Brad and Elizabeth's Indian Adventure

Turning Indian, I Think I'm Turning Indian, I Really Think So

2007-12-12T22:15:00.000+05:30

For those of our readers who have lived, or are currently living, overseas, I think you'll agree with me when I say that there are moments where you catch yourself doing something that is so out of character for your home country, yet so inline with what people in your adopted country would do, you can only marvel at the experience. Let me explain.

Last night, I was sitting at my computer listening to a lecture. Over the sound of my professor's voice, I heard quite a bit of shouting coming from outside. We live on a busy thoroughfare, and there's often shouting, so I ignored it for a little while. However, as the sounds persisted, my curiosity mounted and I started stalking from one balcony to the next in an attempt to discover the source of the noise. I realized, after a few minutes, that the argument was coming from within our apartment complex. I was so excited by this that I ran outside the front door and stood watching as the fight moved down the stairs and out into the parking area. I watched unabashedly, discussing the possible motive for such screaming with my neighbors. Brad eventually wandered out and he stood with me for awhile while the argument carried on. As the gentleman in the middle of the dispute turned back on the building, I gazed down at him with curiosity, damning my inability to understand Hindi or Kannada. It was like Desperate Housewives: Bangalaroo and I had a front seat for the action, which was oh-so entertaining, even if the subtitles weren't working.

Now I want to be clear about the difference between how I would listen in on a fight in the US versus this one. In the US, if one were to hear a fight going on, they would of course take notice. One may even come up with some sort of ruse to move a bit closer. However, to be caught listening in would be the height of embarrassment. Americans don't want to look as if they are poking their noses in someone else's business. In India, there is no shame. If you're going to get in an argument, you better believe that the people around you are going to listen in and perhaps even take sides. By the time this argument hit it's peak, there were at least 20 people involved. I'm certain that those people didn't start out as part of the altercation, but they decided to help out, as best they could.

One of the best things about living in a foreign culture is watching the ways in which the society permeates in your everyday life. I'll never be an Indian. But I may end up an American with a dash of spice.

Happy Thanksgiving

2007-11-22T19:52:00.001+05:30

Gobble, gobble, gobble,

Sorry we have been so net-absent lately (OK, more than lately). We have a laundry-list of excuses, none of which shall I bore you with. Well, maybe one… Elizabeth and I are in the old USA right now. We've been here about 6 weeks. We surprised a bunch of people – the last of which was Kathrin last week in L.A. So, we couldn't exactly blog about surprising everyone until we were finished. Too bad we can't surprise Josh & Megan in Durham.

This will be a short update with hopes for a more regular series of posts in the future. So, I published my first book! It was published by Dharmaram Publications in Bangalore (associated with my school) and is entitled The Quest for Postmodern Ethics: A Phenomenological Comparison of Martin Heidegger and Sri Aurobindo Ghose. It's not on Amazon yet, but I am hopeful. I am thrilled to say that it is going to be reviewed by the Journal for Hindu-Christian Studies in their next issue! Even if they hate it, at least it will get some exposure. It is also going to be reviewed for the Journal of Dharma.

In other exciting news, last year I had an article published by the Journal of Dharma on the eco-pneumatology of Raimon Panikkar. The exciting thing is that last month I received a hand-written letter from Panikkar! How groovy is that?

Elizabeth also has big news. She has been offered an internship at a hospital in Boston! I am very proud of her – though it does add a tiny bit more pressure for me to get into Harvard's doctoral program.

Unfortunately, our journey home was not under ideal conditions. We came home several weeks earlier than planned because we wanted to spend extra time with my sister Cathy, her daughter Caylyn, her son Evan, and her husband Tully. Caylyn's leukemia relapsed following a bad bout of pneumonia (as opposed to a good case of it?) and she has only spent a handful of days out of the hospital since then. Please visit her website and leave my sister a note if you get a chance: www.caringbridge.org/visit/caylynbachman
and also her fundraising site: www.CaringForCaylyn.etsy.com.

Elizabeth and I are in Connecticut right now with her family for Thanksgiving. We are going to drop by church in New Jersey on Sunday on our way back to South Carolina to see Caylyn and family more before we head back to India on Dec 4^th.

Let us know if you are out there. We are both going to try to be better about postings. We wish everyone a very Happy Thanksgiving!

Madeleine L'Engle

2007-09-08T11:08:00.000+05:30

Madeleine L'Engle, the author of one of the best written children's books that I have ever read, has died. A Wrinkle in Time has remained one of my favorite books, even as an adult. If you've never read it, or if it has been a long time, please go out and pick it up today. She was an inspiration to me as a child, through her characters. And she remains an inspiration today. May the world be blessed with another writer who speaks to children in the way she spoke to me.

To the Most Beautiful Woman in the World

2007-08-27T07:06:00.001+05:30

From the luckiest man in the world…

Thank you for making everyday extraordinary.
Thank you for making me laugh everyday.
Thank you for coming to India with me and supporting me in my dreams and sharing my passions with me.
Thank you for supporting me through years of unemployment as I pursue my dreams.
Thank you for your passion and compassion for others.
Thank you for loving me no matter what.
Thank you for dreaming with me and imagining the life that we want to create.
Thank you for the hard work and efforts of our wedding and for learning our vows in Sanskrit and making our wedding so very special and unique – a day I think of often and fondly.
Thank you for giving me something to wake up for every morning and for making everyday an adventure.
Thank you for showing me that philo-sophy is not just the love of wisdom but also the wisdom of love.
Thank you for two years of sheer joy and the promise of many exciting years to come.
Thank you for keeping me in a blessed state of 'started dismay' J
You are my sacchidananda… my being, my life, and my bliss.
I love you more than words could possibly express.

यदिदं हिदयं तव तदिदं हृदयं मम ।

Happy Anniversary,
Huckleberry

Strange Reactions

2007-08-13T21:10:00.000+05:30

This week, I received a package from home. My mother just finished reading Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides and felt that I would like it, as we have very similar tastes in literature. After a few mishaps of delivery, the book arrived on Saturday. I opened the book and began to flip through it, like we all do when standing in a bookstore. I flipped to the last page and saw a few words my mother had looked up while reading the book. After a year of not seeing my mother, the mere sight of her handwriting, for the first time in a year, brought tears to my eyes.

It's strange, the things that remind me of home. We had a party over the weekend to celebrate our niece's marriage in the US. (Go Chelsea & Shawn!!!!!) While preparing, I found myself thinking that I was preparing for a Thanksgiving feast at our house in New Jersey. I had to remind myself, actively remind myself, that I was not in the US, but instead in India. It was such a bizarre sensation. It was more than a mental game I played on myself. I physically felt that I was back home. I don't know how else to explain it except to say that it was one of the most powerful moments in my life. And all I was doing was sautéing garlic!!

With my one year anniversary of being in India looming, it's difficult to ignore all that I've missed back home. It's not just the large events that have taken place, but the minutia of life. The dinners that my brother has with my parents every Sunday. The lazy afternoons that Brad's family spends around the pool. Shakespeare in the Park with friends in NYC. All the little things.

I wonder, when we're back home, what things here I'll miss. That, for me, is one of the most exciting things about coming back home. Something that I am anticipating. What memories will be evoked back home? Will I be more forgiving of the things that drive me insane here once I have the perspective of distance? What are the things that will strike me when I'm driving on a back road somewhere?

More than anything, though, I would just love to see more of my mom's handwriting.

Rising Out of the Dark

2007-08-07T07:42:00.000+05:30

Well, I guess it's my turn to beg our audiences' forgiveness. I know that so many of you have been checking this on a regular basis to discover what is new in the world of Bangalore, and we have been remarkably lax in the updating process. It is extraordinary how busy we become in life, quickly neglecting that which we thought we held dear.

As Brad mentioned in his post, life is terribly busy right now, for both of us. In April, I applied for and was accepted to do a Masters of Medical Physics at GA Tech. It is a distance learning program, which will enable me to study here for the next year, before we move home. It also opens all options to us in regards to moving home, as we won't be limited to finding a place that suits both our academic interests. It takes the pressure off. My classes begin on August 20th and while I thought I was only going to take two classes a semester, it looks like I'll be taking 5 instead. Quite a load! We have on deck: Radiation Physics, Nuclear Medicine Physics, Radiation Biology & Oncology, and Special Topics in Imaging. Then, as a co-requisite, I must enroll in an anatomy & physiology class. I've already begun one, also in a distance learning format, through The College of St. Scholastica.

In addition to that, I've spent the past two months working at a local NGO, called Belaku Trust. While there are many different aspects of the work they do, I am currently involved with the income generation units. There are two units, one that does paper making, the other block printing. (If anyone is looking for custom made paper products or custom designed block printed items, you now know where to go!!) It's really inspiring work that keeps me out of the house for 12 hours a day, running around the city or to the villages of Kannakapura, 50KM south of Bangalore. The women are wonderful and have fantastic spunk. I don't know how it will work out to continue to work with Belaku while I study, but I'm hoping to do it all!

In addition to that, we're jumping with anticipation. In the next month and a half, we have two separate visits taking place. First, in the beginning of September, our good friends Josh & Megan will be arriving for a few days. If you haven't checked out their blog, you should! For the past 4 months, they have been backpacking through SE Asia and they are wrapping up their trip with a visit to us! (Okay, actually their last spot is the Maldives for scuba diving, but we're second to last! Wait, that makes us sound like chumps...) We are VERY excited to see them and have them exist in our space for a little while. A few weeks after they leave, my roommate from NYC is coming to visit! Kathrin has been diligently sending me lists of all the places she'd like to see in her 10 days here. Now, Kathrin is a bit of a picture whore (I'm sorry for the harsh language, but it's true!) so I know there will be tons of pics to upload for all to see.

As far as the year beyond that, we don't know what will happen yet! But if I am a good person, I will keep you updated.

Finally, an update!

2007-08-04T09:28:00.001+05:30

First, I want to apologize for not updating this blog. The good side of it is that both Elizabeth and I are very busy these days. The downside of it is… Elizabeth and I are very busy these days.

This is turning out to be one of my busiest semesters ever. I would say it is the busiest, but I think my last semester at Drew will hold that title for a while. In addition to a heavier class load than last year, I am also preparing to take the GRE (Graduate Record Exam). It sucks. It is the biggest waste of time, in both my opinion and Elizabeth's. There are so many other things I could be reading, writing and working on, but instead I am trying to memorize the definitions of countless obscure vocabulary and trying to learn how to do geometry quickly and correctly. Unfortunately, my scores on the GRE are the biggest obstacle facing me with regard to getting into PhD programs. Since I know some of you have taken the GRE, I would greatly appreciate any tips you might have – especially where to find practice tests that don't cost a fortune. (Kaplan charges $1,499 for access to their online tests – I'm neither desperate enough nor wealthy enough to pay that!)

Some exciting news… During my summer vacation, I wrote a book. It is not exactly a best-seller or an Oprah book club selection, but at least it is somewhat of an accomplishment. The title is The Quest for Postmodern Ethics: A Phenomenological Comparison of Martin Heidegger and Sri Aurobindo Ghose. I don't have a publisher yet, although Dharmaram publications (the press at my university) has indicated that they would like to publish it. I hope to shop it around to some US publishers, also. Any suggestions?

I've come to realize that the book needs a lot of work. A number of family and friends have tried to read it, but so far none of them has made it through. The first few chapters, I'm afraid, will have to be re-written. I don't know when I will find the time to do that, but I think that if I can finish it before I send out PhD applications, it may improve my chances there. I've also had two articles published – one on Raimon Panikkar and ecological implications of the Trinity. That one was published last month in the Journal of Dharma. A second one, also in the Journal of Dharma, is being reviewed by the editor and is likely to be published next month. The topic of that one is terrorism and global responsibility.

Elizabeth is doing lots of exciting things, though I will let her update you on that.

We'll both try to be better about updating the blog. If you read it, please let us know that you were here – that will encourage us to be more diligent about updating.

Namaste,

Brad

Healing Memories

2007-06-23T08:20:00.001+05:30

This evening, Elizabeth and I will be attending a lecture by Rev. Dr. Hans Ucko, director of the Interfaith Dialogue Division of the World Council of Churches. I was reading an interview recently given by Rev. Ucko and he was asked about the fear and mistrust among religious persons, both between different religions and between Christian denominations (and, we might add, between the scientific and religious communities). He said that we are in need of 'healing memories'.

It strikes me that this phrase has a double meaning – 'healing' can be an adjective or a verb. We need both. We need memories which are healing and we also need to heal our memories.

This year marks the 200^th anniversary to the illegalization of slavery in England. At that time, slavery was a very profitable activity, so it was a bold decision to make it illegal. This, I think, is a very healing memory. As a Southerner, I have long been aware of the fact that the US has still not healed from the Civil War. Evidence of this might be found in the last Presidential election. When I meet new people here in India, I am often asked if I am from a 'blue state' or a 'red state'. Am I a 'Repulican' or a 'Democrat'? Am I a 'liberal' or a 'conservative'. These are memories in need of healing. We have made dichotomies out of things which are non-dichotomous. States are not red or blue, they are red, white, and blue. We live in a republic, so we are all republican. But we live in a republic that strives for democracy, so we are all democratic, too. 'Conservative' represents an ideal that the government should not limit the 'liberties' of persons any more than necessary. 'Liberal' means precisely the same thing – it means that 'liberty' and 'freedom' are important values and ideals. Why have we allowed the media to dichotomize these principles? Why do we continue to allow it? We need to heal these memories.

De Las Casas represents both a healing memory and a memory in need of healing. As a person of Native American descent, De las Casas represents the person who stopped the ravaging and dehumanizaition of Native American persons. This is a healing memory. Unfortunately, De las Casas also represents the beginning of the capture, enslavement, and illegal
emigration (as opposed to illegal immigration) of Africans. This is a memory in need of healing.

I invite anyone who might read this to respond with a memory of your own – either a healing memory or a memory in need of healing, or both. This can be something personal or something global or something in between. If we do not identify the memories that are in need of healing, then how can we heal them? When we do identify them, one way we can heal them is by remembering memories which are healing. We need both.

Kali

2007-06-16T07:32:00.000+05:30

In her last post, Elizabeth mentioned our new addition to the family - a little kitten named Kali. Just after she posted that blog, however, Kali got very sick. Her first day here, just 4 weeks old, she ate all day and was happy & healthy. After that, though, she stopped eating and drinking. After 5 days, we knew that she couldn't survive much longer, so we took her back to her mother in hopes that she would eat from her. It took a few more days, but eventually she did start to eat and has made a full recovery, though she may always be rather small as a result. Now she keeps a full belly and is happier than ever and back home with us. The nursury where we got her had three other kittens returned with the same problem, and they quickly deduced what had happened. All of the kittens had eaten full meals the first day - and all of them had eaten Whiskas kitten food. They learned that when the news broke in the US that the cat food had been tainted, the cat food companies shipped all the tainted food to India. That's right, even though they KNEW the food was tainted and poisonous, they decided that it was better to ship the food to India and salvage some profits rather than throw the food out. Kali is now eating a locally made cat food and is doing great, but I am just astounded that a company could do something like that! Besides all else, it seems like a pretty stupid long-term business plan for a cat food company to knowingly poison all its customers!

History Unfolding

2007-05-30T09:42:00.001+05:30

For the past few years, I have become increasingly fascinated with news on Hugo Chavez. I have always been a little bit of a history buff. I suppose I get that from my father, who is even considering retiring after an impressive career as a doctor to go back to college and study history. As a philosopher and theologian, I suppose I have been most interested in Roman history, particularly the rise of the Roman Empire and the demise of the Roman Republic. Elizabeth and I were both quite disappointed when HBO-BBC cancelled its series, 'Rome'. I suppose part of my fascination comes from John's book of Revelation, which details the Christian experience of the early Roman Empire. One of my professors at Drew, Dr. Catherine Keller, has written extensively about the rise of the US Empire over the last 50 years and a number of other professors there have written about neo-colonialism and economic hegemony.

I think all of these have fostered my utter fascination with Hugo Chavez. One big reason is that I, myself, was once an avid supporter of Chavez. Here is a man who united a nation and won re-election in a huge landslide, taking over 70% of the vote. He united the people because he fought corruption in the Venezuelan government. Prior to Chavez's reforms, most of the Venezuelan oil revenues went to make a Venezuelan aristocracy increasingly rich, while most of the country suffered impoverishment. Chavez nationalized oil and used the funds to build schools, infrastructure, and create opportunities for everyone in the country. Undoubtedly, the 30% that did not vote for his re-election were mostly the wealthy who found themselves having to work for a living. Chavez also nationalized public services, such as communications, roads, and health-care, making these services a right instead of a privilege. He has freed Venezuela from dependence on foreign subsidies and foreign aid and is helping to liberate neighboring states from these neo-colonial dependencies.

Because of his remarkable success and overwhelming popularity, the legislature decreed emergency powers to him on Jan. 31, 2007 so that he could continue to nationalize services and stamp out corruption. That was the moment when my support for him began to waver and soon thereafter, falter completely. The Venezuelan legislature basically renounced all of its power and gave it to President Chavez. He no longer needs congressional approval to negotiate trade deals, nationalize services, or even reshape the government. For all intents and purposes, the legislature brought an end to the Venezuelan republic and created a dictatorship. Unlike Julius Caesar, Chavez did not need to march across the Rubicon with the Praetorian Guard.

Yesterday, Chavez forced the closure of Venezuela's most popular TV channel, RCTV, denouncing the 53-year-old station as a "permanent attack on public morals." During his announcement of the closure, he said, "Sound the alarm in the hills, neighborhoods and towns to defend our revolution from this new fascist attack." Which attack would that be, exactly? Who, precisely, is the fascist?

A 'republic' requires checks-and-balances. The primary check comes from a balance of power shared by the legislature and executive. When the Venezuelan legislature renounced its power, they renounced that check-and-balance. A second major check is the freedom of the media. Whenever the president (any president) makes a statement, the media has the responsibility of investigating and telling us whether that statement is true, false, or (more typically) some mixture of the two. This is not the first media outlet that Chavez has closed, and if we read between the lines of his statement, it is not likely to be the last. He referred to Globovision, another Venezuelan TV station, as "enemies of the homeland," indicating his intention of closing that station, too. But what can be done? The legislature no longer has any power to stop him – they renounced that power!

