch of students are marching around, waving banners and making noise. I prefer to spend as little time on campus as possible, so I didn’t really see anything. After that I had to wait in a long line for security. Gender trends are the opposite of in the United States; more men go to school than women here, there are more men than women here, men come first here, and in gender-specific lines mens’ lines are longer here. It’s also like the reverse of peacocks; while men wear brown, beige, and white Western clothes, women wear brightly-colored red, blue, pink, yellow, purple, green, gold saris and salwar kameez that look really good. For dinner, I took the Metro to Central Secretariat, and was picked up by Holly Shrikhande in their SUV with a driver. From there, I was taken on a tour of the President’s House and the diplomatic enclave at Chanakyapuri, with all of the embassies. Then we went to her residence, which was a guarded, nice house by Indian and American standards. It seemed like I was in their house on Mercer Island, since all of the furnishings were the same, including Anjali’s bedroom with girly lanterns, pictures, and notes, but which the grandfather now is forced to live in. We talked for a while over some cheese and crackers (heavenly), before eating an excellent dinner (salad, parantha, tandoori chicken, aloo ghobi, and dahi) made by their Maharashtran cook. Anil, Holly, Adria, the grandfather, and Jasper were all there, and it was nice to see them again. I took the Metro home to Civil Lines.

Wednesday, August 23 Current Events, Awkward Party

I guess Paris Hilton has now at least done something to earn her fame; she just released a new album. Her thoughts are: “I, like, cry when I listen to it, it’s so good”. So along with that, she also claims to have copyrighted the term, “That’s Hot”. God I hate Paris Hilton. In other headlines, it’s a Muslim Armageddon-type day today, so there were threats of Iran bombing Israel. Also, Bush claims that Iraq is “straining the psyche of our country” and that "there's a lot of people saying `withdraw now.' They're absolutely wrong....We're not leaving, so long as I'm the president. That would be a huge mistake." This is actually infuriating. I’m sorry, but your track record is a joke. Let’s see, shall we? Bush’s approval rating has slumped to an all-time low (37%), Iraq is still in shambles and civil war, democracy has not been instituted anywhere in the Middle East, 2,600 Americans and 45,000 Iraqi civilians have died thus far, extremists have grown stronger, Iran has developed nuclear capabilities, Israel has created hostile neighbors everywhere around it, anti-American resentment in the Middle East is the highest it has ever been, and oil and gas prices have skyrocketed. And that’s just the Middle East problem. The Bush Administration has not even addressed issues that face Americans every day; say, healthcare, education, or the economy. And while abroad I hate admitting I’m from the United States, even though I love my country. Today I spent updating my blog and now Facebook has introduced “Notes”, which sync my blog on blogger to my Facebook directly and automatically. It’s awesome, and I am probably the only person who actually utilizes every feature Facebook offers. After that I ate at Fiesta (fancy that), and then went to Hindi class. Afterwards, I went out in the sweltering heat (it’s not sunny but it’s 100% humidity and about to rain) to Connaught Place. I bought some more jeans (I can actually wear these comfortably in public), and I had to get them tailored. I almost want to get them to tailor acid-wash jeans overalls. Oh, the possibilities are endless! I ate a huge meal at a South Indian restaurant, and then I walked around Palika Bazaar, where I got an mp3 CD with all the Hindi music I could possibly want. I got ready and went out in my denim shirt embroidered with parrots to Mora’s birthday surprise party, of which Ajay ruined the surprise already. It was really awkward; about two people were wasted, Bottle’s friends were there for some reason, it was sweltering, and others (including me) just wanted an excuse to leave, so I offered to walk home the girls (who were getting speakers for a dance party at our house), and I conveniently never came back.

