INTRODUCTION
The Halle Institute of Emory University was established with the mission of helping the university internationalize itself. Several programs are sponsored, including faculty travel abroad. Previous trips were to German and, this year, the staff of the Institute decided to take a group to India. A faculty group from disciplines as varied as Religion, Anthropology, Medicine, Nursing, Law, Chemistry, etc. was brought together under the leadership of Marion Creekmore, formerly Ambassador of the United States to Sri Lanka and now of our Political Science department, and I was lucky enough to be among those chosen. The trip was a great success and the Halle Institute will prepare a website with a formal report; I include here some of my own observations and thoughts.
I wish to thank the president and provost of Emory University and the dean of Emory College for their foresight in backing this effort. I wish to thank, too, the staff of the Institute for their work, particularly Marion Creekmore, and his wife Linda, without whose leadership we would not have had such full briefings on current India. Finally, thanks go to Anup Nair, our tour agent in India, who showed remarkable flexibility and ingenuity in making so many things possible for us, as individuals and as a group.
PLACES OF INTEREST (some seen with the group and some on my own)
There is a very large Hindu temple on the southern outskirts of the city . We took off our shoes and went in: People were bowing to the ground before the images and there were lots of children, all being taught to imitate their parents. The priests accepted gifts, put red marks on their foreheads, and gave them prasad (holy food). There are three main gods: Shiva, the destroyer; Vishnu, the protector; and Brahma, the creator. The first two have many incarnations. According to some, the 7th of Vishnu is Rama, the 8th is Krishna, and the 9th is Bhudda. According to others, the 8th is Rama, the 9th is Krishna, and the 10th is the final avatar at the end of time. Then, there are the goddesses: Parvati goes with Vishnu, Kali is the destructive one, Saraswati is the goddess of music and study. The temple complex had a shrine to Krishna and one to the mother goddess. People were well behaved and it had a certain peace about it. The guide says this is because life is so difficult that people really need religion; he is a Hindu himself.
The Jain temple. Our neighbor and colleague, Jagdish Sheth, himself a Jain, suggested that I be sure to see the new Jain temple in Delhi. It stands in sharp contrast to the Hindu temples. It is very plain, very simple; all white, no colors. The center of worship is a picture of the last of the 24 prophets. There was incense made from sandalwood.
The Sikh temple compound . No socks were allowed. We saw the temple -- again very simple, just the book hidden in a shrine, people coming in, bowing to the ground, bringing gifts to put on the shrine and then to take away, and just sitting quietly on the floor. Singers reciting songs in the background, a little Arabic sounding. There is a pool in which people bathe when the weather is warmer during the summer. But then there was the communal kitchen. We watched the operation. All volunteers. They make pita bread ( chapatis) and lentils ( dal). Anyone of any faith or caste can come in and sit down on the floor and be served as much as they could eat. They serve 20-25,000 people a day, and that is considered small compared to the central temple in Amristrad which operates around the clock. Even wealthy people come to eat, and come to volunteer. It must be very rewarding to come and spend an afternoon rolling dough, flattening it, and then baking it.
The local temple in Delhi observes arti, the waking of the gods, at 6:15. Fred Menger and I went there expecting a full puja with the undressing, washing, and redressing of the gods but that was wrong. The priest took a lamp with several wicks and circled it in front of the god in various patterns, all the while ringing a handbell loudly and accompanied by a man banging on a gong about 10 inches in diameter -- quite a racket. He then sprinkled water over the god and toward anyone standing around, including Fred and myself. He did this for each god and goddess in the temple, which was actually a courtyard with four temples: one to Krishna, one to Durga, one to Hanuman, and one to Kali. All this can be deduced from the symbolism: a flute, riding on a tiger, the monkey face, and the trident of destruction, respectively. The priest was preceded, and sometimes followed, by two old women who added to the fire in the priest's lamp and poured water over the lingam in the Kali temple and sprinkled water elsewhere. They then walked around the main Krishna shrine, putting their heads to the outer walls and reciting prayers. Then, they prostrated themselves and went to receive prasad and water from the priest. Others came in slowly, usually just to prostrate themselves and touch the steps of the temple and then themselves. After a while, it got quiet, so we left.
I walked to the synagogue Friday night, about 25 minutes. It is very small -- a very plain building and there are only 10 families. I think I met almost the entire congregation. There is a retired Israeli who lives in Delhi whose wife works with the embassy and he pretty much is the spark of the congregation. We spoke Hebrew and, when the time came to lead the service, he asked me to join him on the bimah (pulpit). This meant that he, I, and the local man alternated chanting paragraphs outloud. The local person is Indian, the Israeli was Persian, and I the American. In any case, the melodies were a hodge podge and no one seemed to know anything well. The dvar Torah (short homily) was given by a woman, and then two Indian men got up to add to it! Afterwards, no oneg Shabbat (reception) but I met one of the locals who turns out to have been the intermediary for the sale of the Israeli security equipment on the India-Pakistan border. Another was the woman who gave the dvar Torah . She is a Russian Jewesss married to a Hindu cardiologist who was also there. We talked for a while at the end and she invited me to her home for Sunday evening. No Shabbat morning service because there is no minyan (quorum for services).
I have been saying prayers daily and, one day, I saw myself in the mirror: a Jew with tefillin in super luxury hotel, in a city of profound and systemic poverty, having seen the Taj Mahal, one of the great aesthetic monuments of the world, also built amidst great poverty, as well as an ashram for indigent and abandoned widows. What a world! Praying every day has been a reaffirmation of my identity for me. In the midst of such a variety of images of the deity, the simple recitation of the Sh'ma, affirming that God is one, has brought focus, even as I observe the diversity of ways in which God's children see God. In addition, amidst the plethora of temples and religions, taking out my compass and determining west, the direction toward Jerusalem from India, has helped me locate myself in my own spiritual space-time continuum. My visit here has reaffirmed my belief that God has a sense of humor.
