Good, bad and the thinking that makes it so
Looks can be deceiving. So can words. Reality itself can be deceiving. Distinguishing deception from truth begins with accepting it is there.
Let’s begin with a funny story behind this photo, one that provides a nice little introduction to more reflections that came from my little Indian adventures.
This photo is the after-effects of a cockroach in my bathroom, a roach I tried to kill. As karma would have it I lost a bottle of my favourite red nail polish in the process, and I still didn’t get the roach.
Then an image flashed before my eyes: I remembered seeing a lady was making my bed in Nepal come across a massive spider in the sheets (that must have been sitting in a store room for far too long, but that’s beside the point). Instead of screaming and squashing it with a boot, like I usually do, she scooped up the eight-legged freak with both her hands and took it out to the garden and let it go…
I looked back at the roach – maybe he didn’t have to die.
“You are an insect, and I, a human,” I told him, “I don’t need to be scared of you. Here boy, come on, come with me…” I willed it calmly, picking up the tube of moisturiser it was hiding behind in my cupboard. He clung to it, like a child being saved from drowning by a life-saver ring. When I got him to the window he flew away.
Only this blood-like stain on my wall remained, as if to signify what could have happened and what was avoided. Things aren’t always as they seem, and when a situation is viewed from a different set of eyes, that sees through the constructs of a different set of language, education and experience, a picture can tell a completely different story. Its the thinking which makes it so.
…
The greatest irony of all my reflections on global poverty has been the realisation that many of the “poor” Indian women perceive ME as the poor one.
“No husband? No children? It’s okay, one day,” they said with sympathetic eyes. Little do they know that my parents have divorced – that’s the biggest no no in the book, something that (if I were an Indian woman) would prevent any Indian man from ever wanting to marry me. All the things they value I lack. When you look at the world through their eyes, and evaluate the haves and have-nots according to their values, you have to ask: who’s the one living in “poverty” now?
As you could probably tell in my last few posts, in my current state of mind, my care for the “poor” people is presently being replaced with a new appreciation for Western culture, individualism, freedom, and even a new appreciation for what I previously perceived to be the “big bad global capitalist system”. The world situation is far more complex than I realised and, in comparison to the caste system, life in the capitalist system simply ain’t that bad. At least not for me. As capitalists we admittedly are currently using the global situation to our advantage, but I’m no longer convinced we are creating it.
Inequality is so widespread, can anything actually be done to make it more equal? Whenever people set out to do good, it ends up turning into new ideologies and creating new cycles of violence… I’m starting to wonder, is there’s any point in trying? And, more importantly, I wonder if I even have a right to try to make what I perceive to be “positive” changes? What if the changes aren’t seen as positive in the mind of the receiver of my goodwill?
One thing that for sure India has taught me is how little I know, and, how conditioned my own mind is to my worldview and my way of life. Everything I think, say, write, and do, is limited by my language, shaped by my education, and inseparable from my life experiences. And then, make things even more complicated, my worldview is constantly changing.
Every person’s worldview is constantly changing. It makes sense consider the world is constantly in a state of change. Our centric view of life sometimes makes us think that our personal worldview is the only worldview, but it’s not. I have to remind myself that my constantly changing worldview is but one in 7-billion constantly changing views. I have agency over nothing more than my own values and perspectives, and the changes that take place inside me. I can share what I learn but outside that it is each to their own.
Back on Planet Paradise – where horns don’t beep, where teeth are brushed with tap water, and where you walk down the street without a thousand pairs of gawking eyes staring you down – it has been almost surreal to sit in my quiet little apartment and read my diary entries from the last five weeks.
It’s hard to imagine such a polar-opposite culture is in full swing just a 14-hour flight away.Just imagine what my life would be like had I been born in India! For a start, at almost 28-years old, I would probably have been married for half my life and seemingly content with whatever husband my family chose for me. I would probably have a few children by now, and be working in whatever job had been delegated to me, most likely following in my mother’s footsteps. Instead I am happily unmarried, childless, free – free to explore my passions, free to travel, free to spend time with who I want, when I want, to learn, grow, discover – and excited to contemplate the endless possibilities the future may hold.
It is hard for a person who believes making and managing a big family is the most important thing in the world to comprehend why a 27- year-old would choose not to. Why would someone want to travel and study and do the things they are passionate about rather than dedicating their life to populating this planet with more people? Everything is relative to one’s own definition of identity and values. As Shakespeare said, “There’s nothing either good nor bad – but thinking makes it so.”
We have no way to conceive what is outside our worldview. We are entirely limited by the constructs we program into our human minds. The perceived value of one’s life is embedded in our understanding of what is worthy and what isn’t, and of our own status relative to others. We cannot know what we do not know we don’t know. No one who has not tasted the smooth orgasmic goodness of Lindts dark chilli chocolate, will never crave it.
Does this bring us to post-modern nihilism? Is everything relative and nothing absolute? Is it impossible to define good and bad? I still like the Shantaram definition: good is what supports the increasing complexity of the universe, while bad/evil is anything that stands in the way of it. Or, how it translates more simply in my own mind: good is that which creates, and bad is that which destroys. The most interesting thing about this dynamic is that: one CANNOT exist without the other. In order to create, we must be able to destroy.
The universe is expanding, and one day, if something always existed, it seems logical to assume that one day it will contract.
I think it was Neil Diamond Walsh in Conversations with God who equated this process to “God” breathing out in the expansion stage, and then breathing in again in the contraction. Who are we to stand back and judge one a breath out as better than the breath in? Maybe we should just observe it, enjoy it for what it is and be happy we are a part of it.
Back to the worldviews of these Indian women and me: I think they’re poor, and they think I’m poor, so what can one do? Should I try to help them, and should they try to help me? What good would that do when we speak such different languages (I’m not referring to the Hindi/English barriers)??? Worldview conflicts are tough, but there’s no real violence that is resulting from this particular one – it’s just different groups of people valuing different things and living in different ways.