Tuesday, August 22 Riding on Bus Tops Through Haryana, Dadi's Family

I woke up early with a free day. I took the Metro over to the bus station and hopped on a bus to Jind, in Haryana, which is supposed to be the heartland of the state, with rural villagers who only speak Haryanwi, not even Hindi. The ride there was ok, but I couldn’t take pictures because the lighting was bad. I got out at Jind, and started walking to go see some rural life, through the crowded, busy town. I bought four bananas from one of probably 25 banana-vendors. Walking in the 100-degree heat for 15 minutes was unbearable. My shirt was soaked, I was turning into a brown man, and my eyes burned from the dust. Some of the people looked at me funny, especially when I whipped out the camera. I remember watching a 1981 movie in Anthropology Class called Dadi’s Family, about a family of Haryana farmers led by the matriarch Dadi (meaning Mother-In-Law because a woman moves from her natal village to live with her husbands’). Anyways, I am positive I just found Dadi. She looks exactly the same but a little older, and was wearing the exact same outfit. I managed to get a picture of her. After that, I felt like I had accomplished enough for the day, so I turned back in a furious sweat, to the bus station. I saw all these uniformed schoolboys riding on the tops of buses, which looked like fun/extremely dangerous. I talked to one of the students, and a bunch of high-school kids and I jumped on top and rode the bus to Panipat, 60 km away. They all crowded around and wanted to talk to me, see where I was from, what I was doing in Jind, and how much sex I have. I was invited to one of their houses, but I was so exhausted I didn’t have the energy to try and hurdle the language barrier. Most of them got off the bus as we rode further and further to Panipat. On the way, I saw quintessential rural India; men in white kurta and turbans sitting under the shade of trees playing cards and smoking hookah, women carrying huge bundles of wheat and water pails on their heads, families being pulled on carts by water buffalo, endless plains of cultivated rice paddies, wheat fields, and sugar plantations. I passed the Panipat Thermal Energy Plant, a huge nuclear power plant, built right up against slums, rural houses, and rice fields. It was straight out of a movie, the British voice saying, “Planet Earth uses 3000 times as much energy as is being created by nature. Moreover, urbanization and rapid consumption of natural resources threaten global sustainability levels for future generations.” Panipat was a busy, dusty, sprawling, boring town, and I just wanted to get back to Delhi. I hopped on a bus and slept most of the way back. I can feel my stomach growling because of something I ate on Saturday, but nothing really bad. So far I haven’t gotten sick since Mussoorie, knock on wood. Maybe I am actually building up immunities. This could be because I haven’t drunk (I know, what’s going on?) in a month, but whatever it is I’m doing, it’s working. I ate at Fiesta again.

Monday, August 21 Indian Peoples' Questions, India is Crowded

Upon meeting Indian people, they all ask the same questions in the same order. And my answers (using Indian accent and hand gestures) are always the same. 1) What is your country? America, you know California (not really true but it’s simpler than saying Seattle which they don’t know and always confuse with Chicago, 2) What you doing in India? I am study here, in Delhi University, 3) How you find India? I like the India, people are nice, it is cheap, but now is very hot, 4) Why you come India? I am always wanting to go to the India, 5) why studying political science India, politics is crooked and you cannot get job? Yes, but I am study political science in America and want to do law or the business, I am not smart to get do engineering, and is only one semester here (but if I’m in a quiet mood I’ll just say economics because the DU economics school is very prestigious, Amartya Sen is a professor in that college), 5) how long you in India? I am staying here four months more, 6) You have girlfriends, how many you have? I have girlfriend, she is in America (it’s too hard to explain that I don’t have a girlfriend or wife, and that it’s normal to have only one girlfriend at a time), 7) You speak Hindi? I cannot, 8) What is your good name? Taylor (a blatant lie, but they end up saying Thailand if I say ‘Tyler’, if you have a weird name and go to Starbucks you know exactly what I mean), 9) You know Texas, I have Aunt there? I have not been Texas, is far from California. One thing that doesn’t surprise me because I was prepared, but what can be overwhelming at first is the fact that there are a lot of people in India. 70% of the population is rural. So, even if there are large expanses of open fields, there are still people around every corner. And the cities are all sprawling megalopoli; the largest is Mumbai at 17 million, Kolkata at 13 million, and Delhi at 12 million. People sleep on the street side by side, and share beds. People will knock into you, and not think twice about bumping shoulders or knees. Every bus, train, and plane is filled to maximum capacity. Privacy and personal space do not exist unless you are willing to pay for it. Every day your senses are bombarded with every aspect of life in India; sleeping, eating, selling, buying, cooking, celebrating, fighting, driving, smoking, spitting, urinating, and defecating. And remember, there are another billion people doing the same things that you can’t see. A positive of this is that at every turn, you can find most things you need. A helpful tip I have discovered for keeping healthy is this: No matter how thirsty or hungry you are, don’t ever eat raw foods or drink non-purified water (many times as a guest or when you become withered you will find it difficult to refuse). You’ll be compensated for three hours of satisfaction with three days of misery. Remember this: A food stand selling bananas, bread, and bottled water cannot be more than 1 km in any direction in India. These three items are all you need to survive until you find a good restaurant or hotel. Sunscreen, toilet paper, and energy bars are difficult at best to find, though.

