Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Saying Goodbye
Tomorrow is my last day in India and I am at this moment feeling a mixture of excitement to see everyone, nervousness about re-entering the country, and exhaustion by the goodbyes and “winding up” process that has occurred this week. I had no idea how hard this goodbye was going to be and the main reason it is so hard is because there is no certainty of when I will see these people again, if ever. The last week was basically one goodbye after another. I have come to understand that goodbyes here are a rather big deal. A goodbye involves several formal gatherings with speeches, songs, gifts and prayers that seems to last an unnecessarily long time. But what I experienced during my formal farewells was a genuine and heart-felt send-off, filled with laughter and tears. I cannot even begin to articulate the ways I feel I have changed this year, mostly because I don’t think I am really aware of these changes yet. In fact, I feel I will be discovering the ways I have been changed for the rest of my life. Since I have been here I have learned a lot about just being present with others and not measuring my time with how much I get done in a day. I have lived a quite horizontal lifestyle where I am not constantly climbing a ladder to get to another better destination, a better future. Instead I found meaning in my everyday life, visiting with people, giving of my time and energy without focusing so much on the future. I have found myself, this year, not in the high places of society but instead in the homes of those who are often forgotten about in the great climb to the top. I have learned what it’s like to be at the bottom of the ladder, to hold no high position, no recognized credentials, to not even know the language. I felt all the tools that have taken me twenty five years to develop in order to show I am a capable and cultured woman in society (my intellect, my education, my etiquette), have all been useless here and I have been humbled because of it. I needed to understand these things that society places value on are trivial matters in the face of the greater concern, “how is our neighbor?” Here, my neighbors where those not recognized by society, those with little material possessions, yet it was in these places that I heard my name and felt known. It was in these poorer communities that I felt glimpses of the Kingdom of God because it was in these places that I felt one with the people, loved and cared for. It was the people with little material possessions who reached out to me whole-heartedly. They have nothing to store up or keep safe, but they give freely and generously of what they do have. It is like Jesus said, ““Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth…but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven…For where your treasure is, there your heart will also be (Matthew 6:19-23).” Likewise, theirs is not in obtaining the most, but in being happy with what they have been given. Theirs is not in having a high position but in acknowledging the humanity in all people. And I believe this is what the Kingdom of God is all about. It is a place without ranking or power, a place where each person is acknowledged as equal. When leaving this place, I am carrying home with me the hope of bringing this vision of the Kingdom and living a life that acknowledges humanity in all people rather then focusing on climbing a ladder to the top. This is perhaps the greatest challenge, but one in which I feel there is no better alternative. As the Lord’s Prayer proclaims, “Thy Kingdom Come, Thy Will be Done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.” In India, I have felt acknowledged in my transition from foreigner to friend. I have found deep friendship here and family ties. I have relearned that home is not a location but a place where one is known and what I thought I was leaving last September, I found in the hearts of people half way across the world. And now as I say goodbye I am reminded again of the impermanence of life. The things we learn will fade, the people we know will come and go, the experiences we have will pass, even our loved ones will pass away, but the one thing that remains and carries on even after death, is the love that was shared. And that is main reason this year has been so meaningful for me. I want to thank you all for your support and your insightful and kind words in response to my newsletters. It meant so much to have people support me on such a journey. I will be back on August 1st and would love to come speak about my experience. If you would like, just email meJ. Thank you for keeping me in your prayers. I will be seeing you all very soon
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
A Community Celebration: Hope for Our World.
One thing I’ve learned in life is that time moves at a speed that has no regard for sentimentalities of the heart. No matter how meaningful an experience, no matter how much you want the tick-tock clock to slow down, time refuses to halt. The saddest part about this illusive time, which seems to slip away, is that, try as you might, you cannot turn back the hands of time, you will never get back the experiences that stay frozen only inside your mind. And so I find myself in a place where time is, as they say, running out.April quickly came, bringing with it an excursion to North India in which we were able to explore some of India’s most beautiful landscapes, like the foothills of the Himalayan mountains and the Goan beaches, as well as see breath-taking architecture like the Taj Mahal and the Golden Temple. But as soon as it came, it went, leaving us tired of traveling and relieved to be returning home to Kerala.
May, although at times appeared to be moving slowly, was gone before I knew it. The school and college were still closed during May, so it was a time of visiting people in the community, spending time with the girls in the hostel, the children from the lower primary school, the college students, and friends who live in nearby areas. There were weddings and other celebrations, as well as an Arts and Crafts camp for the community children. While working with the children in the Lower Primary School this past year, I realized that Art is not a part of their weekly curriculum. And so, after speaking to Achen and my site supervisor, I decided to create a one-week camp devoted to making Arts and Crafts, with some fun games and songs thrown in as well. From what I understand, children in Kerala are not encouraged to explore extracurricular activities, like arts, sports, music, etc, and even if they wanted to, they often times do not have the materials needed or opportunities necessary to follow those interests through. The week before the camp, I walked around the community, passing out flyers, which announced the dates and times of the camp. Sudie and John, a couple of the young adult volunteers, and Prajod and Bijo, two of my close friends from Kerala, who helped translate our English to Malayalam for the kids, came to Kallumala to help lead the camp. We bought materials for each day and helped the children to make different kinds of bracelets, paper bag puppets, and mother’s day cards. We also painted, sang songs, read stories and played games (we introduced them to capture the flag and water balloons, which they loved). There were 40+ students from the LP school and the CSI church in Kallumala that came to the camp each day and in the evening we would walk around visiting their houses. At the end of the week, the kids were requesting for another Arts and Crafts camp n
ext year.The children from the Lower Primary School have been the heart of my experience here. Every morning as I walk into the gates of the school I am greeted with so many happy children running up to hug me or shake my hand and shout, “How are you?” in which they immediately answer for themselves, “I am fine”. Everyday as I walk to and from the college and the school or go on house visits, I see so many familiar smiling faces and raised hands as the children call out in their high pitched voices, “Miss, Miss,” that it is impossible to walk without smiling from ear to ear. The children are one of the main reasons why I feel like I am such a part of the community here. Not only the children welcome me with their expressions of joy and tiny hands, but their parents welcome me with signs of appreciation which let me know that they trust me, and I have found in my experience as a foreigner, there is nothing better then to feel trusted.