The darga, tomb of a mulsim saint, Nizzamuddin al-Ouliya, in Delhi. Walking into the bazaar, we were surrounded by beggars and so gave to none. The enclave itself contains two tombs, one of a famous poet and the other of the saint. We went in, spread flowers, and observed as other men came in, bowed, and recited verses of the Qoran. The Muslims do have a definite piety in the way they do these things: closed eyes and concentration. The women are not allowed in and they pray outside through the stone grill. Those who are looking to get pregnant tie red threads through the lattices. The guide of the darga took us, at my request, to the madrasa. I was hoping to see the school in action but they were cleaning the building that day so school was out. We did find one young boy and I asked him to recite a sura (chapter of the Qoran). He got part way through and forgot, but came back with another. However, when I asked if he knew what he was saying, he said that he did not. Not much education here. On the way out, I made a modest contribution for the poor, not for the school.
The darga of the Yousufain, the two Yousuf brothers, in Hyderabad . At the entrance, we shed out shoes. To the left of the general courtyard was a cemetery and, sitting on the tombs, were whole families eating lunch -- picnic in the graveyard. They were fully at ease and having a good time. There were also a group of goats roaming among the tombs eating left overs and garbage. The darga itself was a domed structure with four openings. They were repairing the dome. The men were allowed in to the two graves. Each man took a group of peacock feathers, swatted them into the flowers on the graves, and then swatted himself. Then, grabbing the feathers by the feathers, each struck his back several times in a kind of symbolic flagellation. Those of us who did not do this were swatted by the attendant but just on the front, with the feathers. The men bowed down, rested their heads on the tombs, and prayed. Others just stood by, opened their hands, and recited verses from the Qoran. The women were not admitted but came to the doors of the darga where they were swatted by an attendant.
I found another tomb in the same enclosure where the same procedures were followed. Then I found a room where a man was preparing sweets. He had boiling oil into which he poured batter through a sieve. As if fell, it broke into pellets which cooked. They were then put into a sugar syrup and came out as a sweet. I had seen them outside and didn't want to touch it but, here, I took directly from the pile of finished sweet. Very good. The guide was very nervous. He was a Hindu and was afraid of the Muslims, there being a long history of riots in Hyderabad. Someone in the darga asked me where I was from and I replied, "America." Afterwards the guide told me that that had made him very nervous; that after the war in Afghanistan, these people really did not like Americans. He was probably right. The visit impressed upon me yet again that the tombs of rulers are just that: empty tombs. Even at the Taj Mahal there was no prayer. The tombs of the sufi saints, however, who are contemporaneous with the rulers are alive with people, with prayer, with life. Saints are more important than politicians and kings.
The Taj Mahal in Agra is more beautiful than the pictures and descriptions. One approaches through a red stone gate which is already magnificent and then there it is. It really appears to float on the air. It is white marble with black lettering and decorative patterns. There are whole sections that are left as blank medallions so as not to overload the effect. The four towers really do lean outwards to create more space. The pool of water in front of it is much narrower than I had expected but, even without the reflection, the Taj's proportions are just plain beautiful. It is no wonder that people come from all over to see it. There is no cult at this shrine -- no worship, no reciting verses, no bowing and kissing the steps, and no begging or giving of alms. The Taj is covered with verses from the Qoran in black marble inlaid into the white marble. They are written the thulth script; very beautiful. I explained to some of the group the principle of Arabic calligraphy -- that the letters of any given word and be rearranged artistically and whoever is reading, since one knows the Qoran by heart anyway, would be able to read. This gives a very aesthetic effect, though it disorients the amateur reader like myself. I kept hoping to find a section I knew but, aside from the bismillah, the verse with which every sura (chapter of the Qoran) starts, I could only decipher words.
The Ganges is an experience all to itself. The river is the mother goddess and people pray to it by bathing in it, drinking it, and pouring out water from their hands into it. Arriving at night, a group of us decided to go with the guide, himself a very spiritual man, down to the Ganges. It was spectacular. We took the bus half way to the river and then had to go in a caravan of four cycle rickshaws! I was in the lead rickshaw with the guide. The traffic was not to be believed. In the no car zone, we had a traffic jam of cycle rickshaws, bicycles, pedestrians, and of course cows. Wall to wall people. All the shops were still open and, as Nancy Eiseland said, all of life is lived on the street. The shops came in groups; so there was a group of shops for textiles, for vegetables, suitcases, hardware, and even a group for ball bearings. Since there were no real tourists, this was all the way it is for the local people. Only as we got to the ghats, the edge of the river, did the tourist shops appear.
We went to one of the ghats where they were just finishing evening arti. One priest led the other priests and everyone else in the chanting; very rhythmic and musical. When they finished, the people gathered to receive prasad, the blessed food, and then they broke up. At that point, we went down to the river's edge and got into a row boat. As we pulled away, one of the ever present boys came up and wanted to sell us postcards. We declined but he continued, introduced himself by name, and asked our names. "Later," he said and we nodded. He was very cute, about eleven.
Once on the river we stopped and were given big leaves with lit candles on them which we set gently into the river. They floated gracefully away from us as the guide chanted Sanskrit verses for us and asked us to join him. I put the light in the river but mentally reserved it as an aesthetic act, otherwise, from a Jewish viewpoint, it is true idolatry since it is a homage rendered to the river; and of course I did not recite the verses in praise of Mother Ganges. The guide then had us rowed down to the cremation area where he explained that the bodies are dipped in the river -- we actually saw one being dipped -- and then allowed to drip off and then burned. The ashes are put into the river. They only cremate 5000 bodies a month, not nearly as many as I had thought.