Sunday, August 20 Haryana, Cricket, College English Tests, Signage

I woke up with pinkeye and sunburn. Shashi was playing cricket, so I talked to his friends, who just arbitrarily show up at his house. Me and Atul (funny name in English) had chai and breakfast, vegetables and curd and chapati, made by Shashi’s mother. Then Atul took me to the cricket field. I watched part of a game. How it works is it takes 15 hours for one game, played over a series of days and with multiple tea breaks. The heavily-armored batsmen are on the field two at a time, at opposite sides of a running path. The bowler throws the heavy ball and the batsman hits it on the bounce. The fielders try and catch it or stop the batsmen from running to the opposite goal. The number of scores before getting out is recorded before the other team bats. It’s complicated and seems like baseball, but not as fun. I had a sudden urge to watch a baseball game, which probably isn’t going to happen. I tried batting the cricket ball, which is hard because it’s an underhand swing and you have to hit it after the bounce. After nearly killing the catcher with a foul ball, I knocked a line drive, almost killing the bowler. They thought it was pretty funny. I sat around while the team members talked in the shade. The coach was Stephan Meloy’s Indian twin. Every shop in Nilokheri seemed to shut its doors on Sunday. Cricket is the favorite Sunday event for the young men, and sitting around playing cards seems to be a favorite with older men. Near the field, a group of Indian electrical engineering students gathered to receive their grades from the small polytechnic college. I was taken inside and shown their computer lab, a small room with typewriters and where they were building computers, which looked really old and slow. Such a juxtaposition; right next to a cricket field, sewage-filled stream, herd of water buffalo, rice and wheat fields, sits a village with an high-tech engineering polytechnic college. They all wanted to practice their English, so I used my normal accent. In order to study in the English-speaking world, everyone has to pass a test, called the International English Language Testing System, from the UK, which costs $150 and uses British (useless) English. I looked at the passages, and they were really difficult. I don’t know if I could even pass them. Example: The ____ (I narrowed it down to ‘fall’ or ‘decline’) in oil prices created a need for alternate energy sources. Are you kidding! It’s supposed to test academic, conversational, and everyday English. If a native educated English-speaker cannot determine the answer, I think that’s a little unfair. Inside the test booklet was one of their resumes to study in the West, and it was horrible. I helped him organize his resume to make it more presentable. He had put the personal information (like Father’s name and occupation which is required in India) first, when he wanted to emphasize his education. And his name was written the same size as his address. I don’t understand why they don’t teach these things in the United States or India. It’s one of the most important parts of getting a job, I’d venture to say even more important than if you know the difference between ‘fall’ and ‘decline’. I came back to Shashi’s house, where his mom cooked us rice, chapati, rajma, and curd. It was delicious. I was originally going to stay overnight tonight as well. However, I was feeling really dirty and tired, and had pinkeye, and Shashi was getting on my nerves. He was very hospitable, but he acted like he owned the town, which is unfortunately literally true, him being a landlord. He acted like a tough guy, and as if he was really popular and a pimp. It was annoying, plus the town was getting kind of boring; all I do is sit, repeat conversations, and eat. Shashi dropped me off at the bus station, where I flagged down a bus within two minutes, to Delhi. On the way, this guy spit out the window, and it got all over me. It was disgusting, but it’s worse. It happened again, and after smelling myself, I realized it was vomit. So I had a combination of pinkeye, sunburn, and dirt, dust, sweat, and vomit all over myself. On the way out of Haryana, there was a checkpoint. You were exempt of a toll if you were a VIP, meaning: 1. President of India, 2. Vice President of India, 3. Central and State Ministers, 4. Governors of States, 5. Lt Governors of Union Territories, 6. Foreign Diplomats, and 7. Government Employees. In other words, #1-6 applies to 0.0000001% of the Indian population, and then with the addition of #7, it swells this percentage to 50%. I could tell I was entering Delhi again when I saw an enormous sour-smelling landfill of trash. Oh, Delhi. I got out of the bus, and decided to go to the Tibetan Market, which was a tiny alley selling tons of knock-off Chinese designer clothing. I am going to go on a fatty shopping spree here right before I leave Delhi. I took the Metro home and got all cleaned up.

