High up in the rarefied air of the Ladakhi Himalayas there exists a band of heroes, courageous men and women who spend their day fighting a tireless fight. I’m not referring to the sturdy troops of India’s army who keep vigil over the Kashmir/Pakistan borders,  nor am I referring to the superhuman endurance of the road builders splitting rocks by hand and boiling tar in a futile effort to keep passable roads against the overwhelming forces of gravity and erosion.

No this league of superheroes I refer to has taken upon themselves the thankless job of policing good fashion and spreading mirth among the grim and beleaguered men who must protect and maintain the highest road in the world. Operating at elevations above 18000ft these mysterious superheroes employ their superhuman fashion sense and disbelief in helmets to inspire WTF moments amidst the dreary eyed men working the roof of the world.

Tags: India, heors, himalaya, india, Ladakh, Mountian bike

Life on the road sometimes seems like a continuous string of hellos and goodbyes. New people and places drift in and out of life each day under their own momentum.  It’s surprising how easily friendships can form amidst this constant flow.  Strangers can become your constant companions for days on end and in the span of an Asian bus ride you may make a lifelong friend.  Sometimes just finding someone that can speak your language creates an unusually strong bond among strangers in a strange place.  The allure of each new place for me has become the lives that will intersect with mine, often for the most random of reasons. Whether locals or other foreigners, people I can speak with, or just new pantomime friends who can’t understand each other’s words, the personalities make the magic of place.

This magic has a price and with the thrill of each new friend there is an inevitable goodbye.  Departures are an inevitable yin to the yang of new friends on the road and with this certainty has developed an unspoken etiquette, the etiquette of the traveler’s goodbye.  This etiquette follows a protocol which is careful never to dwell on the future or the reality of ever meeting again.  Travelers simply wish a safe journey and leave the question of future open. It’s just bad form to put some ending punctuation to these new friendships.  Over months the ritual can become a routine, each time the words exchanged become more brief and the parting of ways more hasty.  Practice teaches you not to look back, don’t linger on train platforms, and a silent smile is better than letting hollow promises and unlikely obligations cloud the air.

Occasionally you meet someone, a kindred spirit that creates such a deep impression that you know the parting will leave a hollow space that will not likely be filled by the next stranger on a train.  Sometimes it only takes a few hours, some times a connection is built over weeks exploring strange new places together.  It’s not up to us to decide these things, fate chooses.  Sometimes fate decides to light a spark, to reveal the adventure in someone else’s soul, allowing a peak into their dreams, their potential, their history, their future. Fate can place a personal gravity between two people that will always draw them back together no matter time or distance. Unfortunately fate’s sense of humor can often seem cruel when she makes these chance encounters all too short and the future all too uncertain.

So it is with a heavy heart that I prepare to make another goodbye, but somehow a parting smile and some brief well wishes will not suffice.  This seems like the hardest departure yet and I risk tempting fate’s humor, but I must share more than a few words of fondness. For this new friend she got deep inside my head and my heart. While she was teaching me so many lessons she also managed to steal her way into my life in ways I never expected. I wish I could linger longer with her, listen again to the ancient secrets she shared and explore those places she keeps hidden below her chaotic exterior.  I would like to give in once last time to the temptations she promises if I stay for just one more night train ride.  Yet we both know this can not to be, she has asked me to leave.  Although she promises to welcome me back after a few months apart, we both know that time and the forces of the west may keep us apart much longer.

I will not soon forget our experiences together; nights in the mud huts of small villages, sleeping in desert dunes under the stars, floating silently in the backwaters of Kerala, jostling our way through unimaginably crowded cities, jumping off of mountains, drinking countless warm beers, hours and hours of bone jarring rides across the Himalayas, heat that could melt your will to live, rains that could wash away whole cows, dark alleyways full of surprises, trains that could be 4, 6, or 20 hours late, customs officials that are more crooked than the roads, lions in the jungle, motorcycle rides through monsoon rains, seeing Mr. D. Lama, starting (and leaving) 3 new businesses behind, accidentally finding a wild cobra, the boat builders of Gujarat,  etc.,  etc.  All of this will live in my memory as long as I have one, but the most valuable things are not what we did together but what she taught me.

She taught me a patience I never had known before and a way to speak to the monkeys in my head, though I’m still not able to quiet them down.

She taught me that hope and a smile are the most valuable assets amid dire circumstances.

I learned dignity and pride are just superficial fashion for the rich, for the poor it is often their only possession. The poor are truly the best teachers of how to keep a balance

She taught me that without the pursuit of love and when affection is reserved only for the Bollywood screen, life will make you strong, stable, and committed, but boiling under the surface.

I’ll miss the way she could spin my head in circles some days until I couldn’t quite remember who I was and only then choose to reveal one of her many secrets to me.

