Churches and Temples part 1

I have tried to pack in as many experiences that I have been able too these first few weeks here in India. Sadly, I have caught a case of the “Thou shall not move about the world” and since have done very little.             I have lost a great deal of weight and have yet to regain an adequate get up and go to get up and go anywhere. I hope to restart the get up and go this Monday night, for there is a celebration at the Shiva Temple here in town. I’m sure there are greater parties out there, but I am here for school first and for most. So, I’m going to rest up and hopefully get blessed by the destroyer of the universe.

It seems as if I’m carrying a torch to search out all the religiousness that can be found in India whether that be Buddhist, Christian, Sikh, Hindu, or Muslim. As I may have mentioned before the call to prayer rings out within earshot of my apartment, and there is a reverence that I tune with that. I have been the Mosque, but have yet to go. However, I plan on going before I exit this wonderland of questions. The outside of this Mosque is absolutely astounding, but I feel that it is par for the course here in many respects. Moreover, I have a sense of safety living in the Muslim area of town.

In no way does this say that everything else isn’t here as well. From my apartment I can see a private shrine, and just on the other side sits a Ganesh shrine. Although Ganesh didn’t help with my illness, or the Hindi test that I just took. I think tomorrow I might throw some rupees his way tomorrow before I head off to school just in case he feels like doling out some luck for me. Then just around the corner I have seen a Pentecostal Church. I for sure want to hit this place up before my exit. My hesitation is that once I saw the exiting and I saw that there seems to be a white shirt and black pants dress code, and I don’t have a white button up shirt with me, or even the closet at home. I’m sure they would let me in regardless, but I just want to be in compliance with the natives. It’s the least that I could do to blend in just a little.

I have went one church service thus far, but as I have said the ability to sit more than any hour anywhere has me a bit nervous about going just yet to more. The service I did attend was interesting insofar as that it seemed that I was still in America. It was a Methodist Church, and to be very honest there was very little difference. This is down to the hymns that were sung, the projection screen, the hymnbooks (printed in America), and the sermon.  Every aspect of this service screamed America, and this did lesson the fish out of water feeling. However, I did get the giggles when they sang “And He Touched Me.” What can I say? Sometimes I revert back to the twelve year that hides in the shadows of my mind, and only decides to come out at inappropriate situations.

In all honesty there were two things that did standout. The first is that the pastors didn’t were shoes on the pulpit. I would later come across this again in my own adventures. It seems as if this is a long tradition of not wearing shoes in Holy places. My guess is that somewhere along the Church history the Missionaries convinced the people to make a compromise, and this is what the compromise was. The second (and I’m not 100 percent on this) is the use of the anxious bench. Right before the choir chimed in for the collection song, the pastor started his prayer. This led people to the front of the church to pray on the anxious bench, and low and behold there is its namesake! Later I would be able to give a quick history lesson to my professor (the one who took me to the service) all about the anxious bench. It made me feel a little bit better about the last few years at Ashland, and my self-doubt as to why I study any of this stuff at all. I have to admit that happens from time to time. I seriously question what have I gotten myself into to? However, every time these thoughts float across my mind, that same teacher reminds. Even though the good you do is merely a drop of fresh water in the ocean. It still amounts to something.

So, I decided that going on a trip would do me good for my whirlwind spring break trip I am planning. There were two spots about six hours away on bus from here that I wanted to see; one is Arunachala, and the other St. Thomas martyrdom church. Since Arunachala was on the way to the church I thought it best to stop by Arunachala first.

Since this place isn’t very popular, as I said, I would be taking a bus. So the adventure really starts there. The place I was actually going is this: Thiruvannamalai. I could not say it to this day in order to save my life. So, while at the bus station I would just show people where I was going.

The interesting thing is that three or four people would ask me where I was going. Just random people, until I put some thought into it. Thing is that the bus station that I was at does not send a bus to the city that I cannot name. Thus, these people were rickshaw drivers who want to rake me over the coals to get to the other bus station. So, each and every one of them would say, “Oh, you can’t get a bus here for that. You have to go to the other bus station.” I put my faith in my Ninja Gopal, and I had faith that he wouldn’t just send me here for nothing. I was right.

Those people were right in a sense. There was no bus at that station that would take me where I wanted to go. However, I could buy my ticket there and take a shuttle. This only has furthered my faith in my Ninja. However, as I bought my ticket the attendant gave me a rather funny look and said, “You really want to go there?” I nodded. “Okay, platform 17.” With that off I ran.

This shuttle bus was packed, and I didn’t get on it right away. It looked like the bus I should be getting on, but I thought that maybe I should put away my this-is-were-I-want-to-go-sign and smoke a cig to contemplate this leap of faith in such a crowded bus.

Just as was to light my no longer wanted habit the bus started to move, and everyone that was milling around started to pile on and make it even more crowded. I thought since I was in India I had better do what the Indians do and joined the crowded bus.

