Sunday, February 19, 2006

How to Make a Blanket, and a bunch of other stuff

Efforts to blog-write have become disjointed and delayed once more. I'm going to do my best now to wrap things up now quickly. Here's what I wrote a few weeks ago now . . .
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Okay, so:

As I mentioned last time, my visit to Bharmour was really nice. I caught a bus early in the morning, eventually switching to a jeep due to supposedly bus-inappropriate road conditions. The whole way the road was gradually climbing, which made sense since Bharmour is over 1200 m higher than Chamba. The ride was fairly spectacular-- a new gimundus snow-capped peak to be seen around every bend.

I arrived mid-day, asked around for a guest house. The people who owned it were surprised to see me, and told me to pick whichever room I liked. I looked through the lot and picked the one with some windows and without an attached bathroom-- I tend to prefer these b/c then the room doesn't end up smelling the bathroom . . . I went out to have a look around, stopping at a sunny cement spot (actually the rooftop of the building set on the low side of the road) with an excellent view to take a look at my surrounds. Bharmour was set right at the snowline (at the time) on one side of a giant valley with beautiful terraced strips of land up and down in its entirety except for the highest bits, which were in fact some of the earlier mentioned snow-capped mountains.

I ended up spending the afternoon chatting with a bunch of guys (from as little as two to as many as eight people at a given time-- several came and went-- but four were there more or less throughout) ranging from my age to about forty who apparently tended to pass free time hanging out at this rooftop I had stumbled upon. They spoke decent English-- better than I would have expected for so remote an area, anyhow-- and so with several of them trying to understand what I was saying at any given time we were able to communicate fairly effectively. We started with typical stuff-- whether I'm married, my asking if they are, occupations, etc.-- but eventually I started to ask them questions about this place, their home, and the valley that surrounded it. How people made living, if they had any work to do in the winter; most were involved in agriculture, and most people just "pass time" in the winter. I asked them a bit about caste, and they answered my questions without seeming to mind, so I asked further. If they were all of the same caste (they weren't), if people of different castes hold different jobs (they don't necessarily, though they once did). Looking out on the valley and the several small villages on either side of it, I began to point and ask, "All same caste or many caste? Which caste?" It seemed that most consisted of just one or occasionally two castes.

As I looked about pointing at different villages, I noticed conciously for the first time a tiny village perched on a little ridge way up on the opposite side of the valley, unmistakably higher than Bharmour. (Circled red in the picture-- you can see the circle better if you view the enlarged image.) I pointed to this one and asked as well-- it was an entirely Brahmin village. I asked if there was a temple up there, wondering why a Brahmin village would exist in such a remote spot. They said there was indeed a small temple on top of the mountain. My enquiry had a tone of more than casual interest-- it took hardly a moment between seeing the village and creating the intention of going there the next day. I asked how often the people from the village came to Bharmour (some did it every day), how long it took them to make the trip (they said one).

I passed the afternoon up there chatting. The moment the sun passed behind the mountains the men began filing back to the street, shaking hands goodbye as they left. And I was on my own. I set off to look at Bharmour's (locally) famous temple complex, with a few temples in the same style as those of Chamba and whole lot of smaller temples-- apparently 84 in all. But it became clear quickly why the men had moved elsewhere-- it got cold there, almost immediately after the sun ceased to shine on the town, though it continued to shine golden afternoon light on the opposite side of the valley.

Anxious to get back to my room and get in my sleeping bag, I began looking for somewhere to eat. The town's main street had been all but deserted. After a bit of walking I found some dhabas (in the north this is the name for little hole-in-the-wall food places) that were still open. I went into one, asked the owner/cook what he had, said I would have some, and then sat there warming my hands under the flame of the freestanding gas stove on which he heated a serving of dal for me. Once finished I stayed true to my plan and spent the rest of the evening in the sleeping bag, which I was pleasantly surprised to discover was sufficient to get me through evening with full circulation to extremeties.

The next day, after a long spell spent awake but unwilling to emerge, I got up and got under way with my plan. I finally left Bharmour midday, starting downhill to the bridge over the river at the bottom of the valley. The walk there was excellent. I hadn't gone far-- it was just as I was approaching one of the larger villages on the same side of the valley-- when I heard what I at first took to be a houseful of bawling children. But as I followed the path through the village I couldn't quite seem to place where this sound was coming from. And then looking behind me, I saw it's source: a procession of perhaps 15-20 women, walking towards me on the path, sobbing hysterically (or at least pretending to do so-- I really couldn't tell). My guess was that this was some kind of funeral ceremony, so in a hope to stay out of their way I picked up my pace. As I passed a house with a bunch of people in and around it, a woman waved me towards her assertively. Thinking gratefully that she was waving me out of the way of the grieving women, I climbed a few of the steps that led up to the house and began trying to talk to her. But I was interupted from this when the procession, rather than passing by the steps, turned up them! I managed to get out of there way, and finally connected the dots necessary to realize that the people were gathered at the house for the purpose of the mourning practice they were undertaking. Though quite interested I didn't stay long, not comfortable with the notion of intruding at such a time. A few young fellows from the house escorted me the next few hundred yards, and I learned from them that an old man from the village had died a few days ago. I believe the sobbing women were his female blood relatives.

