Passages From India

Car Ride - By Madeline Weston-Miles

Today we arrived in Pathankot in Punjab after our eleven hour train ride from Delhi. We all separated into several different four-wheel Toyota vehicles. In my car there was John Sorensen (the documentary producer), Mark, Prabha, and I. The day before John had bought some popular Indian dance music and got the CDs out so we could listen to them on our three hour drive to Dharamsala. It was a lot of fun dancing, singing and laughing along with the songs in the car. We also screamed every once in a while as our driver passed within inches of other cars, people, or animals in the road. It was almost impossible to relax and fall asleep because the roads were very windy and I felt compelled to watch what our driver was doing. Also the scenery was an incredible change from what we had gotten used to in Delhi. The first thing that I noticed was the incredible snow capped Himalayas, and the rows and rows of cut tea on the hillsides. Arriving in Dharamsala was a lot calmer. There weren’t as many people, and their style of living was different. I feel a lot more relaxed up here and just happier in general.

Worlds Away - By Emily Crubaugh

My backyard is a view of an apple orchard and oak trees. The kids at Tibetan Children’s Village(TCV) have the Himalayas. We’re in the foothills here at 6000 feet and they are towering above us, natural beauty at a magnificent scale. I am missing my family and friends whom I haven’t seen in two and a half weeks. Some of these kids haven’t seen their families in over a decade. One boy I met told me that his father carried him on his back over the mountains when he was three years old and then turned around and walked back. He has seen his parents only once since. I feel like I am worlds away from the US and India. We’re in “Little Tibet” now and I am loving it. The people aren’t in your face, it doesn’t go along with their beliefs. It’s starting to hit me that we are meeting the leader of these people. What an honor, what a culture, what magnificent people, and what a location.

A Story Not My Own - By Tom Shani

Today was the first day that we met and visited with our counter-parts in this project from the Tibetan Children’s Village (TCV). As we arrived we were greeted with friendly faces and a short, but intense, game of basketball, before we quickly filed into their assembly hall for a cultural presentation. The Tibetan students performed several dances for us, and one in particular was choreographed by a boy who also was playing a Tibetan guitar during the performance; he prefaced the dance by saying he woke up every morning happy because of this dance, and it wasn’t until later that I found out why.

We took our leave after the assembly and managed to get a few minutes of rest before we sat down to dinner. It was a surprise to me when we were joined by the 12th class (12th grade) from the TCV. I sat down at a table occupied by none other than the boy who choreographed the dance and played the Tibetan guitar.

“My name is Tom,” I offered in greeting. He was quick to reply: “I am Ngawang.” We sat down and chit-chatted over soup. He spoke about what his classes were, and we explained what ours were, and how the systems in our two schools were different. At some point we even compared our heights, at which point I learned that I stand at 66 cm tall against his 67. Even among a culture of shorter people I’m short! But after a little bit more food he started to tell me about his past:

“I come from a village very near to the border to Nepal where I lived with my family until I was about 11 years old. We had a house with a beautiful pasture where we used to gather in small groups and dance and sing. This is where the dance we performed for you at the assembly came from. It reminded me of home.

“When I was in Tibet (he refused any pretense that it was China), I had no idea that our people were under Chinese rule. I don’t understand why my parents kept it from me, but none of the other children in my village seemed to know either. When you come from Tibet, you are granted an audience with His Holiness Dalai Lama, and he asked me if I had known about the Chinese occupation, but I had not.”

Curious about his life, I asked him how he got to the TCV where I met him.

“One day in Tibet my father told me that we were going to cross the border into Nepal. Our village was very close, but it was still a 3 or 4 day walk to the border. We could only walk at night; we slept during the day.

“Right before the border there is a very fast river. Normally we throw ropes across and help each other across, but it is still very dangerous. Two people from the group I traveled with lost their lives. I remember the water being very cold that day. But when we were across the river it was still very dangerous. The Nepali people at the border are asking us Tibetans for money, because if we do not give them enough money, they turn us into the Chinese who will give them money. We reached a check-post and we got enough money together in our group to go past the Nepali guards.

“My father and I walked to the bus station and took a bus to my Auntie who lived in Nepal. From there she sent me to Delhi and I went to one branch of the TCV schools until class 10, where I decided to take the stream of science (the three streams are: science, commerce and art) so that I could study medicine, and that is how I came to be at the (Dharamsala) school today. I have not seen my father since I left Nepal; he went back to Tibet to care for my mother.

“Some time ago we started writing letters to each other. He tells me that he has until June of this year to demolish his house and rebuild it in the Chinese style.”
I sat and listened to his story in awe. Both by the magnitude of the story itself, but also with his openness in telling it. He did not seem sad at any point; in fact, quite the opposite. He smiled at times during his story. Time was running out though, and they all had to go back to their Hostel soon, but I was focused entirely on him by this point.