Saturday, August 19 Wandering Haryana, Nilokheri, Indian Hospitality

I woke up early and packed my bags for nowhere in particular. I took the Metro to Kashmere Gate and there I walked in the sweltering heat to the Interstate Bus Terminal. I got on a bus that was starting up, which turned out to be going north to Haryana via the Golden Quadrilateral (Highway 1), a very well-paved direct road from the southernmost tip of the subcontinent to Srinagar in Kashmir. On the way, a lawyer (but they call themselves ‘advocates’) started talking to me. He told me a lot about India and Haryana. The language is Hindi and Haryanwi. It’s a very rural area, but since Punjab and Haryana (split in 1966) are the Breadbasket of India, it’s a wealthy area too, seen as so many Punjabis are living and working abroad. Everyone in Haryana is farmers, including Rajiv’s family, who are Brahmins. He offered to show me around, but then got off the bus before doing so. So I got off the bus after the small town of Karnal. I ended up walking a little ways through a small but rich town, with nice homes, power lines, dirt roads, and lots of rice paddies. It was 1:30, and no one was outside except for a few men riding their bicycles. Maybe because they’re normal, and decide to stay out of the beating 105-degree sun. I took some photos of the small quiet town and rice paddies. There is no civilization here, so I resigned myself to dying of thirst. So I left, and crossed the highway and marched through a small rural town, the women washing clothes and playing with their kids in the shade. They all stopped talking and started staring when the stranger passed. A man was tending his herd of water buffalo (the only work to be done on a farm in August), herding them into the dirty brown stream, where a group of teenage boys were also playing. They saw me and screamed and laughed, running over to greet me. To get to them, I had to cross a stream, which they thought was hilarious because I got my whole leg covered in mud. They assumed I was lost and when I told them I wasn’t looking for anything, they assumed I came here to picnic. The boys beckoned all their friends and family, and made me sit in a chair in the middle of the path. They all circled around, stunned and confused to see a white tourist in their humble, boring village. I felt like a British explorer from the 1600’s. Speaking only Hindi, it was difficult to communicate with them. Every time I spoke or they introduced someone to me, they broke out in laughter, while I sat there and nervously smiled. They offered me food and water, which I accepted. One of the boys took me to his house. There was a fenced yard with dirt floor, and an outdoor bed to lie on during the hot days, lemon and guava trees, a submersible well pump, and a shelter for four huge black water buffalo. They had a large family, as I was introduced to his father, while the girls giggled from inside the house. They were rich Haryana farmers, and had servants. I was so thirsty that I drank tea with them. After that, I was taken by the boy on his motorcycle to a field in the nearest town, Nilokheri. Surprisingly, I was not mugged. Instead, he brought me to his friend Shashi Chaudri, who spoke English. We talked for a good hour or so. He’s overseeing a big project at the field to build a nicer cricket field. He’s paying 100 Rs per day to laborers who would only earn 20 in Bihar. He invited me to his house, and we went by bike there. He also offered to show me around and to stay at his house for the night. This is a typical example of Indian hospitality, where a complete stranger is taken in and given food and shelter, and treated like a god. I love this aspect of India, which does not exist at all in the United States. Shashi asked me “Why do you trust me, because there are a lot of bad people who could take advantage of you”. He was right, and I don’t know why I am so trusting, but this is the best way to see India; make friends and they are usually glad to show you their country. Plus, in India, the culture of hospitality makes it possible. And I was sure not to bring anything of value, so if someone was to rob me, oh well. Shashi has a bull mastiff, a huge awesome dog. He has a car and nice motorcycle, and a nice large modern house. He rents out the bottom half, and lives with his mom and sisters. His father is dead, so he is left with responsibility, and also the inheritance. Shashi is of Brahmin caste and a jajman (landlord) jati, and has over 25 rice fields that he rents out. He studies at Chandigarh, and loves India too much to want to move to the United