On the Road Again

A few updates . . .

I finished marking my exams. I was very careful with my score totalling so as to avoid reinforcing the stereotype that Americans cannot add. Gotta represent . . .

We've moved out of our apartment. All the borrowed items (and our beloved DSL) have been returned.

We've left Chandigarh. It was harder than you might imagine to leave behind a place we've called home for four months, and people who've loved us and treated us like family.

We're on the road. (Or will be in the air, rather). We're spending our last week in India in the extreme southern state of Kerala on the west coast. We'll be relaxing on the beach, visiting tea plantations, stalking the unpredictable Indian elephant, and enjoying a backwater cruise on a houseboat (actually, a converted rice barge). We'll also be generally trying to forget how much we're missing at home with family and friends and the holiday right now.


We'll be checking email and updating if we can. If we don't get another chance, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! We'll be back in Washington (if they let us board the plane with luggage weighing twice as much as we do) on the evening of the 30th. Make it your resolution now to check back for updates.

Miss you all!
Jen

Turbanized

Having lived in a foreign country for almost 4 months now, we’ve realized that there are just as many misconceptions about Americans by Indians as there are of Indians by Americans. For example, at most every social occasion, questioning guests are always stunned to find out that we don’t drink alcohol or smoke. “But we thought all Americans drank and smoke!” is the usual sentiment.

Likewise, the image of India that I grew up with as a child was one of turban-wearing snake charmers and ornately pierced women dancing around all the time. Maturity, education and experience have broadened my picture of India and has (thankfully) prevented me from making stupid remarks like, “Where’s your pet cobra and jingling wife? I thought all Indians were charmers and dancers!”

Cultural understanding is one of the primary reasons for being here on the Fulbright Teacher Exchange in the first place and learning about India and her people firsthand has been both enlightening and unexpectedly fun.

Here’s what I mean.

We were again invited the other evening to have dinner with the family of Inderpreet, Jen’s exchange teacher. Our times with her family have always been enjoyable (See Tambola, Yes!) After getting introduced to more of her family for the first time, I realized that I was the only man in the house who wasn’t wearing a turban. I’ve become as accustomed to seeing men with turbans on here in India as I would guys with ball caps on in the States. I don’t give it a second thought. Although where a baseball hat in the U.S. may be worn for warmth, style or to hide baldness, the men I spent the evening with wore head coverings for an entirely different reason – devotion. Inderpreet’s family is Sikh (pronounced 'seek'). Sikhism is the world’s youngest monotheistic religion founded around 500 years ago by Guru Nanak and was carried on by 8 other gurus until the last one declared that the compiled writings of the gurus was the FINAL guru - Guru Granth Sahib - of which we saw when we visited the Golden Temple (See Seeking the Golden Temple).

The last guru also instituted the Khalsa or Pure Order, in which true devotees would be identified by wearing uncut hair, a comb, a sword or dagger, a steel bracelet, and undershorts. Though the turban originally served to neatly contain all of a Sikh's uncut hair, it has been transformed into being a emblem of Sikhism by itself and has surpassed the other symbols in importance. Today, though many Sikhs cut their hair or shave their beard, they still proudly wear a turban (or patka for the younger boys) no matter where they are in the world.

All this to say, my curiosity about the turban and the mens' generosity towards me collided on my head. Before I knew it, I was donning a previously wrapped Sikh turban with the rest of the men. I kept it on throughout dinner as well to enjoy its warmth, lightness and dignified look.


"Danielson . . . wrap on, wrap off."


Topping off the head.


Giving the traditional Sikh greeting, "Sat sri akal!" with the men.

After dinner, Inderpreet's father unwrapped the turban to reveal a thin cloth nearly the size of a bed spread - about 2 meters wide by 5 meters long.


He then quickly rolled and wrapped the sheer cotton blanket around my head in a matter of seconds (which apparantly takes quite a few minutes to make it look right). The lopsided wrap brought some good laughs and I was satisfied to have FINALLY been taught how to tie a turban - even if my hopes of fitting in made me stand out all the more.


If you're interested in the different styles of turbans throughout the world click here.
Feeling brave and want to try it yourself? Give this a clicker.
And finally the history of the turban here in the Old Testament.