“How is it now, being so far away from home?” I asked, emboldened by his openness.

“When I first reached the TCV, I shared stories of home with the other nomads (the name that was given to those who crossed the border). Many nights I cried in my bed, as did many others. It is sad to be so far away, but I know I am here for the better. Back in my home village, there is very poor medicine; people lose their lives from simple things that can easily be cured. I’m going to become a physician. I am going to learn how to help all my friends and family back home.”

Dinner - By Jonji Barber

Dinner with the 12th grade TCV students working on the Happiness Project with us began in the same way all introductory meals do: people glancing over their water glasses to analyze their new acquaintances, the awkward restlessness of hovering forks waiting for the “polite” moment to eat, and strained silence.

We danced in this uncomfortable tango, waiting for the ice to be broken, but not daring to tread upon it. Then, recognizing the discomfort of the situation, Tenzin, a member of the Dalai Lama Foundation, proposed a question to the TCV students. When Tenzin asked the girls at the table what they were interested in doing after graduation, the group elicited an all too familiar groan. They, like us, have undergone a year of being pestered and probed with questions regarding the future, and it became clear to us that the profound distaste for these questions is universal.

With that, the tension between us was broken. We conversed in universal teen-speak, we smiled universal smiles, we laughed universal laughs. Once we established our first connection, our similarities began to emerge and shine. The dialogue carried on in this way, reaching the peak of our newfound comfort when the girls asked me to sing an Enrique Inglesias song. But before their goads and prods could convince me to imitate the Latin pop-star, the TCV students were required to return to their dormitories.

Despite the abrupt end to our bonding session, we were able to make tremendous progress tearing down the divisions between our cultures in just one day. I can’t wait to see what else we can achieve in the rest of the time we spend here.

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Old Delhi — A Poem - By John-Nuri Vissell

Keep your arms and legs inside the cart at all times
Don’t make eye contact, don’t lose your passport
If someone bumps into you, check your pockets

Isolated inside the crowded shell of the Capital city
The dirty, exotic, rough,
And exhilarating streets of Old Delhi
Twist and snake tightly
Through shops and food stands
The alleys growing progressively smaller with every turn

The conflicting smells of different street goods
Waft eagerly through my nose
Already exhausted by the nasal overload
Of new experiences

I turn left, then right
Then come to stop at the Brass market
The looming figures of metal deities
Fill my optical frame
Forcing me to step back and take a breath
Trying to take in the magnitude of the spiritual giants

I see a miniature statue of Hanuman
400 rupees, barks the store owner     
About 10 dollars
200, I report back, eyes fixed, stare steady
In this manor we haggle for a bit
I keep by eyes intense and focused
I get the Hanuman for 200

The sounds and smells of Old Delhi meet me
Like a wave as I step into the street
Playing dodge ball with the passing carts and cycles
Frantically avoiding the blurs of people
Packed into the alleyways

The crowded streets are alive
I feel the pulse beat heavily
Just below the pavement

As I emerge from the winding labyrinth
Passport still in possession
Wits still about me
I look back at the writhing mass of people
Growing smaller and smaller
I feel the pulse of Old Delhi
Fade from its crescendo
And with a long smooth exhale
I feel my our heart beat

Slow and return to normal

My Experience of India - By Mercy Bisi Olatunji

I am Mercy Bisi Olatunji. Traveling to India has been a first time experience. This is the first time I am traveling out of Jos and out of Nigeria.

We have left our home in Jos, Nigeria on Tuesday 20th March 2007 and traveled by bus for almost 13 hours to Lagos. It was indeed a very hectic journey, but also one full of excitement. We spent the night at the ECWA Guest House in Lagos. The following morning we drove to the Murtala Mohamed International Airport in Ilceja, Lagos.

This was my first experience flying in a plane. I was so afraid of flying, having heard so much about plane crashes or air mishaps back home in Nigeria. As the plane increased acceleration and gathered further momentum my fear suddenly turned to joy and excitement as I watched through the window and beheld the great clouds. This actually brought me closer to myself and to my God. I also listened to the rich variety of Ethiopian music in the plane watched different videos.

We arrived Delhi International Airport in the morning of Thursday, from where we were taken straight to the YWCA Family Hostel at Ashoka road, New Delhi, India. We enjoyed a lot of Indian food and music as we awaited the arrival of the American students. The American students arrived on Friday afternoon. We had lunch together at the YWCA and then visited the American Embassy for an audience with Ambassador Mulford, the US Ambassador to India. He was such a frank, nice, sincere and attractive personality in the company of his very beautiful wife. He listened to and responded to a number of questions from us. I was also privileged to ask him a question on what makes him feel happy.

