A Love Note to India

Hi all. After a whirlwind last day in India, and two side trips to New York, I've landed back home in Minnesota.

My re-acclimation was swift and stark. Through a twenty-two hour plane ride from Chennai to New York City I watched every western movie they had – working my way through The King’s Speech (okay, but the best movie of the year?), The Cove (kind of zany in it’s way), The Town (meh), and numerous episodes of 30 Rock (Tina Fey is a national treasure). The food transitioned from Indian - done microwave style – on the plane, to baguette sandwiches in the Brussels airport, to American style breakfast of eggs and hash browns on the flight into New York City (oh how I miss idlys with a delicious radish chutney and some spicy sambar!).

Visiting friends in New York I maintained the tether that suddenly/shockingly made me care a hell of a lot about cricket and watched the India-Sri Lanka World Cup Final in jam-packed Bangladeshi sweet shop. Although the crowd was mixed in their support everyone groaned in disbelief when Sachin got out early. But ultimately – India!

As I flew from New York into Minneapolis I saw lake after lake with ice on them and knew that I was home. (It snowed this weekend though – blah to that).  In between seeing a ton of friends and my family here I’ve attended two protests – one at the state capital with thousands of people against a Wisconsin style anti-union bill – and another early in the morning in a suburban Minneapolis office park - at the Clear Channel radio station KDWB – probably one of the most ridiculous stations in the state – protesting a racist skit they ran against the Hmong community with a couple hundred Hmong people and allies. (Also the first time in my life I’ve seen the faux delegation tactic used. Basically one delegation marched to the front door to make their demands – and weren’t let in the building – while the real delegation went through the garage – and got right into the radio station offices. (Hah Clear Channel. Hah. Maybe it’s time to start paying two consultants to dig you out of this mess?)

Also got to meet an amazing crew of organizers in New York state through a training I did with Wellstone Action for the Working Families Party and allied groups in the Catskill Mountains an hour and a half north of New York City.  Makes me excited for my peace work re-connecting with them and progressive activists all over America. The area is beautiful – my friend and fellow trainer Erik and I hiked to the top of a ridgeline on our one afternoon off – saw an amazing waterfall – in one direction the Catskills unfolded – and in another the plains of the Hudson Valley.

Before I shout out all my new friends in India individually – I want to invite everyone in India to come visit me here. And I want to encourage all my American friends and family to visit the Garden of Peace School in the south of India and Mawlynnong village in the northeast.

American friends visiting India: you will experience two of the warmest communities I have ever been a part of. In the Garden of Peace school you will sleep under the stars in a bamboo tree house – serenaded by the frogs and occasionally Hindu devotional music that rolls across the plain from temples miles away. You will eat food spiced to make the blood flow through your cheeks. When you journey to the main town for your tea it will be served to you at a stand prepared fresh by pouring it from one glass to another in a wide arc. The kids will run from the bus through the farm into the school. They will greet you by shouting “Good morning! How are you?!” sometimes they will say “I am fine!” before you can even respond. You will walk with them into the school yard and be recruited for their games. They will point at you and say “I run. You chase.” At first you will lope along giving them some space. Then you will realize that even though they are half your size, and frequently bare foot, they have put every sinew, every muscle in their legs into this race, and they may beat you. You will run like hell to catch them and feel a transcendental moment where all you are focused on is running. You will eventually catch them and everyone will laugh. They will ask you to play again and again until you are dizzy with the heat.


The little kids will realize that you are a gigantic toy and ask you to lift them into the air. You will spin them around. Everyone will make fun of how you begin eating with your hands. You will be amazed at the teachers ability to control the anarchy that seems to always develop around you. One million acts of kindness will be extended to you. Men you have never met will see you walking in the countryside – and motion for you to jump on back of their bicycles or motorcyles and will know to take you to the school or tea stand – depending on which direction you were walking. People will invite you to their homes for tea and sweets.

In Mawlynnong you will experience the same warmth and a strong sense of community in one of the most gorgeous environments I have yet seen. You will find a village the literal end of the road. You will hike through a bamboo forest to an overlook and see the end of the Khasi hills and the abrupt beginning of the Bangladeshi plain. You will swim beneath a hundred foot waterfall and eat freshly caught fish at the edge of the pool. People will invite you into their homes for food and to chew betel nuts. At first you will spit compulsively and then you will decide you kind of like it. You will exist in one of the most healthy environments in the world where people are truly in it together – when a new house is built everyone chips in. You will breathe deeply in one of the rainiest spots on the planet.

Indian (& Tibetan) friends visiting Minnesota: You will get to meet one of the most kick-ass groups of social justice activists in America. There is tons of heart here. We will drive north to the woods and you’ll drive along shore of Lake Superior – one of the largest lakes in the world – and feel like you are on the edge of an ocean. North of Superior we will canoe in the Boundary Waters wilderness. You will canoe from lake to lake for days and only see a couple other voyagers – no roads or restaurants or houses - but you may see a bear or two. In Minneapolis you’ll hear some of the most coolest independent and experimental music around. We’ll spend a lot of time walking in the parks – you’ll be amazed by the way nature can weave into a city.  

I feel incredibly blessed to have met so many wonderful people in India. Here go some shout outs. I am sure I am forgetting a ton of ya’ll and will be kicking myself after I upload this. But know even if you are not mentioned below I am thankful for meeting you and look forward to keeping in touch.

Props must first go to Mel Duncan - who I saw at the YMCA two weeks before I was to fly in plan-less to Chennai - and for his suggestion that I meet his friend Ramu.

Ramu many thanks to you for welcoming me into your community and your home. It was wonderful to meet your family Shelia, Nile and Rishi. You have built a fabulous community there - both through your social justice work and the Garden of Peace School. As I struggle to think through how I want to build the political power of the peace movement in America - connecting with you and your work at the University and elsewhere helped me think through how I can connect and be in league with justice movements around the world. You've got a good sense of humor and a good way of engaging with the world. Send some of your good karma our way - the Twins are having a rough start to the season. Can wait until your next time in Minnesota and we can see a game together - looking forward to staying in touch on peace work and everything else. Thank you.

Mirza "Goodluck Jonathan" Zulfiqur Rahman - can't say enough man. I thoroughly enjoyed our thrice daily trips to the tea stand. You've got an amazing passion for the kids at the Garden of Peace school and for justice for people all over northeast India (and beyond). Learned a ton from you on both topics - and had a blast following your trail of all the best food and some of the nooks and crannies of India that you have discovered. Your steady driving of the TVS-50 probably kept me alive (goodness knows my own driving did not help my cause). Thanks for everything man. Enjoyed our three months hanging out together a ton. Can't wait to see what you do next and to visit you soon at the Garden of Peace or wherever else you land. Come visit Minnesota soon!