States. Why would you leave living like a king and having all your friends in India? I agree. He brought me to his Sikh friend’s house. There are many Sikhs in Haryana because it used to be part of Punjab, and after partition, Pakistani Punjabis moved to neighboring Haryana. There was a good view of the rice fields, accentuated by power lines, paved roads, a rail line, concrete buildings, and haystacks filled with bovine feed. Some Haryana farmers live in a Joint-Family Household, meaning the entire extended family lives in one huge house. Kind of like the clean, dry, veg, moral, hormonally-balanced, rural Indian version of a fraternity. Then I went with Shashi on the highway by motorcycle to an upscale shopping center. Along the Golden Quadrilateral, there are a lot of these brand-new bourgeois rest stations. We ate Tikka Aloo burgers at the AC McDonalds (which had a drive-thru for foot traffic only). After McDonalds we drove to the sports complex, where people were playing cricket, boxing (Indians love watching American wrestling, Titanic, and Brad Pitt movies for some reason), playing soccer, and running. We waited for men’s swim time, after the ladies’. There was an extremely unappealing advertisement for the pool, which had women fully-dressed in saris covering their faces and entire bodies, while men were dripping wet in tighty-whiteys and Speedos. That would suck all the fun out of lifeguarding (but the fact that you sit in a chair and get paid over $10 an hour makes up for it). I told them I was a lifeguard in California, and the only way I could explain what I meant was…unfortunately…relating myself to David Hasselhoff in Baywatch. Because I didn’t bring a swimsuit, I was forced wear a neon green used Speedo, taken from a box of spares. Even though they said I looked Indian (maybe I did but my white legs(usually covered but not today) probably gave it away), a bunch of rich Brahmin college-age guys came up to me in the pool and wanted to meet me, all wanting my phone number, email, and address. Shashi said the water was chlorinated. However, I didn’t smell chloride, and there was a big metal pipe pumping water into the pool from who-knows-where. I jumped off the diving board, made of wood and not bolted down (so someone had to stand on the other end to counterbalance). I did some laps, before realizing it was futile because 1) I was so out of shape, and 2) people don’t use lanes in India. After an hour of swimming, we left and rode back to Nilokheri. When riding on his motorcycle, we drove 100 km per hour, so I was terrified. I had to wear sunglasses so dust wouldn’t get in my eyes. He kept talking to me, but I couldn’t hear a word, so the only phrase I used the entire trip was, “Oh, yeah”. For better balance, he wanted me to put my hands on his thighs, which was awkward. He took me to his friend’s house, and we chatted with his parents in their living room, just hanging out, not doing anything substantial. The town is so small that everyone knows everyone else, so while driving from one place to another, we stopped every time we saw other people. I was introduced to about fifteen of his friends. All of them were our age, students, rich, Brahmins or Punjabis, and male. They all asked the same questions, so I had to repeat the same information fifteen times. I asked what they did on a normal basis. They said they like taking it easy and just relaxing, something Indians enjoy, but which I don’t like doing too much of. They said they like going on the computer, watching TV, and going to college. There aren’t many clubs or parties to attend, and many are pure-veg, so they cannot drink. Sounds like American college students…the kind who go to Harvard or Whitman. We finally got back to Shashi’s house after the small-talk that would never end. His mom had cooked us a delicious feast, which included a potato/pea/cauliflower curry, buttered roti, wheat pudding, and dhee curd that made an amazing contrast to relieve the palate of the spicy masala. When we ran out of food, he yelled at his mom in the other room to bring more. It was straight out of Wedding Crashers. “Maa, roti”, “Maa, sabzi”, “Maa, dhee”. She was really nice, and loved feeding us. I ate a lot, and was cautious, but he wanted me to eat as much as I wanted to. He even bought my water and paid for my McDonalds, because I am his guest. I feel awkward when people do that; I’d rather pay myself. Shashi, his mother, and I all shared a bed that night. I got bit by mosquitoes because Americans have more sugar in their diet, which attracts mosquitoes, that don’t ever bother Indians.