With June came two exciting changes. One, the monsoon rains, which make Kerala even more green and lush then it already is and which cool down the oppressive heat so that it is actually a pleasant temperature; no more waterfalls of sweat down my back! And secondly, this past Saturday was the 150th Jubilee of the Lower Primary School and Inauguration of the new LP school building. The old school building, which from what I here was not in good condition, as can be expected after 148 years of use, was torn down after its ceiling caved in two years ago. Since then, the children have been meeting in three storage rooms underneath the college auditorium. The classrooms are dusty and dirty, there is not sufficient lighting or ventilation and the chalkboards are basically unreadable. This past year there were only been three teachers for four grades and it was clear that both the teachers and students were losing the motivation to teach and
to learn. Needless to say, they were all ready for the new building to be finished.The school was started150 years ago by English Missionaries. At that time it was called “Pallikudam” which means the building was used as place of study during the week and as a church on Sundays. In 1947 India gained Independence and at that time all the missionary churches were unified into one church called Church of South India C.S.I. Although the school is called the Kallumala CSI School, the money raised for the construction of the new building came from Kerala’s Central Diocese, along with various institutions, mostly schools and colleges in Mavelikara, and from some of the members in Kallumala CSI church. It is a government-aided school, which means, the teacher’s salaries and the school lunches are paid for by the government. The school uses the Kerala Government Syllabus and the classes are taught in Malayalam. A majority of the children come from financially poor families in the area and several members of the church contribute to buying uniforms and books for those students in need. The construction of the new building has taken two years to complete. But on this past Saturday, June 6th, the community celebrated t
ogether as their hope became reality. The excitement was palpable, in the workers, in the parents, in the college students, especially in the teachers and students. The Inauguration started with a community march that started from the central junction in Kallumala and ended at the new School. A band led the way, followed by the children waving their flags, and the rest of the community cheering loudly behind. There were a couple hundred people there in full. The Bishop came and christened the new building and all the classrooms. And many retired teachers and graduate students of the LP school came and gave speeches.The new building has four classrooms and an office. Two more teachers are joining the staff and a nursery is being a
dded. This past week I moved the children’s library that was started by former volunteer Katherine Bryant, to the new building. Classes in the new school started Monday. It is truly amazing to see such a big change happen in this community. I am so happy to see that these children, who I love and who have been such a meaningful part of my experience here, now have the opportunity to learn in a good school with good desks, chalkboards, and books. On the one hand, knowing that their situation here has improved fills me with a great hope for our world. On the other hand, I can’t help but think about the many children who continue to learn in poor conditions, and I am reminded of all the work we have left to do. But as history has taught us, change happens in small steps. I have felt so blessed to be a part of this celebration with a community I have grown to love as a family and that with a sad heart I will be leaving soon.I’ve experience a lot of anxiety and sadness in realizing that my time is almost finished here; Anxiety about re-adjusting to the American lifestyle and sadness knowing that it will never be the same when I come back. The children will grow and change just as I will. Nevertheless, I am ready to go back. To face the new challenges ahead of me and to discover the ways in which I’ve changed. I am excited to get started with my life and to be a part of the change happening in America. I am ready to put Gandhi’s words into action, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” There is a lot of change yet to come and we still have a lot of time. And so in my last two months remaining I find peace, with the ever-moving train of time, by trying to live each moment to the fullest and with an optimistic attitude that many more changes are yet to come.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
A Village Life
A Village Life
One of the big reasons I wanted to spend a year abroad as a YAV was to have the “full immersion experience” in which I was invited to participate in a culture completely different then my own. During my time in India I have been like an observer, trying to examine the culture as an anthropologist would, with curiosity, but being careful not to judge any differences I observe. What I have found to be more of a challenge is participating in the culture. While I try to involve myself in as many foreign activities as I can; marriages, social events, holiday celebrations, farewells…I still feel like I am an outsider looking in more then an actual participant. This has proved to be a bit difficult and the longer I have been here the more I find myself just wanting to blend into the crowd, but in this culture “blending in” is nearly impossible. Everyone is curios to see the foreigner and I can’t go anywhere without some pointing fingers, astounded gazes, or random shout outs in English (my favorites are “how are you I am fine”, one sentence, and “I love you”, from complete strangers). Recently, I have been paying more attention to the looks I get and have decided there are three major categories of looks. The first look and most common is the “Oh Wow! Look it is a Madam! (white woman)” complete with raised eyebrows look; the second look I have encountered is the “What the Hec is that Madama doing in India?” puzzled look, could be mistaken for anger; and the third and my ultimate favorite is the “Holy God, I think I have just seen an Alien!” eyes as wide as the sky look. On the one hand, it is kind of flattering being the center of attention everywhere you go, eyes all on you, but on the other hand it can feel pretty lonesome sometimes when you know you are an outsider and probably always will be. Today I finally admitted to myself that I am pretty much frightened to go anywhere by myself, and anyone who knows me knows this is a hard thing for me to admit. I like to feel free to go anywhere I want without feeling scared. I like to feel like an individual who can do things on my own. But here, I feel like every time I step out my door, there are those looks that remind me, I am a long way from home. Of course, the language barrier doesn’t help, not to mention it is rare here that I see any woman, foreigner or not, travel alone. But despite all the looks and subtle reminders, I do feel comfort coming back to my small village town after I have been away.
These past couple of months, I have attempted to resolve some of my fear by going on house visits around my village. At around 4:30 or 5:00 in the evening, when the sun is no longer unbearable, I walk around my little community waving, saying hi with my very limited Malayalam vocabulary, and visit with people on the streets and in their houses. Several times I have gone with Kochamma, an elderly woman who has lived in the area for a long time. This has proved to be very helpful, as she knows many of the people in the community and can help translate. We have ventured to a couple of communities just behind the college that are very poor areas. However, these areas are my favorite to visit; they are the places I feel like I begin my transformation from observer to participant, outsider to insider. When I step into these little villages I immediately feel welcomed by strangers both young and old, who fearlessly run up to me or invite me inside for tea and although not much of anything is said there is a genuine conversation of smiles and gestures and I am immediately filled with joy. Their fearlessness in welcoming a stranger helps me overcome my insecurities and I realize how much of my own fear is not only a hindrance to myself but also to others who I believe can instinctively pick up on that fear. In these small villages I no longer feel like a foreigner but a good friend or family member as together we enjoy one another’s company, laugh, and even at times embrace. It is after these visits that I walk home feeling full of life, my spirit rejuvenated and ready to soar. Some of the best memories I will take back with me are from these house visits; they are the reason I came to India. One evening in particular Kochamma and I went to several homes visiting with families and praying with them. One woman, a friend of Kochamma, had no mobility in her legs and was bed ridden, but her spirit reminded me a lot like mine. I could tell she was a woman with a lot of stories and experiences, a woman with wisdom from a life well learned. We talked for a long time then she and Kochamma began to sing one of the only Malayalam songs I have become familiar with and I was able to participate in the boundary breaking melodies of music. We then closed in prayer, holding hands and offering our hearts to God. After the prayer, we ventured down a hill to another small village. There was a soccer field in the center of the homes where a group of middle-aged men were playing. I felt nervous at first, as I always do when I feel like I am crossing over or entering into someone else’s domain. I felt like I was intruding. I think I get this idea from the unwritten law in the U.S. which states, “Each person has their own personal space, do not enter unless first asking permission.” (Here there is no such thing as personal space, which has its own pro’s and con’s). However, when I crossed that invisible boundary, I got a much different reaction then the usual “stop, pause, and gaze” response, I have become so familiar with in Kerala. Instead, before I knew it, I had six or seven children around me, four of which were my students from the LP school, pulling me into their houses, asking me endless questions in their limited English, their families welcoming me with open doors and cups of tea. I felt there was an unspoken mutual appreciation. They appreciated me for spending time with their children at the LP school, and I appreciated them for bringing me into their home. I walked with one woman and her children back behind their house to where a large patty field was covered in water. There we stood in silence and I felt a little friend of mine creep up, the feeling of peace. When it started to get dark, Kochamma and I walked back to the church where there was an evening service for Ash Wednesday. There I prayed letting the Malayalam words wash over me like a gentle wave, and I felt my heart expanding; growing bigger and bigger, taking in the love all around me. I thanked God for the village life where I felt a sense of belonging, a home away from home, with friends and family. As I walked back that night I felt the boundaries I had created falling and my spirit lifting. A feeling of bliss filled my being as I acknowledged the truth, God’s truth, that I am free.
One of the big reasons I wanted to spend a year abroad as a YAV was to have the “full immersion experience” in which I was invited to participate in a culture completely different then my own. During my time in India I have been like an observer, trying to examine the culture as an anthropologist would, with curiosity, but being careful not to judge any differences I observe. What I have found to be more of a challenge is participating in the culture. While I try to involve myself in as many foreign activities as I can; marriages, social events, holiday celebrations, farewells…I still feel like I am an outsider looking in more then an actual participant. This has proved to be a bit difficult and the longer I have been here the more I find myself just wanting to blend into the crowd, but in this culture “blending in” is nearly impossible. Everyone is curios to see the foreigner and I can’t go anywhere without some pointing fingers, astounded gazes, or random shout outs in English (my favorites are “how are you I am fine”, one sentence, and “I love you”, from complete strangers). Recently, I have been paying more attention to the looks I get and have decided there are three major categories of looks. The first look and most common is the “Oh Wow! Look it is a Madam! (white woman)” complete with raised eyebrows look; the second look I have encountered is the “What the Hec is that Madama doing in India?” puzzled look, could be mistaken for anger; and the third and my ultimate favorite is the “Holy God, I think I have just seen an Alien!” eyes as wide as the sky look. On the one hand, it is kind of flattering being the center of attention everywhere you go, eyes all on you, but on the other hand it can feel pretty lonesome sometimes when you know you are an outsider and probably always will be. Today I finally admitted to myself that I am pretty much frightened to go anywhere by myself, and anyone who knows me knows this is a hard thing for me to admit. I like to feel free to go anywhere I want without feeling scared. I like to feel like an individual who can do things on my own. But here, I feel like every time I step out my door, there are those looks that remind me, I am a long way from home. Of course, the language barrier doesn’t help, not to mention it is rare here that I see any woman, foreigner or not, travel alone. But despite all the looks and subtle reminders, I do feel comfort coming back to my small village town after I have been away.
