“Geniuses can be scintillating and geniuses can be somber, but it’s that inescapable sorrowful depth that shines through--originality.”
—Jack Kerouac, WD
 I have never been known for my domestic abilities. Maybe from time to time this retired bartendress will bust out a couple classic cocktails. I am fully aware of my own limitations and have no problem with sticking to what I do best. Cooking is NOT one of those things I am good at. So I knew it was going to be a challenge when I decided to move to India and live alone. I thought that the kitchen would be a good start to not only learn how to be a good "Indian Wife," but also learn the language. Learning I did. When I first arrived I had a maid. But then I went off to the US for a week long business trip and upon my return she did not return from her family visit. Infuriating, but moving forward...  I learned that I can make a kick ass cup of chai! Ginger, mint, lemongrass, you name it, I can make it. This is a necessary task to master if you plan on having any guests. You can get away without feeding them, but you cannot get around not offering them water and tea. I learned I still cannot cook anything beyond pouring hot water over oatmeal. Rolling roti's would be the next step to perfection, and after hours of trying I have just decided to accept that we can't all be perfect at everything. My street vendors laugh when I buy only fruit. The regulars know I can't cook, but the new people who occasionally make it into my neighborhoud try to sell me veggies...Mai pakanna nahi (probably butchered the English spelling, but you know what I mean).  But I did create a great cocktail for my evenings at home... Bombay Sapphire, Limca and Lechi Twirl Juice = all equal parts in a chilled glass. *ice cubes are worthless. (location disclosed...but I am a foreigner so I will own and embrace my rights to buy alcohol here). Cheers to a dry state.
So moral of the story: Come drink with me, just don't eat with me. If I offer you food, I'm just being nice. I would highly advise you to kindly smile and say no.
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 Palitana, Guarat, India The moon is high, as darkness still covers the sky in the early hours of the morning. Silence fills the hillside as hundreds of bodies move in rows toward the top. The Sadhvis (nun’s) white coverings glow off the reflection of the moon. The 3800 stone steps assist us on the 2.5-mile hike to the top, but are cold under the bare foot. With no light yet, I make my way toward the top like the rest going unnoticed as someone different, a tourist perhaps – in their heads. About fifteen minutes into the hike, sounds of drums break the silence as the first procession of the day has begun. I continue my efforts to toward the top. Palitana. It is considered to be one of the holiest sites for Janas and every devout Jain makes it a life mission to complete this pilgrimage at least once in their life. Even for one not of this faith can’t avoid the obvious, because at the top of this mountain is a spiritual place; a place of hope and gratitude and forgiveness and regret and love. It is one of the most beautiful places on earth and is near and dear to my heart. As the sun breaks over the horizon I am left with a quarter of the journey as the colours of India start to pop out of the darkness. It is the first sign of warmth to this cold and windy morning. Soon people will start to notice they are not with someone who is the same as them.  My first trip to Palitana was in 2009 where I was pushed, pulled and yelled at; the trip I had looked forward to for two years was ruined by tears and sadness. Even with the privileged puja, arti and angeet didn’t make up for the way I was treated – not only by people at the bottom and top of the hillside and everywhere in-between, but also the people I was with. Religion is a funny thing. The colour of your skin or where you have been born shouldn’t matter, and I am sure it doesn’t to any God who rules any religion; it somehow matters to the earthly being who practice it. Rituals – intended to be a beautiful process to show respect and express faith and spirituality can bring out the worst in people as yelling and pushing and shoving are a frequent practice, not only here but seen in many temples. I have seen the worst in people at the top of this holy place and it is gut-wrenching to see a religion of such beauty with expression of peace and harmony be defamed by such behaviour. The second trip took to the top, I was told by someone traveling with me to, “sit on this step so we can keep our eye on you until it is time for arti,” as she walked off to continue to do her praying. The need to control a 34-yearold person who is there for the exact same reason is beyond my level of comprehension and will simply never understand. The experience of the second trip was not as the same of the first; I was “allowed” to travel to the top almost alone – with a guide who could not keep up with me. Then I was “allowed” to bath by myself and have fifteen minutes to myself at the main temple to do as I pleased. It was better, but not in my eyes a pilgrimage. From the moment your feet touch the steps at the base of the hill, you can feel you are about to experience something special – the energy this place carries is outside the limits of comprehension. As I reached the summit, the cold air wisping over my body and into my lungs, my heart felt warm. This was my third trip to the holy site and I had done it alone (well, with a hire help who didn’t speak a word of English my mother-in-law insisted I have with me).  This time a day is reserved for just praying – no puja’s = no pushing. It was electrifying with the hum of prayers in the air. The main temple was candle-lite as the idol of Adinath covered in flowers and jewels glowed in the temple made in his honour. THIS is what makes this place so magnificent! Tears filled my eyes as I completed my prayers and the feeling of peace came over me.
