Saturday, January 26, 2013

Touristy Taj





    I went to see the Taj Mahal! I had arrived in Delhi for a weekend workshop on Organic Farming, where I met Dr.Vandana Shiva, but had the week following to play with. Rachy and I were traveling to Goa for Christmas but after the 22nd of December when she had finished her time at AIMS, the hospital in New Delhi she was working at. Agra, the city where the Taj Mahal was built was only a few hours by train, so I thought I would do an overnighter in Agra, see the town, the Taj, and whatever other sights there were in the area.
    I booked a Tat Khal train ticket, tat khal means emergency or last minute and are available the day before departure. I was to leave Wednesday at 11:30am. The morning of I met my Australian retiree friend for breakfast. Again she helped me get to New Delhi Train Station, find my platform, and wish me well in my travels. Such a lovely lady.
    The three hour train ride was mostly pleasant. India is always noisy and sometimes you just want peace and quiet, especially after staying in a major city like Delhi. That being said I have always loved bus, train, or plane rides and it was nice to just sit back and take in the Indian countryside.   
    When I arrived in Agra I caught a rikshaw to a Hotel I had read about in the Lonely Planet. The information I was given about the hotel was incorrect and this particular hotel was way out of my price range. Luckily my rikshaw driver was still around and drove me to the same place my Australian friend had stayed at a few nights before. The Taj Guest House, just a few blocks over; I got a very basic room on the main floor for a reasonable price. After all it was only one night so I could deal with my cell block. My Australian friend had put it best when she said I had been spoiled by Udaipur, which I think was partly true. The hotel room I had there was incredible! Incredible view, incredible owners, abundant space, decent bathroom. It was pretty swank. I paid the same price in Udaipur as I did in Agra, for a fraction of what I got. Quite the spectrum indeed.
    Too excited to do anything else I washed off the train ride, put myself together and headed straight to the Taj Mahal. To enter into the Taj you have to walk down a long, narrow street which is laden with souvenir shops, touts, and vendors. In Agra, I learned, sales pressure is far greater than anywhere else I have been. It is much more aggressive as I am sure the competition is far more fierce!
    I bought my ticket and started to head into the Taj when I was stopped by a man. He told me that there was free water and shoe cover. In that instance all I wanted to do was to go see the Taj, which was just steps away. I could get water at any time and I really just didn’t want to be bothered, by anyone. I could see people inside the Taj grounds wearing their shoes so I didn’t understand why this man was telling me to leave my shoes at the entrance. I knew that you were not allowed to wear shoes inside the tomb of the Taj, but I figured you could take your shoes off at the entrance to the tomb, not the entrance to the Taj grounds. After a frustrating conversation I finally realized that the man was letting me know that they were offering free shoe covers, like the little booties we get at Fort Mac because our boots are so dirty. Once I realized this I thanked the man for letting me know, and he walked me over to get the water and shoe covers. I have already learned that nothing is free in India, even if people say so, it usually isn’t true, there is always an exchange of something. Hence my suspicion and frustration. Same was true in this circumstance. Despite the fact that this man helped me get the water and shoe covers he also wanted me to come to his shop to buy, whatever it was that he sold. Of course!
    I got inside the Taj grounds and could see the Taj Mahal peeking out through an arched doorway ahead of me. I was so excited. I hadn’t planned on going to see the Taj while in India. I didn’t think it would be on my route and I sometimes lack the desire to do all the stereotypical tourist things, for a variety of reasons. But the closer I got to the Taj, the more the anticipation built. Entering into the fort doorway the Taj was in plain view now and it was absolutely stunning, perhaps even breathtaking. On the other side of the entrance I had to stop dead in my tracks and just take it in. I have never seen such a beautiful sight! Tourists are buzzing every which way and it looks like a beehive with swarming wasps moving all around the tomb. All of the busy bees working towards keeping the Queen Taj bee, alive and well through tourism dollars. It really is a sight to see.
    After I regained power and movement in my legs I walked closer to the Taj. But I couldn’t go far without having to stop and take picture after picture after picture. I would go ten feet, stop for a photo op. Then another ten, photo, then maybe 15 feet. This went on for the entire length of the fountain walkway leading up to the Taj.
    I usually attract attention as a tourist in India. I cant go far without people noticing me, the clothes I wear, and the colour of my skin. The Taj was no exception. Just the same as me stopping every ten feet to get a photo of the Taj, I was stopped every ten feet by locals wanting to get a photo of me! I was already a little irritated with the week; being in Delhi, a huge city, with very little space to yourself, constant noise, activity, and movement. I was longing for some self time, especially in the presence of such an incredible building and world wonder, but Agra was not the place to get it! I would say yes to photos for some people, mostly women or families, and no to others, mostly young guys. In addition to the attention I was already drawing, this day I was wearing my very brightly coloured Indian suit; purple and yellow. I believe I drew even more attention looking like a patriotic peacock of a tourist in India!
    I got a slight reprieve while in the tomb. I wish I had a stronger and more varied vocabulary to describe everything about the Taj and the tomb. It is not even so much what I saw its just the feeling or energy that it emanates. It is a powerhouse of . . . No it is powerful and distinguished. You respect its presence so much so just by it being there. Much the same way Dr.Shiva holds an incredible power that you are absolutely amazed by when in her presence! I spent a few minutes inside the tomb just standing there taking it all in. Despite the fact that everyone else is doing a merry-go-round inside the tomb, I stood off to the side and just felt it. Again, truly amazing.
    I once again joined the ranks and shuffled along with everyone else until I was outside the tomb again. Once outside many people take pictures of their loved ones with the Taj or the surrounding river, in the background. I chose to sit down on the cool marble floor of the Taj platform and again just be in its presence, or have its presence be in me. Well that was my plan. I was approached by Indian tourist after Indian tourist wanting my photograph. I couldn’t get over the irony! Here I am at one of the few wonders of the world and people are more eager and excited to get my photograph than a photo of the Taj! It didn’t make sense to me. After a while I grew tired of the constant badgering and decided to leave the main platform. I had refused a photo from one group of boys who kept asking and started to follow me. I kept on refusing a photo but they kept insisting. At one point I actually found myself fleeing from them! I thought I had escaped them and was sitting quietly on a bench when they found me again! They still wouldn’t stop insisting and bugging me! I started to get really upset because they just wouldn’t listen to me. Even before this they kept trying to take a picture of me just in the background even though I had already said I didn’t want my photo taken! This last time when I started to get upset they finally got the hint, even more so because I started drawing attention from other tourists noticing the scene. After they left more tourists started asking for my photo! I now know what celebrities feel like being hounded by the paparazzi! Once I left the Taj Mahal I bee lined it through the long corridor of shops and went to a rooftop patio where I could view the Taj Mahal and sip a cup of chai by myself! 
    For all of the Taj's beauty and splendor Agra; the city which houses it, does not match. The town itself is dirty, busy, lacks charm, and character, and is full of people looking to get something from you. Early the next morning I was greeted by an unpleasant surprise as I got food poisoning from food I ate in Agra. This wasn’t my first experience in India getting sick from food, Im sure it wont be the last either. However, to date it has been the most severe. I had a arranged to go sightseeing that day and wasn’t sure if I could manage it given my new situation. I had some ginger tea, sucked it up and went sightseeing. After the Agra fort, where I spent at least a half hour just sitting on a bench enjoying the quiet solitude I went to a garden with a view of the Taj across the river. I spent another half hour having a snooze when I realised that I didn’t have the energy to sightsee and really just wanted to get back to Delhi, rest, and prepare for my flight to Goa the next day. I went to the train station and bought a general boarding ticket to New Delhi. I am still learning about traveling in India. There were two assumptions I made at this point. One, was that ‘New Delhi’ meant the New Delhi Train Station and two, that there would be seats in the ‘general boarding’ compartment. As everyone on the platform made a run for the train I too hopped into a compartment which had basically shelving for which to sit. It looked like the place you put your baggage on a train, not where you put yourself. I couldn’t sit upright in the ‘shelf’ I got into, not to mention the fact that above me where a row of Sadhus, their rear ends only inches away from my head. On top of this the entire compartment smelt like cow dung, I’m not really sure of the source. After a few minutes of being incredibly uncomfortable and realising I would not last the three hour train ride to Delhi I decided to go sit on the ground away from the shelving. After doing so a man outside the train said that there was a ‘ladies cart‘, a standard part of most transit vehicles in India. So I hopped off the compartment I was in and got into the ‘ladies cart’ which was packed! There was one spot available on a top “bunk“. So I climbed up there and shared the top bunk with a man sleeping next to me. I could not sit up straight, I definitely came to appreciate body space after this experience, I could not stretch out my legs, I could barely move, but I rationalized that it was better than waiting around dirty Agra for many more hours suffering through my illness. So I hugged my backpack, hunched over like Quasimodo and rested. After a while the cute little girls sitting across from me let me stretch my legs across to the opposite bunk, which was a nice reprieve. The sleeping man woke up in the last half hour, enough time for me to lay back and let my neck and spine be straight. Lovely.
    I made it to Delhi in one piece. Although when I got off the train I soon discovered that I was not at New Delhi Train Station, which is only a five minute walk from the hotel I was staying at. But somewhere in the south of Delhi. So I hired a taxi and got a ride to New Delhi. A ride where I could stretch out my legs, hold my back and head up straight, and not have a man sleeping next to me. It was amazing!
    I can say that I saw the Taj Mahal, a wonder of the world. It is a wonder! It is a wonder that such a beautiful building exists in such a horrible city. It is a wonder why Indians are more interested in taking a picture of a white woman than the Taj Mahal, it is a wonder why my digestive system can tolerate much of the food I ingest here in India, without even further illness and distress. Most importantly it is a wonder why I am fortunate enough to be able to travel to India, experience the good and the bad, and be able to share it with all of my friends and family back home. That is probably the greatest wonder for me!

