LOG BLOG

Today I came home to the sound of chainsaws. Were my senses more acute, I’m sure the sound of pleading trunks and branches would have accompanied them. No, I am not a tree hugger. But I *am* an avid recycler and life long fan of oxygen.

So when I see the vertical plane of my backyard landscape about to be permanently altered, I’ll admit, my blood starts to simmer. Several infant maples, and 2-3 full growns were massacred all because my neighbour’s shed roof was threatened by a few branches.

Until this morning, I considered myself quite lucky. Despite the strong presence of insects, over-abundance of shade and double-duty of raking come fall, I love my backyard jungle. How many average income, central city home-owners have the window scenery of a cottage in the convenience of an urban location? As of yesterday, at least one.

You know what? Call me a tree hugger. Call me a leaf lover. A trunk hag. A root wench or a branch bitch. Because not only have my trees given my privacy, property value and a cat scratching alternative to livingroom furnishings, they give anyone in range the following:

- Carbon dioxide absorption.
- Wind barriers that reduce the heating costs of nearby homes.
- Shading that reduces cooling costs.
- Mood boosts. (Proven psychological impact that can help in emotional and physical healing.)
- Sound insulation.
- Pretty birds.

In talking with the tree cutters I learned that a little advanced planning and strategic redirection of new growth – when my neighbour first built the shed two years ago – would have prevented all of this. My now naked south side (reminder: we’re still talking property here) looks like a barren, cemetery of wood. A stark scene of arbourcide.

Thankfully, I still have lots of other greenery. At least for now. Said neighbour has already eyed another one she wants down.

Dharma Arts

Let's move the lessons away from religion and travel for a moment and talk about something more literary.

"Intertextuality" is a term used to refer to one text which draws from, or references, another text. Today, I'd like to refer you to www.dharmaarts.ca. It's been a little side-project of mine for the past year and a half and we just launched our "Indian Summer" issue which includes a story called Dabbling with Enlightenment along with a few other tidbits based on my travels.

For those of you who might have found yourselves here precisely because of that article—welcome!

LFUNTS

This past Thursday, the Toronto zoo lost their 38 yr-old elephant Tequila. Cause of death is at this point unknown, but it got me thinking about how disappointed I am for not seeking out more elephants while in India. What I did see plenty of was the god, Ganesh. His animal form likely contributes to his popularity, but here's my rendition of the story that partially explains why he's so visible.

The "trunk-ated" version: Parvati – the model of feminine beauty in Hinduism and proven yogini in her own right – had worked her ass off to earn the attention of Shiva. Shiva – the aloof and devoted ascetic – left soon after their union to attend to his own preoccupations (typical male). Through the forest and to a mountaintop, he retreated into meditation as was his custom. Alone and vulnerable, Parvati was desperate for a son. And so she made one herself out of her own intellect (biggup to early DIY instincts!). When Shiva returned one day to find a strapping young lad guarding the door while gorgeous Parvati bathed, he went rank. And when Shiva – better known as the destroyer god – goes rank, heads roll. Literally.

Parvati, emerging to find her son decapitated at the hands of her beloved, becomes inconsolable. Shiva – aloof, but not insensitive – promises to recreate the son, Ganesh, and make him the first to be worshipped in Hindu homes. He commissions his bull Nandhi to find a suitable head. The result is that of a noble elephant. While it would appear that Shiva lost his temper in slaughtering the son, we should remember that loss of control is not characteristic of such a perfected being. You see, the prototype Ganesh was pure ego, made of Parvati only. Ganesh, as we now know him represents our need to transcend the Self to attain perfection.

Should I venture on such a journey, no pachyderm heads for me. Please retrofit me with something feline ideally.

Sigh

With the thick smog of accumulated deadlines now dissipated, I can take a deep breath and relax a bit. Today I not only finished a long overdue article on my India experience (for an online mag I produce with a handful of talented fellow creatives), I finally finished my research paper too! You know, the one that was meant to culminate our entire Jain experience? The whole reason we went to India in the first place? The really long one that just kept going and going and going…

Day and night I have been swimming through a dense sea of books and online journals, Jain scriptures and lecture notes. This, with my “real job” and night class due dates to contend with as well. Anyone who spoke to me during this period would have found me a: withdrawn, or b: giddy with excitement for having briefly escaped my thought lair.