Who is one to think they are right and that they have a responsibility to make the other see the world in their way? I guess there are ways we in which can learn from each others drastically different cultures, but ultimately it seems to me that this the best solution comes back to the simple affirmation that Deepak Choprah comforted me with through my headset as I traveled up the dangerous mountainside toward my Ayurveda Retreat in Coonoor: ACCEPT THE WORLD, JUST AS IT IS.
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Coming to grips with the elephant in the room
I knew I would leave India with a new perspective of life – but the upturning of my worldview has happened in a far different way than I expected. I thought I would arrive home more passionate about social justice, more inspired to make a difference to the lives of “poor” people. Instead I am leaving India with a hardened heart, more humility, and an increased concern for the future of humanity as a whole. Why? Because the population problem, the elephant in the room, is far too big a problem to ignore. And I simply cannot see a solution to this problem.
Before I went to India, as those of you who have read older blog entries would know, I quite idealistically analysed the global inequalities and blamed war and poverty on western greed.
I looked at these graphs of population growth by economy and region, and blamed the population growth on western development.
Why does the population of poor and developing countries suddenly increase in 1940s, and high income countries only increase a little?
What is going on in Asia???
In my mind, the population had increased so much since WW2 simply because of the design of the global capitalist system. Post-development scholars criticise the global system for being imperialistically geared to benefit the rich at the expense of the poor, with the raw materials bought for nothing and sold for billions and so making the rich richer and the poor poorer. I went a step further. It made sense to me that a larger population in developing countries equates to cheap labour, which means cheaper computers, phones, TVs, clothes, cars, chocolate etc. For a government subject at uni I analysed the power-distribution of the system, observing that it is the rich and powerful capitalists who pull the strings behind governments, the World Trade Organisation, the IMF, and other peak bodies. The rich and powerful capitalists I equated to anyone whose lives are not run by debt – those who have shares in companies, money in the bank, superannuation funds, own property without mortgages, own their own business etc. In particular it was the wealthiest of the wealthy – the people who own the banks themselves.
I thought education was the solution. Not education of the poor people, but education of the rich. I thought that if each of us understood the connection between our shopping habits and the mass workers, the connection between our consumption and our future environment, and that the roots of these to problems lay in the capitalist dream: to accumulate more money, then we would begin to move toward a more socially just and environmentally sustainable system.
I thought that the motivation to change our systems would come from a “new dream” that started with rediscovering the connection with our planet, so that we each come to prioritise the whole ecosystem that we are a part of, over and above our individual selfish desires. I thought that this would come from an understanding of Big History, coming to identify ourselves as part of the process of our Universe expanding and increasing in complexity (or what many, including myself, personify as “God”) .
Now, well, now I realize that the answers to the world’s problems are not that simple. There are far deeper roots to this systematic problem than western greed. It seems to me, in this moment in time, that the global system is NOT a simple cause and effect situation with western greed causing global poverty.
For one, inequality is not just a problem in today’s global system, it has always been a problem. Secondly, inequality’s root problem – greed – is not a western problem but is a human problem, a life problem. Thirdly, poverty has cultural, religious and historical roots that have nothing to do with the global system. The caste system existed in India before the British arrived. The caste system is thousands of years old and while Gandhi may have officially abolished it, culture is stronger than law. In India this caste system keeps poor poor and the rich rich, and this has nothing whatsoever to do with global capitalism.
Capitalists may benefit from the fact that China and India are over-populated, and hence human labour is cheap, but capitalists are not standing over these people telling them to have more babies.
Sure there’s the tiny motivational factor of more children equals more money, but talking to Indians at different income levels it seemed to be the cultural aspects (tradition, the values placed on family, lack of entertainment etc) that are behind the population explosion over and above their desire to make money from them. If women get married at 10 and have babies the rest of their life, for cultural reasons over and above any monetary motivation, how can poverty ever be addressed? It is their own actions which perpetuate their poverty and cause the inequalities of the global system to continue.
Should capitalists stop benefiting from cheap labour? That would only mean these people have less job opportunities… that’s not going to help. What if they pay them a little extra, that is, change to a “fair trade” system? This may help a few lives but when people are willing to work for less, because working for less is better than working for nothing, how can such a “fair” system be sustained? How is it “fair” if some people have jobs paying fair wages, while the rest of the billions have no job at all?
Fair trade or free trade, escaping poverty is a choice that people in the situation will collectively have to make for themselves. And unfortunately eradicating poverty requires doing something about that frickin big elephant staring everyone in the face. What? I have NO IDEA. Could this be why so many yogis and religious leaders advise to withdraw from the world and look for peace inside?
And so my worldview crisis…
As a result of the fear that comes from this lack of solutions, the altruistic side that used to dominate my mind is becoming more self-centered: what future do I want for the future generations that spring from the people I love? My previous almost disdain for wealth, thinking all money was intrinsically connected to a corrupt system, is turning into an appreciation of it. Work hard, work smart, then share and enjoy your earnings with your family and friends… what’s so bad about that?
Let’s face it, animal, plant, or human; black, white or in between; this is ultimately life’s instinctive purpose: to live as long as we can, and create offspring to continue our work when we die. That’s why we choose the partners we choose to mate with. That’s why we fight the wars we fight. That’s why we work so hard to buy a house and establish systems of governance, education and business. SELF-PRESERVATION and PROCREATION.
India has given me a new appreciation for the work my ancestors – for their efforts to create a world so good for us, their children. Maybe their methods weren’t so peaceful, with inquisitions, colonialism and imperialism, but let’s face it: it’s not only our ancestors who have done this and if it wasn’t them, it would have been someone else. Before the British invaded India, it was the Moghuls, and before that it was other nations from Central Asia. The British were far from the first, and it is highly unlikely they will be the last.