L'Arche Kerala

    I love the breeze in Kerala. Everyday the most gentle breeze moves through the air and brings reprieve to your sticky skin. Kerala is in the south of India, and as such is much hotter than the north. I cannot get through the afternoon without having a permanent layer of sweat coating my body, and that glisten-y look to my skin. As much as it can be uncomfortable it is good for the skin and keeps my sebaceous glands working efficiently.
    I have decided that Kerala, and the L’Arche community here, hosts some of my most favorite things in life. For starters coconuts! There are coconut trees aplenty. L’Arche Kerala has 10 acres of land used, in part, to support the community. There are coconut, banana, and cashew trees, hibiscus plants, and black pepper to name a few. They also have milk cows, but I haven’t yet had the opportunity to milk them ;) Coconuts; everywhere! They fall from the trees. We usually gather and collect them to use in our cooking. There are several cooks which prepare the meals for the whole community. Guess what they put in everything they make??? Coconuts !!! It is fabulous. Either they shred coconuts to make a fantastic chutney, or they use the oil of the coconuts to cook with. Beyond this there are always fresh coconuts to crack open and drink their delicious water, or eat the fleshy pulp. So delicious!
    Flowers! Flowers are everywhere here in Kerala. Not only are they everywhere, but they are my favorite type of flower; hibiscus, which is actually an herb. But they have a beautiful flower. I have a particularly good association with hibiscus as not only are they very good for your immune system, but they first time I viewed them I was on the most magical trip in Honduras. I had hiked into a remote community called Montana Verde in the North West of Honduras. We spent the night in this remote mountaintop community with no running water, no electricity, and no roads to drive in on. When the morning came we were invited into a modest home where they prepared fresh tortilla on a wood stove, and served it to us with beans, queso (cheese), and coffee. I remember walking out of this humble home and being surrounded by hibiscus plants. They were incredible. The most brilliant shade of fuchsia pink and red, all around me. So alive and vibrant! Perhaps the feelings I was experiencing at the time being in that community and on that mountaintop. Needless to say I love hibiscus.
     Ashaniketan uses these gorgeous flowers all the time! For every celebration, or occasion the hibiscus flowers are gathered and displayed in an attractive fashion. If it is someone’s’ birthday all types of flowers are collected. Some are used to make a lovely bouquet, while the others are handed out to everyone present. Then, one by one, we take the flower up to the birthday girl or boy, and give it to them. By the end of this “ceremony” the birthday individual is covered with an amazing assortment of flowers. Such a lovely way to celebrate someone’s day of birth!
    Two years ago I made it a New Years’ resolution to always have fresh flowers in my house. This goes to show how much I love fresh flowers and relish having them around at all times. And, yes, I achieved the resolution ;)
    Singing. L’Arche Kerala is almost always full of song. I was looking forward to this the most in coming back to L’Arche. One of my favorite things/memories in L’Arche Choluteca, Honduras was the music. We sang, practically, all day long. We would get up, go to capia (chapel), and sing morning prayers. Then we would sit down for breakfast. But before we ate, we would sing a song, a grace, to bless our food. After breakfast was another song/grace to close the meal. Singing would carry on throughout the day at every meal, every prayer, and pretty much everything we did. I loved it! We don’t sing quite as often here in L’Arche Kerala, but there is singing. Mostly at prayer time; every night at 7pm. Or on Friday’s when the whole community gathers for prayer. However L’Arche Kerala has a lovely tradition whereby at a celebration, or birthday, the guests will opt to sing a song in honour of the occasion. I really enjoy the voices. They are incredibly beautiful. I really enjoy Indian singing, the inflection in voice is so captivating. In just holds me in such a close embrace that I never want it to let me go. It warms, energizes, and creates such a sense of peace within. What would I want it to stop?
    Hands and feet; more of my favorite things. It is not so much that L’Arche Kerala is full of people with beautiful hands, but that everyone is always holding hands. It is great. I am constantly witnessing friends, community members, neighbours, walking down the road holding hands. More than once a day my hand is picked up by someone and is held. Likewise I do the same with others in the community.
     I will admit that we do not hold feet. I have always taken a liking to feet. The reason being is that they are what carry you through life. It is important that we don’t neglect them and give them as much love and attention as every other part of our body. Hence my foot fetish. In this community you are almost always shoeless. Some members of the community don’t even wear shoes or sandals when leaving the house. Part of this is convenience or comfort, as Kanaka’s feet don’t really work in shoes or sandals. Beyond this there are so many interesting feet in the community. Many are very worn from wearing sandals everywhere, rough roads, and general wear and tear. Many of the toes here are differing lengths and sizes. I took a fabulous photo of a soapy footprint just this morning. Still I indulge my fetish.


   Lastly, I love the breeze. The breeze in Kerala is soft and gentle, but just enough to refresh you from the warm days. Every time it passes over my body I give thanks that I have that moment away from the heat, away from the humidity, and the feeling of constantly being dewy. I have always loved a fresh breeze. It reminds me of summer. A warm breeze pushing through the leaves on the trees, a glass of something cool in your hand, and the feeling of . . . being. I was going to write 'relaxed' or 'peaceful', but I think 'being' is exactly what you are doing and feeling on those summer days that i am so fond of ;)
    I guess, after writing this, it is safe to assume that you can make me pretty happy if you keep coconuts well stocked, always have fresh flowers around, hold my hand/s, sing beautiful things, and put a fan on me!!! I don’t know if this makes me incredibly simple, or incredibly unrealistic. Hahahahha. Take your pick!!