We are watching history unfolding. We have seen a noble, well-intentioned (apparently, at least) liberator of the people and opponent of corruption turn a republic into a dictatorship – not by the force of arms, but by the force of popular support. But now that he has all of this power, public support is no longer necessary. There is no legal solution, even if the people of Venezuela decide that they need one. Venezuela is far from an Empire, but I think a case could be made that Chavez's efforts to 'liberate' neighboring states from US/World Bank dependence could easily turn into a dependence on Venezuela. It is not an end to neo-colonialism, it is merely a shift from one empire to another!

Over the last 30 years, and primarily during the Reagan administration, the US Congress has slowly passed more and more power to the Presidency. The leaders of both parties have consistently done this. Clinton secured fast-track trade powers and even a line-item veto (fortunately, that power expired). GW Bush has invented an entirely new Presidential power with his so-called 'signing statements', not to mention the Congressionally approved Patriot Act. The tenth amendment (states' rights) has slowly been sapped of all of its power, mostly through the use of Eisenhower's Highway funds act. Article One, Section Eight of the Constitution says "Congress shall have the power to... declare War," but Congress has not actually declared war since June 5, 1942. This Constitutional provision has basically lost all of its power as a check-and-balance of Presidential power. Why is it that Congress is not pursuing its investigation of the federal prosecutor appointments in anything other than a political/superficial way? Isn't it because the Democrats fully intend to repeat the practice when they enter the executive?

Where is all of this leading? What are the logical conclusions that must come from this? Perhaps most importantly, what, if anything, can be done about it? Do most US Americans (or most Venezuelan Americans, for that matter) actually understand the difference between a "Republic", a "Democracy", and an "Empire"? Can we see any parallel at all between Blackwater USA, and the Praetorian Guard? If the degradation of congressional and judicial powers continues, would there even be a need to "cross the Potomac"? Can we see any parallel between Julius Ceasar's cry to 'free the slaves' and the current push for immigration reform? If there is no appreciable difference between the two parties, then does the alternation of the executive make any difference at all? In his state-of-the-union speech, Bush declared the state of our union to be stronger than ever. That may be, but what of the state of our freedom and liberty? What of the state of our republic?

Sorry, I know I said my next post would be more casual. I guess I've been working too hard lately. J

We'd like to introduce you

2007-05-22T21:01:00.000+05:30

Well, most of my posts have a tendency towards the serious, with many an attempt at profundity. Not today kids! Brad and I, in our desperate need to adopt all of the animals of the world, have gotten ourselves a kitten. We've named her Kali. She's three and half weeks old and is already a bundle of fun. Her new favorite place to sleep is behind the books on my desk shelf.

And yes, we're bringing her home with us next year. Morgan and Stanley will be miffed that they once again have to share us with someone who is younger and livelier.

Kali in her bed, playing with Brad. She's smaller than his hand!

She likes to sit and play in her litter box. It's a little gross, actually.

This is our girl Morgan. She's living with Brad's sister and
is waiting anxiously for us to return to her, I'm sure!!!

This is Stanley. She's chunky and is much better fed by Brad's
mother than she ever was by the two of us.
I'm sure that she'll be sad to leave the
"House of Perpetual Food and Constant Attention"!

Can consumerism be a good thing??

2007-05-13T20:24:00.000+05:30

Yesterday afternoon, I ran errands in town. Both of our watches needed mending, Brad was running out of notebooks and I needed a day planner. This took me, among other places, to Garuda Mall, one of the largest shopping centers here in Bangalore. Across from the mall is another smaller shopping center and when I pulled up on my scooter to the mall, I noticed a new shop had opened. MAC.

For those of you who don’t know, MAC is a cosmetics company. They have fantastic products and were a staple of my New York existence. Those of you who know me know that I am not big on wearing make up, however when I buy it, I tend to opt for MAC. They have more colors than we could have ever imagined on our own and the make up tends to wear really well.

Just the sheer familiarity of it drew me into the store. I walked around, bopping to the music playing on my iPod and touching EVERYTHING. It was great. The colors were a veritable rainbow splashed across a shimmering palette. The cosmetic brushes were standing proudly, waiting for an artist to come along and paint a beauty never before seen. My smile was tracing from one ear to the other and I felt comforted just being there.

A similar experience happened when I went to Bangkok in March to take my GRE. I had a lot of time to kill while I was there and spent most of it meandering through Bangkok’s shopping district. If New Jersey is the land of strip malls, Bangkok is the land of megamalls. It was one Mall of America after another, stretching on for blocks and blocks. I wandered through the shops, dropping in on the stores that I always loved window-shopping in: Coach, Gucci, Prada. You name it, they had it.

As I wandered through the malls in Bangkok, I stumbled upon the store I miss the most. I wandered in and breathed in the joy that it gave to me. Up and down the aisles, my hands strayed to touch things that I could never find here in India. Up one row, down the next, I finally found myself frozen and unable to move any further without making a selection of the most important items they had to offer. In front of me, a wall of spices teased me into the remembrance of home. Ground nutmeg, tri-colored peppercorns, white pepper, lemon and garlic seasoning, it went on and on. While India is one of the spice capitals of the world, there is a dearth of options at the store outside of those that the average Indian uses in their daily cuisine.

Before finding myself in the nicest grocery store I’d been in for the past 9 months, I felt like a horrible individual. Walking through the stores, I found myself craving my life in New York and the job I once had there that made shopping in some of those stores a possibility. My hands reached out and touched clothes, shoes, books…you name it, I fondled it. But the grocery store made me realize that what I miss is the familiarity of shopping. I spent 27 years with one type of shopping system. One set of rules governing the products that I saw. When I came here, the rules changed and therefore so did the shopping. There is no shame is wanting, craving, the familiar. The brick of Parmesan cheese that was a staple in our house back home. The bricks of chocolate that made baking easier. An oven to bake it. Row upon row of tank tops in every style imaginable in a society where I feel comfortable bearing my shoulders. I miss these things and I look forward to seeing them again. But now, in Bangalore, there is the power of New York in a MAC store where I can always go to remind myself a little bit of home.

The Scandal of the World Bank - Updated

2007-05-08T10:47:00.001+05:30

This blog may not be about what you think it is, if you have been following the news.

Many 'citizens' of the US are not very aware of the World Bank and International Monetary Fund. The average person in the US, in my experience, does not know much about these organizations at all. To most people in the US, the letters 'IMF' refer to a series of movies starring Tom Cruise and the 'WB' is where to tune in for replays of 'Saved by the Bell'. This is, I think, because most people in the US are not directly affected (or so they think) by the WB and IMF. I wouldn't be surprised if most people in the US asked "what is the World Bank?" when the news began to break that Paul Wolfowitz had promoted his girlfriend and gave her a nice fat salary. Even more scandalous than Wolfowitz's behavior is the fact that most people (in the US) did not even know, before the scandal, that Wolfowitz was the chief of the WB, and even fewer questioned his credentials in that post or his agenda there.

To many people outside of the US, and especially in places like Africa and India, the WB and IMF are quite prominent aspects of their lives. Hugo Chavez, in fact, has taken it as his mission to 'liberate' Latin American countries from the grips of these groups. (My feelings on Chavez are ambivalent, at best, but shouldn't we at least ask why it is that this is so important to him and his constituents?) My intention here is not to educate whomever might come to read this blog on the activities of these organizations – rather, only bring them to light and encourage some level of interest in what they do and don't do. I also don't want to paint a monolithic picture of these groups as inherently evil or without good intentions, as Chavez has done – and especially not to portray them as without great possibility to change the world. Actually, I truly believe (some would say I am foolishly optimistic), that if more US Americans took an interest in these organizations, there might be hope to reduce the rampant corruption, manipulation, strong-arming, and cultural imperialism so prevalent in these groups today – and perhaps even improve the lives of the world's most desperately poor. US corporations and special interest groups give millions of dollars to US political campaigns (of both parties!), and one of their primary concerns is the selection of bureaucrats to head the WB, IMF, and participate in the WTO and UN. The fact that most people in the US couldn't care less about whom is selected is one of the greatest joys of these political contributors. It means that someone like Paul Wolfowitz can get appointed, and really no one in the US cares or is even aware of it.

Those who know me, know that I am a true believer in free-market exchange and free-development. These organizations pose as protectors and securers of free-markets, but what they say and what they do couldn't be further divided. They epitomize neo-colonialism and cultural imperialism. I would be very interested to hear/read someone who tries to make a case otherwise.

I am also a true believer in free-speech. I believe that corruption cannot withstand the bright and shining light of public awareness and scrutiny. This is precisely my point with this blog – to simply generate a little bit of concern over these organizations and encourage people to care about them a little bit. The true scandal of the World Bank is not Wolfowitz' form of nepotism, and not even the corruption so pervasive in its form of neo-colonialism… the true scandal of the World Bank is that most people in the world's wealthiest and most powerful nation neither know nor care.

I promise my next blog will be a little more light-hearted!

Addendum:

When I asked her what she thought of this blog entry, Elizabeth was kind enough to be honest and let me know what she thought was missing… namely, a point. I think she is right, so I want to elaborate a little and hopefully spark some discussion from those who agree or disagree.

Basically, my point is that people in the US don’t know or care much about the World Bank. But why should we care?

Well, the aims of the World Bank are to alleviate extreme poverty in the world and to provide much needed capital to developing markets. These are both wonderful aims. However, much of the funding is given to governments of developing nations in the form of loans and grants. Obviously, the people who decide whom receives this money are in a position of great power to set the terms necessary to receive the money. This is precisely the reason that we should care who runs the group and how they run it – that is, assuming that we care about alleviating extreme poverty and developing poor economies. The World Bank, for example, has given considerable funding to the government of the Sudan, but much of this money has been used by the government to fund genocidal efforts in Darfur. Of course, the decision by the WB/IMF to fund these terrorists (can there be another name?), has nothing to do with the massive oil reserves in Southern Sudan. Sudan sells its oil to China. It’s not as if the US & European ministers who run these self-less organization think that they can convince the new regime to sell oil to them just by bribing them with a few billion dollars – that would be immoral. Why is it, then, that they continue to fund them?

On smaller scales, loans have been given to create clean water resources in small villages throughout Africa. This is a good thing, but more often than not, these resources have been set up as private enterprises which charge local residents to use the water – not exactly a means to alleviate poverty! When I visited Ghana, I visited a few farms where the World Bank and IMF have provided low-interest or interest-free loans to farmers to buy fertilizers and pesticides. Environmental concerns aside, most of these loans were given with stipulations regarding the crops to be grown – usually coffee, cocoa, cotton, etc. In order to receive the funding, many farmers stopped growing essential crops for the residents of Ghana and started growing cocoa and other crops for export to the US. The farmers benefited (at least in the short-run, until the over-supply of these goods caused market prices to plummet), and the US markets benefitted in the form of cheaper chocolate & coffee, but the residents of Ghana and other West African countries have suffered as a result of higher food costs and not enough food to go around. Even many of the farmers starve to death – finding cotton somewhat unpalatable. As a further result, exports of US crops (especially corn & wheat, both of which are heavily subsidized by the US government) have increased to Ghana and other countries.

Now, as a firm believer in Smithian economics and free-trade, I ask – how are such manipulations ‘free’ or ‘fair’? Many defenders of the WB & IMF say that the US and other member countries have every right to place stipulations on the financing that the offer. Well, of course they do! But they can’t, then, say that they are promoting free-trade! It has to be one or the other. They say one thing, and then do the opposite. But why not? Who is calling them to task? You? Me?

As for Wolfowitz – how does the former Deputy Secretary of US Defense get appointed as President of the World Bank? Are there really that few economists that we can’t spare a single one to alleviate poverty and promote free & fair trade on the global stage?

OK, my rant is over. Although somewhat more ‘pointed’, I hope the ‘point’ is also more clear.

Holi

2007-05-01T10:16:00.000+05:30

Last month, India celebrated the festival "Holi". This is primarily a Northern Indian festival, but it has become a national holiday over the last 10-20 years. "Holi" is basically a Springtime festival, celebrating the return of colors and warmth and fun. The first night, there are different rituals and singing and eating and dancing - At our apartment complex they were all very nicely dressed and rather formal. The children sang songs for the adults and there was a formal catered meal and socializing in the party hall. The next day, however, is completely different. Most people wear all-white clothes and some people where the same clothes that they wore the previous year for Holi. Many people (kids and adults of all ages) carry around colors... colors means powdered dye - just powdered colors - and they throw colors on one another. At our complex, there was a big color party out in the courtyard and people even brought super-soaker water guns filled with colored water. Other people had buckets or just piles of dry color. Unfortunately, I missed the excitement because I had a Sanskrit lesson, but driving accross town I saw people all over the city dousing one another on the streets with color, having a great time. I saw men and women riding motorcycles down the street - as if everything were normal, but they were completely covered from head to toe with every possible color! When I got home, Elizabeth met me at the door with a big smile on her face - and big red marks on her cheeks and forehead. She explained that our chief of security, Sanjay, had knocked at the door and she opened it to find him covered all over with colors and a huge ear-to-ear grin - and one hand behind his back! She said that he asked about me, hoping to get us both. When he found out I wasn't home, he got Elizabeth with some red colored dye on her cheeks and forehead and warned that he'd be back when I got home. We vowed that next year we would be involved in all the functions - the party the night before and the festival of color, too. This year, though, Elizabeth got some great snapshots of Holi from the balcony of our apartment - and one of herself, too :) (click the photos to see them more clearly - especially the one right below)

Homesickness

2007-04-23T12:06:00.000+05:30

As long as I’ve been able to think, I’ve been one to dream. I’m sure my parents could regale you with stories of the games I’d make up and the tales that would come dancing out of my head. I think that’s part of the reason I was so attracted to acting; it was a way to live other lives without having to give up my own. Alternative universes hold a taunting attraction to me.

With that in mind, it should come as no surprise to anyone that I had a litany of daydreams before moving to India. It had been a longstanding dream of mine to live in a foreign country, with all it entails. I can’t pinpoint a specific fantasy that I had, but they were sweeping and grand, filled with tame adventure and lush romance. Not of the sexual kind, but emotional romance. I was going to fall in love with this new home of mine and it was going to fall in love with me.

Seven months in and I can say that the daydreams are far from the reality we’re facing. Life here is a constant struggle for both of us. A struggle to be understood, to shed our American-born instincts and prejudices. We spend a great deal of our time venting to each other about petty things that happened. A woman in line pushed me to do her best to shove me out of her way. A man in an auto almost ran me off the road because he didn’t want to wait for me to pass. We have yet to make any friends of any kind. We’re too new, too different. Instead of wanting to be our friends, people would rather study us and watch us, like animals in a zoo. So my best friend has been promoted to sole friend, for all intents and purposes. Not that I’ve forgotten about everyone back home. In fact, I probably spend more time thinking about everyone than I ever did when we lived closer to each other. But with 14 months looming in the future, you all seem so damned far away as to be surreal. I’m not quite convinced that the world we left still exists.

This past week, we both went through a real bout of homesickness, which inevitably led to discussions about the possibility of visiting. Our friend Ali, who visited for two weeks and left last Saturday, brought me crashing back to reality when she told me that her visit home had increased her homesickness when she got back to Japan. That tidbit, mixed with a bank account that is perpetually decreasing, convinced us that we should only go home if it were a complete crisis of homesickness (barring true family emergencies, of course) and only after we’ve passed our halfway point in this journey. Because going home now means returning to fourteen more months and the knowledge that I only made it through the first seven before I had to run back home.

I don’t mean to be a big downer and I don’t want anyone to think that we regret our decision to move here. I think we’re both more and more certain that we’ve done the right thing. We like challenging and pushing ourselves into uncomfortable situations. But with all of this in mind, we have a request. We know that the people who read this blog think of us and not just when you read the blog. We know that there are scores (okay, maybe just dozens) of people who truly care for us. So this is the favor we ask of you. When you think of us, either of us, just let us know. It doesn’t need to be a dramatic, pages long e-mail. Just one line to say that we’re still there even while we’re here. And when you read the blog, let us know that you did. Even if we don’t know you. (Yes, that means you, whomever you are in Australia reading this. We want to know you too!!!!) It helps us feel just a little more connected and therefore a little less lonely.

My Indian Interview

2007-04-17T22:05:00.000+05:30

I was asked by my academic adviser at Drew to write an article for our semesterly newsletter, The Dilated Times. I thought it would be fun to share. Enjoy!

I had been told there would only be three or four professors in the room with me. I was therefore surprised to walk into a room with nine people in it. I had thought that my admissions interview would be a casual affair, but the two girls who had been waiting outside of the room with me worked me into a bit of a tizzy before I was called in.

When the PI in my lab at NCBS offered me a chance to get a masters in research, I accepted with eagerness. My husband and I moved here to India for his education, but if I could walk away with a degree as well, it would be two years well spent.

NCBS, or the National Centre for Biological Sciences, is a research institution in Bangalore, India that operates under the auspices of the Tata Foundation and in affiliation with the Indian Institute of Sciences. I started in a lab there through my REU connections at Princeton. Mukund, the PI, was a great help, opening his lab to me and doing his best to help me feel at home here in Bangalore. After a few months of driving to work everyday, Mukund approached me with an idea that he’d come up with to make my time in India more productive. NCBS has a masters option for people that they deem to be very worthy of a place there. The admissions committee didn’t want my transcript, only two or three references. The hurdle I had to overcome was the interview.

Now, in the US, an interview is not so much about demonstrating one’s ability as allowing both sides to get to know each other a little bit. Goals are discussed. Perhaps a gap in one’s education or experience is brought up, but the main focus is on personality. So I was a bit surprised when I was asked to walk to the board a few minutes into the interview. It turns out that, in India, an interview is closer to an oral exam.

To the credit of the guys in my lab, they did their best to prepare me. They let me know their experiences: Sugat had been terribly nervous, Vivek had tried once already to get into the Ph.D. program but hadn’t gotten past the interview. There was one guy who had been grilled for two hours on the finer points of physics. Mukund told me not to worry about it, that I would just be asked basic questions.

So I stood at the board in front of nine Indian professors, a little concerned about the language barrier and clutching at the dry erase marker that I’d been given. I wanted to be impressive for so many reasons. I felt I was representing Mukund and the US and women and Drew University and Dr. F. and on and on. They asked me what my focus was within physics. I went with optics as I’d not only taken a class in it but had also worked in Dr. McGee’s lab for a year and a half. The questions came at me and I choked. There’s no way around it. I choked. It was dreadful. It was like the dream where you show up to class naked. They took their time and were patient with me, but my fears and lack of preparation shined through.

When I thought it couldn’t possibly go on any longer, they began with questions about biology. How do you measure the volume of a cell with a microscope? I’d been warned about questions like this. How do you find the percentage of a body’s mass that is taken up by the blood? Experimental questions that, had I taken extensive biology classes, I still may not know. By this point, I was so defeated that I didn’t even attempt to come up with an answer.

