My ancestors

The animals of India ... what will I see, what will I think? These were my first thoughts in traveling to India. And if you're reading this blog, chances are you know there's a big ol' soft spot in my heart for the welfare and care of all animals. It is why I do what I can for the San Francisco SPCA.

Shameless SF SPCA plug: don't forget to put March 1st on your calendar for the not-to-be-missed Bark & Whine Ball.

It breaks my heart to see the the hard life of Indian animals ... short of offering a wee bit of comfort, there's nothing I can do ... sometimes I simply have to turn away.

There are the cows,

the donkeys

......... all born to a hard life, life as a beast of burden.


They work hard day after day. They scrounge for food. But sometimes you see a sight like giving their cow a bath (trouble is, I'm not sure he's not going to be someone's dinner since this picture was taken in a Muslim area of Calcutta).

Camels, horses, and elephants seem to do much better. They are exorbitantly expensive by Indian standards and as such are taken reasonably well care of. But don't kid yourself, their's is not a pampered life and they work hard.

Goats, monkeys, and pigs ... probably do the best. Perhaps because they have adapted to a yummy meal of scrounging around the garbage scraps.


But about those dogs and cats .........

Cats? Not so much! I've just not seen cats in many of the cities I've visited. Perhaps, cats have simply not been able to evolve in the pure vegetarian cities with no meat, fish or eggs. In non-vegetarian cities, you do see the occasional scrawny and skittish feral cat, mostly loitering around the meat markets.

Dogs? If my darwinian knowledge of natural selection holds true, Indian street dogs must have evolved over time such that they can survive with minimal protein sources. What do they eat? Today in the smaller cities, it's kind of like a self-sustaining eco-system. Many of the food stores are just small stalls opening onto the streets ... there is rarely any garbage pickup, and everything (I do mean EVERYTHING) is tossed onto the street ... particularly at the end of the day, any produce or uneaten food is just dumped and the street animals arrive for their meal time. After the dogs, then the cows, goats and pigs chow down, there's surprisingly not too much trash left. How is this changing as the cities get bigger and the infrastructure improves, such as in Delhi and Calcutta ... will the animals be left behind?

How can I help?
I don't know if it's the proper thing to do in India - but I've been feeding some biscuits to the street dogs. Even if it's not improper, it often gets some quizzical looks from the Indians. Sometimes the dogs are friendly ... sometimes quite frightened of people. They are most definitely street dogs ... feral pack creatures. Often they won't touch the biscuit until I've dropped it on the ground ... although most times they're more than happy to get a little scritch behind the ear.

But that only does so much. And being in Calcutta, the world-reknown volunteer haven, my first choice was to work with the animals. So off I trot to the Calcutta SPCA. I had heard they only needed vets as volunteers to help with surgeries ... and sure enough. Darn, my CPA-dom doesn't qualify. They have enough Indians and government support to help with the minimal care and feeding of the dogs ... but the SPCA president did make an impassioned plea for US donations.

I took some time to walk around to see the kennels. Not that it took long since there's maybe only 30 cages and about half were empty. They do not have the funds to provide any sort of spay/neuter program unless they get very specific donations. The dogs that do end up with them are usually brought in by the local Indians who want to take care of thir neighborhood street dogs. Most were desparately in need of socialization, but overall their cages were clean and physically they seemed well cared for.

With all that said, what was my reaction upon arriving in India? Horror, shock, heartbreak. There are dogs running everywhere, not a one of them fixed, covered in mange, scrawny as all get out, many with an injured leg. Likewise with the cows, donkeys, and pigs. For some, it's a wonder they're still standing and alive.

My next reaction has changed ... or, perhaps as a way of coping with what I've seen over these past two short months ... or, perhaps my reactions will continue to evolve. In so many ways India is a kaleidescope of reactions ... it just depends on the many ways you view it at the time.