Jagdish Temple




    A trip to the Jagdish temple. I had walked by it several times and not really taken note. Michele, a fellow traveler, had wanted to go. So I was game as well. The temple is marked by at least 2-3 flights of stairs straight up. Apparently you need to be in good physical shape to connect with God. Once you travel up the stairs you are directed to a shoe deposit where you are to take off your shoes while in the temple area.
The building itself is absolutely stunning! I love architecture to begin with but ancient architecture with incredibly detailed, hand carving is even better. One of the men that works at the temple was giving a bit of an explanation about the rows in the stone carvings.  The first row were demons, then elephants, a sign of good luck in Indian culture, then horses, for power, followed by humans, and then the Gods dancing. The carvings of the Gods’ were of course larger than the rest of the rows. I really liked how the Gods were dancing. I love to dance, and have always loved to dance. It makes me feel free, expressive, beautiful, sensual, enchanting, fluid, ethereal even. Dancing is definitely one of my most favourite things to do. To see it literally carved in stone being performed by the Hindu Gods made me pretty happy.
    Inside the temple there are offerings being given, bindi’s marked with a bright red powder, women are chanting, men are lying down on the floor, arms outstretched and hands pointed in prayer at the god idol, sitting at the perfect centre of the temple. Everything is alive and devoted to worship. While sitting with some of the chanting Indian women I noticed  a mother and young daughter at the temple. They seemed very sweet and I smiled at them.
    When it was time to go Michele and I came down the many temple steps and were greeted by the mother and young daughter I had seen in the temple. I mentioned them in an earlier post as they invited us to tea at their home. I was further invited to dinner at their home,  which I did later accept. I went to Geeta‘s, the mother, place of work and confirmed that I would come on Sunday for dinner. Well this invitation extended into a whole day affair where Geeta, her daughter Jaya, and the rest of the family would take me around all of Udaipur, and then prepare a homemade meal for me. How fabulous!
    Sunday it was. I met Geeta at the Jagdish temple and walked with her to her home where the two children were waiting eagerly. Geeta’s husband, Krishna, was just coming home from work. When I arrived at the house Geeta first prepared a traditional Rajasthani breakfast for me; poha and chai. Poha is seasoned rice, no spicy, with some seeds mixed in. it was delicious and I wondered why restaurants in town didn’t offer it as a breakfast option. Of course chai was offered. Chai is always offered and always the thing to share amongst people. Even if it is 11 o’clock at night, chai will be served if there is someone there to drink it. This suits me just fine as I love chai and could drink it all day everyday, and I do!
    After breakfast it was dress up time. The children were put into ‘going out’ clothes and Stephanie became the large, white, Canadian doll for them to dress up. First it was the choice between two traditional Indian dresses; one white, one green. The green suited my complexion better, so green it was. Then Krishna, the husband painted to finger and toe nails to match. He also covered me with a very mild perfume, which was lovely. But made me feel like I had a B.O. problem! Then Geeta and Jaya put makeup on me. They wouldn’t accept ‘nay‘, or ‘no’ as an answer. So they drew kohl on my eyes, making them appear larger. They consistently told me how wonderful and beautiful I looked. I personally wasn’t a fan of the dress. I like the typical kourtas and sari’s that Indian women wear. But I was a guest, and they seemed to enjoy playing with their large Canadian doll, so I let them!
    We left the house to “see the city”. I walked all over Udaipur. I walked all over Udaipur in someone else’s’ high-heeled sandals. It wasn’t so bad at first. But we walked for over an hour to get to the Neemish Temple. The Neemish Temple is the place where Krishna and Geeta met, fell in love, and eventually married. After walking the distance to get to the temple we then walked another 750 feet up a hill to get to the top. My tree planting legs were still strong and enduring so the height and distance didn’t bother me. What bothered me was that my sweaty feet kept slipping out of the sandals. Krishna had to hold my hand almost the entire way up so I didn’t fall out of the shoes. Ha ha ha ha ha. I certainly felt like a white, Canadian doll in distress.
    But the view was worth it. At the top were vistas upon vistas. All of Udaipur lay in front of us, and all of the neighbouring mountains lay everywhere else. Truly amazing. Although, yet again, my camera died once at the top. So I only got a few pics in. Oh well, another time, another 750 feet!
    I should mention that on the walk up to the temple Geeta and I stopped to get Panipuri. A new favourite of mine. Imagine puffed out Pringles chips. Small, round, hollowed out dumplings. That are very light and crispy in their texture. You poke a hole in the top, stuff it with a seasoned potato mix, then dunk it into a spicy lime brine, then into a sweet, but thicker, sauce. You put the whole thing in your mouth at once. I am always so worried about being rude or offensive in a new and different culture. But it is nice to know that there are some times you don’t have to worry and you can put the whole panipuri in your mouth at once! It tastes incredible. What doesn’t taste incredible is the incense you eat when you go to a Hindu temple. Here in India I am putting things in my mouth I never thought possible! Yes, I understand how funny that last statement was. When you enter into a temple, besides taking off your shoes, you often ring a bell, take a spoonful of water to drink (which I pretend to do as I don’t know if my body will agree with the water) and then one to pour on your head. I think (finger’s crossed) it is incense that you can also take into your mouth. There is also some kind of seed. You take a spoonful of it in your hand. Geeta examined the seeds in my hand for quite some time, then put some more, and some more. Then told me that the seeds represented the prayers I had asked for. I was now to keep these seeds somewhere safe and my prayers would come true. I put them in a zipper of my camera bag. If my camera gets stolen then my prayers certainly won’t come true ;)
        After the, also difficult, walk down in the same sandals. We took a rikshaw to a local garden that was built for the Majaranas daughter. It turned out to be one of my favourite places in Udaipur. Solely due to the fact that it was quiet, peaceful, and away from the dirty city streets. It was lovely. We sat there and munched on roasted peanuts and popcorn. Both a very popular street treat. You can smell the peanuts roasting as you walk down any city street. Just the same you can also see the large woks popping fresh popcorn anywhere in the city of Udaipur.
    After we left the garden we refreshed ourselves with some freshly squeezed cane juice. The juice press has a large crank and squashes the sugar cane. It pours down onto a large chunk of ice, which cools the juice. Then they pour the juice through a strainer and  into a glass. Delicious. Then there was even more food!!!
    We arrived back to Krishna and Geeta’s home for dinner. Unfortunately the tube for the propane tank which they use to cook all of their food has been blocked. So Geeta had to use a small kerosene element to cook the entire meal. There were rounds of delights. Let me tell you. First there was chai, which was more than welcome after a busy and slightly draining afternoon walking around in the hot Indian sun. Then there was a piece of chocolate cake, which was shared by all by feeding each other. It was at this point that I remembered a birthday of my best friend Jasmine. I was invited to her home for cake and festivities. Everything was the same as in my home for the birthday celebrations, however, once the cake is cut the birthday girl/guy is fed the first bite. In turn everyone in attendance is fed a bite of the cake. Jasmine’s family is Indian so it makes sense that I should practise the same tradition in India!
    I watched Geeta’s mother-in-law, sit in front of the t.v., shell and peel clove after clove of garlic. She must have prepared twenty plus cloves. All of which were going into our dinner! As the cooking was coming along Krishna and Geeta pulled me into their storage room. Once a week they purchase a bottle of beer and share it between them, but away from the kids and Geeta’s mother-in-law. Out of respect, of course. Here I am in a storage closet with a bottle of clandestine beer, which I cannot drink because of my gluten intolerance. But I drank some of it anyway . . . And suffered for it in the aftermath. It was nice to spend time with Geeta and Krishna. You can see how much they love each other and what a happy family they are. The kids are always smiling and playful. There is always lots of silly, playfulness. Lots of hugs and affection. It was incredibly sweet. In addition to the beer Geeta and Krishna had a bag of chips, which we all shared, and all fed to each other as well.
    As the night passed I caught up on Bollywood and Hollywood movies, the latest in Indian MTV, and some traditional Rajasthani folk dance. Geeta kept apologizing for how long the food was taking to cook. But truth be told I would have waited double the time for homemade Indian food . . . In India! I couldn’t have been happier.
    At last the meal was ready; mutton, or goat, rice, and chappati. The mutton was cooked in a pressure cooker, which made it all the more tender and moist. So incredible! We of course fed each other, which I liked. I think it is considerate and intimate. Although I noticed that as everyone else just ate their meals, Krishna kept solely feeding me. I wasn’t sure if I looked starved or if it was the Indian obsession with a white woman, but I think I had two servings for dinner that night!
    Before I knew it the day and evening had passed. It was time for me to go back to my hotel and rest my weary white Canadian doll head. I was invited to stay the night at Geeta and Krishna’s. Considering the fact that this family of four all sleep together, in the one room of their apartment, which serves as their family, living, and dining room, I thought it best to say good night and sleep in my own hotel room bed. The gap between a rich, white, Canadian tourist, and a humble Indian family had never felt as grand as it did then. Especially in light of the their abundant supply of hospitality and generosity bestowed to me.
    That was when the Canadian doll spent the day with Geeta, Krishna, Jaya, and Ragvir.

