Annabelly

Unfortunately, having waited this long to write anything down, don’t even know where to begin. Things got crazy hectic with hospitalizations, traveling, the end of my travel literature class, and the departure of our American professor, Lyle. I suppose the best place to begin is the beginning, so I will start with the day before we left for our week in Agra and India’s capital, New Delhi. The morning we were to leave, we found out that Stephen was in the hospital with a 103-degree fever, rash, and malaria-like symptoms. He looked awful and there was no way he could make the trip. So, we left for the Taj Mahal sans our 6th member. It’s funny how after being together in such an intense environment for 2 months a group becomes so used to each other’s presence. It felt so empty with just 5. The Taj was incredible though. We arrived at around 7:00 am when all of the vendors and beggars were still setting up camp and sipping their chai. Maybe it was so impressive to me because I had no expectations—famous buildings are always so much less than they are cracked up to be. Not the Taj. With the sun just rising through the ever-present Indian smog, it cast a golden-pink glow across the ponds and marble of the building and looked even more extraordinary than every picture I have ever seen of it. I think its size was also surprising—it seems to go on forever when you stand at the base. It was the first time I had really seen white people since I had been there and I expected there to be hoards and for them to completely ruin my experience but I was wrong. There were a few, mostly French, but I didn’t even notice them. After walking through the long garden entrance with the still pools that reflect a perfect upside-down image of the mausoleum, we got to the base. There, we were asked to remove our shoes and offered little doctor foot-covers to protect our feet from dirt. I found that hilarious, nothing can save my feet at this point. I did notice the French practically beating each other in a race to grab the foot-covers though. I think not covering my feet was one of the best things I did at the Taj. Marble tiles surround the entire base of the mausoleum. They connect the Taj to the still-active mosque and the replica former guesthouse that stand on either side. In the morning, the tiles that are in the shade of the Taj are still cold and almost purple-color. Somehow, they made the shadows feel almost powerful and when I looked up to the towers topped with minarets, they seemed cold and silent, and I felt very small and very alone but somehow comfortable. I sat down and looked up and just stared for a good half hour. It is probably the first time a building or man-made creation has done that to me, and look how it left me; all gross and sentimental. Next thing you know, I will be talking about the “vibes” and “feelings” of my environment. Maybe it was just the product of the shock I felt when I realized it was the first time my feet have been cold since arriving two months ago. The inside of the mausoleum was very interesting. It is beyond architectural wonder to me: If one were to draw a line down the the center of the golden coffin that entombs the remains of the Raja’s beloved wife and follow it out the door of the tomb, it would line up directly with the point of the onion dome of the top of three doorways leading out, the center of the reflective pools outside, and the three doorways that are part of the entrance gate. Everything to the right in left, down to the tree, is perfectly symmetrical. The doorways are also inscribed with verses from the Qu’ran and inlaid with rubies, jade, and other semi-precious stones that make up the floral patterns of the Islamic tradition. Inside the mausoleum, the patterns and versus continue, and though one is not allowed to photograph them for their preservation, they create a beautifully decorated home for hundreds of pigeons that fly, squawk, and shit all over. We were also fortunate enough to have a terrible guide who liked to scream when he talked so as to ensure we heard and understood. We received loathsome looks from all inside and I am sure single-handedly woke the dead. We left around 10 that morning and went back to the hotel to pack up for Delhi. I, after not eating breakfast, decided it would be a very good idea to take my Doxycycoline (anti-malaria drug). Not so, it was the first and only time I have been sick to my stomach this trip and I am proud to say that after one quick retch and the pill’s expulsion from my system, I was fine and have been ever since. Meanwhile, Whitney (our other boy) was not doing as well and was slowly coming down with the same thing as Stephen. He went to the ER in Agra and came back an hour later with herbal vitamins and supplements and some plant-pills that were supposed to bring down his fever. We arrived in Delhi just before dark and were driven to a street lined with incredible temples from the Jain, Hindu and Muslim religions. Navratra, a Hindu holiday that is nine nights long and involves lots of eating, praying, and decoration, was in full swing, so the street was decorated with Christmas lights, garlands, and flooded with people. We turned into an enormous Jain temple and were told to get out of the car with