She so readily communicated to me in my own language even when she knew I would remain forever illiterate in her many tongues.

She taught me to be a vegetarian for months on end, and of course fueled a deeper craving for bacon.

For all this I thank you India!

You taught me ways to live a better life. I thought my mind was open until you showed me your secrets. What’s more you opened my heart when I didn’t realize it had been closed for so long. Such unusual feelings you brought back, ones not easily or often awakened in me have found voices again. Creeping passed all the walls I put between us you managed to stir yourself into my blood.  No western transfusion will quiet my now wakened heart.

I have seen your wicked ways as well; choosing to caste people, breaking a human spirit with an untouchable status, and policing yourself with a force of legitimized thieves.  I have seen you struggle to change yourself with modern infrastructure, elections, and even a new generation of youth who marries for love.  While all of these experiments seem like awkward blemishes on your features at the moment I beg you to be patient.  You are a youth, sprung from an ancient and complex history and in time you will find a comfortable harmony.  That harmony I’m sure will be an example to the world.

You warned me from the beginning not too fall too deep under your spell for we only had 6 months together, but in the end my western confidence made me fall for your charms all that much more. You were my first subcontinent and your earthy smells and saffron scent have permeated my thoughts. I will never be the same.

I can’t help but wonder if months down the road I won’t find myself making unnecessary calls to technical support lines and reservation desks knowing my call will be routed to you.  Thinking I might catch some brief news of you, how you are doing since we parted, picturing your head bobbling as we speak from across oceans.  Hoping you might ask how I am doing, though I know it will only be part of a well rehearsed script. Yet I will still be eager for you to slip out of the professional etiquette and ask “What is your good name sir?” and “From which country you are calling?”  “Oh, you are calling from Amedica…very fine country sir.”  Then we might relax into our old selves and share a chai across the phone.

Well, until we meet again daydreams and distractions will have to do.  If only there was some substitute, some enchanting sister of yours that could keep me occupied until we meet again.  Hmmmm…Oh hello there Nepal.

Farewell India…

Ji Mata Di

Tags: India, friends, lessons, travel

You never eat alone in India.  Even if you enter a restaurant by yourself, sit by yourself, remove all other chairs form your table, and pretend to be mute, you will still have company.   It was during one such meal that I gained the company of an older Indian man I judged to be in his sixties.  The man had graying hair, a full beard, and that burning Indian curiosity toward foreigners.  He decided to join my table after watching me drop tika masala all down the front of my shirt ( I still haven’t mastered eating with my hands).  I was finishing my meal and about to enjoy an almost cold Kingfisher when he sat down across from me.  I knew it was useless to hint that I just wanted to quietly enjoy my beer, so I just bobbled my head as a greeting without saying anything.  I assumed we would have one of 6 conversations that the local street folk like to use on tourists and then he would ask me for some money, my pen, my notebook, or maybe all three.  I never suspected this man would hold the key to my inner peace.

 

Our initial conversation involved the usual pleasantries and background info.  We discussed India’s upcoming election, my job, was I married, where had I visited in India so far, why wasn’t I married, what did I think of Obama, when would I be getting married,  What did I think of India,  was my mother sad that I wasn’t married,  on and on for a bit.  I chose to answer the India questions only.  When I mentioned a desire to visit Dharamsala (the Dali Lama’s home in exile) my new friend asked if I was going trekking or to meditate?  I said trekking, but I might meditate if the opportunity presents itself.  My new companion proceeded to explain he was a meditation guru.  Normally I would have dismissed this as a common claim among India men (they are all gurus of something), but my ignorance of meditation made me keep my mouth shut for once.

 I was intrigued by the idea of meditation, after all there must be something to the whole practice considering the number of people that swear by it.  So I continued to listen to this self professed guru with a relatively open mind.  The doors of possibility began to swing shut as he mentioned a typical “Intro to Buddhist meditation” course at a monastery generally involves 10 days.  Most of these 10 days are to be spent sitting absolutely still without speaking.  Intriguing yes, …in the realm of possibilities for me…no.  I can barely sit still long enough to eat a meal, the thought of trying to sustain motionless silence for hours each day, for 10 days was laughable. Restlessness is in my nature and I long ago gave up fighting it. 

 I felt the need to mention this restlessness and further qualify the chances of me sitting still and quiet for 10 days.  I explained to the guru that this was about as likely as one of the nearby street cows bringing me a cold beer.  The man’s reaction was to turn his head to the street and ask me in a rather matter-of-fact tone, “which cow?”  His reaction and confidence in all things being possible made me laugh so I played along.  I suggested the big bull in the bunch would be best and least likely to spill the beer negotiating his way through the traffic.   He turned back to face me with his head bobbling and swaying in common Indian fashion and said, “I think you are right the bull would be the best.”   I told him the idea of a street cow bringing me a cold beer did make the meditation effort more tempting, but it was still very unlikely. There was a pause and then the man said something that made me truly believe he was a guru.  His words made me feel that he had peered deep into my being and found a truth which no one had ever put into words before. 