(See above pic. Yes I do have a proper workspace elsewhere in the house, but this intense undertaking required a more comfortable set up. Now if only I could teach the cat to do citations. If only…)

Caught off Guard by Pretty Things

Jaipur, the capital of the state of Rajasthan, is known as the Pink City. Stories vary on why the maharajah who founded the city in the early 1700's made its walls pink. Some say because he loved the colour, others say it was to imitate sandstone found in Mogul construction. Either way, it's safe to say it's an architectural novelty for visitors and convenient reminder of where you are at all times.

Upon further research, I've discovered that Jaipur is not only the first planned city (in India) but the placement of its streets, walls, gates, etc. were all devised based on Vastu Shastra (Indian Feng Shui). Perhaps this lends credence to my "vortex of serendipity" claim?



The other thing Jaipur is known for is silver. Even the most ardent girlie-girl-side deniers (such as myself) will eventually squeal in delight at the price of jewelry. And so here we are, drunk on our pretty pink surroundings and discount precious metals, chumming around with our new best friends the silver sellers.
(I call shotgun on the sikh)

Back Home and Ready to Confess

Jains don’t participate in confession. Theirs is a religion of self-reliance and no intermediary such as a priest can help you purge your sins. Instead, Jains perform tapas (acts of self-mortification) to help rid themselves of karma which they believe to be a material substance that sticks to your soul. Popular methods include fasting, sitting out in the sun for long periods and pulling out one’s hair by the fistful!

Not surprisingly, I choose the confessional path. My declartion: I’m home now – have been for almost two weeks.

As for the fate of this blog? Well, I have a notebook full of India observations still begging to be uploaded. Which means I get to continue living out my trip indefinitely even though I’m back in Ottawa (incidentally, this is a helpful technique for reducing reverse-culture shock – a condition I’m currently suffering from severely).

If this admission of delayed reporting disrupts the mystique of my trip account, please forgive me. Besides, since I spent the first two weeks of my trip dumbfounded, pretty much all of my posts were backdated anyway.

Hope you’ll stay tuned for more observations: NOW NEW AND IMPROVED with the benefit of hindsight and a better internet connection.

A Vortex of Serendipity

Jaipur feels eerily small. A quick Wikipedia search will reveal that it has a population of about 2.5 million. But keep in mind, it’s very concentrated and within a day or two anyone with a decent sense of direction should be able to tell where they’re going. That’s important since rickshaw drivers regularly look for the opportunity to carry disoriented tourists on meandering rides to justify their inflated rates.

We met a cast of characters while here. Most of which would re-emerge as the weeks went on – reconnecting with us through a series of coincidences that would prove to be the norm during our stay.

There was the brown-toothed merchant who stopped my friend on day one. Asked her to write a love letter for him in English, then tried to get us back to his shop to “thank us properly”. (See pic of my friend Rachel courteously composing while I devise an exit plan that doesn’t involve a rape whistle).




Then there was Shek. The fluently English speaking rickshaw driver who rescued us from one of his colleagues – a colleague whose mastery of the English language got us stranded at City Palace instead of City Pulse (the mall next to our lesser known place of stay). Shek was a smooth talker, no doubt. But our relief at having someone local to converse with fluently made it easy to say “yes” when he suggested places to go.




He brought us to a fabric manufacturer, we intersected with a Texan we met in Delhi.

He brought us to “Guru Gi – the man who knows you better than you know yourself”, we see brown-toothed love letter guy from day one (fortunately, his memory was as bad as his dental hygiene and we managed to avoid an awkward reunion).

There was Rishi. The dreamy 20-something, well-schooled in western mannerisms. He rescued my friend Laura and I from an ill-planned visit to a seedy bar with a dangerously disproportionate amount of males (stupid on our part since after dark, the entire city is overwhelmingly male). Refreshingly aloof in a way that ogling locals are not, Rishi had us comfortably engaged in conversation in minutes. Only to find out – he not only knew one of our classmates, he was already dating her!



…the coincidences continue…

Remember Guru Gi? Guru Gi offers (questionable) personal readings in the back room of his family’s jewellery store. I was reluctant to have a consultation. But since my friends were presently distracted by genuine silver and other shiny things, I was circumstantially forced into going first. The reading was intense – I cried, he tried to sell me things. He ended our meeting by announcing that he would NOT see my friends. His energy was depleted and he was “tired of white skinned people”.

My friends were pissed. But this only increased Guru Gi’s intrigue making one friend in particular want a reading more than ever. When our last day came and an opportunity to revisit the guru still hadn’t emerged, she finally accepted that it would never happen.

