Five more days in New Delhi!
Here’s the weather forecast for our last week of school:
And then we’re off to Michigan for our summer break.
Here’s the weather forecast for our first week in the States:
The low temps in Delhi are higher than the high temps in Michigan.
Does anyone have a parka and some woolen socks I can borrow?
I’ve had a couple glasses of wine, and you know what that means! My creative juices are flowing. Tonight, I’m writing about an unusual moment from today’s commute…
Prose first, then poetry? OK, then.
Driving home from physical therapy tonight, my taxi got trapped in Delhi’s usual snarl. I scooted across the back seat to avoid the scorching sun, but 110° F will bake you no matter where you sit. Waiting at a traffic light, I watched the regular beggars on the median. They were wilting in the heat, but desperation forced them off the curb. They circulated through stalled traffic, knocking on car windows and crying out, “Madaaaam! Madaaaam!” In an effort to affirm their humanity, I always make eye contact, smile and mouth, “No, thank you.” Today, there was a minor but interesting twist. A woman shuffled toward my taxi, carrying a drooping little girl. She approached with the usual appeal for money; her knocks on the taxi window inspired the baby, who gripped a coin. The youngster tentatively stretched out her skinny arm and tapped on the taxi window. Its “ting” jolted her out of heat-induced lethargy, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. As her mother obliviously continued with exhausted moaning, the child smiled at me, conspiratorially. I couldn’t help but wonder how much longer a coin’s musical tapping would amuse her. Her time on the hip was winding down, and soon the window rapping would turn ominously purposeful.
Same story, poet’s eyes.
Balanced precariously on her mother’s hip,
bobbling with every sudden noise, so many sounds,
eyes momentarily unfocused on the tangled traffic,
skin peeling – no, simply patchy with sweat and dust.
Her mother, hand turned backwards,
raps with knotty knuckles on the window,
dink dink dink.
Her sequined sari limply draped across her face to block the sun,
Her thumb and fingers meet, gesturing at a hungry mouth.
Her silver ring makes contact,
tink tink tink.
This metal-on-glass melody startles.
The baby’s eyes glisten, suddenly alert, curious.
A precious one-rupee coin clenched in a tiny wet fist stretches out.
tink tink tink.
An innocent smile. A bounce.
A giggle of accomplishment.
A grimace from her mother, whose practiced pleas lose power in the presence of a gleeful child.
tink tink tink.
How soon before the coin’s music loses its magic?
With only two weeks left before SUMMER break, I’m finally writing my last post about SPRING break.
Theresa had read about the Tibetan Children’s Village, and my principal had mentioned that our school was a strong supporter, but I didn’t know what to expect when we decided to check it out on April 3. Oops, we hadn’t asked for prior permission to visit.
Nevertheless, we walked up a short hill and entered a big play area, where young children in blue uniforms were eating snacks and running around. Unsure of what to do next, we found some shade and watched the youngsters until a woman pointed to the office and told us we needed to check in. Up a couple flights of stairs, we were greeted by a man who took us into the office of someone important looking. I told him that I worked at the American Embassy School and that we were interested in visiting his school. He immediately expressed gratitude for all AES has done to support the work of TCV and sent us off with a tour guide. We joined a Belgian family for a walk around the village.
Tenzin Tseten was born in India after his parents fled Tibet in the 1950s. He explained that the 1959 Chinese occupation of Tibet and ensuing protests led to more than a million Tibetan deaths and a mass exodus of survivors to India. Concerned for the thousands of children orphaned or left destitute, the Dalai Lama proposed a special center for them. The Nursery for Tibetan Refugee Children was founded in 1960 and eventually developed into the Tibetan Children’s Villages, which now manages five children’s villages and many schools, day care centers and other educational programs.
According to a TCV brochure, more than 35,000 children have received education and family-style support.
Even with so much progress, there is still much work to be done as Tibetans continue to flee the persecution in their homeland. Parents still feel compelled to give up their children by the pervasive sense of hopelessness in Tibet, where educational opportunities for Tibetan children are extremely poor. There the school system is used to suppress the cultural identity of Tibetan children by teaching in Chinese and denigrating the Tibetan language and culture.