We were rowed back to our starting point and retraced our steps to the rickshaws. On the way, Rao, the boy who had offered us the cards, found us and asked if we remembered him. I said, "Yes, and your name is Rao. Do you remember my name?" He was embarrassed and said he did not. Since it was Shabbat and he was so appealing, I asked George Benston to give him 10 rupees. But Rao refused them saying that he only took money for sales, never when just offered. I was impressed with this so I agreed we would buy 10 postcards. As he was about to conclude the deal for 100 rupees, $2.00, the guide came up and told him sternly that the price was 50 rupees. But I insisted that he get the full 100 because I liked his spirit. We gave him the money and the guide chased him away. When I explained to the guide that he had refused the 10 rupees as charity, the guide looked at me as if to say 'How naive can an American tourist professor be' but he just said, "That boy has met thousands of tourists." I guess I was duped but, after all, as I said to George, we believe in free enterprise and he deserved his money
The following morning, we arrived at the Ganges before dawn and walked along the water as people were bathing and preparing for the day. Rowing downstream in the boat, we could see others worshiping the river by bathing, tasting, and pouring out water, and welcoming the sun. Some sat in meditation. At the far end of our trip a group was doing arti, banging on gongs, chanting, ringing bells, and blowing on a conch. When the racket ceased, they began chanting, I think in fifths; very beautiful. I'm sorry we did not stay longer with them. We passed the cremation ghat and then got off and walked through the back streets. They are very narrow, a little like Tsefat though much dirtier. All of a sudden we saw a sign in Hebrew advertising cheap prices on silk; I would have followed had I been alone. We stopped in front of the mosque which is closed except on Fridays and is always under heavy armed guard because of the danger of anti-Muslim rioting. Slowly, we worked our way back to the bus and drove back to the hotel to change out of our warm clothes and take breakfast. I think the trip down river the evening before was more impressive.
The following day, Monday, January 14, 2000 was Makár Sankránti , also known as Khichdi named after the food of the day. It is a holiday and schools are out and many stores are closed. It is a festival of bathing and kite flying. George Benston and I went to the river with our guide way before dawn, arriving there in the dark and fumbling our way down to the water's edge. While we were waiting for the boat to arrive, a group of American and Taiwanese Buddhists affiliated with the Dalai Lama arrived with their priest. They began a very quiet pre-dawn chant. Once in the boat, it was still dark and there was a deep fog so we could see very little. As it became light, we moved in close to the shore and saw people lined up on the stairs with the front row in the water bathing. Everyone was so joyous, talking excitedly with one another and having a great time. The rows, thirty deep, went on forever filling the ghat. Everyone was there: young and old; men, women, and children. There was no nudity even though the women go in the water in their saris and change right there, and no impropriety. Some of the men even swam out a way. The boat circled out into the river and it was like being in a Turner painting of the London fog though we could hear clearly the sounds of people all around us bathing and talking. When we circled back in, we saw more of the same, except that the number of people had, impossibly, grown. Such masses of people, all having a very good time, bathing and offering water from their hands to the goddess, Ganga, five times. Some were saying private prayers too. There was a loudspeaker saying that people should have love not jealousy in their hearts, and should not fight with one another. No music, though the clanging of the gongs and bells of arti were clearly heard.
Afterward, we got out and walked among the people, getting as close as four or five steps from the water. They exit the water, dry off, and bring water to pour over the lingam. Some light lamps too. Then they assemble and bring gifts to the Brahmins of rice, a coin, and other things, in return for which they get a thike, a red spot or other paint on their foreheads. There was one young child, 3 or 4, with a perfectly round face who was now dressed and shivering. His mother gave him rice in his cupped hands and a big ball of rice and hardened molasses. Everyone cleared a way for the child to the Brahmin who accepted it and gave him his thike. He was so pleased. We then walked back to the bus, buying some special sweets of the day for everyone. We also stopped to buy kites and string. On returning to the hotel, I tried to fly it with the help of the staff but to no avail. They say I needed to wait until afternoon when the weather warms. It is true that no one but I was trying to fly a kite that early. This afternoon we got it to fly or, more exactly, since I never could manage the technique because the kite has no tail, the bus driver got it up and going. Several of us took turns trying to keep it up but only he could do it. I gave it to him when we left.
The Benares University Museum is funded by the central government. The director gave us a very fine tour, picking a few objects and explaining them carefully. For the first time, I heard the full explanation of the dancing Shiva figure that one sees all over. Shiva and his beautiful bride, Parvati, were walking naked through the woods which angered the sages who lived there. So they built a ring of fire, which is the circle in which the figure stands and, from it, created a snake to destroy him. He defeated the snake and wrapped it around his arm, which one can see. They then created something else, which he defeated and that can be seen. Finally, they created a dwarf which Shiva stamped on, and he can be seen. Shiva has four hands: one contains a drum which, when he plays on it, creates life; one is palm up facing outward, which is the sign of protection; one points to the foot, which symbolizes the cycle of reincarnation, i.e., release from this existence; and one contains fire, which is the source of destruction. Shiva's dreadlocks radiate from his head and they form the web of time. Above the right shoulder is a female figure that symbolizes the Ganga, mother goddess of the river and life. The dance position is one of many classical positions. The director then gave an artistic explanation of the lines of the sculpture. The whole was really well done.
