An Old Blind Man, Endless Prayers, the Bodhi Tree, and India's Drug Hub

Quite a haul since New Delhi. I am writing this from Goa, India. About a 3 minute walk from the beach, where the sun has just now rolled over into the Sea.

"No USB allowed" in this small shop, so no pictures, but maybe at the next stop. For those of you interested Josh has put up some pictures at PhotoBucket. Username: joshman21 Password: karmali

Here's a cut-and-dry sum-up:

After Delhi we took a train west to Jaipur. We stayed at a very nice place, aptly named the "Shahar Palace" with peacocks and fountains and chickens and manicured grass under banana trees etc etc. We arrived feeling pretty poorly, so the first day Josh was in bed all day. I felt okay so I walked down into what can only really be called the "suburbs." It was very hot and a long walk but I wanted to see the city (later I was told I had walked the "incorrect direction"). Passed camels, and heaps of trash, families living along the road in makeshift tents, where the children would all scream for me to take their picture and then jut out their hand and yell "10 rupee! 10 rupee!" They got banana's and unsolicited tickles from the out-of-place white guy, but it was all received with giggles and smiles, so it worked out.

During the nights Josh and I would ask our hosts "The Colonel" and his wife "Mrs. Singh" what we should do, and they suggested going to a place called "Diggi Palace" where they usually had music or dancing or drinks or whatever going on until around 11. So we took a bicycle rickshaw through dark smelly side streets for what seemed like forever, and finally arrived. What we walked into was a very strange scene. Apparently during our stay, the "Largest Literary Festival in Southern Asia" was going on at this hotel. Many Bollywood stars, musicians and authors all came for performances, talks, symposiums, exhibitions etc. And we wandered in bedraggled and very confused. Most everything was free--if done right. But the first night we paid for a (relatively) expensive buffet dinner that included endless drinks, etc. etc. So we sat down at the main stage with a plate full of fine Indian cuisine and two stout glasses of Cobra Indian Beer and prepared for what was to come. As the lights began to click on and the microphones were laid out and adjusted (ten minutes prior there had been intermittent power outages throughout the hotel that they had to "remedy" before the show could begin---all quite normal), we saw streaming onto the stage a troupe of Bengali musicians all clothed in things more fantastic than the next. Multi-colored turbans, long flowing robes and beards and beads and head scarfs and belts and bangles and on and on. Then one old bearded man in a yellow turban came on stage holding the hand of a little old man in an orange sweatshirt and a loosely draped dhoti of sorts. He was blind and had long grey hair and long grey beard and held a little stringed instrument. The show got underway with Josh and I sort of stunned and bewildered at what we had walked into. And at about the third song, with a long slow opening, that little old blind man who looked almost like he was the drag on the band, let out the most haunting, stunning and immaculate tone I've ever heard. He had the most incredible voice, and neither one of us was expecting to hear anything quite like it. He looked about 75 and sang like he was in his prime. I got some video of it, and if I can I will post it. Anyway after this set there was a young British woman and guitarist who wailed and sang renditions of Like a Rolling Stone and Voodoo Child, and they played until about midnight when the Bengali band came back out and they all jammed and sang and swayed until about 12:30 in front of one of the most random and bizarre groupings of people (including a very stunned Josh and I) in Jaipur, India.
The next couple days we took tours of old forts and big temples, including a Monkey Temple up on a hillside where I finally fed and interacted with monkeys for the first time in 20 years. Ever since my early obsession with primates I've wanted to touch one, and the day finally came. Although they were sort standoffish, filthy, and greedy...still awesome.

Then we took what was supposed to be about an 18 hour train ride to Varanasi. We only allotted about one day in Varanasi, which was a poor decision anyway because Varanasi is an incredible city, but the train ended up being about 10 hours behind schedule and included a transfer of trains (which a nice man helped us to navigate, thank god). So we got in at about 7 at night (and had to leave at about 5am the next morning). We found our way through the eerie and smelly alleyways to our hotel, right on the Ganges, where they weren't quite sure if they had a reservation for us. They ended up finding us a room, and so we spent that night eating, slinking through alleyways looking at all the strange people, animals, shops, and "things" (dung and sludge, trash and bikes and motorcycles and ladders, etc.). We spent some time on the Steps and tried to see what we could from the roof of the hotel, but I was feeling very sick and so we decided just to pass out. We got to the bed around 10 or 11, and laid down begin our rest, and I slowly drifted off. Then I woke up at about 2am to a shrill, loud, insistent voice coming from the rooftop of the next building over (about 4 feet over and 10 feet below our window). I didn't want to wake Josh (who was already awake and had been since about 1 because of the same sound), so I just listened and eventually fell back asleep (I think around 2:30 or 3). When we woke up at 4, because we had a train at 5:30 that we didn't want to miss, this voice was still going, just as strong, just as loud, and just as urgent. It sounded like one side of an argument, or speech or important explanation, only it had gone on for at least 4 hours straight, uninterrupted, in the middle of the night from a rooftop, surrounded by hundreds of sleeping citizens. As we left the hotel and walked through the silent, black alleyways, his voice continued, and trailed off. We decided it was probably some sort of prayer that probably would never end. On our way out we shined our little flashlight on sleeping bodies on stone slabs in the corners, huge cows (some with dogs sleeping on top of them) in 4 foot wide alleys snoozing silently, cats, and piles of trash with rats...it was actually a very eerie and bizarre and somewhat unpleasant introduction to one of the Oldest Living Cities on earth and also apparently one of the holiest.

