Weather Patterns

I'm tired.

I get back from work, after having been up a bit too late at the groom's farewell the night before. Rajputs know how to celebrate, their logic consisted of having the guests join the party rather than suffer the DJ beats late into the night. Can't complain if you were there right?

As I saunter into my room early, covered in sweat and dust (a peculiar humidity is in the air), fully clothed and filthy; I fall asleep on my bed.

My dreams are more vivid than usual, consisting of colorfully dressed rotating women, interrupted by a crescendo of drums. The beats are growing louder and louder. My eyes open and in a hazy state of confusion I come to grips with the fact that the drumming is real. I hear Govind shouting orders. I carefully get up, open my closed doors, and rubbing my eyes look out to behold the trappings of a grand feast. Large colorful cushions, ornate tables set onto the ground, matkas labeled with the misspelled cautionary "adictive poision, will keep you awake", blue, pink, orange, bright green, and yellow silk sheets flung about any rampart-- truly flamboyant. I spy 4x4 foot speakers set up around the whole affair. Then the moment of tragic realization occurs. This is directly outside of my door.

Cursing under my breath, grumbling from exhaustion, I decide the best plan of action is to find a decent shirt, take a shower and get ready. When in Rome i guess.

A few minutes later, I'm ready for my shower. Stark naked, sweating and dirty I'm standing in the bathroom, the small bucket for my bath poised above my head, ready to relinquish its refreshing, cleansing waterfall. Boom. powercut.

Humored by the irony of the situation, I step out of the bathroom and notice an eerie darkness outside. It's only 6PM, I think to myself. I throw on some clothes and swing open the doors. The sight is unimaginable. Whipping wind, dark as night, a swell of dust scratches my face, and people are running in every direction.

After grabbing my handkerchief I'm up on the roof with guesthouse friends taking in the splendor and savagery of the dust storm. The light slowly returns as we're coated in golden dust. We hold railings as the wind could knock us over. The rain begins with what looks like giant droplets of chocolate milk, spotting our clothes with brown polka dots. After the storm settles a bit, we witness the awesome lightning caused by the static electricity of infinite sand particles rubbing against each other. The streaks of light covered the entire sky, illuminating our meek bodies. Some people prayed and cried. We stood at the railing, staring into the abyss, shoulder to shoulder. It eventually stopped.


(The storm approach as viewed from the guesthouse, 6PM)
[This picture was taken by Eva, another guest]



Needless to say, the dinner did not go as planned. Adjusting, things were shifted, music was on hold until the power returned and we ate by candlelight. It was elegent and subdued. But with the arrival of a generator, things were back on.

Flash forward. I lay in my bed. 2AM. It's very literally jumping up and down from the hard beats of the giant speaker directly facing my window, with no sign of stopping. I feel like I'm in the bathroom of a nightclub, my thoughts pervaded by the pounding music.

I smile.

I remember witnessing the drinking habits of Rajput grandmas. The infiltrating and devastating dust storm. Govind standing under a roof soaked and disappointed. The kaliedoscopic splash of colors. The candlelight and gentle drum and harmonium transforming into the electronic beats of remixed Hindi songs. Dancing in the rain with reckless abandon, overcoming my fear of looking like a fool, after seeing every member of the family begrudgingly expressing themselves on the dancefloor. Sitting in a room, a cellphone our only light source while sharing stories of what we were doing when the storm hit. The ghoomar the young women did which brought tears to my eyes. When I close my eyes I imagine a vibrating bed at a cheap motel and think to myself: people pay for this. Oh yeah. I have work tomorrow.

Only in India.

Setback

Due to the frequent powercuts and subsequent surges in electricity, I've been having issues with my camera. Apologies for the delay, expect the following themed posts soon:

1) Rajput wedding
2) Dust storm/cyclone
3) Visit to first GRAVIS outpost

Just a few days... there may be a field visit in between, so that may limit my internet resources.