Certainly, now, now it must be over. But there was one set of questions left to be answered. Ten quick queries to test…well, I’m not certain what it was meant to test. Plot x^2 + y^2 = 4. What is 38 written in Base 17? I did my best to make it through and then stumbled out the door.

Putting aside my frightful display, it’s interesting to note the difference between a higher institution in the US and its equal in India. While Ph.D. programs in the US are competitive it is nothing compared to the system here in India. With 1.1 billion people living here, according to the CIA factbook, and only a handful of government-approved institutions for higher learning, there is a logjam when it comes to applications. Schools have to be demanding of their applicants.

In order to get into any major engineering or science institution, the student must apply to take an entrance exam that is administered by the institution itself. This severely limits the number of schools that a person can apply to, as each has their own exam. And the exams are known to be tremendously difficult. One recent exam at one of the most competitive schools had the following question: A bear is sitting on a shelf and falls 10m. If it takes 1 sec to fall, what is the color of the bear?*

The top scores, perhaps 30 percent, are then invited to submit another application that includes an essay. From this batch, 5-10% are brought in for interviews. With as many as 3,000 people applying for 10-12 spots, the competition is fierce and the universities have come up with the best methods they can in order to narrow the field down. I couldn’t help but ask myself: if we used the same system in the US, would I even have a physics degree?
To be fair, there is a lot of talk within the Indian academic community about the need for more schools. And there was recently an article in the New York Times discussing how American universities are extending their institutions to the Indian subcontinent, through both the internet and affiliations, in order to offer alternatives to a system that is lacking. They need more schools here. But I couldn’t help wondering.

Unfortunately, things did not work out for me at NCBS. Between visa problems and my debacle of an interview I was not able to enroll. I was invited by one of the professors to try again in six months, but by that time it will be too late to complete the program in time for our departure from India. I have instead applied to Georgia Tech to complete a masters of science in medical physics, which they administer as a distance learning course. My departure from NCBS is equal parts embarrassment from my poor performance and a desire to study something that will directly contribute to my future goals. Fortunately, Georgia Tech won’t ask me to fly to Atlanta for an interview with nine of their most challenging professors!

*The answer is white. I made up these numbers for demonstration. You’re meant to solve for acceleration, make note that it is larger than the accepted value, realize that the accepted value is taken closer to the equator, reason that farther away from the equator one travels the stronger gravity is and deduce that only polar bears live at the poles. Congratulations to those who got it.

The Peace Trust and UCC

2007-04-15T19:43:00.001+05:30

Just a few hours before Palm Sunday began, Elizabeth, myself, and our friend Alison (Ali), arrived in Kanyakumari, which is the southern-most tip of India. It is a beautiful place where three seas converge – the Bay of Bengal to the East, the Arabian Sea to the West, and the Indian Ocean to the South. Because of our relationship with Rev. Wesley Ariarajah at Drew Theological School in New Jersey, we were invited to stay at an institution called The Peace Trust. On the Monday following Palm Sunday, we were privileged to meet with the founder and director of the Peace Trust, Rev. Dr. Gnana Robinson, who was a one-time classmate of Rev. Ariarajah's in Bangalore.

Just prior to our meeting with him, we sat in on an orientation meeting that he was directing. This was an orientation of about 200 students (all young women) who were beginning a program at the Peace Trust. This vocational training curriculum for women is a part of the Tsunami Relief and Rehabilitation program organized by the Peace Trust. In the small town of Kanyakumari, 772 men, women, and children lost their lives in the Tsunami of 2004, not to mention all of the families who lost all their possessions. This program at the Peace Trust provides free food, housing, and vocational training in culturally specific trades, such as candle making, arts and crafts, or other pragmatic trades that provide means for women to financially support themselves and their families while also meeting the needs of their communities.

We were very proud to learn that this Tsunami Relief vocational program for women is almost entirely funded by Global Ministries, a mission of the United Church of Christ and the Disciples of Christ. The UCC/DC committed to support the program for three years, beginning just after the Tsunami in December 2004. The program has been a tremendous success and I would encourage the UCC to continue their financial support beyond the three-year commitment, perhaps committing to an additional three years.

The Tsunami Relief vocational program is only one of many programs at the Peace Trust. Their primary goal is inter-religious dialogue and peacemaking (Mathew 5:9). I asked Rev. Dr. Robinson what we could do to support the Peace Trust. He handed us a form that contains a ten-fold covenant. I am going to type the covenant below and I encourage you all to read it. You can easily make this covenant on your own in your daily life. Each aspect of the covenant is based in scriptural passages which I will place in parentheses. If you see fit to make a contribution, either as an individual or as an institution, please contact me or send your contribution as a money order to:

The Convener, The Prophetic Forum for the Life and Witness of the Churches in India (PFLWCI)

Peace Trust Kanyakumari
Anjukootuvilai Road
Kanyakumari, TamilNadu 629-702
India

If you wish, you may include this signed covenant and mention that you learned of the Peace Trust through us, but that is not necessary. This is a wonderful, wonderful mission that is truly enacting this mission of the Kingdom of God and it would be an excellent organization for you or your church family to support as you see fit.

I will prayerfully try to discern the Will of God in every given situation and obey the Will of God, whatever the cost may be (Luke 22:42; John 4:34, 5:30, 6:38ff, 7:17, 9:31; Matthew 7:21, 12:50; Mark 3:35)
I know the Will of God is always to do Good and to save life (Deu 30:15; Jer 21:8; Mark 3:1-4, 2:27)
I acknowledge that the purpose of God becoming human in Jesus is to give holistic life to all humans irrespective of caste, race, creed, color, and gender. This, I believe, is the Good News (Gospel) to the poor. I commit myself to proclaim and practice this Gospel. (Luke 4:18-19; John 3:16, 17:2)
The Church, as such, is a "Called Out Community" sent back into the world with a mission to give fullness of life to all people. I, therefore, acknowledge that the mission of the Church is primarily to those to whom "fullness of life" is denied – the poor, the marginalized, the exploited, the down-trodden, the refugees, the Dalits and the oppressed. I, therefore commit myself. (1 Peter 2:9; John 17:18)
Not to indulge in any activity that will bring harm to others, even to those who do harm to me, and to abstain from personalized politics (Hosea 11:9; Matthew 18:22; luke 15:11-24, 22:34; Colossians 3:12-13)
Not to compromise with any evil, even if it should mean cross for me (Matthew 4:1-11, Mark 10:43-45; Romans 12:2)
Not to succumb to the temptations of personal gains, however attractive they may be (Luke 14:33; Mark 8:34)
Not to remain silent in the face of gross injustice happening before me, but to break my silence and to protest against injustice that threatens the lives of the people (2 Samuel 12:7-9; 1 Kings 21:20; Amos 3:8; Jer 20:9; Mark 11:17; and many, many others)
To be in solidarity with all the victims of injustice and to join in their struggle for liberation and in their search for wholesome human life (Mark 2:15-16, 17; Matthew 9:10-11; Luke 5:29-30)
To be faithful to the One who called me until the end of my life. (2 Timothy 4:7; 1 Cor 1:9, 10:12; James 1-2)

Pragmatic Philosophy for Easter

2007-04-06T16:14:00.000+05:30

Anyone who has made any effort to read and digest philosophy, whether it is the Holy Scriptures, Theology, or any other kind of philosophical thought will agree that philosophy is usually challenging. I have also heard many people (friends, family, fellow students, strangers) argue that philosophy is impractical. They often argue that philosophy and theology are simply academic exercises where scholars gather and argue of things that have no bearing upon daily life. Some even argue that philosophers and theologians should devote their lives to something of greater substance that affects the daily lives of people in need. I want to try, as best as I can in a brief blog entry, to respond to claims such as these.

Science, as it is generally understood, is usually concerned with the questions “how?” or “what?” For example, “What is cancer?” or “How does cancer reproduce?” Both of these questions are steps taken to eventually answer the question, “How can we cure cancer or alleviate the suffering that it causes?” When scientists ask questions such as these, no one inquires as to whether or not these questions are pragmatic because the practical application of these questions are very obvious and there is clearly a great need to answer these questions. Since I lost both grandmothers to cancer and since my niece has been diagnosed with leukemia, the pragmatism of these endeavors is all the more evident.

Philosophy (which includes theology), is nearly always concerned with the questions “Why?” or “what is the meaning of ___?” For example, a theologian may ask, “If God is wholly Good, all powerful, and all knowing, then why does cancer exist? Why do bad things happen to good people? If God is omni-present, then where does evil exist and why?” To some, the answer seems clear. They would say that God gave humans free will and because humans are not perfect, they sometimes choose sin over righteousness. This, however, doesn’t seem to explain cancer. Also, it would lead us to ask, “if heaven exists and if humans have free will in heaven, then is there sin and suffering in heaven? If we say that humans in heaven have free will, but always choose righteousness and never choose sin, then we are back to our first question again – why didn’t God create heaven in the first place – where humans have free will but always choose righteousness?”

Critics might dismiss these questions and say that there is no answer – or at least that we are incapable of understanding the answers. I agree with that. However, just because they are unanswerable does not mean that there are not very practical, pragmatic reasons to try, as best as we are able, to understand these questions better.

The reason, as I see it, is that because we have free will, we have a responsibility to try and choose what is right, as best as we can. We usually make decisions based on what we believe to be true. But belief is all about “why?”. For example, a scientist tries to cure cancer because he/she believes that all humans should have the very best chance to experience the fullness of life with as little suffering as possible. People in our society find it shocking and even upsetting if someone ever asks the question “Why should we cure cancer?”

Many questions are exactly the same as this question, but many people seem to ignore the questions altogether. For example, “why do we live in a world where food is abundant, but 44,000 people every single day die of starvation?” “Why is it that we value the human life of those in our own country more than the lives of humans in other parts of the world?” “Why do many Christians celebrate the sacrifice of Jesus but seem reluctant to honor that sacrifice by sacrificing for the sake of others?”

We don’t ask the question “why should we cure cancer” because we already know the answer – the answer is because all people deserve fullness of life that is as free as possible from suffering. Because we know the answer, we jump straight to science and ask scientists to tell us “what is cancer?” and “How can we cure it?” Philosophers and Theologians want us to approach other questions in a similar fashion. For example, once we answer the question, “why do we live in a world where food is abundant, but 44,000 people every single day die of starvation?” then we SHOULD ask “what is wrong with our system of civilization?” and then ask “How do we find a cure for those problems?”

Allow me to elaborate with a brief example from our history.

There was a time, over four centuries ago, when the question was asked, “Are Native Americans human?” There were philosophers and theologians that argued on both sides of the question. For people of that time, the answer was not self-evident as it may be to us today. There was a legal council where both sides were argued and the King of Spain considered both sides of the question. A man named De las Casas argued that Native Americans were humans and must be treated as humans with the same basic human rights as Spaniards and other Europeans. The king sided with de las Casas and the enslavement of Native Americans came to an end. However, the very same man, de las Casas, and the very same King of Spain decided that Native Africans were not human. That marked the beginning of African slavery in North and South America. The Constitution of the United States declared that slaves were 3/5 human and 2/5 non-human. A philosopher by the name of Benjamin Franklin objected. He voted against the Constitution and refused to be considered as a candidate for President. He spent the rest of his life fighting for the abolition of slavery on the grounds that Africans were human and deserved the same basic human rights as non-African humans.

I hope that this history is not unfamiliar to people, particularly North and South Americans. However, I mention it here because I think it is an important demonstration of the practical use of philosophy. Philosophy and Theology are primarily concerned with questions like “What is a human person?” or “Why is one living thing called ‘human’ and another thing ‘non-human’?” Also, “Why do we hold some people to be more valuable than others? Should this be so? Why don’t we change this?”

Elizabeth, Ali, and I had a powerful and upsetting experience yesterday. We arrived in Pondicherry at the Sri Aurobindo Ashram. I will leave her to blog about that experience, but my blog is, in large part, a reaction to those experiences. Basically, Aurobindo was an Oxford-educated philosopher of the 20th Century who argued that each and every individual person is as valuable as any group of persons. To him, institutions, governments, and even religious groups often overlook that each person is unique and that diversity is every bit a part of our unity as our similarities. While we should always strive to work together to make the world a better place, where all people can experience the fullness of life free from as much suffering as possible, we must never forsake the fact that we have been Created by God as individual persons who are unique and valuable. For Aurobindo, it is not because we are the same that we should listen to one another and work together, it is because we are unique and special. There is a Western Philosopher, Wittgenstein, that made a similar statement. He said, “I am not less important than you. I am not more important than you. I am not equally as important as you. I am a unique and special person, and so are you.” Sri Aurobindo said that “our Unity is fulfilled in our diversity.”

Please forgive me for the length of this blog. I have tried to make my argument as brief as possible. As a philosopher and as a theologian, though, I deeply believe that philosophy and theology are very pragmatic/practical endeavors. In my humble opinion, we simply must ask “why do I value this person this way and that person another way? Why do I live my life the way that I do? Why does this person live her/his life the way that they do?” Ultimately, all of these questions are part and parcel of the ultimate philosophical/theological question: “Why am I here? What am I called to do? How should I live my life today, tomorrow, and everyday?” These are unanswerable questions, but this does not mean that we should not live every single day with these questions in mind. If our lives and our choices – our exercise of free-will – are not guided by our best attempts to answer these questions, then what is our life guided by? My philosophy and my theology leads me to the belief that everyday I must humbly bow before God and pray that I might discern my purpose. Every single day, I believe that God answers these questions. Many days, I am too wrapped up in the trivial comings-and-goings of life to recognize God’s answer – but even on those days, I believe that God has provided the answers. The reason I believe this because on those other days – the days that I am open and receptive to God’s discerning call, I am able to receive those answers. It is my belief that God provides these answers every day, regardless of whether or not we ask those questions. But when we prayerfully ask, we are more open and receptive to receive the answers.
Returning to my opening statement, philosophy and theology are challenging. Sometimes, they are challenging because we do not understand the questions. Other times, though, they are challenging because we do know the answers. In light of Easter Sunday, I invite you all to read Mark’s account of the empty tomb in Mark 16:1-8. We are told that Mary, Mary, and Salome “went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” As theologians, we all must ask, why were they afraid? Were they afraid because they did not understand? OR, were they afraid because they did understand? They had been told to go to Galilee. (Mark 16:7) Perhaps they were afraid because they knew that it was their turn (and our turn) to follow in the footsteps of Jesus and sacrifice for the sake of those who could not experience the fullness of life free from as much suffering as possible. Perhaps they remembered what Jesus said in Mark 8:34 “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Tomorrow

2007-03-22T18:42:00.000+05:30

Would that it were tomorrow, so that my friend would have arrived
Would that it were the fall, with my education solidified
Would that it were two years from now, so we’d know where we’ll live
Would that it were a decade hence, so I’d see all I’ll have to give
Would that I were a mother, so my children I would know
Would that I were a proper adult, with my own chateau
Would that I were 90, looking back on my life
Enjoying all the times I’ll live filled with joy and strife

Yet if it were tomorrow, I’d have missed tonight
And if it were the fall, I’d have seen no summer nights
If it were two years from now, India would no more be
And if it were a decade hence, there’d be less to see
If I were already mom, the anticipation would be gone
And if was all grown up, my life would be foregone
And if on death’s door I stood, waiting for the end
There’d be nothing else to look forward to, no more laughter or friends

Then I’ll dream about tomorrow, and fill it up with sun
I’ll dream about the time this fall and how the days will run
I’ll picture life two years from now, all the options in a range
I’ll fear about a decade hence and how much will have changed
I’ll wonder about motherhood and the family I will gain
I’ll postpone adulthood the best I can, and childlike will remain
And when death finally comes to knock upon my door
I’ll turn myself full on to him and soulfully implore

I wish it that it were yesterday, without responsibility or care!
I wish that I had one more fall, with crimson leaves in my hair!
I long for the time when my husband was studious and free
I beg that I can once again live out my destiny!
My children ask that you grant their mother one more chance
While my husband’s plea is that we have one final dance
Death! please let me press you for one more thing
Take me back to the beginning and let me do it again

Hope and Courage for Dialogue

2007-03-22T09:04:00.000+05:30

Even before I joined the United Church of Christ a few years ago, I admired Rev. Dr. Bernice Powell Jackson. When I heard her speech (or, better said, sermon) at the World Council of Churches Assembly last year, I was simply overwhelmed and immediately proud to be associated with both the World Council, of which she is a President, and the UCC, in which she is ordained.

This morning, as I read my daily scriptural passage emailed to me by Sojourner’s, I caught her name on a link. She gave a sermon a few nights ago on Romans 5. Whatever your political or religious leanings, I think you will find this sermon enlightening: http://www.beliefnet.com/blogs/godspolitics/2007/03/bernice-powell-jackson-hope-does-not.html

One issue which continues to trouble me is a pervasive lack of commitment among religious persons, politicians, and global leaders to simply sit down and dialogue. Rev. Jackson’s sermon is about hope, particularly hope in the face of suffering and struggle. I don’t believe that violence can lead to peace. I don’t believe that freedom and democracy can ensue from military force. I know that many people disagree with, and that is OK. Actually, that is what freedom and democracy is about, isn’t it?

But what I do not understand is a lack of commitment to dialogue. If we are truly committed to our own beliefs… if we truly believe in them and honestly feel that those are the right, ethical, moral, and just positions to hold, then doesn’t it also stand to reason that those positions that we hold so dear would always reveal themselves as truth in an open and honest dialogue?
Toward the end of her sermon, Rev. Jackson said, “Hope, for Christians, can never just be a word – it must become an action… a public commitment to follow Jesus in the non-violent struggle for justice and peace.” For me, this action and public commitment must begin (without end) with open dialogue and discussion. This requires courage, indeed, to subject our ideas and beliefs to criticism and argument, but this courage finds its endless source rooted in hope. In the words of St. Paul:

“We also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” (Romans 5:3-5, NRSV)

Fifteen Generations

2007-03-20T09:41:00.000+05:30

Yesterday was a holiday here in the state of Karnataka. Most of the holidays here are based on the lunar cycle, like Easter and Passover, so yesterday was a new moon, the beginning of the new year, and there also happened to be a solar eclipse yesterday morning - an auspicious day indeed!

