India Journal: Can You Give Me a Lift?

Can we say tight squeeze when they all decide to leave?

The photo to the left shows the--shall we call it street?--leading to our house. In fact, it's part street, part parking lot, part junkyard (more on that in another post), and part bazaar. Since it runs next to the zoo and museum, it's a very popular place for lots and lots of tour buses. The problem is, it gets a bit crowded. 

The other day, as our driver turned down the street to complete the remainder of the drive to take the Guru and I home, we encountered a number of buses wanting to leave. This creates a situation of slow-motion pandemonium, with vehicles trying to go in and out of the narrow passage way. Remember: auto rickshaws and motorcycles fill any available gap in any traffic snarl, leaving no unoccupied space. 
  
We faced a looming bus and moved to the left (another vestige of the Brits). We inched and the bus inched, until, finally, we could inch no further. Then bus inched some more. I looked out the window of our nice but very small car to find I could just about stick my tongue out the window and lick the side of the bus. However, I had no desire to do so; quite the opposite. In fact, I began feeling claustrophobic. I suggested to C that we exit; she agreed. We did so and then began the convocation. 

Any attempt to maneuver a car, or almost any other public action, draws a crowd (of men) in India. Indeed, our driver had earlier tried to follow the crowd-sourcing advice only to find our car now lodged under the wheel well of the much higher bus. How the hell, I thought, are we going to get out of this without a lot of metal on metal scraping? Then, before my despair could sink in, and with a flood of cascading syllables that mark the Malayalam language, a group of men literally lifted the rear-end of our car and moved it the the left (even further), far enough to get it out from under the wheel well and allow the bus to pass. Well, continue to inch forward into the next jam.  

The Guru and I got back in, and completed the remainder of the ride to our building, to which we could have walked and saved ourselves 10 minutes, but we would have missed the new meaning of "Hey, can you give me a lift?".

India Journal: Biting (and Unappetizing) News

Iowa Guru & I receive The Hindu delivered to our door. It's one of the better papers in India. After perusing the front page with its photos of politicians, alphabet soup of agencies and parties, and court cases (I think Indians much more litigious than Americans), I turn to page 3 for the local news. 

On one side I saw that a rabid dog here in TRV bit 13 people plus a number of other dogs. The accompanying photo showed dog catchers in action--after the fact. I hadn't seen many stray dogs here in TRV, unlike Jaipur, where I saw many, including some packs that made me nervous. (They, however, never bothered me.) The dogs in Jaipur tended to docility, to put it mildly. They often slept by day (looking quite dead) and caroused at night. Well, here in our neighborhood, we haven't seen many dogs, so that's a good sign. 

On the other side of page 3 I read an article about a typhoid outbreak here in town. Health officials blamed it on unsanitary conditions on restaurants. Nasty. Fortunately, IG is pretty careful about where we eat; on the other hand, the place we intended to go yesterday was closed down "for inspection". Perhaps we dodged a bullet. I worry abit because in my second year in India I've become a bit more bold. 

 

I wouldn't even think of a drinking something, but the deep-fried goodness down the road tempts me beyond my resistence

Just a short way from our apartment, around the zoo and museum park, are a number of food vendors. I've tried some deep-fried goodies, one of which I now refer to as "atomic meteors", which I find pretty tasty. Atomic meteors are like giant balls of onion ring goodness with some chilli powder added to achieve the appropriate radioactive glow. Round and jagged in shape, they look like small meteors and taste like heaven. So health-worker types, am I safe with deep-fried (on-site) goodies?  (Wrapped in newspaper, of course). 

Okay, I'm starting to lose my appetite and believe that I don't like dogs. I'd better stop. 

India Journal: A Room with a View (Apologies to E.M. Forster)

It's time to get back blogging. Since my last blogs from India I've covered a great deal of territory, seen some amazing things, and, fortunately, I've had a fine time doing it. There are certainly downsides to the traveling life and living abroad, but on the whole, it continues to prove a worthwhile experience. 

I took this photo from our hotel room window here in Calicut. If you've seen the Merchant-Ivory film production of Forster's novel, A Room with a View, you'll understand the need for my apology. A beautiful view this is not. But it is a typical view. 

From this photo taken from our hotel room (located on the main road in the city), you see a vacant lot, motorcycles under a tent, litter and trash spread all around, an unfinished building (right side), junk here and there, and shops. India has lots and lots of shops. Sometimes I think of India (in my more downbeat moments) as hundreds of millions of people (one billion & some change), millions of motorcycles, and millions of shops. (Some visible on the far side of the photo.)

Right now, as I look out the window, I see two police officers peeing onto a fence. Usually it's a wall, but sometimes you have to make do. 