Baap, revisited

(Guruji's Schedule, dinner is actually usually at 10PM)

Typical for a morning at Baap, Guruji stares into the distant sunrise on his, the only, raised cot and begins to muse Indian philosophy aloud at 6AM. On the dimly lit terrace our bodies are huddled underneath blankets-- open shirts the night before-- and Guruji gently raises the volume of his soliloquy until we all wipe the dust from our eyes and reluctantly wake up. Seriously, I can't make this up.


(Guruji)

The hustle and bustle of the morning begins as usual and slowly the dormitory becomes an office. This time, I was equipped with a kit, a method, and a room in which to conduct water testing. We arranged our field laboratory as best we could, unfortunately without a fan, and began doing the methodical (insanely boring) sterilizing process of everything we had. A few mishaps with the pressure cooker, a few spillages of the broth, but mainly decent work. I benefited from having a lab background and introducing some 'uptight American' QA standards for what we were doing--cultures, turbidity, pH, and mineral content--micro/analytical 101.


(Sterilizing petri plates, Baap Center, 8AM)



(Guess which one I didn't drink.. thinking it was the dirtiest..)

The tricky part was that the lab was only for prep and the actual testing was to be done.. on location. Fast forward, I'm sitting under an expansive living tree supplemented by branches to make a roof of sorts in the middle of a group of huts. The ground beneath me is the hollow mortar paving they use for their floors, I'm sitting on a khat. I'm marveling at the ingenuity and beauty of the place, chameleons climbing around the tree, a matka (clay pot) hanging for water, a Marwar placidly spinning a bobbin and making string from the family goats. The breeze here is hot, but justifies the anatomical function of sweat and feels cool, even at literally 116.6F. We hear the tinkling of goats, the breeze whispering through the intertwined brush, and the gentle spinning of the bobbin. I've had tea yet I succumb to the serenity and fall asleep.



This field visit was less about monitoring workers and more about spending time with villagers. Ask them where they get their water, if anyone's been sick, how they clean their water, if they wash their hands, etc. Most are cooperative and some are funny in smilingly saying they use the desert sand to wash their hands (yet they really do). We go to the taanka and take some water, drink it (I think I shouldn't have had so much, but I did anyway--still alive), test it carefully in the jeep, record my results and move on. The villagers are fascinated with our syringes of red fluid and pyrotechnics (we flame methanol to sterilize a vacuum filter). The women cover their faces and refuse to sit on the raised level with us to answer questions-- so I make an excuse that I want to watch them make lemon juice and join them on the floor. After finding out about the sickness of a baby I ask to see it and the sister runs away with the child thinking I'm going to take her away-- the local doctor will come today anyway. I inspect more medicines and supplements. Many people politely request I refrain from pictures of their homes and I oblige. After confidently speaking my new language Hingradi (HIndi-eNGlish-gujaRAti-marwaDI), i reveal I am an American to a particularly happy Bishnoi. As we pull off in the Jeep leaving him in the desert, he smiles, points to the sky, and delicately says "America". Some are sarcastic, seemingly having the belief that money grows on trees where I'm from and is not the result of a bit of luck (in getting there) and 27 years of the hardship and work of my family-- it's really just a matter of perception. Just another day at the office I suppose.



I spend time talking with new and old friends at the field center. They take me away to 'work' which is really 7 guys watching 1 guy paint a bumper-- while they dance around, joke about women, eat betelnuts, and drink chai. I exchange shirts with one of them, grab a 5rupee mango juice (puree), and head back to speak with Guruji who gives me tips on how to control my unruly 'he-rry powter' hair. The dust and sun basically control it now. And as dusk falls, we sit on the grass and do some 'manoranjan'-- which today was a whistling contest which ended between me and my shirt-swapper. He won for volume and diversity of skill (I swear he could whistle with his fingers positioned in his mouth in maybe like 20 ways), I won for melody. Dinner is excellent as usual (atypically, I do it the Marwari way and just mash the roti and vegetables together and eat the delicious slop, leaving my spoon untouched I drink the loose yogurt directly from the bowl). I've picked up the habit of eating raw onions, the Rajasthani way-- Dad/everybody tells me it helps combat heat. With a bit of lemon is tastes like a sweet spicy fruit.


