Vacation! Dehradun, Rishikesh and Mussoorie

We just got back from our one-week vacation, which was my first fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, one-backpack-allowed travel experience.  We left early on Saturday morning without any travel arrangements other than where we would be staying for the first two nights.  Transportation went astonishingly smoothly: we took the metro to the bus station in Old Delhi, and a bus to Dehradun happened to be leaving in a half hour.  We arrived in Dehradun and the bus that we needed to take to get to our destination was just about to leave.  Perfect.  We stayed at an organic farm called Navdanya, run by environmental activist Vandana Shiva.  Sinclair had volunteered there for three weeks while my mom was here, and also met her boyfriend so it was a logical starting point for our vacation.  While the politics of the farm aren’t so sound (suffice it to say that it’s more a show for international acclaim among activist groups than a viable model for local development…I’ll write more on this later if there’s demand), it was very relaxing to be out of the city.

A local woman invited us (mostly Oliver) to come to her house one afternoon.  We said that we would, but I think she was surprised when we actually did.  We were served deliciously warm, fresh milk while we quickly became a village-wide attraction.  Other children played with him rougher than what he's used to but he took it well.  Another woman wanted us to come to her house too, so we did.

From there we moved on to Rishikesh, which is a major hippie pilgrimage and claims to be the world capital of yoga.  It was made famous in the 1960s when the Beatles played and stayed at Maharishi’s ashram.  The four of us (me, Oliver, Sinclair and her boyfriend, Abhyudai) arrived without a place to stay, but found a decent place off of the main road, up a steep alleyway and 53 very steep stairs, for just 200 rupees ($4.50) per night.  I was so excited to see jars of cookies on bakery counters everywhere (munchies for those who indulge in the cheap weedJ), and I just had to have one!  I got 10 rupees out of my pocket, asked for a peanut cookie, put the money on the counter, and the next thing I knew, I was walking away, trying to bite into this cookie that turned out to be more like a thick slab of peanut brittle (my disappointment brought me down out of the clouds) and realizing that I still had 10 rupees in my hand.  I guess I got so excited about the possibility of a peanut butter cookie that I forgot to pay. 

We spent an amazing day in Rishikesh hiking back to Maharishi’s ashram, which is now abandoned.  We weren’t able to go in, but we went swimming in the Ganges River, which is considered holy and people swim in it for religious, spiritual and healing purposes.  It was freezing cold and the sun was hot, so Oliver and I didn’t spend much time by the riverside.  I decided to go sit under this huge banyan tree with him while the others enjoyed the water (we had met up with two of Sinclair and Abhyudai’s friends from the farm, Guio from Spain and Nanu from Portugal).  Another group of about 6 foreigners happened along, including two Spanish guitarists.  Perfect.  We spent hours under that tree listening to amazing music and talking.  One of the guitarists was traveling with his wife and their dog, and his wife had just found out that she was pregnant so we talked a lot about traveling with a baby.  While we were eating supper later that night, the same musicians came and played at the restaurant.  I didn’t realize that they made their living off of music while traveling, so I was more than happy to buy a cd.  Such great memories.

That night, Oliver was so fussy and tired but refused to fall asleep.  After fussing and crying and almost falling asleep for nearly three hours, he suddenly turned into a sweetie pie again and Sinclair and Abhyudai took him so that I could go and get a much-needed massage.  There are massage places all over Rishikesh, so I just went into the first one I found.  It was a very strange experience…there was only one man in this store, and the massage table was just a mattress on the floor in back.  I asked if they had a woman there to do massages, and he assured me that one would be there in ten minutes.  The time passed and passed, and I asked how long it would be again and he reassured me that she was on her way, but that he could do it if I wanted it right then.  I insisted on the woman, and I’m glad I did—nearly every part of your body gets massaged, which I guess is fairly common outside the US but an experience I hadn’t had before.  It took all I had to not start giggling when she abruptly pulled down my underwear and started rubbing my butt.