This would mark a journey rife with uncomfortable bus rides. Yet, the first part of the journey was rather quick and painless. I did feel for the ticket man who had to maneuver his way from the back of the bus to the front of the bus and charging people. I on the other hand did have a pass to the other bus station and all was good. There was stopping in the traffic where the doors would open and people would get on and off a shuttle bus. I found this to be kind of strange, but in a land where streets are crowded and it can be hard to get around I think I can understand this a tad. However, that does not lend to the idea that I thought it was normal. For here it is I’m sure.

Once I found my plat form that my real trip would start I decided to go to the bathroom. This would be the very first time I would have to pay to use the loo. In front sat a man on a make shift table made of milk cartons and plywood. As each person entered he’d hit the table both make aloud thud and jangling the change. This action in many ways felt threatening and I suppose it was mean to be interoperated as that. I also got to see an exchange without money when someone entered without paying. The shouts back and forth as the man continued into the bathroom without paying were enough for me to pay and not receive an abrasive tongue-lashing. However, after I paid he still hit the table as if he’d won a bet.

Once I entered and the stench hit me I had suddenly felt like this man had just ripped me off. This was the dirtiest bathroom I have ever seen at this point, as I stepped in the whatever was on the floor I began to wonder, what was it that I had just paid for again? And as I stared down the cockroach as I urinated I thought, oh yeah I didn’t want yelled at. That’s what I paid for.

It was time to board the bus, and after I asked around to find the bus, I stood and admired the 1970s African safari looking, perhaps in the last of its days chariot. In the back of my mind I wondered if it was going to get where I was going. There was a twinge deep inside me to forget the whole trip and just head home, but I had the ticket and I didn’t want to go back on a promise that I had made to my good friend. When I got in and sat down I was packed in-between to gentle men. There was no comfortable position, and there was no napping on this bus. This ride actual got to the point of hurting within 3 hours of the bouncing and light smell of exhaust due to the surrounding traffic.

Just as I was about to go insane the bus stopped, and my first experience of an India bus stop began. Like always there are the stray dogs running back and forth looking and smelling at everything that happens to fall to the ground. And just like all of India fair type vendors selling random food items. Since I’m new to this whole thing I just stood close to the bus and smoked. At one point I headed to the bathroom, I tried to hand him a 2 rupee coin and he told me that it was 3. Other than the two rupees the next lowest I had was 10, and I didn’t think he was going to be willing to make change, I just got that vibe. I decided that I didn’t have to go that bad and smoked one more for prosperity sake. The ticket guy blew his whistle and it was time to get back on. It was something I had to force myself to do. It was just so cramped. I’m not super fat, but I’m not small either. In comparison to the Indians I’m rather huge and that seat didn’t fit me. It was on the second leg that I had decided that on the way back I was going to spend a ridiculous amount of money on a private bus to get back to Bangalore.

I was trying very hard not to pay attention to how long it was taking and my I-pod became my best friend. I just tried really hard not to feel every bump in the road, which where too many to count, and that I couldn’t move, or that I was touching both guys besides me.

Suddenly the bus stops, the lights turn on and the ticket man is pointing at me. “This is your stop," he says. 

 I stand up, grab my bag, navigate through the people lying on the floor, and exit. No sooner had I stepped off the bus it sped away. I was not at a bus stop that I could see, there were three people honoring a shrine, and as far as I could tell I was at the edge of town. I glanced at my watch to discover that it was 4 a.m. My thought process was where is the Waffle House, Denny’s, or Ihop? Well, what would you do in a small Indian town that you knew NOTHING about at 4 a.m.? I walked into town like anyone else would. I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Just keep moving and wait for it to be light out.

To be continued…

The School

I think I need to give an account as to the environment that which I am studying in India. Like everything in India it’s an organized chaos and within that chaos somehow, someway things happen and get done. I’m only registered for technically two courses (I’m lumping nearly 12 hours of Hindi as one class), but since I am here I might as well listen in on all the other classes.

The school is a converted two-bedroom house. It’s small in fact there are only two students this semester. In short the school is small super small. So small that if the roommate and I throw a party the entire school comes! This has not always been this school’s case. At one time this school had upwards of a thousand students. Sadly, 9/11 happened and the school’s attendance dropped.  

This used to be in many ways a large export and import of foreign students. If you were an American student they would bring you here to finish any number of subjects here. Also if you were an Indian student you could start here and they would ship to places like Kentucky University or Alabama State. However, after our immigrant laws received stricter rules in America they were unable to export students, and became experts and importing them.

The reason that they now are so small is that they can better attend to the students needs, and let me tell you they really do go beyond the call of duty on that one. Never in my life have I been asked if I’m okay in so little time. They even have provided me with a maid. I’ve never the opportunity to experience a maid except for those rare occasion I have stayed in a hotel for more than one day, and even that type of made isn’t as good as this one.

The food is either delivered here at the apartment, or directly to school. Breakfast is the only time that we are on our own, and I swear if I asked for pickled eggs to eat for breakfast they would do everything in their power to obtain the odd request.