(Chillaxing, trust me they were smiling two seconds before I took this, 9PM)

Another night under the stars, the meteor showers are gorgeous and the small bits of windblown sand give a slight illusion that these celestial missiles are falling from the sky and gently landing on my face.. all as the moon rises slowly in the horizon.

When I take the bus back, a kid in my lap due to overcrowding, I have a sense of being home.

Avi and Natasha

(Avi giving me a tour, Jodhpur, 7:30PM)

There are quite a few interesting people I've met at the guesthouse, with its cycling residents from across the globe. Of this motley crew of sorts I met Natasha and her husband Avi. When they invited me to their home (just 30km outside of Jodhpur, they were having renovations done), I was a bit hasty in giving an affirmative response. Boy, I did not have a clue what kind of adventure awaited.

By the time we stepped into Avi's AC car, with deeply tinted windows and no mirrors, I had known that he was an army officer. But after we drove around Jodhpur picking up the best food items they could think of: their favorite pav bhaji, authentic punjabi dhaba dal and naan from near the railway station, rajasthani sweets, veg. sandwiches, cheese, bread, and other protein rich foods-- Avi started to speak about his job.

Into the night, he bagan to take a confessional tone. Explaining to me, in quite possibly the humblest way he could, his personal history. The son of a Bengali professor of English his language was immaculate, and he carefully explained the prestige of the Indian army. He was a top graduate of IMA-in Dehradun. An overacheiver in officers school and a member of the elite Black Cat Commandos he served in the Kargil conflict. He began to explain the horrors of war: the pain of killing, the starvation, the climate, the internal moral struggle. He had killed over 100 people, been shot four times, and his body was studded with shrapnel-- all in the name of duty to country--by the age of 30. This guy was, please excuse my language, a certified badass.

I was nervous when he told me not to speak a word of English if anyone asked me anything at the base and to undo a button and act Gujarati (I'm still not sure if he was joking). And when I began to have a few doubts about the validity of his stories, we pulled into the Army base outside of Jodhpur, flickering with red lights embedded into the road, and reached his house where he quietly and reluctantly showed me his medals, certificates, diplomas, awards, and scars. On the outside he is a clean cut, teetotaler, who is soft spoken and kind.



Natasha, a native of Punjab, had an interesting story herself (which also in a teary confessional, was much different than the one she'd told me at the guesthouse). She was raised practically illiterate as a prize bride of her father's desires. She had been beaten (implied rape) severely by her family and practically thrown on the street in the name of caste. When Avi met her, broken nose and bruised, he nursed her to health and taught her English. She's tall, fair, quite beautiful and has a very generous caring heart. She's changed her name now, but after talking and dinner and sharing stories, she finally told me her real one.

Now that they are settled and happy, Natasha has started a dog breeding business. Avi wants out of the army to continue a career in Shooting. He studies under a former world record holder and is training for the 2016 Olympics. He has a lot of gold medals himself. The precision, focus, and meditative nature of the practice suits him. It lets him quiet the chaotic battle between internal and external forces.

So after a huge feast, a lot of talking, a bit of shooting, and a stay at the animal house (6 rollicking dogs, a squirrel, a dove, and a turtle), I asked to be taken back. I realized, when seeing how sad they were when we left that these were two people trying to make the best of their lives. Ridiculously alienated by their individual pasts and sense of duty to culture they cling to any semblance of normalcy--and deeply feel the desire for freinds. So what if they were a bit too nice? In a sense it was therapeutic for them to wear sweatpants on a Saturday, wake up late and joke around. Sing songs, watch movies, and talk about life. They will be friends for a long time, I think.


(He hit the closest to the bulls-eye, my shots are the top two)

Update

Was in the field for a few days.. expect update soon.

Remembrance

With a small stature, jovial Varunji comes to work everyday with a big bindhu (forehead application) from the mandir (temple). Naturally, I asked him to help me complete my shraadh puja for Mom.