Tenzin said parents in Tibet often face the worst of decisions: (a) bring up their children in an increasingly oppressive political climate, where their traditional lifestyle is under attack, or (b) send their children away to the TCV, illegally and permanently, for immersion in the Tibetan way of life and greater hope for future opportunities. Families pay exorbitant amounts of money for smugglers to sneak their youngsters – even infants – over the Himalayas, through Nepal and into India, often during the winter when the chance of apprehension by Chinese authorities is less likely, he said.
We toured one of the “khimtsang” or group homes, where children live as brothers and sisters with their foster parents.
Toothbrushes and soap boxes.
The high school field and classroom facilities.
Darn close to our own school’s motto: “Enter to learn, leave to serve.”
Temple on campus.
Om mani padme hum, a mantra in Tibetan Buddhism to invoke the attention and blessings of Chenrezig, the embodiment of compassion.
“Do you want to see the baby home?” Tenzin asked, leading us to the TCV nursery. We didn’t see any actual babies, but the toddlers were having lunch on the patio. They washed their hands at a row of sinks and then took their seats at small plastic tables with their hands folded. When everyone had been served, the teacher gave a signal and they recited a Tibetan prayer in unison before digging into their lunch.
Baby dorm.
Knowing the American Embassy School had donated thousands of books to TCV, I wanted to check out the library. Tenzin introduced us to Nancy Corliss, a retired teacher from New York, who volunteers in the TCV library twice a year for two months at a time. When she’s back in the States, she promotes the TCV’s work through speaking engagements. We arrived at the library just in time to watch Nancy read Press Here, requiring the youngsters to interact with the book. You can see in the photos that some young boys are already studying to be monks; the others wear TCV school uniforms.
A sign on the library.
When we asked Nancy to recommend a restaurant for lunch, she quickly sought permission to treat us in the staff canteen. After a nice chat and tasty Tibetan food, we carried our metal plates to the dish washer. At AES, we do that, too, but the “dish washer” is actually a “dishwasher.” Here, the dish washer was a petite lady with a big gold nose ring and a friendly smile, perched on the edge of the sink.
In addition to helping Tibetan refugees, the TCV also accepts other children whose parents want the Tibetan education. Theresa and I met a family in a Dharamsala cafe who live in Delhi but are thinking about sending their two kids to the TCV, specifically for the Tibetan Buddhism schooling. Here they are having a treat.
I still feel conflicted emotions from our time in Dharamsala. Having visited Tibet (in 2009) and seen firsthand the Chinese oppression of the Tibetan people, I grieve for the parents who send their children away in a desperate attempt to provide a brighter future and salvage their Tibetan identity. I feel a sense of hopelessness for these people, who most likely will never see their homeland again. I feel angry than I was allowed to tour Lhasa, a place of profound spiritual symbolism for Tibetan Buddhists, but my TCV guide can only dream of such a journey. Still, this town is uplifting in that it promotes Tibetan culture while providing safety and security for the Dalai Lama and other Tibetan refugees.
After describing the TCV to Tony, we decided this was a cause worth supporting. We recently committed to sponsoring a child and were assigned a 10-year-old girl named Tenzin Nordon, whose father escorted her to Lhasa before sending her on to India with a group of other Tibetans. She attends the TCV school in Bylakuppe, India. A letter from the school says she misses her parents terribly but is happy to have two cousins at the school with her.
If you’d like to become a TCV sponsor, contact Nyima Thakchoe at nyima@tcv.org.in. And tell her I sent you!
For the love of Peter Rabbit, as my Nana used to say, why am I still blogging about spring break?! It’s been more than a month.
Well, here’s why: With less than four weeks before we head Stateside for the summer, life is crazy busy. My calendar is packed with the usual stuff in addition to report card writing, physical therapy appointments for my wonky neck, rehearsals for the elementary school play, professional development workshops, summer travel planning, end-of-year social functions, and meetings, meetings, meetings. It seems I rarely have time to think, much less think about what I did over spring break.
Nevertheless, it’s time to wrap it up. So, make those Scooby Doo arm-waving gestures and doodly-doo sounds to take yourself back to April 4.
Theresa and I were hanging out in McLeod Ganj up in the mountain state of Himachal Pradesh.