Friday, August 18 My pathetic Hindi

I went to class at 9, and the teacher was two hours late. Nevertheless, we had class. Puran left, so Nikhil and I are the only people left in our house right now. We had dinner with Amber and Tahara at a South Indian restaurant in Connaught Place. My Hindi is not so good; it’s about as good as my Japanese. Which means I can understand 1% of what is said, but communicate with about 30% efficiency. And everyone speaks better English than I speak Hindi. One thing that has proven very useful is being able to read Hindi (even though I don’t know what it means), but at least I can read signs. This means I can read town names and basic information at-a-glance like bus signs, train signs, and other signs in remote parts of the country where English is not commonly used.

Thursday, August 17 Class, Egyptian Eye Shadow, Crazy Metro Riders

I went to bed alone, and when I woke up I found Nikhil lying in the bed next to mine. Whoa! I had boring class early, and luckily I can take State and Society in South Asia instead of the class on Pakistan. After class I came back and relaxed. Outside the apartment they were doing construction on a new pipeline. Instead of using a jackhammer to bury it, a man was using a regular hammer to pound at the cement in the 100-degree heat. That has to be the most Paleolithic/worst job I’ve ever seen. Then I went out with Tahara, Puran, and Nikhil to dinner at Wenger’s. I finally discovered what it was that babies were wearing on their eyes. What I thought was black eye shadow painted on like an Egyptian was actually medicine for eye infections that are put on young children. One thing I have noticed while riding the Metro; people are crazy. Whenever a train approaches at the station, people run and crowd around the door, thus creating an impenetrable wall of people. There is a beep, and the doors start sliding open, and everyone is pushed inside by the crowd. Once inside, there are always these little men who run to get the open seat. And it’s the same when people are getting off at a station; the same guys look for someone grabbing their belongings to leave, and they jump to the open seat like gophers to their holes. I don’t even try anymore, I can’t compete with that. The three or four people who try and get out are as hopeless as a blind man driving. Then, once everyone is inside, the doors will stay open another 10 seconds with no one moving. But then there are always the stragglers running to hop onto the train at the last second. On one such occasion, a mom and baby were hit and sandwiched by the closing doors. It’s the one thing in India that’s actually on time, so they’re willing to literally close the doors on people to make it that way.

