Home!

Ugh... The flight which had 1 number was actually 3 flights, each involving deplaning, going through security and waiting an hour or two to reboard.  I mostly napped and watched movies.

After landing and meeting up with my family (including my first ever visit with my 3 month old neice), we went for pizza... I am gluten free, and this place had an innovative gluten free crust: sausage.  God bless the City of Broad Shoulders.

Everything has pretty much clicked right back into place... mentally, it all feels natural.  The interstates and grocery stores, hot showers and carpeting.  I am feeling like I'm eating too much meat, but I think thats mostly a function of travelling... interstate exit dining is pretty much steaks, burgers, and fried foods, or a salad if you're a woman or communist.  For dinner last night, outside of Paducah, KY, we stopped at Charleys (the options were fast food or steakhouse), and I wanted something light, but not a salad.  I asked for grilled chicken and vegetables, and the only vegetable they had was broccoli (which is fine, but I would have preferred mixed veggies).

So today I'll make a trip to the grocery store and hopefully find a place to get some Indian spices, and get my ideal balanced diet back.  Some meat, some veggies, some Indian flavors, some other flavors.

I don't know how much I'll be updating this now that I'm not in India, but I'm happy to have this record of my travels.

Travelling Home

We left for the airport in a hired car accompanied by two of our friends from JSS who spent the night.  We left at 5:30 in the morning, after staying up until midnight or so.  I figured if anything, it just meant that I could sleep during my marathon travel session: 2.5 hours to Raipur, 1.5 hour flight to Hyderabad, SEVEN HOUR LAYOVER!, 24 hour flight to Chicago (with two stopovers), a visit to my grandmother in Chicago, followed by a four hour drive to visit my other grandmother in Dubuque, IA.  All told, over 50 hours of moving around.

From the outside, the Raipur airport looked like it could have been a train station.  In fact, the terminal and parking lot were smaller than those at the Bilaspur train station.  There were more police guards than passengers.  To get into the terminal, you had to either have a plane ticket, or buy a pass to enter (30 rupees),, so we bought the passes and went in.

The airport reminded me of small airports I had flown through in Montana.  The luggage scanner was between the lobby and the check-in area, and it was generally empty and laid back.  No lines anywhere.  We saw a newspaper that had a giant picture of dead policemen, with a headline saying that Naxals had killed 76 policemen in Dantewada.  Maybe that was the reason for all the security… although given how particular Naxals are at targeting policemen, they may have been making the airport more of a target.

Slowly I was moving towards Western-style civilization. There was AC, though not strong.  The toilet was still a squat toilet, but it had a flush, and there was a hand dryer in the bathroom... a rare thing in Bilaspur.  I was the last to enter the boarding area, spending the last moments with Dolly (who is staying behind, probably until the end of the year), until the hostess prompted me that I had go.  To board the plane, I walked out onto the runway and continued on about 100 yards to the only plane on the tarmac.

Upon arriving in Hyderabad, the walk across the tarmac had been replaced by a shuttle bus ride, and the bathrooms had been upgraded to western toilets with a choice of spray nozzle or toilet paper.  I collected my luggage and exited the terminal, and found that not only do I have a 7 hour layover, I can not even enter the international terminal for the first four hours.  Luckily, I have my computer for entertainment, and a fully charged battery, so I started writing for this blog, while curious people are rubbernecking to stare at my screen.  They most likely can’t read this, though.  (Curious about laptops means they don’t have the social status that English fluency would bring)

-

Now inside the airport.  I have gotten away with no excess baggage fees for my 31kg suitcase and 10kg guitar.  On the domestic leg, I was expecting to get hit with a bunch of fees, and I also thought the 31kg suitcase would attract a charge on the international leg… but the domestic leg applied international restrictions because I was connecting, and they both used a total baggage/weight limit.  Score! I did have to pay a $25 tax that wasn’t included in my ticket – I think based on the amount of time I had been here, but I was expecting to pay up to $100 for my bags between the 2 legs, so I ended up ahead.

I also made it through immigration much easier than I thought.  I wasn’t worried, but I thought the combination of a tourist visa and residence permit might raise some eyebrows.  I had everything stamped and signed, so I wasn’t worried, but they didn’t even ask for my permit.  Just a dead-eyed stamp stamp stamp.