The next morning, we met up with two more friends from the farm, Julia and Hannah from Canada.  They took us to this little restaurant (there were six seats and seven of us) and I had the best pancakes ever, no offense to my mom or Juan!  Three banana pancakes, two with ginger preserve on top and one with cocoa powder and chocolate syrup.  I can’t express how good they were.  Flying Tiger Café—if you’re in Rishikesh you must go.  It’s hard to find, a long, steep walk up from the Ganges on the side opposite Laxman Jhula, most locals will have no idea what you’re talking about when you ask for directions, but it’ll be so worth it.

From there we took a cab up to Mussoorie, from where snow-capped Himalayas can be seen.  Sinclair, Abhyudai and I took a cab there…I swear that the switchbacks up the mountains are much narrower and sharper than they are in the US.  We arrived near dusk and I was surprised how cold it was; it must have been around 35-40, so I bundled Oliver up in a hat, knitted socks that go up to his knees, his polar fleece jacket, and stuffed him inside the wrap to keep him toasty.  We didn’t have a place to stay there either, so we just started walking along the main road.  We came across this abandoned-looking, old theatre and ballroom that had a sign saying it was a hotel, and it turned out to be a really cool, sort of eerie place for $8 per night, plus $2.50 more for a space heater…most places don’t have central heat.  I’m actually glad that we didn’t plan this out and that we were without a Lonely Planet guide because we would have never found that place if we had followed recommendations in a guide. 

The best parts of Mussoorie were definitely the views and the fresh, crisp mountain air.  It felt so good in the sun, like a sunny day in late October in Minnesota.  There were even some leaves on the ground that we crunched through.  The second day we were there, we decided to just take an all day hike without much of a destination in mind other than up.  We got off the beaten track that tourists generally stick to and found neat little antique shops filled with leftovers from the days of British rule, a place selling hand-painted, Kashmiri handicrafts, and jars of fresh, natural peanut butter (we bought two).  We continued up the steep, winding roads past dilapidating wooden buildings and sat on a bench in the sun and ate apple slices dipped in our prized peanut butter.  We were just continuing up the road when we ran into Peter, another Fulbrighter, and his wife, Lilly.  They and some others were staying in Mussoorie for a few months while studying Hindi.  They lead us to a great bakery nearby where I had my fill of chocolate chip cookies, fresh out of the oven.  It was Peter’s birthday, so we went to the party and bonfire they had at the house where they’re staying, which is near the top of the highest peak in Mussoorie.  It was so much fun to see a few of the other Fulbrighters again.

Oliver with a cookie-baker:)

Diwali

Diwali is the biggest Indian holiday and it’s a lot like Christmas in the US.  People put lights on their homes, give gifts, and hold a special prayer service the night of Diwali, which ends with lighting little clay lanterns around the house.  The traditional purpose is to attract Laxshmi, the goddess of wealth, to your home.   Fireworks are a huge part of the event as well; there don’t seem to be any laws regulative fireworks, or if there are, they’re not followed.  For about a week beforehand, people were lighting off fireworks and insanely loud firecrackers in the streets.  The night of Diwali, it was like a war zone with explosions going off everywhere on the ground and in the sky, and the air was heavy with smoke.

Our friend Devika invited us to her family’s home for Diwali, and to her friends’ place for a card party the night before.  We found out that “coming over for dinner” is different here…whereas in the US eating is one of the first things you do if you have a party that includes dinner, here it is generally the last thing on the agenda.  The night of the card party, we arrived around 9:00 but food was ordered around 10 and didn’t arrive until about an hour later, and even then most people didn’t help themselves to food until 2 am (I had gone to sleep with Oliver by that time and we didn’t come home until 4!).  The night of Diwali (Nov. 5), dinner wasn’t served until nearly 11pm and only then because we mentioned that it was late and that we needed to leave early the next morning to catch a bus. 

Other than the hunger, Diwali was a very neat experience.  Each family blesses their home with a prayer and offering.  We took our turn pouring puffed rice and sugar wafers into a bowl on the family’s altar.  Devika’s dad smeared saffron rice on everybody’s forehead, including Oliver’s.  Then he lit the main lantern on the altar, and everybody went around the house lighting the rest.  There were probably near 100 lanterns both inside and outside of their house.  The entry was decorated with paints and marigold petals.  Just like Christmas in the US, some families are very formal and some are not.  Devika’s family isn’t very formal, but it was fun to dress up anyway.  I wore my sari and Oliver wore a traditional kurta and funny pants (I forget what they are called.) 