Wednesday, August 16 Krishna's Birthday, Post-Independence Day

Once I got off the AC train at New Delhi Station, a blast of fiery hot air hit me. Welcome back to hell. I awkwardly walked all the way over the bridge to the Metro station and was going through the security with three bags and a water bottle filled with Ganges water. Because it was the day after Independence Day, security was strict. Security wanted to ensure the water bottle wasn’t filled with anything dangerous, so they told me to take a sip of water to prove it wasn’t dangerous. I told them I couldn’t drink it or I’d get sick, so they wouldn’t let me on and I had to take a bicycle rickshaw through Old Delhi to the apartment. I had lunch at Fiesta. Ugh. And then I took the best shower of my life. After that I went to Connaught Place to renew validity on my cell phone. I forgot ID and had to go back and forth, but what made it bad was 1) it was 100 degrees outside, and 2) security for the Metro was so tight that I had to wait in a 10-minute line to get padded down. After exiting the Metro station at Civil Lines, I saw a man riding an elephant down the street, just lumbering along, no big deal. I headed over to Rajpath and as I expected, it had a carnival, fair type feeling because it was a holiday for Krishna’s birthday. In the large open mall, Delhiites sat and talked, munched on ice cream and sweets, played soccer games, flew kites, and paddled rented boats. It was a good portrait of the city at play. The security was heavy, especially around the India Gate. Their method of making sure a bomber didn’t run a car into the monument was to erect bamboo scaffolding loosely held together with twine. I went to dinner with Puran and Tahara, who is visiting from Hyderabad (which sounds not nearly as good as Delhi) in Kamla Nagar. Then we went to the Krishna temple at Chandni Chowk. There was a concert being held with tabla, guitar, and an old singer reciting sacred hymns that I could have mistaken for Bollywood music. The temple was illuminated with strands of Christmas lights. It’s kind of the same thing; it’s Krishna’s Birthday, they should start calling it Krish-mas. I should really be a comedian. There were people cooking what looked like beef ribs in the temple, which I’m positive is not allowed. The only explanation I can come up with is that since Krishna is a Kshatriya warrior, he eats meat? There was an offering table to Krishna, portrayed as a butter thief child. I went around to all the different deity statues and performed puja on them.