Returning to Delhi, we went to the Jam´ al-Masjid, the big mosque. Not very impressive but, below it, there was a group of people who were being bled. The leg or arm is bound in a long spiral tourniquet and the "doctor" uses a razor blade (he claims to use a new one for each person) -- we did not see this -- to let blood. As they pump their limbs, blood oozes out and someone pours water over the open wounds. I could hardly believe this. From there, we took a cycle rickshaw ride through the Hindu part of the great market. Unbelievable. Stores heaped upon stores, some with expensive goods. Ursula and the boys would have a great time here.
The Mohatma Gandhi monument. One removes one's shoes on approaching. A marble slab and a burning flame. In addition to taking pictures, people came and bowed before the tomb, kissing it with their hands, and touching some of the sand to their heads. Everyone, including our guide, folded his or her hands as a greeting to Gandhi.
MEETINGS AND PEOPLE
I arrived a day early and took a government guide . He talked about life in India for people of his class, status, and means. "Tolerance, Acceptance, and Satisfaction" -- that is the motto of Hindus. They just accept their fate, no matter how bad it is, or how good. If they suffer, it is because of bad karma and the next incarnation will be better. If they do good, they need to do charity. "Marriage and Education" -- are the two greatest concerns. The guide has a boy who was accepted to one of the fine schools but it requires $1000 under the table and then about $900 per month over 12 months. He just can't afford it, even though his wife works. Yet he gave up a job as a sous-chef because it was not satisfying personally and took up being a government guide.
Sona Khan , whom I had met at a Scholars' Trialogue Conference in 1993, came and we sat and talked for about an hour. She is as interesting as ever. A Muslim woman who wears saris, not chemise and pants. She is a very prominent lawyer and was a judge on the High Court of one of the Indian states. She argues often before the Indian Supreme Court. She pointed out that there is no shortage of food or other materials but that there is not a good distribution system. She confirmed that there is no social security or health coverage here at all. Hence, there is no way out of poverty.
Sona proved to be an excellent hostess in India. She helped me, a veterate non-shopper, do my shopping. I wanted to buy some pashmina scarves and stood by in horror as she negotiated the prices down by 40%! I could never do that, though I was grateful for her help. She also helped me get beautiful curtains for our living room: the material, the tailor, the style; everything.
Sona also proved to know the good restaurants of Delhi. The first Saturday night George and Alice Benston joined Sona and me at a restaurant in the Muslim section of Old Delhi. This is something out of a movie set. People all over the place, teeming. Traffic that works on the principle of blow your horn and go. Beggars. Poverty. People making pitas and everything else you could imagine on the sidewalk. Dinner was excellent -- fish for me and meat for the others. And an argument with the cab driver who waited for us for three hours. At the end I paid the 400 rupees + 50 rupee tip, just under $10. We talked for the whole time about Sona's cases, her mother who was quite formal, her father, and her husband -- we had talked about her sons earlier privately -- and about politics. Very interesting. On the way out, a man appeared with a portable electric generator, the second I saw today, and they attached it to a series of portable chandeliers and the wagon lights on a buggy drawn by several white horses. The procession, a wedding procession, moved forward to the mosque, blocking all traffic in all directions. Lots of throwing of sweets, etc. Sona said this is normal.
Sona ate lunch with the group one day. She has a wide-ranging, associative mind and brought up the important women's issues: that divorced women have no source of support; that child custody, especially in Muslim society, usually goes to the man; that commerce in women, especially girls, is very common; so is abuse, even incest; and so on. In a discussion of schools, someone had told us that women don't have bathrooms to go to. Sona confirmed this, except to add that neither do the boys. They, however, can just void in the open but girls cannot. Girls, even in cities, discipline their bodies not to have to urinate or defecate during the day. If she had not said it so en passant and had it not been she who said it, I would not have believed it. The women were grateful for the opportunity to hear these issues raised, and dealt with so bluntly. The discussion continued a long time.
The speaker was from the Foreign Office . He was well informed and clear, pointing out that, with the end of the cold war and the lowering of restrictive tarifs, India finally made it into a stage of greater partnership with the U.S. It has had a recent growth rate of 7.5% and has surrendered its earlier policy of self-sufficiency for one of integration into world markets. He was not at all worried about nuclear war with Pakistan because of mutual assured destruction.
The speaker on genocide has a theory of genocide as the result of the rupturing of a previous intimacy. Thus, Hindus and Muslims -- and Hutus and Tutsis, etc. -- were integrated and, when that intimacy fractured, great violence followed. The fracture is due to nationalism, racism, willingness to sacrifice a part for the whole and, in India's case, also by democracy which broke the intimacy of caste. The answer lies in restoring multi-identity as a healthy form. The self has to include the existence of the other, even the disliked other.
We visited the U. S. embassy . Everyone came dressed up and one could hardly recognize the group. The embassy staff gathered for us, largely because Marion had been the number two person there many years ago, and they reported on the situation. Basically, the U. S. is trying to help the Indians and the Pakistanis to resolve the conflict and the parties more or less expect us to do so. They need to try to convince Musharraf to really do something and to coax India into not being so public in its demands. Since the basic tension, however, is not terrorists but revolves around ethnic and religious tensions that are endemic to the region, there is not much that can be done except contain the situation. On the economic and other fronts, the U. S. wants to invest in India but India is so cumbersome and resistant that it is very difficult to get anything done. They hope that the liberalization measures that have been undertaken will be continued.