Walking around town, I kept feeling an odd mash-up of deja vu and country-confusion. I KNEW I was in northern India, of course, but I kept seeing people, architecture, clothing and food reminiscent of my visit to Tibet in 2009, as well as market stalls stocked with Chinese-made souvenirs like so many I had seen and purchased while living in Shanghai. Sometimes I actually had to remind myself: You are in India, dummy.
The town has a distinctly Tibetan vibe because it is home to the Dalai Lama, Buddhist spiritual leader and, until recently, political leader of the Tibetan government-in-exile. (Last August, the Dalai Lama handed over his political responsibilities to Tibet’s first democratically elected prime minister, Lobsang Sangay.) This excerpt from a BBC profile of the Dalai Lama explains how this Indian town became a Tibetan settlement:
The 14th Dalai Lama was born on 6 July 1935, in a small village just outside the current boundaries of Tibet. His parents, who named him Lhamo Dhondub, were farmers with several other children. When he was two years old, a search party of Buddhist officials recognised him as the reincarnation of the 13 previous Dalai Lamas and he was enthroned before he turned four. He was educated at a monastery and went on to achieve the Geshe Lharampa Degree, a doctorate of Buddhist philosophy. But in 1950, when he was 15, the troops of Mao Tse-tung’s newly-installed Communist government marched into Tibet. As soldiers poured into the country, the Dalai Lama – his title means Ocean of Wisdom – assumed full power as head of state. In May 1951, China drew up a 17-point agreement legitimising Tibet’s incorporation into China. When Tibetans took to the streets in 1959 demanding an end to Chinese rule, troops crushed the revolt and thousands of protesters were killed. The Dalai Lama fled to India on foot and settled in Dharamsala, in the north of the country, which is now home to the Tibetan government-in-exile. He was followed into exile by about 80,000 Tibetans, most of whom settled in the same area.
The Dalai Lama’s residence and Tsug Lakhang Temple are simple and unassuming, painted mustard yellow. White sails rise up from the temple, similar to those at the Denver airport, providing cover but plenty of natural light. Wooden platforms with sliding handrests and knee pads lined the area in front of the Buddha shrine for prostrating pilgrims. I only saw a couple people use them; it seemed to be a quiet day in the temple.
Monks were mending those cushions on the right.
We learned later that the Dalai Lama had been teaching at a nearby monastery. One of my colleagues, Sue, had tickets to hear him speak, but she said the audience was too thick to see him and the FM radio that was supposed to transmit his talk in English malfunctioned. Still, she said she enjoyed his soothing voice, even if she couldn’t understand the words. We regretted not doing our homework and thus missing his talk, but then again, I’m not a fan of crowds.
A sign next the prayers wheels.
Multi-generational blessings.
Theresa gets in on the prayer wheel action.
A monk was lighting candles in this small sanctuary.
After turning all the prayer wheels in the temple, we headed outside to the “kora,” the circumambulation path. Buddhists walk the path clockwise in meditation. Trees along the path were draped with prayer flags, and other visitors had left colorful flat stones painted with Buddhist mantras. Benefactors funded sections of prayer wheels, marked with plaques explaining the blessings. The most common mantra was “om mani padme hum,” which calls forth blessings from the god of compassion. To learn more about the mantra, visit this excellent website: Om Mani Padme Hum – the Meaning of the Mantra in Tibetan Buddhism.
Cows numbered among the pilgrims on the path. Theresa tried to pose with them, but one poked her in the belly with its horn.
I made a little movie so you could take a virtual walk on the kora! I love practicing yoga to the music of Deva Premal, and this recording of her chanting Om Mani Padme Hum is one of my favorites.
If you want to know more about the Dalai Lama, check out his website: His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet.
I don’t know why it was so hard to get out of bed each morning in McLeod Ganj! Was it the cool temperatures? Fresh air? Altitude? Tranquility? In New Delhi, we never escape the sounds of people and vehicles, but only chirping birds disturbed the total silence at our cottage here. On the morning of April 5, Theresa and I rolled out of bed, ate a quick breakfast in the Glenmoor’s dining area, and took off for some sightseeing. Our driver, Sanju, carefully maneuvered his little taxi on the rubble-strewn mountain roads, deftly zipping through hairpin curves and patiently yielding to other cars when two lanes suddenly and frequently became one, as we explored the Kangra Valley in the north Indian state of Himachal Pradesh.