My experiences in India have left me thinking that if the wealthy of the world did suddenly decide to spread their wealth, to educate the billions in poverty and create a socially-just system; the peace it would create would probably be short-lived and soon all the densely populated places like India would spread to populate the rest of the world. My favourite city would become just like my least favourite, and so would every other city in the world.
I realise my perspective is becoming incredibly selfish, but I do not want people sleeping and dying on our streets; I do not want people trying to rip me off on street corners; I do not want to be living in a dirty, polluted, noisy, over-populated place. In short, I do not want to see Sydney turn into Mumbai. I’m starting to see why Australia’s immigration policy is so strict, and why even with an over-populated planet, our government is encouraging Australians to have more babies…
I mean, just consider the already extremely skewed population distribution, one can’t but help wonder would the long-term effect of the present population trends…
China + India = HALF THE WORLD’S PEOPLE!!!
What will this pie chart look like in ten years if people in the west continue to have fewer babies while the developing world continue to go at it like rabbits? According to http://www.overpopulation.org/ if we continue at our present rates, our population will be over 11 billion by 2035!!! And what then, will Australia still be sitting there with it’s 21 million people? How long will it take for the poverty-stricken masses to turn up on our shores? Am I a horribly cruel person to not want this to happen? With Australia’s rivers drying up there just ain’t enough water for everyone. Nor infrastructure, or systems for food, housing, anything…
And so I worry, might my passionate pursuits to make a more socially just world bring the extinction of my own culture, my country’s wealth and the life style, and all the opportunities our ancestors dedicated their lives to deliver?
While our own culture is no where near perfect, with its insatiable desires and materialistic emptiness, western culture has A LOT to offer: freedom; the scientific quest for knowledge; the creativity that comes from competition; the opportunities for individualistic pursuits. It would be a big shame to lose it in place of an overpopulated communistic uncreative mess.
Think about it, if income was distributed evenly, will the 2 billion women of child-bearing age suddenly decide not to have babies? And, if the wealthy were to even out the income, my new lack-of-faith-in-humanity makes it seem realistic to assume that another group of people would rise up and the same cycles of violence would begin just with a new group of rich and powerful. And, even if this didn’t happen, how long would it take before we would run out of resources (seeing as ecological economists say 10 planets would be required for all people of the world to live an American lifestyle)? Does this mean, simply in attempt to better the lives of people with less money today, all of humanity will die out? I’m sorry, but I don’t think this would be good for anyone involved.
Okay, okay, calm down Juliet, calm down. As you can see there is a lot going through my head. Out of fear I’m becoming defensive. I’m guess I’m still culture-shocked, and struggling to comprehend the reality of our global situation. It’s one thing to see population in a graph but it’s a different kettle of fish to see it with your own eyes. When one’s mind connects such a mess to projections of possible futures for earth and humanity it’s really quite a confusing and scary topic.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t:
- If you consider population control then what about human rights?
- If you don’t control the population then what do you do about the billions living in poverty?
- If you bring people out of poverty then you destroy the planet for everyone.
Now I understand why overpopulation has been the elephant in the room that no one wants to talk about.
My conclusion: “Elephant? What elephant??? I don’t see it either!”
Picture credits:
The Elephant in the Room – my own attempt at photoshopping a photo of an elephant from Taronga Zoo into my Opa’s sunroom.
Population graphs – wiki-commons
Good links found here – http://www.athropolis.com/links/pop.htm
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Overnight Change: One day you’re here, the next…
One day a prime minister, the next you’re not. A captain thrown overboard by his crew. Why? Was he really so bad? Was he leading the ship in a direction they didn’t want to go? Was a pirate about to overtake his ship? Was he working his crew too hard? Or is there some other reason they’re not telling us??? Who knows… What I really want to know is if Rudd is out, does that mean we’re saved from the China-inspired Internet censorship proposal? God I hope so.
What is going on at the moment? Why is EVERYTHING changing so fast???
Never have so many changes happened in the span of five weeks. Less changes occurred when I was in Japan for two years. My time in India and Nepal felt like much longer than five weeks. And this sense of time isn’t just in my head, the time dynamic seems to have changed for other people too.
I’ve returned back to Australia to more than just a new prime minister. We have new types of petrol on offer and the standard “unleaded” seems to have disappeared from the tank hoses. Some of my best friends have decided to leave the country or live in the middle of my country, and are in the midst of packing their apartments and bags and jumping a plane within the next couple of weeks. Other friends who have been overseas seem to be coming home within days of those leaving. And amongst this havoc my sister is getting married, I’m speaking at another conference, and I will find out if I have been granted a scholarship that will determine what I do for the next three years. Change. Change. Change.
It’s exciting. It’s scary and weird. There’s definitely a little adrenaline running through my veins… Mr Universe – what next???
While my brain struggles to comprehend the above, I’m very much struggling to process my experiences in India and Nepal, and the readjustment to life in what I now perceive to be a paradise. So… if the upcoming blog entries appear a little haphazard, reflecting a confused state of being, then you know why.
I wonder, are things changing in your world too?
Photo:
My gorgeous friend Lauren, who is heading over to Canada for an undetermined amount of time. Miss you chica!
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Hippies and happiness (Pokhara)
We arrived to eat dinner and sip cocktails with a perfect view of this beautiful lake. I had no idea what I was expecting when I left for Pokhara, but I wasn’t expecting the quiet little Queenstown-like town it is.
Before long, with more new friends, we ventured to the other side of the lake where the Brits had randomlly found a cute little guesthouse with a family, home grown foods and an even greater view of the lake. (Header picture). Had it been any other time of year, this view would have been a panorama of the Himilayas… damn it! Oh well, can’t really complain when it’s still this beautiful.