Jimmy

Spinning My Wheels: Cycles in India

Like a baby’s first steps, a child’s first tooth and a teen’s first drive, I too experienced a noteworthy milestone of high-fiving proportions.

I bicycled outside my sector.

To appreciate this act of heroism and skill, I need to first explain how traffic works in this beautiful city of nearly 1 million people called Chandigarh. By the planning of the French architect, Le Corbusier, the city is divided into roughly 80 or so “Sectors” which measure 1 km long by ½ km wide. At the corners, and often middles, of where these sectors meet, you’ll find that crazy European invention – the ROUNDABOUT – helping maintain the flow of traffic.

Although there are a few stop lights in Chandigarh (about the same number you’d see in a U.S. town of 10,000), the roundabout is the primary means of directing traffic without having to wait too long. This noisy, clockwise swirl of autos, rickshaws, and bicycles is not for the faint of heart. You’ve got to squeeze your vehicle in there, mere millimeters apart from others, honk (or ring your bell) like crazy, and make your way around to your ejection point without incident. We’ve seen more than a few overturned scooters, bloody faces, and rear-ending occur while “safely” encapsulated in someone’s car. And the traffic just keeps on flowing.

Jen had forbidden me to ride my borrowed HERO bicycle outside the sector for fear that I would get tragically washed out in the roundabout spin cycle. My errand to pick up train tickets required that I travel to Sector 35, our neighboring sector, to visit the travel agent. With my HERO bike and heroic confidence, I found myself flowing seamlessly with the traffic into and around that once feared circular menace.

Jen was so proud…

For being an avid cyclist, it’s been great seeing more than half of the city propel themselves via bi, tri, or quad-cycles, even if I do only spin my wheels in my own neighborhood. So much of everyday life is tied to human-powered cycles.


Everyday, our block is filled with the sing-song sounds of vendors calling out to advertise their goods. Vegetables, fruit, bread and snacks, webbing for beds, pressure-cooker seals, recycling pick-up, brooms, carpets, freshly-squeezed juice, roasted nuts, balloons and much more are peddled and pedaled around each neighborhood.


Cycle rickshaws, complete with convertible tops, are vital people movers here.


There are even rickshaw buses used to carry 8 or so small children to and from school.


The tricycle truck is a mainstay of the local economy and used for hauling anything from garbage and building supplies to refrigerators and shrubbery.



And finally there are the bicycles. I’m fascinated by them. I’ve only seen 2 multi-geared bikes the whole time I’ve been in India. Single speed, durable as a tank, and complete with a rear rack - Indian bicycles are definitely built for function, not speed.


It’s quite common to see one (sometimes two) extra passengers on bikes, sitting side-saddle on the top tube or rear rack or by straddling the rack. There are even tiny seats that attach on the top tube behind the handlebars for small children to sit upon. The idea of helmets and “child safety seats” is as foreign here as cycle rickshaws are in the U.S. I’ve been mentally constructing my own cycle rickshaw/truck design for when I get back in the States, though I have my doubts if it’ll catch on. We’ll see how Jen likes getting cycled to school first... Here she's sittin' side-saddle on the back of my HERO steed coming home from the market.


Along with being the most efficient means of transportation in the world, the bicycle is without doubt, the cooolest.

Jimmy

Seeking The Golden Temple

Yesterday we had the privilege of taking a day trip westward to Amritsar – home of The Golden Temple. Built in 1764, the temple is the holiest shrine of the Sikh religion and houses the Guru Granth Sahib (original book written by the 10 gurus of Sikhism.) The dome of the temple alone is said to be gilded with 1650 lbs of pure gold.


Perched in the middle of the Amrit Sarovar (Pool of Nectar) and accessed by a bridge, the temple drew quite a Sunday crowd of pilgrims and visitors. Some bathed in the pool, which is reported to have once turned a devoted wife's leper husband into a healed, handsome young man.


To even enter the complex, we were required to leave our shoes outside, cover our heads with scarves, wash our hands, and walk through a warm puddle of water to wash our feet. Once inside the courtyard, we could experience the echoing peacefulness of the melodic chants from the priests and delight in the vibrant colors of turbans, dupattas and scarves.


