india journal

A Day in the Life

I have settled into a comfortable routine, quite unlike my usual one. I wake early in the morning (7 AM or so), and usually have some time to myself. I stumble into the kitchen of my hotel, mumble that I want ginger tea without sugar, and go find a place to sit in the sun on the porch. Enjoying my first tea of the day, I spend some time writing in my journal, or composing post cards.

The early morning is the best time to see the snowy peaks of the high Himalayas in the distance. They are so impressive! Even though I am adjusting to living here, every so often I'll look up, see the mountains, or something else equally new and impressive, and I am struck dumb.

A bit later I am joined by the fellow guests. We sit for hours talking and laughing. There is an easy fellowship to be found amoung groups of travellers. The other guests have been very interesting. My first two weeks, I there was a group of four of us, Max (from Italy), Monica (from Boulder, CO), Antoine (from France) and myself. Since then I have been joined by a Minnesotan couple, here to visit their son who teaches at the boarding school. Two Swedish girls studying Hindi...I actually think I've spoken more German and Swedish here than Hindi.

I often wander the three or so kilometers down to Landour after breakfast. I visit friends, shop and write emails. Then comes the climb back to the hotel for lunch. Afternoons are centered around my three hours of instruction at the Language School.

In the evening people linger after dinner, again drinking tea. I then spend some time doing homework and then head to bed by 10:30 or so.

Mussoorie Snapshots

Either I'm becoming jaded, or there are just so many things one can find new in a month. I have to keep reminding myself that the things I'm seeing would be completely new to people at home. I think at some point my mind just gave up and decided to accept everything at face value. The result is that I have been writing fewer things down to share with people. Here are a few:

The festival band has a large wagon loaded with sound equipment blaring music. Behind the wagon is a generator on wheels which is pulled by a couple guys in band uniforms.

An strapping Italian guy arrives at our hotel. On the way to be shown his room, I see the 6ft Italian walking unburdened while the skinny 5'5" kid from the hotel carries a bag almost as big as himself.

Speaking of carrying things, much of the local freight transport is done by Coolies. I think I'm strong as I walk up the steep hill to my home. Then I pass a 50ish Coolie with a refridgerator box on his back, the strap slung around his forhead.

A girl of about 4 or 5 walks past holding her mother's hand. She is wearing a traditional Salwar Kamiz, and shoes that make a 'squeek' every step.

How I Got My Pajamas

On Sunday several of us headed down to see the procession and celebration for the god Ram's defeat of the Demon Ravana. Of course it started much later than we'd been told, so we stopped for tean and then wandered around the bazaar.

While walking I was grabbed by a tailor. He is an old Sikh, whose face is almost completely obscured by a bushy gray beard and moustache, and by large thick glasses. I suggested I might want to get a pair of pajamas made. Almost before I could say anything, he had grabbed by hand and we were off through the bazaar to a cloth shop. Here I was being led through the crowds by the hand this little old Sikh man.

We were in the cloth shop for about 45 seconds, during which time I pointed to some appropriately colored cloth. There was a brief exchange between the tailor and cloth merchant, and he was pulling me back to his shop. He took my measurments and said it would cost 60 rupees total. Now there was a quick discussion with his son, and then the son said, "70 rupees." I assume that the sone was telling his father that they do, in fact, need to make some profit.

I left and wandered the market. Passing his shop about 20 minutes later, there he stood making my pajamas. Within the hour they were ready. So, if you see me in some sandy colored pajamas, you know where they came from.

Mr. Pritam Singh

A friend snapped this picture on my way to get the cloth for my pajamas. Mr. Pritam Singh tells me he is the oldest, and one of the best tailors in town. He was an excellent bangra dancer in his younger days, and as an old-timer here told me, he was quite the handsome man.

Cafe Coffee Day

I have to admit to missing coffee. I spent my first two weeks in Mussoorie trying to find a Madras coffee filter -- people mostly just laughed at me. The "South Indian" restaurants here only serve Nescafe. For the most part, I have surrendered to morning Chai.