The hike up the far side of the valley was beautiful, as I followed a mostly well-maintained, switchbacking trail, passing goats and sheep and cows as I went. Running up the hill over the trail was a set of power lines. Finally, after two hours of steady hiking, I arrived at the bottom of the village, and just continued through towards the top of it on the path of stones. My intention was to turn around immediately so that I would be able to return to Bharmour well before dark. The village had been mostly empty, but when I reached the top there was a man with a friendly face standing outside his house who waved me over to him with a smile. We tried to communicate, but didn't get far due to a lack of English on his part and Hindi on mine. He invited me in for tea, and I accepted gratefully.
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Continuing:

He ended up inviting me to spend the night, and I accepted. It was a committing decision, in that I would have had to leave right then to make it back before the bitter cold and eventual dark set in, but I was glad to have the chance to spend some time in this place to which I had been so drawn. The stay was quite pleasant all around. No one knew much English, but a few boys from neighboring homes spoke enough for basic communication. I was a little worried about the frigid night, but they gave me a monstrous comforter that was more than enough. The food they gave me was really wonderful. They really liked it when I took their pictures, something about which I was really glad-- first, because they made for great subjects and Suppa a great setting, but even more because I the photos I took will give me a chance to express my appreciation--however slightly-- by sending them prints either upon return to the States or possibly before if I can find a place that can do it within a time frame that works.

My stay also offered wonderful exposure to mountain village life. I learned about and saw a bunch of interesting stuff; one of the most prevalent was the constant activity towards the end of blanket making. I was able to get pictures of the first three of what I think are the four main steps of the process: (1) Collecting the

wool (I didn't see the shearing process). In the first picture, she's moving wool from the jumbled pile at the edge of the picture to the pile in the basket. (2) Spinning the wool into thread-- I don't know how this worked but it looked really cool! She spun the wheel as she held the thread out with her arm extended. (3) Strengthening the thread by spinni ng two strands together. People were doing this one all the time. It involves spinning that wooden thing hanging from the thread in the picture-- there's definitely a technique to it, and I provided a good bit of amusement when I tried. The young boys especially occupied themselves with this, and it struck me as a great way to occupy the energy of young boys. More productive than Game Boy . . . . And (4) weaving the blanket in the loom. As I said, I didn't get pictures of this fourth step, though I saw several looms-- you can see one in the background of the second picture.

Another interesting element of my stay had to with caste. As I mentioned, Suppa is an all Brahmin village. Besides their all sharing the surname "Sharma" (a name only held by Brahmins, I learned), there was very few indications that they were of any particular caste-- their lives seemed quite comprable to that of everyone else in the villages surrounding Bharmour. I think I came to India at some level of my conciousness imagining Bramins to be bloated aristocrats sitting on thrones (and some of the reading I did affirmed this notion, namely A Fine Balance, which is an excellent book by the way) but certainly what was to been seen in Suppa this was anything but the case. I asked the people about their relationships with the other castes, and what they told me was that low-caste people couldn't enter their homes, and they couldn't accept food in the homes of low-caste people. But from what little I could gather it didn't seem to extend much past these social formalities-- across castes people seem to hold the same jobs, live similar lives, and eat at the same Dhabas. On top of this they made clear that they were all friends with people of all castes. For what it's worth, I don't believe they were sugar coating anything for me, as I have suspected of some when discussing matters in their country (that is, India).

