Global Music, Connecting Cultures

Connections Abide ~ Sisterhood Around the World

libana — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 01:42:00 GMT

Creating a full color art calendar. . . Organizing a fair trade crafts fair. Who knew that our journey to India would inspire these new ventures??? A year ago, Libana was busily preparing for our major life adventure to North India. Departure was in a little over 2 months and we were immersed in learning Gujarati songs and dances, emailing strangers a half a world away in a attempt to make connections and plan an itinerary, and figuring out what instruments to take with us--really not knowing what was going to happen. Now, a year later, we reflect often on "what happened". . .

The holiday season is almost upon us here in the US, and THIS fall we were busily occupied in creating ways to honor the strong connections we made in India last fall, and to share the work and creations of women we met almost a year ago! Round and round the Earth is turning....

Our new 2012 Women of India beautiful wall art calendar is finding a home on many kitchen, office and classroom walls around the country for the upcoming new year. Having taken over 7000 amazing photos during our trip, it was clear that some of our images crossed that amorphous line that separates art from a documenting snapshot. Our new calendar was created by culling favorite portraits of women in India: some women we met at Barefoot College and at SEWA and other women we encountered anonymously on the street. We attempted to portray a spectrum of life experience from a Barefoot solar engineer to an older woman selling spices on a street corner, from a kirtan wallah to an artisan from a SEWA collective. To our eyes, all these women are beautifully vibrant and colorful and full of spirit. We wanted to commune with each of them throughout the coming year--with their eyes, their smiles, their focus, their determination and their strength. And we hope you do too!!! You can order one by going to: http://www.libana.com/travels.htm A portion of the proceeds will be donated to Barefoot College, SEWA, and the Tibet Hope Center in support of their transformational work that changes society for the better!

Ten days ago we held a very wonderful and successful (on so many levels) Artisans of India Marketplace (or a Mela, as it would be called in India!). The idea was sparked last February during the days we spent visiting with the amazing organization of SEWA (Self-Employed Women's Association, based in Ahmedabad). We were sitting in a small room near Ganesh Pur witnessing many women gathered on the floor sewing, cutting, talking, learning. The women of this artisan collective were showing us their traditional cutwork applique technique process. They shared some of the designs they were working on developing as well as some of the gorgeous finished pieces. Wall hangings. Decorative cushion covers. They create daily together --preserving a time-honored tradition while developing new designs for an ever-expanding Fair Trade global market. After immersing in the artwork of these women and others we had visited with on the previous day, we realized that we could share this beauty with our friends back home and also help support the artistry and programs that are helping these women and their families continue to improve the quality of their lives.

Months later, it was so satisfying to see the beautiful work of these talented women on the walls and display tables at my Studio in Somerville, MA at our Mela! It was also amazing to see the people who were there shopping admiring their work, bountifully purchasing it for their own homes and holiday gifts. So many “shoppers” thanked us for doing this event, and for the broader musical mission of Libana— knowing that their purchases were making a difference in the lives of these creative women that we had the honor of meeting in India as a result of being the creative women we are. . .

And so the circle goes round. Libana sings and dances our way to North India and communes with women artisans in the process, and those connections spark an idea. The artwork created by those women makes its way to the US and inspires and moves those who see it. And the energy returns to India. Everyone benefits. Sisters in creativity and vision across the planet.

Connections abide.

Deep Peace

libana — Mon, 4 Apr 2011 15:55:00 GMT

It was six weeks ago today. I am still not sure what led the ten of us to a private audience with His Holiness the Karmapa. It certainly was a total surprise, arranged by our guide Kunsang in Dharamsala. And it certainly was a gift.

We found out about it the evening before we were to fly north to this mountain town. After having returned to Delhi just that afternoon from Gujarat for an overnight regrouping and repacking, I checked my email. We were all taken aback and somewhat stunned by this amazing email news. I mean, what an honor! That night, I sent out a blog entry called “Great News!”, so that our friends, family and followers back home could be with us in their hearts and spirit as we met with him.

After the Kingfisher propeller plane landed on that cool, grey, almost misty afternoon at the small rural, lowkey airport in the foothills of the Himalayas, we found out that the Dalai Lama had just landed two hours before us on that same quiet airstrip. Earlier that week, when we arrived at Barefoot College in Rajasthan, we were told that the Dalai Lama had just visited there two days before us (all the welcome signs and special decorations were still up) and he had been in Jaipur just two days before we arrived there as well. We were unknowingly following in the path he was traveling, all the way through Rajasthan, across the north of India, and then up the twenty-mile-long, narrow, twisty mountain road that ascends from the airport to Dharamsala. The Chonor House (the Tibetan Guest House where we were staying) was a stone’s throw away from his residence and his Namgyal Temple.

I couldn’t help but wonder if the Dalai Lama ever went out for a walk. Maybe I would see him out my window…

After we settled into our gorgeous rooms with views out to the mountains and down to the surrounding valley, we met Kunsang for the first time to talk through how we were to spend our time together in Dharamsala. He welcomed each of us with a white scarf—aTibetan tradition. Since the first thing on the next morning’s schedule was our audience with the Karmapa, we dove right into what it would be like and what we should do and what to expect. We had so many questions—after all, none of us had ever met a Karmapa before! What would we wear? Who talks first? Not wanting to make a faux pas in any way, we tried to get the concept and Kunsang patiently answered all our questions. We then got a lesson in how to prostrate ourselves (what Tibetans and Buddhists traditionally do). It looked so fluid when Kunsang did it. And so respectful. And so Tibetan. I remembered a scene in the beautiful film Himalaya (which I have seen about six times and highly, highly recommend) in which the Tibetan nomads—while on their breathtaking and life-threatening annual trek with their yaks through the mountains to gather salt—cross paths with a group of Buddhist pilgrims who were also crossing the mountains on foot—prostrating every eight steps or so as part of their spiritual practice (I have read that the act of prostration reminds the Buddhist that she is not the most significant being in all of reality).