First stop – Norbulingka Institute
The Norbulingka Institute is dedicated to the preservation of Tibetan art and culture. Passing through the archway, we entered a shady terraced garden with stone paths and narrow waterways.
We eventually meandered to the Deden Tsuglagkhang, a temple housing a 14-foot gilded copper Buddha and many stunning paintings created by the institute’s artists. The temple’s rooftop offered excellent views of the town and mountains.
Sipping a lemon soda at the café, I watched fuzzy seeds rain down from the trees and relished the peace created by gurgling fountains, greenery and omnipresent prayer flags. Here are some more shots from our visit to Norbulingka.
I like this quote by the Dalai Lama on Norbulingka (lifted from the institute’s website):
Buddhism changed the whole Tibetan way of life, giving rise to a more compassionate community, in which there is a more peaceful attitude towards ourselves, towards our fellow human beings, towards animals and towards the environment. In today’s world there’s a lot of talk about peace and non-violence, but the real factor in creating genuine peace is compassion, not just education and technology. Where there is compassion, a sense of community, a sense of respect for others’ rights is automatic. In order to promote compassion, it is not sufficient just to talk; it needs to be spread through example. I believe that our peaceful and compassionate Tibetan society is such an example; that’s why it is worth preserving, and I am pleased to see that in its work to keep Tibetan culture alive, the Norbulingka Institute is actively contributing to that task.
Next stop – Kangra Fort
Unsure of other sightseeing options in the area, we asked Sanju, our taxi driver for tips. He suggested a visit to Kangra Fort, so that’s what we did.
Believed to be the oldest fort in India, it was referenced by Alexander the Great in his war records from 326 B.C. and other accounts of wars dating back 3,500 years. Equipped with a surprisingly informative audio tour and headphones, Theresa and I trekked around the fort in the scorching sun. We climbed steep stairs, pausing in the shade of massive rock walls or flowering trees to listen to the fort’s bloody history.
Posing at the entrance to the fort.
At the top of these stairs …
… there were some interesting carvings …
… including this one of Ganesha, the elephant-headed Hindu god.
Darshani Darwaza, a doorway leading to a shady courtyard, toppled pillars and a couple small temples.
Inside the tiny temple.
This carved wall reminded me of Angkor Wat in Cambodia, but the rest of the Kangra Fort’s ornate palace was destroyed in an earthquake.
View of the river valley and the Himalayas.
Here are a few more shots from our visit to the Kangra Fort.
The Indifest travel blog has a nice write-up of Kangra Fort, including this interesting statement.
This fort has the unique distinction of being ruled by great Hindu Kings, Muslim Invaders, Sikh Maharaja and Christian Rulers of British empire.
Back in McLeod Ganj, we asked Sanju to drop us off for a little shopping. Minutes after we exited the taxi, the sky burst open, blasting the market with hail and freezing rain. We stood under a market stall awning, hoping the storm would blow over quickly. When it didn’t, we called Sanju back to drive us the short distance to the McLlo Restaurant. Everyone and their mother had the same idea, so we crammed into a corner table and watched the poor suckers stuck in the rain outside.
After a delicious dinner, we bought cakes to enjoy back at our cottage. They looked better than they tasted, but cake is always a good way to end a fun day!
Unless you live in a neighborhood that backs up to a noisy slum where residents frequently engage in late-night drumming and children play ball well after dark and clanking clunking construction continues by lamplight and cows announce their bedtime and dogs bark messages from house to house and traffic screeches and honks …
unless your daily life is fraught with ambient chaos …
then you simply cannot fully appreciate
the tranquility
of mountainside yoga
on a sunporch
with only bird songs
and pine
wafting in through open windows.
That is my spur-of-the-moment tribute to Glenmoor Cottages, a genuine place of peace in McLeod Ganj, an upper Dharamsala hill station in the Himalaya Mountains. The owner, Mr. Singh, is genteel and unwaveringly helpful. He relaxed with us in the yard over a cup of tea, chatting about Indian fiction and politics and pointing out a lake in the valley known for its migratory bird population.
Theresa and I arrived here on April 2 and happily threw open the windows of our little cottage overlooking the forest. At 6,300 feet above sea level, we found ourselves gasping for breath after the short trek up to reception. Too lazy to pursue food in town, we ordered tea and later a simple dinner delivered to our porch. We finally crashed at 8:30 and slept for 12 hours!