Among the traditions which mark the beginning of the new year, there is a tradition to clean everything - sort of like "Spring Cleaning" in the US. Also, some sweet food is prepared. Shyla made us rice keer (rice pudding). Shymala, the wife of my Sanskrit guru, Suresh, prepared sweet pongal, which is a little similar to rice pudding. I went for a sanskrit lesson yesterday and I asked him about the holiday as we ate lunch. He told me that I should eat the sweet pongal first as a symbol of hope that the new year would be sweet and a reminder that we should first be sweet to others.

Then he said that they would be celebrating the new year again in two weeks. He said that Tamil Nadu (the state just east & south of us) begins their new year on the full moon. He explained that although his family has lived in Karnataka for centuries, 15 generations back, they came from Tamil Nadu, so they celebrate the holidays from both states.

It wasn't until later when I shared that story with Elizabeth that she pointed out just how long 15 generations is. In the Bible, of course, a generation is 40 years long, so 15 generations would be 600 years. For us, I think it is more like 25 years, which is 375 years.

Elizabeth can trace her family roots back to the Mayflower and before that to Germany. My father's family has only been in the US for a few generations (I think I am 5th or so) and before that to Ireland. My mother's father (Crockett), traces back to pre-revolutionary times. My mother's mother's family, though, is Cherokee and Chocktaw. That means that 15 generations ago, my ancestors were born in roughly the same exact place that I was born in - in upstate South Carolina.

I admire Suresh and his family not only for knowing their family history so well, but for continuing to hold on to old traditions as a means to hold on to his ancestral roots. If anyone is out there reading, I hope you will write a comment and maybe even tell us where your family was 15 generations ago and what, if any, traditions you hold onto.

I leave you with this, my own small tribute to my ancestry, although a bit of an anachronistic one. Here is a recording of The Lord's Prayer in Cherokee:
http://www.cherokee.org/extras/Downloads/Language/mp3/lords_prayer.mp3

Emotional Response

2007-02-19T08:19:00.000+05:30

This is a little embarrassing (and Elizabeth makes fun of me for it), but on three different occassions, as I was driving my motorcycle to school in the morning, I started to cry.

The first time, in fact, I almost had to pull over and stop driving. Just before I pulled over, though, I imagined the sight of a white man sitting on a motorcyle in the middle of a busy farmer's market in Bangalore crying... and that made me laugh... so I was able to keep going. What is interesting is that I have no way to explain what emotion I was having. I was not sad. I was not hurt. I was not happy. There isn't a word to describe the emotion. At the time, I was listening to the Democracy Now podcast on my iPod and they were playing a speech by Martin Luther King the night before he was killed (the famous and prophetic "I may not get there with you" speech). I became overwhelmed with a strange mixture of emotions... sadness, to be sure; awe; inspiration; urgency; frustration; anger; and even some joy, just to mention a few. My point is that language is simply inadequate to describe such emotions.

The second time, I was actually listening to a Norah Jones interview on the
NPR Shuffle podcast. She started telling the story of her time in the recording studio with Ray Charles when she was just 20 years old or something. For some reason, I started to cry again. What is interesting is that I was at exactly the same farmer's market as the last time (this was about a week later). Once again, I have no word to describe the emotion.

The third time, once again I was listening to an NPR podcast and driving through exactly the same farmer's market. This time it was a story about Barbaro, the racehorse who had just been euthanized. Again, I started to cry. The mixture of emotions this time certainly included sadness, but also frustration and many other emotions, which I may explore in another blog later. But my point here is that we, as human people, have so many countless emotions, and no real way to express those emotions in words. There is an ineffability to life; a mystery that we can never understand about what makes us who we are; what makes us vulnerable; what makes us, well, human.

So, for anyone out there who might read this blog, family or stranger, I invite you to respond (anonymously if you prefer), with descriptions of emotions that you might have experienced that we have no word to describe. In my last sermon in New Jersey, I shared a phrase by Rudolph Otto that happens to be my favorite and, I think, is fitting here. It is the Mysterium Tremendum... the Mystery of Experience which is at once tremendous and trembling... Terrible and Terrific. It is this mystery, I think, that makes us who we are.

To My Valentine...

2007-02-14T16:12:00.000+05:30

You are the light that wakes me in the morning
And the lullaby that caresses me to sleep at night.
You are the arms that keep me safe and warm
And the song that makes my heart dance.
To say I love you is to make light
Of the joy that you bring to my world.
Yet, nevertheless, these words
Are the best I can offer
In an attempt to explain
How you've changed my world.

I love you, my darling husband,
Elizabeth

Long Lapses

2007-02-12T10:51:00.000+05:30

It's just hit me how neglectful Brad and I have been of this blog and you, our loyal readers. There are quite a few reasons for this, which I won't get into as it'll just perpetuate the habit. Suffice to say, I'm going to try and get back into the swing of things. We have a lot happening in the next few months. I've changed gears a bit and I'm studying from home for another degree. Ali, a friend of mine from the physics program at Drew, is coming to visit in March for a few weeks. Brad finishes his first year in March also and then has a few months off before beginning again in June. He has a lot on his plate during that time, but we're hoping to meet up with our friends Josh and Megan as they begin their own South East Asia adventure. We'll hopefully see them in April or May. Then in August, they'll be coming through India and we'll have more adventures then.

We're only 15 months away from being back in the US! It's amazing how fast time flies when you stop paying attention! Let the blogging (re)begin!

A Great Article

2007-01-29T07:37:00.000+05:30

There is a wonderful article on BBCNews today regarding the effect of globalization in Bangalore. While Bangalore is growing at staggering rates, the development of the infrastructure isn't keeping pace. The article touches on that as well as just how big the IT boom is here. One thing to take note of is the shanty towns at all the building sites that they discuss. I'll try to take some pictures of what they mean. The people who build the fancy and expensive high rises can't afford rent here, so instead they live in tents made from tarps at the building sites. I see at least a dozen on my way to and from NCBS. It's really heartbreaking.

A few more pics

2007-01-24T19:17:00.000+05:30

OK, by a "few" I mean 392. All of them are from the diving portion of the trip and most of them are from under the water. However, most of them have labels and you can download the whole folder, if you have any interest in that. You can also view a slideshow of the pics.

OK, back to reading Aurobindo now... I am on page 672... only 428 pages left. :0

Thailand Liveaboard Pictures

Superiority Complex

2007-01-22T18:03:00.000+05:30

I’m sure it is obvious to many of you that I am Brad’s superior. Indeed, any interaction that you have with either of us will result in the quick conclusion that Brad became a fortunate man when he married the extraordinary girl that is, well, me. If there is a guru in the family, I am that guru with Brad as my indolent yet enthusiastic disciple.

If you fail to recognize the truth in this matter, you need look no further than the events that transpired recently. I went to Brad’s campus to meet him for lunch one day last week, at which point he handed me a letter, addressed to his Superior. (Exhibit A) Within the envelope was a letter that invited me to a celebration of all superiority at DVK, to take place this afternoon. In truth, the section of the letter regarding the intention of the entire community to honor and laud their superiors was in boldface font, clearly indicating that this was the ultimate desire of all involved. Please do take notice of the use of the phrase your reverence when referring to me in the first line of the third paragraph.

While I was not certain if I wanted to take advantage of this occasion, as I never am one to brag about my superiority, my feelings were swayed this very morning when Brad begged me to join him this afternoon. “Dear wife,” he proclaimed, “it would not be good of me to salute others when clearly you are the one who is most deserving of such an auspicious occasion.” Therefore, to please my husband’s need to exalt my very existence, we departed for the campus this afternoon.

When we got there, we were invited, by the Dean of the institution, to sit in a section for luminaries. We sat through a lovely series of speeches, songs and even some interpretive dance before gifts were bestowed upon each of the students' Superiors. While I did my best to remain modest and coy, I could not help but notice that there was thunderous applause when my name was proclaimed from the podium. Yes, the gentlemen and gentlewomen who attend classes there are clearly aware of how great I art. I gracefully ascended the platform and gathered a delightfully wrapped package into my hands.

The presentation of gifts went on for a few more minutes, after which we were given a small portion of light snack with a scrumptious serving of tea to accompany. The final remarks spoken, Brad and I mingled with the other guests, many of whom were quick to acknowledge how superior I am. Although one of Brad’s professors made the mistake of calling me his guardian, I quickly corrected his blunder, which he was gracious enough to admit.

When we arrived home, I opened my package to find a folio of the softest faux blue leather with the words “Philosophy Faculty Day” emblazoned across the cover. (Exhibit B) So if there is ever a doubt in this flat that we call a home regarding who should be praised, I will always have my gift to show Brad, demonstrating that the world at large concedes that I am, and forever will be, Brad’s Superior.

Exhibit A: A glorious invitation

Exhibit B: The gifted folio

Finally!

2007-01-22T12:27:00.000+05:30

So, after much aggrevation and a lot of fighting with winkflash, the pics are LOADED! WHEEEE! There are a lot of them (I think over 300) so feel free to peruse as many as you like. There are shots from all aspects of the trip: wandering through Bangkok, wandering by coral underwater, wandering around the boat. Truly, that's all we did for two weeks: wander.

I've included 31 of our favorites here. However, if you click this handy link, you can be awed and inspired by the rest.

Brad and Elizabeth's Thai Adventure Pics

And now, a preview:

With all of our gear, we couldn't quite fit in the picture.

A leopard shark. People came so close to it,
as you can see from the pic Brad took.

A manta ray. There are no words. We'll try,
but it's beyond intelligible language to describe.

On our way back to land after two weeks on a boat. I got
land sickness that night.

The man who made the trip: John.
He was the dive captainof the boat.

On the surface in the water.

The best product description I've ever seen.

Brad riding the undersea subway.

Brad and a manta ray.

Batfish. They were each 2 - 3 ft. across. And shimmery.

A blue spotted sting ray. We had a close call with one that
made us think we were going to have our own Steve Irwin-esque moment.

The dome of the Golden Temple with a stand
where people hang bells with prayers on them.

A ghost pipefish. While they aren't rare, they are very hard to
find as they are ~2cm in length. We were fortunate to see this one twice.
The amateur photographer from the Netherlands was jealous!

The galley where we ate and hung out between dives.

Elizabeth hanging on while being towed back to the ship.

A christmas tree. If you get too close, they close up.
This is very close up. They are 3-4cm in length.

A humphead parrotfish. As John said, a fish so ugly
that even its mother couldn't love it.

A hermit crab. Isn't he cute?

A thornback boxfish. They are VERY rare in the
region where we're diving. Tomas was very
impressed that I found it.

I found Nemo!!

A Jenkins Whiptail Ray. He was going through the
"carwash" getting a bath. (And yes, At the Carwash was
running through my head while watching him.)

Pearl eyed moray eel. They are very rare.

A praying mantis shrimp. They are very shy and hard
to spot. This one kept moving his tail closer to me,
like was going to strike me with it.

One of many sunrises.

Tiny little fleurs. They were maybe 10mm wide.

This is what pure joy looks like.

A sea urchin. They were so cool. I love the orb in the middle.

Tiny crabs. This is Brad's favorite pic from the trip. There
are three in the picture and the largest was 2-3cm.

Fleurs and bells at the Golden Temple in Bangkok.
I rang one of the bells and it was terribly loud.

Little shrimps. Anyone hungry??

Squid! They are so cool! They float along and are irridescent.

The balance of nature

2007-01-21T22:54:00.000+05:30

One of the most amazing fish that we saw on our diving trip was a scorpionfish. They are hard to spot, usually, because they lie still on the bottom and wait for an unsuspecting fish to swim by for them to eat. They are impressive because of their camouflage. You can see that well in this picture, but you have to look closely to see it:

However, we became most amazed at what nature has not blessed them with...

Brains.

Our First Hindu Wedding

2007-01-21T21:46:00.000+05:30

Elizabeth and I were invited to our first Hindu wedding, which was held this morning. The puja ceremonies began around 8:30am with the bride and the groom attending separate worship ceremonies. There were a number of traditional activities, including a time for the new inlaws to wash feet. Below, I put a few pictures, for those interested. Around 10:00am, the groom closed his eyes and was hidden by a cloth while the bride was escorted in with her eyes closed. Next, the bride and groom held hands and repeated some vows and some other ceremonial things. Then there were a few pictures, a greeting line, and then most people went downstairs to eat lunch while the family performed more rituals. Several folks were kind enough to sit and explain the meanings of most of the traditions to us. If you are curious, feel free to ask. Chances are, I won't know, but either someone else on the blog will know or I'll ask my guru. We had a great time and learned a lot and had some memorable experiences. The ceremonies were still going on when we left at 3:00pm. Most people had gone by that time to rest and get dressed for the reception. The attire for the wedding is pretty casual, but the reception is formal. Since we were both tired and had a lot to do, and since the reception hall is an hour drive from our flat, we've decided not to go back for the reception.
We'd love to hear from you, even if it is just a short "hi" so that we know someone is out there and thinking of us.

Edit by Elizabeth: Here is a picture of the lunch we were served. It was VERY TASTY! (Kathrin, this picture is totally for you, girl. It was all vegetarian cuisine.)

We are back!

2007-01-07T18:31:00.000+05:30

We have arrived safely and soundly in Bangalore. Can't say that we didn't both wish the plane would have kept going back to the US, but it is at least nice to be back to familiarity. I begin a new class tomorrow morning on "Heidegger's Concept of God" (sounds more like Theology to me than Philosophy, but we'll see).

While in the Similan Islands, Koh Bon, and Richeleu, I did 49 dives and Elizabeth did 45 dives. We took an average of about 70 pictures PER DIVE... that's in the neighborhood of 3,000 pictures, PLUS what we took on dry land. It will take a little time to sort through those and pick out the goodies, but we will absolutely post them when we get the time to do that... Some are quite good and we are excited to share. Reef Sharks, Leopard Sharks, sting rays, manta rays (wow... manta rays!), lion fish, moray eels, and ghost pipe fish (very cool), and lots more to see.

We are taking today to relax. We've spent nearly the entire day in bed watching TV and movies (we finally got to see the Survivor finale today... I'm crushed that Ozzie lost). Tomorrow Indian reality will be upon us once again.

We hope to hear about all of your holiday adventures, as well, and I promise we'll both tackle our correspondence soon, too!

Namaste, Brad

Merry Christmas Everyone!!

2006-12-20T19:00:00.000+05:30

Since we can't be with all of you for Christmas, we decided to take our break and go to Thailand to live on a boat and scuba dive all day for 12 days straight!! I think it works out to about 45 dives. We'll be departing from the island of Phuket (careful how you pronounce that).

We'll be sure to post lots of stories and pictures when we get back. For now, here is as much as we know:
http://www.sunrisediving.net/index.php?option=com_gallery2&Itemid=57&Itemid=44

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
-Brad & Elizabeth

My Form of Racism

2006-11-12T15:12:00.000+05:30

I’ve noticed something about myself since being in India that has come as a complete surprise. I’ve spent my whole life thinking that I’m colorblind when it comes to skin. I’ve had friends of all races throughout my life, even marrying a Pakistani. So when I found myself saying to a white man the other day, “I was so excited to tell my husband that there was another white person at work!” I was shocked and appalled at my own behavior.

The towns that grew up in, Oakland New Jersey and New Fairfield Connecticut, are rather homogeneous. There was always the requisite black kid, maybe a few Indians, possibly a Korean or Japanese kid. But for the most part, we were white. I then moved to New York to become a world famous actress (see how well I’m doing!), where the diversity both in my school and in my life, increased dramatically. Working at JPMorgan, it seemed I was at a model UN, with all nations represented.

Spending my whole life within two hours of New York City, I was always aware that foreigners stuck together. How could I not be? Chinatown, Little Italy, the Indian section of Jackson Heights, Spanish Harlem. There’s even a block in Manhattan (Lexington Avenue between 27th and 28th) that is predominantly Pakistani. Then there are the parades: Cuban Day, Columbus Day, St. Patty’s Day. Anyone who requests it seems to be given the right to march down 5th Avenue with their country’s flag streaming through the air, even if they weren’t born in that other country. It always seemed a little weird to me that people would trek halfway around the world to remain within their own group of people. I was always naïve enough to think that the melting pot of the US was not meant to be a theory, but a matter of practice. We should melt into one people. That’s what was great about the US.

I rarely see white people in India. I’ve seen a total of two other people driving here, not counting Brad. When we go to the mall, there are at least a dozen white people, which I always find comforting. I inevitably make eye contact with someone and we share a moment that I’ve never experienced before living here. That moment of understanding precisely what it means to be a white face in this sea of brown.

I still don’t think I’m a racist. I have nothing against Indians, nor any other race. But I now understand why, when individuals make the great leap of faith that is leaving your comfort zone to relocate to the US, immigrants have the tendency to stick together. It is safe. There are no possibilities for foibles that occur so often when you’re talking to someone who is from your host culture. That other white face, when I see it, is one of the few people in the world who knows what it means to be an outsider in this culture. And the knowledge that there is someone out there who gets it, who knows what I’m going through, offers me more comfort that I thought possible from a complete stranger.

While I am going to do my best to try not to think of my world here in racial terms, I’m glad at least that I’m aware of my new tendency to categorize people based on race. It’s apparently so easy to slip into a mindset where you can justify thinking of people based on their race. I hope that in my case, it remains a superficial task rather than a justification to judge and oppress people. And when I do move back to the US, I'll try to be that native face who is friendly and open to the people who have chosen to live within our culture. Because I can say for certain that it is one of the scariest things that person will ever do.

A Great Gift

2006-11-12T15:04:00.000+05:30

Yesterday was my birthday and it was lovely so see and hear the messages I got today. One of them, however, stood out. My friend Kristin and her husband Andy are in Disney (the Florida one) and they sent me the best picture. I had to share.

And speaking of my birthday, on November 11, 2011, I'm turning 33. That's right, my 33th is on 11/11/11. Being a girl who loves mathematical puzzles and quirks, I've decided that I have to have a party to celebrate. Seriously, how many people can celebrate their birthday on the day that the digits of the month, day and year of their birthday add up to the number of years they've been alive. So great. Therefore, I request that you all put it on your calendars now and start saving up. I don't know where it will be, but I do know that I want everyone to come. And it's on a Friday, so NO EXCUSES!

And now, the wonder that is Kwib.

When can I see you again???

2006-11-12T12:59:00.000+05:30

Well, we’ve now been here for 6 and 4 months respectively. We’re getting the lay of the land and finding how, precisely, we fit into this society. So here’s my question for you. When are you coming to visit us? There were some suggestions, before we left, that some of you may come in January or February. If you are thinking of coming soon, let us know so that we can make sure that we’re available to show you India. And please, if you are coming, let us know where you’d like to go and what you’d like to do in South India so we can make arrangements. Travel is so easy on the train and we have a car, so the sky’s the limit!