From the US Embassy we were all hosted by a very wonderful and nice Indian friend called Arif. He gave us a lot of food, drinks, and gifts. I met a lot of people of Arif’s house and I also took photographs with two of his beautiful daughters. I cherished this experience and will recall this for a very long time.

Today will be traveling by train to Dharamsala where we shall have an audience with His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

Creative Capital - By Daniel Nanas

We’re leaving the U.S. embassy after a very interesting interview. Ambassador Mulford did his homework and was prepared for us. He was quick to make it clear if he disagreed with anything we said, which was good because it kept us on our feet.

Some of his ideas I found very interesting. One that rang true for me in particular was that creativity is a kind of energy that can be expended and recharged. Ambassador Mulford called it ‘capital’ and suggested that it is an essential quality for all public servants. As such, public servants should spend time out of office to recharge their creative capital; otherwise their ability to problem solve becomes limited and falls into a state of stagnation. I did have trouble with his ideas about the environment, as he spoke about challenges involving India’s reliance on coal, but I don’t believe the answers to our global energy crisis lie in non-renewable fuels. In the past, I might have let something like this cloud my overall impression of the ambassador, but I was successful in seeing past this and came out of the interview positive.

Later in the interview, I asked him what advice he had for those of us who were interested in public service. He recommended that we not specialize in political science and not go straight to Washington D.C. to get a permanent job there. This knocked me back a step, as I’d been thinking I might do just that. He advised that those of us who were interested in politics specialize in other areas and work in other fields, so that when the time came we’d have diverse experiences and possess the kind of perspective that is essential to any job in government.

The interview was an overwhelmingly positive experience. Ambassador Mulford was genuine and obviously cares about young people and what we plan to do with our lives after school. Given his vast amount of personal and professional experience, he was willing to talk about just about anything with some authority. I always feel good after meeting with a political leader who has these qualities, as it reaffirms my belief that positive change in the world is possible.

Arif’s Feast - By Mark Hansen

After our interview with Mulford we were graciously invited to a dinner at Arif’s house. Arif, a friend of Babaji’s, is a very succesful merchant, and he invited us to spend the evening with him in his carpet showroom. It was a truly magical experience to spend a nice meal in the presence of Babaji once again, and to experience Arif’s wonderful hospitality. Arif’s English was excellent, and he made it a warm and celebratory atmosphere with his staff and family taking very good care of us. After the meal he gave all the students gifts, India key-chains, which cemented the good feelings that were in the room.

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Sorry about the uploads and the frequencies of the latest posts, but we have lost SN’s laptop in India and his internet connection with it. We will try to keep as current as possible, but it will be a little more difficult now. If anyone in the U.S. has seen the laptop, please let us know! Also, you’ll notice that there is now a link at the bottom of the most recent posts with more pictures. We hope that you’ll enjoy them.

-Tom

Gujra Village - By John-Nuri Vissell

Today we went to the Gujra Village. The village was extremely isolated from the rest of India, and therefore showed very little influence from the outside modern world. In fact, going to the village was perhaps the closest thing you could get to going back in time.

Once we arrived at the village, the people all showed us a warm welcome. I was impressed by their style of life. They lived a quiet, simple life free of most of the stress and chaos of our modern lives. They didn’t work long hours; they didn’t worry about a morning commute, or being late to an important business meeting. Everything seemed to move at exactly the speed it needed to; they had more free time, more time to relax, more time to be in the present moment.

They lived with virtually no electricity. The only power they needed came from several small solar panels that they used to charge their flashlights for the night-time. The houses were made out of a simple form of plaster made of mud and cow dung, and the roofs were made of tightly packed dried grass. We were invited into one of the houses by the villagers where it was much cooler than standing in the hot sun. Inside the atmosphere was warm and inviting. The whole house had a natural smell that soothed me and made me feel like a part of the Earth and ground.

Being in the village and seeing the beautiful simplicity of their day-to-day lives made me think about how ridiculous our lives can be. So much of our lives are spent trying to catch up with our technologically blooming society. I can see how it would be nice to escape the rush of my life and get back to the roots of what is really important: self-reflection. I have learned a lesson from the villagers: that it is important to simplify our lives so that we can really take a step back exist in a state of reflection, living for the present moment.

Too Little Time - By Jeremy Thweatt

I never thought that I could get this close to so may people in such a short amount of time. Three days. These three days were all the so-called orphans needed to solidify themselves in my heart. Three days of jumping on me, running between my legs, and just being with me. And now we are gone, evaporated into the five a.m. mist just as we had appeared three days before.

