Impressions of India from one of the Fall 2011 LEAPYEAR group.
Life in Varanasi gives new meaning to the word busy. Millions of people moving, singing, praying, talking, selling, buying, working, cleaning, cooking, and sleeping. If New York never sleeps, then Varanasi never even closes an eyelid. My time here has been less than a week, but it has felt like a lifetime. So much has happened I do not know where to begin.
The first two days in the city we spent visiting volunteer opportunities and getting to know our neighborhood. One of the days we took an hour rickshaw ride through the chaotic streets to a rural hospital and refugee camp. I won’t soon forget walking up to the compound and witnessing the line of sick women coughing, lying in the dirt, squatting and holding their emaciated children and toddlers. This is the ugly side of India, the millions of displaced or neglected woman and children. Those I saw were lucky to even be receiving medical attention. It was not all bad, there are some great organizations providing for and helping those who need it. We also visited a school for mentally handicapped men, a widow’s home, and an organization that fights sexual exploitation and forced prostitution.
I have moved in with my host family, a mother and father, grandpa and grandma, and two brothers. They are very nice, and have cared for me wonderfully. I am learning the hectic dynamics of Indian living.
I went to the local movie theater to see the latest Bollywood action film, Ra-One. It is the most expensive film ever made in Asia. That was a true experience. Imagine a U.S. movie theater of today, post nuclear war. Bare metal seats, an old yellowed screen upon which the picture jumped about. At times it would disappear completely, or just the sound would go. There was even an intermission to go outside and buy a fried triangular pastry.
The blend of modern and traditional is so thick in this city. One day we visited the IP Mall, and the next we were invited tothe Muslim quarter. The reason for our invitation was for the HolidayEid-Al-Zuha, a day to celebrate Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son in the ultimate test of faith. In the Islamic faith it was Ishmael, in Christianity it is Isaac. God replaced the son with a goat which was sacrificed instead, sparing the son. We arrived at the family home and took a place in the courtyard. We were given food and drink before they brought in two goats. A prayer was said to Allah, and they sacrificed the goats, in a brutal but deeply moving display of faith. The goat was then butchered and prepared for lunch. As the women cooked I engaged in a great conversation with the men in the household about Islam and Christianity. I impressed them as a Westerner knowing the five pillars and 3 truths of Islam when asked, and with knowledge of similarities and differences between Islam and Christianity. This is such a harshly judged group of people in the West, and without good reason. Muslims are truly brothers of both Christians and Jews, and hostility towards us is a myth among all but a few extreme sects. We feasted on goat meat, liver, lung, and heart in a stew with delicious rice, Roti, and savory sweets. Hospitality at is finest. To satisfy our curiosity even further, one of the men took us out of the house to see a water buffalo sacrifice. It was a holiday of epic proportions.
So Varanasi is keeping me busy. By bedtime I barely have the energy to scrape the dust off my face from rickshaw rides through the city before collapsing into sleep. I am currently at the widow’s home for this week, but that will change next week. The time here is going to fly. Never have I been so overwhelmed by all of senses as here. The ancient and magical city of Varanasi.
A comment from his mother upon reading this blog entry: “Honestly, this is coming from a kid who hated writing a single sentence for English class, I had no idea he had it in him. His ability to paint a visual picture is stunning and I am amazed beyond words that this is my son.” This is a direct testament to the opening of eyes that results from getting out of the tradition classroom into the ‘classroom of the real.’