The Indians seem to treat all aminals with respect and dignity, whether it's a beetle or a cow. Afterall, at least from the Hindu perspective, each animal is someone's ancestor. Yes, the animals are scrawny, underfed, and impoverished ... foraging for food in the garbage heaps. The work animals, such as the donkeys, have a hard life of physical labor. But perhaps it can be viewed as these creatures being treated no differently than the people who likewise are scrawny, underfed, impoverished, pick through the garbage heaps, and do hard physical labor ... even very young children. Should I not be equally aghast at the poverty, filth and hard work of all Indian life?

This is a people (and animals) who often have nothing. They live literally on the street. I would say they only have the clothes on their back, but in some cases that is almost an overstatement. For all ... life is hard, work is hard ... animals included.

With all that said, what do I think? I don't know. What I do know is that I will continue to support animals wherever I can, however I can ... one animal at a time. Who knows ... that puppy could be my great great grandma.

Remember your furry friends ... and give them a big hug and a smooch! Happy New Year !!!

Oh! Calcutta

I read an article questioning the relationship between the famed provocative show "Oh! Calcutta!!" and the real Calcutta; perhaps both reveal bare truths about mankind that we do not see otherwise. I had read there is an historical and beautiful, almost romantic, Calcutta. Yet to deny Calcutta's poverty and filth would be a great betrayal to the great city. It's a compelling city, a city with a soul, and my first few days are filled with walks through the streets, enjoying one of the richest experiences on Earth.

I meet up with some delightful Australians, Anna, from Sydney, and Martin and David, Australians who moved here 10 years ago to start a Indian tour company. And off we go experiencing the many Calcutta sensations.

Indian bathing! We westerners think of bathing as a very private activity. Indians think of it as a social event, a time to chat with their friends, catch up with the latest news. Men bath separately from the women. There's much sudsing, clothes washing, and even using the rough cement as a pumice stone on their feet. The bathing water ... well, it's wet ... but let's not forget the Calcutta Ganges is still the same Ganges water from Varanasi.

So many day-to-day market activities .........


fish sellers,

poultry sellers (yeah, another Indian bird flu opportunity),


hauling goods to market,

and flower sellers.


More Indian food discoveries ..........

Coconut juice ... whack off the top of a green coconut, pop in a straw, and there you have it.

Bitter gourd ... I've not seen this in the states. It's got a bitter, unique taste and is cooked up with some potatoes and spices.

And the delectable best ... hot Kati Rolls. These are flattened dough fried with an egg smashed in the middle, topped with some onions, lime juice, catsup and hot sauce.

Anna and I take a western Bengali cooking class taught in a lovely woman's home. She whipped up such a wonderful meal ... we eat until we can eat no more!


Where do the Indians live ...

families on the streets,

and the nicer apartments overlooking the streets.

On Christmas Eve, Anna and I join Martin and David visiting their Indian friend who is ill. Her husband died last year and she and her daughter struggle to make ends meet. They brought her some Christmas presents and we visit with her in her simple room. She proudly serves us some coca-cola and chips, and we chat about how she's doing. What a wondrous Christmas moment.

Christmas Day ... Anna and I wander about experiencing all the excitement of the city. There are families and children everywhere, enjoying the day. Christmas being neither a Hindu or Muslim holiday, it's just a regular holiday, with a plastic tree or nativity scene here and there, and lots of music blaring everywhere. Everyone is stopping by to wish us "Happy X Mas"!

Christmas dinner I dress up and wander over to a fancy hotel eating to my heart's content. Early the next morning, I call my family and have just a wonderful chat as they're enjoying their Christmas repast. A Christmas holiday like none I would ever have dreamed ... and one that I wouldn't have missed for the world.

Merry Christmas!

Trains ... the way to go

Do you think (yikes, I hesitate to even put this into words) I might have the whole Indian train thing down?

Next on the agenda was traveling 15 hours east to Kolkata (or in English, Calcutta). As you've read (I'm sure with rapt attention), my last few train rides were rather enjoyable! I booked either 2AC or 3AC class, which are usually sleeper cars ... meaning the beds are stacked either 2 or 3 high. They're pretty expensive by Indian standards, but rather comfortable. And since they're on the expensive side, only the very well-to-do Indians buy tickets. And luxury of luxuries, they provide a pillow, blanket and sheets ... even more swishy, they're all kinda clean (toilets aside). Dinner is served and the Indians dig in ... no thanks! My tummy will stick with packaged biscuits, chips and soda, thank you very much! Not a bad way to travel. By the way, this seat class isn't always available ... and sure wasn't for my first two train trip DISASTERS.