The family had five dogs! Soooo cute!!!
Lake and mountains, what a combination.
Time stood still after a big glass of a “special” banana lassi.
Good food, good friends, good music, books and movies, friendly dogs and lovely bush and lake walks. I left a day later feeling as if I had been doing absolutely nothing for months.
On occassion, very early in the morning, the sky is clear enough to catch the Himalayas peaking through and tease you with what you’re missing. It’s as close as I’ll get to them on this trip – it’s off season and walking all day in the fifty degree heat is not so appealing…
Watching people meditate is almost a meditation in and of itself.
I found myself a new yoga guru, Rishi from Rishikesh, to teach complex asanas (poses) and pranayama techniques (breathing) and the theory behind why you do what and the long term health you can create for yourself with yoga.
Yoga combined with a book Gil loaned me containing essays of scholars from the world’s major religions has spurred me to do a lot of thinking about life, happiness, purpose, and the future. I guess that’s nothing new… it’s just now it’s coming from a less optomistic more realistic post-India perspective… I’m sure I’ll soon be sharing – once I make at least a little sense of it.
Instead of hiking I’ve been spending my days in a hotel pool at the top of a mountain with my yoga buddies. I get a 15 minute hike up the hill – in the heat that’s sufficing my hiking desires for now.
Judit, my new Spanish friend, has plans to go back to India and stay for up to five years… I’m impressed. I guess India is one of those places you either LOVE or HATE. Apparently “The rest of India is great” – I saw India’s worst side – the worst cities in the worst season. Maybe I’ll go back… one day… in the very very distant future…
Cute restaurants abound this place: good food, and VERY CHEAP – like $1-5 a meal!
The best meal was “Buff”, a juicy, tender, sizzling buffalo steak… if only I didn’t have to eat it in shame. Surrounded by vegetarian hippies and Hindis I feel the pain of the animals through the pain they try but fail to conceal in their eyes.
To eat meat, or not to eat meat – that is the question. Usually a debate follows.
I justify my actions by explaining that if our ancestors hadn’t have learned to extract meat and bone marrow from other animals, we may not have survived and our brains certainly would not have evolved to the complexity they are today. Meat is brain food. Then they point out that when it was a question of survival it was one thing, but now we have a choice - there is plenty of other proteins we can eat that do not involve harming other forms of life. They make a good point. Why does meat have to taste so good, smell so good, and make my body feel so good? I usually go on to tell them that beans and vegetables don’t have have the protein or iron of meat. I explain that of course I do not like the idea of animals dying on my behalf but that is the way of nature. We have our pick because we are presently at the top of the food chain, and one day we’ll probably be at the bottom again. I am personally not afraid of death – death is part and parcel with the cycle of life. When I die I hope that other animals eat my body and that the cycle may continue. If you are going to care about animals dying, then what about plants? Are they not lifeforms with some form of consciousness too? Where do you draw the line between different forms of life? More of an issue to me is not the death of these animals for my food… what I care about is the crappy life they have to endure before this death. It’s more difficult when travelling but when I’m home I purchase free range chickens and eggs, and meat that comes from organic farms where the animal has lead a good life and avoiding as much as possible the large scale production facilities. They tend to agree with me on this point. And out of this dialogue I agree it’s a good idea to cut down on my intake. I suppose I don’t need meat/poultry/fish/eggs every day.
By and large my time here has been spent sipping banana lassis and masala tea, reading and writing and dreaming.
I understand how some of the hippies we hang out with at Shiva Bar have been travelling for 15 years!!! One of them uses paragliding as a mode of transport – now that’s a green way to fly… taking literally the idea of letting the wind guide you to your next destination…
Life has never been so simple.
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From Bangkok to Bikes, Bollywood and Bongs (Kathmandu)
On the plane from Sydney to Bangkok, a some three weeks ago now, I met Bipeen – a Nepali who has been living in Australia the last couple of years who was on route to visit his family in Kathmandu.
“I’ll pick you up at the airport” he wrote me on facebook.
Sure enough he did, and his kind and generous family invited me to stay a night and experience typical family life in the Tibetan area of the city.
Tibet may be in strife but at least Tibetan culture is everywhere!
The view from Bipeen’s family home.
I spent the next day on the back of Bipeens bike, exploring temples and shops, and coming home with far too much stuff than I know how to get to transport to Sydney (what you can see on the top picture above is the least of it).
We even squeezed in a Bollywood movie named Kites (one thing I forgot to do in India). Set in Las Vegas and Mexico, with English words jumbled throughout the Hindi and an onscreen kiss (oo la la – a big no-no for Indian movies) – this movie was a new breed of half-Hollywood-Bollywood. A very over-the-top love story about the torment over choosing between true love and money. The protagonists chose love, a very lustful love… I loved it!!!
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The next day I farewelled his family and set off to find some hiking buddies in Thamel. Instead I met up with Gil, a Brit I’d made on a plane from Coimbatore to Delhi about five days go, and while missing to meet up with Vilas, an American I’d met on the plane from Delhi to Kathmandu (are you noticing a pattern here?), I enjoyed an entertaining night on the town and on shisha (well I gave it a short puff anyway – I’m not very good at inhaling) and laughing at those who were better at it.
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While Nepal may be far more relaxed than India, it faces similar issues: horns still beep (albeit not as loud), beggars still beg (while with more limbs attached), and street husslers still hassle you for this and that, with bargaining required for every last rupee. On most occasions I’m too lazy to argue over a dollar or two and then when I see seasoned travellers getting everything from rooms to taxis to souvineers, for half the price I pay. Apparently it goes part and parcel with the nationality: Aussies/Brits/Americans/West-Europeans pay the most, then South American/ Spanish /Eastern Europeans, and with Israelis/Middle Eastern and hippies with dreadlocks getting the best deals without even trying… Slowly slowly I’m starting to haggle, as friends demonstrate the way. They say a price, you say half, then you meet in the middle. That’s the game and while it’s a pain in the arse, I’m starting to realise that playing it actually feels better than knowing you’ve been ripped off.