These past couple of months, I have attempted to resolve some of my fear by going on house visits around my village. At around 4:30 or 5:00 in the evening, when the sun is no longer unbearable, I walk around my little community waving, saying hi with my very limited Malayalam vocabulary, and visit with people on the streets and in their houses. Several times I have gone with Kochamma, an elderly woman who has lived in the area for a long time. This has proved to be very helpful, as she knows many of the people in the community and can help translate. We have ventured to a couple of communities just behind the college that are very poor areas. However, these areas are my favorite to visit; they are the places I feel like I begin my transformation from observer to participant, outsider to insider. When I step into these little villages I immediately feel welcomed by strangers both young and old, who fearlessly run up to me or invite me inside for tea and although not much of anything is said there is a genuine conversation of smiles and gestures and I am immediately filled with joy. Their fearlessness in welcoming a stranger helps me overcome my insecurities and I realize how much of my own fear is not only a hindrance to myself but also to others who I believe can instinctively pick up on that fear. In these small villages I no longer feel like a foreigner but a good friend or family member as together we enjoy one another’s company, laugh, and even at times embrace. It is after these visits that I walk home feeling full of life, my spirit rejuvenated and ready to soar. Some of the best memories I will take back with me are from these house visits; they are the reason I came to India. One evening in particular Kochamma and I went to several homes visiting with families and praying with them. One woman, a friend of Kochamma, had no mobility in her legs and was bed ridden, but her spirit reminded me a lot like mine. I could tell she was a woman with a lot of stories and experiences, a woman with wisdom from a life well learned. We talked for a long time then she and Kochamma began to sing one of the only Malayalam songs I have become familiar with and I was able to participate in the boundary breaking melodies of music. We then closed in prayer, holding hands and offering our hearts to God. After the prayer, we ventured down a hill to another small village. There was a soccer field in the center of the homes where a group of middle-aged men were playing. I felt nervous at first, as I always do when I feel like I am crossing over or entering into someone else’s domain. I felt like I was intruding. I think I get this idea from the unwritten law in the U.S. which states, “Each person has their own personal space, do not enter unless first asking permission.” (Here there is no such thing as personal space, which has its own pro’s and con’s). However, when I crossed that invisible boundary, I got a much different reaction then the usual “stop, pause, and gaze” response, I have become so familiar with in Kerala. Instead, before I knew it, I had six or seven children around me, four of which were my students from the LP school, pulling me into their houses, asking me endless questions in their limited English, their families welcoming me with open doors and cups of tea. I felt there was an unspoken mutual appreciation. They appreciated me for spending time with their children at the LP school, and I appreciated them for bringing me into their home. I walked with one woman and her children back behind their house to where a large patty field was covered in water. There we stood in silence and I felt a little friend of mine creep up, the feeling of peace. When it started to get dark, Kochamma and I walked back to the church where there was an evening service for Ash Wednesday. There I prayed letting the Malayalam words wash over me like a gentle wave, and I felt my heart expanding; growing bigger and bigger, taking in the love all around me. I thanked God for the village life where I felt a sense of belonging, a home away from home, with friends and family. As I walked back that night I felt the boundaries I had created falling and my spirit lifting. A feeling of bliss filled my being as I acknowledged the truth, God’s truth, that I am free.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
“Tudi”
(Tribal Unity for Developmental Initiatives)
I have been here for nearly five months and yet there are times when I still can’t believe I am in India. December and January proved to be a bit challenging, as we were fairly warned that home away during the holiday’s is not particularly easy. As Thomas John Achen reminds us, “This year is not meant to be for joy alone. It is in the hard, challenging times in our lives that we really begin to grow spiritually.” And I believe he is right. Whenever I am feeling particularly lonely, frustrated, or angry at life I just remind myself, I am growing.
Our January “YAV” retreat in the mountains of North Kerela, a place called Wynard, came at a good time as I was feeling particularly down and out. I wasn’t connecting to my community the way I imagined I would be five months in and I was thinking far too much about going home in August and what I needed to be doing when I got back to the States. In short, I needed some spiritual rejuvenation bad. The mountains have always been a place where I can feel God. Being born and raised on a farm, I am a nature girl by heart. I know when I’ve been away from God’s natural beauty for too long, my mood begins to change for the worst. Needless to say, I was ready for a get away to the mountains. Not only was I thrilled about the aesthetic feature of our retreat (and the fact that I would be reunited with my fellow YAV’s for some major bonding), I was also excited because we were going to spend our time with one of the tribal communities in Wynard.
Wynard is densely populated with tribal (indigenous people of India) communities. These communities remind me of the Native American tribes in the U.S. The tribals (tribal people) were the original settlers of Kerela but were pushed to the periphery when other immigrants came to the area. And much like in the U.S. the people of the tribes carry a history of being disrespected, discriminated against, and cheated out of land. They know little about the modern world and depend greatly on the land and each other. But with much of their land and natural resources being taken away they are left in a state of poverty (physically, mentally, and spiritually). Many suffer from hunger and many suffer from a loss of dignity, turning to heavy drinking. Some tribals have been offered low paying jobs in bordering states, away from their family whom they cannot protect, and many of the women and children are abused and mistreated by outsiders. Because the tribal speak a different language many children in schools are at a great disadvantage and teachers and students alike treat them unequally, leading to a high number of dropouts. These communities face many heartbreaking hardships and not many people know or care to know about their situation.
One group that does care and who invited us to come and learn about the tribe communities is a Kerala Jesuit Society that leads a cultural movement called “Tudi”. (Tudi is the name of a musical instrument, similar to a drum, commonly used by tribes.) The Tudi team is made up of folklorists, anthropologists, social activists, teachers, farmers, doctors, and workers. Their vision is to promote nature-friendly, culture-friendly, and human-friendly societies among tribals and non-tribals by developing alternative social, economic, cultural, and educational conditions that nurture the cultural uniqueness and folklore. I have a particular interest in their communal way of living and especially in their closely tied relationship with the natural world. For tribals the earth is a very sacred place where they get all their necessities for survival. In their tribal celebrations, the importance of agriculture is depicted in some of their dancing. One of the nights we had the great privilege of joining in traditional song and dance with the youth of the tribal village, ages five to eighteen. They used sticks to demonstrate how they toil the land. Together we raised our voices, joined our hands, and danced around a center flame. It was one of the most amazingly spiritual moments of my life. I felt like I was connecting with the tribal people in their homeland, sharing our joy and love of God.
During the three days we were there I was able to get away a couple times by myself and venture into the natural setting, something I haven’t been able to do in Mavelikara (even in a village setting there are few places where one can find true privacy.) I walked down a hillside that led to a coconut grove and just beyond the grove were beautiful patty fields. There were pathways between the patty fields, on slightly higher ground, making it easier for one to walk from field to field. I found a spot in the middle of a pathway, sat down Indian style, and listened in silence. I felt my mind, filled with worries and frustrations, suddenly letting go of everything. I felt a peace wash over me and suddenly I realized, I am sitting in a patty field that belongs to a tribal village, in the mountains of Southern India, on the continent of Asia. With that change of perspective I allowed myself to forget all the “small things” that seemed to clutter my mind and I embraced the moment, fully, handing over complete trust to God. I found God as I often find God, in the silence, surrounded by nature.