I started back to Bharmour the next morning. Though I was expecting the walk back down to take something in the vicinity of an hour and a half, I realized quickly that it was going to take me a lot longer than that. For whatever reason, there were lots more people around in Suppa in the morning than there had been when I arrived the previous afternoon; the implications of this for me was that I hadn't walked 50 yards when I got invited in for tea. I declined twice, accepted on the third offer--not wanting to be rude-- and chatted to the limited extent that was possible as I drank my tea, doing my best to fend off offers for food all the while. After I'd finished the tea and the snacks they brought despite my best efforts to dissuade them otherwise, I made my way out-- only to repeat the process each time I was spotted by a new set of people. This picture is of one such group, and perhaps the most fun of all-- three generations of women from one family and a couple freinds/neighbors. The girl at far left and the two standing in back are the friends. The woman second from left is the mother of the girl right of her, whose sisters are the two on the right. The babies are the twin daughters of the girl sitting next to her mother. I enjoyed this stay because all of these ladies had lots of personality. For instance, just about the only English known by the mother of the twins (twenty-two years old) was "two for one," in reference to her having given birth to twins. I don't know how she knew this phrase, but the humor of this didn't seem to be lost on her or the others, as they laughed right along with me. They requested that I spend the night there, but I declined (and declined and declined) as I had yet to make it out of the tiny Suppa. I was trying to get back in part out of concern that I would get stranded by snow and also that the owners of the guest house where I had stayed would contact the local authorities about my unexplained disappearance. But beyond this I felt uncomfortable taking advantage of the incredible hospitality of the people of Suppa for another night and was afraid of offending the family with whom I had stayed the night before, who would certainly learn of my continued presence in the village. So though I would have loved to stay (and somewhat regret not doing so), after a while I left and a few invitations later I had moved below Suppa. But the stops didn't end upon reaching the trail-- each person I encountered insisted that I stop and sit down with them a while, whether they were walking in the other direction or standing or sitting at the place where I found them. These usually led to invitations into homes for tea and/or food, but I was able to avert these. The pattern set in Suppa continued as I moved up through the villages below Bharmour on the other side of the valley. Thus the walk took me most the day . . . but what a wonderful way to spend one's day! It is worth bearing in mind that very few I encountered had any grasp of English-- from what I could gather some didn't even know Hindi (which is the second language to these people, learned in school, as has been the case in most places I've visited in northern India).

Over the next day and a half or so I travelled back out through Chamba, past Dalhousie, and down out of the mountains and onto the plains, eventually making it to the city of Amritsar in the neighboring state of Punjab. Home to the famous Golden Temple, this city is, as described in the Lonely Planet, "the beating heart of the Sikh religion". Another misconception I carried right up to my arrival in India was that most Indian people wear turbans. Presumably this conception of mine would have included Hindus, though I don't recall thinking about this explicitly. Anyhow, it turns out turbans are not worn at all by Hindus, but in fact only by the members of the Sikh religion, who account for something like 2% of the population of India (though this is no small number of people). So why do I, and I think a number of other Americans, have an image of Indians as turban wearing? My understanding is that a disproportionately high number of Sikhs have emigrated to the States and other western countries, which I believe is made possilbe due to their above average wealth as a group.

Anyhow, Sikhism is quite an interesting religion. Founded only a few hundred years ago by a man who felt that neither Hinduism nor Islam got it quite right, it borrows quite a bit from each and is yet something very much its own. If I recall correctly there are seven practices that Sikhs are expected to do according to their beliefs, among these never cutting one's hair or shaving. Thus the turban, under which the long hair is tucked away, and the beards of those who wear turbans.

The Golden Temple is the most holy shrine in the Sikh religion, and it was really a wonderful place to visit on every level. Or rather, I should say it was a wonderful place to stay, as one of the great things about it is that they provide accomodation for pilgrims and visitors. Not only that, but they offer a free dormitory set aside especially for foreign visitors. So I stayed here-- just about the only dorm I've stayed in India, and the only one with other people in it. And lots of other people! Really interesting people, doing amazing things, largely due to the fact that Amritsar is the major city closest to the one overland border crossing into Pakistan. So the majority of people there were either going to or coming from Pakistan overland, and people doing such are not your average Western budget tourist. A good proportion of them were making their way across Eurasia end to end-- a Korean girl headed to the world cup in Germany, a Czeck couple going the other way, a French Canadian biking from Japan to Western Europe over the course of several years (with two years, Japan, China, Tibet, Nepal, and the whole of the coast of India (not to mention Sri Lanka) behind him.

I ended up staying there the maximum three nights, in part because I was deciding where to go next and in part because it was a pleasant place to stay. I made the circuambulations (sp)

around the marble walkway surrounding the pool you see in the picture (the "Pool of Nectar") practised by pilgrims a part of each day of my stay there, thus spending some time each day in the complex. The temple itself is really impressive and beautiful, and looked a different times of day. One of the things that made being here so enjoyable is that all parts of the temple are open to all persons, so visitors Sikh and non-Sikh alike are allowed into the temple's inner sanctum, and everywhere else, for that matter. It's quite interesting inside the temple-- there are three priests inside who maintain a continual chant of the Sikh holy scripture with musical accompanyment, and lots of people sitting and singing along or meditating or just watching quietly. There's not a proscribed method of worship in Sikhism, so each person kind of does their own thing. In the picture on the left I'm with a friendly Australian fellow named Dom spending a few months working with a Delhi based NGO and doing weeked trips around north India-- he talked me into buying a shawl with him earlier that day, and so this was the means with which we chose to do the necessary head covering when walking around the temple that night. Lastly, the temple was a great place to stay because they offer free meals to the public in a big hall. Mostly pilgrims eat there, but some local homeless types as well as the occasional foreigner such as myself eat there too. The food was simple-- mostly chapati (flatbread) and dal (lentils)-- but good, and an interesting experience each time.