National Friendship Week

2006-11-09T21:16:00.000+05:30

When I opened my inbox this evening, there was an e-mailing waiting to be read from Miss Penelope. It's a lovely little story about friendship, with instructions to forward it to everyone who you consider a friend. I thought I'd one up that and just post it here. The story is sappy and sentimental, but you'll just have to deal with it! If you're reading this blog, YOU'RE MY FRIEND!! WHEEE!!

One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school. His name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his books. I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd."

I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on. As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him. They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him. He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes. My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him and as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw a tear in his eye.
As I handed him his glasses, I said, "Those guys are jerks. They really should get lives. “
He looked at me and said, "Hey thanks!" There was a big smile on his face. It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.

I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived. As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before. He said he had gone to private school before now. I would have never hung out with a private school kid before. We talked all the he way home, and I carried some of his books. He turned out to be a pretty cool kid.

I asked him if he wanted to play a little football with my friends. He said yes. We hung out all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him, and my friends thought the same of him.

Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again. I stopped him and said, "Boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with this pile of books everyday!" He just laughed and handed me half the books.

Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends. When we were seniors, we began to think about college. Kyle decided on Georgetown, and I was going to Duke. I knew that we would always be friends, that the miles would never be a problem. He was going to be a doctor, and I was going for business on a football scholarship.
Kyle was valedictorian of our class. I teased him all the time about being a nerd. He had to prepare a speech for graduation. I was so glad it wasn't me having to get up there and speak. Graduation day, I saw Kyle. He looked great. He was one of those guys that really found himself during high school. He filled out and actually looked good in glasses. He had more dates than I had and all the girls loved him. Boy, sometimes I was jealous. Today was one of those days.

I could see that he was nervous about his speech. So, I smacked him on the back and said, "Hey, big guy, you'll be great!"

He looked at me with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and smiled. "Thanks," he said.

As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began "Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through those tough years. Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach...but mostly your friends...I am here to tell all of you that being a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them. I am going to tell you a story."

I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the story of the first ay we met. He had planned to kill himself over the weekend. He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his Mom wouldn't have to do it later and was carrying his stuff home.

He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile. "Thankfully, I was saved.” I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us all about his weakest moment. I saw his Mom and dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful smile. Not until that moment did I realize it's depth.

Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can change a person's life.

I told you it was cheezy...

Sphota

2006-11-08T07:44:00.000+05:30

Every once in a while, I do something that most of you would probably never expect me to do… I write poetry. I am not a good poet and I don’t pretend to be, but since I don’t use my saxophone to express my emotions as often as I used to, I suppose that creativity struggles to come out in different ways – sometimes as poetry. I’ve decided to take a big risk and open myself up to snickers (mmmm, Snickers), and post one of my recent poems here. The title is called “sphota” (pronounced like "I'm sphota study but I'm blogging instead"). Sphota is a sanskrit word that means “bursting forth/bursting through,” but the real meaning is much deeper than that. It is the Original Word, the one spoken by God at creation. It carries a very similar meaning to the word “Logos” in Christianity (John 1:1). Anyway, here is my paltry poem:

Sphota

Have we any idea
Bursting forth from behind
The wailing wall of words
Menacing, meddlesome, magical words
Behind the veil, the meanings are lost
The meanings and mean of meaning
Averaging out the meaning of our lives
Of relativity and relations
“Family, friends, neighbors, and strangers”
Simple words veiling the meanings which
Long to burst forth and shed their sheaths
Have we this idea or that?
Can this bursting forth be
Caputured once again?
Bursting forth from Thou to I
From mind to mind
From idea to idea
Or, menacingly and magically,
From Word to word

Another excursion

2006-11-03T07:47:00.000+05:30

This weekend, Brad and I are going to an ashram here in Bangalore called Fireflies. Brad met one of the directors when he was at the World Council of Churches conference in Brazil last February. We happened across him here at a meeting and again in Madurai at the last ahimsa conference, where he invited us to participate this weekend. The topic is using peaceful means to enact change, specifically in regards the struggle humanitarian aids groups have with governmental resources. If you want to learn more about Fireflies, there is a link to the right. ----->

We'll let you know how it goes!

The myths of war and violence

2006-11-02T07:36:00.000+05:30

This started out as a response to a response in a different thread, but I decided to post it here, instead. My hope is that we can all work to find common ground or, at the very least, hear out one another's opinions. Everyone has a right and opportunity and invitation to post their opinions in full on this blog. It is an open forum and you are invited to disagree. You are also invited to offer compromises and common ground in addition to polemics. With that preface, here is my opinion on the war in Iraq and violence in general:

You can't bomb people into democracy. You can't point a gun at someone and say, "Act free, damnit!" You can't violently force a country into peace. You certainly can't torture them into taking the moral high ground. How can we compare life under one evil tyrant to life under a dozen violent warlords clammoring for power? And what would be the point of such a comparison? As I said before the war started in dozens of peace rallies that I attended... Are we truly so incapable of creative thought that war is the only "solution" we can think of? Is that the model that we think Jesus has left for us? Jesus was a simple Jewish carpenter who undermined the Roman Empire without using violence. Ghandi was a simple Hindu who overturned the British Empire without using violence. Rev. King brought greater equality to the US without using violence. Nixon averted war with China and Russia through something called “international diplomacy” (I’m not sure what that is, but maybe there is an encyclopedia article out there describing it.) Carter brought home captives from Iran without raising a gun. Reagan ended the cold war without firing a missle. That seems to be when our Presidents ran out of ideas...

Bush killed tens of thousands when he invaded Iraq 10 years ago. Clinton sat and watched while Bosnia erupted in Holocaust. He did nothing again when it happened in Rwanda. GWBush actually criticized Clinton for doing nothing when the holocaust began in the Darfur region of Sudan. It is 6 years later and the violence has escalated and spread all over Sudan and all over the surrounding regions, and still Bush has done nothing… not one thing.

Sitting idly by and doing nothing to save someone from evil and oppression is as sinful and reprehensible as performing those actions ourself. Certainly, we would criticize Bush for not acting against Hussein just as we do criticize him for not caring about the hundreds of thousands (a recent estimate said over a million) of people that have died during his administration in Sudan. However, responding to violence with violence is not a solution and it certainly isn't the only option.

If you want an example of someone who is offering peaceful solutions and nonviolent actions in the hopes of: ending the conflict in Iraq, intervening in Sudan, building bridges instead of bombing them, curtailing abortion, ending state-sanctioned execution, and uniting people to curtail death by poverty… and also happens to be an evangelical Christian minister, check out Jim Wallis’ organization: http://www.sojourners.com/

I genuinely hope that this inspires some open, fruitful dialogue and mutually mindful efforts to build common ground. It is not a place to attack people for their beliefs, but a place to share them in a way that we can all grow together. I don't know if I have done that with my post, but that was my intention.
Shanti, Peace, Shalom,
Brad

Happy News

2006-11-01T19:12:00.000+05:30

Namaste,

I know that I have fallen way behind in my blogs, especially compared to Elizabeth. But I thought I would take a few minutes and update anyone who reads this on my life.

I spent the weekend in Chennai at a conference of Indian Christian Philosophers. It turned out to be a bit different than I had imagined, but it was good nonetheless and I heard several very good papers presented and was inspired to do some deeper research in my field.

When I returned home yesterday and read my email, I got an incredible letter from one of my professors. 2 weeks ago, my class presented and defended papers that we had written on ethics. My topic was on the Ethics of Vedanta from Radhakrishnan’s perspective. The professor told us at the beginning of the course that if our papers were strong enough, he would publish them in a book. The email that he sent me said that he is waiting for most of the students to rewrite and resubmit their papers, but he does not sound confident that the book will be published. However, he wrote that if the book does not happen, he would like to publish my paper as an article in the upcoming issue of the Journal of Dharma! That would be my first academic publication! So, either way, it looks like the article will be published – either in the book or in the journal (which is quite widely read).

What is more is that I learned that a paper that I wrote in February about the World Council of Churches is also being published, thanks to Dr. Ariarajah. That one is very exciting, as well, but it is not, strictly speaking, an academic publication.

I have one final day of “vacation” tomorrow (Thursday). Elizabeth and I have been invited to a conference for the weekend. This will be my 3rd conference in the last month and 2nd one in a week! Then classes start on Monday and I have 3 papers due. Two are nearly finished but one has not even been started.

I hope to hear from all of you soon. Please let us know that someone is out there reading!

God Bless,
Brad

My thoughts today

2006-11-01T17:55:00.000+05:30

Since arriving in Bangalore, I've become an avid podcast listener. At first, I downloaded only programs that supported my personal views. There's nothing better than driving through the city on my scooter listening to someone who is, in effect, preaching to the choir. However, I've become increasingly aware, particularly after our ahimsa conference, of the importance of understanding the "other". There is so much that bonds us together on this earth, yet we fill our lives with vitriol and hatred by finding the little things that make us different. So with that thought in mind, I've tried to expand my listening.

Ever since 9-11, I've been a bit of a news junkie. If you look at the news links posted on our blog, we have quite a diverse list. BBCNews is a western based source that is traditionally looked at as being balanced. The Times of India is one of the largest papers here and is the paper that is delivered to our doorstep every morning. Al-Jazeera is the largest Middle Eastern news source, one which I find to be opinionated but not irrational in it's critique and commentary. In addition, there are two small town papers which represent the perspective of our formative years: Brad's in Spartanburg and mine in New Fairfield. My podcasts are similarly diverse. I listen to Democracy Now!, which is an independent news source out of New York City. I listen to a few science podcasts which update solely on scientific news. Lastly, I listen to James Dobson's Focus on the Family and Point of Inquiry. FotF represents one segment of the Christian population while PoI represents the agnostic/atheist crowd. I find both programs to be both insightful and infuriating.

One thing I find interesting, however, is that both the Evangelical Christians and the Materialists claim to be attacked by the media. FotF states that the media is doing everything it can to ensure that "values" voters (one of the most offensive and self-righteous descriptions that Christians have come up with to date) stay home during the election because the media is a liberal sea where the "chosen" are rejected and ridiculed. Meanwhile, PoI points to a bias where the media ignores facts for statements that will sell their newspapers. They say that the media and the country at large reject them as immoral demons and therefore push them to the side without consideration.

The problem that I have with both sides is not that there isn't an aspect of truth to what they are stating, it's more the gross generalizations that their claims make. The whole of the country is not against Christianity, in fact recent polls show otherwise. And while there are those who feel it is their right to judge others, there are large segments of the population that don't care what you believe as long as you act decently.

It's extraordinary to me how intelligent individuals can become so illogical so easily. I understand why emotion comes into play. If you attack what I believe, I'm going to be hurt and strike back. But we've gotten to the point where we are so quickly offended that we never take the time to question the intent of the other party. Or, we expand the thoughts and words of a few as a representation of the entire group. In our supposedly enlightened society, we end up sitting in the corner, being petulant children.

My greatest wish for our country is for us to get back to the ideals where we started: equality, liberty. The right of the many over the right of the few. I know how I translate this in my mind: healthcare, education, housing, job security. Instead of squabbling over things such as gay rights or the use of the word "God" in the pledge, let's get back to doing what we say we are meant to do. Let's feed the poor, clothe the naked, love the orphaned and free the oppressed.

In my church in New Jersey, we finished each service with the following prayer. Now, whether or not you believe in prayer is immaterial to me. What's more important is that we all acknowledge that Humanist, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Jain, Jewish or any other form of faith, we all share these same goals of basic human decency.

The spirit of God is upon us.
God has anointed us
to bear good news to the afflicted,
to bind up the broken hearted,
to proclaim freedom to the captives,
to open the prisons of those who are bound.
Let us go forth in the name of Christ
to bring peace into broken relationships,
healing to alienated persons,
and justice into oppressive structures.
Amen.

Oh, and one more request

2006-10-31T18:36:00.000+05:30

On this day of glutenous fun, our niece has to go into the hospital for another bout of chemotherapy. While she is doing exceptionally well and seems to be responding to her treatments, the idea of Caylyn having to sit in a hospital on a day when we celebrate children, at least that's how I see it, breaks my heart. So while you're out celebrating today, even if you'll only eat a handful of candy corn at the office, please give a thought to Caylyn. I ask that you only do what comes naturally: say a prayer, light a candle, tell a friend or just send your thoughts her way.

Missing the US

2006-10-31T18:25:00.000+05:30

So two things happened in the States this week that Brad and I are not able to take part of. The first is daylight savings time. The second is...duh duh duh...Halloween.

Countries can decide whether or not to participate in Daylight Savings Time. Not only that, but they choose the days of the year to move their clocks ahead or behind. India doesn't change their clocks. (Read more at Wikipedia, if you're so inclined.) This means that 1) we are now 10 1/2 hours ahead of New York and 2) we didn't get an extra hour of sleep on Saturday night. And as the rooster just outside of our hotel room in Chennai started very early, and the frog went on and on for the rest of the night and the trains like sounding their horns all hours of the day, we could have used that extra hour of sleep!

Halloween is not celebrated here, which is a bit of a bummer. However, I have gone to the store and bought candy bars. I watched my yearly viewing of The Nightmare Before Christmas. If you have not seen this movie, it is a must. The animation is amazing, the music is inspired and the story always warms my heart. Basic plot: Jack Skellington, the King of Halloween, becomes fed up with the ease of the holiday. When he discovers Christmas, he hijacks it in an attempt to broaden his horizons. Simply extraordinary. We also bought candy for Shyla and made her go to the front door, ring our bell and say "trick or treat!" I don't think she entirely understood, but hey, good times!

So we ask you today, while you're revelling in the joy of being rested from the weekend, to do a little bit of trick or treating for us. Go to that extra house. Jump out at a little child and scare the crap out of them. Egg the house of someone that you know we wouldn't like. In short, make this Halloween one to remember. Oh, and take pictures.

Update on Women for Women

2006-10-30T23:07:00.000+05:30

After discussing it with Brad, we have decided to sponsor another woman. Their are 500 women in Iraq who have been chosen to be enrolled in the program and WfWI is doing its best to match these women with sponsors. Due to the security risks involved, we will not be able to communicate with our sisters, nor will we receive pictures of them or know their last names.

I urge you to look into your heart (and finances) and see if you can afford the $27/month that the program needs. I know it's not a paltry amount, but as the US created many of the problems in Iraq, it is up to us to do our best to fix them. While going there is not an option, this is a small step to show that while we may have helped to create a civil war, it was, perhaps, done with good, albeit naive, intentions.

International Book Club

2006-10-30T22:52:00.000+05:30

In an attempt to always have things to talk about, my mother and I have decided to start an online book club together. We've chosen our first book and thought it would be great if more than just the two of us were involved. So here is your invitation! Join the B&EIA Book Club. (With an acronym like that, we should get t-shirts.)

Our first book is called Arrow of the Blue-Skinned God by Jonah Blank. Here are some blurbs from bn.com:

Publishers Weekly

Blank, who has reported on Asia for the Dallas Morning News, traveled the length and breadth of India, retracing the footsteps of the god Rama, hero of the ancient Sanskrit epic (portions of which introduce each chapter). Coupling journalistic detachment with piercing lyricism, he samples the subcontinent in all its horrific, multitudinous, overwhelming diversity, from Bombay's Hollywood-style dream factories to Calcutta's leper-filled streets. He ponders the nation's lingering caste divisions, with their "BMW Brahmins'' and destitute untouchables. He meets Sikh separatists in the Punjab and, in Sri Lanka, tracks down Tamil Tiger guerrillas, young boys carrying AK-47s. He converses with holy men in ashrams and probes the erotic intensity of the Krishna cult. He scuffles with Indian's venal, infuriating bureaucracy. Blank writes beautifully and taps into India's elusive, indestructible soul with a clarity few writers attain, as he ponders the paradoxes of a country where deep-rooted fatalism clashes with Westernization and a new social mobility. (Sept.)

From the book jacket:
The two-thousand-year-old Sanskrit epic Ramayana - one of the greatest literary works of the ancient world - chronicles Lord Rama's journey from one end of the Indian subcontinent to the other and his spiritual voyage from man to deity. In Arrow of the Blue-Skinned God, anthropologist and journalist Jonah Blank retells the ancient story in a lively prose while following the course of the epic her's quest through contemporary India and Sri Lanka.
In his adventures, Blank encounters a chimerical subcontinent caught between the ancient and the modern, from swamis who wrestle both physically and metaphysically, to prepubescent Tamil guerrillas barely able to lift their AK-47s, to television actors who are worshiped as living manifestations of Hindu divinities. Sparkling with humor and cultural insight, Arrow of the Blue-Skinned God is an up-close look at the multifaceted jewel that is India, in all its poignant, picaresque and paradoxical beauty.

We don't have a strict format for our group yet, as far as how much to read and by when. If you want to be involved, just post a comment and we can decide by when we should have the first chapter or four read.

My sister

2006-10-25T18:36:00.000+05:30

A little over a year ago, I became a sponsor through a program called Women for Women International. From their website their mission is:

"Women for Women International helps women in war torn regions rebuild their lives by giving them financial and emotional support, job skills training, rights education, access to capital and assistance for small business development."

This organization was started by an Iraqi woman in 1993, and now supports women in Afghanistan, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Colombia, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Iraq, Kosovo, Nigeria, Rwanda and Sudan. I wanted to share my most recent letter of the woman I sponsor. She lived through the genocide in Rwanda in 1994. (For a phenomenal movie on the subject, see Hotel Rwanda.) Her name is Perpetue. She can neither read nor write and does not speak English. Here is her translated letter.