Oliver’s 1,000,000+ Fan Club

Oliver continues to be a stud.  Honestly, I don’t know what he’ll do when we move out of this guest house.  There are approximately 15 (mostly) beautiful Indian women living here now, and they all like to flock around him and ooo and ahh and give him kisses and hold him, etc.  Seriously, what more could a little guy ask for?

As we traveled around with Mom, we were sometimes overwhelmed by people, both Indians and other foreigners, who wanted to take his picture and in some cases, hold him.  I had to become quite selective in whose requests for Oliver pictures were granted.  I imagine that thousands and thousands of people have seen pictures of Oliver.  There were days when I was so overwhelmed by being approached by nearly everybody that we saw that I just wanted to hole up and yell at everyone who looked my way.  One day I did just that—hole up, I mean, after being surrounded by a sea (seriously, a sea, like 150) teenaged students. 

While Mom was here, we visited Agra (the home of the Taj Mahal), Jaipur, and Jaisalmer.  (More about the travels soon.)  While in Jaipur, we happened across a man with a nice camera claiming to be a journalist who needed a picture for the front page of a special “Tourist-Day” edition that was going to run the next day.  I say “claiming” because I’ve had so many experiences of being fed complete sh*t.  We let him take the picture and sure enough, it was on the front page of a Hindi-language newspaper that circulates across the entire state of Rajasthan.  I think it’s safe to say that Oliver’s fan club jumped into the millions overnightJ.

Oliver has started to babble and is eating more pureed food every day.  He loves bananas, mangos, apples, pears, green beans, carrots, and peas.  Being in India has forced me to make homemade baby food since the imported Gerber’s is the only baby food available in stores, and it’s expensive.  When we were in Agra, he ate an entire mashed banana mixed with an equal portion of porridge in one sitting!  He sits up fairly well by himself, and is getting closer and closer to crawling.  He likes to spend more time on his belly, and is at the point where he scoots backward.  He loves playing with the crunchy, plastic packs of diaper wipes, my bright pink neck pillow, sheer dupattas, and books (he hits at them and chews on the cardboard ones).  One night when we were in Jaisalmer, he fell asleep playing with brightly colored, silky pillows.  What a squirt!  Enjoy the pictures of Oliver with his public…

Clothes

I’m sure you’re all curious about Indian clothing, so here’s the scoop!  The most iconic, traditional women’s clothing in India is the sari.  It’s just a short blouse (yes, midriff exposed) that clasps in the front and a long piece of fabric that is wrapped around the waist and thrown over the shoulder.  I do have a sari and I’ll put a picture up as soon as I have one of the other girls in the house show me how to wrap it; I guess it’s an intricate process.

The most popular type of outfit that Indian women wear is called a salwar kamis, casually referred to as “suits.”  It’s comprised of a tunic, pants, and a scarf (called a dupatta).  They can be very casual or very dressy.  Traditionally, the pants are very loose (this is the “salwar” style), but it’s in vogue to have tight pants (called pajama style) that scrunch up around your ankles.  Younger women will also wear regular leggings under a tunic.  Two-colored, sheer dupattas like the one I'm wearing in the picture seem to be in style.  Dupattas look pretty, but they tend to get in the way--just one more thing that can fall in the toliet.  You can buy these outfits ready-made, or buy the material and have a tailor make it for you.  Suit material is sold in pre-matched sets, so it’s easy and fun to buy since you don’t have to spend a lot of time figuring out with fabrics will match well.  It’s pretty difficult to find the tunics with real buttons (versus decorative buttons), so I’ve had them tailored with closures in the front so that I can nurse Oliver.  It’s pretty inexpensive to have custom-made clothing; I’ve found tailor close by who does a nice job and it costs between $4 and $6 to have a salwar kamis made, depending on the complexity.  It’s really fun because you can basically design your own suit by choosing the shape of the neckline, how far the back of the neckline dips on your back, if you want detailing on the tunic with fabric from the pants, etc.  Check out the picture of me in a salwar kamis with tight pants, which I call oompa-loompas.

