Bollywood and Visual arts in india.

Today was Sanjay my driver’s birthday. For his birthday he really wanted to go see a Bollywood film. He kept insisting I needed to see the theater in Jaipur. I'm so glad I agreed. It was absolutely gorgeous, two floors, with state of the art sound equipment, dark wood sculpted paneling in the lobby, and white sculpted wall interior. I understand why he was so excited to show it to me. The cinema only shows one film, which was a comedy, De Dana Dan. A Bollywood film, it didn’t have subtitles, but regardless I was laughing through the whole thing. It was easy enough to understand the storyline without needing to understand the words. I was surprised - I take that back - I was blown away - it not only rivaled any American comedy I’ve seen, but it was about 1000x’s more clever while being much cleaner. And true to Bollywood form, every so often in a dramatic moment it cuts to a charmingly ridiculous, but wonderfully orchestrated, dance and song number with the main characters. I’ve never really given Bollywood a second thought until now, but as of today I’m officially a fan. Check out the movie: http://dedanadan.erosentertainment.com/

Which brings me to my next thing. The visual arts in India. This is something keeps on surprising me. Today I went to another discarded monument, which is a shame because it is absolutely gorgeous. Jawahar Kala Kendra is the name, it was built in 1993 and is brilliant contemporary architecture with nine structures each representing a planet. Each one displays a different version of handicrafts and textiles. It’s a little known gem, that was sadly vacant of patrons other than myself when I visited. Much like the National Museum, it was immensely dusty and spots were incredibly dirty, great works of culture and art just glazed over in a layer of grime. My guess is that the funding just isn’t there to keep this great landmark alive. However, there was a sculptor in residence that I had the pleasure of spending time with. His name is Raj Kumawat. Raj is beyond talented. He is currently preparing for a show in Mumbai in a gallery, which he has to pay crazy fees for, shipping, gallery cuts, he will barely cover his costs if he sells anything. And anyone that’s ever sculpted knows how expensive of an art form sculpture is. He doesn’t speak English, but we were able to talk through my driver who translated. I am hoping to buy one of his sculptures when I’m back in the states, they are only about $600 US which is absurdly inexpensive for bronze. He doesn’t have a website, but he’s working on getting one. That’s the thing about all this talent here. Artisans often don’t have the means to get their work out there. It’s like the National Contemporary Art Gallery I went to, I wrote down the names of all of these amazing artists, came back to my room, Googled them, and for the most part, found absolutely nothing on the web. Sad to think these artists are at the National Gallery but none of the rest of the world will ever get to know more about them unless you come here. I’ve been buying up as art as I can, and am seriously considering a trip back over just for this purpose somewhere down the road. I hate to see great talent go to waste, or not be given the credit it’s due.

The Deafening Sound of Poverty.

The poverty here is deafening. That is the word that keeps coming up when I try to think of how to describe it. It shouts out at you from every single city block, every corner, every side street, and every monument. I cannot even begin to describe it. I am trying to capture it on film, but until you experience it firsthand there are really no words. There is housing constructed of old pieces of machinery, boxes and fabric on every single road. People wandering barefoot through sewage and oceans of garbage. Children are playing in trash alongside filthy goats, pigs, monkeys, and cows, while running up to your car beating on your window begging. One little boy yesterday - with clear green eyes that looked right through me - just held his hands up and stared. It was apparent he was mentally challenged. I had to close my eyes and look away. I knew coming to India I had to be thick skinned about it, not give money, less compromise my safety in the swarm that it creates. Still, I feel guilty, that I'm not doling out to every open hand. In trying to not be a ridiculously cautious tourist I felt the need to confirm this "no giving money to the poor" idea today with both my guide and my driver. They told me it’s true, that you simply cannot give money to the beggars. But today my heart shattered into a million pieces. Outside of the Amber Fort while walking towards my driver, I was approached by two children in ragged clothing, the older boy could not possibly have been older than 7, and the little girl no more than 4. As I walked they ran ahead of me the boy instructing the little girl to “go, go!” This little pig tailed filthy bundle of love would get a few paces ahead of me and then as if she had no spine at all go into a full backbend and then stand on her head and flip back over. Again and again and again… like a trained monkey. The whole time crying, “madam, madam, watch.” Thank god for big sunglasses to hide my watering eyes. Being a single white American woman here in a patriarchal society I am a moving target at all times. I have to keep a constant guard up, even with my beloved driver I've had to be stern with (who is now making inappropriate sexual comments I'm afraid). I have to be resolved in my demands stating them several times almost anytime I have one, and seem somewhat cold and distant to stay safe. Sanjay remarked that I don’t seem to be very emotional. I told him it was from running my own business for ten years. What he doesn’t see is me crying in my hotel room at night, my heart hurts, it just physically aches...