Recently I found a Western style cafe called "Cafe Coffee Day". They have very good esspresso and cappucino. From what I gather, this style of cafe has become popular because of Indians watching the American show "Friends".

I just stopped into the cafe for my semi-weekly coffee fix. I sat listening to the hindi movie music, which i assumed accompanied the television overhead. When I looked up, I realized they were showing a Jean-Claude VanDamme movie. It was rather surreal listening to a woman sing in a high-pitched hindi voice about love, while watching Jean-Claude beat people up.

Mussoorie Autumn Festival

This is the week of the Autumn Festival in Mussoorie. Every night there has been a different presentation of music and dance. Three of us went to see the "Boogie Woogie" show on Monday night. It was held in the "Rink" an old skating rink.

When we arrived, it was packed. Around the edge of the ....... people were standing on chairs, so that we couldn't see a thing. Finally we stood at the back of the center aisle, and standing on our toes we could get a glimpse of the stage. After a couple of minutes one of the guards spotted us in the crowd, and sent one of his people to usher us up to the front for a good view (sometimes it's nice to be a foreigner!). We sat on the floor for awhile, then a group of young guys invited us to join them, despite already being 6 people on 4 chairs. So, we crowded in, and began cheering with them.

For those who don't know what "Boogie Woogie" means here (and I didn't), it is a dance contest. Teenagers danced for a minute or so each to popular movie music. The crowd was easily as interesting as the performers. When somebody popular came on stage the sound was deafening.

On Thursday, I went with my Sikh friend, Bir Sahney, to hear a Panjabi singer named Jassi. The music was full of energy, and fun. It was interesting to see all the local dignitaries hanging out on stage during the performance. When Jassi wasn't singing they would chat with him. It seems to me that face plays an important role in Indian culture.

Yamunotri Snapshots

I spent this weekend travelling to and from Yamunotri, the source of the Yamuna river. It is nestled at the head of a mountain valley, high in the Himalayas. You can take a car up the bumpy dirt road to a village about 6 km from the temple. From there you can walk, take a donkey or...

I woke up early Sunday morning and stepped out onto the balcony of my hotel. Down below, pilgrims were beginning their trek up to the temple. In the small plaza accross from our hotel, elderly people in litters were waiting to start their trips. Four coolies carry the wooden chairs up the steep 5 kilometers to the temple. All the pilgrims are bundled up in ski masks, gloves and coats over their kurtas. They are obviously from the planes and were not prepared for the cold mountain weather.

Other coolies carry people up and down the mountain in baskets on their backs. One of our group, an Italian guy named Fabio, got one of the coolies to get into the basket, and he carried him a bit.

On the drive home, a calf grazing by the road was startled by our car. She started running down the road, so of course we were following her. This continued for about half a kilometer, over a bridge and into a small village. In the village somebody ran out into the road waiving his hands to stop the calf.

My Scooter

The majority of people here in Mussoorie with motorized transportation, have scooters. Several weeks ago, i bought one. I wanted to spend more time down in town, but the hike was very long and tiring, so I found myself staying at the hotel where everybody spoke English.

A friend, Andy, took me to look at some scooters here in Mussoorie, and in Dehradun, but they were either in bad condition, or didn't have papers. With the help of a teacher, I finally found a scooter at a reasonable price. It is quite old (1980), but it runs great. It is a lot of fun zipping up and down the hills.

I am also enjoying the popularity, and contact which having the scooter brings. Often men walking on the road will signal that they would like a ride, and I always oblige. I get a chance to speak some Hindi, and the get a lift. The best moment came yesterday, when a middle-aged Indian woman flagged me down. She was from Tamil-Nadu, and spoke no English. We both used rather broken Hindi to communcate. I gave her a ride to the local bus station, and felt like a real local.

Shave and a Haircut

I had my first Indian haircut yesterday. Friends had been recommending it to me, as you also get a head massage. I have been looking a bit shaggy, and two days ago I decided it was time.

I went to a 'shop' that a friend recommended. An older man started with my haircut. He kept his scissors clacking even when he wasn't cutting, and I could almost believe they were electric. He gave me the standard Indian cut: short on the sides and a bit longer on the top. I was a bit disappointed, because there was only a bit of massage involved, but the haircut came out great.