(The gate to the temple, Chandpaul 8:15AM)

And so, on Friday (the prescribed date) he took me to Chandpaul, to the holiest place he knew, the origin of his caste. It was unique (even for India) in that the whole town was seemingly populated by pundits, pujaris, sadhu-types, and many people who looked typical on first glance yet with revealing braids of hair as they walked past. We walked up different sets of steps, each opening to a different ashram, higher and higher into the Jodhpur hills. Ultimately, the topmost place near a small pond was our destination, and there we were greeted by Premlalji, my pundit. An old man, a good and caring man.



Varunji snapped a few photos with his cell and left me with the indispensable Ramswarthji. He had lost someone recently but due to his caste couldn't perform the puja in the way I was permitted. I was moved by the fact that I could facilitate the fulfillment of his own sense of duty.


(Ramswarthji)



The puja, consisting of 3hours of chanting with fire, offerings, and various gesticulations, went as expected. Highly symbolic in nature, in a way, it is a ritual which helps the performer cope with the grief of loss. In remembrance, it is a way by which we focus deeply on our departed ancestors, how their lives have influenced us, changed us, composed us. We symbolically give and sacrifice every element that contributes to our perceptions of reality. Emotion, intellect, physical movement, sensations, nourishment, fire, earth, water, and air. Regardless of belief in subscribed religious duty, it is meaningless without sincerity.

Afterwards, satisfied and at peace I spent time on the windy stoop of the hilltop mandir contemplating my own composition, and what she had unconditionally given me in my life. So many things I can't even comprehend. But most of all, love.

Moving Pictures

This is my first attempt to post videos. Still working out the bugs.

Note: The sound may be crackling a bit, so don't throw the volume up too high.

enjoy for now, more to come.


(Thar driving, ~9:00AM)



(Conferencing, ~9:30AM)

First Taste of the Thar

All of a sudden the buggy went off road. I trusted Panaramji with my life at this point, so I quickly rolled down the window and took it in. The barren, mesmerizing desert, flat beyond eyesight dotted with Khejri trees was in many ways a dream come true. To go from verdant, cool, wet Massachusetts to the stark landscape of the Thar was an affirmation of my curiosities with the perceived dualities we witness everyday. Basically, I was in a good mood.


(Dhani, Thar Desert near Baap, 8:00AM )

We tumbled through dunes and hard soil and through bushes. The further we went from the road the less I could imagine the presence of human life. Despite this, and the Thar being characterized by sparse and highly variable rainfall, extreme variation in diurnal and annual temperatures and high evaporation, it is the most populated desert on Earth.

Soon, we came to a Dhani (a small group of houses sharing a common caste) and were greeted by the residents. Unfortunately, they speak a heavily accented Marwari so Panaramji was the only one who understood, giving us feedback so we could write it down as we fielded questions. But what struck me about the visit (in a good way) was that it was in many ways lacking the cliche I expected. The ideas of foreigness, extreme graciousness, or misunderstanding were nonexistent. Rather, they knew exactly who we were, were pleased and greeted us with a smile, but without protocol or hesitation dove directly into what we could help with. They explained that certain projects were working (specifically water management, they're just waiting for the monsoon rains) and others not-so-much (handicrafts were nice, but they needed more para-vet training so they could take better care of their animals). They asked politely if we could help with these things. We inspected the Taankas (underground water storage tanks for collected rain) they'd built (with help from GRAVIS) to make sure they were operational and if they needed anything else. We recorded, suggested, even debated a bit, came to a consensus and headed off, deeper into the desert to find someone else.


(The Naadi diggers, Where's waldo?)

At one point, I dug alongside the workers to make a Naadi (seasonal man-made pond for rainwater collection) and they enjoyed seeing the 'white' Indian sweat alongside them while they explained that 100 rupees a day was worth it, and that enough of this work and my fat arms would be as skinny and strong as theirs. In Shekhsar at around 5:30PM out of nowhere about 10 peacocks emerged from the wilderness--plumage and all. As we drove through the terrain they began to become a sortof nuisance. I counted about 50 that day. And it further highlighted the sortof optimistic paradoxical nature of the place. Barren and lifeless, yet almost insanely exotic at times. The women working at these sites wore the brightest most vividly colorful saris I'd seen.