To my dear friend Elizabeth.
How are you? Allow me first greet you with too much love. May the Lord Jesus be with you. I have written to you, just due to the way I do miss you, and I need to extend my news to you and to know more about yours. I wrote to you, but you have never replied it, up to date, but this time I trust that you are going to reply to my letter.
At the moment, I am fairly okay slowly by slowly due to sickness, I encountered horrible cuts and dislocation to my body, during the 1994 genocide-war. It's not easy for me to do anything that demands physical strength. I thank you greatly for your sponsorship that has enabled me to solve much of my encountered problems. It's my hope that I will acquire basic foundation in what I am supposed to do shortly before the end of the program. I still hope to maintain our friendship to you, even in the near future. Just due to the way you did select me among others, when you didn't know me, this makes me never to desert you at all.
In fact, I am an orphan, though I am grown-up. I survived together with my young sister, who is now a student and both of us live in orphanage organization families, for we can't be able to care for ourselves and worse to this I was left disabled physically. I thank you greatly for your sponsorship, that has enabled me to come out of a solitary life. Prior to this, I had so many problems and I had no possible ways and means to solve them, but today I have hope in my life, and I hope to survive better than before. Let me thank them that you always send to us through the organization of Women for Women International of Rwanda, for they pass on our message from you and they also give us lessons that are beneficial to us. To me, I wish we would be meeting on a daily basis, for they render their services to us in love.
We have just been celebrating our Easter day and during this time I did seek forgiveness, through repentance of my sins, to God, so as to bear the righteousness of the Lord. By resurrecting with the Lord Jesus Christ. It's not easy for we do sin every day. But our God is full of mercy for the forgiveness of our sins daily. Hence we should always seek never to do contrary to God's will. It's my prayer for you, for the Lord to continue to protect you and to maintain your gift of Love. I always pray for you, in God's will, for he is the very one, who made you to know me and to know much of my problems. Let us maintain our prayers for each other and our God will always be with us.
Thanks from your friend,
Perpetue

I ask you to take only what you want from this. I want to point out that I merely requested to have a sister from Rwanda. I did not choose Perpetue from a list of women. Also, this organization is not a Christian one, although Perpetue is clearly Catholic.

If you feel so inclined, please consider sponsoring a woman. They have recently opened up their program in Iraq again, even though the safety of those involved cannot be guaranteed. I believe that we need to empower those who are poor and powerless in order to truly attain peace. Peace cannot be reached through an act of war. Perhaps if we (and by we I mean the empire that is America) showed love and compassion to our global neighbors, we would be able to reach the peace that we all so desperately crave.

Fun, fun, fun

2006-10-21T10:24:00.000+05:30

For a colossal waste of time that is also mindless fun, try this: Line Rider

Ahimsa is Still Speaking

2006-10-21T06:46:00.000+05:30

Namaste,

Sorry that we haen't posted in a while. Our connection was down for a few days and I was finishing exams and Elizabeth's work has been busy (which is a great thing - I'm sure she'll post soon).

We spent last weekend at the CESCI Ghandi Ashram outside of Madurai. We participated in an interfaith dialogue session sponsered by the World Council of Churches. The core group is called "Thinking Together" and is composed of 15 people representing all the major religious traditions from around the globe. In addition, there were another 15 or so that were invited as guests. We were lucky enough to get an invitation because of our good friendship with Wesley Ariarajah.

The topic of the conference was "Nonviolent Resources in our Religious Traditions." As the name implies, the objective was to share concrete resources from our respective religious traditions that could be useful for anyone seeking a peaceful resolution to conflict. I think one idea behind the concept is that if there is a conflict between two people of different religions, it is helpful to be aware of peaceful resources in our own religion as well as in the religion of the other person. The transcript of the presentations will be published in the coming months.

One thing that was particularly exciting for us was the presentation given by Rev. Dr. Shanta Premawardhana, Associate General Secretary for Interfaith Relations of the US National Council of Churches. Not only was it an excellent speech, but guess what resources he presented to the group? "God is Still Speaking"! For those of you who aren't members of the UCC (United Church of Christ), the basic idea behind the phrase "God is Still Speaking" is that we should regard the Bible as the living Word of God and that God still speaks to us through the Bible. The point is that we should not simply accept traditional interpretations taught by the church through the centuries, but we should allow God's Word to reach us today. Also, God Still Speaks to us today through the people around us and the world in which we live.

Shanta demonstrated, through his presentation, that one resource in the Christian tradition is that of continued revelation through the Spirit. Dogmatism, therefore, has no place. Dogmatism is the ultimate roadblock to peaceful, nonviolent conflict resolution. He ended his presentation with the phrase "never put a period where God has put a comma." (well, actually, since we are in India, he said "never put a full-stop where God has placed a comma.")

By the way, Shanta is a Sanskrit word meaning "Peace." He works in Manhattan and lives in NJ, so I asked if he would be willing to come and speak sometime at FCC (our church in NJ). He said he'd love to.

Overall the weekend was simply amazing (mostly, I admit, because we got to spend time with Dr. Ariarajah), and we'll both post more about it, but I think that is a good start for now. Here is a picture of the Ashram at night. This is not intended to be the "God is Still Speaking" comma, but I choose to interpret it that way! More pictures to come.

Off We Go Again

2006-10-12T12:34:00.000+05:30

Hey, folks. So we're going to Madurai for a conference on ahimsa. A postcard to the first person who can tell the group a little bit about ahimsa: who created it, what it is, etc. I expect comments, people!

We'll catch you on the flip side. Love you all!

An Act of Kindness

2006-10-03T23:28:00.000+05:30

I had my first truly negative experience this weekend. On the whole, we had a spectacular time, but there is one moment that sticks in my mind as one of the worst of recent memory. But like most things, there is a golden and glistening moment at the end of it.

On our way home, we decided to stop in Somnathapura which houses one of the oldest temples in India, Kesava. We navigated our way across the Indian country side and parked in front of the temple. We paid our Rs. 200 and walked across the beautifully manicured gardens into the temple.

The temple itself was breathtaking. I was immediately reminded of my trips through Egypt with the detail of the carvings on this temple. We walked around, taking pictures and discussing whatever it is that Brad and I find to discuss. It was somewhat crowded and I decided that I didn’t want to get in the middle of the crowds and chose to sit in the shade on the outer perimeter of the temple and wait for Brad.

My seat offerered a wonderful view of the outside of the temple. As I sat, I watched the people coming and going. I watched the children running around. I listened to the rhythms of conversations around me. I reveled in the glory of the day, with the cerulean sky above me. I watched as a man approached me, with his head turned back to his friends. He was waving an arm at them, as if to shush them, while they watched me and laughed. He walked to the ledge I was sitting on and asked me what country I came from. I told him the US at which point he turned on his heel and went back to the group. I head him say “United States”, which made his whole group laugh even harder. I watched them for the next ten minutes as I waited for Brad to come out, doing my best to let them know how hurt I was that they would laugh at me, merely because of where I came from.

After a little while, a woman made her way over to me. She skirted around the column that I was leaning against and sat down next to me. She was remarkably close, but Indians seem to have less personal space than Americans, so I chose to think that she was merely behaving as an Indian would, and I should not be offended. She then called across the courtyard to her friends. They looked over at her and they all started laughing. She turned to me and started laughing in my face and looked back at her friends. They began to pull out cameras to take pictures of her sitting next to the American.

At this precise moment, Brad walked out of the temple. I stood up quickly and headed out of the main door, meeting him outside by our shoes. I burst into a tirade, ranting about how Indians are not as hospitable as they are made out to be. One of the girls who laughed at me watched as I tried to let out all of my anger at the situation. I could see, at least I’d like to think I could see, some remorse at her actions. As you could imagine, Brad became very upset because I was so upset and we spent the better part of the next hour doing our best to soothe my ego.

A few hours later, we found ourselves in a small town 50 kilometers outside of Bangalore. It was 2:30 in the afternoon and we were both famished, as breakfast had been sparse that morning. We parked the car and wandered through the town in an attempt to find a restaurant that was non-veg. A small sign directed us through a small passageway and up a very tiny flight of stairs at the back of a building. We walked into a room that was mostly empty. Half of the room had no tables or chairs.

The gentleman at the door must have not spoken any English because he went into the kitchen and brought out an older gentleman. He had white hair and was wearing a white tank top with a cloth wrapped around his waist. He motioned to the menu board and told us that they didn’t have everything on the menu prepared yet. He listed a few of the things they did have and we both settled on the chicken biriyani. He smiled, genuinely, at the both of us and invited us to have a set.

The meal was fantastic, one of the best I’ve had here, and was over very quickly, mostly because we were so hungry that we didn’t speak to each other. We wen to the main desk to pay and the same gentleman came back out of the kitchen. We thanked him and told him that the meal was extraordinary. He smiled and charged us Rs. 60, or $1.33, for the whole meal. We thanked him again and he in turn thanked us for our patronage. We started out the door and he asked us to come again. We turned and stated that we would. He looked us both in the eye and repeated his request. “Please, come back again.” He was so sincere and so kind that I felt as if I were floating out of the restaurant.

In a small town in India, at the top of a small set of stairs, there is a small man, with an enormous heart, who is waiting to serve you a meal that nourishes so much more than your belly. I hope that we’ll be able to go back again, if for no other reason than to thank this man. He is probably not educated. He had probably lived within the same few blocks his whole life. But he had enough wisdom to see that we were just a pair of travelers who meant no harm. He had enough wisdom to know that the color of our skin doesn’t designate our political leanings. He had enough wisdom to know how far a kind word can go.

My Temple Priest

2006-10-03T23:26:00.000+05:30

While we were falling asleep on our second night at the parish house, Brad asked me what my favorite thing all weekend had been. I paused for a millisecond (nanosecond, perhaps?) before answering him: the temple. A smile spread across his face and he told me that his was the same.

We went to the zoo on Sunday morning and afterwards we wandered around the shops in the area. We bought a chess set and a plate at one of the shops and asked the man where we could find dosa. He pointed at a hotel at the end of the little street and said that they had the best dosa in the area. We decided to take a short walk around the neighborhood before heading to eat.

This section of Mysore reminded me of the village in Manhattan. The houses were not very tall, five stories at the most, on crooked streets that didn’t make any sense, unless perhaps you’d lived there for decades and decades. The houses were mostly whitewashed, which made the sun seem more brilliant than even. We walked a few blocks, passing by a small park where a bunch of boys were playing cricket. Brad noticed that there were a few cows lounging in the shade of the trees there and commented that he wouldn’t want to play in that field. But when you’ve got only one choice, you’ll quickly get over any internal protests you may have.

Across the street from the park, there was a small temple. There are temples everywhere here in India, mostly because Hindus will erect a temple wherever there happens to be a natural “phenomenon”. An interesting tree or a strange rock outcropping. Maybe even a pretty, trickling stream. These are all reasons to erect a temple. This one was larger than most, although by no means enormous. There were a few buildings on the land. The largest had a tall structure on the tope of it that had been carved with many of the Hindu gods, a pantheon if you will. It was painted brilliant colors: blues and green and yellows and pinks. We walked to the gate and looked over into the yard, which was neatly kept. We saw a man coming towards us and asked if we could enter. He smiled broadly, obviously pleased that foreigners would be interested in their small temple, and invited us in. He asked our country and left us to wander on our own.

We slipped through the rotating gate and took our sandals off, leaving them there. Something I have learned about Indians is that they remove their shoes for most things. In their homes, temples, churches, microscope rooms, everywhere. We started across the grass towards the main structure. A man, wrapped in a white cloth, came running across the lawn, towards one of the smaller buildings, and stood attentively in front of it. Looking back, we were probably rude to ignore him, but I don’t think either of us understood that he was eager to bless us. So instead of going over to him, we went inside the central temple.

It was dark inside, but not in an uninviting way. There were no doors or windows in the openings, so we could still hear the world outside. In front of us, there was a smaller room, which contained the god. Sitting on the steps which led into the room were three little girls. We stood back for a moment, not wanting to intrude if we weren’t welcome. The day before, we had been scolded for taking pictures inside a different temple, and we didn’t want to offend someone else. The girls, giggling at the sight of these two white fools, motioned us forward to offer us a blessing. First, we were asked to take some water in our hands, sipping at it and spreading it over our heads. We were asked to place some red powder on our foreheads as a mark of our blessings. Then, the oldest of the girls handed each of us a little bit of banana. Finally, the smallest gave us each a bright yellow marigold. We chatted with the girls for awhile, while the priest flitted behind us, listening and obviously understanding, but not participating in the conversation. We asked each other’s names, and the girls asked what country we were from. They asked if we liked India and thought it was very funny when we asked them if they liked India. We thanked them and walked back into the sunshine.

We thought that our trip to the temple was over and headed back towards the granite bench where our shoes were. The original priest saw that we had come back out of the temple and again ran across the lawn. We followed him because this time we understood that it was our presence that was exciting him so.

The god that he was attending to was housed in a much smaller structure. Instead of being in a room within another room, this god was in a building that was the size of a small garden shed. The doorway was just large enough for the man to walk through. The god was draped with many flowers, white and pink jasmine, yellow marigolds and crimson roses, draped artfully to demonstrate the correct level of respect.

The priest picked up a brass plate that had a small bowl on it. In the bowl was oil and a wick, which was burning. He turned towards the god and passed the plate in front of her face, circling her image three times while chanting. He turned back to me and offered me the flame. I giggled and said that I didn’t know what to do. I don’t think he spoke English, but he understood my confusion and gestured to me. Understanding, I cupped my hands over the flame, capturing the heat of it. I spread the essence of the flame over my forehead. After Brad had done the same, the priest picked up a small bowl with a spoon in it. He mimicked cupped hands and dumped some of the water in when I copied his motion. I sipped at the water, which was salty, and blessed myself with it. He then offered us a bowl of white powder. We each dipped a finger in the bowl and placed some of the powder on our foreheads. He then gave us a bag of prashad, which Brad took from him. Finally, he handed us marigolds and placed his hands together, like children do in America when praying, and bowed his head at us, showing us that he was honored that we had allowed him to bless us.

We turned to leave, both feeling alive and warm. He called after me, perhaps in his only word of English. “Hello!” I turned back and he motioned that I should place the flower in my hair. I wove the stem into my braid, where it stayed throughout the day. We thanked him again and then collected our shoes from the gate.

In the time that I’ve been in India, I’ve had every type of welcome, from warm and kind to cool and disdainful. But by far, this priest, in a small village in Mysore, made me feel more welcome and more special than most people I’ve met in my life. His joy at our presence helped me feel worthy and appreciated. And I can’t wait to go into my next temple.

Mysore? My sore is my feet.

2006-10-03T17:50:00.000+05:30

Well, the weekend was quite spectacular. We saw the Mysore Palace and went to a carnival on our first day. On the second day, we went to the zoo, wandered around a small neighborhood where we ended up in a temple and went to one of the largest outdoor markets in Asia, according to our guidebook. On the way home, we stopped at an ancient temple and drove on the bumpiest rode you can imagine. We ate spectacular food and slept at one of the most peaceful places I’ve had the honor of going to. Instead of one massive blog, which would be a short book, we’ll break the trip into smaller pieces. But to make you all happy, here are some pictures from the trip. If you want to see big copies of them, you can click on them. They may take awhile to load, as they are quite large.

This is Father Tony, who was our gracious host.

This is the parish house where we stayed.

A flower at the Catholic parish.

Mysore Palace. It's quite breathtaking.
We weren't allowed to take pictures inside.

A tree inside the smallest temple on the palace grounds.
I got in trouble for taking this picture.

Outside of the palace grounds.

The carnival that we stumbled upon. We didn't go on any of the rides.
This is where we found samosas!

A traditional Indian dance at the fairgrounds.
She's throwing a spear.

The palace and entrance lit up for Dasara festival, the only time of year it's lit up.
The palace is the light in the middle of the archway, in the distance.

The palace all lit up. It's quite amazing to see first hand.
There were so many people there!

A pair of pretty giraffes at the zoo.
The one in the front was very protective of the one in the back.

These bums were redder than I thought possible!

A lovely path through the zoo.

My new favorite sign.

A lovely zebra.

So we're at the zoo, wandering around, when we find this monkey. He was just
sitting there, enjoying himself. Imagine, a wild monkey hanging out at the zoo. I
wonder if he teases the other monkeys.

Kesava Temple in Somnathapura. It reminded me of the carvings in Egypt. To think,
while we were fumbling in the dark, men and women in the East were building
amazing temples such as this one.

A tree in the middle of the path leading up to the temple. You can see the entrance behind the palm tree on the right. This is a tree out of a fairy tale.

One of the gods inside of Kesava temple in Somnathapura. There were three separate chambers, each with a different god.

By a river on the long drive home.

Rice paddy. It's amazing how much work goes into producing rice for us to cook at home!

Some men working in the rice paddies.

Your sore? What about Mysore?

2006-09-29T21:54:00.000+05:30

Hey, kids! Just a quick update today. Brad has mentioned that my blogs are becoming a tad long for easy reading. Sorry about that! So this one will be quick, with little to no personal reflection. Enjoy!

Tomorrow morning, we're going to get in our new car (well, our 1999 Hyundai Santro, electric blue) and drive to Mysore for a quick week-end break. We had a little bit of trouble finding a hotel, as there is a huge holiday there this weekend. It's called Dussehra, which celebrates the 10th day of the waxing moon. (I know that there are many 10th days of waxing moons in the year, but this is the only one that's celebrated: September-October.) To celebrate, people wash the tools of their profession and polish and put in order their work place. Neither of us were certain why Mysore is the center of this festival, but it meant that hotel rooms were hard to come by. Thankfully, one of the priests at Brad's school found us a family room in a parish just outside of the city limits.

We should have lots of fun. We're hoping to buy a bed cover while we're there and also find some dosa and samosa, both of which have been hard to come by. We'll tell you all about it on the flip-side.

Oh, and Kathrin? Yes, we'll take pictures.

And as an additional extra special offer, if you come to visit us, we'll take you there. Now that's temptation!

Bye, Bye Bangalore

2006-09-28T13:50:00.000+05:30

Elizabeth and I have enjoyed living in Bangalore. However, next month will be our last month living in Bangalore.

No, we aren't moving, we are staying right where we are, but yesterday the city announced that they are changing the name of the city to Bengaluru. The reason is that "Bangalore" is actually a mispronunciation by the British of the name in Kannada (the official language of Karnataka). So, when the people who live here say the name in English, they say "Bangalore" but when they say it in Kannada, they say "Bengaluru." Originally (quite long ago), the rajya (kingdom) was called "bendakaluru", meaning "city of gardens."

Interesting, huh?

Pictures

2006-09-25T07:47:00.000+05:30

Please read Elizabeth's post (below) about riding the brake. She told me to post pictures, so here goes. The first is Sanjay, the security guard. Then Durga Puja from our balcony and from below and then Elizabeth dancing - I have video, too ;-)

Riding the Brake

2006-09-24T22:46:00.000+05:30

Recently, while driving home from the lab, I found myself behind someone whose brake light was illuminated. I slowed down, anticipating his obvious decrease in speed. However, the other car sped up, brake lights glowing red. It took me a few minutes to realize that he was riding his brake as he drove.