 He said “You must quiet your mental monkeys before such a journey is possible for you.”  After a pause he continued “Now your monkeys are running around making a lot of noise. You must calm them so that you can sit at peace and cool your heart.”   

 I was completely caught off guard and astonished. Could he hear the monkeys?  Did he have a special vision which allowed him to see within the confines of my skull and observe these monkeys running amuck?   I was shocked, speechless, relieved, and awed all in the same moment.  It was as if he knew me better than anyone I had ever met.   I was transformed into and instant believer.  Questions were flooding into my head. I wanted to know how many monkeys there were. I suspected 3, but couldn’t get a good count.  How many of my actions were these monkeys controlling?  Can these monkeys see us?  Who likes beer more, me or the monkeys?  Is one of the monkeys dressed like a pirate?  I had so many questions, but I didn’t want to alarm the monkeys or draw their attention to the fact we where talking about them. 

 I struggled to remain calm and asked the most burning question of all, “How does one calm these mental monkeys?”  I couldn’t wait for the answer, I was staring at him with an urgency that would have knocked most people off their chair. “How?” I asked again eagerly.  Like any great guru about to impart wisdom he had paused again for effect.  The seconds seemed like an eternity, there I was about to have a life changing moment and he was stroking his mustache in silence.  I was beginning to get concerned, what if the monkeys got wind of the plans to quiet them?   They were inside my head and could wreak a lot of havoc if they disapproved of being “quieted”.

 Finally he spoke, “Monkeys are a curious animal and you must capture their attention before you can quiet them.” 

 I immediately had visions of shoving bananas into my ears.  The thought was uncomfortable but if my new guru suggested it I would do it (using small Asian bananas of course).  I started to wonder if maybe I could draw them out by just holding the bananas close to my ears.  My new guru’s inability to spit out a quick and definite answer was killing me. 

 “ It is not an easy thing to do, it will take much patience and practice and study, your monkeys are loud.”  He said.

 “Damn it man! There must be another way.  Think!  If I had any patience then I wouldn’t need to quiet the monkeys. Can’t you consult some books or stones or charts or something for an alternate method?  Preferably a quick fix? “  

 Well it seemed my new guru was amused by taunting me with cryptic and vague answers.  He suggested we discuss it again some time later and I reluctantly had to agree.  We both feared the possibility of exciting or angering the monkeys. 

 I would have to take comfort in the fact that I had confirmed identification of what it was running around up there. For years I feared it was squirrels, but was somewhat relieved to know it was in fact monkeys.  If they had opposable thumbs I figured at least I could reason with them.  From now on I will sleep with one eye open and bananas on the pillow waiting for the monkeys to come out… then I’ll get ‘em.

 

Epilogue

I was never to meet my one true guru again.  When I returned the next day to the exact spot of my promised enlightenment I found myself waiting in vain, though not alone of course thanks to the curiosity of the street people of India.

 It should be no surprise to anyone visiting India that countless guru’s are available to help assemble one’s own á la carte spiritualism and life philosophy.  My own spiritual well is wider than it is deep so I can certainly appreciate a pick and choose approach. I think I’ll mix a little Buddhism here, a dash of Hinduism there, a touch of Christian redemption, certainly a smattering of hedonism, and a bit of voodoo just to make the souvenirs in the temple’s gift shop more interesting.  

 An aimless life of travel and leisure can be tough on ones soul, so I welcome the opportunity to be born again through the vast knowledge of India’s gurus. I will emerge as a new me, a better me, I’ll call this person Spiritual Pete.  Spiritual Pete will get some fancy new clothes and invent some new head garb, the likes of which has yet to be seen in India.  Spiritual Pete will be the guru of his own new philosophy and of course have the answers for everything. Best of all my new found spiritualism will be the perfect justification for continuing to do all the things I already do.

Tags: India, guru, meditation, monkeys

I admit I have been quite remise in my blog posting from India, mostly because my hands have been busy picking my jaw up off the ground seeing the daily street scenes of India.  Fear not though, the spirit of India’s chaotic street circus is well documented by new friend Laurenne.  Laurenne has quite a talent for plying words to match her hilarious and sarcastic sense of humor.    So if you would like a break from my rambling posts and want to see what a real writer can do with words check out her blog  

http://humansarefunny.blogspot.com/

 A word of caution to those sensitive, politically correct types, this blog uses some language that you might not want plastered on your screen during a business meeting. Laurenne is a woman with the courage and skill to write her inner monologue for our entertainment.  Laugh, enjoy, and occasionally find yourself thinking wow I can’t believe she said that.