The Mawlynnong crew. Father Lumlang, Matthew, Phrangsni (and your wife Sngurlin and kids Josephine, Nassarine, Klosenfield & Carine), Ronald (and your wife and daughter), Moselaus (and your sister, Mom and uncle), Makhelot, Rishot, Shempor, Wireless, Tyndale, Ryngkatbor and the one hundred other people in Mawlynnong whose names I sadly didn’t write down. God bless you all. Thank you for welcoming me into you community and homes. The way you all engage with the world – as a community figuring out how to make a way together – responding to modernity but keeping close to the land of the East Khasi hills – more power to you all. Had an amazing time walking around the forests and driving with Shempor. So glad the truck went right when I was behind the wheel and forgot Mirza’s edit of “left is right!” edict for a second. Come visit me sometime – would love to show you America.

Namrata (Langston Hughes) Goswami and Jabin (Pete Best) Jacobs. Had a fabulous time exploring Arunachal Pradesh with you all. Thanks for letting me tag along with you all on your research – was an incredibly varied and interesting experience for me. Had a lot of fun even on our long car rides – learned a couple Bollywood songs and will geekily spread the world on the twist of 20 questions we played. You were a great crew to spend my birthday with – I’ll always remember the head of the Hindu missionary school, exploring the Siang river, and visiting the monasteries. Come visit when you can.

Santosh, Priya, Zoe, Rinjin, Kelsang, Keshar, Tovi, Nitya, Deepa & the one million other students and fellow travelers at the University of Madras: thank you for welcoming me into your community. You are doing amazing work building the Garden of Peace school. Thanks for including me in all your University activities as well. Jazzed and stimulated by the lecturers you brought in and the conversations you all fostered. Mad apologies to Rinjin for his scrapes. Thanks to Santosh for welcoming me into your room and showing me your home temple. You all and your friends always have a place to stay here – come visit.

Sheikh, Diku, Ronny and their brothers and friends. It was fun hanging out at the school with you all and checking out Sheikh's hometown near Pondicherry. No better crew to watch India's triumph over Pakistan. Our day watching cricket and drinking tea the Friday before was probably one of the most relaxing of my life. Thanks inviting me into your home Sheikh and family and Diku that was a fabulous send off meal right before I left the country - never would have survived the plane ride without it. Can’t wait to see you all again in Chennai or whenever you are able to visit me in America.

Finally Kumar Sir, Nirmala, Mohenpriya, and all the staff and teachers and kids at the Garden of Peace school. Thank you for allowing me into your community - it is a beautiful place. To the kids - J. Esti, S. Sowbarnika, Haripriya, Kaviyalakshmi, S Vignesh, Sanjay Kumar, Rinju, Vijay, Priya, and everyone else  you were so much fun to talk and play with. You can do anything. The world is going to find out more and more each day about how lucky we are to have you in it. Can't wait to see how you all have grown when I come back in a couple of years.  

Talk to you all soon. Much love,

Ryan

Soviet Helicopters and Monasteries Above the Clouds

As always, new photos (from my journeys to Ziro and the Tawang valley in Arunachal Pradesh) at left.

First off I hereby retract every previous reference I made to "mountains" on this blog or really anywhere else in my life.

A week and a half ago my traveling companion Namrata and I flew in a giant 1970's Soviet built helicopter from Itanagar into the Tawang valley deep in the Himalayan mountains. We flew first over the plains of Assam - and then into Bhutan as the mountains rose higher and higher. In Bhutan we said huge river gorgeous, deep evergreen forests, and rice fields and small villages terraced high up the mountains. When we reached the Tawang valley, a nook of India lodged between Bhutan and Tibet, the mountains had reached an incredible scale - remaining snow capped even in the Indian version of summer. It felt as if we had landed on top of the world.

The Tawang valley is overwhelmingly Tibetan Buddhist. This was the place the Dalai Lama fled to after the failed 1959 uprising against the Chinese occupation before moving on to set up the government in exile in Dharamsala. There are an number of monasteries still operating in the valley - include the Tawang monastery in a hilltop above the town. Five hundred monks live there - including a number of kids. The place is gorgeous. On rainy days we would be in or above the clouds - and incredible feeling.

In the sanctuary of the 330 year old monastery there were deeply colored painted walls, and hanging cloth banners and statues everywhere. We attended prayers frequently - which are a mix of deep religious reverence and hilarity. The monks chant for hours on end in an incredibly deep base voice - words that sound like they almost come from somewhere below the human voice box. This chanting is accented by occasional drums and wind instruments that make for a dirge like effect. The prayers are lead by the senior monks - the child monks have to attend three times a day - 4am, 8am, & 3pm - and their attention span cannot possibly match this regime. They talk and play constantly with each other in the sanctuary during prayers. I saw various spit ball wars transpire. I also saw a 10 year old monk run into the sanctuary and leap, body-slam-style, onto one of his friends who was already sitting on the cushions. A choice which earned him a reprimand and a solid thwack on the back from the leather belt of a senior monk with Dalai Lama style glasses. During the prayers they also made repeated offerings - tea or oranges and even some Coca-Cola.

During this leg of the journey Namrata continued exploring local perceptions of the fact that China claims this land as their own and occupied it during the 1962 Sino-India war. I got to join in a conversation with a monk who acted as a spokesperson for the monastery on the issue - and as we waited the day before we joined some senior monks around a fire in their dining room as they plied us with repeated cups of butter tea.

On my final day in Tawang I walked on a trial that had approximately 2000 steps down the valley to another monastery which was the birthplace of the 6th Dalai Lama. When I visited this monastery a celebration was underway with a hundred or so locals sitting on steps outside watching a ritual that I believe marked the end of Losar or the Tibetan Buddhist New Year. A senior monk sat on a throne in the entry way in an elaborate cap and robes while monks in the sanctuary chanted and played music directed out the front doors. A giant bonfire burned in front of this senior monk, and teenage monks came occasionally with objects that he would bless and that would then be tossed into the fire. On a windy cold day that threatened rain the monks gave me and the other onlookers some ginger tea.

Completing the religious character of this trip I "participated" in the celebration of the holiday of Holi which took place while I was in Tawang. While Tawang historically was 100% Tibetan Buddhist new settlers have moved in with Hindu backgrounds. During Holi Hindus rove in groups around town with bags full of colored powder that they cover you with from head to foot. When I saw the first gang so armed I thought about running but the leader starting chanting "USA! USA!" so what could I do but submit. They poured green and pink and red powder all over my face and jacket. It turns out being covered in pink powder is a good conversation starter as everyone I ran into that day chatted with me and frequently had me pose for pictures with them on their cell phones.

After Namrata and I flew out to Assam I journeyed south again to stay with Matthew and Father Lumlang in the Meghalaya capital of Shillong before flying back to the brick oven that is Tamil Nadu during the Indian summer. In Tamil Nadu I spent a couple of days in Chennai before heading on to Garden of Peace school near Kaniyambadi village on Saturday. On Thursday I spent a day with my friend Sheikh and his brother and his friends and later Diku - that we described as the most relaxing day of our entire lives. Our accomplishments for the day were: going to the tea shop three times, eating, taking four naps, and watching an eight hour World Cup cricket match against Australia that India scored an unbelievable comeback to win (and to set up a semi-final on Wednesday against Pakistan that will stop all work in south Asia). The next day I journeyed to the University of Madras to visit friends there including Ramu and attend a conference on Human Rights in Asia with a focus that day on Burma and Tibet.

