Secrets of the Himalaya

It was all a dream. I was back; back at the foothills of the Himalayas, many moons since that first year when the lens shifted and the whole world began to look a little different. Walking like my legs never forgot I took each hill in stride, plucking peaches, apples, and grapes fresh off of trees and vines. I lost and found myself in mountain jungles as I made my way back, to the village that was my first home, and to the people that opened their lives to me.

From the vantage point of higher hills, smoke rises up from the houses below. The smell of burning fires and fresh gobar, the sight of warm cups of chai and familiar faces, and the sounds of animals and laughter are enough to overtake you. Everyone has jokes. And while the mountains unceasingly define the backdrop and claim the horizon, it’s about more than just the view. The purpose, dedication, and natural surroundings all add up to something that is powerful, yet not tangible.

Maybe that is the secret of the Himalaya.

Being in the presence of such natural power means going beyond what simply meets the eye. After all, what is immediately striking about mountains is their enormity. There, towering in the horizon, reminding us of forces much stronger and permanent than ourselves, lay peak after snowcapped peak, cut with sharp edges, reaffirming the meaning of earth, mud, and stone. But is it simply the sheer magnitude of mountains that move us? Or rather, is it what is inside those hills and what is inside us that meet and take us beyond the earth, mud and stone that is this body?

From such altitude, the busy streets of Babylon seem far, and all seems safe. One cannot imagine that concrete jungle as a place where we lose ourselves and become so easily distracted that we are consumed from the inside without even knowing it. That is, of course, if we do not remember secret Himalayan recipes.

That evening we sat around the wood-fed fire, in conversation and silence, once more crossing barriers of language, class and culture. The reflection and reconnection flowed in and out of me as I remembered the days when this was my home – and my classroom. Amongst people and panchayats there are always lessons to be learned about strength and bonds and struggle. Catching up on new developments of the village, discussing the never-ending work required for daily life, sharing arbitrary details of the days in between our brief time together – we added the ingredients of the night – organic vegetables, freshly-ground spices, and mutual respect and affection. They say food is love and in these parts it always tastes better.

In the morning when it was time to leave, ten year-old Jyoti walked me to the forest where I would spend the next couple hours searching for the right path back. After we began going our separate ways, she quickly turned around, and with a frown on her face she scowled, “Next time you come, you come and stay for a week, you hear me?”

How do simple words pierce organs? Why is it so easy to connect with what remains so radically different? What does it mean to melt? We want to grasp what cannot be held; we want to know for sure what we don’t understand; we want it all to make sense some day.

The questions come much easier than any answer. But I suppose some secrets are better worth keeping.

From Kutch: Reflections on Change

A few weeks ago I was in the Silver Spring, counting blizzards as the feet of snow piled up. Today I sit in Kassam Kaka’s home, in the village of Tugah. I’m here to reflect on change, social change to be exact. Projects and experiments, that began nearly a decade ago, initiated to work alongside communities in earthquake (2001) affected villages. I’m here to piece together the stories of Mana bhen and Rava bhai, of Indicorp fellows – Shezeen, Anjali and Samina, and try and weave together a narrative that tells one part of a larger story.

As I interview women who work with Gram Shree, a women's empowerment organization, I can’t help but steal glances at their striking dress and amazing jewelry. The aesthetic is inescapable. The vibrancy and color of life is in sharp juxtaposition with the arid, barren landscape. The earth below is cracked, dry. The blinding afternoon sun leaves moments like these, to embrace the shade, and reflect. And even still, it’s hot, like red hot.

It’s hardly been two days in Kutch. There is a certain pride that is apparent here amongst people. Despite such a harsh climate, a lack of water and significant isolation there is a sureness of the way of life and existence in a way that expresses no feelings of threat from outside. As Kora bhen says, “What works for us, works for us. What works for others, is good for them.”

It’s strange to be here so temporarily. It’s almost as if I am simply taking, with nothing to really offer. But it reminds of something Jayesh bhai once said, “Those who want to give must also be ready to receive humbly.” And it’s sort of ironic, that even after a year of service in villages at the foothills of the Himalayas, with a Western education, and an exciting project here in India, I am still receiving.