In Delhi, I feel pretty confident playing tour guide, but this was my first time to McLeod Ganj. For the last few months, Theresa had sent me emails with some of the sights she wanted to see here, so I left the trip planning to her. Unfortunately, she left her notes in a bag back at my house in Delhi. Without internet access at our cottage and lacking a good guidebook, we were pathetically disorganized. Still, we managed to see and do quite a bit during our three-day stay. At the end of each busy day, we both expressed such relief at coming “home” to our little cottage.
Tony and I enjoyed Amritsar so much last fall that we decided to share it with our guests. The four of us took the train on April 1 for six hours to the state of Punjab. At the Amritsar train station, a young taxi driver approached us. Sunny gave us a ride to our hotel, and we liked him so much we hired him for our whole visit.
At the recommendation of our school’s travel agent, we stayed at Mrs. Bhandari’s Guesthouse, which featured a pool, outdoor eating area, garden, courtyard with water buffalo and a humble collection of rooms. Liz snapped this shot of our fellow guesthouse residents.
We checked in, grabbed a quick snack, and took off for the Wagah Border-Closing Ceremony at the Pakistan-India border, about 45 minutes out of town.
Just like our last visit, food and drink vendors lined the path approaching the stadium. I loved this papaya seller with his papaya-colored shirt and turban. Theresa got the shot.
Sno-cones made on the spot with the Indian flag colors!
A water boy wisely targeting the men in line. This may be the only place on the planet where the women’s line moves faster!
After passing through VIP security, we took our seats in the Foreigners Gallery and watched the bedlam. A full Bollywood street party was followed by people actually LINING UP to run a short distance with the Indian flag.
Great shot by Theresa:
Eventually the hollering, high-stepping, gate-slamming, foot-stomping, thumb-gesturing, hat-straightening, mustache-twisting, anthem-singing, flag-lowering antics came to a close. I took so many pictures on our last visit. This time I just watched. Check out the Pakistani guard (black beret and shades) who Theresa photographed. You do NOT want to mess with him.
Returning from the border ceremony, Sunny eagerly asked if we knew the story of Ganesha. I did, only because I had heard it at school during India Week. However, Sunny told the tale with such exuberance and joy that I just let him run with it. Here’s the story, fyi. (This is NOT how Sunny told it. His rendition featured generic nouns slapped with unconjugated verbs in an unintelligible but joyous English soup.) From the website religionfacts.com:
Incensed by the refusal of her husband to respect her privacy, to the extent of entering her private chambers even while she was having her bath, Parvati decided to settle matters once and for all. Before going for her bath the next time, she rubbed off the sandalwood paste on her body and out of it created the figure of a young boy. She infused life into the figure and told him he was her son and should guard the entrance while she bathed.
Soon after, Shiva (Lord of destruction and husband of Parvati) came to see Parvati but the young boy blocked his way and would not let him in. Shiva, unaware that this lad was his son, became furious and in great anger fought with this boy whose head got severed from his body in the ensuing battle. Parvati, returning from her bath, saw her headless son and threatened in her rage to destroy the heavens and the earth, so great was her sorrow.
Shiva pacified her and instructed his followers (known as ganas) to bring the head of the first living being they encounter. The first creature they encountered was an elephant. They thus cut off its head and placed it on the body of Parvati’s son and breathed life into him. Thus overjoyed, Parvati embraced her son.
Theresa took this great shot of the dashboard decor in Sunny’s car: Ganesha in a Clam Shell. I love it so much! No, I don’t know why this Hindu elephant god is resting on a mollusk, but there’s no denying that it’s awe inspiring.
Basically re-creating our first Amritsar visit, we took Liz and Theresa to Kesar da Dhaba for dinner. Everyone seemed happy with their food, and the restaurant owner remembered me from November! We bought dinner for Sunny, who tried to have a philosophical discussion with Tony about the Sikh religion.
Liz being a BIG risk taker!
After dinner, Sunny drove us to the Golden Temple. It was not the peaceful oasis we remembered from five months ago! It was a mob scene … a happy, spiritual, family-oriented mob scene, but a mob scene nonetheless. I was trying to take a photo of Tony and Liz in front of the temple when this family crowded in to the shot. Okayyyy.