My plan is to chill at the Garden of Peace School/Ghandi-King-Mandela Farm for a couple of days - Mirza has joined me here - before returning to Chennai to see friends on Wednesday - leave early Thursday for NYC - and then back to Minnesota on Sunday.

Ryan

Jungle Clad Mountains & the Wild West

When you think of the phrase "car ferry", what images come to mind? Perhaps the ferry on Lake Champlain for Burlington to the Adirondacks in New York? Maybe the Seattle ferry system or the boat to Madeline Island in the summer off northern Wisconsin? Either way I'm guessing that you made two assumptions: 1) the ferry is big & 2) it's made of metal. Neither criteria was in effect when we took a car ferry across the Brahmaputra river in northern Assam as we made our way into Arunachal Pradesh.

The Brahmaputra is enormous but ebbs and flows substantially with the monsoons. So there is no ferry landing so to speak - you just drive the river bank until you find the river - and eventually stumble upon a ferry. Which is the equivelant of four wood canoes strung together with a couple of 2 x 4's on top to drive your car onto. We floated down the river for hours watching canoes and fisherman repairing their traps in the middle of the water.

When we finally entered Arunachal Pradesh it felt like we entered a different world. Since the state was invaded by China in the 1962 war the government has required anyone including other Indians to get a permit to enter the state. At the border crossing the power was out so the soldier checked our papers with a single candle. A thief took advantage of the situation to slip into our car and relieve one of my traveling companions Namrata of her camera. A gutsy move with guys standing around with machine guns.

When we reached the town of Pasigaht, the second largest in the state, we were told the power had been out for four days. This would be a constant theme of the trip - the power is mostly out and comes on in fits and starts. Since India has one time zone it gets light here before 5am and dark around 5pm - the towns are dead still at night - nothing moves.

My traveling companions on this trip, Jabin and Namrata in addition to Mizra, are researching conflict issues involving local perceptions of the Chinese claim that this is their territority, and the movement against 162 giant dams that are planned for the state in the next 30 years. In Pasighat we met with activists who said they believed that the building of the dams and the associated population explosion would lead to cultural annihalation for one of the most linguistically diverse places on the planet. We made a bonfire on the banks of the Siang river (an activty they said we could not do with the dams because of unexpected water releases)and they gave us delicious homemade rice wine out of old plastic bottles. The next day we met with the 80 year old former head beaucrat for the area. He said he used to have to walk 50 days in the mountains to visit the villages in his district. During the 1962 war he smuggled documents and orders around the Chinese occupied territory. He also plied us with rice wine even though it was barely noon. Then he did spot on imitations of British and American cowboy accents. This gentleman was pro-dam. He knew there would be a cost of moving people from their homes on their floadplains - but believed that people needed power to have a normal life.

Arunachal Pradesh is one of the most extreme places I have seen in India.The scenary is gorgeous - green jungle clad mountains and deep river cut valleys. This accounts for it's diversity. In reality there is no place of Arunachal Pradesh - it is entirely a political creation of the Indian state. Before the last century the tribes in these valleys developed languages and traditions independent of each other due to the stark geography.

This state has an edge I have not felt in other parts of India. The villages are gorgeous and transquil - with houses on stilts made of wood and bamboo with thatched roofs. But the towns feel like the wild west. In the town of Aloo I counted 7 steel gated dingy liquor stores within two blocks of our hotel. The men frequently have long knives they carry on their waists - and the occassional rifle strapped to their backs. There is a clear tension between the local tribal members and outsiders, Indian military and shopowners from "mainland" India that have come within the last 30 years to settle here.

The roads are one lane tracks that wind terrifyingly around the mountains - half blocked by the occasional landslide. The driver pleasantly honks at hair pin turns to notify oncoming cars of our presence. Bizarrely this is the first place I have seen elephants in India outside the Chennai zoo. Loggers use them as to transport trees in the mountains. Most of the land is onspoiled but occassionally you'll see swaths of forest clear cut and burnt out on the hill sides.

In Aloo I also got to have my first chat with the local police. I have gone along with my traveling companions when they meet with civil society groups - but when they meet with government or army officials I'm on my own. Walking around Aloo I met a British traveler. While walking together the police stopped him and told him by name that he had to come to the station house with them. When I started innocently walking away they made it clear that I was "invited" as well.

We we arrived at the police station it became clear that the cops had figured out that the English guys "inner-line" entry documents to get into Arunachal Pradesh were not in order. Successive ranks of officers entered the room, ascertained this, and told us we were getting expelled. At this point the Brit helpfully said to me "I'm not sure why you are here". Indeed. Each captain who would enter would tell both of us that we would have to go - with me insisting each time that I had nothing to do with this guy and all of my documents were in order. Finally I talked to the police chief, clarified, and walked out to freedom.

On Sunday I celebrated my birthday in India. Jabin, Namrata, Mizra and I obtained Indian ghee sweets as our cake. Magically the power was on for a couple of hours so we watched the movie The Omen on TV in the hotel.

Now I am writing in the town of Ziro which is surrounded by green rice fields in a valley that is much wider than most that I have seen in this state. From here we hope to make our way to the Tawang Valley - one of the most remote places in the state - to see an 800 person Buddhist Monestary - the very place the Dali Lama fled to when China invaded Tibet in the 1950's.

After that I'll go back to the Garden of Peace school in Tamil Nadu. I'm excited to see the kids and sleep in a bamboo tree house again.

Trains and Bamboo Forests

New pictures posted at right. Click on 'em for captions.

Last Tuesday Phrangsngi, Ronald, Moselaus (the Khasi speaking bamboo workers) Mirza and I left the Garden of Peace school at 4am after a night of the first rain I have experienced in India (complete with lightening and thunder) and boarded a train in Tamil Nadu in the south of India to visit the northeast. Indian trains are an amazing experience. You're packed liked sardines into compartments where one foldout bed is stacked on top of another. There is a constant din of dozens of languages, the slow rocking motion of the train, and the Indian countryside rolling by as you go from town to town on what ended up being a 51 hour journey.

As we left Tamil Nadu we journeyed into Andhara Pradesh, one of the most developed Indian states replete with power plants and factories and incredibly green fields that make it India's breadbasket. Ten hours later we entered into Orissa, a much more impoverished state with brown fields, limited dirt roads, and soldiers with machine guns at the train stations. As I slept overnight I had some of the most bizarre dreams of my life inspired by the different languages gurgling around me, the bright lights of each station, the motion of the train, and the negotiations to purchase cell phones, rubix cubes, and Casio keyboards that occurred loudly at the foot of my cot in the middle of the night.