Jaipur could be beautiful if it weren’t for the fact everything is so run down and covered in trash. But it’s like that everywhere - so you begin to try to look past it. Yesterday I was drinking something that was supposed to be coffee in a Styrofoam cup. When I was done Sanjay asked for my cup, so I handed it to him not knowing he was going to roll down the window and toss it into the street. That’s how it is here. And everyone, I mean everyone is looking for a dime. In a restaurant today without asking a little boy came up to my table and performed a cute traditional dance from Rajasthan. Before I tipped him, (because I had no choice not to as he stood there waiting) I asked to take his picture. He didn’t approach the other tables this way. This seems to happen everywhere I go. Like I said, I’m a sitting duck. A woman holding a baby caught me taking her picture from elephant today, she chased after me crying, “money, money, you took my picture.” I finally lost it on the tourist scam today in a shop in downtown Jaipur, which I was taken to without my permission. They do a lovely job of showing you how they make things, the batik prints, the polished jewelry, but then you are wrangled through 12 rooms all of different handicrafts. Which sounds divine, except you are absolutely expected to buy despite there “no haggling, no bartering” signs posted everywhere. It took an hour and a half to get out of there and I wasn’t even through room six. I finally lost my temper in the textile room, and said “that’s it fellas, I have had enough, I am done shopping and I will think about it.” They actually called after me, “but ma’am you haven’t bought anything.” When I got outside I let my guide and my driver have a few words too. It's really tough here. Great beauty juxtaposed against the backdrop of immense poverty. I think you give money where you can, support who you can, and if you succeed in making a difference in at least one person's life, than you have lived well. At least this is what I have to believe, especially here.

As I write this from the roof of my hotel, there are kites flying in the sky all over Jaipur. It gives me hope, and I offer my prayers up to the heavens...

p.s. On a happier note - The Amber Fort is one of the most beautiful architectural sites I have ever seen. And I met the most lovley artist today named Ram, at the Capital Palace. They have a gallery of all original handicrafts from artists admired by the Royal Family. I bought four of his paintings as gifts, and he drew me an elephant for luck on the back of my ticket, blessed me, and threw in an extra painting of an elephant for free. These are the moments I will treasure.

Wanna pet my snake?

"Wanna pet my snake?" If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that line I'd be a rich lady. But this time, I'm afraid it was for real. I've been hanging my head out the car window trying to snap images of Indian life, when I'm whipped back into reality by a "holy man" with a giant chocolate colored snake at the driver window. Sanjay my driver quickly grabs a coin touches it to the snake and then deposits it in the man's flower covered urn. Apparently, this brings good luck, and as such I am instructed to do the same. Now, this would be okay except anyone that knows me knows that the only thing I am deathly terrified of in the entire world is in fact snakes. And here I am trapped, in the place that heaven forgot with a snake sneaking through the window. I suddenly have this vision that it will attack if I don't pay. The holy man waits. Quickly, I grab a coin and like a game toss chuck it in the urn, brushing the snake on the way. Bleck! Ick... Brrr.. I'm still shaking off the feeling.

At this point after everything I've seen, nothing suprises me.

I have also learned that there is a shady side to the tourist industry. Drivers of all kinds (taxi, limo, bus, etc) actually earn points by taking you to tourist trap stores, where typically everything is overpriced. The sales people at these places are pushy to say the least. I have already been bullied into two overpriced boxes of tea. I'm getting better at saying no, but it's tough - they literally follow you around the store, pulling out things along the way. I have agreed to go into these stores, because as I mentioned before - I adore my driver. If he earns enough points by the end of the year he earns a cash bonus. This is the least I can do. Most of these places are junk, but today we actually stopped at a beautiful store, owned by a family from Kashmir. First off, everyone I've met from Kashmir is exquisitely beautiful, and the men are no exception. Not even one second through the door I got swept off my feet by a young man who grabbed my hand, "you are so beautiful, let me show you around." In my head I'm already channeling my inner Jerry Maguire moment "you had me at hello." He's an excellent salesperson, next thing I know I'm being served tea, and watching a Kashmir rug being made on the loom. The whole process is explained to me in depth, all while he's kneeling at my side gazing into my eyes - how it takes a year and half to make a rug, how the threading is so carefully done by hand. It's true, the rugs really are works of art. Then we went to jewelry section... my weakness. I looked at everything, and though it was much nicer than anything I have seen thus far I thought I was home free... until.... I spotted a tray of what appeared to be antique earrings. Apparently, my radar managed to find the most expensive items in the jewelry section as they were old pieces from Kashmir, or so I'm told. Next thing I know he is taking off my scarf, and gently taking out my earrings and putting in the new ones all while telling me how gorgeous I am, and brushing my cheek and my hair. I am being dressed and undressed from the bust up and decorated by this exquisite human being - but hey, I just went with it. There is something about that kind of man - the gentle touch, the genuine intrigue, the admiring looks, the almost conceited confidence - makes me go weak in the knees. You all know what I'm talking about. Its probably a good thing I had to turn him down for a date since I was on my way out of Delhi (insert sigh). But ahhh...needless to say, I left feeling like I had just had sex without the work and a take home gift of a gorgeous pair of earrings.... even if I did have to barter the price down from $275 to $50.

oh and p.s. - today i mastered squat toilets. the fun never stops.

what happens when you say "what the hell?" 60 foot monkeys and amazing food.