At my own pace, on my own time, I took to walking every inch of the Shatrunjaya Hills as thousands of temples covered the area. As I made my way to an unassuming temple to have a moment of thought and prayer I found two Sadhvis finishing their prayers, one of age and the other had to be younger than I. They glanced at me and moved to my side as the elder motioned me to bow with them. As they finished they prayer they looked at me and asked where I was from and if it were my first time. Pleased with my answers, the younger Sadhvis asked me if I knew Navkar Mantra. With my answer being yes, (that is the first prayer you ever learn) they asked me to say it and after the first round they joined in with me. After we finished the elder spend the next ten minutes helping me recite a prayer I had never heard, but patiently took me through line by line. Beaming with appeasement from both of them, they took my hand and smiled and said, “American Jain”. It was the very first time since I was taught, understood and accepted the Jain Religion I felt truly accepted. The behaviours of others at the top of this magnificent place are no longer a matter to me, fore each to their own. I can only hope they find what they are looking for at temples of Shatrunjaya Hills in Palitana. A pilgrimage is a journey in search of spiritual significance and I am blessed for having the Sadhvis gave me that gift. *Pictures were not taken by me, I did not travel with a camera for this special occasion.  Let’s just come out with it; I should have been born here. The only thing that doesn’t match is the colour of my skin, eyes or my hair and the language I speak. Besides those minor details I easily fit into this life. The male peacock wakes me up in the morning with his loud cries as he places himself just out of reach from the stray dogs who have found their morning mission to chase him as they fight for territory. I crawl out of my bed of loose cotton-filled padding and make my way to the back balcony where the “modern” second-floor toilet is placed for all neighbours to see exactly where you are going. After two cups of chai masala made by our hired servant I head to the rooftop for my morning workout as more neighbours slowly make way to their balconies to catch glimpse of what crazy moves the blonde American will be performing today. I feel like I have become a sideshow to them. I practice my fencing; here I have my epee and tennis ball on a string and practice my coordination and footwork. Following with some joint mobility, bands, body weight exercises and not forgetting my jump-rope. After moving to the inside room for a little suspension work I have completed my 2 hour morning workout. Now time for a bath. The Bucket Bath – It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t winter here. Did I mention there is no heat throughout the house? To get to every room you have to enter the outdoor common area. So I fill up my bucket full of hot water and debate whether or not I really want to suffer cold with wet hair or not. Today I will not wash my hair, as I pour the hot water over my body it immediately turns to cold as the air hits my naked flesh. The bath does not last long, for it is time to get my day started.  After dealing with my work in the US via internet I need a break from the house. No fault of her own, our help is beyond curious of my daily ritual to where I feel like I am being stalked in my own home. On top of that she doesn’t speak Gujarati or Hindi so my communication with her is hopeless. I head out on my daily adventure by bike, but not before I have to move the cow who has placed herself right in front of the gate, obstructing my exit. I was not alive during the Industrial Revolution America endured, however I can imagine it was somewhat like what India is going through now, fore the pollution is so bad it burns your eyes and chokes your throat. After spending my second day constantly gargling salt water to get rid of my sore throat I resorted to making my way through the streets with my face covered. Although I felt, and still feel silly every time I cover my face and head with my dupatta looking like flower splashed veil for a burqa or abaya, I found it better for my lungs and safety as I rode my bike down the streets. Ahmedabad is a large city in India but not a common tourist city where you get many western travelers, so seeing a blonde haired blue eyed female riding a bike throughout the city can cause for attraction. Which I learned quickly as people driving scooters and rickshaws liked to stare at me as they passed by while slightly swerving toward me. Completely covering my face and head ended many close calls of collision.  The beautiful chaos this city and this country has to offer simply cannot be express by only words. Yes there are slums, street beggars and poverty. Yes there is no rhyme or reason to the traffic flow. Yes there are cows roaming everywhere and stray dogs on every street and you cannot eat local street food without the fear of the ever so dreaded Dehli Belly. The colours and music and spices and faith, (whatever religion it might be) supersedes anywhere on earth. Generation upon generations living under the same roof defining the meaning of what a real family is. It is a country that heightens all your senses.
A place where every day is a different adventure. A place where you are forced to sit back and look at the things which are truly important in life. Thought provoking. Risk taking. Soul searching. Adventure seeking. Perfect. India. |