And so I arrive ... the start of a new chapter in India!

None of the Calcutta guest houses take reservations, but I arrive early enough in the morning. Top of the Lonely Planet list ... Salvation Army Red Shield guest house on Sudder Street, the in-place to be for backpackers and volunteers. I think I have just discovered my guest house acceptability boundaries. Lonely Planet said they were a mostly lacklustre bunch, but the first room they showed me ... I'm speechless!

Maybe #2 on the list ... Hotel Maria. Well (gulp), maybe (at least a big improvement over #1)! I can try this for at least two nights and in the meantime I'll look around some more. At least they were very friendly ... and only one cockroach and some ants in the bathroom! Upgrading may be in my future.

I walk around Sudder Street, enjoying a delish lunch and dinner. One downside to train travel ... with all the to and fro the station, plus waiting for trains to arrive (or not), it's often 24 hours or more with nothing more to eat than a handful of biscuits. Likely no worries about malnutrition, but I'm starving! Woohoo, I'm able to get a big heaping plate of plain boiled vegetables ... this is seriously improving my energy levels.

And with a full tummy, I do some walking around and catch up on my blog and email. Wonder of wonders, Indian electricity problems aside, Calcuta internet connections are blazing fast! Mind you, that's relative to the rest of India. Woohoo! Time to call it another day!!

The Great Mother

Warning, dear reader ... this post may at times be graphic and troubling to your sensibilities. It was difficult for me even to write.

The Ganges River, or Great Mother, as it is known to Hindus, provides millions of Indians with an important link to their spirituality. Varanasi, situated along the Ganges, is one of the holiest cities in India. Pilgrims come to wash away their sins ... and it's an auspicious place to die. Expiring here offers liberation from the never-ending cycle of birth and death. With that backdrop, Varanasi is almost overwhelming where the most intimate rituals of life and death take place in public along the ghats.

The city itself is a bustling, albeit dirty, city center ... of course with the usual herds of cows and water buffalo strolling along and clogging up traffic. But most interesting is the long string of ghats lining the western bank of the Ganges. Truly India at its most colorful, simultaneously beautiful and horrifying.


There is so much about life and living. There are people bathing,

swimming,

selling stuff (of course),

offering blessings,

selling flowers to offer to the river,

begging,

playing children,

cricket games,

flying kites,

shaving,

worshipping,

doing laundry,

repairing boats.


There are animals of every description ...

water buffalo,

dogs,

ducks,

cows,

birds,

monkeys,

and goats (who're dressed up in shirts - what's up with that).

Every evening at sunset the main ghats come alive with ritual worshipping, chanting, music, and offerings to the Great Mother. It's almost overwhelming to watch as you walk along the 7 km stretch of river.

And then there are the rituals of death. My first visit was around 4:30 in the morning ... it's still dark for another couple of hours, but bells are already ringing, chants being sung. All looks like the India I have come to know and love ... until I turn the corner and see the burning ghats. It is disrespectful to take pictures, but later in the day I was told where I could take a picture from the distance. So, you'll have to visualize in your mind.

It was a scene straight from an end-of-the-world movie. Dark and smokey ... figures huddled in blankets around huge fires ... searing heat from the flames ... stacks of wood stories tall and an Indian weighing and selling to the mourners (even in death, it seems in India it's about what you can afford) ... smoke billowing up, swirling around in the breeze, burning your eyes and nose ... chanting, praying ... family members taking body parts from the fire to throw into the river ... an open water main roaring down the steps into the river ... mounds of mud and garbage everywhere ... loud cracks as the dom's break the skull or other bones during the cremation ... and yet next to it all, a tiny shop owner watching what looks like a Bollywood flick on his small, but high-volume, B&W TV. The importance of the Hindu death rituals is palpable. It is surreal ... I am horrified, yet strangely mesmerized.