Now its an hour wait until check in, a hop to Bombay, where all told its two hours on the ground, then Frankfurt, then Chicago.  I’ve been traveling for 14 hours and am still just starting, but the next parts should include beverage service, in flight entertainment, and the opportunity for ample sleep. 

Going Away


On the second to last evening I was in Ganiyari, I ran into Anil, who speaks only a little English, but is very sweet.  I was looking for him to track down a scale to borrow to weigh my luggage, and when I found him he pulled me onto a motorcycle to make the short trip into town.  When we arrived I found out he wanted to buy me a shirt!  A shirt costs a bit more than a day's wages, so I protested, but it became very clear that I was not allowed to refuse.  Ganiyari is a small village, and there were 3 shops available, and we looked at all of them. 

Finding a shirt in my size, of the appropriate price and quality, and most importantly style, was difficult.  The common style in the villages is to have random designs and English words embroidered across any and every part of the shirt or jeans.  That may be fine if you don't know the words, but it isn't anything I could ever wear in America.  There were plain "t-shirts" (polo shirts) but they were not of good quality.  So Anil gave me 200 rupees and told me to buy a shirt in Bilaspur.  I fought taking the money but he insisted.  After talking to Dolly, I found out a number of people had pooled their money, so I no longer felt so bad.  That evening I bought a khadi (hand-spun cotton) shirt in the main sopping area and wore it the next day so people could see it.  They unanimously agreed I looked nice in it.

On that last day, I was given several other gifts.  A shoulder bag from one of the doctors, a pen and pocket diary, a pen and large diary, a picture frame, and a hand-picked bouquet of flowers.  The coolest gift I received was a "pandit cup" given by the Ayurvedic doctor, Dr. Surabi, and her husband Mahesh, who is an agricultural outreach worker.  She and her husband are both from the Brahmin caste, which is the priestly caste (though neither are priests).  The cup was a copper cup, 20-25 years old that had been given to her husbands father, who I believe was a priest.  Mahesh was out of town, so the cup was presented to me only by Dr. Surabi.

Saying goodbye to everyone was a little uncomfortable.  Many people told me what a good man I was and how they would never forget me.  Being how it is unusual for an outsider, especially a white one, to come and stay for long enough to get to know them, I certainly believe the second part, but on the whole I didn't know how to respond appropriately.  Mostly I just smiled and said that I would remember them too.  I think for the most part that is true.

Cricket in the Village

On my last Sunday here, I woke up early to go meet my friend Manoj to watch/play cricket.  This friend's nickname is "Dhoni" after the captain of the Indian cricket team because he plays so well.  I took the bus to a village about halfway from Bilaspur to his house, and had a glass of fresh mango juice while I waited.  After I was done and was standing and waiting, a rickshaw driver started asking me questions about where I was from, why was I here, etc., and a small crowd gathered around.

I was picked up and we went off to the cricket ground, which was a dusty field in front of a school.  Dhoni's teammates (who are all from his village) were waiting, and soon the game began.  Dhoni started out batting in both games, and in both games was out before he scored any runs - the only two times in his life it had happened, he told me.  He said he was so excited to show off that he got out quickly.  When it was their turn to field, I played with them, fielding 2 or 3 balls, and not making any real mistakes.  Dhoni made up for his batting by doing a good job of bowling, getting a few batters out.  They won both games, which were played for the stakes of 50 rupees per game.

After the game, I took some team photos and promised to send them to the team.  The players were all from the same village, and I went back with them to the small hotel where they go every Sunday after their match.  We filled up a table in the back and they got samosas.  I can't eat samosas, so I had a cup of tea and a Mazaa, which Dhoni insisted on buying for me.  One thing that happens often in the village is that people will always insist on paying for things.

It was a small village hotel, on the freshly (and only) paved main road.  It had an uneven cement/rock floor, and the front was filled with an open-air display of its fried foods. As we sat, the children of the owner snuck peeks at me from the back room, and a crowd gathered around the table.  The owner (who may have been drunk) asked me if I wanted a number of specific local wines, one by one... "do you want GP"... "do you want mahua...", etc.  At this point it was around noon, and I told him it was too too early to drink, but at night I would.