We all kind of surreptitiously glanced around, each of us sizing up who we thought would be physically able to do that at this stage in our lives. Having not grown up Tibetan, and no longer being 25 like Kunsang was (except for our extended family’s 15 year old and 23 year old traveling with us), my assessment was that even if we could make it down to the floor, none of our muscles were going to be quick and agile like they should be for a proper prostration!!! After we voiced this concern, Kunsang mulled it over and then said that he thought it would probably be fine if we just did the series of hand movements that preceded getting down on the floor on our stomachs…..His Holiness would probably be OK with that.

Phew. Lucky thing. I sure didn’t want the ability or lack thereof to fluidly move from an upright position to flat on your stomach on the floor and quickly back up again in five seconds to make or break the opportunity for this special audience…..

Over our first traditional Tibetan dinner (so different than Indian food) at a great local restaurant --complete with our first momo’s--we learned more. Kunsang had bought us the necessary ten special quality white scarves (each one of us would offer a scarf to the Karmapa upon entering the room, after whatever version of the hand movements or full floor dip we could manage). He thought there would likely be a translator. We were coached that one never turn’s one back on the Karmapa, so when we left the room we were to back out, with an honoring bow. By that time, we had all figured out what we were going to wear, and all that was left was to get a good night’s sleep.

That didn’t happen for me. I was awake and asleep, awake and asleep all night. It felt appropriate to me, and to all of us, that as the founder and artistic director, I would be the one to speak and introduce Libana’s music and deeper mission. Even though it resulted in a restless night, it was a deep and illuminating inner process for me up there in the Himalayan mountains that night. The challenge of how I would succinctly verbalize to the third highest Lama in Tibetan Buddhism just what it is that Libana tries to offer the world was an opportunity worth losing sleep over.

Morning came, and it was absolutely stunningly brilliant outside. The mist from the day before had cleared and it was as if the sun was shining extra light for us on this auspicious day. After driving in two vehicles for quite some time, we pulled off the main road into the Gyuto Ramoche Tantric University—temporary home to the Karmapa. Our breath was taken away by the beauty of the Temple building against the snow-covered mountain peaks—everything was sparkling in that clear light. I stepped out of the vehicle into this illuminated, rarified air. The vast, silent, sacred presence of those mountains was broken only by the sound of some young monks chanting above on a second floor balcony. After several moments taking in this sensory, spiritual energetic experience, several of us immediately climbed up the many steps to the Temple entrance. We had just been told that the monks had gathered to hold a special chanting meditation to disperse the negative energy that had built up due to the recent controversies and misreporting about the Karmapa.

^{Inside the Temple photo: Allison Coleman}

We sat outside the open Temple entrance that had a green cloth sash across it, indicating that we should not enter. It was just us, except for a Tibetan woman offering her respect and reverence in the form of ongoing prostrations—up and down in front of the entranceway. Emanating from the Temple were the chants and drumming of the monks inside which we could glimpse only through a narrow space under the green sash.

I was transfixed. I felt so honored to be sitting there. I could have sat there for the rest of time.

But Kunsang had quietly come up the steps to gather us to go register for our audience. So down the steps we went, wrapped in the energy of what we had just experienced, and around to a side entrance where we entered a reception room filled with a mix of visiting Buddhist crimson-robed monks, a few Westerners, and the bustle of officials gathering passports, xeroxes of Indian visas, and our signatures on documents. Trays of Masala Tea and treats were brought in for everyone while we waited for the registration process to be completed. It was very convivial and friendly, and everyone was filled with a sense of anticipation. We were then asked to go outside and get into a security line. Once through, we climbed up four or five flights of stairs to a top floor outdoor balcony, where everyone stood in line waiting for their moment with the Karmapa.

The line was moving pretty quickly, and most people were only spending a minute in the Karmapa’s special room—being ushered in and out by the attending monks. It seemed that we still had a ways to go when all of a sudden Kunsang and his ten American companions were summoned into the room. Again, we were taken by surprise. It felt a little like we were cutting in line, but we were being asked to go, so in we went—with me at the head of the line.

I expected that he would be seated, but instead he walked towards me with an air of seriousness and depth, and yet welcoming. My hands moved as they had been taught, palms pressed together with thumbs tucked in, from my crown chakra to my third eye to my throat chakra and then to my heart center. He smiled and gave a subtle gesture communicating that it was totally unnecessary to end up on the floor. I offered him my white scarf which he ritualistically took and then placed it back around my neck. I moved on into the room, and turned to witness everyone else’s moment of blessing with the Karmapa. It was all so spacious and kind. Cheryl and Alan’s son Jared had brought some prayer beads, hoping that the Karmapa would bless them—which he graciously did. Eventually we were all seated, graced with a blessed white scarf around our necks.

We had talked about it earlier, and we knew that we wanted to offer him a song after I spoke. Which song to sing would be spontaneously chosen by me, as I assessed the energy of the moment. The Karmapa never spoke. His presence was strong and clear and focused and kind, and after a moment of shared silence, I spoke to him about Libana.