Later I wander by during the day and watch the accompanying rituals and prayers. 24 hours a day there are maybe 15-20 bodies being burned at a time. They can no longer set the bodies afire in the river, and those considered clean (the Brahmn class, children, and holy men) are weighted down and sunk.

All of this life and death happening near the river. Sewage regularly flowing into the river. I'm sure you can only imagine that the river itself is just nasty ... so heavily polluted that the water has turned septic, no dissolved oxygen exists, bacteria millions of times the safe level. There have been efforts to clean it up, but so much remains to be done. You see the skin of frequent bathers showing serious poisoning, for not only do they bathe, but swim and drink the stuff. Their skin is discolored, lost pigment, open and ulcerated sores, misshapen growths. Yet with all that, you still see fish and seagulls in the water.

But perhaps the most troubling are the dogs who live near the river. So many nursing moms with their pups. All with their skin horridly ulcerated, virtually no hair left, eyes almost blind, scrawny and malnourished. I fed some biscuits to the one here ... she was sweet, gentle, and ravenous ... I'm not sure she or her pups will live much longer. I can only provide some comfort. And with a bit of a full belly, she laid down and slept while I watched all that is Varanasi. Throughout India there are scores of scrawny street dogs (it breaks my heart) ... but nothing could ever have prepared me for the rampant disease and animal suffering brought on by such serious water pollution.

On my last day, in the hopes that I could make a contribution, I wander to the Tulsi Ghat where the Sankat Mochan Foundation was established to clean up the Ganges. Unfortunately they were closed, but I will follow up when I return to the States.

Varanasi ... a life experience I will carry with me forever ... forever altering my views of life, the environment, and death.

The beautiful Khajuraho

Another nice and uneventful train trip (the second in a row) ... pinch me! Thus begins my trip to Khajuraho!

Khajuraho is known for its stunningly equisite temples. Lonely Planet describes these works of architectural and sculptural genius as having an historic and poetic resonance that immediately captures the imagination. As beautiful as the temples are, there is the question of why they were built here. There's nothing of great interest or beauty to recommend it as a building site and no nearby population centers. All this leading up to my bus ride to the middle of seemingly no-where.

When we arrive by train in Jhansi (the trains go no further towards Khajuraho), we discover the private express bus either lost its permit or broke down ... not exactly sure which. Meaning, that we've got to get across town to the local bus stand. During these travels, I met up with four other westerners and we band together. We find rickshaws and arrive at even the right bus. My streak of avoiding local buses has now ended ... but at least it was sort of an express bus.

Our backpacks get tossed on the roof. We may never see them again! But since it's up there with the eggs, maybe it will be ok ... amazing how they toss those eggs around. The five of us squish our western-sized behinds into the back row. Not so fast there. We're informed the back row is for six people and a fortunately scrawny Indian sits down in the middle. Well, it's only 4-1/2 hours ... and you can survive anything for that long, right? I'm not sure any of us could move our extremities as we stumble off the bus in Khajuraho.

What a delightful city! Hotel Zen is the evening's guest house of choice. There's soothing music playing, running water sounds, lily ponds (kinda looks like mosquito breeding grounds to me), and an overly helpful staff obsessively catering to my every need.

There's several groups of temples and most everything is within walking distance. The intricate carvings and architecure are really everything they claim to be. The western temples are the most magnificent and best maintained. Amazing how someone could carve such intricacies, in such scale, and in such hard stone.

In the morning at sunrise, I walk over to the eastern temples. Simpler structures, but still beautiful. It's maybe 3 km walk from town and I pass through the neighboring village. Everyone's waking up, going about their morning ablutions, getting ready for school.

The Khajuraho people seem to be fairly well off. The children seem mostly to go to school, people seem to have a place to live (obviously no electricity or running water, but much more than a tarp), and many seem to own cows, goats or chickens.