Friendly Strangers- Rishikesh

Elisa from Austria

    What a gem. We met at Parmarth Niketan. The first time I saw her she immediately reminded me of my best friend Jasmine. In Jasmine’s younger years she had a short hair cut, much like Elisa had, with brown eyes to match. Elisa became my porridge and tea buddy. Every morning after yoga and meditation we would go for porridge at The Office. Correction, we would go for porridge and tea at The Office. A small, whole in the wall of a place with the best fruit and museli, porridge, or juices. They also offered apple and cinnamon, banana, or chocolate samosas! They boasted that they were the only place in all of India to offer these types of samosas. Elisa and I would talk about life, travels, life at the Ashram. She was so gentle, and soft in everything she did. I felt like a big, clumsy, boisterous Canadian next to the feminine, and graceful Elisa.
    My favourite memory of Elisa was going into the town of Rishikesh to buy our very first Indian outfits. Elisa had very expensive tastes. Every fabric she selected was worth the most amount of money. We had a lot of fun shopping together. She selected a beautiful blue and bronze sari, which she looked incredible in. We went to pick up our newly tailored clothes the next day. Of course we wanted to try them on to make sure they fit. We were assured by the store owner that they fit 100% guarantee. We insisted upon trying the clothes on. The tailor put us on his motorbike and drove us over to his workshop, where we were able to try on the clothes. Of course they didn’t fit. Elisa’s sleeves were too small, our scarves were missing, and the drawstring to my pants were also missing. Good thing we insisted!
    Every evening, after dinner, Elisa and I would duck out of the ashram into the deserted streets of Luxman Jula, and go to the office for evening tea. I would usually get mint, and Elisa ginger, lemon, honey. Language was a challenge as I didn’t speak German, and English wasn’t her first language. But we got by and enjoyed each others’ company. I was thankful to have her as my ashram buddy. Beautiful woman, beautiful presence, beautiful spirit.

NGO Matt

    We sat together and had tea one evening at Bandhari Swiss Cottage. Matt from America, well actually from all over. He grew up in South Africa; his parents were missionaries, but ultimately ended up residing in Tampa Bay Florida. He had spent many years being a very successful marketing executive working sixteen and seventeen hour days. Working all the time and accumulating a great deal of success. He came to a point where he realised was very unfulfilled. So he sold everything, traveled to India and started an NGO supporting local orphanages through marketing.
    Khusi Hona is the umbrella organization for orphanages in the province if Andrah Pradesh in southeast India. Matt took his marketing knowledge and experience and used it to gain international attention, sponsorship, and funding for the children of these orphanages. Not claiming any donations for himself Matt has spent the past two months building this NGO, spending time at the orphanages, and providing support in the ways he knows how. I further found out that his father is an author and has over 47 different books published on theology. A very interesting encounter indeed. 
khusihona.org

Tara from Winterpeg- Life Coach

    I met Tara in my Kathak dance class. On my first day of class she arrived late, but was the shinning star for the rest of us. She had been practising Kathak for a couple of weeks and as such was the senior student. It was her example that we were all to follow. She was also the only one in class that had the guingeroo, until I got mine a week later!
    Once I stepped up my game and also became an example in class did we speak more. Tara spends several months a year at the ashram. When she first arrived Swamiji just put her to work answering emails, and doing other administrative things for the ashram. She kept coming back as she enjoyed the ashram but also to lend her time and skills.
    After some time I found out that she works as a life coach in Winnipeg, Manitoba. She does offer her life coaching skills while in India at the ashram, but on a much more low key scale. I really enjoyed having her at the Kathak dance class with me. We would have a good laugh together, especially when we screwed up the dance moves and our guruji’s would give us hell. By the time I left I had a fondness for my fellow Kathak dancing, guingeroo wearing, Canadian. Again, always nice to have a buddy.

Dancing in Delhi

Dancing in Delhi

    I went to Delhi for the weekend as Dr.Vandana Shiva was speaking at a workshop on organic farming. I packed up all of my belongings, said good bye to Parmarth Niketan ashram and caught a government bus from Rishikesh to Delhi. One of the best things I have done since I have been in India is get a local phone!!! It took a lot of work and a couple of tries to get it sorted, but it is so great to have a cell. Especially when you are arriving in a huge city and want to be able to call the one person you know there! I arrived just after sun down, negotiated a rikshaw into the heart of Delhi, and arrived to meet Rachy, a good friend from back home, and the sister of one of my besties Tabitha!
    After dropping my belongings and washing the bus ride off Rachy and I went for a good meal. I had a Mexican dish, yes Mexican in India, doesn’t seem to be right. Then it was time to have a pre-party nap as we were going out to a reggae club. Rachy never ceases to amaze me. For one she always has a smile on her face. Whether she is eating, speaking, dancing, or probably even sleeping, she is smiling. It is wonderful and always brightens me up! Secondly Rachy always knows where the party is at. Whether she is flying into Calgary for the Snowblower show, hitting up Shambhala, or locating the best reggae scene in Delhi, she is on top of it and knows all the right people to enjoy the party with. Furthermore Rachy is an inspiration. Right now she is doing a three week placement at a hospital in Delhi. She is finishing up her fourth year of med school which is an entire year of doing placements at a hospital, or hospitals in Rachy’s case. She is lucky enough to have broken up her placements across the globe. Some of her placements include New Delhi, Churchill, Canmore, and maybe even Nicaragua. So impressive and incredible! I also love the duality that Rachy has. She works hard and knows how to play even harder. Its fabulous!
    Off we went to a reggae club in Haus Khaus. We got right in  because Racy knows everyone. I met a group of friends she has in Delhi. She met them last year when she couch surfed with them here in Delhi. The Dj was great, but a little frustrating as they wouldn’t play a whole song, or a consistent beat, for more than thirty seconds. Challenging for a girl who loves to dance and just wants to let it all out! Because of our pre-party nap Rachy and I got to the club just as the Dj was finishing up. Not a worry; Rachy’s friends had another party lined up; of course. Would I expect any less. We shuffled out to the street to grab some rikshaws. Our very large group jammed into four different riks, four per rik. Most had one person sitting on a lap. In our rikshaw were Christine and Dan, both from Europe and both working in Delhi. The pair, now a couple, met here in Delhi doing the same work exchange. Really lovely people.
    Our entourage of rikshaws scooted through the city. To be perfectly honest it seemed a little surreal, like I was in a movie or something. It actually reminded me of Midnight in Paris, when Owen Wilson gets picked up in the incredibly fancy cab, and takes off in it with a full party of people dressed in their finest, drinking wine and champagne. Indian rikshaws are not the same as a swank car from the twenties, but I am a simple gal and everything is relative.
    We arrived at a venue called The Garden of the Five Senses. The place was a dream. I couldn’t believe that it existed in the middle of dirty Delhi. It was a paradise; manicured lawns, landscaped gardens, flowers everywhere. We were arriving at a graduation party for a local college. Everyone was dressed in their finest clothes, the young women looked so glamorous and modern in their platform heels, and chic evening wear.
    We immediately made friends with one of the girls attending the graduation party. She actually wasn’t graduating but was the date of a guy who was. She was very sweet, from Germany I think. Working in Delhi, for a German company. Very friendly and interested in what Rachy and I were doing in Delhi. She had to run off shortly after chatting but I remember her final comments to Rachy and I “Good luck with your time at the hospital and you," she pointed to me, "come back to Delhi”. I had originally planned on being in Delhi only for the weekend, althpugh stayed for about a weeks' time after her request!