My worst experience in Kathmandu was THE BABY NEEDS MILK SCAM.
“Please please come,” a mother with child in one arm grabbed me with the other, leading me to a supermarket. “My baby needs milk,” she said, showing me an empty bottle. I looked into the child’s big brown eyes and I nodded, how can I not buy this poor baby some milk?
As I walked into the supermarket I saw the checkout chicks shake their head. When the mother lopaded me up with two large boxes of powdered milk, each 1000 rupees ($20) and a third smaller box for 800 rupees I wasn’t sure what to do. I was expecting a small carton of milk costing a dollar. “You have to mix them,” she said. I put one of the identical boxes back and handed 1800 rupees at the checkout. As I exited the woman thanked me and invited me over for tea at her house, some 1 hour drive away. I declined politely then looked up to be surrounded by more women with babies in their arms and empty milk bottles in their hands.
“Milk for my baby, please, please,” they said. “I have five babies at home. I need to give them milk. Please.” I look into more little children’s eyes and nearly fall for it again.
“I have no money left,” I told them, “share with this lady.”
“There is ATM over here,” a mother that couldn’t have been older than twenty told me, pulling me toward the bank. Then it dawned on me: I’d fallen for the oldest scam in the book. The boxes of milk powder had been placed to one side of the road, and the woman with the baby was now looking for more prey to scam into buying more mik powder which I guess she could sell.
“If you can’t afford to feed your babies then stop having them,” I told them, walking away in a huff. I hate so much what poverty does to people. I found out later that babies are rented out for the day, that often they are dropped so they look like they are “crying for milk.” $40 for 10 minutes work. A clever yet deceptively sick way to make one’s living.
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Similar and in a better way to India, as you can see from the photos, Nepal offers many good experiences that make up for the few bad ones. One of these good little moments was in a shop where I bought some little chimes and asked the shop keeper what the symbols on it mean. “OM MA HUN,” he read. “It means accept the now. 100%. This is happiness. The sound is the dance of silence in your heart. It represents inner peace. Peace comes when your heart and mind are balanced.” I thought it a lovely little message to take away, and I didn’t bother negotiating on the price.
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Gil and his friend Brett were leaving the next morning for Pokhara. “You’re welcome to jump in our cab!” they offered. Porque no?! And so began a new little adventure…
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A golden farewell to the Golden Triangle (Delhi)
Counting the days in Mumbai and the Golden Triangle I probably spent a total of one week in what most seasoned travelers would laugh at me for calling raw-India. It was raw enough for me. And I definitely didn’t shed a tear as I stepped on the plane.
The overnight train (in first class) was easy, hop on at 1230am, get off at 6am, and in between catch a few tunes on the last of my iphone battery and a few winks of sleep. I’d organised for Mohan, my friend’s driver who had hooked me up with the friend with the dodgy car, to pick me up at the station. I figured it was a little risky – seeing as his car might be the same as his friends – but I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. At least I have some connection with this guy as opposed to the random taxi and tuk tuk drivers that bombard you when you step off the train.
This time my faith in humanity was rewarded. Rewarded with a fricking cool car, a quick tour around the city, chai tea local style, and a good connection for future purchases I might want be sent to Oz, and travelers I might want to point in his direction (no I’m not getting a commission)… Seriously, Mohan and his 1950s ambassador car, were awesome!!!
Mohan. If you’re going to Rajistan and want to do it in this cool a/c car, let me know and I’ll pass on his details.
India Gate – a war memorial for lives lost in WW1, 90,000 Indian soldiers fighting on behalf of the British Empire who were occupying India.
An impressive looking temple we drove passed. I think Mohan said it was Hindu, but don’t quote me on that – I was quite tired.
Tea local style.
Presentation is everything. I love these little glasses that fit neatly into a wire-tray of glasses. So cute!
It was very very VERY good tea. And the biscottis, a wholesome breakfast.
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It was a golden end to my blink-and-you-miss-it Indian adventure. Farewell Golden Triangle. Goodbye India. Hello Nepal!!!
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A more-golden Golden Triangle (Jaipur)
If you read my last entry you will probably remember it was written in an exhausted and over-it state of mind. But, as we all know, for every down there is an up. You never know what is waiting for you around the next bend. Or who is going to pick you up at the Jaipur train station.
With my pack on my back and three bags in my hands, I stepped down from the half-moving train, and while scrambling to look in my notebook where exactly my meeting point is, a knight in a white turban holding a sign called out my name. He took my bags and directed me to his car, enthusiastically telling me stories about his experiences with Ayurvedic massage, art, and hotels – some of his life passions.
Mr Singh is not just a driver, he is also the owner of the Hotel Pearl Palace, where I had prebooked my night (in India arriving at 1030pm one must be organised). Pushing through my tired state within minutes I found myself sitting in his rooftop restaurant enjoying an incredible view of the sparkling city lights, drinking beer and philosophizing about creativity, money, religion, opportunity, freedom, friendship and facebook. It was quite a spin-out.
White turbans, in case you didn’t know (I didn’t) are a sign of a Sikh. As is the surname “Singh” to which many Sikhs are called. Sikhism is an offshoot of Hinduism that started in the warrior-class around 500 years ago. Sikhs are very friendly, very passionate about their jobs, and have a strong attitude to work hard, share generously, and enjoy life. Well that’s what the books say and my little experience with one confirmed the stereotype.
