The lost post: Animals

India - Out of sight is out of mind

This post has existed in several versions/forms over the past several months. It attempts to capture what I've learned from India, and at some level, have always felt. This is important to me... If you don't have 10 minutes to spare, read until the end of the paragraph, it's kind of a dry, soul-less "thesis" statement, and doesn't actually capture much of what is written (it probably captures the 'preachy' tone). Thank you Tara, for editing. And Thank you Tara's family, for being unbelieveably welcoming and for pushing me past the easy stereotypes... The benefits of globalization for the wealthy (the wealthy being you, me and almost everyone we know) should come with an increased awareness of the globe. The awareness is good enough. Awareness leads to words and action, which are intentional or unintentional results.

Old Delhi

As I wander through Old Delhi, an old lullaby floats into my head:

Halfway down the stairs there's a stair where I sit.
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
It's not at the bottom and it's not at the top,
and this is the stair where I always stop.
Halfway down the stairs isn't up and isn't down,
it isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts run round my head,
it isn't really anywhere, it's somewhere else instead.

I find myself at a dead-end in an empty lane, and a man appears out of nowhere to say:
"You are lost. Here isn't anywhere."

The pictures

I lost all of my pictures. Here are the most memorable pictures in words:
-Decorated elephants, camels, and horses
-Flower shaped light fixtures
-A cat, flanked on either side by 2 pigs, standing on top of a garbage heap and feasting
-Cows with massive horns, lying on the beach at sunset
-The room where Percival flourished, covered in clothes and other varia
-Holly and Oliver, in the archway of a red fort, falling to pieces and covered in grass (the fort, not Holly and Oliver)
-Me, on a motorcycle--- no more proof, I'll have to do it again...
-Our disgusting huts, with a perfectly groomed tropical garden
-Train pictures, of a moving train, of things that we pass when sitting in the train....
-Pictures of children asking to have pictures taken of them.
-Many, many, many mispelled menus, signs, etc.
-Hebrew menus, with no Hindi and minimal english

Thought of the day:
It's good to wake up early. You never know when there will be a naval parade in front of your doorway.

The 'wrong' turn

India has this uncanny ability to consistently shift my perception of things, and remind me to not form judgments of things that I know nothing about...

Today, I took a wrong turn (or a right turn, depending on your Point of View). I ended up into what I think was a 'slum'. Though, if it was a 'slum', the title 'slum' is wrong.

After wandering in circles through the labyrinth of seemingly arbitrarily constructed homes and shops, I decided that this could be better described as a densely populated and wealthy village. It should be called an 'urban village'. There are chickens running around outside, but also, when one looks through a window, one sees a sparkling clean tile floor with a flatscreen tv and sofas... As a rule (though there are no rules), the outsides of homes seem to be falling apart, and the inside of homes can be nicer than many of the apartments in the McGill ghetto.

The people in the 'slum' were almost consistently better dressed than me (I really need to start dressing better). There was every possible retail outlet that one would expect in a city (and the barbers had cleaner shops than in the tourist district). Its as if the village was always there, and that as Mumbai grew around it, more people moved in and built homes, and as the people inside grew wealthier, they chose not to leave.

It is impossible to figure out direction in the urban village. I passed the same bright green building 4 times, only realizing the 4th time, not quite understanding how my centrifugal voyage through a maze brought me back to the same spot... I had no idea how to get out...

The urban village also has 'neighborhoods, some wealthy, some not so much...

I eventually made it out... The 'slums'defy logic, along with principles of sound engineering.. Our stereotype of abject poverty in the slums is false; the truly poor don't even have tin roofs, they live in tents or use the blistering hot sun as a roof.

Quest for Vitorin Saldanha

My ancestral quest for the ancestors of a friend. 

Nothing compares to the feel of having a mission, of having information to discover. Adrian gave me one of the most amazing days I've had in India. The pictures are gone but the experience remains. 

A few weeks ago, I rented a scooter and drove down the coast of what could easily be Portugal, but is in fact Goa (a former Portuguese colony). Adrian sent me to Siquerim, to the "Church on top of the mountain", where his great-grandfather was a priest. I arrived after a 2 hour journey to find a dark red fort on a cliff above the ocean. I saw a mountain, and thought "this must be it". I climbed. I climbed. I cut my feet on rocks, but kept climbing. Then, I slipped, sliding down the mountain as Indian people laughed at the white guy climbing a hill. I decided that this wasn't it, and asked around about the church. After a 5 minute drive around (and up) this mountain, I arrived at a fort next to a church. I asked the woman selling me water:

-Are you from here?

-Yes

-Do you know where the church of Vitorin Saldanha is?

-Its right there! (she laughs and points at the church we were right next to). But he passed away 5 years ago.

-Is he buried here?

-No, he is in Saligao,

-Where's Saligao?

(She shrugs)

I go to the church, but it is closed, so I am forced to climb over a fence. As I approach the front doors of the church, a dog starts barking at me. I pause. He runs away, I relax. Then I hear the barks of several dogs, I decide that now is when I run. I leap over the fence as 5 dogs appear, barking and baring their teeth.

Back on the scooter to Saligao. An hour of asking ends with me walking into the home of a Saligao family. They look at me, I look at them... "Do you know of a priest named Vitorin Saldanha?"

-Of course

-Do you know where his home is?

-Its now a home for nuns, next to the cathedral

After finding the cathedral, I ask for the Vitorin Saldanha house, and am instead directed to the "Victory House" of the El Shaddai Charitable Trust, a home and school for abused children. After talking to the people in charge and to some of the children, I made a small donation, (they don't accept volunteers without a background check) and left to find the home of the nuns.

At this point, I had appropriated the quest for Adrian's roots as a quest for my own roots. The imagination is an amazing thing. I found a stage built by the Adrian's great grandfather. I was living a story...

The quest ended in front of the tomb of Adrian's great grandfather.  I cleaned the dead flowers off the tomb and left a pebble.As I know no Christian prayers, I searched my memory for the closest thing to something Christian and that I could share with Adrian...

Donne's Holy Sonnet X

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke ;  why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more ;  Death, thou shalt die. 

I got lost on my ride home. I ended up on small roads headed towards the ocean as I watched the sun set. I trust that I'm going in the right direction though nothing on this road is familiar. Driving down empty lanes in fields of green, I arrived at the beach in time to melt into the ocean with the sun. I left the ocean as the last rays of daylight vanished.

Bollywood Dreams

Question: What do the following have in common:
Superman
A giant foam model of Superman
Fake diamonds
Guns
Apartheid
Blackface (Indians in blackface, to be precise)
The dude from Slumdog Millionaire
A handful of Australians, French, Italians, Germans, Canadians, Americans, and [insert obscure African country here]
Explosions
Sleep deprivation
India
Popeye
Chaye-burn
South Africa
Stunt Doubles

Answer: That's right, I'm an extra in a Bollywood movie called "No Problem" set in a South African movie theatre with a Superman theme. And I met the Slumdog Millionaire Host-dude.

How cool is that?