After the long weekend I felt refreshed, re-inspired, and ready to re-enter my life in Mavelikara. I was left with a rejuvenated spirit and a deep appreciation for and connection with the tribals for they truly realize and live as though we are part of the earth and the earth is part of us. Like it says in the Bible, “God has given us dominion over of the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every tree and green plant for food and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” (Genesis 1: 28-30.)
“How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land, the freshness of the air, the sparkle of the water? Teach your children what we have taught our children, that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.” – Chief Seattle (A quote given to us at our visit with Tudi).
I have been here for nearly five months and yet there are times when I still can’t believe I am in India. December and January proved to be a bit challenging, as we were fairly warned that home away during the holiday’s is not particularly easy. As Thomas John Achen reminds us, “This year is not meant to be for joy alone. It is in the hard, challenging times in our lives that we really begin to grow spiritually.” And I believe he is right. Whenever I am feeling particularly lonely, frustrated, or angry at life I just remind myself, I am growing.
Our January “YAV” retreat in the mountains of North Kerela, a place called Wynard, came at a good time as I was feeling particularly down and out. I wasn’t connecting to my community the way I imagined I would be five months in and I was thinking far too much about going home in August and what I needed to be doing when I got back to the States. In short, I needed some spiritual rejuvenation bad. The mountains have always been a place where I can feel God. Being born and raised on a farm, I am a nature girl by heart. I know when I’ve been away from God’s natural beauty for too long, my mood begins to change for the worst. Needless to say, I was ready for a get away to the mountains. Not only was I thrilled about the aesthetic feature of our retreat (and the fact that I would be reunited with my fellow YAV’s for some major bonding), I was also excited because we were going to spend our time with one of the tribal communities in Wynard.
Wynard is densely populated with tribal (indigenous people of India) communities. These communities remind me of the Native American tribes in the U.S. The tribals (tribal people) were the original settlers of Kerela but were pushed to the periphery when other immigrants came to the area. And much like in the U.S. the people of the tribes carry a history of being disrespected, discriminated against, and cheated out of land. They know little about the modern world and depend greatly on the land and each other. But with much of their land and natural resources being taken away they are left in a state of poverty (physically, mentally, and spiritually). Many suffer from hunger and many suffer from a loss of dignity, turning to heavy drinking. Some tribals have been offered low paying jobs in bordering states, away from their family whom they cannot protect, and many of the women and children are abused and mistreated by outsiders. Because the tribal speak a different language many children in schools are at a great disadvantage and teachers and students alike treat them unequally, leading to a high number of dropouts. These communities face many heartbreaking hardships and not many people know or care to know about their situation.
One group that does care and who invited us to come and learn about the tribe communities is a Kerala Jesuit Society that leads a cultural movement called “Tudi”. (Tudi is the name of a musical instrument, similar to a drum, commonly used by tribes.) The Tudi team is made up of folklorists, anthropologists, social activists, teachers, farmers, doctors, and workers. Their vision is to promote nature-friendly, culture-friendly, and human-friendly societies among tribals and non-tribals by developing alternative social, economic, cultural, and educational conditions that nurture the cultural uniqueness and folklore. I have a particular interest in their communal way of living and especially in their closely tied relationship with the natural world. For tribals the earth is a very sacred place where they get all their necessities for survival. In their tribal celebrations, the importance of agriculture is depicted in some of their dancing. One of the nights we had the great privilege of joining in traditional song and dance with the youth of the tribal village, ages five to eighteen. They used sticks to demonstrate how they toil the land. Together we raised our voices, joined our hands, and danced around a center flame. It was one of the most amazingly spiritual moments of my life. I felt like I was connecting with the tribal people in their homeland, sharing our joy and love of God.
During the three days we were there I was able to get away a couple times by myself and venture into the natural setting, something I haven’t been able to do in Mavelikara (even in a village setting there are few places where one can find true privacy.) I walked down a hillside that led to a coconut grove and just beyond the grove were beautiful patty fields. There were pathways between the patty fields, on slightly higher ground, making it easier for one to walk from field to field. I found a spot in the middle of a pathway, sat down Indian style, and listened in silence. I felt my mind, filled with worries and frustrations, suddenly letting go of everything. I felt a peace wash over me and suddenly I realized, I am sitting in a patty field that belongs to a tribal village, in the mountains of Southern India, on the continent of Asia. With that change of perspective I allowed myself to forget all the “small things” that seemed to clutter my mind and I embraced the moment, fully, handing over complete trust to God. I found God as I often find God, in the silence, surrounded by nature.
After the long weekend I felt refreshed, re-inspired, and ready to re-enter my life in Mavelikara. I was left with a rejuvenated spirit and a deep appreciation for and connection with the tribals for they truly realize and live as though we are part of the earth and the earth is part of us. Like it says in the Bible, “God has given us dominion over of the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every tree and green plant for food and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” (Genesis 1: 28-30.)
“How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land, the freshness of the air, the sparkle of the water? Teach your children what we have taught our children, that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.” – Chief Seattle (A quote given to us at our visit with Tudi).
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Christmas Abroad
I realize it has been far too long since I last wrote a blog entry and part of the reason is because of the holiday season, which I have found stays busy no matter where you are in the world. The other part of the reason, however, is because I was lacking the inspiration I needed to write, as this period has been somewhat spiritually dry for me. I have been faced with challenges during this stretch of time, some of which I anticipated, others I did not. Of course I am appreciative of the challenges I have been faced with, as I have found in retrospect that the times I struggle the most are the times I grow the most. One of the challenges I’ve been faced with is finding someone in the community to really understand me. There is still a language barrier and many cultural differences so I don’t feel like there is anyone with whom I can really talk to about my inner most thoughts and feelings. Also, I recently have become less patient with the constant staring of passerbyer’s on the street. Even though I know the staring is harmless, mostly out of curiosity, I feel a bit frustrated that I had been in India for over four months and I still feel like somewhat of an outsider, especially when I step out my door into the street.
A big challenge came in December with the oncoming Christmas season which brought with it the gradual awareness that I was far away from home and my friends and family, who were, at that time, all getting together to spend time and love with one another. I was surprised by my sudden sadness as I had, in my opinion, did surprisingly well, up to that point, in a completely new and unfamiliar place. But the more I pondered Christmas the more I yearned for the feeling of home. However this thought lead me to another thought. How many people each year don’t have a place to call home or don’t have family to come home to? This thought just increased my sadness and as it usually happens I was left feeling helpless, as I thought about the situation of the world and how so much inequality still exists today. To make matters worse, my mom had called to tell me her mother, my grandmother, had passed away. She had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s some years back but in the last two years her condition rapidly worsened and we suspected she wouldn’t have much longer to live. I was not surprised by the news of her death, however, I did not feel any better knowing that I was across the world when my mom’s family reunited for the funeral.