But destiny intervened. When a last minute request for genuine rudraksha beads came in from a friend back home, I went on one final shopping trip. One thing led to another and now mr. bead seller was loading us on a rickshaw to see HIS guru. Low and behold, as the rickshaw drove out of the pink city’s walls and into the old city streets we had travelled once before, we found ourselves pulling up for the second time to Guru Gi’s shop. Surprised on one hand and not at all surprised on the other, serendipitous Jaipur struck once again and my friend finally got her reading.

The coincidences were so plentiful it became a running joke. By our final days I began placing orders with the universe personally. “Today I want a local who speaks fluent English, has resources he wants to share (money wasn’t necessary, but we were suckers for cold drinks and air conditioning by this point), isn’t creepy and has time to show us around.”

By the next morning we were sitting with our new friend in a restaurant opened early just for us, sipping on freshly squeezed mango juice (free) and chuckling over what we should ask for next.

Inadequate Synopsis #1

I can’t remember what I once considered India to be. But sitting here, I know it’s not what I expected. India to me is now a blur of rickshaw rides and horn honks. Of roadside piles of rubble, stray dogs and smoggy air. A series of dilapidated carts and merchant stalls flogging spices, fabrics, plastic toys and overseas phone calls. Whatever you have heard, read, watched or seen – you don’t know India until you come here.

Now, at this point I must refrain from trying to sound like an authority on India. I don’t presume that my one month here is enough to understand the vastness of this country or culture. In fact, day by day my perceptions fluctuate. What you’re reading is at best a case of stage 1 India understanding – MAYBE stage 2 since I’ve traveled elsewhere in the east before.

From what I can tell, India is fond of smacking visitors around. Of then waiting to see who’s left standing, and subsequently rewarding those resilient few by letting them in on her secrets.

I watched an intellectually precocious young man reduced to tears only a few days into our trip. Despite having theorized and written about the inaccuracy of the collective western perception of the mystical east at length, he was the first to be blindsided by India’s whirlwind of overstimulation.

This country graces the patient and open-minded with a glowing internal transformation – a new lens with which to view this world of ours through.

As for all the rest? Hope you packed your anxiety meds.

A Lesson in Symbolism

Long before Mr. Hitler re-assigned it as the nazi logo, the swastika belonged to the Hindus. The symbol is even more prominent in Jain practice and is seen as an auspicious sign in both traditions.

It might appear shocking to western eyes (especially when splattered in red paint), but swastikas are commonly applied to temple exteriors by hopeful devotees asking for their wishes to be fulfilled.

I found an adorable little boys shirt printed with these and elephants. While my first reaction was to pick it up as a gift for one of my nephews, I figured the elementary school yard might not be the best locale to make such a statement. His history teacher might be impressed. But his parents, less so.

In Jaipur

We finally made it to Jaipur! ...and so did the paparazzi.

Here we are on the cover of the Jaipur section of the India Times (one of the many papers we made it into). My agent is now on call to arrange bookings.

Pilgrimage

It’s tough when you’re a solitary person trying to acclimatize to an area of overpopulation. Personal space is a commodity that I can’t figure out how to buy. But it’s tougher still when you’re carted around like school children for 3 days with a group of 30 some fellow scholars. Stuffed into a bus for periods of 8 – 24 hours under the guise of a pilgrimage.

It’s not uncommon for pilgrimages to involve a certain amount of struggle and deprivation. After all, this collective minor suffering will only make your holy destination all the more divine. But we are not real pilgrims. We are not Jains. And we are not so pure of soul as not to detest each other at moments.

It is clear that the 24 Tirthankaras can’t answer prayers (see my 2nd post). Because I’ve been asking for some freedom and personal space for hours and I’m still stuck on this bus with someone’s feet in my back.

Regardless, we saw some pretty cool stuff en route:

A: A giant Jina (Tirthankara) in Mathura, just a few hours outside of Delhi.

B: Experiencing some serious vertigo at Gwalior. Home of several towering Tirthankaras carved right into the rockface. Miraculously, these thousands of years old figures survived the iconoclasm of Islamic Invaders.

C: Some inner temple archways at Sonagiri (Gold Mountain), our temporary home during the pilgrimage.

D: Sonagiri hillside. Home of 84 Jain temples all in one place.

Change Please

You hear about poverty in India, but no second hand account can compare to seeing it for yourself. I doubt that my own account will be any different, but I will try.

What gets you isn’t that desperate beggars are more prominent than streetlights. It’s not thinking about their perpetually hungry bellies, their parasite-ridden blood streams, their concrete, shelterless existences. The hardest part for me is watching death happen in front of our eyes. Watching another being linger in that liminal stage between life and death. Not just sickness—death. Watching them suffer through their remaining series of breaths knowing that the end is imminent and coming with anguished relief.