Mr Singh pulled out his laptop and showed me pictures of the new hotel he is building down the road: each room a different theme, from jungle-themes to karma-sutra and beyond. The golden key ring I was holding was his design, as was the chairs and tables n the restaurants, some resembling trees, others like hands… amazingly creative. Quite an inspiring character, I must say.
Eventually, after almost 24-hours on-the-go, I made it to my room. I turned the A/C off and collapsed on the most comfortable king-size bed I’ve slept in in years. I looked across to the lavish artworks covering the walls, and up at the peacock feathered artwork plastered behind the fan above me – every single item in this hotel was clearly chosen with love and care. Am I staying in some expensive hotel? Nope. I paid a little extra for the air conditioner (not quite sure why I bother considering I always turn it off), and the night in what seriously felt like pure luxury, cost only 900Rs (about $20!). What a turn of events. Maybe India isn’t so bad.
…
The next day I met Tom and Ben, fellow backpackers from England and Oz, at breakfast. We proceeded to spend the day shopping for gems and silver, fabrics and bags, as well as visiting a few forts and getting lost in local streets. These guys had been in India, and had the blokey had-enough-bullshit and not-gonna-take-no-shit-from-noone down pat. I’d never thought I’d take delight in hearing someone tell another person to “piss off” (the lightest of the language used). But I did. It was strangely satisfying, like some kind of revenge for all the rip-offs I’d experienced. Not to mention the power of true bargaining… “How much?” I’d ask. “1000 rupees” The shop keeper would reply. “200″ one of my new friends cut in. “No way” the shop keeper would say, yet before long we’d settle on 300. I’d probably have paid the full 1000, or at least 900, had I not had these boys around. I have a lot to learn.
Wandering local streets was celebrity time again. But this time the tables had turned – it was the children, and the adults, who insisted I take their photo. Every time we thought we were done, they would pull us over to someone else and point and pose and smile. It seems there is a model inside everyone…
Actually this photo reminds me of that print ad for… I think it was Burberry… where Agnes Deyn and other models are jumping toward the fish eye…
When we finally escaped we became the Pide Piper…
We did manage to squeeze in a famous array of Indian foods with a Rajistan Thali.
Check out a close up:
Thanks to this mind-body ayurveda connection I’m learning self control. I stopped when I was full which was long before the plate was done. I did try some of everything. The pink and yellow was the best. Sugary who-knows-what. Mmmm mmm!
Below is a couple more of my favourite candid shots:
Women ninjas…
So cute!
Maybe even cuter!!
AUM…. AUM… Everyone’s eating.
“What are you looking at?”
“I’ll have what she’s having.”
A fort.
A shop.
The view from the top.
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A not-so-golden Golden Triangle (Agra)
I have never felt so dirty and disgusted in my entire life. A thick layer of smog and filth covers my skin. My feet are black. My finger nails are blacker. It is definitely one of those all-I-want-is-a-shower-and-bed moments. But my disgust is far deeper than these physical qualities. In the last 24-hours I feel as if I have been lied to and deceived by more people than in 27-years of life.
My tendency to see the best in people is getting the better of me. I was warned by my sister, and even in Melbourne when an Indian taxi driver acted like my friend then ripped me off $40. I tried to prepare myself but it seems my mind is so cultivated to look for positives that it is harder than I thought. I knew in coming to India alone I was throwing myself in the deep-end. I guess I didn’t realise quite how deep, and that it would be full of rips and currents trying to pull me under. Or maybe I’m just not as strong a swimmer as I thought. My temporal conclusion: India and I, DO NOT MIX.
Well I wanted to experience India and I got it. I wanted to experience Indian trains and I got that too. And I’m glad tomorrow night’s will be the last.
I’m in AC-3tier which means three beds stacked on top of each other in lines creating a dorm room inside an air-conditioned carriage. Seeing as I was traveling 5-10pm I thought a lower bed a good idea- easier access to try foods and observe what comes past. No. The lower beds turn into a chair and shared by all meaning you can’t lie down and there is no way to escape. Always always always choose the top bunk – then you have a choice. I am surrounded by children and babies who are probably quite cute from a less exhausted-westerner-fed-up-with-India perspective. Don’t children count as people needing a ticket? Why didn’t I choose a top bunk? It’s okay. It’s only five hours. I can ignore the wrenching smell of breast milk for five hours. I should be more grateful – a moment ago I thought I was going to be thrown off the train for not printing out my ticket…
“What seat are you?” asked a neighboring passenger.
“41″ I replied.
“No, this man’s ticket is 41,” he informed me.
My first time on these trains and Mohan (my friend’s driver) had met me in Agra and looked up my seat number on his phone. At this time I didn’t know if I could trust him – considering the disasters experienced with his friend’s car in Delhi. And when it came to this ticket, I had no written proof of anything. Thank God it was just an honest mistake – as it turned out I am seat number 45 and a 50 rupee ($1.50) fine was all I got for not printing out my ticket. I am grateful not to be spending the night laying next to the almost-naked moaning dude laying on the train station floor.
I don’t know how much more of this I can bare.
Especially the children who look at you with big eyes and an open hand. One at the station pointed to her mouth so I bought a deep fried samosa for her. It cost the same price that two poached eggs cost me this morning (20 rupees – 60 cents), which would have been better for her. I suppose deep fried crap is better than nothing, although nothing you give in this country ever seems to be enough. Everyone wants more. Even a generous payment for a tuktuk is looked at by the driver as an insult – even when you tip over and above the agreed amount that you already know is a ripoff. “More? Please madam, I want some more…”
I can’t blame them – if I were in their shoes I’d probably be doing the same. They have been brought into this mindset that sees rich foreigners as there to be sucked try, as much as one can.
I must warn you, these thoughts are coming after a long day that began with a 230am wake-up call in Delhi.
It was another day of highs and lows – the highs which included the Taj Mahal and the coldest and greatest banana lassi I’ve ever tasted (I downed three), and with lows mainly revolving around the uneasy feeling I get simply from being eyed down and ripped off by every single person that sets eyes on me.
