The "a" at the End of Karma

A brief update on my whereabouts and howabouts. And then, I promise, I'll get into the language/community/health stuff.

Trash everywhere, but I remember the smell: burning plastic, incense, and something sweet. Honks fading and exploding in every direction, sickness and desperation on every street corner taking the shape now of a child, now of a barely-clothed man, hands out- even grabbing you with their words of a language their own newspaper doesn't print in.

[I write in the present tense so that you can pretend that you're right there with me.]

I read the Hindustan Times on the plane from Munich to Delhi. There is an artile discussing the need to address the negative effects of globalisation.

Indian food is even good when it's been defiled into plane food.

I watch the sunrise over the Himalayan mountains from my window seat on the plane (an airbus, by the way- I'd never been in a plane with a downstairs before!) The mountains rise up over pure blackness, and I can see the dark side of the moon.

I file a missing luggage report with Lufthansa airlines (the best airline ever.) They assure me they will do their best to locate and deliver my baggage to me. (I'm not holding my breath)  Lufthansa gave me an "overnight bag" with toothpaste, toothbrush, a big white tshirt, nail file and laundry detergent (for the one shirt?)

(thanks Lufthansa Airlines)

I have one pair of underwear, that I've been wearing for four days. My sweatshirt smells like sweat. I suppose it's fitting.

In the car, a woman with a baby taps on the window like Six Flags Safari and makes gutteral noises, and I am told "If you look at them, they will only bother you more. Woah. Talk about invisibility of the Other.

Every street sign and advertisement is in English.

I am told that "everyone" speaks English. Why am I learning Hindi? Every time I ask how to say something in Hindi, I am told that it is better to use the English word ("please," "thank you," "sorry") but when I am left to my own devices to make my way around New Delhi, not many people understand me.

I learn how to count to 20. How to ask "Do you speak English?" and "How much does it cost?" (if it costs more than 20 ruppees, I don't know how much it costs.)

I go to the bazaar (market) and buy pants, a shirt, underwear. Haggling feels sad.

I am not being careful about what I eat. Or drink.

I buy a phone. There are pop-ups built in. A few: "Learn 5 English words a day! 5 ruppees! Click OK for more!" "Women are better at financial planning than men! Click OK to find out more!" "Get relationship advice! Click OK!"

I'm told that there is no "a" at the end of karma, darma, Gautama, or Buddha. Some white person must have just decided that those words weren't complete..?

Day 2 (Delhi)

I took the Delhi Metro (by myself) to two temples in the afternoon. I rode in the wrong direction for 2 stops before getting off and switching directions.

The sun sets behind a marble lotus the size of a circus tent but if you're one to think that prophets are clowns, then this isn't the place for you.

I am sitting watching the sun set behind the Lotus Temple, which is a Baha'i temple (I'll post about that later) and a small Indian girl is enamored by my whiteness, and even though many people have asked me if I'm half Indian, she wants to take a picture with me. I am not unfamiliar with this- it happened quite a lot with my sister 10 years ago, with her blue eyes and blonde hair and all. All of  a sudden 6 or 7 children are gathered around me and I am smiling at two cameras. They leave as quickly as they descended upon me. I move to sit somewhere else, and decide to process that later.

Belly ache. Maybe I shouldn't have drunk that water...

Sitting at the train station in Delhi, waiting for my train to Dehradun. I think I am going to fall asleep before my train comes. And then another train blows it's horn. No way am I falling asleep. I check my email. My baggage has been found and is being sent to Mussoorie!

In train: My life is beautiful. I have the top bunk of a sleeper car. Here's the view looking down from my bunk.

And I sleep like a baby.

I am awoken by a train worker banging on my bunk and yelling in Hindi. I am groggy. It is 6am. I put my shoes on, and walk out of the train in Dehradun and find a taxi to take me (over an hour's drive) to Mussoorie for about $16 usd.

We keep driving up, up, up, higher into the foothills of the Himalayas. Beauty. My life is beauty.

I have a great view of the mountains from my room.

I take a cold shower. None of my previous cold showers had prepared me for this. It's pretty cold up here in the hills, especially in the morning, and although my lips turned a bit purple, I easily adjust to the idea of very quick, short showers, and becomming efficient at cleaning myself in all the necessary places. I figure I will only shower every few days. The gentleman who works at the guest house (I've yet to learn his name) comes in and sees my wet hair, he says, "water!" I tell him that I'm all set. He is insistent and says, "No," walks over to my bathroom and points to a switch "push and wait 30 minutes," he says, "HOT WATER!"

It's 8am now. I have Hindi class at 10:30. I get some  masala chai, and am already thinking how much I will miss good masala chai when I leave India.

I get a call, while I am walking to class. My luggage has arrived. MY BOOKS!
If only bags could tell stories.

Om Mani Padme Hum