The apartment is in the center of pretty much an Americanized section of the old British settlement known as Frazer Town. Within walking distance I the place I can go to are including but excluded to Pizza Hut, KFC, McDonalds, and Subway. The placement of the school is less than five minuets walking distance as well. In short this place is the Bee’s Knees.

Also are planned upcoming field trips to experience culture, and they are trying to find a wedding to take us to! There is a great deal more here than just book learnin’

The first thing to note about the actual learning part  is the class schedule. In the very lecture fashion that Naropa taught me how to learn, they implore the one-day method here. The one-day method is that it is one class per day for three hours. At the end of the semester you have amassed the correct amount of credit hours for your class. However, since I’m taking four structured increments of Hindi, that class is 2 hours everyday. Thus, one class lasts only approximately three weeks.  

Moving that quickly through something my brain doesn’t take well to in the first place is absolutely daunting. In other words I have done a complete semester of a foreign language in less than a month, and on top of that I am required to be proficient enough to pass a final exam. So, imagine a class you have taken, or taking now cram all of that in Three weeks and bang you have what I have done in Hindi. Every time my teacher (who is amazing) mentions a test she looks at me and says, “Don’t worry it’s not that big of deal you’ll do fine.” The past few quizzes she was right and I’ve done fine, but it still scares me every time.

They also tell us that we have done really well in Hindi. In that amount of time I can read a little, speak less, and construct sentences. Nothing too big, just thing like: The cat went up the tree and I have a lot of pens and put that book on the table. In fact they say we are doing better that most of the native peoples.

The native language is another story. Almost everyone who lives here speaks 5 to 6 languages. That is because in India there are 418 known languages. 11 of those languages are extinct. Meaning that if you go anywhere you better know how to talk to those people. For example I went on a small trip I shall write about soon, and they didn’t know much English. I tried Hindi and that was a wrong choice too. They really only understood Talimanu. I get frustrated sometimes at the language barrier, but I constantly remind myself it’s me not them. Like I said before India is an organized chaos that still manages to get done what needs to be done.

So, after Hindi on Mondays and Fridays I have my literature class that was supposed to be a mythology class. In what I can only describe as an insight into Indian ways of life and a better fit for a class at Ashland has this happy accident has turned out for the best. At first I was a little upset at this miscommunication, but the head administrator assured me just tell her what you want to read and you will be able to adjust your course accordingly. I was told on the second day here that I would receive an electronic copy to send home to make sure that all was kosher with the class structure. I have seen a handwritten outline, however, I have yet to receive the promised document. They are working on it.

I pretty sure as of right now the teacher isn’t sure what we are going to be reading. Dr. Aune wants to know what we will be reading. I haven’t the heart to tell him I don’t know and I’m 95% sure they don’t know either. Well, that is except for the Ghandiji book we will be reading, and I’m betting that is a required reading for everyone that passes the gates to the school. There is a loose idea and as things come up we will go in that direction. Thus far we have met three times and have only covered the early stuff that only exists in Sanskrit. When I asked if I could read some of it she said she’d look, but doubts that there is very little of it directly translated into an English form. There are excerpts she says and she is on it, but I probably wont see it for some time. Patients in India is not a virtue, it is a requirement.

She says that we are going to look at how the occupations of the various groups of India have shaped their thinking and their writing. Once this class takes off it should be really, really good, and fit right into the slot that Ashland has. It’s just obtaining the correct paper work to make it legal.

The other days of the week I participate in only what can be described as a whirlwind of information. There are three classes that I sit in on. Indian religions, civilization, and culture these three classes are taught by the same woman. After being in these classes she teaches it just like it really is here, all there together. A mass of information is poured into the brain over a period of three hours. Some days I check the room before I leave class just to make sure I still have my brain, and that it isn’t lying there on the floor.

One particular day she was speaking on the caste system, which is still very prevalent today. Being she is a Christian and a liberated woman it was still surprising when she uttered these words.

“I try not to adhere to the caste system I allow my maids into the house and the kitchen, but they could never sit and eat with me.”

I think I need to learn to keep my surprised face hidden, because I’m most sure she saw it all over my face. For she then asked me, “Well Jason, would you let a bum in rags eat with you?”

My response of yes I would wasn’t taken very well, and in fact that was the end of that class period. The insight to this is that even though she is highly progressive, the idea of the caste system is so deeply ingrained that it in a limited way is still in use.

Today I met with a Professor from America that is from Bangalore and he told me an interesting old proverb: The tears of a strange are not my worry. While the nature of this place is very peaceful it still contains 4000 years of hang-ups. The greatest insight is to see the affect the Christian Missionaries have had on India, and that the presence is still being felt. Moreover the need for current missionaries is still a demand.

A point made to day and I will end with this thought. What is the use of the Vedas? Yeah, they have been around for 4000 years, but they really haven’t done much for our civilization have they?