The translator never needed to speak a word. The Karmapa seemed to understand all levels of what I was saying. When I was done, I said that we would like to sing him a song, and asked if that would be welcomed. He gave a nod, and in that peaceful room with my singing sisters and extended families, in the presence of such a being, surrounded by the still power of those mountains illuminated by the full strength of the sun, the only song that felt appropriate to sing was Deep Peace—a beautiful setting by Boulder, CO composer Bill Douglas of an ancient Gaelic blessing. A song we have ended many a concert with over the years.

Deep peace of the running wave to you,

Deep peace of the flowing air to you,

Deep peace of the quiet earth to you,

Deep peace of the shining stars to you,

Deep peace of the gentle night to you,

Moon and stars pour their healing light on you,

Deep peace to you.

As we sang, we all felt him receive it increasingly deeply; his eyes were closed and his breathing was deep, centered, and peaceful. In that moment, we were singing it for him, for our community of Libana, for the Earth, for our world, for our shared humanity. This song we have offered to so many in concerts across the United States was now vibrating out into the Himalayas and beyond, as we offered it in the enlightened spiritual presence of the Karmapa.

In the silence that followed, it was clear that there was nothing more that needed to be said or done. He eventually stood up, and we followed suit. We were pulling our personal bags together, when one of us remembered that you could request a photo be taken, so we gathered with him in the front of the room for our memorable photo opportunity.

Then, as we began walking towards the door, we all simultaneously remembered Kunsang’s coaching—never turn your back towards the Karmapa. Of course Kunsang glided gracefully backwards with all the practiced finesse of his ancestors within him. But the rest of us spun around in an abrupt, awkward 180 degree turn and started backing up across the room towards the door, the ten of us attempting to funnel into one small doorway—all juggling our bags and bowing and glancing over our shoulders and bumbling and bumping into each other. It was very comical, and he clearly thought so too. The smiling and nearly chuckling Karmapa motioned for this group of Americans to dispense with the formality and just be on our way.

^{After our audience with the Karmapa photo: Jared Weber Mattes}

I am still not sure why it all happened. But it lives within me every day.

Sue

Poverty and Progress

libana — Sun, 27 Mar 2011 09:22:00 GMT

We’ve been back from India for a month now—and I’m finding that it is still hard to put my thoughts together about the poverty we witnessed. The scale of poverty in India is staggering—it is in evidence everywhere: enormous numbers of people scratching out a meager living selling vegetables or small items by the side of the road; day laborers toiling on construction sites with rickety bamboo scaffolding and women, especially, carrying heavy loads of dirt on their heads while dressed in colorful saris and minding small children playing in the construction pits; adults with physical deformities sleeping in gutters; children, begging in traffic because their parents can’t afford the uniforms required for school; makeshift housing by the side of the road, seemingly assembled from bricks and scraps and sticks and tin and random bits of wood. Every once in a while these illegal encampments are bulldozed by the government, only to crop up again because there are no other alternatives for people to live. And in the midst of this hodge-podge housing, without running water or sewer systems—we see satellite dishes perched precariously atop decrepit-looking roofs—the ubiquitous TV, umbilical to the world, even here.

It’s hard to know how to take this in. Most of us know in an intellectual way that there is a lot of poverty in India, but I didn’t know that 94% of the population works in the “informal sector” or that only 3% of the entire population of almost 1.3 billion people makes enough money to pay taxes. We have this image of India as a country filled with call centers and outsourced American jobs—and yes, that exists too—but it is dwarfed by the sheer magnitude of people who are very, very poor.

And yet, amidst all this poverty, I did not find India depressing in the least. There is a palpable sense of energy about the place—as if everyone acknowledges that though economic deprivation defines the physical status of many, many people, is does not define their state of mind. I was deeply moved by the women and men we met who were working in their communities to build the skills and capacity of everyday people to help themselves. These are not outside “aid workers” brought in to “lift people up”—these are regular Indians deeply engaged in the common project of building their communities from the bottom up. Whether they are engineering solar cookers or designing embroidery patterns or saving 4 rupees a day in their own bank accounts, they are building their future at a relentless pace, which one day will overcome the slow press of poverty—and the energy they generate in the process will power the world.

Allison

East ~ West ~ Zest!

libana — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 05:15:00 GMT

Dear Friends far flung and near,

Recently Libana performed at Wellesley College as part of the Art and Soul series. Hosting such artistic luminaries as poet Mary Oliver and Tibetan flutist Nawang Kechong, we were honored to be a small part of this mosaic of artistic and articulate visionaries. The performance space was low lit yet the radiance of our audience seated in intimate proximity to the stage illuminated our hearts and spirit. Attempting to interweave tidbits of story, a fleeting glimpse into our profound sojourn to India, proved to be a constant tangle of time management and concisement of word. Each sentence uttered had behind it a flood of remembered color, nuance, fragrance, rhythm, song, sunlight, generosity, warmth, welcome, depth and story. There was far too much tale to spin than an alleged concert could possibly allow - after all, the point is the music! Each time I spoke I felt as if I were offering the meagerest of morsels - though most likely the audience did not imbibe it this way- as I simultaneously relived the splendor of India and edited out what there was absolutely no time to elaborate upon. True, we are in Pisces time but really, it was like swimming in a fantastically glimmering sea and having to select only the smallest of offerings for those gathered.