Delhi.

"What's that? Is that Hanuman?" I am pointing at a 60 foot tall giant pink monkey sculpture in the middle of downtown Delhi. "It's a temple" says my guide and with eyebrows raised - "wanna go see?" How could I say no - it's a 60 foot tall sculpture in the middle of insane traffic. After we navigate the traffic and the beggars, I'm instructed to wash my hands, take off my shoes, and in we go. At first it's what I expected - garish sculptures of Hanuman, Shiva, Sita, Ram, Kali among other deities. But then I notice the giant sculptured crocodile's mouth. My guide asks me if I want to go inside the mouth - so I take a peek in - it involves a steep staircase that goes underground into darkness and the unknown but I figure - "what the hell how bad can this be?" So down I go, crouching through smaller and smaller openings till I'm almost on my knees into an underground cave. The cave is filled with more brightly adorned vegas style sculptures, adding some glow to the otherwise dank, dark and musty smell... Then I look up ahead and - oh no - a huge deep puddle. This is exactly the kind of thing tourists are warned about. "do not go wading about barefoot through bodies of water, no matter how shallow" I remember reading that somewhere, maybe for me they should of added - "in a cave in the middle of a dirty, dirty, city." I look to my guide, who is earnestly blessing himself in front of almost every deity and again think - "what the hell, there's really no politely turning back so - offer it up right?" In I go pants wet, wading up to my ankles, barefoot in Lord knows what. I round the corner of the cave to dry land, and voila there's a holy man!! He offers me a blessing, anointing my forehead with some red paste, offering me holy water to drink, and prasad (blessed food) of seeds and dried fruit. Perhaps, the journey really is the destination.

My guide and I have hit it off. He likes my adventurous spirit, and we are already planning future trips to see "real India" where he can take me into the rural villages to stay with families, but not this trip. This trip I have an agenda of tourist things to see. Per my request, he drops me next at the National Museum, which is in horrible condition. Having owned and art gallery and worked at a museum, I'm a little horrified at how these timeless pieces are being cared for. But, on the brightside, since they don't care - I was able to pay to use my camera to get some luscious shots of the sculptures (which cameras don't do much damage to - regardless I was flash "off"). I spent so much time inside my guide thought he lost me. After we zipped off to the National Gallery of Modern Art which a fascinating look into some of India's current leading artists. I have a list of artists whose work I admired while I was there, and have googled most of them. Not suprisingly, there is very little about them on the web, and very few of them have websites. There is so much hidden talent in the world.

Both of us starving, he suggests we go to place for lunch only known for locals. There is a line out the door and not a foreigner in sight. Again, this is the kind of thing your mother warns you about. There are flies everywhere, and giant bubbling concoctions in the window with lazy, street, dogs lolling about. My guide tells me he takes barely any of his guests here. Only the special ones. I smile, but really I'm just hoping I don't get food poisoning and that the blessing from the holy man keeps on ticking through this meal. When we finally get a seat in the crammed restaurant it is with a ton of other folks at a table - like I said in another post - personal space does not exist here. First course raw red onion with chutney. As is custom, there are no utensils. As you might imagine after a giant plate of this suprisingly delicious treat, I won't be snuggling up to anyone anytime soon. This is followed by naan, fish, chicken, and beef. All served in the most amazing, rich, delicious sauces that make you think you've died and gone to heaven. The first bite of fish was completely a food orgasm. We share everything, and whatever I don't finish, my guide just reaches over and eats right off my plate. That's the way here. I half expected the guy across the table to do the same thing.

I tried to snap a few pictures of the restaurant and managed to get a couple but was quickly told no more. So instead I settled for talking to my lovely new friend, turns out he has a wife, two boys, a dog. He has worked for the travel industry for years and is hoping a job comes through at a new upscale hotel where he will be handling all of their marketing and travel for tourists. He only does this driving work when times are tough, but in general he's a do it yourself travel agent. He's incredibly proud of his work, his heart is in it, and also in his Hindu faith. He is part of a system that still believes that elders are always right, so much so, that even as a grown man (I would guess him to be about 40), if he wants to go on a trip he must first have it approved by his older brother and his mother. He will never divorce, and is devoted to his family, though it is apparent that while he supports and understands my brazen career oriented American personality, in his world - the woman's place is in the home. He is kind, knowledgeable, he tells wonderful stories, and he is genuinely concerned for my safety - at least for the next three days.