(Shekhsar Krishna temple, 6:00PM)

These encounters continued for the better portion of the day, through heat, through more dunes and villages and sleepy homesteads. Bishnoi, Muslim, Hindu, no caste. I recorded and recommended treatment for some older gentlemen with BPH and another with goiter. I inspected their medicines to make sure they were on track. When we returned to the field center the new projects were immediately put into place (call to the vet: hey can you come in two weeks for a training, yes, ok see you then). and boom. a days work done.


(Paratha and Dahi, Baap center, 11AM)

We ate in a roadhouse stall, the speciality of the area (a favorite for truck, rickshaw, and taxi drivers) of Paratha (spiced fried flat bread) and Dahi (yogurt) with namak (the desert harvested local smoky salt). It was quite possibly one of the best things I've eaten in my entire life.


(Where the Paratha was made)

At the field center we all hung out for a while, listening to music or talking (while the electricity went in and out), all sat together in the Mess and had a simple dinner (prepared really well by the young cook who makes food for 27 hungry dudes everyday). Then about 20 of us grabbed mats, some light blankets and pillows, and slept on the terrace under the stars while the bats flew by in hoards protecting us from insects.

I fell asleep thinking about the resiliency, humbleness, and attitude of those villagers. They just wanted to maintain their lifestyle, while making enough money to pay the government taxes. When I asked if they wanted to leave the hardship, they'd say: we can walk out of here if we want to, the road's not far-- but this is our home, we like it here. we choose to stay.

On the Way

(The "dune buggy", our jeep, Thar Desert 9:00AM)


I got the call on Sunday night that I had to be at a certain location in an hour. I'd been requested to go to the field.

As soon as I arrived we sped off into the night through a dust-storm in the jeep. The bumpy, dusty, windy, and exhilarating ride was punctuated by tinny Marwari traditional dance music playing from the primitive cassette player which had only one operation, power on/off controlled by a lightswitch which had been haphazardly screwed into the dashboard. Our field officer guide, Panaramji would look over at me every once in a while and smile. He spoke about as much English as I spoke Hindi, but I think we had an understanding. After asking our colleague if I should require bottled water or special food, and finding out that I didn't, he had a new found respect for me. And so, after about 4 hrs, a roadside dinner, and some more Marwari music, we reached our unlit destination. The seemingly abandoned Kalron field house was being beaten by sandy winds and was illuminated solely by the half moon and our headlights. Two figures were sleeping outside and upon a honk or two woke up. I stepped out of the car and immediately knew I was somewhere else, the ground was much softer and sandier than metropolitan Jodhpur. I wasn't in Kansas anymore.


(Panaramji, 6:00AM)


(Kitchen, Kalron Field Center)

The ghost town field center was where we slept for the night, woke up early, had some peppery (really good) chai and headed to the Baap field center.

This place was like one of those movie depictions of a Vietnam encampment. There was the cook, the kid (isn't there school in India right now?), the fun-loving officers who'd play cricket every evening, the eccentric imaculately dressed Boss (Guruji, as we were to refer to him), Bollywood music blaring, and a bunch of people passed out, talking on the phone, or chilling out in the small patch of grass the horticulturalist (he was really proud of this) had cultivated in the arid conditions. We threw our bags into a room and jumped back into the jeep (or dune buggy, which is how I'll refer to it from now on) and went off road, about 25km through the desert to visit some villages. This is where the real adventure began.

Cast of Characters

By request, some pictures...



(Roshanji, GRAVIS veteran)


(Work friends Shivani and Dipika)


(Prakashji, Director of GRAVIS, my boss)


(Jodhpur sunset, 6:30PM)


(Guesthouse friends, Shorty and Marion)


(Guesthouse employees: Pohal, Chaan Singh, and Sunil)


(Govind and his son Ayush)