Although in the days leading up to Christmas I experienced feelings of missing home, the actual days of Christmas were some of the most meaningful that I have experienced yet. Thomas John had arranged for his family, wife and son, and the six volunteers to spend Christmas at a boy’s orphanage in Andra Pradesh, a state north of Kerela and a twenty-four hour train fide away. His sister Anna John had taken a vow of devotion to God several years ago and now was the mother of all 22 boys who lived in the orphanage at present and many boys who had more or less graduated from the orphanage and now had jobs and life’s of their own. For a mother of so many boys she had one of the most peaceful and serine demeanors of anyone I’ve met, truly a woman full of grace. The days we spend in Andra were hot and dry, around 80 degrees, very unlike Christmas in Kentucky. Christmas eve was spent getting to know the boys and joining in on some amazing music sung in ‘Teligu’, the mother tongue in Andra. The style of music we participated in was typically a combination of voice and percussion. The boys used drums, tambourines, shakers and the like, which gave the music a great rhythm and beat and it felt as though we were getting a real tribal experience of music. Christmas day was celebrated going to different village churches, where the praise and worship far outweighed the building structure. The second church we went to was a small concrete room with only four windows and two doors and a small table alter. However, there was not a place on the floor to sit. Everyone was cramped together and many more people were outside the doors looking in. There is nothing quite like a worship service held in a packed room or people praising and singing to their Lord. The rest of our time in Andra was spent visiting other areas of the Parkel mission, started over a hundred years ago by missionaries. Along with the boys orphanage, there was sister orphanage of girls and more then fifty small churches in surrounding areas. We also took several evening trips to a couple of beautiful lakes and two old temples that were essentially abandoned after the tsunami came and flooded them. One of the temples was built in 1200 made with massive blocks of marble and stone. Statues of cows, elephants, and other Hindu Gods surrounded the temple. It was indeed a meaningful Christmas and by the end of the trip I was feeling a new sense of family with the volunteers and the boys in the orphanage. God’s family was my family this Christmas.
The day we returned from Andra I went to pick up my brother from the airport. It was so good to see him and I could feel myself calming in his presence. Together we attempted to experience Kerela in eleven short days. We went to Mandiram where we were able to spend time with the Amaci’s and Apachin’s (all elderly folk are addresses as grandmothers and grandfathers here). I think Dave got a good sense of community life in India as well as the humility experienced when serving others. Then we went to Kumerakum and explored the backwaters of Kerela, also referred to as “The Venice of India.” The backwaters are bodies of water where salt water from the ocean mix with fresh water and form a maze of small rivers, canals, and waterways that trail through the coastal land. Boating in traditional style or modern style boats through the backwaters is a big tourist attraction. We took a three-hour boat ride through the winding canals and out onto the lake. Coconut trees and other green vegetation stretch over the riverbanks creating a mirror like image in the green water below. It was absolutely beautiful and we were able to observe many kinds of birds and other forms of wildlife. We then spent a couple days at one of the beautiful beaches of Kerela called Varkala. Varkala felt more like a hot European spot than India. Foreigners from all over speaking an impressive array of languages occupied this beautiful beach. There were hardly any Malayali’s, natives of Kerela, even the people running the hotels and restaurants seemed to be mostly from other states of India and the menu’s had a wide range of dishes from all over the world. But as I told Dave, tourism is definitely a growing industry in Kerela. After our more touristy experiences we were ready to be further immerged into cultural India. We made our way down the coast and entered into the next state, Tamil Nadu, which occupies the southern most tip of India. Kanniyakumari, which means, “Virgin Goddess of the Sea” is the sacred meeting point of the Bay of Bengal, Indian Ocean, and Arabian Sea at the southern tip of the subcontinent. Many pilgrims come each day from all over India to this holy place where three seas meet. There is a famous temple that can only be entered by Hundu’s and inside the temple is the Kanya Devi, the virgin goddess. Adjacent to the temple are two rock islands side by side about 500 meters from the shore where supposedly you can see the footprints of the virgin goddess (we were not able to go because the boats were closed due to rough water). Also on the island is a temple and statue of the ancient Tamil saint Thiruvalluva that stands 40 meters high. We were told that during the Tsunami in 2005, the statues head was covered by the waves, however the waves broke away from the statue so it survived the storm. We also went to Gandhi’s memorial, designed so that the sun strikes the very spot where Mahatma Gandhi’s ashes were laid, prior to their immersion in the sea, at noon the day of his birthday, October 2nd. The crowd of people coming to watch the sunset was overwhelming and the poverty was quite pronounced, evidence of the tsunami which brought great destruction to that area and took with it many lives. The amount of street children that keep tugging on our clothes asking for money was heartbreaking. We of course couldn’t give to all of them and wondered if by giving money we were just feeding the problem, making them more dependent on others. After that experience, we were ready to make our way home to Mavelikara. We stopped along the way in Haripad where one of my friends Malini lived. We visited her temple, which was actually closed, and ate a traditional Kerela meal served on a banana leaf. We then ventured over to Malini’s best friend Gopika’s house. We were able to see an old traditional palace, over 200 years old, where Gopika’s family, descendents from a line of Brahmin Kings, used to live. The now used the palace as a place for family gatherings and to welcome guests. The palace had huge wooden doors and a traditional Asian style roof, the corners raising upward to the sky. Inside there was one big room and in the center of the room there was no roof, only two trees that stood in the ground, basking in the natural sunlight. The plot of land around the palace once operated as a joint family unit in which all family members lived together and shared all the child rearing and household responsibilities. Also, on the property, was a family temple, a family pond, to wash and bath, and more houses occupied by other family members. It was amazing! We then reached Mavelikara where Dave got to briefly experience, more or less, my day to day life in India. We went to Bishop Moore College and the Lower Primary school where I teach and interacted with the students who adored him. We also visited some people in their homes and spent time at the hostel with the girls who were enthralled with David. We then went with a good friend to a natural reserve called TenMala, up in the Ghat mountain range. It was a beautiful area with a large dam and a lake surrounded by mountains. We also drove up the mountains a ways to see a giant waterfall. No one was there when we first arrived so we all jumped in and swam under its cold flowing waters. It was great being in a place where we weren’t surrounded by hundreds of other people. We hiked a bit through the forest and stopped to observe the monkey’ss along the way. That night we stayed with my friends Aunt and her two children and together we all slept on rolled out mats that covered the floor, like one big family. By the end of the trip we were feeling we got a rather thorough experience of Kerela, one that encompassed all sides, the tourist, the rural, the urban, the family life, and the cultural. It was amazing to experience India with my brother.
The days following Dave’s return however were especially difficult, as I had to once again get readjusted to being alone in India. I had been away from my site for so long that I felt I needed some time to reconnect to the community. I felt lonely and frustrated and sad. But within some days I started feeling apart of the community again and my spirits improved. To top it off, I received a package full of little Christmas presents, from my best friend, wishing me a belated Merry Christmas. Being over here has helped me see how truly important my friends and family are and I am realizing that maybe I am not called to be a missionary in another country, but to be involved in my own country, where many problems exist, and where I can be close to the family God has given me. I think I had an ideal that in order to serve God I needed to get away from everything, get away from my “old” life. I was attracted more by an ideal or serving in a foreign country. But I am learning that serving is a lifestyle and it is important for me to live my life close to the place God has laid my roots. The place I will always call home.
A big challenge came in December with the oncoming Christmas season which brought with it the gradual awareness that I was far away from home and my friends and family, who were, at that time, all getting together to spend time and love with one another. I was surprised by my sudden sadness as I had, in my opinion, did surprisingly well, up to that point, in a completely new and unfamiliar place. But the more I pondered Christmas the more I yearned for the feeling of home. However this thought lead me to another thought. How many people each year don’t have a place to call home or don’t have family to come home to? This thought just increased my sadness and as it usually happens I was left feeling helpless, as I thought about the situation of the world and how so much inequality still exists today. To make matters worse, my mom had called to tell me her mother, my grandmother, had passed away. She had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s some years back but in the last two years her condition rapidly worsened and we suspected she wouldn’t have much longer to live. I was not surprised by the news of her death, however, I did not feel any better knowing that I was across the world when my mom’s family reunited for the funeral.