Now I must make my India disclaimer: anything I observe or state about India can be contradicted by evidence that usually appears within a stone's throw. Our hotel, for instance, is good enough, and the food is well prepared and tasty. Some of India consists of modern malls with nice restrooms. India is everything at once, huge and diverse in ways that are still hard to grasp with more than a year here. 

So, it's one room with one view. And there are a billion more. 

In Motion: The Experience of Travel by Tony Hiss

 

In Motion: The Experience of Travel by Tony Hiss defies classification. Ostensibly it’s about travel, and it is, especially about what Hiss dubs “Deep Travel”. But Hiss is a talented writer and has an inquiring mind such that his book works much like Montaigne’s Essays: wandering here and there around a common theme. In some authors, of course, this can prove irksome and off-putting, but in this book, I gladly found myself following Hiss’s detours and by-ways as we explored Deep Travel.

Hiss doesn’t ever definitely define Deep Travel, but this is another potential defect that signals that the search is still underway. As a preliminary, we can say that Deep Travel is that journey, around the corner or around the world, that alters our consciousness. Our mind, in its structures and perceptions, alters as we face a new landscape. Thus, while walking home during the 2003 NYC blackout, the familiar hyper-city of NY changes without the flow of electricity, and Hiss experiences views and perspectives that he’d never encountered before. He also draws on the work of others, such as Patrick Leigh Fermor, whose meditation from a bridge crossing a river in the Balkans provides a verbal portrait of this same type of experience. Hiss transitions from experiences of travel as such into psychology, beginning with the great fountainhead of American psychology, William James, and then drawing upon the more recent insights of the late Edward S. Reed, an “ecological psychologist”. Indeed, a list of psychologists, anthropologist, paleontologists, and other writers and thinkers could go on for some length. Hiss explores here and there ideas as they occur to him. Hiss uses places with similar abandon for launching his insights: New Jersey swamps, NYC streets, Balkan Rivers, the primeval African savannah: so many references to place and ideas makes this into a buffet of ideas.

A lot of the latter part of the book concerns human origins and how we developed our brains that allows the psychology of Deep Travel to develop. Hiss argues that along with concentrated attention, daydreaming, and flow, humans developed a “wide-angle awareness” that allows us to scan and consider our environment with the use of our bi-pedal stance and stereoscopic vision. He relates this to the way cats can leisurely pause to wait for prey to place themselves in a position of exposure; that is, not ready to pounce and not indifferent, but widely alert, something called SMR (sensorimotor rhythm). (EEG leads on cat skulls first gave us this insight—I love the image.) One riff that Hiss takes on this is that exploring for knowledge, such as of place, has a built-in pleasure reward (like sex and food) that promotes such behavior.

It’s difficult to review this work because its ideas are so many and diverse as they array around this general topic. For some, this is a hindrance (see William Dalrymple’s critique in his NYT review), but for me, with Montaigne as a model and sufficient rewards for following Hiss’s curiosity, I really enjoyed the book. I highly recommend it to anyone who has the curiosity to follow him around in this journey of a book—and who has a yen to experience Deep Travel.

Cross-posted in SNG Thoughts blog

Reflections on Puebla, Mexico

C and I arrived in Puebla late at night about 10 days ago, and after hitting the bed early, we awoke to explore Puebla, a city of about 4 million located about 2 hours drive from Mexico City. We stayed in a monastery converted into a hotel (common on Latin America) in the old town, the centro. Walking down narrow stone streets and sidewalks, we quickly found the zocolo, or town square, with the cathedral on one side and the palacio municipal on the other as one expects in old colonial cities so that the sacred and secular authorities could keep an eye on each other.

But the traditional look and architecture, at once familiar and yet still new to us, did not make so great an impression as the liveliness of the city and its people. We spent a good time in and around the zocolo, from late morning to late at night, and it teemed with people virtually all hours of the day: children playing with balloons or balls, families strolling, players performing, and young couples huddling. The public space seemed ideal. The police were present, but not obtrusive, and never in our time did we see or hear of any violence or disturbance. (Persons using loudspeakers, especially during what appeared to be a political protest, we’re the greatest bother that we encounter. Few, if any, should be ever granted access to a loudspeaker.) Around the zocolo restaurants and shops pulled people in for daily needs and more opportunities to talk, eat, and hang out. The side streets contained small shops and well as street vendors (everything from books to shawls to paintings to old everythings). We even found a Woolworth(‘s) store, from which C picked up some items. How could we resist? (We both have primal memories of the wood-floored Woolworth’s of our youth on main street in Shenandoah).