our backpacks. We would be staying in a Jain Ashram for our four nights in Delhi. Our rooms, which were locked by a single padlock, had no showers, just buckets with rusty water, and our beds were wooden boards with a ¼ inch think piece of cotton as padding. The walls were white, the sheets used to be white, the floor was tile, and there were two light bulbs: one fluorescent and one an eerie green. There were just two windows in the room, which were covered with a chicken wire-like-netting and instead of looking outside, they looked down into a gymnasium where hundreds of Jains were gathered to eat food in rows on the floor and listen to some kind of motivational speaker who spoke so loudly that the glass shook. All I was missing was my straightjacket and a much needed round of sedatives. Our first night there, by 9 pm we were told that we had missed dinner and that all restaurants would be closed. I however know that this is not true because Indians do no eat dinner until around nine, and in one of the biggest cities in India, I am more than positive that SOMETHING had to have been open. But, following the orders of our very Jain trip leader, we were not allowed to spend more than 100 rupees each on dinner (that is $2.50.) So, we ate street food and practiced the concepts of non-possession by eating chow mein that no one’s body could possibly posses for more than a half hour without sharing with the porcelain God (which, may I add, in the Ashram, didn’t work.) The next morning we woke up for breakfast in the cloister’s dining hall: an all tile room where we were forced to remove our shoes before entering, were given tin plates and cups to eat 1/3 cup of porridge and vegan soy chai that came from a tin bucket and ladle, and sat at stainless steel tables and benches. While we ate, we sat below signs that said, “eat only what you must, never over-indulge,” and something about how there were starving children in India with a little cartoon kid with those big, watery, starving-child-in-India eyes. I gave my porridge back to the man, cleaned my plate, and walked down the street and bought a banana and an apple. I hate porridge and I see enough starving kids every day to not wish to be reminded during my morning meal of what a terrible person I am. I gave my apple to a little girl begging next to the banana cart. The evening before we had talked on the phone to Stephen’s host father who told us that Stephen was still hospitalized and that he had developed a fungal infection in his mouth and had pussing sores that prevented him from eating. They had also still not ruled out malaria or dengue fever. After speaking with my own father about the severity of malaria, I decided that someone had to force Whitney, who still had a 103-degree fever and a rash that was only getting worse, to go back to the hospital. So, we all did and, let me tell you, trying to convince a Jain to spend up to $200 on an overnight hospital visit was one of the hardest things I have ever done. “It is just the change in season, he takes the supplements and takes rest and he will be fine.” Or, his brain will boil or his kidneys will fail and you will have killed a whole hell of a lot more “jivas” than you would have otherwise! Anyway, Whitney also ended up in the hospital, and the four girls, ever resilient, were left to tour the city of Delhi on our own. We saw a lot of famous things. I don’t remember names, I have them written down, but honestly, going into detail would be boring. Lots of remnants of the Moghul empire, the New Delhi Gate, the home of the president, the parliament building, a billion other government buildings, and some nice botanical gardens. I think most significant of all was our guide kept comparing everything to Washington D.C. and I kept nodding in agreement until I realized that I have actually never even seen my own country’s capital or seen the government buildings of any other country. That evening, I ate meat for the first and probably only time this trip, and drank alcohol. I think it was my most rebellious moment: for a Jain, I sinned in the worst ways possible and then went home to curl up in my Ashram room, surrounded by monks and nuns who had never touched such horrors in their lives. I really am a terrible Jain-- and maybe person? We ended our tour of Delhi with our last afternoon in the hospital keeping Whitney company. He missed all of Delhi and was discharged at 8 pm the night we left. Frankly, I don’t think he missed much. For me, the culture and true India isn’t in the cities, it is out in the country and if I ever do return to India, I will avoid the cities like the plague. We caught a bus at 12 O’clock midnight and attempted to sleep. The guy behind me liked to grab the back of my seat and pull my hair and the guy in front of my snored like my father. We arrived back to Jaipur at 5:30 am, just in time to leave again for Ajmer, a town 40 miles away to go to the wedding of a friend. I will save that story for later. I hope all is well with everyone and be excited for the next e-mail, I just spent a week out in the rural villages being fed, drinking chai, learning about eco-friendly farming by Indian standards, dairy cows, and not showering for a week. It was one of my favorite weeks in India so far.