Although in the days leading up to Christmas I experienced feelings of missing home, the actual days of Christmas were some of the most meaningful that I have experienced yet. Thomas John had arranged for his family, wife and son, and the six volunteers to spend Christmas at a boy’s orphanage in Andra Pradesh, a state north of Kerela and a twenty-four hour train fide away. His sister Anna John had taken a vow of devotion to God several years ago and now was the mother of all 22 boys who lived in the orphanage at present and many boys who had more or less graduated from the orphanage and now had jobs and life’s of their own. For a mother of so many boys she had one of the most peaceful and serine demeanors of anyone I’ve met, truly a woman full of grace. The days we spend in Andra were hot and dry, around 80 degrees, very unlike Christmas in Kentucky. Christmas eve was spent getting to know the boys and joining in on some amazing music sung in ‘Teligu’, the mother tongue in Andra. The style of music we participated in was typically a combination of voice and percussion. The boys used drums, tambourines, shakers and the like, which gave the music a great rhythm and beat and it felt as though we were getting a real tribal experience of music. Christmas day was celebrated going to different village churches, where the praise and worship far outweighed the building structure. The second church we went to was a small concrete room with only four windows and two doors and a small table alter. However, there was not a place on the floor to sit. Everyone was cramped together and many more people were outside the doors looking in. There is nothing quite like a worship service held in a packed room or people praising and singing to their Lord. The rest of our time in Andra was spent visiting other areas of the Parkel mission, started over a hundred years ago by missionaries. Along with the boys orphanage, there was sister orphanage of girls and more then fifty small churches in surrounding areas. We also took several evening trips to a couple of beautiful lakes and two old temples that were essentially abandoned after the tsunami came and flooded them. One of the temples was built in 1200 made with massive blocks of marble and stone. Statues of cows, elephants, and other Hindu Gods surrounded the temple. It was indeed a meaningful Christmas and by the end of the trip I was feeling a new sense of family with the volunteers and the boys in the orphanage. God’s family was my family this Christmas.
The day we returned from Andra I went to pick up my brother from the airport. It was so good to see him and I could feel myself calming in his presence. Together we attempted to experience Kerela in eleven short days. We went to Mandiram where we were able to spend time with the Amaci’s and Apachin’s (all elderly folk are addresses as grandmothers and grandfathers here). I think Dave got a good sense of community life in India as well as the humility experienced when serving others. Then we went to Kumerakum and explored the backwaters of Kerela, also referred to as “The Venice of India.” The backwaters are bodies of water where salt water from the ocean mix with fresh water and form a maze of small rivers, canals, and waterways that trail through the coastal land. Boating in traditional style or modern style boats through the backwaters is a big tourist attraction. We took a three-hour boat ride through the winding canals and out onto the lake. Coconut trees and other green vegetation stretch over the riverbanks creating a mirror like image in the green water below. It was absolutely beautiful and we were able to observe many kinds of birds and other forms of wildlife. We then spent a couple days at one of the beautiful beaches of Kerela called Varkala. Varkala felt more like a hot European spot than India. Foreigners from all over speaking an impressive array of languages occupied this beautiful beach. There were hardly any Malayali’s, natives of Kerela, even the people running the hotels and restaurants seemed to be mostly from other states of India and the menu’s had a wide range of dishes from all over the world. But as I told Dave, tourism is definitely a growing industry in Kerela. After our more touristy experiences we were ready to be further immerged into cultural India. We made our way down the coast and entered into the next state, Tamil Nadu, which occupies the southern most tip of India. Kanniyakumari, which means, “Virgin Goddess of the Sea” is the sacred meeting point of the Bay of Bengal, Indian Ocean, and Arabian Sea at the southern tip of the subcontinent. Many pilgrims come each day from all over India to this holy place where three seas meet. There is a famous temple that can only be entered by Hundu’s and inside the temple is the Kanya Devi, the virgin goddess. Adjacent to the temple are two rock islands side by side about 500 meters from the shore where supposedly you can see the footprints of the virgin goddess (we were not able to go because the boats were closed due to rough water). Also on the island is a temple and statue of the ancient Tamil saint Thiruvalluva that stands 40 meters high. We were told that during the Tsunami in 2005, the statues head was covered by the waves, however the waves broke away from the statue so it survived the storm. We also went to Gandhi’s memorial, designed so that the sun strikes the very spot where Mahatma Gandhi’s ashes were laid, prior to their immersion in the sea, at noon the day of his birthday, October 2nd. The crowd of people coming to watch the sunset was overwhelming and the poverty was quite pronounced, evidence of the tsunami which brought great destruction to that area and took with it many lives. The amount of street children that keep tugging on our clothes asking for money was heartbreaking. We of course couldn’t give to all of them and wondered if by giving money we were just feeding the problem, making them more dependent on others. After that experience, we were ready to make our way home to Mavelikara. We stopped along the way in Haripad where one of my friends Malini lived. We visited her temple, which was actually closed, and ate a traditional Kerela meal served on a banana leaf. We then ventured over to Malini’s best friend Gopika’s house. We were able to see an old traditional palace, over 200 years old, where Gopika’s family, descendents from a line of Brahmin Kings, used to live. The now used the palace as a place for family gatherings and to welcome guests. The palace had huge wooden doors and a traditional Asian style roof, the corners raising upward to the sky. Inside there was one big room and in the center of the room there was no roof, only two trees that stood in the ground, basking in the natural sunlight. The plot of land around the palace once operated as a joint family unit in which all family members lived together and shared all the child rearing and household responsibilities. Also, on the property, was a family temple, a family pond, to wash and bath, and more houses occupied by other family members. It was amazing! We then reached Mavelikara where Dave got to briefly experience, more or less, my day to day life in India. We went to Bishop Moore College and the Lower Primary school where I teach and interacted with the students who adored him. We also visited some people in their homes and spent time at the hostel with the girls who were enthralled with David. We then went with a good friend to a natural reserve called TenMala, up in the Ghat mountain range. It was a beautiful area with a large dam and a lake surrounded by mountains. We also drove up the mountains a ways to see a giant waterfall. No one was there when we first arrived so we all jumped in and swam under its cold flowing waters. It was great being in a place where we weren’t surrounded by hundreds of other people. We hiked a bit through the forest and stopped to observe the monkey’ss along the way. That night we stayed with my friends Aunt and her two children and together we all slept on rolled out mats that covered the floor, like one big family. By the end of the trip we were feeling we got a rather thorough experience of Kerela, one that encompassed all sides, the tourist, the rural, the urban, the family life, and the cultural. It was amazing to experience India with my brother.
The days following Dave’s return however were especially difficult, as I had to once again get readjusted to being alone in India. I had been away from my site for so long that I felt I needed some time to reconnect to the community. I felt lonely and frustrated and sad. But within some days I started feeling apart of the community again and my spirits improved. To top it off, I received a package full of little Christmas presents, from my best friend, wishing me a belated Merry Christmas. Being over here has helped me see how truly important my friends and family are and I am realizing that maybe I am not called to be a missionary in another country, but to be involved in my own country, where many problems exist, and where I can be close to the family God has given me. I think I had an ideal that in order to serve God I needed to get away from everything, get away from my “old” life. I was attracted more by an ideal or serving in a foreign country. But I am learning that serving is a lifestyle and it is important for me to live my life close to the place God has laid my roots. The place I will always call home.
Friday, December 12, 2008
“The Spirit of India”
Since I have been here I have found that much of what I have read is true. The spirit here is very palpable. First off, religion is very much a part of the culture here. Most everyone here not only believes in a God but is also very much devoted to their God. You can see this almost anywhere you go. People everywhere are praying, on the sides of the road, in the train, on the bus. There are small temples and chapels erected on almost every street corner representing all different religions. People pray at these places morning, noon, and night as if their soul depended on it. It is beautiful to see. I can see God is alive here. I can feel it in the way prayer is an active part of each person’s day. There doesn’t seem to be a routine of when and where to pray to God. I feel people here are constantly praying to God as if their conversation with God is never ending.
I also have been moved to pray more here; to have more of a constant dialogue with God. It isn’t something I force. Instead, it is something that happens naturally. Maybe it is because I have more time in the mornings and evenings. Or perhaps it is because without all the familiarities and securities I am accustomed to in my life, I am learning more and more how to depend further on God. The other possibility, however unrealistic it may sound, is that the spirit here does have a different air about it that is unavoidable. I think it is probably a combination of the three. Nevertheless, I feel I am growing closer to God.