“Did you notice every guy is looking at you?” a friend noted. “They’re not just looking at you, they are seriously fucking you with their eyes.”
Eyes of awe. Eyes of despise. Eyes of people thinking who-knows-what.
I can ignore the eyes to some extent, especially when I’m with other backpackers, but as I discovered today it’s in the moments I find myself alone that I become easy prey. My life’s not in danger – just my wallet… and my respect for other members of the human race. If I ever come back to India it will be with a big strong man, or at the very least a confident street-smart friend, to travel with. But to be honest, I’m doubtful I’ll return. At least not any time soon.
The drive to Agra was another shut-your-eyes-and-pray-your-driver-doesn’t-crash moment – surrounded by honking large trucks – all with drivers you can be sure have not taken their proper 2 hourly break. Then my driver presented me with a tour guide I had not requested.
“You can tip him if you like,” my driver dismissed. Say goodbye to another 500 rupees. At least he was a good guide, sharing lots of facts and figures I’ve now forgotten, and not-half-bad photographer either – directing me to stand here and there, in between the bursts when people would throw babies in my arms for more photos-with-the-foreigner.
Walking to the taj
My favourite of a just a few takes…
My guide and me with Jaap, my new Dutch friend.
The fort in the distance is where the poor taj who built the Taj Mahal spent the last years of his life 
Me the celebrity. Lol!
I had to laugh when my fans thanked Jaap instead of thanking me. If you are travelling with a boy you must be married to him – at least that’s what this culture seems to presume.
I wasn’t at the taj for sunrise as I had planned, but when the 50 degree heat hit at about 10am I was glad my site-seeing had long been done and dusted. Now I was free to spend the rest of the day hanging about in a little cafe with other backpackers. That is, after getting all my bags form the car where (alone for ten minutes) I got ripped off by one of those stupid shop scams.
“It’s important you see this,” said my tour guide, “they show you exactly how the stones were carved into the Taj Mahal.”
First I was induced into a state of pity – shown the skinny workers making handicrafts and the deformed fingers that were resulting from the work. Then I was taken into a showroom. I was strong in the first showroom, but not so strong in the second one. Damn it! Just a couple of items that I’m sure I paid triple-price for. These sales people know their stuff.
View from Jaap’s hostel where (thankfully) I could leave my bags for the day.
It doesn’t look like much but this banana lassi was the bomb!!!
Just like with the beggars I give money to, and the tuk tuk drivers I over-pay, these little rip-offs put me in a funny head-space. The price I’m paying is cheap for the number of hours these people put into it, but the prices (about 1000 rupees, or $25, per piece) is still a lot of money to which almost none of it will make it into the hands of these weathered artist-slaves. And then there’s the compulsory bargaining process, which I’m too lazy to really be good at. I mean, I really can’t be bothered arguing over a dollar, but each time I don’t I know the dollars in my not-so-big budget, do add up. Oh man, what a head-fuck. I tell you what, if there is one thing I will take away from this place it’s a renewed appreciation for all I have: for my country, my people, and life in my western world.
Anyway I made it through the day, and soon I will arrive in Jaipur where (hopefully) my hostel will pick me up and I’ll finally get that much-needed shower and sleep.
India is another world. I am an alien on another planet. E.T. want go home…
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Disasters and Delhi
I say another little prayer from my prime position laying down in the back seat with my eyes closed. It is raining and the same crazy driver who overtook on blind corners on the cliff side on the way up was to drive me back down. The special requests for a safe rather than speedy journey were finally listened to and the driver was easy on me.
At the airport my reward: coookiiiiies!!! Australian cookies!
Two cookies and a small cup of chai tea – 25 rupees (about 50 cents). Yes please! An hour later I am on the plane. Out the window I looked down at earth’s surface. Coimbatore is a small city by Indian standards yet the buildings, cars and smog cover every inch of its surface for as far as my eyes can see. It is ugly.
Humanity has hit puberty and is causing a horrible case of acne to break out on our poor earth’s skin. Our sun may be half way through its life but the lifespan of our earth has only just begun. From an innocent childhood where lifeforms lived at one with it, humanity has (particularly in the last 200-years) propelled it into adolescence. Our hormones are going wild, we are rejecting our parent’s wisdom, and using and abusing all we have been provided. From our egocentric position we put ourselves on a pedestal, expecting our universe to revolve around the big important “I”. Our egos are out of control.
Adolescence doesn’t last forever, but the consequences of these abusive years can have long-lasting effects on our minds and bodies. What does the future hold for humanity? Will we grow out of it and make it to earth in it’s twenties? I look out the window again as we land in yet another over-populated Indian city, and I wonder if we do make it through adolescence, will our acne clear up? What will earth’s new skin look like? I doubt it will return to the smooth baby skin of green forests but if we stop abusing our body, if we find ways to live without polluting it, might we use our collective conscious to revitalize our ecosystem like the Ayurveda retreat revitalized me? Can earth and humanity live in a state of connected mind, body and soul? How might humanity, as we move into adulthood, minimize the harm these days of innocent arrogance might cause?
With my mind in la-la philosophy land I step out onto the streets of Delhi. I have organised a friend’s driver-friend’s friend to pick me up, show me Delhi and drive me to Agra to see the Taj Mahal for 4000Rs (around $80). When a large older man in a blue uniform picks me up I think there’s been a mistake. He takes my bags. I farewell a new British friend from the plane, wish him luck figuring out where he’s going (he’s lost his phone) and get in the tiny dirty-white car.
“Can we go to the international airport please? I want to leave my bags there,” I request. Somehow I get talked into leaving them in this car so we can first do some siteseeing and that Mohan, my friend’s actual driver-friend, can take me from Agra to Jaipur and back to Delhi so to save me taking trains.