I had no idea that only 13 days home my experience would remain so wildly undistilled (and conversely, would I even want it to be?) and that every Piscean seam in me would want to sit down, draw people closer, roll out a tapestry of stars, build a fire and gather around to embellish stories at their fullest to all who had the heart and curiosity to listen.

On January 8th, the new year just begun, LIbana performed a we're-going-to-India-and-here's-some-new-repertoire-we-want-to-try-out-on-you concert at the ever embracing Friends Meeting House in Cambridge. It was a convivial evening of long time fans, well wishers and bon voyage celebrants. Libana's show at Wellesley College, a full 2 months later, represents the other side of the journey with all that has transpired in between.

In between??

In between Libana sang, drummed and danced our way through India. By unplanned candlelight we performed at the venerable Ravi Shankar Center in Delhi. The moment I rang the sturdy Nepali yak bell summoning the commencement of the concert all electricity flickered to a stop as if signaled by it's deep tonality and resonance. Staff members scurried to obtain candles. The 6 of us sang on. You don't need to see to sing. "I arise facing east, I am asking toward the light" full out into the dark. Candles hurriedly lit and precariously tilting on various surfaces, the electricity returned. Candles too hastily snuffed, out it went again. It became clear why earlier, on the receptionist's desk, we had seen and pondered a large box of candles and a pyramid of match boxes. Light, dark, whatever, it was a sacred stream of moments to share the floorboards that have hosted Ravi Shankar, George Harrison and who knows who all else.

Libana played at the American Embassy School where we taught for the first week, sharing the stage with dancing and drumming 4th graders and singing Middle and High schoolers. After a rollicking rendition of the west African dance Kakilambe, met by thunderous applause, 85 ten year olds, having learned what they'd just performed over the course of our residency week, lept off the stage, eyes aglow and one was heard to shout " We nailed it!" A fireworks of pride and artistry.

Saturday of that week found us with an overflow all Indian audience at the American Cultural Center. Rapt, nodding and appreciative they burst into whoops of glee when Linda and Allison emerged in full mirrored sparkling garba garb procured in a swivet of shopping the day before. This well received concert garnered Libana the most unique review ever, and we continue to tease Allison, written up as "looking sexy yet graceful", that these raves about her may be as close to a marriage proposal as one could ever read!

Journeying south to Ahmedabad we sang in the sunlit third floor of an artisan's collective, under a corrugated metal pavilion roof for 2,000 students at the Gandhi inspired C.N.Vidyalaya school, on the rough hewn outdoor stage at Barefoot College in rural Tilonia joined by Jordanians, Kenyans and Punjabis - a veritable music of the global spheres spontaneous festival! We sang for street kids at a safe haven tucked away in a maze of alleys and cut throughs in the bowels of Delhi. They thanked us with a Hindi rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

Traversing high into the steep Himalayan foothills we sang on yet another planked stage, this time at The Children's Village, a school for Tibetan children living in exile, founded by the sister of the Dalai Lama. Currently on a 2 month vacation, the 150 children there when we visited have no family or home to return to. For even the youngest students, the school is their family and home. Well loved and cared for by the dedicated faculty and staff, they spend the chilly days playing soccer, riding bikes and awaiting the joyful springtime return of their 850 classmates.

A new song of ours, Peace Mandala, begins with a lone line of Om Mane Padme Hum. Tears filled my eyes as I locked into the gaze of a stripe sweatered 7 year old boy chanting chanting chanting the whole way through with me.

This is real I thought, my voice catching. His schooling is this. Om Mane Padme Hum. The very foundation of his education way up here in these mountains, 8,000 miles above sea level, is this. Om Mane Padme Hum.......He is 7. Our words in beautiful synchrony.

Dressed in dazzling green saris ("This is our uniform. We are tree growers" one woman announced proudly) the Landless Women's Collective of Ganesh Pur met us with a red paint dot to the brow, a pressing of rice into the red and a song of welcome. Lunch was served beneath the trees on comfortable sofas with large striped pillows. These women have negotiated the stewardship of neglected, arid acreage owned by the village and have turned it into a lush paradise of vegetables, fruits and medicinal herbs. Underneath this well tended canopy of trees we sang Now I Walk In Beauty and in turn they graced our reluctant departure with a lively heart widening Hindi farewell song, our hands fluttering good bye until we could no longer catch sight of each other.

We sang in tenements, schools, under the open night sky, beneath trees and sunlight, where ever the spirit moved us. We were sung to as well, an exchange of hospitality, mutual admiration, culture, curiosity, warmth, celebration and some sort of mysterious unbridled love which passes between people when they approach each other with open hearts, deep eyes and a wild intuition to move toward each other.

And now we are.....home? Separated from Mother India and her pandemonious liveliness. Yet, not.

On stage at Wellesley, I was taken by surprise by the encompassing embrace, the loving hold she has on me. Mother India, her guiding spirits, loving hearts, challenges and hard work, vision and commitment. I am broken wide open by all I have seen. The stories continue. This nomadic blog will remain.

There are our stories and the stories told to us. So pull up a tree stump, come close to the fire.

We have tales to tell, worlds to listen, the thread, the story lives on.

In peace, grace and the spirit of this spinning planet ~

Namaste!

Marytha Paffrath

Garba!

libana — Thu, 17 Mar 2011 12:17:00 GMT

Sometimes the stars align and you meet the exact people you were supposed to meet. That’s what our connection with Mirai Chatterjee and the wonderful women of SEWA felt like. Sue has already written about the circumstances of our meeting and the great work that the Self-Employed Women’s Association does in Ahmedabad and in a number of other Indian states www.sewa.org. We spent an inspiring several days talking with Mirai and visiting SEWA bank and several SEWA work sites, with our wonderful guide, Rashmi.