We were thankful to have our neighbor and friend, Captain T.P. Singh, as our guide and navigator through all lines. Below a pilgrim reads and meditates on writings of the Gurus.


After seeing the Golden Temple, we visited the memorial at Jallianwala Bagh for the 2000 un-armed Indians who were killed and wounded in 1919 by British General Dyer and his troops. This massacre served as a major landmark in India's fight for Independence (it is depicted in the 1982 film "Ghandi".)



A short ride from Amritsar took us to the Wagah Border - the famed border between Pakistan and India known for its spectacular and dramatic flag lowering ceremony. Just waiting "in-line" for the gate to open to walk to the official gate meant that we played Sardines with about 300 anxious patriots for half an hour - bodies pressed close enough to each other to feel the other guy’s lungs expand and contract, smell the baby’s wet pants, see all curious eyes stare at your foreign self, hope your shoes weren't untied...


When the gates were finally opened, the crowd surged forward as if their team had won the World Cup - all to get a good seat for the show. Luckily we avoided being trampled and still found a fine view. It’s certainly a full-sensory experience.


Every day at sunset, the India and Pakistani border guards perform a ceremony full of marching, national pride, and synchronised flag-lowering in which the flags cross paths and are never higher than one another.


Perhaps if you mix a high school homecoming pep rally, precision military marching, and over-dramatic acting together, you'll have a pretty good idea of what we experienced. Just 50 yards away, a crowd of Pakistanis also gathered for the occasion.


It was surreal to look through the heavily guarded barbed wire fences to see both land and faces that looked nearly identical to what was on the Indian side. To know that the guards from each side practice their crowd pleasing routines together despite what happens elsewhere along their borders brings me hope that one day it won't have to be an act that two countries can get along. It's a start, and a closely watched one at that.

Jimmy

Aryan

I’ve been really blessed to develop some great friendships with a handful of the ladies I work with at school. These are the women I’ll keep in contact with, that I’ll beg to come and visit me, and hope to visit again someday. But oddly enough, the two people I think I might miss most can’t even write full sentences or pronounce my name.

It all started when I had to find a way to fill the tail end of my days here at school. I have a pretty light teaching schedule. The administration wanted to keep me available for substitutions, guest teaching periods, and other activities befitting my bizarre pseudo-celebrity status. But those obligations leave me free most afternoons. A couple of months ago, I began retreating to the library to do some writing on one of the two available computers. I generally think of writing as a way to excuse my solitary, anti-social tendencies, but something surprising happened as I sat at the keyboard day after day.

I made some friends.


Aryan is five years old, Vasundhara is four, and their father is the assistant librarian here at the school. Because the junior classes finish an hour and a half earlier than the other students, Aryan and his sister share my dilemma. Every afternoon, they skitter into the library, drop their giant backpacks and empty tiffins at their father’s desk and try unsuccessfully to whisper. When he first saw me, it was like he’d discovered a new species. He approached me the same way, sort of circling the space where I was working, smiling broadly. When I looked up and asked his name, he proudly thrust out his chest, smiled even broader, and squeaked “Aryan.”


Since then, we made it a routine to visit every afternoon. In fact, I knew we were friends for life when on his birthday, he found me right after assembly and offered me a sweet. (It’s customary for children to give others a special kind of candy—made of sweetened condensed milk, cardamom, and covered in edible foil—in exchange for best wishes on their own birthday.) His father later told me that the night before, Aryan decided he would give me the first one. And even though those sweets make me a bit nauseous, I popped the whole piece in my mouth and smiled. Because that’s what friends do.

Vasundhara often joins us, but Aryan is always here. Yesterday, I asked him where his sister was, and he just smiled and pushed his glasses up his nose. I then asked if she was ill. He shook his head no. “Fever,” he replied.

That might have been the most detailed conversation we’ve enjoyed. I’ve managed to learn his favorite animal (a tiger) and a few other things, but mostly we just hang out. Sometimes, he’ll pull a picture book off a nearby shelf and we’ll read a while together. Sometimes I ask him what he did that day. His answer varies between “played,” and “maths.” Sometimes, he’ll talk animatedly in Hindi and its my turn to just smile and nod. Often he likes to show off his patented floor sliding technique (see the action photo below), flex his muscles, or practice counting on his fingers.