I think I adore this man. Tommorrow Jaipur.

Welcome to India.

"Shit!" Milan Kumar, my young driver exclaimed as he mutters a quick prayer and makes the sign of the cross or just an "x" on the windshield. A striped tabby has just run in front of our taxi. "I thought only black cats were bad luck," I pipe up from the back seat. "No. No. Lady - all cats... very, very, bad luck." Excellent. We are just leaving the airport and my trip hasn't even started.

India hits you full frontal from the second you arrive. People are everywhere, and I do mean everywhere, personal space just doesn't exist here. Riding in the taxi reminds me of being in New York. The idea of passing involves beeping enough that the car in front of you creates a third lane in a two lane street so you can pass on either side. I am so glad I was talked out of renting a car, it would of been signing my own death certificate. As we zip along through the streets of Delhi to my hotel, I am struck by the fact that there is so much dust. It reminds me of driving in Costa Rica, but the difference is - in Costa Rica the streets were actually dust, but here the streets are paved, but there are just piles of dirt on the side of the road, as if it was too much trouble to remove the dirt when putting the road in. In downtown, at least what I've seen it, there are stores upon stores, right next to hovels where people are gathered around pit fires, sleeping under make shift housing, clothes drying on downed electrical lines. I am not in the glamourous part of town. I know this.

Getting here has been an adventure. My travel started from North Carolina to home on Tuesday night for a quick bag change and then back to the airport to come to Delhi. I estimate I have now been up for almost 36 hours with intermittent airplane sleep. I came here with a cough that's been plaguing me for three days. It seems to be nothing, certainly not enough to keep me home - no fever, no pain, just a dry pointless cough, but I did feel bad for anyone sitting near me. When dismembarking from the plane I had to fill out a H1N1 questionnaire, as well as have my temperature taken via a thermal body scanning device. I held my breath through the line, praying to not go into a coughing fit. "Have you had any fever, coughing, been exposed to anyone who may have had H1N1?" I blatently lied, knowing full well that practically half the people I know in New Hampshire have had it or been exposed to it. Luckily, I made it through - I caught a glimpse of the quarantine area - not a place I'd want to spend the night. I thought I was home free, but alas they insisted on a bag and body search. Pulled into a little dark room off the customs area with one other woman, I was patted down thoroughly (thankfully by a woman) - it's been a while since anyone's hands were well - "there" shall we say. My bags were completely emptied, but I was released. Thankfully, Milan was still waiting for me. The hotel called to check on me as I was running so late from expected arrival.

As we're zipping along, it brought back memories of the summer I lived in Florence. I was barely 21. I remember arriving at the airport in Paris for a flight change. I was so nervous that I thought I would throw up. Instead I went to information to find a place to smoke to calm my nerves and they sent me outside of the airport. When I came back in, I noticed everyone in the airport was smoking, and the ladies at information were laughing at me. Playing a joke on the stupid American. So naive. My first night in Florence, I was swept off my feet by some young Italian who took me to the top of Santa Croce to 'look at the stars.' He actually said "you know I could rape you, you shouldn't trust random men in Italy." Lesson learned. He became a friend and a protector for the rest of my time in Italy, a friend that time and distance has lost. He was hoping to meeting an American girl whose father owned Pepsi that he could marry. Lucky for me - I wasn't that girl. I look back at how naive I was, and how young. Older and wiser now I travel more safely, and more aware. Thank God I didn't come here when I was young - I think the city would of eaten me alive. I don't know how young girls now a days do it. Milan, in between cell phone talking and beeping must of read my mind, he looks back "Lady, lock your door."

My hotel is well - how do I put this - filthy. But the people are kind, and I have a bed to sleep in - which is more than I can say for many here. Luckily I brought almonds and peanut-butter-chocolate-wafery bar goodness to snack on - this is dinner. I'm in for the night - I thought initially I might go for a walk, but noticed that there are very few women on the streets, none are alone. So I think I'll count my blessings and just rest. I'm not sure when I'll be writing again. Hopefully I can find an outlet that works and that will convert energy to my computer. If not, I may be relying on internet cafes.

Oddly, despite all the chaos, I feel complete at peace. Once, when I was trying to find comparisons for Hindu religion to Christianity I was sending regular emails back and forth with the scholar Georg Feuerstein. I kept asking, "is it like this?" and he kept saying, "no." I kept trying to make comparisons, and to each and every one he responded "no, it's not like that at all." Finally, after about the tenth time he wrote "You must find comfort in the chaos that is Hinduism." I didn't email him again after that.

I'm already finding comfort in the chaos. Tommorow sightseeing in Delhi. Ah - India.