One of the many memorable moments of this part of our trip occurred late one afternoon, in a very unexpected way. It was 5:00 pm and by this time, my heart was so full of what we had seen and experienced, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed. We’d just come back from visiting a SEWA day care center and health education center. Of course, the place was bustling and we caused quite a stir, walking through the very poor neighborhood on the way to the site.

^{Street leading to SEWA Daycare Center Photo: Cheryl Weber}

The kids at the day care center broke my heart; there were 16 or so young children—bright and beautiful, if a little cranky for having missed their naps waiting for the visitors to come. Their caretaker was a vibrant woman who sang songs with them and engaged them on many levels. It was obvious that they were receiving tender, loving care—but also obvious that this was not a day care center as we might imagine.

The room was small and dark and taken up by several cradles; there were virtually no toys, although there were brightly-colored pictures on the walls. These conditions were far better than the conditions on the street, where many young children sit and play within inches of traffic—but still it was hard to witness the reality of poverty in the lives of these children and the stark contrast with conditions faced by most children in the US.

^{Marytha teaching a song at the SEWA daycare center (Photo: Cheryl Weber)}

So by 5:00 pm, I was feeling emotionally spent, but we still had one more thing on our “Programme”—a Garba in the courtyard in front of the SEWA offices. Even in my low-energy state, I was looking forward to the prospect of seeing and participating in this traditional dance, done in honor of the Divine Mother as part of the Navaratri festival. And of course, now I actually had a Garba costume! So I put on my red dress and headed across the street to the courtyard. Already the dancing was in full swing and it was fun to join in with the other women dancing in a circle. Soon the rest of Libana arrived and we hauled out our instruments, preparing to sing and dance our Garba and Dandiya Raas stick dance for these lovely women. I’m sure they had no idea what to expect, and neither did we. Cheryl started singing and at first there was a sort of shocked look on the faces of these women, as they began to realize that Cheryl was singing in Gujarati and of course, THEY KNEW THE SONG! Within moments they were whooping and cheering and whistling and singing along; you just can’t imagine the grins on their faces and the grins on our faces as we shared this moment of incredible musical connection.

And then Linda and I started to dance and I felt totally embraced within their circle and within the circle of this ancient goddess tradition. At the end of the Garba, Marytha and I made a quick transition and I took up the drum sticks and Marytha took up the Dandiya sticks and she and Linda began the stick dance. If possible, the level of elation escalated even further. The SEWA women were singing along and we were all totally beside ourselves experiencing this transcendent connection.

^{Dancing the Garba with our friends at SEWA (photo: Alan Mattes)}

And then, because none of us could contain ourselves, we did the whole thing again, this time with everyone dancing and singing in a crazy celebration of transcontinental woman-power! In the several times we have practiced and performed this dance since returning from India, I think fondly of our sisters at SEWA and celebrate a world in which the enormous gulfs that divide us can be bridged with a mutually-loved song and dance.

Allison

Fostering Creativity on a Third Floor in Ahmedabad

libana — Sun, 6 Mar 2011 04:45:00 GMT

Going to Ahmedabad in Gujarat was almost a last minute addendum to our itinerary. The planning of this trip did not come together smoothly, and was actually quite stressful. In retrospect, I can see more clearly that our East Coast, North American drive and need for answers NOW was in culture conflict with a more spontaneous Indian approach to life. Hard to manage that difference via email with a ten and a half hour time difference! We put as much as we could in place before we left, and then resigned ourselves to the fact that more would get planned and settled once we had landed in Mother India.

A couple of weeks before we departed, an amazing “old girl network” connection was discovered. Marytha had dinner with her close college friend Trisha and two close friends of hers (that particular group of four convenes for a shared meal about once a year). The fact that we were soon to depart to India of course came up in conversation, and one of the women said, “Well, you MUST be in touch with my dear friend Mirai Chatterjee, I am sure she would help you set something up. She is well connected. In fact she probably could have been Prime Minister!”

Mirai Chatterjee is nothing short of a Goddess who walks on this Earth with an incomparable grace, beauty, intelligence, compassion, commitment to bettering the lives of Indian women, and remarkable air of peace. She is the current Director of an organization based in Ahmedabad, Gujarat that is well-regarded around the world—SEWA (http://www.sewa.org/) or Self-Employed Women’s Association.

Since 1972, this trade union has helped over 1.8 million women who comprise a large part of the informal economy of India. 93% of the total workforce in India is in this category—people who do odd jobs or barely scrape together a meager living from various sources, with no regular salary and unprotected by any worker rights. Of the vast women’s workforce in India, more than 94% are in this unorganized sector.

Guided by the Gandhian principles of truth, non-violence, the integration of all faiths and all people, and the propagation of local employment and self-reliance, SEWA has moved tirelessly to organize women workers across India, improving work and income security, food security, access to banking their own money, health care, child care and shelter. By fostering self-reliance, the well-being of women—and thereby the well-being of their families and communities—is strengthened.

Wow. A last minute possible connection to SEWA? By all means, let’s explore what opportunities it might present! Mirai openheartedly invited us to come spend time getting to know the work of this organization by meeting with some of their women’s cooperatives. And so, last minute changes to our itinerary ensued and we added on a flight to Ahmedabad.