Dinner was with a former chief justice of the Supreme Court. Sona had prepared the group with her issues and they all surfaced in the conversation. We ate at the home of his friends -- beautiful Hindu home, real wealth. The artwork on the walls was genuine old and some modern, mixed. At the end, he took us down to see the family temple, replete with gods and goddesses and, since he had had it consecrated, he also has a live-in priest. He asked the priest to come and distribute prasad which I was the only one to decline; since the prasad is blessed by the god, it is pure avoda zara (idolatry) and Jews are forbidden to eat it. A simple nod with the hands together was enough to decline and no offense was taken; I knew this from a visit to the Atlanta temple. Our host was very open about everything and I was very glad we all went.
We met faculty members in our respective disciplines at the University of Benares. This proved interesting. We met the woman in charge of Women's Studies, not only here but as chair of the national subcommittee. She was a ball of fire: clear, aggressive, confident, and yet still traditional. I asked her at the end what the status was for women's bathrooms, partly because of what Sona had told us and partly because, when one of the women in our group asked to go, there was a flurry of activity and it was finally decided she would use the men's room while I stood guard. The colleague responded indignantly that there had been three decisions by the national committee and two decisions by the Supreme Court and that only now were women's toilets being installed. The folks who visited the Nursing School said there were, of course, women's toilets there but not in the medical school. Also, the Nursing School was neat and clean, with tablecloths and flowers on the tables.
Our meeting with the Theology faculty turned out to be an attempt on their part to demonstrate the superiority of their system of thought. We were treated to an exposition of Vedantic thought on pure righteousness which is composed of pure happiness, pure joy, and pure bliss. I finally decided to bring up the lack of social consciousness for the oppressed but, despite my most diplomatic and sustained efforts, I was not successful. They understood my question and responded to it but they were not able to take a critical stance vis-à-vis their own tradition. I gave out the almond nuts I had brought and I think that was a great success.
Dr. Mishra, the man who is heading the campaign to have the Ganges river cleaned . He cited the statistics that there is no industry in Varansi to pollute the river, that 80-90% of the polution in the river comes from the sewers emptying into the river, and that individual human pollution from defecation and even cremation is present but minimal. The real problem is city sewage and he cited Columbus, GA, of all places, which has a 17 kilometer, water-tight line that collects raw sewage, sends it for reprocessing, and then puts it into the river. He is a very poetic and sage person; he needs a well trained activist on his staff. He was also glad to have regards from Joyce Buchhalter Flueckiger; he remembers her mother well.
An afternoon was spent at a local girls college . Professors had been brought together to talk about women's issues and, while what they had to say was important, the endless talking at us, instead of discussion, was annoying, yet again. There were some 40 students there, sitting quietly on the floor and listening; they are part of the residential group, the others, being commuters, were not there on Sunday. After sitting for quite a while, I decided that, in loyalty to feminist friends, I needed to open up the meeting. So, I asked if I could ask questions of the students and was told yes. Then, I asked the girls if I could ask them questions and was told yes. Slowly, I drew them out and we finally got a discussion going about what is it like for young women who want to work and yet expect to get married in this very patriarchal society. One of them confessed that that was exactly her problem but they all seem to have been prepared to argue with their future husband's families. Good sign.
One dinner was with Dr. Raju, CEO of Satyam computing. They are among the largest software firms in the world, creating and servicing software all over the globe. Their campus is exactly that: a campus with work and living quarters. Some 1500 people work there, plus all the other locations. The most impressive part of the evening was Dr. Raju himself: a modest man with serious moral, as well as business, commitments. His father died a few months ago and he and his brothers have set up a foundation in his name to do prosocial work. They have already adopted 700 villages and will take on another 1000. They go in and do work in health care, education, and general services. He is planning to set up a "Mission Control" which will man phone lines to each of the villages. This will enable them to monitor the flow of developmental data as well as offer a hotline for any emergency. He thinks the flow of data is no more complicated than that of any large corporation and he expects to be able to provide well coordinated help to each of the villages. Dr. Raju indicates that the cost is very manageable: a few dollars per capita per year for each village. This is an extraordinary man and a project worth keeping an eye on.
The CEOs of Coca Cola and GE . The latter was particularly sensitive to the cultural context of India. He pointed out, for example, that relocation here meant moving the live-in parents as well as displacing the children from elite schools. People here have a different sense of the balance between life and profession. The U.S. executives also listed all the problems: no social security, which means the employer must provide health care, etc.; no roads, which means that Coke needs more plants because it cannot efficiently transport the product; irregular power, which means that GE must build its own generators; impure water, which means building individual purification and recycling facilities; inconsistent tax policy; corruption and bureaucracy, which means hassle; inadequate telecom ability; very limited number of graduate school spaces, which means Indians leave the country and do not return; poor airports; migration from the poor states to the rich ones, with all the illiteracy and poverty problems that that brings; etc. This is called lack of infrastructure and it was well illustrated for the first time. They also pointed out that there is not much of real middle class of consumers and that, while things are much better than 20 years ago, things are not good and China is actually making better progress. All very interesting.
THE POOR
The trip to Agra is a long bus ride but that gave us a chance to see the countryside . The land, once one gets outside Delhi is quite green though it takes a long time to leave Delhi. However, everywhere are the mud huts with corrugated tin roofs, sometimes only tents or areas set up under rags. People live there with one faucet of running water out in the public. They lie around or, if they work, it is menial, pushing carts or hauling small loads, breaking rocks or digging ditches, and so on. Many of the women occupy themselves with collecting cow dung, mixing it with straw, letting it bake dry in the sun, and stocking it in very interesting arrangements. It makes a very hot and odorless fire and hence is the main family fuel for the poor. I talked to some of our group about the poverty here and in the U.S. The difference is that, here, poverty is so massive and, at the same time, so public. We also have poor people but they are not on every corner, living their lives right under our eyes. We see a few homeless but they slip out of our range of vision. Not true here. Also, moderately poor Americans can always find running water, an apartment, and food. Also, there is a fundamental infrastructure that works for our poor: social agencies, the government, religious agencies. That is not true here. Finally, American poor, so we believe, could, with hard work, get out of poverty. Perhaps, not everyone but most could live a modest version of the American dream: they could leave the impoverished classes through education and vocational training and work themselves up to the lower middle class, or higher. That is surely not true here where the poor are illiterate (40% illiteracy rate) and poverty is so thoroughgoing. I wouldn't even know where one begins to solve this kind of problem.