“You can see many things on the way – monkey temple and…” This option had it’s appeal of comfort and lack of hassle but I wasn’t sure. Travelling by train is the India thing…
“The only thing I really want to do in Delhi is see the museum at the place where Gandhi was shot,” I request.
“Ok, but first this monument and that monument and…” said the driver, rattling off a list of places he would take me to.
I reluctantly agree and pray he will still be in the car park with my bags when I return.
At the first random monument I find myself attacked by papparazi and fans – people wanting photos of and with the blonde white girl. I have more photos taken with children, adults and couples in this place than I did in two-years in japan. And that’s saying a lot.
I escape as fast as I can. Lucky my driver and bags are still there.
“Straight to the Gandhi museum please.” I order. Time is getting on and it is hot. Buildings are ok and the papparazzi thing kinda funny, but my friends told me they spent hours in the Gandhi museum: cheap books, inspiring pictures and ideas.
“Ok, but first I want to take you to…”
“No!” I exclaim. “Gandhi closes at 6.”
Eventually he agrees. Unfortunately his car isn’t happy with this plan. Ten minutes later smoke is coming from the bonnet. Air conditioning is turned off. Windows open.
“Oh no, oh no!” he says. Oh yes. I imagine the car blowing up, with me inside. The traffic stops. Ignition off.
As the traffic starts moving he runs beside the car. I offer to help but when my offer is declined I snap photos and laugh to myself. I clap when we start. He gets in. A hundred meters on we conk out again. Horns go crazy from the surrounding cars. Emergency lights on. Now I imagine being attacked by angry drivers, like in Shantaram. Thank God this isn’t Bombay.
The driver manages to get the smoking shitbox to the side of the road. A very cute (and very cocky) cop wanders over to save the damsel in distress. He introduces me to his crew and brings me a large cold bottle of water.
Time ticks on and eventually he excuses himself to get “back to his duties” and I lay down across the backseat of the car.
My mind is racing: this is not good. Not good at all. This car is supposed to drive me four hours to Agra, at 230am… And to make things worse I have zero cash because my bank card has been declared stolen (not by me) and is not working even though I told the bank I’m in India, and called them to assure them these withdrawals were mine. AND I still have all my bags in this car – more than half which are pre-prepared to be left at the airport allowing me freedom to jump on buses and trains and see sites as I please. Now I am trapped. Hostage.
I take out my envelope of contacts. A travel agency another friend recommended. Another friend’s friends who was an events organiser for an internation conference. Surely these contacts would be less dodgy than this dude with a stuffed up car. But I don’t have a phone. I consider asking the cop for his but before I do the driver is back and I’m loaded into his friend’s identical-looking car and told they will take me to a hotel in Delhi.
“I will bring a different car tomorrow,” he assures me.
“Can we first go to a bank and get rid of these bags?” I ask. Desperately wishing I hadn’t got myself into this mess I decide to go with it but only until I get to Agra. Then I’ll split – I’ll just suck it up and carry my bags.If I abandon this plan now there’s no way I can see all I want to see and be back for my flight in two days time.
Now I get told there is no left luggage facilities at the international airport because they are building a new airport, or something like that. I try various numbers in my guidebook to confirm this notion, but alas none of the numbers seem to work. Damn it!
I do get to a bank but my card still doesn’t work. I withdraw on credit card and hope the interest charges this will cause aren’t too huge. At least I have cash.
When I make it to the hotel my plans for dinner and internet fly out the window. I’m exhausted.
After a cold shower (not by choice) I take solace in the “Australian Network” with an ABC program on the muslim berka conflicts followed by an episode of my mum’s favourite tv show: Packed to the Rafters. The Australian accent sounded like music to my ears.
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And now, I relax
6am “knock knock” my revolting tasting medicine (of who knows what) arrives at my door… 630 yoga; 730 walk and feed monkeys; 830 breakfast (fruit and random-looking-but-delicious Indian vegetarian goop); 10am reflexology; 1030 continue reading “Holy Cow! An Indian Adventure” (awesome book btw); 1230pm massage (naked – completely naked); 130 vegetarian lunch and more gross medicine; 230 massage (thumped with hot pounds of herbs); 3pm intermediate yoga (soooo hard); 4pm ginger tea; 5pm medicine then walk (and twist my ankle… f***); 530 ice ankle and read; 7pm vegetarian dinner; 830 my allocated turn on internet; and very soon (around 9pm) take bedtime tablets (what the HECK are they giving me?) and go to bed. This AYURVEDA retreat high up in the Indian mountains in Coonoor is HARD CORE!!!
After ten days of it I am feeling GREAT!!!
I’ve been exfoliated, oiled, pounded, massaged, steamed and scrubbed – each simultaneously carried out by two sets of from hands, from head to toe. I’ve stretched, balanced and put my body into postures I never thought possible. I’ve swallowed tablets and liquids bitter, sweet and ambiguous. I’ve managed to do without chocolate (besides a Sunday-is-our-day-off binge) and coffee and alcohol, and even gone without meat (by no choice of my own). I’ve had points on my fingers pressed while I clench my teeth in pain. My ankle (still swollen from February and no thanks to my little slip on my first day here) has never has so much attention with it’s own oil press treatments, herbal mud-masks and Reiki.
I leave feeling smoother, skinnier, healthier, and stetchier, than I have in a long time.
Here is a quick glimpse of my time here: my new friends (monkeys and more monkeys), my treatments (I’m not actually about to have my head chopped off), and the lovely mountains and people of Coonoor. Click on a photo to see bigger, and then click through slide show…
I am as ready as I’ll ever be to hit the busy city of Delhi, and (try to) enjoy a three day manic tour around the golden triangle: Delhi, Agra and Jaipur. Wish me luck.