I will say that in town they are utterly and annoyingly incessant in their clamoring for your attention ... postcards, madam; I just want to practice my english, madam; come see my beautiful shop, madam, looking is free; rickshaw, madam; which country are you from, madam; where is your husband, madam. The list goes on and on. It's never ending and you can't let it get to you. Each question by itself is innocuous, but they don't let up, they wear you down, and there's a strong temptation to run screaming through the streets! By the way, my story is (and I'm sticking to it) ... I'm married, I'm meeting my husband in the next city, I have two grown up girl children, and I'm retired ... it just makes everything much easier.

Indian post office ... now there's a story! I've been gathering various things along the way and my backpack's pretty small, thus a run to the post office is sorely needed. First stop is to take the package to the tailor (no, that's not a typo). He sews up your package in a muslin fabric ... measuring, cutting, measuring again, then carefully sewing the sides to make a snug box shape, fitting it over your package and carefully (and time-consumingly) hand sewing the open end. Time elapsed: almost two hours.

Then it's ready for the post office! I arrive about 2 pm and it doesn't close until 5 ... plenty of time. No madam, we are not mailing any more packages to the US today. Gotta love 'em! I stood there for at least half hour arguing ... you are open until 5; no, madam, the computer is shut down; turn it back on; impossible, madam, the supervisor has gone home; back and forth, back and forth. One thing I've learned India, know what is supposed to happen ... and don't give in! Sure enough, they finally decide they can do airmail, hand me the pot of glue and some stamps, and four people (who were doing absolutely nothing) mill around for another half hour watching the bureaucratic process. Perhaps I shouldn't get too cocky ... will my package actually arrive?

By the way, in case your wondering, sending DHL or Fedex goes through all the same time-consuming steps, including the tailor business ... it just costs a whole lot more!

My time meandering around Khajuraho must end. I rent a bicycle for RS20 and ride around for a bit. No worries about me trading in my Serotta ... this clunker must have weighed 100 lbs, no brakes, no gears, and definitely no helmet.

What a great visit to such an out of the way place ... now it's off to the bus and the train!

World wonders

What's a trip to India without a trip to Agra and the Taj Mahal!

I arrive in mid-day after a nice (and short) train trip from Delhi ... imagine, I used the word nice and train in the same sentence. I sat next to a delightful couple - Agnes from New Jersey and Steven from Ireland - and find we're off to the same hotel, Hotel Sheela. We're starving and chow down in the hotel outdoor restaurant (rather, it's all outdoors). This is such a nice guest house. There's a courtyard with flowers, it's setback a ways from the busy street, and even two resident dogs to play fetch with ... Tiger and Fifi. The room is clean, nice ... with a towel.

Between bites, we plan the next day. What else, but start with the Taj Mahal at sunrise. I've seen countless pictures of the Taj (as I'm sure we all have), but until you see the sun glimmering off the dome, the glittering gold reflection in the water, the immenseness of the structures ... it simply takes your breath away. I find myself just standing and gazing at the wonderous beauty that is the Taj.

In the afternoon, we decide to head to Fatehpur Sikri. This is a sort of ghost city, about 40 km west of Agra, and was the short-lived capital of the Mughal empire between 1571 and 1585 during the reign of Emperor Akbar. Because of water shortages the city was abandoned shortly after his death. But India has spent efforts in restoring the city to much of its original beauty and it's easy to visualize the day-to-day life in its heyday.

There are many buildings and areas of the city ... palaces for each of his three wives, each having a different religion (Hindu, Muslim and Christian). There was a treasury, astrologer's kiosk, stables, and of course the emperor's quarters. The Diwan-i-Am (Hall of Public Audiences) is where Akbar dispensed justice. Now for the chilling part. If he found you guilty, you were blindfolded and taken to a large field in back of the hall with an elephant. If the elephant likewise found you guilty he would stomp on your head and kill you ... guess that makes animal communication skills quite desirable!

What a wonderful day with truly wonderous sights! It's back to the hotel, some yummy dinner (knock on wood, tummy's feeling pretty ok), watch the fireworks from a restaurant rooftoop, and time for bed!