to remember september

My dear readers – I apologize for the delay in posting. As I become acquainted with India again, it becomes more difficult to see things from an outsiders perspective. All that is fascinating, beautiful, horrifying – becomes a part of my reality and it becomes somehow less significant. I am aware, however, of this process, and am trying to prevent, or at least postpone it by continuing to write – to see things and portray them in the light they deserve.


In any case, since last writing a few significant things have happened…

My birthday:

I turned 22 on September 4th, only two days after the birthday of the Hindu god Krishna. Cheers, krish, happy birthday. I must admit, I was nervous about having my birthday in India. A firm believer in the importance of birthdays, I was worried that I wouldn’t feel the sense of excitement, love, and celebration that I feel at home. So, I planned ahead, or at least as well as one can in India.
I decided exactly what I wanted to do – enjoy a cup of coffee in the lobby of an air conditioned hotel, use the internet from my laptop, and get an Indian healing message.

Around noon, after doing a bit of yoga, I stepped outside of the ashram and began the process of finding an auto-rickshaw. Many of them sped past – doubting my ability to actually communicate where I needed to go (and rightly so…). Once I explained to the first driver who stopped where I needed to go, he shook his head and drove off. This happened three more times until I finally found a driver willing to take me. I reached the Meridian hotel 10 minutes later and was greeted several times in English, a typical occurrence at these fancy hotels. I began by asking the woman at the front desk if they offered messages, no, she replied, not until 5pm. Ok, I asked her if I could sit in the lobby and use the hotels wifi while I waited.

“No, madam, it is only for hotel guests. “

“Ok…Are you sure?” I asked, “I just want to use it while I sit and have something to eat.” She agreed to call her manager to ask. 5 minutes later I watched her put down the phone, she approached me and asked,
“Where are you from madam?”
“America…” I responded slowly. She returned to the phone, then a minute later walked back over to me again, heels clicking through the lobby of the hotel.

“And what are you doing here in India?” She asked with a confused look.
I explained to her that I was going to be volunteering in Gujarat, that I was here in Ahmedabad for a month, reminding myself to be patient and persistent – which is key in getting what you want here. She walked back over to the phone to report back to her boss as I waited, and worried. I settled in to the comfortable leather coach, and eyed the International Herald Tribune in the corner stand – god, I wanted to stay here all day, in the a/c. I hoped she would let me stay.
“Okay,” she said finally, “you can stay. But you will have to pay rs 200.” This is about 10 times the price internet should cost here, but I didn’t care, it was my birthday. I exhaled a sigh of relief. Perhaps my birthday would turn out well after all. I booked my message for five, hooked up to the internet, went into the restaurant and ordered lunch: an omelette (hard to find here because it’s considered ‘non-veg’), a cappuccino, a watermelon smoothie and sparkling water. Perfect.

I digested while typing e-mails, then went downstairs for my message a few hours later. The woman who gave me the message was a beautiful older woman. She was tall and had gorgeous posture – like many women from villages here. She had her hair tied back into a sleek bun and her face was feminine and wise. She kept her eyes closed while she messaged me, and I imagined that through her touch she was transmitting some of her great feminine wisdom. I felt that she and I shared a special connection, and on such an important day.

I showered, standing up! (not using a bucket), under warm water, changed into a clean outfit and headed back to the ashram. When I returned the group had set up a little party for me, complete with birthday hats (see photos), noise makers, streamers, and a cake! Later, we went out to dinner for Gujarati thali at another beautiful hotel, candle lit and peaceful. The day turned so well, and I felt so fortunate to be around such thoughtful and sweet people. I also learned that when in India, one should never accept “no” as an answer, always ask someone else, then ask them to ask their manager. This is how things are done here, and also how one has a successful birthday.


Rosh Hashana

Another holiday has recently passed as I venture through India – the jewish new year. It was strange to spend one of the few jewish holidays I observe here in India. All of us were trying to grasp, find, or re-invent something traditional or familiar. I thought of all the things that remind me of this holiday back home – fall, the changing of leaves, new clothes for synagogue, apples and honey. Would any of these things exist here? As it turns out, some of them do.

On Wednesday night we returned to the synagogue, where many people recognized us from the previous week. The service was quick, and on our way out we were handed apples and honey! The congregants then walked around shaking our hands wishing us “shana tova,” then the would kiss their hand to their lips – something that felt very Indian.

After the service, we were invited to one of the family’s homes for dinner. We stood around a table that was more like a Passover table than one set for Rosh Hashana dinner. There were many plates, each filled completely with one item. Each item was meant to represent something for the new year – dates for sweetness, pomegranates so we may be unified as one Jewish nation, beets – “which grow in every corner of world, so the Jewish community will also grow in each corner of the world. And fish! – so the Jews will multiply like fish!” It was all very funny and very sweet. After saying some prayers and eating dinner, we left and caught rickshaws back to the ashram.

On Thursday, our group did a “taschlich,” where you are meant to throw your sins away into a river. So, we all piled into a few rickshaws with instructions to be dropped of near the Sabarmati river, which runs through the city. Minutes later, for no apparent reason, we are inexplicably dropped off at a hospital. Just another Indian adventure…standing aimlessly in front of the hospital, we began to attract lots of attention. People began to emerge from their homes to watch us stand around. Finally, we figured out a direction and began walking toward the bridge.

I hadn’t realized how little I’d explored this city by foot. It felt nice to move my body through this city, stepping around large puddles which grow throughout the day due to ineffective street drains; feeling the air and the breeze gain momentum as we drew closer to the river’s bridge; smelling each section of each street – a sensation that is missed, perhaps fortunately, when riding in a rickshaw.

We reached the bridge, realizing we didn’t have anything to throw in. We decided to spit, in true Indian fashion. We all took a moment, thought of all we wanted to rid ourselves of, and spat into the Sarambati river. We stood together looking at the river, silent for a moment until I stated flatly, “this is the ugliest river I’ve ever seen,” and we all laughed.

The river is horribly polluted and as we looked around, we saw people throwing an entire week’s worth of garbage straight into the river. Its banks are lined with washed up trash, which will not decompose for years and years. Then there are the slums, which also line the river. They are little collections of make-shift homes, created with nothing but a blue tarp and some pieces of wood. From the bridge, I watch small children run around playing with their naked bottoms exposed to the river. The buildings looked as if they had once attempted some sort of upscale, riverfront ambiance – were decrepit and dirty.

And there we were, trying to claim some sense of spirituality, of ritual, of holiness, of beauty from this poor, ugly river. But somehow, the moment, in all its ugliness, became beautiful. We were all there, laughing and spitting – and later sharing with each other, and the river herself, hopes for the year to come.