When we awoke the next morning we had moved into West Bengal with water everywhere. A gorgeous place but I think it would be a terror in the monsoon season. From there we entered into Kolkata - the largest city in India - with tenaments and shacks taking every piece of dry land above the tracks. From West Bengal the second night we entered into Assam - in the morning crossing the Brahmaputra river - the widest in Asia - more of a sea than a river really. When we alighted in Guwati, the capitol of Assam, we took a Sumo (sort of a cross between a Hummer and a Land Rover but downscale if you can imagine that - they serve as the primary public transportation in the region) into the East Khasi hills region of Meghalaya. As soon as you leave Assam the terrain changes into green hills with severe drops and houses built in every nook and valley. The landscape is not unlike West Virgina - including the non-stop march of coal trucks chugging at 10 miles per hour on the winding and climbing roads. When we reached the capital Shillong we found a city completely built on hills with narrow streets and winding staircases as the primary way to get around. We stayed in the basement of a church journeying out at night  to the old market which exists along stair cases in the center of the city. At night with the stands of odd fruits and vegetables as well as every imaginable craft and electronic ware the surroundings felt like a scene out of Blade Runner.

The next day we had breakfast at Matthew's house (he had originally journeyed with Father Lumlang to escort Phrangsni, Ronald and Moselaus to Tamil Nadu since they had not left their home region before but he had earlier traveled with Father back to Meghalaya). The accomplish the journey east from Shillong to the Khasis home village of Mawlynnong we traveled on the main east/west highway in Meghalaya (at points a narrow two lane paved road - at points a one land rock road - always a construction project) through a region of rocks and dry mountains - a hard land straight out of a Cormac McCarthy novel where I could imagine a circle of drug runners trucks with kc lights and bodies picked away by carrion - not at all the green paradise the Khasis had described. But after three hours driving we drove down into a ravine into a green bamboo forest with jackfruit and betel nut trees. The land did indeed turn gorgeous before we hit the literal end of the road - the 90 house village of Mawlynnong where Phrangsni, Ronald, Moselaus and Father Lumlang live.

To call Mawlynnong paradise feels too easy - and yet it is damn close. The environment is amazing: green hills with waterfalls and rocky rivers. (Note to Lisa/Debra, Molly/Adam, Peggy/Tim, Katherine/Corrie and anyone else getting married soon - I have found your ideal honeymoon location: Mawlynnong!) The people were incredible - practically everyone is related and over my six days there we spent half the time walking in the forest and half going from house to house drinking tea, chewing betel nuts and eating amazing food (you can always just have the veg options - but Meghalaya is a much more meat based diet than the south - sorry Sita!). While the village is not wealthy by any imagination it is an amazing well organized community. Every house has flowers and gardens - in contrast with the burning piles of trash in Kaniyambadi there are bamboo wastebaskets tied to polls and absolutely no litter. After the village was connected to a road six years ago - Phrangsni led the building of a bamboo tree guest house. He also constructed a bamboo tower which we climbed and overlooked the last five kilometers of the Khasi hills as they descended and abruptly ended into the Bangladeshi plain. In Mawlynnong I stayed for a couple of days in the guest house when there were no other occupants - and then the last couple of days I stayed with Father Lumlang and Phrangsni's family.

The feeling of community in this village is really amazing. There are so many collective projects. They built the church at the center of the village 10 years ago together almost entirely with materials found in the forests. Ronald built his house (# 90) on the outskirts of the village for his wife and young children almost entirely out of bamboo and local trees he cut down. A couple of days the villagers came up to help set it up. That ethic reached back generations. Phrangsni and his friend, an elementary teacher named Rishot, took me down a path from one village to another that leads through a river that used to be impassable during the six month long rainy season. Three hundred years ago the locals began directing the roots of two trees across the river ravine towards each other. They estimate it took 50-100 years for the roots to connect and to form a perfect bridge for people to pass from one side of the river to another. The people who began the project of directing the roots had no chance of seeing their bridge completed - only later their grand-children or great-grandchildren would benefit from their work.

During the days we would travel around with Phrangsni and Rishot and their friends Shempur and Moselaus's brother Makhelot stuffed six or seven into a small Maruti/Suzuki (Owatonnans should picture the orange Rabbit I purchased off of Smedsted in high school before I drove it into the side of a pickup truck). As we drove the Khasis blasted everything from Bollywood music to Boyz to Men to Guns 'N Roses to Khasi love songs. After a while I heard a familiar voice singing and rapping. Sort of raspy and yet sort of syrupy at the same time - really quite Wheezy after another listen. Ah Lil' Wayne. From Hollygrove in New Orleans to the East Khasi hills - even you don't know how far you've come.

Yesterday I look a bus to meet Mirza in his home city in Jorhat in the tea garden area of upper Assam. From here we will travel to the mountains of Arunachal Pradesh on the Chinese boarder. Hope all is well in America.

Ryan

Dance Parties on Field Trips

Yesterday I went on my first field trip since I was 17 years old. I got up at 4am and walked to the main road where the school jeep (circa 1960) picked me, some kids and teachers from the nearest village (Karumbapalayalum) and took us to the main village of Kaniyambadi to meet the other kids/teachers and the bus that had been rented for the occasion. The bus ride itself was incredible. We drove from the interior of Tamil Nadu where the village and school are to the Bay of Bengal. The bus's 55 seats were not quite enough for the assembled riders. As with all Indian buses the driver blasted Bollywood (or Kollywood as it's called in the Tamil south) music at ear-splitting levels for the entire trip there and back. The music's volume itself was an advertisement for the number 11. Halfway through the trip a dance party broke out. The instigator: the lead teacher. After the teachers had their day to much cheering, the kids - primarily led by the almost all girl 5th grade class - had theirs filling the aisles with Indian dancing and frequently falling on top of each other to much laughter when the bus driver braked suddenly (as he and all driver's in India are bound to). My job, when not dancing, was to block the kids from the stairs at the back 1/4 of the bus - where they were liable to ram against the door with every sharp turn - and spill out onto the highway.

After a while we stopped at a Hindu shrine so the kids could eat. I didn't realize we were supposed to bring food but I got one of the best meals I've had in India when plied with all the kids and the teachers home cooking.

The Bay itself was amazing. Some of the kids had never seen the sea. The tide is very dangerous so no one swam - but the kids were allowed in pairs to hold hands with us and walk out to feel the waves.  We would take them out to where waves would roll in to hit our bellies - a level at which the kids were completely submerged to much shrieking. After a while anarchy - as it often does - broke out and the "holding hands with an adult rule" was abandoned. My friend Mirza and I were reduced to standing in the ocean to pick up any 1st grader who got knocked over by the waves and constantly enforcing the kids into a line not too far beyond the point where the tide comes in.

After the sea we took the bus north to Chennai to see the local zoo. The kids got to shout out the names of all the animals they see if their workbooks - Tigers and Baboons and Elephants and Giraffes (which they and the teachers insist on referring to as a "jer-aff-ee!"). Throughout the trip we were constantly lining up and counting children to avoid losing one. When we were counting the kids right before leaving the zoo and spotted deer with giant horns walked up and added itself to the back of the line. Most of the animals were in cages but maybe there was a jail break in the deer cell.