C, who has been to Puebla twice before, tantalized me in advance with the claim that it is the gastronomical capital of Mexico. Based on what she brought back in the way of new recipes from her cooking classes there last year, I was an easy sell. Puebla lived up to its billing. In fact, our hotel in the centro, Maison de Sacristia, includes the restaurant where she took her lessons. The food there was out of sight. Muy rico, muy sobroso, muy delicioso! We enjoyed another couple of high-end places as well (including an Argentinian steak house to mix it up a bit), but on the other end of the spectrum, we went to a small tacqueria arrabe near the zocolo filled with locals. Wow! For a few bucks we had some great tacos, a side of onions (for me only,) and carne en queso. Yum! If Puebla has a challenger for better food in Mexico, please don’t take me there, I’m afraid I’d blow-up a la Monty Python.

After about three days staying in the centro at Sacristia, we moved to the edge of town, which was deemed better for getting C to and from her workshops. It was a modern hotel with nice amenities, but perhaps the best amenity was that on the 7th floor we could see the world around us, which included mountains and volcano s.(As perhaps a remnant of when our remotest ancestors evolved on the African savannah, one thing that bothers me about old cities such as those of Latin America are the narrow streets and uniform buildings that cut off views of the horizon and other signals of place, leaving one a sense of uncertainty about one’s greater surroundings, ameliorated somewhat by the careful grid upon which the streets are laid out.)  

As mornings in Puebla were clear, crisp, and sunny, we had excellent view of the volcano Popocatepetl (Popo), a  magnificent site, similar to Mt. Rainier near  Seattle (which can prove a real phantom for occasional visitors like me.) During our trip to nearby Chalupa on Saturday, and on our trip here to Metepec, Popo put on a show. Saturday it raised a huge plume of smoke and ash into the air, and on Sunday as we traveled past it we saw clouds and ash shrouding the peak in a manner that I imagine Mt. Sinai was shrouded when Moses went there to meet with God. As a sight it awesome and magnificent.

Puebla lies at about 7,000 feet above sea level on a plain. The crisp, sunny early mornings are followed in the afternoon by a build up of clouds (which we could see rolling in from our 7th story room) that resulted in some rain in the later afternoon or evening. Interestingly, it never seemed to empty the centro or zocolo, which remained vibrant regardless. The streets were clean and well-maintained. This part of Mexico, at least, seems reasonably prosperous and well-governed.

I’ll have more to report in further posts, but I can say that Puebla was a real treat, and if you have a chance to visit, do it.

A Review of 80 Questions About India by Murad Ali Baig

Can your questions about India be answered in 80 questions? How about the same number of questions as the total number of Hindu deities (which I understand, by one count, to number 330,000)? Thus, while 80 questions may seem inadequate, it provides a good start. 

Unlike many fine books that deal with contemporary India, Baig’s book starts at the beginning—the beginning  of humanity. Thus, we get deep history. If this seems excessive, you’ll have to understand that Baig has really written two books in one. The one deals specifically with the long and complex history of India. The other deals with religion in general and the role of changes in religion over time. Baig notes that the simple spiritualties morph into complex, exploitive organizations dominated by a priestly class. This plays out in India especially, as a priestly class (Brahmins) come to dominate Hinduism. India also contains Buddhism, Islam, Sikhism, and Christianity, each revealing rather simple origins that transform into more complex and often oppressive organizations. During this transformation spirituality suffers, Baig argues. 

Baig goes into deep history because it bears upon India today. The caste system, officially abolished, still lingers as an underlying attitude across a great deal of society. Resentment of “conquerors”, outsiders, and others perceived as aliens, propels the Hindutva movement, which promotes India for Hindus (to the exclusion of millions of Muslims and others). Baig’s work exemplifies Faulkner’s observation that “the past is never dead. It’s never really past.” 

For those interested in a deeper appreciation of India’s past, beyond the issues of contemporary economic growth and social change (but very relevant to these issues), Baig’s book is a welcome guide. Even-handed, judicious, and well researched, it’s an excellent addition to anyone’s quest to understand the enormity of India.

Book Review: The Case of the Man Who Died Laughting: From the Files of Vish Puri, Most Private Investigator by Tarquin Hall

He’s done it again. 

Targquin Hall has written another clever and entertaining detective novel that, in addition to the inherent pleasures of a well-conceived detective novel, also shines a bright flashlight on the enigma of India. In my review of an earlier book (The Case of the Deadly Butter Chicken), I said a lot about Hall and his project, and I have a hard time adding anything new to those insights, so this review will be short. However, do not take away from the brevity of my review that the book lacks. A book that delves into Delhi, gurus, magic, “kitty parties”, family relations, and the whole tangle that is contemporary India so deftly deserves high praise. Highly recommended for insight and fun.