Last night I slept so well, outside, under the stars. They were beautiful. Even though it is blazing hot here throughout the day, the nights are cool and early morning hours cold. I suppose that’s the desert for you. The snow and streets of Washington, DC are far, far away. And it seems that in just a few weeks – from Delhi to Ahmedabad to Kutch, these reflections on change are only beginning.

Reflection Eternal (Perspective)

The starfilled sky blankets my thoughts tonight. And the images return. The silhouettes of trees are striking in the dark. The edges of pine blur the lines of these moments. At times like this it’s all just so peaceful. The empty roads during late night walks, it almost seems that I have these hills all to myself, at least in these moments.

There is nothing more but here, there is nothing else necessary right now. The rest is for tomorrow. The music in my head, accompanies the silence, the soundtrack to the reflection. I brush my teeth, head titled upward, inhaling starlight .With that canopy above how many times have I stared up at the sky from different hills, from different villages, across Kumaon? Having established the setting, once more we engage in the reflection, while the lights of Almora remain directly ahead in the distance.

This place has become my world. Nowadays, I find myself so familiar with my environment that often I am unaware of the world outside of this everyday reality. It makes sense I suppose. I have spent the majority of the last year in these villages, amongst these hills and forests. I have spent much more than time however. It’s been the energy, the effort, the frustrations and excitement, and certainly, most certainly the incredible people. The amount of love I have gotten here from people, in the villages I have been working with for the past ten months is something that brings an immediate smile to my face, and warmth to my being. This affection from neighbors, villagers, strangers – one does not easily find anywhere, encompasses me in the spirit of these hills.

When I embarked on the journey that brought me here I left behind relationships, a certain lifestyle, and the domineering culture that, to be honest, had been part of my life for the past many years. To go from that to this, to such a radically different place and state of mind, to struggle, and accept, and eventually embrace. In all of this, there is perspective worth searching for.

From all the things I’ve seen and done and learned here, about this work, about this place, about myself. At some point to go from here to there, to the other side of the globe is a jump that at times I wonder, what will it yield? In trying to understand what this year has truly been, I reckon that that perspective I am seeking will hit me on the other side. When I am back in the world of suburbia, of strip malls, and parkball, and late night freestyle sessions, it may be like, “Holy shit. I just did that.”

And it’s not that I am not conscious of all that has happened here, though incapable of putting it all into words. The efforts I have put in to understand and work alongside rural communities have already been much more than meaningful. As have the challenges I have dealt with and the ways I have had to get to know myself, ways that have not always been the most pleasant.

It’s just a whole lot to try and interpret all at once, especially when you feel unconsciously so connected to your surroundings. The question of perspective is what awaits in that world that had been default, up until recently. Then maybe the people, the struggle, and the grassroots will take on meanings that I cannot even see from my current Himalayan vantage point.

But right now it all remains in my head. Each step is comfortably placed on this ground. We shall save the inevitably continuous speculation, the late night reflection for other nights. Tomorrow will come with new stories and new challenges. And with time further attempts will be made to ponder the meanings of perspective. Tonight these hills are mine.

Journey(s)

Journeys. Much is made of the word and its’ associated meanings by the Indicorps brigade. At this point, any further attempt by me is certainly certified clichéd. And as I sit on this train and journey on, this time towards Nagpur, it all seems fittingly framed through the horizontal metal blue bars across the window.

Some of the paint is chipped, some of the dust is still settling, but it all keeps moving. I see the traffic of the city flowing by, kinda insane, but at the same time normal. The city lights pass, as do the slums. The heaps of garbage, the congregations of rag pickers next to the pristine walled-in green, green lawns. Soon the urban landscape fades and it is back to the khet – and rural India. This time in the plains, far away from the villages I know in that corner of Himalaya.

And so the recurrent conversation of this year (or is it this lifetime?) returns – of journeys, and understanding, or rather struggling to make sense of it all. Of wealth and privilege, and urban and rural, and where I’m coming from, and truly where I’m going. Not simply Anandwan or Sewagram, but where will it all lead? When do the answers come? And where do we go to find them when questions only become a little sharper? Cut a little deeper?

The moon is full. It shines light down on the setting below bearing witness to the journey. The singular and the plural – weaving in and out of one another, like the strands of a double helix. Connecting and disengaging. And I told you so. Totally, certified clichéd.