The bus ride was sweltering after the bus had heated up all day and we hit Chennai traffic so there was limited wind. As we drove both the kids and my blood sugar/energy dropped and we were reduced to a sleeping piles all over the floor of the bus. In keeping with Indian bus form the volume on the dance music was never turned down and the colored lights kept flashing. Amazingly given that and all the biscuits (the ubiquitous cookie/cracker combination eaten all over India) that were consumed, only one child vomited - and he quickly rallied. We returned to the main village at midnight. The temperature had dropped to the 60's around that time. So the kids - as they often do - had earmuffs on to keep out the cold. Thankfully the one shop operating in the main village was our regular tea stand. Before we could walk with the kids and their parents who had come to pick them up to the smaller village of Karumbapalayum everyone had a cup including the first graders to - as their mom put it - warm them up.

Last weekend was Annual Day at the school - a day on which all the volunteers and supporters come from other parts of Tamil Nadu and honor the teachers and whatever project has been accomplished that year - which this year was the construction of a bamboo treehouse and meditation hall. Honorees were given a shawl and what is basically a male dress called a dhoti. After food and the program we retired to the field to play games. One "game" involved throwing rotten/moldy tomatoes at a person given a speech on a topic of their choosing about 25 feet away. The speaker stood on a raised platform and was given a plate to defend themselves. Ramu's teenage daughter Nile kicked the proceedings off with the perfect topic. Her speech's title: "You all are a bunch of losers." She then proceeded to denigrate our tomato throwing skills. Other topics including the superiority of Malayalam (the language of the neighboring state of Kerala) over Tamil - the language of Tamil Nadu - delivered by a Karelite grad student studying Malayalam literature. For my topic I chose to deliver the pledge the school children recite each day at their morning assembly. The opening line: "India is my country! All Indians are my brothers and sisters!". Which I hoped would diminish the barrage of tomatoes. It did not. And a counter-veiling factor was that I had stored my glasses for safe-keeping - so I couldn't actually see the tomato's being tossed at me to properly defend myself with the plate.

Also this week I traveled with Mirza and Ronald/Frances/Moselaus (the Khasi-speaking guys from northeast India who did the bamboo building) to the former French colony of Pondicherry. It was another early morning that had us walking to the main village at 5am. There was a full moon and we heard the call to prayer from a local mosque as we walked. There were a lot of people walking and biking by in the dark - due to the heat a lot gets accomplished at night. We spent some time at the beach and then this commune called Auroville. The commune itself is interesting in substance - adamantly internationalist - there are people from over 150 countries living there - and they make basically everything they consume. But at the entrance point there are shops that make you feel like you've been transported from the south of India to the Himalayan shops section of an outdoor mall in Santa Monica. When we visited the Tibet section of Auroville we ran into a monk that our traveling companion Kelsan had gone to high school with in the north of India where many Tibetans live. We saw high school students practice some amazing Tibetan dance to a stringed instrument.

Our guide for this trip was our friend Sheikh who grew up in a city an hour north of Pondicherry. Before we took the bus back we stopped at Sheikh's house for a delicious meal with his family (he has 7 brothers and sisters, 11 nieces and nephews, with 2 more on the way). I had the best tea I've so far in India made by Sheikh's sister in law with the perfect amount of cardamom. I had four cups in quick succession for our trip back. It was another night bus ride with not enough seats so I sat on the front steps. There was no door so the wind brought some welcome relief from the heat of the day. We stopped once in a five house village to use the bathroom at the local trash heap. There was a tea shop operating for travelers and an outdoor TV playing reruns of the cricket friendlies in advance of the world cup. We reached the main village at 2:30am. It was completely dark with the exception of the light of our regular tea stand. I was jittery and overtired but our excitement at being back at our place made one last cup of tea necessary.

I'll stay in this village/school in the south of India until Tuesday when we take a 60 hour journey to northeast India primarily by train. We'll go to the bamboo workers home village in the west Khasi hills of Meghalaya state which is right above Bangladesh. Ronald, Frances and Moselaus have described it as a hilly green promised land so I'm excited for the trip.

Bonfires in the City & Balancing Things on Your Head

Yesterday while traveling in the nearby city at sunset to witness another purchase of bamboo, I stumbled upon a scene of total anarchy. I walked into a crowd facing the street who were watching something that I could not make out, but what I assumed was the aftermath of a car wreck given the plumes of smoke coming from the street. Instead as I pushed forward I saw that a group of 40 men had made a bonfire in the middle of the main road in the city - and with huge sticks were beating it. While there were numerous television cameras filming the events there were no police about - even though a police station was no more than four blocks away. Men were waving red and black flags. Onlookers told me what it was all about: it's election time in Tamil Nadu. Members of the ruling party, the DMK, were burning an effigy of a leader of the main opposition party, the AIADMK. Evidently this happened all over Tamil Nadu yesterday. Here's an article and photo from another city: http://www.hindu.com/2011/02/10/stories/2011021062210900.htm The AIADMK leader had alleged corruption in the DMK's administration of public housing funds. Evidently the DMK's supporters (or cadres as an article endearingly calls them) disagree.

Much of my time is still spent at the school. All last week I attended classes with the kids to get a sense of what they were learning. This week I've transitioned entirely to play. This week the older boys set up some cricket "wickets" in the main field. I joined my first game on Monday after lunch. There was much lobbying for me to join each team. Little did they know that I had never before seen a game of cricket and did not understand the rules. My first day I inadvertently switched teams in the middle of play and began playing a wicket-keeper or "catcher" position against my own team. The second day was my first at bat. After we scored a succession of runs I succeeded in grounding out. In the outfield I hoped to redeem myself to my new 10 year old friends. A pop fly sailed directly to my position in the field. I looked up into the blue sky - and lost the ball in the sun. I caught site of it at the last moment and moved backward as it sailed through my hands onto the turf and I landed on my backside. Score one more run/wicket for the other team.

All over this village you see women carrying amazing things on their heads: bundles of logs, gigantic vessels of water, and bags of rice. How is one trained for that? Today after lunch I saw the coursework. A group of girls practicing running and then walking with their lunch plates on their heads (hair wrapped up and all). I joined in - and to much applause succeeded in running with a plate balanced on my head while carrying a 1st grader at the same time.

Respect at cricket lost. Respect at carrying a plate on my head gained.

I also saw my first Indian movie this last week: the movie Kavalan with the Tamil star Vijay (there is a poster of him in almost all the restaurants I go to. He, it should be noted, does have a mustache). My favorite part turned out to be the song and dance routines. One of which inexplicably moved Vijay and his love interest from a country manner to a circus. The movie itself featured dogs that chased grenades and returned them to owners, numerous gags involving men accidentally having to go into women's bathrooms and "little people". I question the plot but loved the music.

Also attended another meeting of the Rotary Club of Vellore where Ramu and I were the main speakers doing back to back speeches and then interview of each other on politics of America and India before taking questions. Again amazing for how controversial the discussion was. A lot of time was spent on the Naxalities - a Maoist insurgency that has taken over a swath of central India and is running a parallel government - and the social conditions that caused them to rise. 

This next weekend there will be a party at the school celebrating the completion of both the bamboo tree house and a bamboo meditation hall.

Ryan

P.S. Points to my parents/Catherine for correctly identifying the mysterious game with squares and skipping in my last blog as hopscotch.