I appreciate being in a culture where most people feel free to be open with their faith. This makes it easy for me to be more open with my faith and to share my passion of God with others, another reason I feel closer to God. I have had so many rich conversations with Christians, Hindu’s and Muslims and I am discovering what I have always known deep inside, that we are more similar then we are different. It has been so wonderful to speak with people who share a deep devotion to God.
Through my relationships with people I have found God in the small things. Drinking tea together, sharing thoughts, spending time, learning about one another. I have made many new friends here. One lady in particular I feel and affinity toward. She is like a grandmother figure to me and in fact she reminds me of my father’s mother, my Mimi who died when I was nine years old. She has a fire in her that burns and her love for Jesus is very deep. Her husband pasted away this past March after five long years in which he could not move or speak due to a stroke. I have visited her a couple times and each time she reads me amazing poetry that she wrote about her struggle the last five years and how she found Christ in the midst of it. I have been brought to tears numerous times. Somehow I feel God has led me to her. It is like we are both another piece of the puzzle of life for each other. One poem in particularly moved me to tears. It reminded me of a thought I had in the other day in the train. My thought was if we are more dependent on God than on our self, we are more likely to see life as a gift we have been given than as something we have created, and therefore our gratitude for this gift of life outweighs our self-sufficiency. Here is the poem.
Busy they all were with their work and prayer,
None stepped in to say a word;
When did we become so self-sufficient I wondered,
When did we become so urban, losing our humanity?
Self and sufficiency have made monsters of us all,
Who pay no heed to the needs of our neighbors,
Yet we profess to be followers of the One
Who laid down His life for others.
Can these go together?
Will God be pleased with us?
Yet nothing stirs our conscience-
Why should we interfere, we say;
Yet were we not all the time finding fault
And spreading news of our neighbor?
Damn our self-righteousness,
The thing condemned by our Lord the most;
Can’t we follow with simplicity
The things that our Master taught,
Why should we make life so complex
For ourselves and for others?
Love God, worship Him,
But love your neighbor as yourself,
Because God loves him, and is with him.
Find God in your neighbor’s sickness,
His loneliness, his tragedies and pain,
His agony, his confusion,
His helplessness, his loss.
For that is where God dwells,
That’s where we can find His footsteps.
- Anna Verghis
I have also had the opportunity to visit various churches and temples. I struggle a bit with finding peace in the church services, mostly because they are in Malayalam, last for two to three hours at a time, and sometimes seem more like a show then a worship service but I can sense the spirit and the believer’s devotion to the spirit. I also accompanied a dear friend of mine to her temple, the temple of the snake God. It was during a Hindu holiday so it was packed! I am talking New Orleans Mardi Gras packed, where there is no space between you and the people surrounding you and you are more or less being pushed along with the crowd. After my initial Closter phobia, I just let myself be carried along and started to notice the utter devotion of these people. It was truly moving to see all these people gathering in this holy place. What was especially touching was when we got to the entrance of the temple, everyone’s heads bowed and hands clasped almost automatically and they began praying, some loudly, some softly. It was as if the spirit filled their bodies as soon as they entered their sacred place or worship. We then began our pilgrimage through the temple, visiting all the different statues that represented different God’s along the way. Again, people continually bowed their heads in reverence, praying to their God’s all along the way. It reminded me of some of the Cathedrals in
I also had the chance to visiting an Ashram with some friends one evening. Of all the spiritual experiences I have had thus far, this is the moment I would have to say I felt God’s presence the strongest. When we got to the Ashram, just before dusk, it began to drizzle ever so softly as if setting the tone for the peaceful evening ahead. At first we spoke to the Achen or priest of the Ashram and as usual here had some tea and biscuits. We then proceeded to the chapel, a beautiful structure with all sides open and looking out to the surrounding forest. This type of architecture reminded me of our connectivity to God’s nature. At the far end the roof rose up in a spiral cone as if pointing to the heavens. A small alter was under it. There we sat on the ground in a circle as the sun set. Soon there were no lights, only our voices that filled the room and spilled out into the forest. We went around telling our faith stories and how we each had come to know God in our life journeys. At one point, I laid down on my back looking up at the spiral ceiling. I could just barely make out the curvature of the ceiling cone or anything around me for that matter but I remember being filled with an unsurpassable peace. In that moment I knew I was exactly where I was suppose to be, as if it had been planned for thousands of years even before I was born into this world. I felt in that moment the spirit was very much alive in me and in all things around me. It reminded me of a similar moment I had on the train coming back from a weekend trip when the sun was setting and for several minutes I felt completely part of everything. It was as if I had lived in
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Celebrations
“Festivals and Weddings”
One of the things I enjoy most about this culture is the amount of holidays, festivals, and celebrations। It seems there is always an excuse to have a party here. This past week I was lucky enough to be able to join in two such events. The first was a housewarming party of a family I had never met before. (It is not uncommon to get invitations from friends of the family even if you have never directly met the family). The housewarming party is an event in which many people are invited to come and more or less bless the house before I family moves in. There was a prayer service and after the service a grand feast in which we were served fried rice, some rather scrumptious chicken curry, and ice-cream (which here is more like frozen whipped cream). After the banquet we took a tour around the new house. Many of the rooms were newly painted and void of any furniture. The group of friends I was with found a room where we could sit. After a while of talking, we started having some arm wrestling matches, or as they like to call it “arm punching” matches on the floor, due to the lack of furniture. This turned into Rebecca and I breaking out some gymnastic moves and yoga poses, which then escalated into a full out dance exchange complete with lessons. One of the little girls, I am guessing around the age of twelve or thirteen was peeping in through the doorway with a great deal or interest. I asked my friend Bijo to ask her in Malayalam if she would be willing to teach me some dance moves. There was an initial hesitation, understandably since we were much older and complete strangers, but eventually the little girl overcame her shyness and began to dance for us, She preformed a classical style of Indian dance, complete with head and eye movements. She then walked me step by step through the classical movements, humming while she taught. It was a wonderful moment witnessed by a large group of people who were beginning to crowd around the doorway. Here we were, one younger, one older, one Indian, one American, one whose native tongue was English, one whose native tongue was Malayalam yet we both shared a mutual love for dancing. It was our love for dancing that seemed to dissolve any existing differences between us. Suddenly we were simultaneously teaching and learning from one another. And through dancing we were able to have a beautiful conversation that embraced our differences and expressed our joy more then any words ever could.
The following day was the day of the wedding. We spent a good chunk of the morning putting on our sari’s or rather closely watching Ancy, our native Kerelan friend, well-versed in sari wearing, dress us. Putting on a sari, I have found, is as much of an art as wearing one, with all the delicately placed folds. A sari is basically a giant piece of cloth that you wrap around your body in such a way that makes every woman look like royalty. After fixing our hair and putting on gold jewelry, we officially looked like Indian women, with the exception of our skin tone. When we arrived at Holy Trinity, the cathedral in Kottayam, Veena, the bride’s sister whom we acquainted introduced us to the bride for the first time (like I said this is not uncommon). Around a thousand people were there, including fifty priests or “Achens”. I discovered shortly after getting there that the bride was actually a daughter of a priest which would explain the band of priests. The ceremony was beautiful and although I didn’t understand much, I did understand some of the rituals, which I inquired about before the wedding. One my favorite rituals was when the groom tied around the neck of his bride, a thread which he had removed from her wedding sari before hand. I believe this symbolized the tying together of two lives. The groom then, according to custom, draped a piece of embroidered cloth over the bride’s head. The cloth was part of the second wedding sari, which the bride changed into after the wedding for the reception. I enjoyed watching both of these rituals but the one thing that made me aware I was at a wedding, that I was witnessing a union between two persons who were making a life-long commitment, was the song they sang towards the end of the service, in English. I don’t know if it was the words of the song, its gentle yet powerful melody, the voices in pure harmony, or the simple fact that it was one of the only things I could understand (probably a combination of all) but something about that song stirred deep in my soul and tears started to swell in my eyes. The sounds echoed off the high ceilings…
“O Perfect Love, all human thought transcending,
Lowly we kneel in prayer before Thy throne,
That theirs may be the love which knows no ending,
Whom Thou for evermore dost join in one.