So many of them asked if I would come back. Would they see me again? The best I could say was that I would come back if I could. I pride myself in thinking I am the most stable in my class when it comes to goodbyes but, I found myself chanting Jai Jai Ma under my breath from the moment I woke, until I got to the train station, frantically fighting back the ocean of tears welling up behind my eyes. One of the kids said that she wished that Prabha had not brought her classmates because it would be sad to see us go, but I think that it is worse for us because it is we who are doing the leaving.

But enough sadness, for we now take one more step towards the reason that brought us to India, the interview with His Holiness the Dalai Lama. With each rock of the train we move closer, closer, and further away.

Goodbye, For Now - By Jonji Barber

I have been told that when you stay at the Ashram, you are adopted by the children. Mom, Dad, I’m sorry, but you may just have to sign me over. Today is our last day at the Ashram, but I am not yet ready to leave this family.

As we prepare ourselves to leave, I notice how much the children are lamenting our departure as well.

“You leave tomorrow?” asks Parama, a small girl with large inquiring eyes. When I give a solemn nod, she pulls on my arm and exclaims, “No!”

As night approaches and with it comes the foreboding morning departure, we find ourselves soaking up the little time we have left with the kids. We play games, take pictures and bathe in the love that our relationships exude.

Parama, my Ashram companion, grabs my hand and skewers me with her eyes. “Jonji-bhai,” she starts, making sure she has my attention, “will you come back?” Pondering her question, I survey the scene around me. The girls are taking pictures with the youngest of children, Jeremy is being chased around the courtyard, Xander is teaching the kids to break-dance, and everyone else is engaged in a friendly but competitive game of basketball. My class is happy here. I am happy here. I look back down at Parama, whose unwavering stare is fixated upon me, awaiting my reply. “Of course,” I affirm. We smile together, content with this conclusion and join in on chasing Jeremy.

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Ultimate Frisbee Destruction - By Xander Crawford

We were destroyed. I usually don’t play ultimate Frisbee, but I never considered that I was particularly bad at it. I was wrong. It was a six-on-six match that pitted Americans against Indians. It ended with a staggering loss for us. The final score: 12 to nothing. We never even got close to scoring. Although it was a friendly game, I can’t help but think that they really enjoyed destroying us. Yesterday we did the same thing to them in volleyball, so now the competition is tied one to one. Tomorrow, the sport is basketball and a winner will be decided, but I don’t really care who the winner is. I am simply glad that we get to compete with friends.

Laughter - By Prabha Sharan

Laughter. That word was so strange to me two years ago. I hated that laughter even existed. Laughter was miles away from me and the fact that people loved to laugh made me angry. I stopped hanging around people just because they had laughed around me. But last year those dark days started to fade away. Laughter was slowly creeping into me. Now it seems that all I want to do is laugh. I’m glad I was open to it, because now that I’ve returned to the Ashram, I can see how loving and funny my home is. Since I have been here,

Mount Madonna Student are welcomed at the Sri Ram Vidya Mandir

all I have done is laughed with my brothers and sisters. No matter where I sit, I am surrounded by kids. Again and again I make fun of them and we laugh together. My sisters and I call each other VIPs because everybody makes room for us, and if we ask for something, the other kids run off to get it. I have cherished every single moment of my stay with the kids and every moment that we have shared laughing.

Dancing Fiend - By Nina Castañon

Today, our second day at the Sri Ram Ashram happened to be Babaji’s birthday. The day started out normally but after breakfast everyone broke into a birthday frenzy getting ready for their performances. We Mount Madonna students practiced “Jai Jai Ma” and “Seasons of Love” and were all very nervous about performing in front of a large crowd of Babaji’s friends. Especially since were already in awe of the talent of the students from the Ashram who would also be performing. I went from room to room finding people, scurrying around to get their costumes just right, or trying to put on that last bit of lipstick before running out the door. I was busy trying to find someone to tie my sari for me which I had bought a couple days earlier in New Delhi and was dying to wear. A kind woman who was very skilled at tying saris helped me out and her tie made it past Babaji’s very experienced eye. We performed our songs and quickly took our seats to watch the rest of the performance. Just when we thought that our time on the stage was over, Ranu, a college student at the orphanage, invited us up on stage to dance with the Indian students. A brave few ran up quickly and within a matter of seconds the two schools were performing together in what I think was a better dance then we could have ever hoped to choreograph. I myself was cutting a rug and had a great time. Hopefully that won’t be the last time that we dance together.

Sorry today’s upload took so long, but we hope a couple more photos will make up for it:
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