P.P.S. Points to Gary Fuller for noting that the barber in the photo of my mustache being removed has wings. I didn't catch it at first but went back and yes - his head does have wings. (There is a rational explanation: there are lots of crows around here - they especially torment the chickens in cages at the adjacent butchers - one must have flown up right as my friend Rinjin took the shot. Perfect timing.)

Kids, Golden Temples & Mud Roads

My flow of life over the last week has largely followed the patterns of the kids at the school and the villages surrounding Kaniyanbadi. The kids begin arriving around 8:30am and typically run to the main play area in between the classrooms. For an hour or so as kids arrive we play a variety of games from naming things in English/Tamil, cricket (I still don't understand the rules - except the basic idea that you hit a ball with a flat stick), tag, and a game where you draw a number of boxes in sand - throw a rock into a box - and proceed to hop in a pattern I'm still figuring out until you pick up the rock again - like all great games if you fall you lose).

The kids take six classes - Tamil, Social Studies, Maths, English, Environmental Science and General Knowledge. They get a mid-morning break to play, lunch (little kids get one scoop of rice and sauce, bigger kids get two or three - usually you can get seconds), and then playtime again at the end of the day before assembly. I've been joining them for classes - English for the 4th and 5th graders - and Anarchy of the two classes (upper and lower) of Kindergarteners.

Before school we walk or bike into the main village, Kaniyanbadi. We have a regular restaurant - open air with a statue of a local God who looks eerily like Hulk Hogan (I'm not the only one to notice). The TV blares Indian music videos - usually a romantic dance off set in all of a beach, Mumbai, and the Himalayas. My favorite breakfast is Idly - a sort of boiled doughy substance to which you apply delicious spicy sauces and coconut chutney. Then we proceed to the tea stand. There are tea stands in every other shop - but we almost always go to the same one. We are loyal. Tea is served in small glasses - sugar is put into the cup - then milk - then hot water is poured over the tea into another glass. The tea maker then mixes the tea, milk and sugar by pouring from one glass into another in a quick arc.

The tree house is almost completed - it is totally amazing. There are a series of walkways to the first floor - then a ladder to the second floor which is at the treetops. You feel like you are on top of the world.

This weekend a bunch of students from the University of Madras came to volunteer. They are planning on building an open air meditation center on the school grounds - with bamboo supports centered around a big tree they will plant in the middle. The area has been covered with concrete - so we spent a day smashing concrete (which is incredibly hot and satisfying) and removing it in wheelbarrows. The students, were mostly from northeast Indian states like Mizoram Sikkim and Nagaland. This part of the country is unlike the rest of Indian in religion (heavily Buddhist, animist or Christian), physical appearance (more like southeast Asia), weather (incredibly lush green and cool and rainy) and language (all local languages - many many of them - not from the same language families as Hindi or Tamil). The area has several active insurgencies including some that have lasted 50 years since right after Indian independence. The students have videos on their cell phones of insurgents marching to revolutionary songs.

After our hard work we went to visit the Golden Temple near Vellore. In contrast with the Temple visited with Santosh in Chennai - which was a wondrous and spiritual place - the Golden Temple is appalling. First of all they are not kidding - the temple is built of gold: 1.5 tons of it. It was not built in some long ago era when kings ruled and the needs of common people were dismissed out of hand - rather it was completed in 2007. In front of the temple there are hundreds of people selling plastic trinkets and noisemakers to survive (including young kids). The temple builders are justifiably defensive. The walkway to the temple (it takes two-three hours standing in line to get inside) is lined with banners in English/Tamil/Hindi stating: "Some say that you could build thousands of hospitals and schools instead of building a temple of gold... but this temple will inspire tens of thousands of hospitals and schools."

I've been driving the motorbike around. I rode yesterday from the school down back roads from the school to the base of the mountains that surround this valley. In contrast to Kaniyanbadi, a modern village of concrete, insane traffic, burning piles of garbage, (along with temples, a million tea stands and people who you've never met that pull over on their motorcycle as you are walking to town and motion you to get on back and drop you off at the very restaurant you eat breakfast at every morning) - the other nearby villages subscribe to a whole different pace of life. When I motorbiked by midday - the buildings are awash in sunlight. Nothing moves fast. There are dogs sleeping in the middle of the street. Orange, pink and purple houses brightened by the midday sun. Old women sitting on their window sills and parades of goats and the occassional cow being lead through the streets. The countryside is full one one lane dirt roads, deeply green rice paddies filled with women in brightly colored saris, mango and tamarind orchards and the occasional home brick factory. As I reached the base of the mountain I found a farmer leading his bull which tilling the land and a road that turned from rutted dirt to pure mud.

I'll stay here for three more weeks - tomorrow my bicycle will finally be fixed!

Ryan

P.S. New pictures of kids, cows, and chameleons at right.

Buddha Smiles & Bamboo Tree Houses

In 1974 India detonated a nuclear bomb in the desert in the north of India. The code phrase for the successful test by the Indian security establishment: "Buddha is smiling". Hundred's of thousands of Indians (Ramu included) protested the country's expensive entry into the nuclear arms race in the face of great human need across the country.

Decades later the phrase stuck with Ramu - he wanted to take it back. Thus the name for this overall project centered around the Ghandi-Mandela-King school: Buddha Smiles. The project, a couple of miles outside the village of Kaniyanbadi in the northern part of Tamil Nadu,. features the school for 150 students (now grades k-5 and soon 6-8 as well). It also doubles as a retreat center for social movement activists, includes a diary and vegetable farm called Garden of Peace (which partially feeds the kids), and hosts workshops on natural building (the open air lunchroom and a couple other buildings were built in a clay/straw brick traditional Tamil style).

The latest natural building workshop: how to build a giant tree house out of bamboo. Five Khasi speaking builders have journeyed from the northeastern Indian state of Meghalaya (the hills above Bangladesh) to build it. The first step: procuring the bamboo. On Saturday ten of us crammed into the 1970 Indian jeep the school owns and made the dusty drive to the City of Velore to set about getting bamboo. I mean a lot of bamboo. Really its helpful to stop picturing pandas at the National Zoo at this point. I'm talking about 240 pieces of two story high bamboo wood.

We made our way to the bamboo district of the Velore industrial market. I'm not kidding. This place exists. Amidst the innumerable concrete and paint stores there are eight or so competing bamboo shops with thousands of two-three story high pieces of bamboo leaned against their (concrete) walls. The builders caged each shop and inspected the quality of various lengths of bamboo. Three shops had the right stuff.

After about three hours of my pacing up and down the street inspecting the various shops one of the shop owners showed up with tea in plastic cups. When we finished we looked around blindly for some sort of receptacle to place our used cups. The owner made a show of tossing his plastic cup in the middle of the street and crushing it with his foot. The Khasis noted through translation that their village of 100 families had a communal garbage pick up scheme and placed their cups one inside the other against the man's building. Negotiation's ensued in a windowless back room. The Khasis experienced sticker shock. They said they could pay five rupees (10-15 cents) for a two story high piece of bamboo if they felt too lazy to wander out in the forests to cut it down themselves. The price in Velore is 90 rupees a piece, almost 20 times as much. The English word "insult" floated out of the Tamil during price negotiations. Finally a bargain was reached including the procurement of a truck to take the bamboo from Velore to the school.