O Perfect Life, be Thou their full assurance
Of tender charity and steadfast faith
Of patient hope, and quiet brave endurance,
With childlike trust that fears no pain or death.
Grant them the joy which brightens earthly sorrow,
Grant them the peace which calms all earthly strife,
And to life’s day the glorious unknown morrow
That dawns upon eternal love and life. Amen.”
A truly beautiful song expressing a truly beautiful event, two lives becoming one. I have learned so much about relationships in India; things that baffle me and at the same time make sense. In Kerela, most marriages are arranged marriages, although it is beginning to change. Before, it was not uncommon that you did not know the person you were going to marry until the day of your wedding. Although those types of marriages still exist, it is more common now for the girl to be introduced to the man her parents have found for her before the wedding. They then spend a few months getting to know each other before deciding if they want do be married. There are also the rare cases in which the parents allow their son or daughter to marry a person of their choice, only with parental approval. Love marriages as they call them, like we have in the U.S., are extremely uncommon and sometimes involve a couple eloping. This is mainly because parental permission is extremely important in this society. Although I personally cannot imagine my parents finding a future husband for me, it makes sense that in this culture, where family bonds are so incredibly close, that your parents, who love and care about you more then anyone else, want only the best match for their child. It is said here that in love marriages, love begins before the marriage, but in arranged marriages love begins at the wedding and only grows from there. In arranged marriages the feelings of “inloveness” and “happiness” are not factors in choosing a mate. Instead, you make a commitment to a person who is believed to be a good partner, then, only after the marriage can your love grow. I am not saying one way is better then the other, in fact I myself prefer falling in love before getting married but I understand how in arranged marriages you chose a husband or a wife, not on the basis of your happiness with them, but on the basis that they will be a good partner to you, someone committed to being a part of your family. And from what I have witnessed these people are serious about their commitments. I think Americans who greatly value their individuality, can really learn some things from the interdependent way of life I have observed in India.
One of the things I enjoy most about this culture is the amount of holidays, festivals, and celebrations। It seems there is always an excuse to have a party here. This past week I was lucky enough to be able to join in two such events. The first was a housewarming party of a family I had never met before. (It is not uncommon to get invitations from friends of the family even if you have never directly met the family). The housewarming party is an event in which many people are invited to come and more or less bless the house before I family moves in. There was a prayer service and after the service a grand feast in which we were served fried rice, some rather scrumptious chicken curry, and ice-cream (which here is more like frozen whipped cream). After the banquet we took a tour around the new house. Many of the rooms were newly painted and void of any furniture. The group of friends I was with found a room where we could sit. After a while of talking, we started having some arm wrestling matches, or as they like to call it “arm punching” matches on the floor, due to the lack of furniture. This turned into Rebecca and I breaking out some gymnastic moves and yoga poses, which then escalated into a full out dance exchange complete with lessons. One of the little girls, I am guessing around the age of twelve or thirteen was peeping in through the doorway with a great deal or interest. I asked my friend Bijo to ask her in Malayalam if she would be willing to teach me some dance moves. There was an initial hesitation, understandably since we were much older and complete strangers, but eventually the little girl overcame her shyness and began to dance for us, She preformed a classical style of Indian dance, complete with head and eye movements. She then walked me step by step through the classical movements, humming while she taught. It was a wonderful moment witnessed by a large group of people who were beginning to crowd around the doorway. Here we were, one younger, one older, one Indian, one American, one whose native tongue was English, one whose native tongue was Malayalam yet we both shared a mutual love for dancing. It was our love for dancing that seemed to dissolve any existing differences between us. Suddenly we were simultaneously teaching and learning from one another. And through dancing we were able to have a beautiful conversation that embraced our differences and expressed our joy more then any words ever could.
The following day was the day of the wedding. We spent a good chunk of the morning putting on our sari’s or rather closely watching Ancy, our native Kerelan friend, well-versed in sari wearing, dress us. Putting on a sari, I have found, is as much of an art as wearing one, with all the delicately placed folds. A sari is basically a giant piece of cloth that you wrap around your body in such a way that makes every woman look like royalty. After fixing our hair and putting on gold jewelry, we officially looked like Indian women, with the exception of our skin tone. When we arrived at Holy Trinity, the cathedral in Kottayam, Veena, the bride’s sister whom we acquainted introduced us to the bride for the first time (like I said this is not uncommon). Around a thousand people were there, including fifty priests or “Achens”. I discovered shortly after getting there that the bride was actually a daughter of a priest which would explain the band of priests. The ceremony was beautiful and although I didn’t understand much, I did understand some of the rituals, which I inquired about before the wedding. One my favorite rituals was when the groom tied around the neck of his bride, a thread which he had removed from her wedding sari before hand. I believe this symbolized the tying together of two lives. The groom then, according to custom, draped a piece of embroidered cloth over the bride’s head. The cloth was part of the second wedding sari, which the bride changed into after the wedding for the reception. I enjoyed watching both of these rituals but the one thing that made me aware I was at a wedding, that I was witnessing a union between two persons who were making a life-long commitment, was the song they sang towards the end of the service, in English. I don’t know if it was the words of the song, its gentle yet powerful melody, the voices in pure harmony, or the simple fact that it was one of the only things I could understand (probably a combination of all) but something about that song stirred deep in my soul and tears started to swell in my eyes. The sounds echoed off the high ceilings…
“O Perfect Love, all human thought transcending,
Lowly we kneel in prayer before Thy throne,
That theirs may be the love which knows no ending,
Whom Thou for evermore dost join in one.
O Perfect Life, be Thou their full assurance
Of tender charity and steadfast faith
Of patient hope, and quiet brave endurance,
With childlike trust that fears no pain or death.
Grant them the joy which brightens earthly sorrow,
Grant them the peace which calms all earthly strife,
And to life’s day the glorious unknown morrow
That dawns upon eternal love and life. Amen.”
A truly beautiful song expressing a truly beautiful event, two lives becoming one. I have learned so much about relationships in India; things that baffle me and at the same time make sense. In Kerela, most marriages are arranged marriages, although it is beginning to change. Before, it was not uncommon that you did not know the person you were going to marry until the day of your wedding. Although those types of marriages still exist, it is more common now for the girl to be introduced to the man her parents have found for her before the wedding. They then spend a few months getting to know each other before deciding if they want do be married. There are also the rare cases in which the parents allow their son or daughter to marry a person of their choice, only with parental approval. Love marriages as they call them, like we have in the U.S., are extremely uncommon and sometimes involve a couple eloping. This is mainly because parental permission is extremely important in this society. Although I personally cannot imagine my parents finding a future husband for me, it makes sense that in this culture, where family bonds are so incredibly close, that your parents, who love and care about you more then anyone else, want only the best match for their child. It is said here that in love marriages, love begins before the marriage, but in arranged marriages love begins at the wedding and only grows from there. In arranged marriages the feelings of “inloveness” and “happiness” are not factors in choosing a mate. Instead, you make a commitment to a person who is believed to be a good partner, then, only after the marriage can your love grow. I am not saying one way is better then the other, in fact I myself prefer falling in love before getting married but I understand how in arranged marriages you chose a husband or a wife, not on the basis of your happiness with them, but on the basis that they will be a good partner to you, someone committed to being a part of your family. And from what I have witnessed these people are serious about their commitments. I think Americans who greatly value their individuality, can really learn some things from the interdependent way of life I have observed in India.
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