No matter what, his visits are one of the highlights of my day, despite the language barrier. When we were preparing to visit, so many of you wondered how we’d get along without speaking the language. That hasn’t been a problem as so many Indians speak excellent or enough English that we can communicate. But Aryan and Vasundhara have reminded me that sometimes conversation is way overrated. Laughing at the way the cards fly on the computer solitaire game (they always request this—I swear I’m actually working up until their arrival) is better. A smile (and an enthusiastic floor slide) can never be mistranslated.


Jen

India As A Race

In my mind I see 20 7th and 8th grade boys lining up at the curved starting line, jockeying for position to begin the 800 meter race. Feet – some shod, some bare – inch towards and over the chalked line, seeking any bit of overlooked advantage they can get away with. The official barks, “ON YOUR MARK . . . SET . . .”


“BANG!” claps the wooden starter blocks – triggering a stampede of pre-pubescent stallions around the track.

In the frenzy of the mass start, every boy aims for the inside lap and converges in a packed swarm of churning legs – spitting out those who have lost balance and fallen in its dusty wake. The mob begins to stretch out, revealing the true abilities of the runners after the initial surge of adrenaline begins to wear off.

The hasty and ambitious lead for a while until they tire and are swallowed by the pack. The slow trudge willingly along, attempting to avoid the shame of last place. And those who run at a steady pace slowly inch their way to the front of the shifting line to eventually cross the finish and claim their winning honors. Ah, victory!


For two days last week, Jennifer and I had the honor of helping officiate the annual Sports Days competition for the Bhawan Vidyalaya. Since there are only 4 running tracks in a city of nearly 1 million people, this involves renting out the nearest track for a couple of days so the students could have inter-class competitions. The top three winners of each event will eventually go on to compete with the other top athletes from each school in Chandigarh.

I was the timer. Armed with the athletic director’s Nokia cell phone set on ‘Stopwatch’ and lightning fast fingers, my job was to get the splits for the first 3 or 4 finishers of each race. It took extreme concentration and, more often than not, a little creative fudging to relay the times to the recorder as sometimes the button would catch, my timing was interrupted by an incoming call or two students finished inches apart. Since no Olympic records were broken, my conscience remained clear.


Whether donning spikes or barefeet, skirts or track pants, tank tops or sweaters, the students didn't seem at all to mind their outfits. Each smilingly gave their best in competition.


That's not a coconut folks.


Though better dressed for a polo match, this jumper set the mark.


This little guy hung there for 3 minutes for me just so I could get this picture.


Jen briefly switched roles from finish line spotter to celebrity medal awarder. Not to worry, no podium smooches were bestowed.

It was indeed a fine day to see India's future giving their best.

Jimmy

Do Something - World AIDS Day

World AIDS day was yesterday, December 1st. As we were driven through town, we saw chains of students from different schools lining the boulevard for the occasion. It was so surreal to see hundreds of 13 year-old children waving AIDS awareness posters, chanting prevention slogans, and shaking pompoms to gain the attention of those passing by.


Apparently there was competition between all of the school for the most spirited and informative display. I was glad they were there, spreading the news in their very innocent way about how to fend off probably the deadliest enemy their country faces – AIDS. In partnership and continuation of their campaign of awareness, I wanted to share just a few staggering statistics (with sources) to hopefully raise yours.

40.3 million people are infected with AIDS worldwide (Dec 2005 National AIDS Trust stats)

AIDS is a worldwide epidemic that spreads unchecked with 1 new infection every 15 seconds - almost entirely in the poorest nations (Global Change site stats)

8000 people die everyday from AIDS – 5 people every minute (World AIDS Day stats)

6000 children are orphaned daily because of AIDS (World Vision stats)

More than 5 million Indians are living with HIV/AIDS. (2004 BBC article stats)

India has the second highest number of people living with HIV/AIDS in the world after South Africa. India accounts for almost 10 per cent of the 40 million people living with HIV/AIDS globally. (‘You and AIDS’ site stats)

You can help do something about it. (Me)

Please visit the following World Vision link, click on the “Learn: Test Your Knowledge About AIDS” link, take the quick test, and see how you may get involved.

World Vision Link

Thanks,
Jimmy