We drove back to Mathura to see a widow's ashram. It was worth the trip and I am only sad that Sona was not able to get us an interview with her contacts there. After the long ride during which Anup, our travel agent, told us the story of Rama, we passed through the old city. The traffic and pedestrian life was unbelievable. Bunches of girls in their red uniforms were in cycle rickshaws; imagine the school bus is a rickshaw. We finally arrived on foot at the ashram. It is really a temple and, in it, were about 800-1000 women. They were sitting on the floor, chanting and clapping their hand cymbals. They seemed clean though obviously poor, and glad to be doing what they were doing. Toward the end, as we watched, the leader had them raise their hands and they shouted the final verses together. They were then given rice and dal (lentils). After food, they left and went out on the street to beg. Prayers last four hours in the morning and four in the afternoon. They sleep in a hostel about two kilometers away, ten to a room. Those who cannot walk just stay at the hostel.
We were told that it costs 10 rupees per month to provide them with rice and dal which might be the case if much of the material is donated. They are also given 10 rupees a month for personal expenses, plus medicine as needed. After our brief tour, and I would have wanted more, we were brought into the birthplace of Krishna and subjected to one of the most smooth fund-raising operations I have ever seen We were seated on the floor before a curtain which, when opened, revealed Krishna, etc. We were told the story briefly and then they explained to us that 1200 rupees earned enough interest to feed a woman for a year. For 2500 rupees, one could also support the old cows and, for a little more, also some holy men outside the city. They would give us a receipt and, for some more, they would put our names on a plaque. Pretty smooth. I declined the prasad and someone said we should make a collective contribution. So we decided on 1200 -- to support the widows but not the cows -- divided by the four of us.
Later, we had dinner with Sona and she set us straight on the younger women in the widow's ashram. They are not young women seeking refuge from abuse but young widows with absolutely no one to support them, the late husband's family having rejected them and there being no social security. They also have no economic skills. So they come to the ashram and, because they are young, they become temple prostitutes, available to the priests and to others. To make matters worse, the ashram does not let them in unless they agree to a hysterectomy to keep them from getting pregnant. In the beginning, the temples just told the women they had cancer and took out the ovaries; now they make them sign a waiver. What a terrible situation.
We went to a small village downstream from Varanasi with the people from the Clean the Ganges campaign. To get there we went through some country areas and one must bear in mind that this is how 70% of Indians live. It is not so much that they are poor, though they are; it is rather that life is very primitive with only an occasional well, with all life on the streets, with garbage everywhere in spite of the fact that Indians are always cleaning themselves. This is the real India: primitive though not poor; we saw no starving people, no rampant disease.
The village comprises 10-15,000 persons. Before world war one, it made its living in agriculture but then the lands were turned over to the zamindars, local big landlords who rigorously enforced the caste system with terror. That was ended, some say by the British, others say by India, and the village land was "bought" by a foundation. As a result the village people can only farm very small plots while most of the land is worked by the foundation for its own benefit, and by outside laborers at that. The other source of income was the river which provided fish. However, the river is so polluted that there are few fish and, in any case, the government has forbidden fishing and set a huge fine and prison sentence for anyone who is caught, reasoning that whatever fish are there are need to eat the sewage. The village is, thus, in a difficult economic position. To make matters worse, a sewage treatment plant which uses ponds was built near the village and it is so inefficient that the pollution has crept into the upper part of the water table. As a result, the land smells, irrigated crops smell when cooked, the water from these wells is grey (I saw it myself), and disease is rife for those who bathe or wash clothes and dishes in the river. The Clean the Ganges group has put it several tubal wells that tap water sources below the pollution and this helps a little. Michelle Lampl diagnosed a bow-legged child as probably having rickets, reparable by diet and then an operation but the village has no medical clinic at all.
The big hit of the day was David's digital camera. Since it displays pictures right away, the children were fascinated by it. They crowded around him, though I noticed that the boys pushed the girls away as soon as they appeared. Leslie wanted to be photographed with the children. I think she would have preferred the girls but got the boys, and one of them had the audacity to put his arm around her. Since teenage boys are not allowed to touch girls their own age, this was, as she put, a little bit of "soft porn." Before leaving, we found the single bathroom of the local private school, an outdoor hole in the ground surrounded by a wall. We took turns using it as a unisex bathroom. Women lined up to use the public toilet attracted a lot of local attention. We also ate a box lunch in this school which turns out to be a series of cubicles, open on one side to the street, with one blackboard for the whole school. We did see a diagram of a heart on the blackboard.
We met the members of the Henry Martyn Institute who do conflict resolution and community building here. The stories were moving. They take women in the slums and teach them to ask what their options might be. They then support them to find alternatives. One group decided to increase family income and so to learn sewing. At the end of their course of study, they decided to set up a self-help fund and drew up rules for paying back the money each one would borrow. They then saved money in units of 20 rupees (40 cents) to buy sewing machines which cost 1600 rupees each but it turns out that they were short by 3000 rupees ($60). They followed all the possible governmental, political, and religious leads only to find that each had restrictions, especially because this is an interfaith, interethnic group. I turned to Michelle and suggested she take care of this and gave her 300 rupees to start with. She quickly raised 3200 from the group for the need of these women, each of us having contributed $6.00. I told the leader that I did not want to hear that one of these self-help projects failed because of a lack of $60 and I will send a check to start the Emory Fund within the HMI; I think the others will contribute too in time.