I watched an infant—a half naked, dirt covered infant—sobbing desperately as she tried to rouse her older sibling. Was the sibling dead or simply too far-gone in an illness to attend to his familial duties? What hope the baby had, who knows? It would appear that parents were a luxury they had long since forgotten.

I came upon an immobile man who knew one word in English. “Medicine,” he begged. His leg viciously rotting away from disease and infection. He had no choice but to patiently observe his own slow and sick deterioration one limb at a time.

I watched a dog lying down in the middle of Dilli Haat—an upscale outdoor Delhi market popular with tourists (see above). Each time we walked by, his already laboured breathing became shallower and shallower until nothing remained. He met mortality alone and unassisted (but for the flies that buzzed around him) while we sipped mango lassi and haggled with merchants.

Class Struggle

Unlike our guest rooms, our classrooms have turned out to be pretty modern. Frosty air conditioning, speaker systems and regular chai delivery makes it all quite civilized.

About 75% of our learning takes place in a classroom. The rest is considered observation or field work. Little did I know that, in many cases, the two would inadvertently take place at the same time. It would appear that those lectures that lack academic credibility end up serving as deeper anthropological lesson.

Time and time again we’ve watched our lectures deteriorate into propaganda. Did you know that non-vegetarianism breeds criminality, for example? (ps: I love that meat eating is called non-vegetarianism here by default.)

We’ve also watched as lecturer after lecturer refuses to give us a consistent stance on some controversial issues. Popular moot points include:

- The Jain emphasis on equality of souls but unequal treatment of women.
- Their emphasis on compassion but inconsistent view on social responsibility.
- Their emphasis on non-possession in spite of their statistical position atop India’s wealth calculations.

My current (if perhaps overly optimistic) hypothesis to explain all the contradictions is that what we might be observing is ANEKANTVAD in action. Anekantvad, or “many-sidedness” is one of the driving principles of the religion (along with Ahimsa which is non-violence and Aparigrah which is non-possessiveness). It encourages autonomous thought for individuals and respect for opposing viewpoints.

It’s a noble concept. But to effectively sell an idea, you have to focus your message. I fear that the religion’s popularity will continue to suffer if they can’t get their story straight.

Pervasive Spirituality

Being at home with Hindu iconography seriously helped me with the culture shock. With the abundance of god and goddess stickers in auto-rickshaws (as shown here), and the like, I always had something familiar to cast my gaze upon.

Meowism

I miss my cats. The skeletal frames of the local feral population serve as inadequate substitutes. Risking flea infestation for a momentary cuddle isn’t worth it. Plus it’s heart breaking to contemplate their pitiful existence in a country that can’t even ensure its human populace gets fed.

With my mind drenched in karma theory and the death/rebirth cycle I no longer see animals the same way. I don’t see a cat. I see a spectrum of lifetimes and a current feline manifestation. I can’t help but wonder what they’ve done to wind up in this form. Jains would say this body is penance for bad karma in previous lives. Regardless, their furry bellies, Egyptian features and resourceful nature beg for human adoration. I wonder about their level of consciousness – whether there’s any awareness (or even desire) to achieve a human form – which is the only means to reach enlightenment according to the Jains (they teach that not even a godly form can achieve liberation from samasara – the cycle of rebirth). I wonder if they have even a faint memory of resentment or sorrow, of desire or anticipation. I wonder if they are capable of gratitude. And finally, I wonder if they’ll eat this extra chapatti I’ve folded into my pocket.

The Living Conditions

We live in guest houses next to a Jain Temple in Delhi (see above pic). There’s a shopping mall nearby, peacocks in the courtyard and a lush green cricket pitch just behind us. But let’s not equate these digs with paradise too soon. Our rooms are humble; 2 rock hard beds, a light, a closet, and 2 plastic chairs make up the entirety of our furniture collection. The bed sheets are possibly as old as the religion and I count my blessings daily for having the forethought to bring my own silk sleeping bag on the trip.

A ceiling fan and an air cooler take the edge off of the heat (just barely) and our bathroom provides us with a sink, a western toilet (thank God…I mean, Ganesh) and space to bathe ourselves by cup and bucket. We have running water in each room (undrinkable) – it comes out of a tap with a double layered sac made out of cheese cloth that will filter most minute bugs from the flow – ensuring we don’t unknowingly harm the insects and accrue unnecessary karma (this tap sac is unique to Jains).