Then I was passed to the younger barber for a shave. They use straight razors, which was a bit scary (they use a fresh disposable razor for each customer). Using a brush, he spent about 5 minutes working shaving cream into a lather. It's rather odd to sit still while somebody swirls a brush around your cheeks and neck for that long. In fact the whole process involved about 4 different lotions. He gave me a great shave without a nick. Why does anybody bother shaving at home?

So, in the end it cost me more than 2 bits, but not much more (about 90 cents). I'm glad my hair grows quickly, so I can go again soon!

Happy Diwali!

Last night was Diwali, the Hindu festival of lights. In many respects it is like Christmas in the U.S. Shops are all decorated with golden tinsel, and are overflowing with 'mithai' (fresh sweets). The bazar is packed with people, as this is a day that people buy new clothes, and housewives should buy a new pot for the kitchen.

Also in prevelance are fireworks. Sparklers, fountains and many loud firecrackers are sold and used in the market. One needs to pay attention when there is a crowd of kids, as they are likely lighting fireworks.

I wandered the bazar and then started the evening at a family's house for tea and sweets.

In the evening a large crowd gathered in the hotel. We ate a big dinner, and then settled into the cozy living room. It has gotten quite cold in the last two days, so we lit the wood-burning stove and some candles.

Late in the evening, we walked to the far side of the mountain, to get a view of Mussoorie and Dehradun. It was a clear night, and we could see all of the city spread out below us. Everywhere there were small and large fireworks. We sat for twenty minutes just watching and listening to the far off cracks.

Finally we joined the hotel workers outside the hotel. The had a large stereo blaring Hindi and Garwali (the local dialect) music, and were dancing. We joined the dancing for awhile. Unfortunately my room was right next to where they were dancing, and the festivities went late into the night. I didn't have the heart to ask them to stop, so I took a nap in the living room after the other guests went to sleep.

Mr. Ruskin Bond

There is a local celebrity. Mr. Ruskin Bond, the author of some 70 odd books. I picked up one of his books about life in Landour. Having read it, I wanted to meet him. One day last week, I was scooting down the hill, and passed him on the road. I skidded to a halt, and called to him. He invited me to tea the next day at 5 PM.

I arrived and was shown into a small, cozy, book filled living room. We sat and talked for over an hour. He lives with an adopted family: no blood relations but they call treat him as the patriarch of the family. One of the family members brought us coffee as we chatted. Our conversation was interrupted by a large Sikh family, which came so their children could meet Mr. Bond. They came in sat down, and the parents kept pointing things out to the children, "look at all the books...look at all the awards." The children would get up and examine the thing in question. After a photo session, in which I was included -- importance by association -- they hurried out the door.

Our topics ranged from India to movies and literature. He recommended several authors, of whom I had not heard before. I find it interesting how authors from your own country are read more in other countires. I found this with Charles Bukowski, whom everybody knows in Germany, but nobody in the U.S. Mr. Bond sent me away with two books, one of which I was able to read. "Haircut and Other Stories" by Ring Lardner. His writing reminds me some of James Thurber.

I went back today to return the books, and we chatted some more. He is a natural story teller, and I enjoyed listening to his stories of friends and aquaintances.

Mussoorie Farewell

I am preparing to leave my mountain home. I am nervous to leave. It has been so comfortable and stable -- didn't I come to India for adventure and discovery? I am excited to go and see more of India, but I will miss the life I have had here. I sold my scooter yesterday, which made me sad.

This morning I have come down to town to say my Good-byes. As I walked down to town, I started to think of all the things I have not done here. It's funny that when you spend an extended period of time somewhere, you always think, "oh, I'll have time to do that later." Suddenly your stay is over and you have not done half of what you intended.

I have a safe place to land in Delhi, my next station. I am staying at the house of a friend, Mark. I am staying 4 days in Delhi, in which time I hope to go to a concert, see a movie and hopefully go to an Indian wedding. Wish me luck!