      Ruffus, one of the group from Delhi, took over the Dj booth and put some music on for us to dance to. The girls found a bag of ‘pageant’ banners. Each one with a different title “Miss Best Dressed”, “Miss Dance Queen”, “Mr.Hunk”, etc. The banner I was labeled with was “Miss Decent”, not entirely inappropriate as I didn’t take the time to ‘dress up’ and get ready for a club that night. I just wore the kourta I had traveled in from Rishikesh, so I did look “decent”, modest, and not in the least bit revealing or exposed!
    We danced at The Garden of Five Senses until it grew tired. As it turned out Rachy and I were not in the middle of Delhi, but, well actually I still don’t know where we were but it was very far from anything close by. Despite this we decided to find a way home. Leaving all senses behind, including common, we walked down a deserted road in search of a main one. Accompanied by two young India guys who seemed more bothered by our presence than appreciative we found a main street and a rikshaw to boot. We drove home and froze as Delhi is fairly warm during the day but cools off substantially at night. Plus rikshaws do not have sides to them, so 50km/creates quite the drafty breeze.
    Saturday night was a similar occurrence of events. Delicious dinner, pre-party nap, this night I actually took the time to get ready in ‘going out’ clothes, then we were off. I cannot remember the name of the place we went to but we got right in and drinks were free until 11pm. So we took advantage of that. Up until Delhi I had not been drinking alcohol at all. Before I left for India I had spent six weeks or more or visiting with friends and family where alcohol was commonly available. I figured that I should correct the balance once arriving in India and give it up for awhile. So taking advantage of free alcohol after not drinking it for over a month, not the wisest decision. Hahahaha!
    Needless to say we had a great night! I met new people, I also met the group from the night before and most of them didn’t recognize me, Hahahahha! Apparently I truly was Miss Decent the night before. But tonight I was not, I was probably Miss Dancing Queen. Dance we did. The music was great and it felt so good to shake it all off. I made friends with some local Indian girls before we got on the dance floor. I saw the three of them taking photos and I offered to take a group shot for them. Then I told them a tip that I learned from our dear Kim Kardashian; if you tilt your chin slightly down in photos you wont get a double chin. This group of girls really liked the tip and really liked me as the four of us tore it up all night!! I had so much fun with them!
    I left the floor to take a break and then became known as “Miss Canada”. One of the girls from the dance floor came up to me and complimented my dancing, then asked where I was from. I told her, to which she replied that she had been to Canada and loved it. Another guy overheard me say Brampton, which is where he had lived for awhile. All of a sudden I was surrounded by a GTA collective, right in the heart if Delhi. So cliché but the world is so small.
    When the club died down I opted out of the after party as Dr.Shiva was speaking the next day and I wasn’t going to miss it for the world. Rachy and I parted ways; I went back to the hotel to sleep, and Rachy went to the after party where she feel asleep, was forgotten about, and left behind at a farm house somewhere forty minutes or so outside of the city. I apparently made the right decision.
    Dancing in Delhi was a ball. It some respects it could have been Toronto with the mix of people, the life, the vibrancy, and the buzz that exists there. But it wasn’t. It was New Delhi, India, and a new experience for me. Just fabulous! Thanks Rachy, you are the eternal “Miss Dancing Queen”!
   

Creep Factor

Indian Men

    Many members of my family and my friends were concerned about me traveling alone in India as a SWF (single white female). I was not worried as I have traveled extensively, particularly in Latin America where men are lude and crass and overtly sexual. Beyond this I feel very confident as a woman and as a traveler and don’t feel that I would attract a situation where I may be harassed or assaulted. Even though anything can happen I really wasn’t concerned.
    Now that I have been in India for two months I can understand why everyone has been so concerned. Nothing bad has happened to me but Indian men are insane. I should rephrase that and say ‘most’ Indian men are insane. I am already always watched anywhere I go in India due to the colour of my skin and from simply being a tourist. But the way Indian men look at me, other female tourists, and other women in general is awful. The word my friends and I have chosen is “creepy”. But beyond being creepy it leaves you with a really disgusting feeling. Despite never being touched or having an altercation with a man here in India, you still feel like they somehow got under your skin and it is incredibly unpleasant. The leering, the gesturing, the bonding of Indian guys viewing women is just terrible. Beyond terrible it is really draining. You feel like you always have to be on guard and deflecting these sexual psychic vampires that they are. It wears you out after awhile.
    There have been two circumstances so far that really pissed me off. One was when I was in Udaipur. I was going for a walk down a different set of streets. Most of the shop keepers will call out to you asking if you want to buy something. One such shop that I passed had a teenage boy, probably not any older than 15, and as I passed by he said “Hello, want sex”. I immediately stopped dead in my tracks whipped around and demanded “what did you say”? When he replied he changed his tune and said “hello, how are you?” As I walked off I could hear the boy and his friend giggling and mimicking what I had said.
    About two weeks ago I was on the beach with a friend, a guy in fact. A group of three Indian guys approached us. We thought they were from the restaurant we had ordered from so we greeted them pleasantly. They came to shake our hands, which we thought was normal. However one of the men, the youngest in the group, made a gesture when he shook my hand, which basically means he wanted to have sex with me. I pulled my hand away immediately recognizing what was going on and then realising that they were not from the restaurant but they were just coming over to be rude.
    In speaking with other travelers it seems as though we have come to the consensus that most Indian men think that either tourists or Western women are strictly there for sex. It is near impossible to broach being a friend to them as their minds immediately go to sex, or rather viewing you as a sexual object. I think that may be the most exhausting part is that you are constantly being subjugated and sexualized by these voyeurs who don’t give a shit about you other than what they can get from between your legs. It totally sucks.
    Rachel and I were discussing this one day and she said that Indian men should be pulled aside and taught how to properly behave with women, and with Western women, especially when working in the tourism industry.
    While I have been in India, actually while I was staying in Delhi an Indian woman was gang raped on a local bus. Apparently she was with her boyfriend at the time, but the group assaulted him and then attacked his girlfriend. She later died in hospital. This story caused a huge controversy in India. It was not only all over the papers but everyone was talking about it. Call me crazy but I could almost feel a bit more tension amongst women in the Ladies train cart during that time. All of a sudden there was an awareness of un-safety, insecurity, and danger. Protests broke out amongst the major universities, people started lobbying for stronger punishments against those convicted of sexual assault and rape. This event really stirred the pot in India, and for good reason.
    In chatting with my new cousin, Phoebe, she too sees the dangers, the discrimination, and inequalities amongst women in India. She is twenty years old and is just merging into her life and her womenhood, and this is what she is up against. From what I am told, the North of India is more dangerous. In Goa, there are so many beaches, and such a tourist culture that modest dress is not that common at all. In fact I made sure to dress appropriately when I went to meet my Goan Family, and Phoebe was far more relaxed and casual about her dress than my concern. 
    In terms of womens’ issues and equality things are certainly not perfect in Canada either. There is still so much work to be done on behalf of equality and simply respect and appreciation for both genders. That being said I know I can walk down the streets of Toronto, or Calgary, and not feel like I need to scrape off the layer of creep that I have been coated in while in India. There is a long way to go and I am happy to do my best to make changes towards a safer India, Canada, and world for women!