After the hotel, we went to Dhoni's house.  It was a fairly standard village house, two small buildings sandwiching a courtyard.  The front building has the father's bedroom, a small store, and a room that acts as something like living room during the day and a bedroom for everybody else during the night.  At one end is a small TV hooked up to a satellite dish that sits on their tile roof.  The back building has a kitchen with small wood/dung burning stoves and another with a gas range, along with storage room for a year's worth of rice.  The back building also has a bedroom for his older brother who is often away, as he works for the railroad.  His mom, dad, sister-in-law, and two nieces (from his oldest brother) live there.  He stays there on Saturday and Sunday nights, but otherwise lives on the JSS Ganiyari campus.  There is also a cowshed and a hand pump off to one side.

He had not yet showered, and I went with him and his friend Sanju to his oldest brother's house, where they have a small concrete shower area.  I think that the pump there is powered, so they can wash in the overflow from the tank without having to do extra work.  They showered, while I waited inside in the shade.  Everyone else in the house (his oldest brother, sister-in-law, and nephew - their son lives at home while the daughters live with the grandparents) was asleep in the afternoon heat.

We went back for a meal of rice and daal, accompanied by raw onions, kerela (a bitter vegetable), and pickle, and then we went back to the main road where I waited for the bus.  While I was waiting, I saw a scarf across the street I wanted to buy, so I asked Dhoni to come with me to help... I decided to purchase it, and once again he wouldn't let me pay.  When  I took out my money, Sanju put me in a bear hug, and Dhoni and the shopkeeper agreed to use this transaction to settle some earlier debt (I will find a way to pay him back before I leave, even if it means slipped money into his pocket!)

The day in the sun gave me my first (mild) sunburn of my India adventure, on one of the last days.  When I made it home, I put a plastic chair in the bathroom and poured cool water on myself.

New JSS Website!

After months of work (not constant work, I've been working on other things too...), the JSS web site is now live.  Check it out: http://www.jssbilaspur.org/

  -Seth

Surviving the Dhaba

Dolly and I went to the local zoo last weekend, and met up with one of our friends who had been there about 50 times.  Its a local hangout, with a couple of animals - white tigers, lions, deer and mooise like critters, and some birds and small mammals, but no monkeys(!).  It also has many playgrounds and grassy areas where you can sit in the shade, which are rarities in this area, and is as much a reason for its popularity as the animals.

It was a bit difficult to get there, even though buses go right by.  We ended up on three buses that were going that way, before the conductor told us to get off.  Apparently, the fare isn't enough to justify the ride/stop, especially if they are running behind - and all of these shennanigans happened while backed up at the train crossing.  The locals have to deal with this, too, but some of the villagers will beat up the bus drivers for not stopped, so to be safe they usually pick them up.  We were clearly not from the villages, so I guess they weren't afraid of us showing up later with a vigilante posse.

After we visited the zoo we went to the next village down, Sukri, which is the first sizeable village past Bilaspur.  We go through it every day on the way to Ganiyari.  I was starving, so our friend took us to a Dhaba for chicken, even though he is a Brahmin and does not eat chicken.  It was my first time in a proper dhaba... it has a dirt floor, and the kitchen was an outdoor conrete counter.  The dining room in the back had a wooden bed with the blankets and thin matress rolled up... this was also the proprietor's bedroom.

We got chicken biriyani, which was as good as any I have had, not too greasy, the right amount of heat, and accompanied by a savory gravy.  Luckily we did not get sick later!  We followed that up with fresh mango juice for some refreshing after-dinner sweetness.

Excellent Arundhati Roy Article

Outlook magazine, an Indian news magazine similar to Time or Newsweek has just published a very in depth article by Arundhati Roy about the Naxals/Maoists in this part of India and the Government's (and Corporations... not that there's much difference) war against them.

A few words from the article:

Over the past five years or so, the governments of Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand, Orissa and West Bengal have signed hundreds of MoUs with corporate houses, worth several billion dollars, all of them secret, for steel plants, sponge-iron factories, power plants, aluminium refineries, dams and mines. In order for the MoUs to translate into real money, tribal people must be moved.
 
...

We passed the house of the Superintendent of Police (SP), which I recognised from my last visit. He was a candid man, the SP: “See Ma’am, frankly speaking this problem can’t be solved by us police or military. The problem with these tribals is they don’t understand greed. Unless they become greedy, there’s no hope for us. I have told my boss, remove the force and instead put a TV in every home. Everything will be automatically sorted out.”

Walking with the Comrades