Another family shoved a baby into Liz’s arms, which she confusedly cuddled until the mother realized its absence and abruptly yanked it back. Craziness! I liked this calm lady who was chilling and enjoying the glowing temple.
The next morning, Liz and Tony ventured back to the temple and the Jalianwallah Bagh Memorial. Apparently, they hung out with this guy.
Theresa and I lazed around the guesthouse, taking photos of the colorful garden.
For more details on the places we visited, check out my old posts about Amritsar.
On April 2, it was time to head our separate ways. Tony and Liz returned to Delhi and later took a daytrip to Agra. Theresa and I drove to McLeod Ganj, a hill station in the Himalayas and home of the exiled Dalai Lama. That story is coming up next!
Tony’s sister Liz arrived March 30 and hit the ground running! No time for jetlag…
Although Old Delhi is a must-see attraction, it can be pretty intimidating. A bicycle rickshaw tour is marginally safer and less scary, so that’s how we kicked off Liz’s India tour. Theresa, Tony, Liz and I climbed aboard two rickshaws, disembarking to visit the spice market, Jain Temple and sari market, essentially following in the same footsteps as our first Delhi rickshaw tour.
Ratan gets ready to chauffeur Tony and Liz.
Off we go, straight into traffic.
A view from the top of the spice market. I’m not sure what those yellow things are drying in the sun.
Stringing streetside flower garlands.
Theresa and me. Dang, I forgot our driver’s name!
Barely squeaking by a watermelon salesman.
Driving through the wedding market.
That’s my handsome groom!
Tony takes the wheel (handlebars?).
Following lunch at McDonald’s (Theresa got the McVeggie, a paneer patty), we walked to the Red Fort.
A colorful crowd heads in to the fort.
Emperor Shah Jahan (the same guy who built the Taj Mahal) constructed this fort starting in 1638 after he moved his capital from Agra to Shahjahanabad, in what is now Delhi. (Remember when Theresa and I visited the FIRST city in Delhi? This was the SEVENTH!) It served as the Mughal Empire capital until a failed uprising against the British in 1857. At one point, up to 3,000 people lived in the fort complex.
Love those Mughal-style archways! This was the Diwan-i-Aam, a pavilion for public audiences with the emperor.
The Diwan-i-Khas was used for private audiences with the emperor.
Yes, yes, we know … we’re fabulous. But how many photos of sweaty foreigners do you really need?
For Theresa’s first full day in Delhi (March 26), it only made sense to visit the first city of Delhi: Lalkot, which dates to around 1060. Here, Delhi’s first sultan, Aibak, imposed Muslim rule and began construction of a mosque and tower that would proclaim Islam’s victory and domination. So why can you see Hindu architectural designs in the buildings? Watch this short UNESCO World Heritage video to find out!
The Qutub Minar, which stands about 238 feet high, is the main attraction at the Qutub Complex. Here are some interesting facts about the mosque and minaret, from the UNESCO website:
The Quwwatu’l-Islam mosque consists of a courtyard, cloisters, and a prayer hall. The high arched screen facing the prayer hall was added in the 14th century. The Qutb Minar is a column built from red and buff sandstone blocks rising to a height of 72.5 m, tapering from 2.75 m diameter at the top to 14.32 m at the base, making it the highest stone tower in India. In addition to its traditional use for calling the faithful to prayer, it also has a monumental purpose, since a later Nagari inscription calls it Alauld-Din’s ‘victory monument’ (Vijava-stambha). In its present form it consists of five storeys, the topmost of the original four storeys having been replaced by two storeys during the reign of Firuz Shah Tughluq. Each storey is separated from the next by highly decorated balconies, with pendentives and inscribed bands. The three earlier storeys are each decorated differently, the lowest being of alternating angular and rounded flutings, the second with rounded flutings alone, and the third with angular flutings alone; the same vertical alignment continues, however, through all three storeys. The whole structure was originally surmounted by a cupola, which fell during an earthquake and was replaced by a new cupola in late Mughal style in the early 19th century. This was so incongruous that it was removed in 1848 and now stands on the lawns to the south-east of the minaret.
This shot was taken from inside the mosque courtyard.
I enjoyed strolling around the complex with its manicured gardens, pockets of shady trees, pathways and historical markers. There was a sense of organization and peace, despite the big tour groups.