During the loading process my job was to count pieces of bamboo to make sure we didn't get shafted on the long end of the deal. Note to future bamboo counters: when someone asks you to count bamboo they mean you should count while the bamboo is being loaded. It is extremely difficult to count pieces of bamboo after they have been placed inside the truck. (By inside here I mean mostly inside - about 1/3 of the bamboo stuck pecariously out the back end of the truck).

When I first got to India Elizabeth asked if I had seen the India's Deadliest Truckers yet. Now I can safely say I've ridden shotgun inside one of their trucks. And I was lucky. The Khasi's decided to ride in the back on top of the bamboo. This trucker was just as wild as the rest of India traffic - except that if he accelerated quickly one ton of bamboo might have been inadvertantly unloaded on the motorcycle behind him. This trucker did have a picture of the Last Supper on the dashboard so that was comforting. We arrived intact and unloaded the bamboo at the school late into the night. The Khasis have made quick work of it - building one floor in the last 24 hours. I can't wait to sleep up there in a couple of days.

I think I'll stay at this school for a couple of weeks longer. They've got me subbing in some English classes and the kids are a joy. And the night watchman has a bicycle that I can take into the village to repair and then ride around while I'm here.

To clean myself up a bit after a couple of weeks of not shaving I walked into the barbershop in the village. After a twenty minutes or so someone got the barber. I've always wanted a real shave. Warm shaving lotion and a simple blade. This blade might have been a bit too simple - maybe even dull. I could feel the skin being peeled away as he shaved. Really frightening when he hit my neck. Tools notwithstanding this man knew his stuff. He got every single hair out - perfect execution. Except that my hand singles for "shave my beard" seemed not to have included "and my mustache too". Mirza says I could be the American villain in a Tamil movie. He also says that Indian soldiers get a special stipend if they have a mustache. I asked "for maintenance"? "No, no" he said. "For oils to make it as magnificent as possible". I'm signing up.

This week features the Indian holiday of "Republic Day". The children have been marching "left, right, left, right" around the school grounds since I first arrived. Half the girls already have  flowers tying up their hair. Looking forward to the parade.

Ryan



  

My first pictures

Hey all after a long long excercise (it turns out Help sometimes really does) I just posted my first pictures - I think I've figured out the system now. Heading to the village tonight on the train. There is a crew of people who build structures with bamboo from Assam in the northeast who will be there the next couple of days at the school building and conducting a workshop. Peace,

Ryan

Trains & Temples: Bulls & Barbed Wire

I am writing again in Chennai after returning yesterday with Mirza on the train (my first in India) from the village. Last night I stayed with Santosh, a graduate student in politics here at the University, in his dorm room. Santosh's dorm faces the Bay of Bengal. You can stand on the roof and watch the sunrise over the water - and then walk down to the beach where there are tons of rickety old wooden boats the locals take into the sea to fish. With no visible means to propel themselves I asked Santosh how the boats manuver in the ocean. He said that they buy old honda dirt bikes - rip out the motors - and then attach them to small propellers. This evidently is also how they would move Tamil refugees from the Jaffna Penninsual in northern Sri Lanka during the war.

Spending time with Santosh has been an introduction to religious India. Last night we walked from his dorm on the beach into the Triplicane neighborhood of Chennai. Parts of Triplicane were built hundreds of years ago before the arrival of the British and there are warrens of small streets and alleys filled with people, bikes, motorcycles, auto-ricksaws and cars (at least the buses don't attempt travel there). At the center of the neighborhood is a 400 year old temple that Santosh visits every evening for his prayers. As we neared the temple there was a procession making its way through the streets with a band and Brahmins in white robes carring one of the idols from the temple. The temple is massive, taking up a giant city block, with room after room with priests and idols and flowers and incense and stone carvings. We moved from room to room and Santosh said his prayers to each God - I could enter everywhere except for the chamber with the main God.

Before returning to Chennai we celebrated the Pongol (harvest) holiday at the school. Ramu's mom brought us (Ramu and a contingent of 8 students and me) one of the most delicious meals I have ever eaten. Pickeled coriander sauce and sweet rice with cardomom and one million other dishes eaten on bannana leaves. Before we ate Ramu's mom conducted a service setting up a small fire on a pathway on the school grounds and making an offering of flowers, coconut and other fruits for Pongol. Each of knelt and passed our hand other the flame dabbing our forehead with the ashes in turn.

On that same day we hiked to the top of a hill near the school to survey the landscape. On the trail up I got caught up in some vicious thorns that are everywhere in this part of the interior of Tamil Nadu that penetrate your clothes (and then body) at an angle so that when you tear away it will cause maximum damage. After carefully extricating myself we hiked to the top of the hill. On one side the school and a modern Indian village in the distance with the haze of fires, loudspeakers alternately blasting Hindu devotional music, Bollywood style numbers, and what seems to be Tamil language hip hop, along with concrete and paved (albeit mightily potholed) roads and powerlines. On the other side was a green jungle of thorn bushes, palm trees, and a smaller village of mud brick houses with straw roofs and rice fields.

That night we obtained fish from the village and walked back to the school and made a bonfire. Because the school is vegetarian we walked to a neighboring pasture after dark to eat our fish by moonlight surrounded by a chorus of frogs and grasshoppers and wild dogs ready to move in to consume our scraps after we left.

On Monday, the last day of the Pongol festival, I was walking back to the school from drinking tea in the village in the late morning when I saw twenty boys and men leading a bull with huge painted horns through the streets by a pair of ropes. I followed them to a dirt lot in front of a Hindu shrine where hundreds of villagers had gathered and there were more groups of people with their own bulls with painted horns and other decorations. The men were on the street and most women were watching from fenced gardens or doorways or rooftops. I soon discovered why when one group and then another released their bulls to freedom and general pandemonium. In one terrifying instance I was standing in the middle of the street and bull charged right at me after I thought it was going to go a different way. Everyone else had cleared out into side streets. I ran (losing one sandal in the process) towards the nearest doorway along a barbed wire fence. About halfway there I realized I couldn't possibly make it to the doorway in time and my choices were the bull or the barbed wire fence that someone had helpfully constructed around an unused garbage strewn lot. I glanced over my shoulder and realized that the bull had caught up with me but that he had no interest in impaling me and instead was running alongside to the cleared street and freedom.

Tomorrow I will give a lecture at the University of Madras entitled "The Politics of Mobilization" by Mr. Ryan Patrick Greenwood - at least that is what it said on the flyers Ramu printed up. Then we will return to the village where a group of people from Assam will conduct a workshop on building with bamboo. From there who knows. After attending various guest lectures and classes yesterday at the University and making plans with the other students to return to the village, Ramu told me, "you are no longer just a guest - you are now part of our system here!" I'll embrace that wherever it leads.