Our amazingly inspirational time together began with a morning prayer meeting at their headquarters. A prayer meeting conjures up one thing here in the US. There, it felt completely different. We gathered on the floor with all the women field workers in a beautiful peace-filled room, and they began their morning chanting in song. Hindu and Muslim chants were included. This is the way they start their work every single day-—with a beautiful setting of their heart’s intention. By the end of their singing we were already so moved, and then they asked us to sing a song. Then everyone went about their workday-—with our mutual connection already having been begun to be forged through the vibration of chant.

Accompanying us through the rest of our time there would be our wonderful companion, guide, and translator Rashmi--who explained many things, answered many questions, helped us through menu options, navigated the rows of Kutch craft stalls at Law Gardens with us, attempted in vain to keep us on schedule, and gave of herself wholeheartedly to this band of American visitors in a city where English was spoken WAAAY less than in Delhi!

After the prayer meeting, Mirai talked to us with warmth and inspiration about their work, and cast a mind-boggling perspective on the lives of women in India. She talked about the slow pace of change, and how she has come to think in “20 year bites”. But what had already been accomplished by this organization since 1972—a year that witnessed the undeniable movement of Feminism begin to change the thinking and the lives of women globally—was beyond inspirational.

After a shared lunch seated on the floor, during which we were introduced to a woman named Lalita (who with an aura of motherly power seemed a bit like a Matriarch within the organization) we piled into two vehicles and drove to our first meeting with a women’s artisan cooperative. The chaos of Indian traffic seemed to have been amplified by a factor of a hundred in Ahmedabad. Driving through absolute mayhem, we landed at the end of street too narrow to drive a car into. We got out and walked our way down this street which, despite its narrowness, was jampacked with pedestrians, dogs, cows, motorbikes and the everpresent green and yellow auto-rickshaws. We were in the old part of the city, and the houses and shops vibrated with antiquity. Reaching the older-than-anything-we-know-in-the-United States building of our destination, we entered and were immediately greeted by a woman sitting on the floor doing traditional blockprinting on a large piece of fabric. Moving slowly up to the second floor, we passed other women sitting on their section of floor immersed in their own creative process with some gorgeous piece of fabric, and then on up to the third floor, where a group of these organized artisans were gathered on the floor in a beautiful old room filled with fabric, books, and a pervasive sense of peace.

We all sat together, with Lalita being our guide and translator. We learned about how it is not just traditional patterns and processes which were being remembered and created (although these were stunningly beautiful), but how the women are encouraged to create something new. Books are there to browse through and inspire their designs, so that these fabric artforms--blockprinting, appliqué, embroidery, mirrorwork--continue to evolve as they become infused with the creative expressions of these contemporary artisans. This was the proud daily work of these women. Their finished pieces are sold in various SEWA stores in cities around India, and are beginning to move out into the rest of the world No middleperson. The majority of sales income goes directly into the bank accounts of these women, bringing the aforementioned security to their lives. The concept of Fair Trade at its finest.

Masala tea was brought in for us all, and after admiring their recent and current work, we asked if they ever sang as they worked. We were treated to a couple of traditional songs with inspiring poetry by the group of brightly clad women, and then a brave solo song and dance from one young woman. It was if a tsunami of energy poured through her, pushing against the societal history of shyness and subservience. She took the floor, we were mesmerized by her spontaneous performance, and then she sat down and covered her face with her hands as she giggled through the spirited applause of her Indian colleagues and American guests alike.

We sang Woke Up This Morning for them, which they LOVED. And then, again, we joined our voices in a rendition of We Shall Overcome with these women who are bravely doing their part in the broader picture of social change for women in India. We cannot underestimate the profoundly entrenched societal forces that have to be indeed overcome and transformed for these women to have gotten to this point. They can now contribute to their family’s security and be protected in the process—all while sitting in a peaceful third floor room creating every day in the company of their beautiful sisters. I understood why We Shall Overcome—such an important song in the Civil Rights Movement of the 60’s here—seemed to have been adopted all over India as a widely known anthem of social change. There is SO much to overcome in India. It is unfathomable how much there is to overcome in India. But thanks to the inspired work of women like Mirai and her dedicated colleagues, change IS happening—even if in 20 year bites. Despair and resignation is being replaced by hope and action across this vast land.

Gandhi’s ashram is very close to here. There was sadly not enough time for us to visit it. However, this man who changed India continues to inspire the daily work of so many. Thank you, Gandhiji.

Sue

The wildest pre-concert preparation ever!

libana — Thu, 3 Mar 2011 15:28:00 GMT

Well, we’ve been back in Boston for a few days and I am only now coming up for air after transitioning back to work and reaclimating myself to day-to-day life in the US—but thoughts of India and our experiences there continue to reverberate in my brain and heart. I am so struck by the extremes of India: cacophony and peace; extreme poverty and extreme beauty; degradation and dignity—all pressing so hard against each other you can barely breathe.

One of the moments most emblematic for me of these seemingly irreconcilable opposites was when we were preparing to give a concert for 2,000 school children at the C.N. Vidyalaya School in Ahmedabad—a Gandhi-inspired co-educational school www.cnvidyavihar.org. We arrived at the school and began setting up on a stage with a large pavilion-type roof, but open on the sides; kids were playing soccer in the field immediately adjacent to the performance area. It was a challenge getting the many helpful men to let us set up the stage the way we wanted it. I would attempt to place the two tables for our instruments at angles at the back of the stage and they would immediately move them back to the center in a straight line. This comedy routine went on for a while, until I finally convinced them to just let us handle moving and placing the tables; I’m sure it was a big faux pas given that Indians don’t like the idea of women carrying or moving much of anything, but American women are pushy, so I eventually got my way J

Instead these lovely gentlemen turned their attentions to getting four ancient microphones to work. By now it was getting pretty noisy with kids beginning to filter in to their places on the floor; the mics squawked crazily and the growing chorus of excited voices echoed off the high metal ceiling above. In the meantime, we were unpacking instruments and trying to figure out where we were going to change into costumes and how we were going to be ready to perform in the roughly 15 minutes we had until show time.