I’ve been surprised by the number of women who wear western clothing.  About half of the women at the office wear jeans and a blouse every day.  I wish I had a pair of jeans with me.  It’s ironic that although you see midriffs of sari-wearers and salwar kamis can expose a good part of the upper back, bare legs and sometimes even shoulders will make everybody turn.  It’s a good idea to always drape a dupatta over your shirt as to not draw attention to your boobs if your shirt is relatively tight or low-cut.  I was also under the impression that saris were more commonplace, but generally I only see older women or poorer women wearing them on an everyday basis.  I’m excited to wear mine—all I need is a wedding invitation!

A Taste of Minnesota

So, dontcha know that Pradeep, my supervisor and the head of the research team at IRRAD, has planned a get-together at his apartment for this Saturday.  We decided that it would be a potluck, and you know what we Minnesotans have to bring to a potluck—BARS!  “Yes,” I exclaimed, “I will be bringing bars!  Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve had bars.  I’m so excited to bake some bars.  I’m not too fond of lemon bars, but maybe I could make Erlyce bars, which are named after an old family member who always made really good bars up at the lake, or maybe seven-layer bars, or…”  And everybody gives me this confused “huh?” type look.  “Bars?” they say.  “You mean, like granola bars?”  So the seemingly simple task of trying to explain what bars are begins.  I say, “No, well, kind of.  I mean, like brownies can be considered bars, especially if they have nuts in them, or there’s cookie bars…”  No luck yet.  “They’re about this size,” I explain as I make a bar-sized square with my hands, “and about this thick, you know, they’re bar-shaped.  But, I mean, they’re that shape because you cut them that way, so they don’t have to be exactly that size.”  Furrowed eyebrows.  “Um, they’re made in a pan, you bake them in the oven, they usually have chocolate, well except in the case of lemon bars or strawberry-rhubarb bars, and maybe butterscotch chips and definitely cookie-like crumble and probably fudge and or caramel and maybe some coconut flakes…”  And they say, “So, it’s like cake?”  “Yes, like cake but more dense and thinner…[dead silence]…I guess I’ll just have to make some bars.”  I thought about offering hotdish as well, but I think I’ll save that for the next potluck.

A Day in Delhi

My mother descended on India on September 14, so we’ve been busy trying to see as much as we can in just three weeks while I do my best to keep my research moving along.  Yesterday we took the metro into Delhi and did some sightseeing.  First on the agenda was going to the railroad station to buy tickets, since the websites that sell them do not take international cards.  We had been warned that the tourists’ ticket office was very hard to find, which proved to be the case.  At one point, we had about five guys on us trying to convince us that, due to construction, the office we were looking for was in a different building across the street.  We ignored the scammers as best we could and eventually found the right place, only to be informed that because we did not have our actual passports on us (versus copies), we could not purchase tickets.   One strike.

Then we went to visit the President’s Palace and surrounding gardens.  It was very nice and uncrowded and green, qualities not often found in Delhi.  We wanted to see the Moghul Gardens that were on the other side of the presidential buildings according to the map, so we went on a long, very hot walk to find them only to be turned away by armed guards saying that we needed special permission to see them.  Strike two.  Should have read a guide book. 

We decided to hire a rickshaw driver for the rest of the afternoon.  We went to India Gate, which was cool but not fantastic, especially considering the uncommonly large concentration of leering men.  Not quite a strike; let’s call it a ball.  We proceeded to Humayun’s Tomb…finally, a hit!  We spent quite a bit of time inside one of the smaller tomb enclosures (Isa Khan’s tomb) thinking that it was the big attraction.  I think my favorite part was the wall around the tombs, how the entrance was a bit crumbled, and the palm trees behind it.  Humanyun’s Tomb predates the Taj Mahal and inspired its design.  It was amazing.  Very grand, that’s the only word to describe it.  We passed hours there very easily, and of course, Oliver turned into a tourist attraction too.  Sometimes I wonder how many thousands of people in India have seen his photo…maybe we should start charging?  Maybe find a Bollywood agent and start a college fund??