We then set off to visit one of their reconciliation facilities which is right on the border of the Muslim and Hindu neighborhoods in a real slum. On the street that divides the neighborhoods, people are attacked and killed all the time. Even the social worker feels unsure of herself and stopped talking to us when we passed a group of Muslim men. In the facility, we found young women learning to sew and embroider, also children who, being prompted to our coming, began to sing "When you want to feel happy, clap your hands." We came in and joined them. In another room they were doing puzzles and Marion got right down on the floor to work with them: the ambassador on the floor with a mixed group of children in a slum neighborhood. The children crowded around those with the digital cameras to see the replay.
The HMI leaders also spoke of a group of community leaders on both sides who had been meeting and, when trouble broke out generally, they met and each agreed to control the young people on their respective sides. They also spoke of empowerment of women: of a group of Hindu women who, when the mosque of Adyodhya was destroyed, decided that any young man who wanted to leave the village to help destroy the mosque could do so but could not return, and so none left. And of a group of women who put themselves between the police and stone throwers long enough to diffuse what could have escalated into a riot. And of a group of women who decided that a riot on one side of the street would endanger the houses on the other and so worked to prevent it. It was very touching to see and hear of this reconciliation work.
I think again that one must distinguish between poverty and primitiveness or, perhaps better, deprivation. These people, at least the overwhelming majority, are not poor, if one measures that by sufficient food, clothing, and shelter. They do lack adequate health care and educational opportunity which one could call poverty. But the primitiveness of the toilets, living quarters, diet, and economic opportunity are deprivation, not poverty. So it seems to me.
DRIVING
There really are cows on the streets and, in the poor neighborhoods, also pigs. I could tell I was getting used to India when the cows on the street were no longer are a novelty. And there really are three-wheeled taxis. I rode to the hotel in one of the them. You really feel the road and the traffic looks much more alive from there than from a taxi or a bus.
I think the basic rule of driving is: Ignore the lane indications and go where there is a hole in the flow of traffic. Someone put it well: There is a lot of traffic but none of it high speed.
Everyone drives on the left, as in England. The principle seems to be to position yourself solidy astride the lane divider and then move to the left when the person behind you pulls up and honks loudly. As a result, there is a lot of honking with the trucks and busses having very loud horns. The following are the vehicles used: bicycles, a lot of them, many with women in saris on the back, and cycle rickshaws; three-wheeled cabs, three-wheeled trucks filled to the brim with people and goods; motorscooters, motorbikes, motorcycles; trucks, busses, cars, and tractors; ox-drawn, horse-drawn, and camel-drawn carts, donkeys, camels, elephants loaded to capacity; plus loose cows of all sizes, loose pigs, numberless pedestrians of all ages, and all manner of shops which are not inside but outside on the street: food, plastic goods, textiles, even barbershops. Every once in a while a local bus or vehicle just drives on the wrong side of the street. One drives through all this, honking and weaving.
THE WEDDING
As we walked into the hotel in Hyderabad a little unsettled by the experience of beggars at the local bazaar, a very, very elegant Hindu group was forming. It turned out to be the engagement ceremony and dinner for a young couple, both American, who had returned here for the wedding because the bride's family is from here. It was outside on the lawn. It was astounding. Around 500 people: beautiful saris, spectacular jewelery, everyone very courteous and welcoming. We even found a professor of mathematics who has a child in Emory's public health program. It turns out that the parents of the bride and groom found out about one another's child and suggested that the two be in touch with one another. The courtship was conducted by trans-Atlantic phone and they decided to marry even before they had exchanged photographs.
There were two ceremonies. At the first, the bride's family presented gifts and the bride performed various forms of puja prompted by the priest who recited mantras. Then the groom's family presented gifts to the bride's family with the mother of the bride bending over to put the thike on the forehead of the bride. In this ceremony the groom's family is asking the bride to join them. After this, the bride changed out of her magnificent sari into one more magnificent for the second ceremony. At this one, there was more puja and then the bride presented her future mother-in-law with something, bowed down, and touch her feet three times. She did the same with the groom's sisters. The ceremony was over and everyone retired to the back of the lawn where buffet was set up, all vegetarian. Between ceremonies I had changed into tie, jacket, and slacks and so, feeling more comfortable, returned to the ceremonies. Afterward, I introduced myself to the families and wished them many years of happiness and many grandchildren, to which the mother of the bride said, "Yes, yes." I also introduced myself to the bride and groom as a rabbi and, after asking permission, blessed them. They and their families were very grateful. I was invited to join them for supper and also invited to the actual wedding ceremony the following day.
The wedding breakfast started at 7:00 at a large open area on the outskirts of town. When I arrived at 8:30, people were still eating. Someone recognized me and made sure I had something to eat. All was good except for one rather hot dish. My escort whisked my plate away from me when I commented that it was a little early for me to eat anything that spicy and insisted I eat something else. Many people were eating with their hands; it is a good thing I knew about this from my wife.
Slowly people gathered in the large tent where the wedding was to take place. In fact, throughout the wedding, people wandered in and out, talked, and men passed cups of drink. There was a stage on which many women from both sides sometimes sat, on which there was a huge flowered wedding canopy, perhaps 15' x 15' and pictures of the guru of each of the families. The band was off to the side. I decided to sit at the back and then moved up but someone came over to me and invited me into the reserve section. When I refused, he returned. Three times I refused and then he took my hand and led me up. I was embarrassed and decided to sit at the edge of the last row of the reserved section but he pulled me to the front row, second seat. So I had a really front row seat for the proceedings. Eventually, the groom and later the bride recognized me and I greeted them with the folded hands as one does in India. The photographers were everywhere and, again, the narrator had to ask them to move out of way of the audience.