NB**  Ultimately I love all people. I love people of all types, sorts, and kinds. I feel saddened and disappointed that I am limited, in terms of friendship here in India. That being said not all Indian men are the same and I have been lucky enough to experience some great India men out of the masses and for that I am grateful!

Ashaniketan

L’Arche Kerala- Ashaniketan

    I am back in L’Arche and it feels great! I was delayed arriving here as I was sick while in Goa, and took a few extra days to rest and recover by the beach, lucky me! I arrived in Calicut, Kerala after a slow five hours waiting for a connecting flight. Once I arrived I grabbed a prepaid taxi, which I didn’t have to prepay for, and headed to Ashaniketan in Nandi Bazaar.
    When I got in the taxi, the car had trouble starting, but the engine turned over and there didn’t seem to be a problem. Word to the wise, in India, always get into a reliable automobile! I was super excited to get to the community, meet everyone, and settle in. Off we went. The driver said it would take about an hour, hour and a half to get to Nandi Bazaar, where the community is located. I had fun taking photos of the sights from the taxi. We stopped once to get water, and I bought us some ladoo for the road, such a perfect little snack!
    Time passed and the taxi stalled once. Then it stalled again, and again, and yet again. The driver always seemed to get it going again so I really wasn’t worried about making it to Nandi Bazaar. Finally the taxi stalled for good! The driver popped the hood, got out and started doing something under the hood. I wasn’t upset or concerned at all, I was headed to L’Arche, in Kerala, India. I was excited and beyond content!
    And hour and a half later, the taxi still not fixed, a myriad of people had come through to help my driver with the car and still nothing. The sun had gone down a long time ago, I was tired as I had been up since 5am, I was sweaty as Kerala does not have the breezy beach weather of Goa, I had to pee, and I really just wanted to get to the new community. It was time! Thankful my driver was not stubborn and did give up on the taxi. He called a rikshaw to take me the rest of the journey, only thirty kilometres or so. Meanwhile the director of the L’Arche community is calling me asking whether or not I have reached safely, as I am very very late. Not the best first impression, that is for sure!
    I climbed into the rikshaw, with my driver close behind. He was certain to get me there safely and would accompany me the rest of the way. Also a good idea considering I had no idea where Ashaniketan was, I’m sure the driver didn’t as well, it was dark, and I don’t speak Malayalam, the local language. He was a gentleman I must say. Even during the taxi ride we would chat with what little language we both had. I learned that he had a little girl who was three years old, and a boy who was seventeen days old. He was such a proud papa. During our drive he would say “Stephy, look, look!” I would look and there would be a dog pack walking down the street, or a beautiful Keralan river with a houseboat drifting away. He was a great help when we got to Nanddi Bazarr, asking locals where Ashaniketan was, then telling the driver which way to go. We got lost once but found our way. I noticed the L’Arche symbol of the people in the arc, so I knew we were on the right path. Sure enough we found L’Arche and every member of the house was waiting on the doorstep for me! Such a L’Archy welcome, and gladly received after my long day of travel!
    I said goodbye to my taxi driver who was so helpful. He apologized for the millionth time about the car problems, and went on his way. The taxi did eventually get fixed. Apparently there was a missing washer. I climber the steps to my new home at Anandalayam house. It has taken me four days to be able to repeat this name! When you walk into the house the centre of the house opens up in to a large open circle. The hallways trace this centre circle, and there is no roof closing in the circle itself. When I was first journaling about this I felt like the architecture of the open circle represented both unity, with the circle shape, and infinity, with the open roof. Such lovely symbolism for L’Arche.
    I was shown to my room, which I share with another assistant Shakeela. Hers was the first name I was able to memorize as it is similar to Shakira, the Latin American pop singer. Most of the other names here I am still learning. On my bed were two bouquets of picked flowers, again so L’Archy, and I love it! When I spent time in L’Arche Honduras fresh flowers were picked all the time for our weekly community meeting, prayer, or any and every, celebration. I love fresh flowers. They make me so happy.
    After a few minutes of dropping my bags, splashing cool water on my face, and using the facilities, Soumiya, quietly came over and asked if I was hungry, which I was. I had had some papaya and coffee for breakfast that morning, and the ladoo in the taxi, but not much else. I joined the house in the kitchen to eat dinner. They had been waiting for me to arrive to have dinner. Everyone else was very hungry too! Instead of a kitchen table we all gather on the floor, sitting on straw mats, which are placed around a centre tile display of flowers. There are metal canisters which contain different foods for dinner; a curry, rice, another curry, and maybe a chutney, or raita. Soumiya takes a metal, deep dish plate, and spoons each of the different foods into it. After everyone has received their plate one of the core members gives a prayer, then we are able to eat.
    My first meal at the house was lovely. There were two French girls there who spoke a little English. They gave me some information about the community and themselves. They were leaving the next morning, as their time with Ashaniketan was just closing. Shortly after dinner I got myself ready to bed and passed out after a long days journey! Who knew getting to L’Arche would be so exhausting?