The rickshaw driver, Mr. Singh (the name for Sikhs) took us to visit his temple.  Very neat experience outside of the tourist realm.  We took off our shoes, washed our hands and feet, climbed up the stairs, and then covered our hair before entering.  It was evening and people were just starting to come to pray.  There were three musicians playing, one on tabla (drums) and two signing.  The leader of the temple even came over to welcome us and talk with us for awhile. 

Mom says that Oliver has grown so much in the last month that we’ve been here.  I packed up some clothes that don’t fit him anymore and replaced them with lots of new, bigger clothes from my mom and Juan.  I’m getting him to eat more food now that I know my mom’s old trick: put the sweet fruit on the front of the spoon to mask the veggies.  Ah ha!  Found out today that he really likes mango; he didn’t like it when I gave him some at home, but now he just gobbled it down!  He’s making lots of new noises and continues to flirt with anyone who’ll look at him, which is just about everyone. 

Oliver now has a little friend who’s just a month younger than him, Joram.  He’s Andre and Bianca’s son, a German couple who we were connected to thanks to a Fulbrighter in Delhi who met Andre at a yoga class.  We met them last weekend in Delhi, went out for lunch, bought chocolate pastries (of course we clicked!!) and had tea at their flat.  It was funny to see how Joram and Oliver make such similar noises yet their different personalities are already present.  Oliver just about exploded with excitement to see Joram, flapping his arms while standing up and yelling, while Joram is very, very relaxed and laid back and kind of scrutinizes new people while making a quizzical expression with his eyebrows.  Very fun to have baby interaction, and hopefully we’ll be able to get together with them soon!

Mewat

IRRAD works in a district of Haryana state called Mewat; it ranks lowest in the state among socioeconomic indicators such as literacy, income, health, access to water, sanitation, etc. Mewat is in the foothills of the Aravali Range, said to be one of if not the oldest mountain range in this part of Asia. It is a unique district in that the majority of the population is Muslim. I don’t know the precise history, but a few hundred years ago, the Hindu population was forcibly converted to Islam, but covertly kept many of their Hindu traditions. This caused them to be rejected by both the Hindu and Muslim communities, so they have been relatively isolated for centuries. I visited two of the villages, Notki and Kotla, last Wednesday.

These two villages are nearly the same in population, around 1200 residents each. Notki is IRRAD’s showcase village; all of the interventions they have introduced are working to some degree. On the other hand, IRRAD has only just begun working in Kotla. I was surprised by the proximity of the villages to each other since they are only a mile or two apart and we passed through one other village, Ghaghas, to get to the other. The roads were extremely rough. There were many naked children and many kids around five years old taking care of even younger children and babies while their parents work.

Surprisingly, only a little more than a third of the population depends on agriculture for its main source of livelihood. About the same amount are laborers, and the rest derive income from shops, driving, and other employment. One of the main impediments to agriculture and life in general is a shortage of water; much of the water that is available is saline. In Notki, we saw several wells and though the water levels were twice as deep as they were just a few years ago, there was water. In Kotla, there are only two wells for the entire village. One was dry. We watched young women dipping buckets to get water from the other well (the water was 120 feet down), and we could hear the buckets hit the bottom each time one fell into the water.
The landscape is beautiful. My favorite memory of my first trip to the field was when we hiked back to see a check dam that IRRAD had built in Kotla. We hiked farther back behind the dam (which wasn’t holding any water back—there was only a trickle) toward a cliff with two small waterfalls and palm trees growing out the side. There were probably 50 women and children bathing under the waterfalls and doing laundry in the pools underneath. It was so neat, and I wish that I could have captured it on my camera, but they people there are extremely sensitive to having their pictures taken, especially women. In fact, I was told that there were rumors circulating recently that IRRAD takes pictures of the girls and shows them to advertise to the whole world without their consent. More importantly, not too long ago there was a fatwa issued in Mewat against IRRAD; this is a very traditional area and many religious leaders are against any kind of development, claiming that IRRAD only wants to take away their power and dilute their culture. I did take one picture of the school building in Notki, being careful to wait until a group of girls had walked out of the frame.