All of a sudden, some imperceptible signal caused the kids to begin streaming into the performance area and the noise became simply deafening. I don’t know if I have ever been in the midst of such cacophony. Of course, we chose that moment to begin a 5 minute vocal warm-up: there we were clustered around each other in a circle, dutifully singing our vocal exercises and none of us could hear anything that was coming out of our own or each other’s mouths. We might as well have been lip syncing! So much for the warm up. Next we kicked the sound guys out of their little booth off to the side of the stage and hurriedly changed into our costumes, joking that we would never again have to arrive 4 hours ahead of our scheduled concert time when it was quite clear we could be totally ready to roll in under 30 minutes!

My heart was literally racing, not from nerves, but from the stress of trying to get ready in the midst of mayhem. And then, all of a sudden, peace descended upon the entire arena. 2,000 kids were all sitting cross-legged on the ground in perfectly straight rows, one behind the other in the most precise order imaginable—and they all began singing their morning prayers. Gandhi believed in starting the day with prayer and so this school follows his example. It was the most stunning unison singing I have ever heard. Voices rising and falling like a great ocean of calm washing over us all. I stood there looking out over the sea of earnest, young faces and at the beautiful women from SEWA who had come to hear us sing (more on them later) and I thought this couldn’t possibly be the same reality that we had all experienced only moments before. But again and again, India is like that.

So they sang and then we sang; the warmth and excitement coming from these kids was simply enthralling. For many, it was likely their first concert ever—and for us it was an unforgettable lesson on the power of music to bring worlds together. Earlier in our trip, a friend recounted a story that included the astute observation that “only in India is there the proper amount of chaos with which to live a spiritual life.” That day I felt the truth of that statement and marveled that chaos and peace could be so closely entwined.

Allison

Road to Jaipur

libana — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 13:38:00 GMT

This is my 3^rd attempt to write this blog entry as the first two suddenly disappeared after I hit the ‘save story’ button (imagine my frustration!). So a little belately, here are my impressions on the road to Jaipur.

Driving time in our fairly comfortable 18 passenger van took approximately 6-7 hrs but we were so entertained that we hardly noticed the time.

We left Delhi early Monday morning (Valentine’s Day) ready for a new adventure away from the big city. After driving for almost two hours in heavy traffic we came to the outskirts of Delhi with its new high rise tech companies. A little further on, the land opened up with most of the activity centered on the road which was teeming with life. There were cars, trucks so full that men hung off the back and sides, auto rickshaws (tiny 3-wheeled vehicles with no doors that hold 3 people comfortably though often are crammed with whole families), motorcycles carrying perhaps 2 adults with children wedged in between, horses, camels drawing carts of everything imaginable, elephants, cows, monkeys all engaged in this fearsome dance, weaving in and out with an awareness unfathomable to us of who will ultimately yield. Lanes seem to be mere suggestions. Often a vehicle would be barreling toward us at full speed only to veer off at the last moment. Generally it seems that the larger vehicle wins out. The rear of many vehicles display the words ‘PLEASE HONK’ indicating “Please let me know if I’m in your way so you don’t hit me.” And honking is loud and frequent and expected, seemingly much more friendly and helpful than it is in Boston. The Indian concept of space is so different than ours and there appears to be more tolerance for others getting in your way. Despite the chaos I saw no evidence of road rage. Our driver, Sonny, was excellent and later after he’d driven us to Barefoot College, we found out that he was also a great singer and dancer in a group called Punjabi Gangsters.

It’s hard to describe what we saw along the way – vendors beside the road selling anything from vegetables to washing bowls to hand-made ladders, women balancing heavy bowls on their heads, cows and camels, and everywhere dogs, lounging in the shade by the side of the road, the most primitive huts made from whatever was at hand, men cutting rebar for new luxury hotels and homes working on construction sites without any machinery, a gaggle of brightly colored schoolgirls, children waving and staring at the white folks on the bus, and many many people just hanging out drinking their Masala tea enjoying their leisure time together.

In the distance we saw vast fields of yellow and every now and again a bright color mixed in that, on closer inspection, turned out to be a woman in a sari bent over, harvesting the mustard seed plants. It really struck me that despite the poverty and difficulties that they face, women are always brightly clad in colors that stand out and make you smile and take notice.

This trip has been unforgettable. We are truly blessed.

Lisa

A Spontaneous International Music Festival in Rural Rajasthan

libana — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 03:01:00 GMT

I have now woken up two mornings back home here in Somerville. My dreams are filled with the colors, sounds, and heart impressions of India. I am not sure what to make of anything. This morning it is snowing. Clearly this journey is going to take a long time to process, and I am dedicated within myself to creating as much space in daily life as possible for that to happen in.