Next stop was Gaya, near to Bodh Gaya, the spot of Buddha's enlightenment. We were staying with a wonderful family, loosely affiliated with Vijay and Shim. They had never met, but had a mutual friend. Again my stomach was in a very poor state and the wife (to this day we still aren't quite sure of her name--the husband was 'Baju') didn't speak much English so it was difficult to communicate the dietary needs. But it passed after the first two (of three) days. She was very interested in speaking with us and improving her English, and we surprisingly made it through several conversations having understood one another. The grandparents lived in the home along with two boys, 6 and 11-- the 11 year old and Baju both spoke English. The first day we walked out (the opposite direction from downtown Gaya) into the small villages and farmland-- we got bombarded by school children and curious men several times, while the women just smirked and looked at us out of the corner of their eyes. The next two days we went out to Bodh Gaya, about 12 people pile into an auto-rickshaw and drive, packed together, the 11km to the holy pilgrimage site. As you get near you begin to see Tibetans and Nepalese pilgrims and vacationers, Theravadan monks and Tibetan/Nepalese monks and nuns, and then once you arrive, you know it. Suddenly there are just throngs of saffron and maroon clad monks and nuns, prayer wheels and beads, prayer flags and all types of pilgrims--mostly from the Himalayan region. It was very powerful being at this place. The energy there is quite palpable. We spent the first day circling the main temple, that is situated right next to the actual Bodhi tree (which is I think the 9th generation of tree and not even from the same line). And sitting beneath it listening the soft hum of prayers and mantras around us. An endless flow of people circumambulate around the tree, and if you're a people-watcher, it's hard to leave. I spent a half hour just snapping pictures of all the best faces, mostly weathered old monks and pilgrims with crazy beards and missing teeth and deep, benevolent grins. Over the next two days we visited various gardens and temples surrounding the main area. The following day we made our way to the Japanese temple, and stayed for the evening service. Just one monk, unceremoniously, came in and got to work chanting and ringing the bells and beating the drum. Then he rang his little bell signaling the beginning of the 25 minute zazen period, and about 15 of us sat together listening to the birds flying in and out of the hall, school children yelling outside, and distant cars, buses and rickshaws all honking together.
I am being very brief here, because we have to leave the computer parlor soon, but know that Bodh Gaya is a very powerful and beautiful place and I will never forget my time there. Anyone going to India, Buddhist or not, would benefit from a stop at this place. The collective energy from all the different visitors is a very deep, harmonious and inspiring gift: freely given, freely received.

Then we just recently took a 40 hour train ride from Gaya to Goa (near polar opposites). We arrived yesterday. We are staying in the southern part of Goa, a quieter side with older tourists and a more mellow scene. But up north (which we inevitably visited, and will visit again) there are havens of young, dreadlocked, tie dyed, shirtless, and dazed Europeans (haven't met an American yet--last one was in Delhi). Down the lanes with palm fronds drooping over and incense wafting through and an accumulation of rave-techno-trance music, reggae and sitar ragas all playing over each other, shops sell bags with pot leaves and mushrooms and elves on them, shirts with Bob Marley next to shirts with Gandhi next to shirts with Che Guevara, beads and bells and pipes and bongs, fruit, sandals, and anything else you would really need on holiday in Southern India. The beaches are dotted with old French men in thongs, shirtless Italian women sunbathing, young rich Indians from Mumbai, local Goans trying to get you to buy something (anything), dogs, the occasional cow, and then us. Tomorrow there's a large world-famous flea market in Anjuna beach (far north) and we will go to that and spend the day there.

For those of you who we occasionally reach by phone, Josh inadvertently walked into the waves of the Arabian Sea last evening with several items in his pockets...one of which was our cell phone. So there may be a break in the calls for a time. Although he has a calling card and so we'll try to find a pay phone we can call out from--shouldn't be a problem.

Josh is ahead of me reading about the Mariner's and Obama policies. We're both in good spirits, it's hot out, we miss home, we love it here, and I'll put up some pictures asap! Thank you for the comments all, it's nice to hear from you!