The groom, dressed all in white with a white turban sat there as the priest did puja together with him. At one point, the genealogies of the bride's and groom's families were recited. At another, the bride's father took betel nuts and threw them up in the air so they landed on the head of his future son-in-law. The narrator explained that, in the good old days, one did this with gold coins. It turns out that the groom's family is from Fort Wayne, Indiana, and the bride's family from California. Three out of the four parents are doctors.
The auspicious moment was 9:38 a.m. and, at about 9:15, they spread a curtain in front of the groom and then the bride entered to sit behind the curtain. Traditionally, the bride and groom have still not seen each other at this point. The bride came in wearing a richly brocaded, deep red sari with headdress and lots of jewelery. I think she had four diamond chokers and one emerald one, strings of pearls, gold, and one necklace with small emeralds. She also wore a thick garland, as did the groom. Here eyes were made up and she sat cross legged with her head down and her eyes up, as Indian women do. She looked for all the world like one of the miniatures we have seen of the goddess -- beautiful, happy, and still curious and awaiting the ceremonies.
At 9:38 the band went into a drum roll, the groom placed his hand on the head of the bride and she placed her hand on his head, and they recited silently the seven vows of marriage (which the narrator had noted were not exactly reciprocal, this being a very patriarchal culture). Apparently, they also recited personal vows to one another. It was a very touching moment. Then, there was more liturgy and some singing by the narrator as a coconut and yellow rice were passed around. One touched the coconut and kissed one's hands (which I cannot do as it is an act of worship) but I did take some rice, more of which was also being given out. After a while, another drum roll and the groom stood up and tied two yellow threads around the bride's neck. The priest and family threw rice and then everyone, all 500 guests, came to throw rice as a blessing. I moved forward and threw what I had. The couple was eventually to perform their first puja together as man and wife but, at that point, I had to leave. A very beautiful ceremony and I am very, very glad I went.
SHOPPING
No trip to India could be complete without some shopping. I am not much of a shopper myself and I have no bargaining skills at all. Still, I did want to support the Indian economy and make a few people happy.
One afternoon, I found great curtains for the living room -- cappucino in color and nicely designed for the rod. At last, for not a lot of money, I would be rid of those horrible green things that have hung in our home since before we moved in. The shop agreed to set them aside for me. The plan was for me to come to pick up the curtains and for Sona to bargain the price down. When we went in, the saleswoman was not glad to see her. Sona sat, looked at the material, considered the prices, and did not even begin to bargain; she only said we needed to think about it. I followed her out a little crestfallen and she was quite clear that as a male I would not know it but the material was flimsy and would come apart the first time we ran the vacuum cleaner over it, and that the curtains were overpriced. To prove her point, we looked at similar fabric and calculated we could have the same curtains made for half the price. So, we spent the next two hours looking for the right fabric and finding a tailor. I never shop; I see what I want and, if I can afford it, I buy. Well, this was real shopping. We compared fabrics, looked for colors, checked prices, and must have visited eight shops 'til we found what I was looking for. Then, we needed a tailor from whom one traditionally buys the lining. However, the tailor must know the pattern we want, so we went into a sister shop and had him look at the model, which the saleswoman figured out right away. Then he said he couldn't reproduce it. So, on to another tailor shop. Finally, they suggested I buy one pair of the original curtains so that the tailor could use that as a model, which I did. Sona took the material and the model, and the tailor came to her house, She negotiated the lining and the sewing. I think the material we have is better and, in the end, I will have five, not four, windows worth of curtains and it will still be about $80 less than the original. Not bad, if one doesn't count the time put in on shopping. I hope it will all be worth it. I can't imagine the life of people who shop full time. Now that I am back, everybody loves the curtains and I am very proud of this sally into the world of shopping.
REFLECTIONS
The most spiritual moment was the night ride on the Ganges. The most morally important moment was either standing the shores of the river and realizing that the villagers had lost their source of livelihood, or standing in the room where Muslim and Hindu poor girls were learning to sew together. The most aesthetic moment was seeing the Taj Mahal, which was more beautiful than I had imagined. The most intellectual moment was the survey of the Indian economy by the head of the Planning Commission.
I had been told that India is a very engaging place. I did not know what that meant but it is true. The people of India, particularly the Hindus, of all classes, educations, and backgrounds, smile. I never felt threatened or in danger -- not alone at night on the streets, not when language failed me, not in crowds, not even in the bazaars. The people are engaging and, with them, their country. I think this is due to their view of the world: that we are where we belong in life and that there is a spiritual, not a social or economic or political, way to a better life. One's karma (one's accumulated luck, so to speak) is what it is, and the cycle of reincarnation is the way out. As a result, Hindus do not rail at fate, they do not struggle with social forces. They accept what life has given them, materially and spiritually, and they are satisfied with this. This gives them a happiness that people in western civilization with their success orientation (one might say, obsession) do not have. We are taught not to be satisfied with our lot, to strive to better ourselves and the world around us. Hindus accept the bad, but also the good, of life as natural, normal and, as a result, they are happy. This is a welcome change for us and it is, I think, the engaging part of India.
And there is the abiding friendship formed with Sona Khan who will be a friend for life.
All in all, an excellent trip. I do not see myself quickly resuming the life of teaching and professional and family administration.
DRB, January 2002