House guests include ant colonies, lizards, cockroaches (fortunately we only ever saw one…others had enough that they would play “roach hockey” trying to flick them down the drains from wence they came), pinworms in the bathroom, beetles and on one occasion, a pigeon.

Please don’t take my description as a complaint. My roommate and I have come to cherish our room. It serves as a necessary refuge in a city that requires psyche up sessions before stepping foot outside and frequent decompression breaks throughout the day. A barrage of horn honks, kamikaze drivers, putrid smells, gawking locals and insistent beggars make trans-city mobility laborsome at best.

Our living standards have been reduced considerably here, but perspective hits you hard when you get your first heavy dose of Indian poverty. Our tiny room feels palatial in comparison. And life back home? Disgustingly privileged.

Tic Talk

Time moves differently here. Bombardment of the senses and immensity of experience amount to hours that one is both hustled through and frozen within. Part of this, no doubt, can be attributed to jet lag and a broken routine. But truly, India has a pace that sweeps you up, weakens your defences and forces you to submit to a flow you have little say in.

It doesn’t help that we’re also political pawns. As we’re learning, religion has as much to do with strategic PR as it does with faith. As westerners showing interest in tradition vying for world religion status, we are viewed by our hosts as bait to lure the press and investors in their exchange program. And so, we find ourselves smack in the middle of frantic press conferences one minute then sitting through long speeches and lingering sacred ceremonies as so-called guests of honor (see pic above for just some of the ladies who shoved food in our mouth and snapped pictures of us in an inaugural ceremony just hours after we landed). As the sweat drips, the minutes tick and our legs beg to be relieved of their crossed position (certain postures are required in the presence of high level ascetics), I wonder who is performing more austerities at the moment…the strict monks or us? Deep breath.

In Transit

Even in this modern age of convenience, few journeys are without their obstacles. Ours involved 3 main legs – a bus to Montreal, a plane to Amsterdam and another plane to Delhi – before we would lay sandaled foot in our steamy destination.

Phase one went without incident – a brisk shuttle to Pierre Elliot Trudeau airport felt like nothing. Phase 2, however, was an early test for this so-called open-minded traveller. My seat neighbour wore a t-shirt that read: “the man” and “the legend” (see above pic). Need I say more? Of course I should.

Just when I thought I was fed up with ironic t-shirts, I suddenly found myself desperately hoping this one wasn’t to be taken literally. No such luck. He was the kind of guy who used phrases like “givin’ her balls” when the plane accelerated. Or “gettin’ ‘er dunn” when triumphantly announcing the consumption of his 9th – or was it 10th? – beer.

During that flight I became “baby”, “muffin”, “cuddles” and “sunshine”. In contrast, he became my first confrontation with culture shock this trip…and dude was only from Greely, Ontario.

After a layover in Amsterdam and a 10 hour flight (props to KLM for wicked service and a hearty attempt at ethnic plane food) we arrived in Delhi late at night. No time weariness though. We were whisked away on our first Indian taxi ride – an event where one wants to have their senses at full capacity. The chaos of our first Indian traffic experience would set the tone nicely for the incomprehensible cultural experience to come.

An overdue introduction to my trip

WHY I'M IN INDIA:

The short answer: to study Jainism – an ancient religion that was a precursor to Buddhism and arguably pre-Hindu as well. It shares many of the same principles as the aforementioned religio-philosophies – dharma, karma, moksa/nirvana – but as you’ll learn in this blog, has a wealth of unique characteristics that make it distinct. Not the least of which is how understudied it is. That’s why myself, a crew of 13 Ottawa U students and a handful of international scholars are here.

Things that might interest you about Jainism:

- It predates recorded history.
- Its keystone belief is non-violence (aka: ahimsa)…made most popular by Gandhi.
- The highest achievement a Jain son (or daughter depending on which sect you look at) could make would be asceticism. That is, the world-renouncing lifestyle of a knowledge seeking saddhu or satvi (aka: monks and nuns).
- The most honourable death in Jainism is sallekhana (aka: mastering your body by starving yourself to death).
- Jains are huge on animal rights – even bugs/microscopic organisms are to receive our mercy.
- One sect of Jains (The Digambars) even renounce clothing. (As you can see in the pic above)
- Jains don’t believe in a god. They revere 24 idealized “Jinas” or “Tirthankaras”. Enlightened beings who served as teachers to pass along grains of their omniscience. These beings are now beyond our realm and therefore can’t hear our prayers.

What's new? Nothing.

Correction: What's new is that I now have a blog.
Early adopter? I think not.