My first reaction was, What an idiot! It's so bad for your brakes to do that and it makes the drivers around you a little panicky (at least, it makes this one a little panicky). Then, I started to think about life; how some people live life full out, never using the brake to stop and reflect. Just going going going. Then, there are the people who never turn the car on. They just sit there, with the clutch pressed down, foot on the brake, in a perpetual attempt to choose where to go and what to do. Then there is that special group of people. The people who ride the brake. We floor it, pushing ourselves to the limit, while at the same time, forever stopping ourselves from really seeing where the car can take us. I am a part of that we.

For my whole life, I've made big decisions and done big things. I moved to New York to become an actor, never thinking about where I was going to live or if I was the right type of person to be a professional actor. (I've since concluded that I'm not.) But I never went on auditions. I never put myself out there to really fall. I stopped myself from seeing just how far I would be able to go. I took a great job at Chase, but didn't use all the resources at my fingertips. I've met amazing people, time and time again, but I've always considered myself unworthy and have therefore shied away from pursuing relationships or even banal conversations with them, particularly with those that I've met in the academic community.

Naturally, this led me to think about India. As my family will attest to, we didn't plan this trip to the best of our abilities. (Something which they like telling me.) We found a place for me to work and a school for Brad to attend. And then we just kind of...moved. The house wasn't sold. Our possessions were lugged to our parents' respective houses. We just did it. Jumped in with both feet and hoped for the best. (We've been very lucky that it has indeed worked out in the best way.)

And yet. I've been here for six weeks. I've bought my scooter, started my job and basically begun my life here in India. I wouldn't, however, make the claim that I'm living. Instead, I've been existing. Sustaining myself without indulging the curious side that brought me here to begin with. The gas and the brake were both hitting the floor.

The more I've thought about this, the guiltier I've felt. I didn't come here to live in a lavish apartment, hire a maid/cook and spend all of my time working. I came here to see how someone else lives. The purpose of our little experiment is to gain a better worldview. We believe that in order to understand the perspectives of the rest of the world, it is necessary to live with them. That was the greatest motivator in our decision to move to India. To better understand our "neighbor".

Last night, I released some of the pressure on the brake. There is a celebration here called Durga Puja, which is celebrating Kali, the God of War. (I'm sure Brad is going to correct me on that. I'm pretty sure that it's a tad more complex.) It began yesterday and will last for the next 9 days. There was a festival here at our complex. The open invitation that was posted on the bulletin board listed, among other things, the dress code: very traditional Indian garb, none of which we had. So instead, we stood on the balcony, watching the events below. While Brad wanted to attend, I didn't want to intrude, especially since we wouldn't fit the dress code.

The first person to urge us down was Sanjay, the head of security. He got my attention and waved me down (we live 5 floors up). I shook my head, no, while waving my hands back and forth, thank you. A few minutes later, I saw him sprinting toward the elevator bank. Within moments, our doorbell was ringing. Brad went to answer it and when he returned, he told me that Sanjay came up to invite us down. Brad, knowing my reservations, feigned an illness for me. We continued to watch and eventually we were spotted by a group of men. They waved at me (Brad hadn't noticed), inviting us down. I did my head shake and hand wave to beg off the invitation.

Then I thought about my brake. I realized I was doing it. I was in the middle of riding my brake. I can stand on my balcony and take pictures, but I can't go downstairs. So I bucked up, slipped into the most Indian shirt I have and headed down. Sanjay was remarkably excited to see us, and led us to the front of the crowd so we could see and take pictures. Needless to say, we couldn't have been more conspicuous. Or so I thought. We were down there for ten minutes when a woman approached and asked us to dance with the group. Nervous as I was, I kicked off my shoes and followed her into the crowd. (Yes, Kathrin, we have pictures. Brad has to upload them.) She taught me the very simple step and led me halfway around the circle. We came to a group of her friends, at which point she turned to me and said, "You've got it! Now keep going!" and walked away. My hands quickly rose to my shirt, tugging on the hem in embarrassment and fear. I froze, wanting to participate, but also wanting a guide to join me. I looked across the crowd to where Brad was standing and wanted to be holding his hand more than anything else in the world. I quickly walked across the circle and joined Brad. My foot was once again firmly planted on my brake.

Every Sunday, we've been attending a lecture series at Brad's school, focusing on religious issues, especially those affecting India. Today, Brad received a phone call telling us that the Islamic group that was scheduled to come had backed out. This was not surprising, as the school is run by the Catholic Church. With the comments that the Pope made recently, it isn't surprising that a Muslim would not want to make a public appearance at a Catholic university. Instead, the group was invited to a local mosque to discuss Islam. While Brad was eager to go, I was apprehensive. Islam and I have a checkered past. Part of it has to do with 9/11. (I'm horrified and ashamed to admit.) Part of it has to do with my ex-husband, who is from Pakistan and is Muslim. Part of it has to do with my time in Egypt. I love Islam as a religion, just as I love Christianity, Hinduism, Sikhism, Judaism, etc. But I fear what Islam is doing in modern times. (I recognize that there is some hypocrisy here, as Christianity has been one of the most popular justifications for war.) And I can't help but be emotional when I go to mosques.

Brad and I spoke about my feelings and he encouraged me to join him. So it was with great trepidation that we went to the mosque. We were a few minutes late, due to some miscommunication. It was immediately clear that this session was to introduce the basics of Islam to the group. Brad and I, unlike much of the group, have extensively studied Islam. We know the history of the religion. We know the Qu'ran. We know the philosophies of the religion. We spend much of our time learning about other religions, and Islam has been no exception for us. We have friends who are Muslim and I, for one, consider Islam to be an extension of Christianity. So I was having trouble focusing on the discussion because I could answer most of the questions that were posited.

I looked around the group in my distraction and noticed that I was the only woman there. For some reason, the woman who is in Brad's class was not there. I was a tad dismayed and I instantly questioned whether I was meant to be there. In my distractions, I noticed two young girls at the window, who kept watching me. I smiled at them and they responded in kind. We went back and forth smiling for some time. I then made eye contact with one girl and she started gesturing at me. Brad leaned over and asked what she meant. I shrugged my shoulders, not knowing what she was trying to communicate. Yet in that moment, she ran in and sat beside me. Her friend was steps behind her, with two younger boys joining us.

I was so excited to be so trusted by these four children. We started speaking in hushed tones. We began with the banal. What is your name? Where do you live? Are you happy? Who is that man next to you? (This one was directed at me.) We then moved on. Why are you here? Why is the world unhappy? What are your religious festivals? They were enraptured by what I had to say. The boys would whisper questions to the girls, who would in turn translate. They asked me to their respective houses, which I declined, not wanting to intrude. I started discussing Jesus, who is known as Isa in Islam, explaining what he meant in Christianity. Another boy came over to listen to our conversation. When it was time to leave, they followed me outside and made me promise that we would come back. They told me where they lived and kept waving across the quad as I got on my scooter.

I don't think I have the words to explain what this experience means to me. I could have chosen to not go. I wanted to go shopping today for speakers and I did not want to go to a mosque. But I would never have met these beautiful children who found something special in me. I don't know if it was that I was a woman or white or friendly. It could be any combination of those things. But the affection of a child often means so much more than that of an adult. I could have kept my foot on the brake today, but I instead took it off, hurtled into the unknown and ended up floating amongst four glowing stars.

I know there will be more riding the brake moments. And I know that there will be moments that I wish I had held back. But I'll always have these children, reminding me that the great moments of your life will always come from flying blindly ahead. For that is when the unexpected happens. And the unexpected is so very sweet. So to my four new friends, I thank you for teaching me the greatest lesson that I've learned thus far on my Indian Adventure.

Sacred Grove

2006-09-21T19:30:00.000+05:30

Two years ago in my Church at Worship liturgy class, we were given the assignment to plan and describe our funeral. As morbid and disturbing as this might seem, this is actually quite an important exercise for future pastors who will, undoubtedly, plan and conduct many funerals. For mine, I had the idea of having my ashes used at the funeral to plant a tree in a whole cycle of life thing.

Yesterday, all of the MPh students visited the Fire-Flies Ashram here in Bangalore. Fire-flies is an interreligious ashram devoted to ecological concerns. FIRE stands for Fellowship In Religious Experience. Anyway, the founder of the organization (who, by the way, is a friend of Dr. Ariarajah’s) showed us the tree that he had planted using his brother’s ashes. This was fascinating to me because it was a similar idea to the one I had.

Then he told a story about a tribal village here in India. In this village, when a person dies, they conduct a traditional funeral (traditional means cremation on a funeral pyre by the priest). What is different is that they then take some of the ashes and they use them to plant a fruit tree along the road. Everyday when they walk past the tree, they are reminded of what that person meant to them and perhaps they will say a prayer. When spring comes around, the tree bears fruit. In one sense, then, the person who passed away is contributing to the health and vibrancy of the community. When the people take the fruit, they remember the person and tell the children about their good attributes. In other words, the person continues to live on in that community through the life of that tree. Although the person has died, his/her spirit lives on through the memories of the villagers, which are the person’s sons, daughters, friends, etc.

Next, as the city limits of Bangalore continue to stretch farther and farther out, this once-remote village becomes potential land for development. A company comes and buys the land and wants to build a factory or store or something there. But the people protest saying “these are sacred trees! The spirits of our ancestors dwell in these trees!” The developers simply respond that these are foolish notions and that trees do not have spirits and are not sacred. The villagers, they say, are simple minded and superstitious.

Now what do we say about these villagers? Are they worshipping the trees? Are they venerating the trees? Who is to blame for the lack of understanding – the villagers for saying that the trees have spirits or the developer who doesn’t know what they mean? Does the tradition of the villagers seem like a practice we should discourage or mimic? What are your reactions?

Views From Our Balcony

2006-09-20T08:10:00.000+05:30

There's a lot of noise here in India. We sleep with the fan on high every night in a weak attempt to drown out the sound of the trucks honking their horns. (Seriously, ya'll will not truly understand how annoying the horns are until you're here, trying to sleep. They have creative horns, which are just crap!) But every now and then, a noise filters into our window and we feel compelled to run outside onto one of the balconies.

Yesterday, we were in our office, pretending that we were working on, um, work, when in reality we were checking to see if anyone had posted comments here on the blog. (Yes, people, that means you...let us know you're listening!) There was some yelling outside, and I looked out the window and saw that our neighbors had come out onto their balcony. I said, "Hey, they're outside." At this point, Brad whipped his head around the corner of the window, fast enough to get their attention. The mother turned to look at us, and by the time she and I made contact, Brad had already disappeared from the frame. I gave a meager smile and wave, while Brad descended into giggles. We laughed for a bit, and then realized that if the neighbors were interested, it was probably something cool.

We ran out onto the bedroom balcony (we get the best view from there) and saw a small crowd of men. Many of them had red cloth wrapped around their heads and they were dancing furiously in the street. There were two religious symbols: the first was housed in a decorated white miniature temple, and I unfortunately couldn't see it. The second was one of the Hindu gods*, on the back of a flatbed truck, surrounded by people.

A few interesting things. First, there weren't any women, which I found strange. Hinduism isn't segregationalist, at least not in terms of gender. ** Also, while some of the men danced with passion, almost to the point of crossing into being a whirling dervish, others were subdued. A few noticed Brad and I taking pictures. (You can see them seeing us in the images.)

We asked Shyla what the festival was for, and she said it was North Indian and therefore she didn't really know. But I have to say, they seem to like their festivals here! It's so great to see such vibrant celebrations happening in the streets. I hope I have the guts to participate some day.

*I want to be clear that the Hindu concept of God is complex. I know that some people may read this and think that Hindus, having many gods, are polytheist. Brad, I'm sure, will give a better lesson some day, but for now, let's just say that they have many names for the different aspects of God's personality.

**There are some schools of thought in Hinduism that promote casteism. Again, something Brad can talk more about. I must stress, however, that it is only some sects (denominations?) that discriminate based on caste.

The Delivery of My Desk

2006-09-19T06:36:00.000+05:30

Last week, my desk and chair were delivered. Brad called the store to ask what time things would be delivered, and he was told in the next 15 mintues. When I came home an hour later, there was still no desk. We went out onto our balcony to see if the truck was coming and instead we saw this:

You can clearly see the man carrying my chair on his head. If you look closely on the bottom, the man with the desk can be seen with it on his head. They then walked up 6 flights of stairs to bring the desk to our office.

To get to our apartment, they had to walk at least a half mile down the road, then cross a very busy road. Best delivery I've ever had, hands down.

The People Around You

2006-09-17T21:05:00.000+05:30

Edit: Brad has a really good comment to this. So if you usually ignore the comment section, you should read the one that accompanies this post.

For as much of my life as I can remember, I've done my best to be a friendly person. Not just to the people that I love and call my friend, but also to people who I don't know at all. This group of people has always included service staff. When I was working at JPMorgan, I would smile at the cleaning ladies. I would pick up the garbage cans near me and hand them to the women. I say hello and thank you to the people whose job it is to hold my door or clean my table. I'm not trying to imply that I'm some magnanimous individual who deserves praise. I've just always tried to make an effort to notice the people who make my day easier.

This behavior has become habit with me. When I see someone working in my flat or tending to the gardens at the lab, I do my best to make eye contact, smile and either say hello or thank you. In the US, the reaction was always a smile in return, perhaps a few words of polite conversation. I would get something in return. But here in India, I've found that the women and men I try to engage, more often than not, just look at me. While it feels like they're snarling at me, in reality it's probably just a lack of reaction.

When I'm on the receiving end of a smile, I do my best to smile back. If nothing else, it makes me smile to have someone smile at me. It means I've been noticed and acknowledged. That's a wonderful feeling! Someone thinks enough of me to expend energy and use their muscles to send a bit of happiness in my direction. If that doesn't make you smile, I don't know what would! So when I smile at someone, and they keep eye contact without smiling back, I get upset.

I've asked Brad about it, and his educated guess is that the people at whom I'm smiling aren't used to people outside of their "caste" smiling at them. Now, I'm outside of the caste system anyway, obviously. But these women and men work for people who deliberately don't acknowledge them. At least that's our working theory.

We have a woman who works for us. It's a little embarrassing for me to admit, because there is a part of me that feels as if I'm falling into the "white oppressor" stereotype. She does the cooking and cleaning and in return we give her $2.50/day. She works for 3 other families, so she most likely makes close to $10/day, which is enough to survive off of here. And in thinking about how poorly "the help" seems to be treated here, I've thought about how I treat Shyla. I leave Brad out of this because his behavior is vastly different than mine.

Most of the time, when Shyla comes over, I shuffle into another part of the flat. I try to make polite conversation for a few minutes, but most of the time, I'm so overwhelmed with guilt and shame that I find it hard to be in the same room with her. It is just so unfair that I would have so much in life, and she so little. I know that she doesn't look at it that way. Her religious beliefs are such that she feels she's fulfilling her duty. But it's really hard for me to have someone think that their duty is cleaning my underwear.

But all of this thinking has brought me to the point where I've realized that I'm not treating her like a human being, and this is just plain wrong. I can't do anything about my fantastic wealth in comparison to her situation. I can't help that I am the boss while she the employee. But what I can do is try to listen to her. Try to talk to her. And do my best to never, ever let her feel like my shame is her fault.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

2006-09-12T21:21:00.000+05:30

Brad and I shared a professor at Drew by the name of Obiri Addo. Dr. Addo is from Ghana and has organized and participated in dozens of cross cultural trips. In fact, he was on my trip with me to Egypt and he helped plan Brad's trip to Ghana. Dr. Addo has a term that uses to describe a very specific interaction that almost always occurs: uh oh moments. Those are the moments where an American is discussing some financial aspect of their lives in a very candid way with someone from a developing nation. The American perhaps is talking about how they need a brand new car or the computer that they can't afford to buy. And in that moment, that very specific moment, the American looks up, remembers who they are talking to and adds an addendum to their statement. "Well, you know, necessary in American terms." "I mean, I know I don't need another computer, but it's different in the US." It's that uncomfortable moment where, as an American, you become painfully aware of how fortunate we are in comparison to the rest of the world. Well, I had my first. And instead of talking to one individual, I was talking to four. And I walked away feeling dumb. As if I had fulfilled the stereotype.

A few of my labmates invited me to go out and have some tea with them at the canteen. I quickly said yes and grabbed my bottle of water. I explained to them that I only like hot beverages when I'm cold, which perhaps sets the tone for the whole conversation: this American chick is weird. We sat down and they started asking me the questions you would expect: Why are you here in India? How long are you staying? How are you adjusting? I answered as honestly as I could. One of the girls then mentioned that she had wanted to take some time off after graduating from her undergraduate program, but her parents hadn't let her. She was lamenting the Indian system, and saying that she wished she lived in America where people took time off to travel and fulfill their whims. (I didn't tell her that most people can't afford that.) I started talking about taking time off and how hard it was to make the decision to go back to school. I know it was for me. I gave up a very good job and a lot of freedom to go deep into debt. Then, I choose to go deeper into debt with my husband by moving to India for two years. No, the decision to take time off is hard.

That's when it happened, when my own little disaster struck. I started rambling about how we had sold our house to move here and we were living on ever dwindling savings. That when we move back to the states, we're both going to be enrolled in post-graduate programs, feeding the flames of debt even more. How we may never be able to afford a house again, depending upon how things go in life. I was captivated with myself and my situation. Never has there been a situation as dire as ours, from the sounds of it. Oh, whoa is me, for this life that I've chosen. How can I stand it? How can I deal with the absolute freedom to move around the world for two years and the savings to provide? How, people, HOW?

Well, those pesky, rational thoughts quickly crawled in and took over. I am lucky. I am probably going to own a home again. I have more money in the bank than these kids may make in their entire lives. My uh oh moment had arrived. "You know, poor by American standards." I looked down at the table and took a swig from my water bottle. Silence descended upon the group. No one said a word for a few moments. Finally, someone mumbled something about being ready to head back to the lab.

I was paralyzed with fear for a few days. (Okay, paralyzed is an obvious exaggeration, but doesn't it sound nice?) I was convinced that these people had now written me off as an ignorant, arrogant American. And you know what? I would have supported that conclusion, based on the small amount of time that they'd spent with me. How foolish of me! However, their superior Indian intellect has prevailed. Mirab helped me out all day in the lab, describing protocols for me. The woman whose name I couldn't pronounce smiled at me today. And I mean, a real smile, all the way up to the eyes!

So while my first uh oh moment has passed, I find myself unscathed. Perhaps I should have been. It would have been deserved. But what I'm really hoping is that the next time an uh oh moment starts to rear its ugly head, I'll be ready for it and try to present a more dignified view of Americans.