The other main attraction around Amritsar is the India-Pakistan border itself, which sees a dramtic ceremonial border closing take place each afternoon. It's become quite the attraction,

and so both countries have built grandstands from which their country persons may observe. I paid a visit to see the spectacle. It was interesting, with lots of marching about in costumes and other forms of macho paegentry happening simultaneously on either side. Though I was on the Indian side, it seemed that the crowds were doing the same chants, etc. on both sides. In general the feel was that of a sporting event between rival teams, though more fanatical than we tend to see in the states (maybe like soccer in Europe?). It was strange to watch this all, see everyone revelling in their national pride, knowing that there is genuinely bad blood between these nations that could one day turn ugly (though I believe relations have been okay lately) -- and that both have possesion of "weapons of mass destruction". Nationalism's all fun and games until someone gets nuked . . .

From Amritsar I went to Rishikesh, the self-proclaimed "yoga capital of the world". Situated along the Ganges at the point where it enters the plains from the mountains, it is a genuinely beautiful place. It also happens to be home to dozens upon dozens of ashrams aimed primarily (or so it would seem) at Western visitors and their many patrons. The Lonely Planet says it became famous in the West when the Beatles and their wives paid a visit to Rishikesh, staying in the ashram of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Apparently they wrote most of the White Album, as well as some of Abbey Road, during their stay. Though written after their return, "Sexy Sadie" is among the most obviously related to the place, as it is directed not at some woman but in fact Maharishi after they realized that the guy is full of it. (I feel qualified to say that he is full of it as such from having been exposed to his stuff during my several days in Sringeri-- I really think it's such a load of nonsense.) One of the things I enjoyed most during my short stay was listening to the White Album there, with the context of Rishikesh as the place where it was written in mind. I didn't do much else worth mentioning-- just some lounging about with some of the rafting friends I had been with a few weeks before. They were making a several week stay there, picking up some rafting work here and there, doing yoga, etc. I did have some interesting encounters with some long-term visitors: "Oh yeah, man, I'm gonna go play my sitar after I do some yoga . . . "

From Rishikesh I headed back up into the mountains. I took a bus as a far up as I could go, and there found myself at a place only a few miles hike from excellent skiing, so I ended up spending a little less than a week skiing. I hadn't skiied in about four years, but it came back pretty quickly, and so I had a lot of fun being up there alone. I wasn't alone alone-- I hired a guide to take me to the place-- but as my "guide" basically couldn't ski I was the only one skiing. The hiking up was quite a bit of work, but it made me appreciate the descent and anyhow at a lift access resort it's a novelty to find some fresh snow, the only tracks I ever crossed were my own from earlier. The place itself was just a wonderland of rolling, snow covered hills. After making a day trip the first time, I went in for four days, spending three nights in the huts used by cow herdsman and their cattle in the summertime when the rolling hills are covered in grass. One of the more interesting bits of this was that my guide spoke barely any English at all (and I still know almost no Hindi), so communication was at first difficult. But the longer we stayed the more we communicated in a way that we understood each other, to the point that towards the end it was surprising to me when we're unable to communicate some point to one another. Anyhow, this place--Dayara, it's called-- is set to become a developed ski resort shortly, so I'm quite happy to have had the place to myself as such. My time up there was so unlike most days in India-- absolutely quiet, not a person to be seen.

From there it was back to Delhi. I met up with my rafting buddies one last time before their departure to Thailand one day, Dom (the Australian who I had met in Amritsar) the next, and the day after that Ashley arrived. Since then we've visited Agra to pay the requisite visit to the Taj Mahal (it really is that good), and we're now in Varanasi, famous for drawing gagillions of Hindu pilgrims to bathe in and/or cremate their deceased loved ones on this section of the Ganges. In the West no one mentions this place without talking about how dirty the water is. Though I have no doubt it is quite polluted, it doesn't appear nearly as unpleasant as I was led to believe it might. Anyhow, it's hardly worth focusing on too much once here-- there's just so much to see: every kind of Hindu ritual, innumerable temples, an old city with an absolute maze of narrow alleyways. Tonight we travel to Calcutta, and from there we go to volunteer with Dakshinayan. After the 20th I'll be more or less out of touch for the next 3-4 weeks.

So that's what I've been doing . . . bye for now!

--Josh