Sunday, January 6, 2013

Kathak Dance






    The day that I checked in to Parmarth Niketan Ashram I noticed that in addition to the regular meditation, Vipassina, and yoga classes they also offered “traditional Indian dance” classes. Even though I had just arrived and wanted to settle in I couldn’t resist the temptation to attend a dance class, let alone an Indian dance class, let alone a free, or at least inclusive, dance class. How exciting!!!
    So I arrived at 2pm ready to be amazed. There was a small group of us, maybe seven or eight of us, but no dance teacher. Vicrum, one of the dance teachers showed up right on time, Indian time that is. He pulled out his tablas and established a beat for our dance. There were two ladies in the class that had a bit of experience with Kathak and Vicrum asked that we follow by their lead. My brain does better with specific instructions as well as demonstrations, but I was still game and did my best to follow suit. First the footwork- 1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4. I didn’t really understand but just went with it anyways; fake it till you make it right?
    Then came the actions. Well this was also a challenge as the dance students we were supposed to be following had their backs facing us so we couldn’t really see them. So you look like a fool and try anyway. The beginning series of the dance starts off with no drums or harmonium just a voice and it is the most beautiful tune you have ever heard. I have always loved chanting, whether from mantras, or otherwise. I love choral and opera music and listening to the power of a voice. It amazes me. Hearing Vicrum and/or his wife, and the other Kathak teacher Nina, sing the opening tune made me feel the truest depth of life. It was as though any and every thought, feeling, assumption, or expectation I had had about India was now manifested in this one voice. All things felt whole, complete, and perfect and that I was meant to be standing in this room, with these people, learning Kathak dance. True, it felt true. . . .and amazing!
    In the opening tune the dancers stand in a prayer pose waiting for our cue to first give thanks to God, then give thanks to our dance teachers, finally to thank the audience for being present, left, right, and centre. After the opening sequence we move into just footwork with our hands locked in a posture. Then the dance begins with our teacher singing accompanied by tablas, and or the harmonium.
    In my first few days of class I had never been so dizzy in my entire life. There is a lot of spinning in Kathak, to my surprise. In one sequence we spin around nine times in a row, nine! I could barely make it to the ninth time and would usually stumble around afterwards trying to regain my balance and equilibrium. After a few days I did get used to it, but I also learned the trick; keep your eyes fixed on one point! When I spin I do close my eyes but open them upon my return to lock eyes with one point I have designated on the wall. I also learned better footwork. Instead of just spinning on my foot and potentially injuring my ankle, I simply take three steps in a circular fashion. Much simpler, efficient, and effective.
    Derhey derhey, or slowly slowly, I would pick up the steps, the spins, and the sequences. By my third day I had gotten the attention of my teachers. They noticed how fast I had picked up the steps and how well I performed them. This made me extremely happy. I have taken dance classes in the past but only once a week. Doing Kathak everyday made such a difference in terms of my pick up and execution. It is a lot harder to forget something that you are doing everyday and something you are truly enjoying!
    Once in awhile Vicrum or Nina would stop playing the music and give a demonstration of the dance moves, which helped immensely. By day four my teachers were asking me to demonstrate to the class! Woot woot I had gained status and respect!
    Everyday I would have my lunch early enough so my food was well digested and that I was ready for dance class at 2pm. Everyday I would have the largest smile on my face as I spun, stomped my feet, and held my fingers in the proper Kathak position. My arms would get so tired locking my hands and arms in the position for almost an hour. But I would push the pain aside and keep going. It was totally worth it!
    Then Kathak got even better. I got my first guingeroo, I have no idea how to spell this. Guingeroo are the anklets with little bells attached. So when you are stomping your feet to the sound of the tabla your ankles chime with little bells that reinforce the beat! I did finally get my footwork down and was able to get faster and faster. It was incredible! Although if I let myself get distracted I would screw up the rhythm and would receive a look of disapproval from Nina and Vicrum. They would always notice and never let me get away with any missteps. They were hardcore, that is for sure.
    Then Kathak had to come to an end. My days at the ashram were numbered and so I let my teachers know that my last class would be coming up. We arranged to do a performance with full dress, makeup, and dance sequence. I felt very honored as the entire class was dedicated to me. Everyone waited for Nina to doll me up in the back room; a golden dress, slightly different than a sari, hair pulled back and pinned up, heavy black eyeliner, and even a bit on my eyebrows to darken my fair features. Then came the bangles. I learned how one can cramp their hand down small enough to fit through a very small circle! At the time I didn’t have my ears pierced, so no earrings for me, but a decked out gold necklace along with a little drop, earring type decoration placed at the top of my forehead where the hairline begins. Of course the piece de resistance; a beautiful jewelled bindi. It was incredible. I felt like a princess. Then I danced.
    One of the other ladies in class filmed the performance for me, including Nina’s beautiful voice; so fabulous! I gave a performance and did fairly well. I screwed up a couple of times but not too bad considering I never really got proper instructions and teaching of the Kathak, Hahahahha. Also not too bad considering the entire length of my dance classes had been eight days at that point. Not too bad at all!
    On my last day of class my teachers gifted me with the dress I wore the day before as well as all of the jewellery that I wore. It was great. I had a great final class. Then walked arm in arm with Nina down the path to their motorbike.
    Such an incredible connection and experience. Taking the Kathak classes did a lot for me. It definitely inspired me and motivated to keep up with dance. I have always loved to dance and all different types of dancing. I have taken different types of dance classes through the years; ballet, jazz, African, Hip hop, Salsa, and now Kathak. Because I did so well and enjoyed Kathak so much I am seriously considering studying the dance once again, and, in time, teaching it. For one thing to bring me so much joy  and happiness is a treasure and is worth investing in!
    Thank you Parmarth Niketan, Nina, Vicrum, and my fellow class mates.

My Beautiful Goan Family


    When I was a little girl my Dad would often say to me “Sweetie, if I could give you the world I would”. I would hear this, sit back and think two things; 1. Wow, that is how much my Dad loves me and 2. Wow, the whole world. I wonder what that looks like. I am pleased to report that my father, amazing as it seems, accomplished this task.
    My parents split up when I was a child and my father remarried a woman originally from Goa, India. My step mother is amazing and has been an incredible addition to my life. Growing up with an Indian step-mother, and two half Indian step-siblings has been incredibly enriching to my life. Beyond this it has brought diversity into my life. Because my step Mom is from Goa I didn’t grow up with her wearing typical Indian suits, or sari’s, but there were so many stories, facts, and much information about ‘back home’ and all of the things she experienced growing up there that were so different from Canada. Goa is a former Portuguese colony so my step mother is Catholic, speaks English as a first language, and understands a little Portuguese as well. In my household we would often have tandoori chicken prepared for us, or a delicious Portuguese rice with tomatoes, cinnamon, and cloves. My step-mom’s mother cooks a great deal of more typical Indian fair, and she would often send over whatever she cooked.
    I found growing up in Brampton, Ontario I was already in the middle of multiculturalism as Brampton has many immigrants and there are so many different nationalities, customs, and languages that are different. But having ’diversity’ represented within my home has taken on an entirely different understanding for me and of course has deep meaning.
    Now I am in Goa, India, the original home of my step-mother and I have arranged to meet some of her relatives in the town of Margao, where they live. I had been communicating with them via phone and they had invited me to come on the 31st of December for Noel’s birthday. Noel is Michelle’s cousin. He is married to Bernie and they have 5 children ranging in age from sixteen to mid-thirties. I was a little concerned about the arranged visiting day as I knew I had New Years eve plans and Margao was two hours south of the beach I was staying at. However I was really excited to meet this part of my family and have this experience. I hired a motorbike taxi to drive me the two hours south, wait for a few visiting hours, then drive me back in time for New Years’ Eve.
    Even though I love riding around on a motorbike two hours was a little too long for my tushy. But I got a good tan on the drive and enjoyed passing through the very small province of Goa. Goa is teeny, tiny, compared to Karnataka, or Maharashtra. It takes about two or three hours to drive the length of it. Every ten minutes or so my phone would go off and it would be Noel wondering how close I was to Margao. I appreciated the concern, even though it was hard to hear him on my cell, while riding on the motorbike. Hahahahaha.
    I arrived at the taxi stand and waited for Noel and his kids to arrive. Arrive they did. I hopped into their car and had my motorbike taxi follow us to their home. When we got to the house the two front doors swung open and there stood Bernie, literally, with open arms welcoming me inside. Such a fabulous first introduction. Their home is beautiful and was fully decorated for the holidays. I met three out of the five of their kids; Phoebe, Elton, and Heidi. Heidi is the youngest, sweet sixteen, and still in high school. Noel immediately poured me a glass of Canadian whiskey, a gift from my father back in Canada. Sweet Heidi wanted a drink too, but Noel initially refused due to her age. But with some prodding he allowed her the alcoholic beverage.
    Then we sat and chatted. What a beautiful family and so hospitable. I felt right at home and just loved their company. Bernie gave me a nice compliment saying that I was down to earth and not uptight like other Canadian girls, hahaha. I liked this. My attention was constantly changing from one person to the next as everyone had questions, or things they wanted to share with me. Fabulous!
    Then we feasted. Oh my goodness! Bernie is, not only, a fabulous host, but a fabulous cook. The food was absolutely incredible; prawn curry, Portuguese rice, drumsticks, a pork curry, which was incredible and my favorite dish on the table, chana masala, a stew with sausage, and chicken, pakoras, samosas, and salad. Then there was dessert! I had read about a Goan dessert called bebinca, which is a layered egg/milk cake. Similar to flan, but made with coconut milk instead. Sure enough Bernie had put it out on the table. Lucky me!
    After lunch Elton and Phoebe took me for a short tour of Margao. We went to a lookout point to catch the sunset, which we just missed but it was beautiful just the same. A common New Years’ Eve tradition in Goa is to burn mock grandfathers. Locals assemble more or less a scarecrow, resembling a grandfather, and set fire to them at midnight symbolizing the passing of time and welcoming the new year. As we drove through Margao we would see the grandfathers sitting out in lawn chairs waiting to be set ablaze! Elton and Phoebe also took me to see ‘crypts’, which are small scale nativity scenes. I liked seeing the different traditions and festive representations.
    We had to book it back to the house as my motorbike taxi was waiting to drive me back to Arambol. Of course I couldn’t leave without family photos to remember the occasion. Bernie, true to motherly form, packed a box of foods for me to take on the road. So sweet. Hugs and kisses were shared. Noel told my driver not to go too fast, and that I should call them once I reached Arambol to know I was safe, just like my Dad would have done. I hopped onto the back of the motorbike ready to whiz back for my New Years Eve party in Arambol.
    As we drove back underneath the night sky full of a million stars I remembered my Dad’s wish for me from childhood. Immediately my eyes filled with tears as I realized that my Dad’s wish had come true. Here I was in India, half way across the world from my biological family, meeting, and connecting with my new extended family from his re-marriage. In that moment I knew I had just received the whole world and my heart couldn't have held more love in it.