Tuesday, August 15 Indian Independence Day, Bodhgaya

It’s India’s Independence day, India is 59 years old today. It is celebrated in Delhi by a speech by the prime minister from the ramparts of the Red Fort (this year addressing Pakistan and nuclear policy). It’s basically an arms race that is wasting money in both countries that could be used instead to facilitate development. People fly kites and set off fireworks in Delhi. There had been speculation of terrorist attacks this week, especially in Delhi. But I was not in Delhi; I was in the state of Bihar. Bihar is considered a center of banditry and violence because of the extreme poverty. I reached Gaya (smack-dab in the center of the state) around 3 am, so I waited in the station until the sun rose. I talked to an Indian engineering student. Then I went out and caught a shared auto rickshaw with a Thai Buddhist monk lady. The road was full of potholes and it took forever to reach Bodhgaya, the most important pilgrimage site in the world for Buddhists. I found a cheap hotel for 60 Rs because I wasn’t staying overnight. In the morning, I talked to a couple of Buddhist monks from Thailand. I was invited for breakfast and to go to one of the guys, Kay’s, place. We sat in the monastery outside on the deck of his room. He served coffee and apple juice and we talked for a good two hours. He explained to me everything about Buddhism. Basically his thoughts were as follows: A person has no control over his birth or external factors, so he should endure it with a “let it be” attitude. You should not act overly happy, sad, angry, or emotional. If something is making you unhappy, get rid of it in your life. Life is full of happiness, but also inevitably, suffering. The only way to be freed from suffering is to gain nirvana, and cease to exist. Only by doing meditation and controlling one’s mind can you attain enlightenment. Enlightenment means controlling your mind to do whatever, and it can tell you what other people will do next. If you attain this level of control, you can see things in a new way. Buddhism works in conjunction with any other religion; it’s a philosophy and way of life, but it has no gods or saviors, so the believer is free to choose who they worship. Buddhism seems hard to understand at first, but he explained it in a way that made sense. Kay is studying here and is sponsored by his mother and disciples. After a while I left. The courtyard of the Sri Lankan monastery was filled with uniformed kids holding Indian flags and singing a song entitled, “I love my India”. Then everyone moved over to City Hall and listened to a speech by the mayor in Hindi, which I obviously didn’t understand. He raised the cotton flag on the pole, which at its base was showered in flower petals and had an India map drawn out of dyes. Then servants came out bringing food; sweets, masala crackers, and gulab jamun. Everyone was served, the men first, boys second, women third, and untouchables last. When eating, everyone stuck around and was talking, like a Spanish class party with food. A bird pooped on my shoulder. After the festivities, I walked over to the World Heritage Mahabodhi Temple. It was built by Ashoka (the 6^th century Buddhist Indian leader) to mark the Bodhi Tree. Under the Bodhi Tree at this exact spot was the location in which the Buddha meditated and reached enlightenment. The outside had a lake with a Buddha statue, many domed stupas with figures cut into them, bells, and banyan trees. The Bodhi Tree itself sits at the back of the temple and is adorned with a golden fence with prayer flags, Swarovski crystals, and flowers as offerings. The original tree was cut down by Ashoka’s wife, who thought Buddhism was taking too much time away from her husband. Luckily, their daughter brought a sapling to Sri Lanka, from which another cutting was planted here in Bodhgaya. When walking down into the temple, there is a large golden statue of the Buddha. Many Buddhist monks sat inside chanting and meditating, while Indian tourists were loud and took pictures. Monks from around the world all came to the temple to visit and meditate at the holy site. After seeing the temple, I walked down the road, shopping for little wooden Buddha carvings (which I bought for 50 Rs each). There was an abandoned Hindu temple, vines and tree trunks engulfing the rotting stone buildings. Countries with large Buddhist populations all have buildings to represent themselves here, much like Epcot Center, with Buddhist temples and monasteries from all over Asia lining the road. The Chinese temple was big and red, with a wall of Buddha statues everywhere. The Tibetan monastery was intricately decorated with embroidered tapestries, golden wall paintings, altars to the Dalai Lama, and mantra wheels. The Thai monastery is a brightly colored wat, with pointed glass and gold roofs and gables. Walking along was the enormous Japanese Indosan Nipponji Temple. It had a tall pagoda and spotlessly manicured gardens surrounded by statues and lanterns. Adjacent to this was the Japanese Great Buddha Statue, which was enormous and beautiful in contrast with the sky and clouds, which made it look like the Buddha was moving forward. Afterwards, I walked down the path and watched construction workers (women carrying concrete on their heads) building the Mongolian monastery. I talked to the Mongolian monks who were helping to build it. They were huge guys and seemed to know a lot about America. The monastery was going to take three years to build, and the land was given to them by the Indian and Mongolian governments. I got to talking with a man Vijay who owned a hotel across the street. We sat outside his hotel facing rural villages with cows, buffalos, chickens, and farm workers who lay idle at this awkward time in the harvest season. Vijay spoke good English, so we were able to talk about a lot. Turns out he is from a milkman caste and his marriage was arranged, but his son is studying in Delhi and married a Japanese woman. He seems really progressive, explaining that Bihar is not as bad as they say, and no diseases really plague the area. He doesn’t see AIDS or overpopulation as a problem for India because people only have one marriage partner with virtually no divorce, and birth control is widely available and affordable at pharmacies. His other four kids live with him in the bottom floor of the hotel. He also has a Plaster of Paris Buddha statue enterprise run out of the back of his hotel. Also, he owns an enormous water buffalo named Lakshmi whom they feed roti. In this agricultural town, they grow wheat in winter and rice in summer, eat fish from the rice paddies, and take care of female milk cows while the males are used for work. Vijay’s dad is 80 years old, and is fascinating to watch. He wears white cloth and looks emaciated, his skin is like leather, and has glasses that make his eyes look insectile. Vijay’s 16-year old son took me on the back of his motorcycle to a stupa across the river past the town market and lush green rice paddies. I was invited to their house for dinner. I watched his daughters cook chapatis. The flour is prepared, and little dough balls are formed, and then rolled into flat circles and placed on the black pan on the kerosene stove. They are flipped and then taken off the pan, and put directly over the flame, where they puff up, after which they are put in the serving plate. Breakfasts in the household consist of rice and dal, and dinners always include vegetables and chapatis. This is because these are light foods, unlike puri, which can give you gas. I stayed over at his house late into the night until I had to catch my train. I took a shared rickshaw with Japanese tourists, who constitute 95% of Vijay’s hotel business. Today was a really good day, I seeing Independence Day celebrations, the sacred Bodhi Tree, and being the guest for an Indian family’s dinner. I caught the high-speed electrified Rajdhani Express, but the wrong one, so I had to run and jump off as the train was moving. Despite the high-speed factor and the nice sheets and free breakfast, it still took 12 hours to get back to Delhi. Luckily even though it was Independence Day and there had been threats, no terrorist acts were committed.