The tomb of Iltutmish, Aibak’s successor, was especially impressive with its elaborate Islamic carvings.
A pretty visitor to the tomb.
The Alai Minar was meant to be even taller than the Qutub Minar, but it was never finished.
Theresa and I paid a bit extra for an excellent audio tour of the complex. At designated historical spots along the path, we stopped, punched in the corresponding number, hit “play” and listened to detailed stories of life 800 years ago. I wish I could remember some of them…
Yikes, I just looked at that little calendar over there to the right of this post. See it? Whenever I post something, the date changes to brown. Until today, April had no brown dates. I haven’t written a single post this month!
Sometimes a dry spell stems from ennui. Work, home, sleep, work, home, sleep … my usual schedule often lacks substance worthy of a blog post. The last few weeks, however, blurred with activity and left little time to capture it all in writing. Faced with a few free hours for the first time this month, I am ready to make up for my excessive blog neglect.
In the weeks preceding our spring break, we made arrangements for three visitors:
* Tony’s sister Liz,
* Theresa, a friend from my old journalism days, and
* Flat William, a paper version of a friend’s son.
Liz had never traveled outside the U.S., and I worried that India might make her climb under the covers and refuse to leave the house. Theresa was a seasoned traveler, but her emails suggested an overbooked itinerary and I stressed that we would run ourselves ragged. But, surprisingly, Flat William was the most high-maintenance guest of all.
He never made any demands or complained about getting squashed in my backpack, but I felt a codependent, obsessive need to photograph him everywhere I went. Unfortunately, because of his reticence, he would sometimes stay buried in my bag while we toured an Indian hotspot, making me smack my forehead with frustration later when the realization hit. I entrusted him to Theresa’s care on her Rajasthan side trip, but I experienced three days of anxiety that she would lose him or forget to take pictures with him. (I had nightmares of the time my mom fed a Flat Friend through the paper shredder on accident.) Theresa did forget to snap him in front of the Taj Mahal, but at least he got to see it. I sent him home with Liz, who informed me yesterday that he was returned safely to his family. Whew!
Flat William hanging out with Ganesh at the American Embassy School, New Delhi.
For years, Tony has dreamed of his family visiting us overseas. Finally, he convinced his sister Liz to make the trip to India. When I told people this would be her first international journey, the incredulous responses often sounded something like this: “She lives in KANSAS? And she’s never been out of AMERICA? And she’s coming to INDIA?” I began to panic. I carefully crafted a list of “Delhi Light” sight-seeing excursions. In the weeks leading up to her visit, Tony and I often found ourselves in the midst of an oppressive Delhi crowd, glancing at each other nervously and saying, “OK, we won’t bring Liz HERE.” However, from the moment she stepped off the plane, Liz amazed and inspired me with her willingness to take risks, move far out of her comfort zone and reflect on the sensory overload of India. She barely rested during her week here, dragging Tony all over town to see the sights, making observations that were acute and full of compassion. Tony and I both feel deeply grateful for this time with Liz, and we’ll never underestimate her again!
Tony and Liz at the Taj Mahal.
Theresa and I worked at the American Academy of Family Physicians in Kansas City way back before I made the career switch to teaching. We hadn’t kept in touch much over the years, except through occasional emails, Face Book updates, and links to online photo albums. When she turned 40, she emailed and said she wanted to celebrate with an international vacation. We were living in Laos at the time, and although I do love that country, I felt compelled to say, “If you’re only going to take one big trip every 40 years, maybe you should pick a country with more on offer…” When Tony and I moved to India, she quickly proposed a visit. There’s no denying Incredible India has more on offer … maybe too much! As Theresa and I planned her trip via email, the biggest challenge was picking the places to go. Knowing Theresa was eager to see the Himalyas, I met with our travel agent at school, who pointed out certain destinations would still be blanketed with snow and unprepared for tourists in April. We finally settled on Dharamsala, home of the exiled Dalai Lama. Theresa packed a crazy amount of sight-seeing into her two-week visit and took about 47 million fabulous photos. Although whacked with a mysterious illness on the flight back to the States, she certainly made good use of her time here!
Theresa on the rooftop of Ashoka restaurant in McLeod Ganj with the Himalayas in the background.
It’s going to take me awhile to post everything we did during the last few weeks! But stay tuned…