    Thank you Noel, Bernie, Elton, Phoebe, and Heidi. A big thanks to Goa, and most importantly a huge thank you to my Dad, Mom, Step-Mother and family back in Canada. I love and thank you for everything I am and have.

Christmas in Goa; an alternate story of Baby Jesus











    I have spent holidays abroad before. One Christmas in Honduras, another on Vancouver Island. Most holidays have not been spent with my family for the past five years or so. 2012 was to be no exception. Leading up to Christmas I was worried that this year would be difficult to be so far away from home for a variety of reasons. For starters I had already experienced being home sick on this trip, last year I spent Christmas in the mountains and despite having a great day I really missed my family, and I am so much further from my family than the Canadian Rockies. But being in India and not being constantly cued that Christmas is coming helped a great deal in that it didn’t really feel like Christmas. There was no snow, no pine trees, no shopping, no Christmas carols (I think I have heard 3 in total), no Christmas specials, or movies, and no Christianity or Catholicism. Well not much. Goa is a former Portuguese colony and as such there are many Catholics here, but being at the beach, surrounded by other tourists, enjoying the sun and sand, you don’t really see that side to Goa. All in all I wasn’t too phased by the holiday. Much to my surprise.

Christmas Eve.
    In the story The Night Before Christmas “no one was stirring not even a mouse“. This would have to be the exact opposite of Christmas Eve in Arambol, Goa. The beaches are packed, every beachside restaurant is pumping out incredibly loud music, most of it trance. Goa is known for its trance scene. The entire coastline is lit up with barbeques, candles lighting up the plastic tables where you will be having your meal, fireworks high in the night sky, fire spinners, and any other bright, neon things you can envision.
    I was staying at a guesthouse with my good friend Rachy, sister to one of my best friends’ Tabitha. Rachy and I chose this particular guest house on recommendation from some of her friends from India., who were also with us at the beach. All in all there is quite a large group of us.
    Christmas Day was delightful however most atypical for this Canadian. Rachy and I went to get our famous breakfast of Buffalo mozzarella, tomato, basil omelettes two doors down from our guest house. This was followed by a walk to the next beach, over beautiful rocks jutting up out of the ocean. Rachy purchased some Christmas jewellery while I went for a swim in the ocean. I spoiled myself with fruit salad and ice cream after an incredibly intensive ocean swim, not really, it was more like a refreshing dip.
    Our group then rented motorbikes and decided to bike down to a nearby beach to play in the sand and take in the evening sunset. The coastline looked absolutely amazing as Rachy and I whizzed down the coastal ‘highway’ on our motorbike. The orange sun shining on the water, the breeze passing over our exposed legs. Rachy’s metal feather earrings chiming away. Everything looking slightly tinted from our sun glasses; an incredibly good idea from Rachy as so many things can get blown into your eyes while riding motorbikes. The boys played soccer on the beach while us girls sat in the sand and chatted. Our pack drove back each bike trying to get ahead of the next one. So much fun!
    Again a feast on the beach was had, in the same fashion as the night before; fireworks going off everywhere, bbq’d seafood being cooked along the entire length of the beach, and much laughter and merriment being had by all.
       
    I was trying to think of the ways in which this Christmas mirrored that of  the story of baby Jesus. When I arrived in Goa, to the capital city Panjim I went door to door looking for a place to stay but everywhere was booked. I walked and walked and asked and asked but no one had rooms available. Everyone goes to Goa at Christmas so everything books up and everything is far more expensive. I was finally able to find a place to stay for the night. No it was not a stable, nor was it at the courtesy or generosity of local Goan. I did not give birth at the overpriced guest house in the middle of Panjim. Although I did survive ‘the end of the world’ according to the Mayan calendar. Perhaps that was a sort of rebirth for the life of Stephanie.
    Mary and  Joseph; baby Jesus’ mother and father were definitely not present at this Christmas party, but I did have my father there. One of the guys in our group is a man from France named Thomas, which is my father’s name. The day that I met Thomas I told him that was my fathers’ name and he immediately told me that Stephanie was his mothers’ name. I didn’t believe him, but it turned out to be true. For the remainder of our time in Goa I would call Thomas ‘Papa’ and he would call me ‘Mama. We both enjoyed the joke.
    The three wise men. I cannot say that I have met many people here in Goa who are “wise“. I have met many Indian men. What I mean to say is many Indian men try to meet Rachy and I and we do our best to dose ourselves in Indian-man repellent. It usually doesn’t work. In our group there are several guys from Afghanistan and they often wear scarves wrapped around their head much like a turban. I like these three guys; Rishad, Ruffus, and Rammeen. All very sweet, actually Rishad and Rammeen are very sweet and thoughtful. Ruffus is a little crass, but he strives for that. Every morning I will be sitting on the stoop of our room doing something; cutting my toe nails (which is an achievement in and of itself), journaling, or just hanging out. I will suddenly have the impulse to look up and there Ruffus and Rammeen will be leaning on the balcony above quietly watching me go about my business. We all say “good morning” and smile at each other. I find it endearing.
    Gifts. The wise men brought gifts. I have to say that my life in general is a gift. I am one of the richest people I know in love and spirit, usually not in wealth, but here in India relatively speaking, wealth too. I did receive gifts this Christmas; a very warm, fleece lined, wool sweater, in my favorite color orange. This was from another traveler who deals in textiles. I am constantly gifted  by Rachy’s presence as her beautiful smiling face reminds me to be happy and make the most of life! Rachy knows how to live life to its fullest, to smile, to play, to be happy for everything that we have and is available to us. I cannot be around her without this reminder of gratitude. It is quite the gift! If I had to name a third gift this Christmas I guess it would be recognition of self. This trip has brought me much closer to myself and all of the things that make up me; my family, friends, the country I am from, my feelings, desires, creativity, my body, my mind and its, many, thoughts, my language, my upbringing, my schooling, etc etc etc. The list goes on and on and on. Very often I will think to myself that moving out to Western Canada has to be one of the best decisions I have ever made. I am beginning to feel that coming to India and giving myself four full months to just ‘be’; be creative, to listen to myself, to feel what I need to feel and not control it, to sleep when I want and eat when I want. To just be me in a totally different place where I actually have made the time for it. That is an incredible gift and it feels pretty fantastic!
Thank you baby Jesus and Merry Christmas!