Ryan 

Vegetarian food does not = healthy

In describing the latest Sufjan Stevens album and tour, Brent and Gena found a post that said it was like eating Thanksgiving dinner and then an hour later eating a steak. The food of Tamil Nadu is somewhat similar - most restaurants are 100% vegetarian - but eating here is like going to the Steele County Free Fair - consuming a blooming onion, then a basket of onion rings, then some deep fried mushrooms and topping it off with a funnel cake. If all of the above were served with the most delicious flavorful sauces you could imagine. Also I beleive my tea consumption will reach addict levels here.

I am writing right now on the grounds of an elementary school in a rural area of tumeric, rice and vegetable farms about half way beteween Chennai and Bangalore in Tamil Nadu. The nearest city, Velore, is about 10 miles away - and I'm about a one-two mile walk from the nearest village. Velore is like Rochester Minnesota, it has one of the best hospitals in India, if Rochester had more neon than you can imagine, cows and autorickshaws in the streets, and an impressive decibel level.

This school, the Ghandi-Mandela-King school was started seven years ago by Ramu, who grew up near here, and a troop of social movement activists and local farmers. It is one of the most wonderful places I have ever been. It is incredibly peaceful, lots of vegetation, surrounded by hills, with cool nights where the fog always takes over the land - and then very hot days.

The children - there are about 150 of them - are wonderful. They start to arrive at 8:30 - sometimes running to see their friends before school starts at nine. The three basic things we all say are 1) Good morning! 2) How are you? Then usually providing the answer "fine!' before I can respond and 3) what is your name? I play with them during lunch - and then again after school while the ones who live in farthering flung villages wait for their turn on the small school buses which drive back and forth. The amazing thing is how quickly they can move from complete discipline to utter anarchy. One minute they are marching parade style in preparation for the national holiday of Pongol this weekend - and the next 10 of them are simultaneously playing a game of trying to put each of their notebooks on my head like a hat. (Which I need - oh the sun here.) Everyone eats with their hands here. And my favorite incident  was being mirthlessly imitated by a five year old about  the way I evidently open my mouth wide and stick out my tongue to capture food from my mouth when I eat. There was much laughter at all that.

I taught 9-10 year olds English yesterday. I told them about Minnesota, how cold it was, how many lakes there are and found out about their brothers and sisters, their favorite foods and favorite colors (universally red and blue). Mad props at this point should be issued here to all teachers in the world. Martha, Mary Cathryn (and children's librarians like Jane Boss) - I am impressed that you survive each day. It was a totally joyful experience - but the possibility for chaos to develop at any moment is impressive. You have to track all of them all the time - when one of them does something - all will follow quickly.

Perhaps the coolest Tamil cultural rite is that every morning many Tamils will create a public art display, now with chalk, immediately in front of their house. This is much more prevelant in the villages and rural areas, and almost everyone does it for holidays like Pongol. It's an incredibly beautiful tradition. That at 5 in the morning, before getting up in the morning to milk the cows or go to the fields people will take the time to make a new intricate symbol to greet people walking by their house.

There are Hindu shrines everywhere. Multiple in this one smalll village. Very complex and beautiful. A more questionable practice associated with these shrines and temples is the blasting of Hindu devotional music from sunset to sunrise. I sleep on the floor in the classrooms miles from the village and all night you hear it - loud but also comforting in a way.

Staying with me here, one of the co-conspirators who put togetherr this school - is a student from Assam named Mirza. Ramu has returned back to Chennai and so Mirza has showed me around this place. He is incredibly interested in social movement politics and especially in the insurgencies in the northeast where he is from. (Note to brother: you have got to meet Mirza - he speaks Naga and five other languages up there - has met with different insuurgent and civil society leaders - and has written articles on the complicated social political issues in the northeast). Mirza is very warm - likes to laugh and talk politics - and appreciates the craziness of the traffic system here in India. Yesterday we took a motorcycle/dirt bike thing into Velore 10 miles away. It was terrifying - thousands of small motorcycles and bikes and huge buses with air horns all within centimeters of you. Luckily Mirza is a good driver with no death wish - but holy s*&t I am impressed that anyone stays alive here. Really though after a first couple of minutes of terror - you realize that there is nothing you can do about it - so you just hold on to the driver and feel very calm. (Maybe with some visualizations...)

This internet connection  is pretty rickety (pretty impressive that it is here at all - electicity only came out here four years ago - and the road was fixed up last year - but is pretty beat up) - so I may wait on email replies until I get back to Chennai next week. Will write more then. Hope all is well with you. Happy Pongol! Peace,

Ryan

Everything is Possible

Hi all. I've landed in India. After a long flight from New York City to Brussels and then Brussels to Chennai I'm finally here. I got out of the plane at 1am Chennai time on Tuesday after about 10 hours in the air from Belgium. The door was open on the jetway and the densest air I have ever encountered came into my lungs. This city is like New Orleans on steroids. Lush vegetation everywhere. A treescape that covers everything. Their branches blocking out a sun that is intense in even this the "coolest" time of year.

The customs process was smooth. I followed some Dutch activists I met on the plane who had a connection in customs and entered through the expedited diplomat line. My new friend Ramu Manivannan picked me up at the airport and (Thanks to Mel Duncan for the introduction!) we drove through the dark city - with cars and people out even at 2:30 in the morning.

The setup of the city and traffic are amazing. Numerous dogs and cows some with giant horns snuffling around for food on the street. A million motorcycles and old buses and new Asian cars. Lots of foot traffic and bicycles. Food stalls and clothing stores and banks all crammed together. We rode the bus into the University where Ramu teaches this morning. The University is a bit of a respite from the surrounding anarchy of the city - only a block from the Bay of Bengal. As I write in Ramu's office, with pictures of Aung San Suu Kyi, and the Dalai Lama on the walls I can smell the sea (the windows are never closed in this city) and look out onto an old university building that looks like an elaborate Eastern Orthodox church.

I've already checked my tea goal off the list. We had tea in the morning with breakfast, tea at a stall on the walk from the bus to the university - served in glasses that are then washed out for the next customer - and then a man came into Ramu's office and just gave me a shot of tea unbidden- later Ramu says we will go out to grad some tea. Tea will not be a problem here. The food is fabulous as well. Had a delicious breakfast with lentils cooked by Shelia - Ramu's wife. We just returned from lunch at a neighborhood cafe with a standard meal of rice mixed with four different sauces all eaten with your hands - some like soup, some spicy, and then closing with a yogurt and then a shot of some sweet cardomom cashew drink.

In addition to being an incredibly warm human being and gracious host Ramu is a wealth of knowledge on social movements in India from a career as an activist from displaced Tamil's from Sri Lanka to Burmese and Tibetan activsts in exile. I've atteneded two of his classes at the University so far - one on Indian foreign policy and the other on the development of Indian environmental movements. Tomorrow we will go to his home village a couple hours outside of Chennai.

In response to an email I wrote him Ramu replied with the optimistic and somewhat mysterious line (caps are all his): EVERYTHING IS POSSIBLE. A good mantra for this trip and beyond.

Will update in a couple of days with some pictures.