Cheers Laurenne,  may your dissection of humanities absurdity continue back home in the good old U.S of A.  

Tags: India, friends, funny, writer

Somewhere in a small office in a basement of some ministry building in Delhi there is a person in charge of writing the humorous road signs found all over India’s highways. These signs I believe are intended as cautionary reminders for safety, I find they often have me staring and laughing so much that I’ve nearly crashed my bike into the back end of a few cows. I included are a few pictures of the signs and a list of some of my favorite sayings:

If you want a happy marriage then divorce speed.

 Stop gossiping and let him drive.

 Better to be Mr. Late than to be Late Mr.

Speed is not for thrills. Speed kills.

Tags: India, funny, highways, road, signs

The over photographed over touristed, Taj Mahal wasn’t that high on my list of places to visit in India. Luckily Laurenne had a few ideas to keep it fun.

Tags: India, Mahal, mosque, Taj, tourist

A few years back there was an incident in which a young woman in the prime of her 20’s walked out of an unlit porta-potty (a portable outdoor toilet) and exclaimed how pleasant it was these “new” porta-potties had small sinks installed next to the toilet. Even though the smell was a bit unbearable inside she was happy she had been able to wash her hands before exiting. The young woman’s friends, who had just availed themselves of the facilities themselves, turned to her with a look of shock. The shock quickly turned to disturbed laughter as it was explained to the young woman that there were no sinks in these porta-potties they were in fact urinals. Whatever substance she had just bathed her hands in was most certainly not tap water. Disbelief and denial was her reaction, but it was on that day that she knew she had crossed a line, a very dirty line, from which she could never return. No amount of soap, Purell, or caustic acid could ever unsoil her after such an incident. I credit my brother Skip with first realizing that this young woman had just joined the ranks of a notorious society. A society which must, for the good of the public, be labeled. Thus the Permanently Unclean Club was founded.

Over the years I have witnessed several more inductions into this modern day untouchable society, some more ghastly, some less than that of our charter member. For obvious reasons the members of this society prefer to remain anonymous and bear their shame in private so I can not give you any details of the constituents. What I can say is that the ranks are much larger than you might suspect and one should always look deep into the eyes of a stranger before shaking hands. I myself can no longer deny my membership, after a year of travel in Asia it is just not statistically possible to have avoided induction. The cities, towns, and villages of Asia are frought with innumerable possibilities for befoulment.

So as the public face of this society I take it upon myself to inform current members (you know who you are) and the general public that we have a new president. Her name I can not say (quite literally, I keep screwing it up), but we will just refer to her as the tarnished Ms L. Like so many of our unfortunate members  Ms. L’s cleanliness was stripped from her in the blossom of her twenties. She will never know the light hearted gaiety of turning 30 untainted. What makes this tale all the more tragic was that her case was preventable. With a modicum of common sense, or any remaining shred of western hygiene she could have avoided her fate. Sadly Ms. L had been traveling in Asia for too long. Her eagerness to participate in local customs and the realities of India’s public places had muted the inner voice of western hygiene.

She bathed in the Ganges River in Varanasi!

For those unfamiliar with the Ganges, it is said to be India’s holiest of rivers. A place scared in the Hindu religion where one’s bad karma can be washed free and the cycle of rebirth and atonement can be broken. It is said that bathing in the Ganges cleanses the soul and can return one to a spiritual innocence. The unfortunate reality of the Ganges is that it lies downstream of millions of people for whom it is a sewer. The local conditions and practices in Varanasi only add to the grim reality. The scene at the bathing ghats in Varanasi is quite unbelievable. People dumping trash, washing buffalos, relieving themselves from both directions, brushing their teeth, washing their hair, washing their clothes and swimming. All this happens side by side, simultaneously, day after day. For those brave enough to look carefully along the edges of the river, the floating corpses of the unfortunate souls who could not afford to be burned on a proper funeral pyre can also be seen bobbing along.

It is in this spiritual stew that Ms. L sought renewal. Her spiritual desires overcame her common sense. In the auspicious moments after the recent solar eclipse she darkened her body in this murk in an effort to reveal some inner light. Side by side with thousands of pilgrims, toe to toe in the gray-brown gravy of the Ganges the Tarnished Ms. L. bathed away her long months of travel and emerged as the new president of the Permanently Unclean Club.

So long to L.M.S., a flower of a girl who once smelled like soap and the body lotions of the west. All hail our new president.

Condolences to the passengers who had to sit beside Ms. L on her long transatlantic flight home.

Tags: India, club, Unclean