Upping the Ante

2006-09-12T19:48:00.000+05:30

Okay, per llawhsoj's suggestion, we're gonna make things interesting here, people. Josh seemed to have trouble dealing with the fact that our postcard may not creatively match whatever item was sent to us. So, let's all match wits, shall we? Can we all stump each other with the crap that we can mail, which will bring joy to the lives of all?

I can say this: very creative mailings will get a picture put on the blog. Just think, you too could be immortalized on the internet.

Our address

2006-09-12T07:44:00.000+05:30

So it's always in a place you can find it, here is our address.

Brad & Elizabeth Bannon
Sobha Aquamarine A4-507
Bellandur: Sarjapur-Outer Ring Road
Near Petrol Bank
Bangalore 560037 Karnataka
India

Don't feel compelled to send us anything. But we will send a postcard back if you write to us. That's the deal we're willing to strike here.

Do you remember?

2006-09-11T21:50:00.000+05:30

It was a beautiful day, that day. The sun was shining, the sky was the color of a robin's egg, with white specks floating by. It wasn't that hot, a little breezy even, so sitting in the sun wasn't uncomfortable. Do you remember?

I had worked the night before, as usual. As I didn't get home until after 12:30 in the morning, I didn't make it to sleep until at least 1:30. I slept until 9:55, and then got up to watch Rosie. I went into the living room and turned on the television. Kathrin was cooking herself breakfast in the kitchen area and channel 7 wouldn't come on. I flipped through the channels, looking for a reason as to why the antenna would be out. I went down to channel 2, which was coming through, and then back up to 7. I couldn't figure out why the only channel that came through was CBS. I flicked back to CBS and found myself speechless. Do you remember?

I must have called Kathrin in to look at the tv. It didn't really make sense. The towers were only a couple of miles from our apartment, yet we hadn't heard anything. There, on the screen, were the images that none of us can get out of our heads, no matter how hard we try. We crawled out onto our fire escape and struggled to see something. We had a view that let us see just the antenna on the top of the trade center. We saw plumes of smoke billowing in the air, black and thick against the crystal blue sky. Do you remember?

I stuck my head back in the apartment, and watched the tower fall. When I stood back up, the antenna was gone from the skyline. That's when the frantic phone calls started. People had been calling us for hours, but the lines were jammed. We called our mothers. We called our friends. We left and heard messages like "I'm fine. I've heard from Jim, Bob, Sue and Joe. They're fine. Let me know that you're fine, too." Do you remember?

We decided to donate blood, so we walked to the local hospital. All of Jersey City was out on the street, searching for something meaningful to do. When we got to St. Francis, we were told that they weren't dedicating any staff to drawing blood because of the survivors. We were told to go home. Back to that place where the only thing to do was watch in horror. We only had one station at that point. The only station being broadcast in New York was CBS, because it's antenna was on the Empire State Building. Do you remember?

We watched the news. We watched a movie. We watched each other. Then, we watched as the ambulences started pulsing past our apartment window. One after another. Sirens screaming. If you looked out our back windows, you could see, maybe a football field away, the ramp to the Turnpike. The Holland Tunnel was closed to allow the ambulances the freedom to drive where they needed. That was when they thought there would be a lot of ambulances. Do you remember?

The first time I went into Manhattan afterwards was on Friday, September 14th. I got out of the subway at 47th and 6th and started to walk East. When I hit 5th Ave, I looked South. I had always been able to see the towers from there, a beacon , a compass letting you know where you were in the city. The sky looked like it had been ripped apart, like a person being taken out of a photograph. Do you remember?

For weeks afterwards, we were bombarded with the images of the missing. The Path station walls were plastered with posters with pictures taken of the people who fell that day. Playing with their families and smiling for cameras. While I wanted to move on, I was drawn to the humanity of those walls. Do you remember?

It's been 5 years and those images and days are blazed in my head. I heard on the news the other day that 95% of Americans remember where they were and what they were doing when they heard. Do you remember?

Life is the end of life

2006-09-07T20:45:00.000+05:30

“Life is the end of life.” That is a sentence that I encountered in my reading today. I had to stop and think about it for a minute because it is such a strange sentence. In philosophy, strange sentences are anything but a rarity, but this one stood out. “Life is the end of life.”

Regardless of whatever our particular philosophy of life is, I think it should include the statement, “life is the end of life.” Here we are, Elizabeth and I, far away from friends, family, and familiarity and it has become much too easy to come home and watch TV and surf the net and forget why we are here. I’ve been here nearly 3 months now and I’m already starting to wonder where the time has gone and how quickly life is passing me by. But wait, what are we doing way over here – far from friends, family and familiarity? We are here because life is the end of life. It’s time to stop treating each day as a means to some elusive end. Life – this life – the one right here and right now – this life is the end of life. Pray that we might all realize this end before the end realizes us.

Changes in attitude

2006-09-07T20:21:00.000+05:30

(The above can be clicked for easier reading)

This was what I wrote at the lab the other day. I have this ongoing battle with the world of synthetic biology. I love the research and find it to be stimulating, fascinating and inspiring. Yet, the people in synthbio are brilliant. It's a young field, and there aren't very many people who have been inspired to spend their lives attempting to create circular strands of DNA that will change the way cells behave. It's a growing field, one with an extraordinary amount of attention at this point, but for the moment, it's the intellectual elite who are controlling the field.

I am not one of those people. I'm a smart girl, there's no doubt of that. I've lived with myself for long enough to know that I have a hefty dose of intelligence in my DNA. However, I'm also smart enough to know that I'm definately not among the higher echelon. I can solve differential equations, I can design genetic circuits, I can hold moderately intelligent conversation about many of the scientific issues facing this world we call home. But I'm not a genius. I'm not one of the intellectual elite. Yet I work with them, everyday.

It's hard to be reminded that I'm limited. We'd like to believe that we are just as capable as everyone else. Americans have this can-do attitude, where we truly think if we work hard enough, put in enough time, we can do anything. This week, I felt as if that just wasn't true. I was defeated, by two Ph.D. candidates who made me feel stupid. ATP, Chemostat, LuxR, LuxI; these terms were bandied about in ways that made my head spin. I know this wasn't their intention, but their wealths of knowledge on the topic intimidated me into feeling as if I'd never be able to hack it in this lab.

That was Tuesday. But then Wednesday happened. We had a lab meeting, that was heavily steeped in complex differential equations. Now, I know many people don't know what those are. They are complex calculus problems, that are not so easy to solve. In fact, the vast majority of D.E. cannot be solved without using tricks and shortcuts. I sat there, following everything that Mukund, the head of our lab, was doing. This is what I spent the past 3 years doing, writing equations that have the same symbols as Brad's Greek translations, but vastly different meanings.

Mukund then came to the most beautiful equations in all of mathematics. Richard Feynman named it as one of his favorite equations. It is paradoxical, it is strange, it is profound. And it is something that I hold very dear to me.Euler's identity, which brings together 5 of the most important concepts in mathematics in a fantastic dance. This shouldn't hold true; I mean, look at it.

Well, this little equation has brought my ego up again. The two Ph.D. students had never seen this before, and couldn't make tail end of it. They are both molecular biologists, and have therefore not had high levels of mathematics or physics. Their lack of understanding helped me to understand. It's not that I'm stupid, it's that I'm undereducated for the world that I'm working in. I've had, at most, one year of college level biology, and that was 7 years ago. I'm a bit rusty. The biology that I studied was general, not molecular, so there is a vast amount of knowlege for me to learn.

Having come to this conclusion, I've made it a goal of mine to work through a few molbio textbooks at the library. Biology has the benefit of being self-teachable. And with a bevy of biologists there to back me up, I'm sure that I'll be flinging those acronyms around in no time.

0.9 Rupees

2006-09-04T20:49:00.000+05:30

Well, I wanted to get my 2-cents (0.9 rupees) in here since the title does include my name. First, though, I have to say that I am shocked and dismayed by the death of Steve Irwin, especially since he was killed while scuba diving! Can you imagine? - a stingray through the heart! But, man, of all the ways to go, you don't get much cooler than that! Although I hope my ultimate demise is in the distant future, I sure hope it is something groovy - maybe get eaten by a giant squid when I'm 92!
To Elizabeth's driving advice, I'd add my own. If a huge truck in front of you slams on the brakes, be cautious as you whip around to pass them on the left... you just might find yourself approaching the less fragrant side of a cow much faster than your two wheels can brake. I very nearly missed what would have been a tragic "rear-ending".
Also, I've travelled with so many tour groups on so many busses that I can't help but to stare and study everything I pass. I don't just glance at the temple facade, I try to peer inside and glimpse the priest and devotees. I often forget that I am on a motorcycle and this has caused some near misses and more than a couple wide-eyed looks from my wife on the scooter near me. We are in the final days of Ganesha Chawurti, a 10-day festival to venerate Ganesha. So, it is quite common to find myself in the middle of a darshan parade. This usually involves a flat-bed truck or even a farm tractor with a trailor hauling an 8-foot moulded clay image of Ganesha painted in bright pinks and reds. Generally, there are around a dozen exhuberant devotees of all generations aboard with drums and instruments and bells. Ganesha is adorned with fresh jasmine and marigolds and all the traffic slows to get a glimpse. The procession carries the group to lake where Ganesha is tossed into the water to remind the devotees of the emptiness of the idol and the pervasiveness of God's presence.
How could I possibly be attentive to my driving with all of that going on around me?!?

Looking my way

2006-09-04T20:13:00.000+05:30

The other day, I e-mailed my sister-in-law Cathy and in that e-mail, I told her how strange it was to be stared at all the time, to have become a commodity. She wrote back and pointed out that she completely understood the dilemma, because of her daughter, Caylyn. Caylyn is the most precious little girl you'd ever dare meet, and she just happens to have Down's Syndrome. As with many Down's babies, Caylyn has a "recognizable facial appearance" , which makes her susceptible to stares. (As a side note, Caylyn is also battling Leukemia right now. Please visit her site and write lovely comments for her!)

This got me thinking about stares. I've had a few people ask me how people stare at me here. After Cathy's e-mail, I started paying attention to the different stares of which I was the object. There are the requisite, lustful stares that make my insides churn. Those were the ones I was expecting, but there are a plethora of reasons why people stare at me. First and foremost, I am a rarity. Bangalore is a city of 6 million, but there are only 15 thousand ex-pats here. Of those 15 thousand, many are of Indian descent. That means that less than .25% of the people here are white. Now I know that tourism may drive that number up, but I'm not going to the places tourists go. So I feel comfortable quoting that figure at you. I've put almost 300 km on my bike, and I've yet to see another white person driving, except when I'm with Brad. So it makes sense that people would take notice of me.

As I began taking notice of the messages that floated through the eyes of those who noticed me, I couldn't help but notice the people that I took notice of. There was the girl who had a full burka on but was with a man who was dressed like a Westerner. The contradiction of their clothes confused me. She was draped in black cloth, with only the tips of her fingers and toes and her lush brown eyes showing. Meanwhile, he had on a button down shirt that had the first few buttons open, baring his chest for all to see. I tried and tried to come up with a circumstance that would put these two together. Perhaps they were brother and sister? Or maybe they had met on the internet? It took a good five minutes for me to even consider that I was being a daft, ignorant American.

The other people that I stare at are white people. Now, I know this seems strange, but in a sea of brown, we are few and far between. If I'm with Brad, I'll tug on his arm and say "Honey, look! White people! Why do you think they're here?" I want to know the story of every white person I lay my eyes on. At the lab, there is an older gentleman who is British (I eavesdropped on him today) and I'm desperate to sit down and ask him what brought him to NCBS.

All of this reflection has changed my mind on being stared at. I was bothered at first. It seemed intrusive. But having turned my expanding lens toward my own behavior, I've tried to take the time to look at someone and infer why they're looking at me. If it's because I'm white, well, that's okay. I do my best to make eye contact, smile and then go my way. Don't get me wrong, there are the people who make me uncomfortable. There are the cars that do their best to drive just alongside me, honking in a weak attempt to get my attention. But for the most part, people are just as interested in me as I am in them. They want to know my story, what brought me to India. I'm entering into places where outsiders just don't go. And really, aren't I fortunate that I'm able to do that. I can't imagine a Bangalore where I would be prevented from going somewhere because of my skin or nationality.

And I have to challenge you to do the same. If you find yourself being gawped at, ask yourself why that person may be looking at you. And take note of the people you stare at. You may decide to be a whole more tolerant of the looks you get in life. Really, if you try really hard, you can look at it as a compliment. Someone is just interested in who you are and what you do. Personally, I can't ask for more than that.

The Official Board Smarty-Pants

2006-09-04T20:12:00.000+05:30

And I mean that in the nicest possible way. Alison was kind enough to translate 50 km/hr into 31 m/hr. So thanks to her, and Alison, if you'd like your postcard, I'll need your address, please. Wow, I should totally hold monthly contests.

Driving like the locals

2006-09-02T22:43:00.000+05:30

Yesterday was my first day at the lab. There isn't much to tell yet, as nothing of interest happened. I don't know yet what project I'll be working on; I won't until Monday. So I'll save the discussion of the lab until there is something legitimate to discuss.

I've now made the drive to the lab twice. The first was a trial run this past Monday. That was an adventure. I got lost both coming and going, which, if nothing else, ensured that I saw a bit more of Bangalore.

Driving here is a bit of an adventure. The best advice I can offer, after living in another country for three weeks, is that if you choose to drive, always drive like the locals. To a certain extent, I learned this lesson in Manhattan. If you behave like the locals, they can anticipate your movements and behave accordingly. It's usually the visitors who end up causing accidents, because their behavior is erratic, at least according to local custom.

Well, to drive like a Bangalorean, you have to be a bit daft. They use the horn to an obnoxious extent. At first, I thought it was out of rudeness, as in my life is more important, so get out of my way, punk! And while that is part of the it, it's also that the horn is used to notify other drivers of your relative location to them. If a driver is about to pass me, they'll honk on their horn, letting me know hey, man...here I am...please don't enter my space...It's taken some time for me to get used to this, and I always feel as if I'm being criticized.

The problem with the horn, however, is how often it is used to try and get my attention. For instance, yesterday I was at a light and the gentlemen next to me noticed that there was a white woman on a scooter. The driver proceeded to lay on the horn while his companion yelled out the window at me. I did my best to stay focused on my iPod (playing The Last Kiss soundtrack...a must if you're a fan of indie rock), but it's really hard to ignore a blaring horn. I have to admit that it makes me a bit nervous when I get that much attention on the road. Someone else decided they wanted to talk to me, while we were doing 50 km/hr down the road. (A postcard will go to the first person who converts that from km -> m, both for the reader and the humble writer of this blog. I'm too lazy to do it myself.) He pulled up next to me and started yelling at me as we were going down the road. I did my best to ignore him, but it's just so damned hard to do that.

With all of that being said, I've had some fantastic adventures on my bike. When I was coming home from my practice drive, I came to a suspension bridge, and wasn't sure whether I should go over it or under it. I decided that it would be fun to see the view from the top, so I went over. Of course, this was the wrong choice, and I ended up sitting in a gas station, looking at a map to try and figure out where I wanted to go. Two gentlemen, seeing my dilemma, came over and pointed me in the right direction. Well, I drove down the road and followed the crowd around the side of the suspension bridge. About 100 yards down the road, everyone turned off onto a dirt road. That couldn't be the way I wanted to go, so I continued on and quickly hit a dead end. So I turned around, thought of Brad, and decided that I should just go ahead and take the dirt road. What was the worst that could happen, I thought. Well, the dirt road became very narrow, filled with bumpy rocks and divets. The course was going slightly downhill and I saw that it made a quick right hand turn at the end. This seemed to be the right direction for me to go in, so I just kept on going. As soon as I turned, I saw where traffic was going: through a small tunnel, that wouldn't have been tall enough for me to walk through. It was only wide enough for one bike to pass through at a time, and I was at the end of the line from my side. I bucked up and drove through. Geez, it was so much fun! :) Everyone should take the time to go offroading in Bangalore. I eventually found my way back to Outer Ring Road and all the way home, but I have to say, I'm so glad that I got lost. I don't think I'll ever intentionally go back that way, because who knows what may happen the next time. But it was a local experience. No tourist would find there way there. I feel initiated into the fold. I'll never be a true Indian, but that trip has got to count for something. The only thing that may pull me back is a desire to take pictures of it, so I'll forever remember the shortcut tunnel that I found by getting hopelessly lost in Bangalore.

Good times...

You know it's bad when...

2006-08-31T22:42:00.000+05:30

Now, I know I made a big show of inviting everyone here to join in our fantastic experience in India. And I've been thinking about writing, every day, mostly saying to myself when I have an internet connection at home, then, then, I will write something. Well, that blessed day has come, and the event that has pushed me to finally get out of bed and write something is my mother's nagging. That's right, my mom wrote and asked why we hadn't written anything and then proceeded to e-lecture me about how important this blog will be in 30 years. You gotta love my mom.

The thing is, I don't really know where to begin. I've been in India for almost three weeks now, and I've had loads of fantastic (and a few not so great) experiences. I've been stared at (thanks go to Chrissy for the prep on that) and helped (thank God for the broad use of English) by perfect strangers. I've had people assume things about me, both complimentary and horrid, because of my hair, eyes, nationality and style of dress. I've gotten into an accident (only a little one, Mom, it's okay) and driven for hours, finally knowing why people ride on motorcycles. (breeze rushing through your hair, connection to surroundings, etc.) As I wrote at Kristin's blog, I feel friendless, loveless and smelly.

Or at least I did. For two weeks solid, I wanted to go home. I wanted my mommy. I wanted to go to the store and be able to make banal conversation with the clerk behind the desk. But then something dawned on me. This is why I'm here. My husband and I decided that we wanted to live overseas in order to know the world, and ourselves, a little better. I want to go through the drama. I want to be scared, confused, frustrated and angry. And as my mother likes to remind me, I'm fiercely independent (NOT TELL ME WHAT TO DO!) and the idea of learning to survive in a culture with only my husband's brilliant input is thrilling.

So now it begins. Our big adventure. So far, the food has made me ill, so there's not much to report there. The apartment is mostly unfurnished, so the pictures will be bland and boring. I go tomorrow to see if I have a job that will keep my wandering mind entertained for two years. And I have the best husband in the world asleep a few feet away, just waiting to hold my hand and go through this with me. Care to join us?

And so it begins

2006-07-10T03:07:00.000+05:30

And so it begins. Our adventure in India, filled with questionable food, unending sunny days and room enough for everyone to visit. Both Brad and Elizabeth will update this blog regularly to keep everyone aware of our thoughts and experiences. It's going to be a bumpy and amazing ride. Join us.