This morning my stream of images have landed back in rural Rajasthan, where we spent a transformational 24 hours visiting Barefoot College in Tilonia (about 2 hours from Jaipur). The road from Jaipur got less and less urban, as we moved into the amazingly expansive countryside. A welcome relief from the vibrant but densely crowded streets of Delhi and Jaipur where we had been so far. This portion of Rajasthan had their irrigation systems in place! Beautifully green fields extended in every direction (next to occasional dry, dusty, fallow fields). Golden mustard fields were interspersed with the green. Across the landscape bloomed splashes of bright intense color--the reds, oranges, yellows, and fuchsias of the saris of Rajasthani women as they worked their fields--in the same manner as there ancestors for centuries before. Some were walking through the fields carrying bundles of harvested plants on their heads. Others carried large bowls on top, most were bent over at the waist. Vibrant flowers, hard at work.

Our small bus eventually turned off the highway onto a dirt road. We passed lots of kids, small homesteads with piles of dung patties, an occasional roadside well, goats, cattle, a few camel-drawn carts. A couple miles later we pulled into Barefoot College and were met by our guide for the time we would spend there--a man named Ram Nivas. Wrapped in a shawl, he graciously greeted us, as the peaceful air filled with birdsong and gentle breeze and an occasional barking dog enveloped us. I felt we had been delivered into the arms of the Goddess.

We were shown to our accommodations for the night ahead-- small, bare rooms with the ubiquitous hard Indian mattresses. I remembered what our friends back at the American Embassy School had said early on in the planning process of our trip: "And if you decide to go into rural India, well........well kudos to you!" None of that mattered. It was just so peaceful there.

Barefoot College was founded in the 70's by a visionary man Bunker Roy (for an inspirational video of the meeting between him and the Dalai Lama, who had visited Barefoot a mere two days before us, watch http://www.barefootcollege.org/videos/Altruism2.htm ). He felt that the way that India was going to change was from the roots up. Harvesting and sharing the time-tested wisdom of rural people, he began offering empowering classes and apprenticeships that taught skills to primarily illiterate local women that would help them transform the quality of life in their communities. They became solar engineers, experts in water purification, dentists, healthcare workers, architects, even menstrual pad makers. And of course gifted artisans.

Ram Nivas showed us everywhere, explaining not only what was being learned by each group of women, but the philosophy that infuses the school. He shared his own personal story with us of having grown up a member of the untouchable caste, and the emotional pain he endured while being heavily ostracized as a young boy because of that. Bunker Roy trained him to be an accountant at the college, which completely changed his life.

At Barefoot, there is no caste system at work. All are equal. All are human. All have wisdom. All have intelligence. All have the power to change their world.

When we got to the room where the puppets lived, his whole demeanor came alive! He is a puppeteer. Several of us were reminded of Bread and Puppet Theater as soon as we walked in that room. The room was filled with puppets of all sizes and varieties, and a group of musicians awaited us. Puppetry is a traditional art form in Rajasthan, and in the hands of Ram Nivas, accompanied by the musicians, it is now being used to teach and challenge the hearts and minds of its rural audiences on social issues such as domestic violence, health care, water-borne diseases, etc....The rural communities listen--it is the puppets who are doing the teaching.

We were treated to several tribal songs by this traditional band -- 2 singers (one of them Ram Nivas with his amazing voice), a harmonium, a 19 year old amazing drummer, clanging large hand cymbals... and then a small puppet show. In this small, darkish room, the arts and social change were being magically interwoven.

After a full day of visiting the activities of the college, and having eaten two meals there, it was time to get ready for the concert we were to give after dinner. There was an outdoor performing area with a stage (opensided with a roof), illuminated with solar electricity generated by the women there and three microphones. We had been told that an hour concert would be long enough, and that that timeframe would include translations and a couple of songs by some of the women at the college.

By the time they had found a table and a couple of chairs for us (everything happens on the floor there), unpacked instruments, set up the stage, figured out how to best use the three microphones and changed into our wrinkled performance attire (no way to iron....) there was not even time to vocally warmup. Our audience had assembled and Ram Nivas (who was to emcee the evening) was ready to go. I asked him how the concert was going to be organized. He said that he wanted his group of musicians to start with the traditional summoning music (all drums, clanging cymbals and blown conch shells...) and then we would sing our first song. After that? How about we alternate? He would improvise an order of events and all would be well.

We were flexible. We were ready for anything. But we were in no way prepared for the two hour spontaneous international music festival that occurred on that stage that evening under solar lighting in the middle of rural Rajasthan.

Although we knew that sometimes women from other parts of the world would come apprentice at Barefoot, we had only met a small group of Kenyan women earlier that afternoon who were making candles and working with electricity (a hearty rendition of Kwaheri was sung together, followed by many hugs).

But in the "audience" that evening were assembled women from many areas of India as well as Kenya, the Congo, Burkina Faso, Jordan, Guatemala, Columbia, and beyond.

What ensued was a festival of song by these "Barefoot Engineers". We would sing a song, then Ram would summon the Masai women from Kenya who spontaneously laughed their way onto the stage and sang and danced traditional song from their village. And then we would sing a song, and then the women from Burkina Faso would offer their tradition. No one knew this was going to happen. When we sang Beleil, our Bedouin Arab song, the Jordanians erupted from their seats and joined us on stage in disbelief, singing their hearts out (I was congratulated on my oud playing by a somewhat shocked Jordanian at the end of the song.....). On through the evening, one elated group of (mostly) women after another (including us!) made their way onto the stage and with not a drop of competitiveness and full of pride--all sharing our souls with each other. Even our two Punjabi bus drivers joined the festivities! Needless to say, by the time Allison and Linda had donned their Garba costumes, ready to dance this traditional dance done across Gujarat and Rajasthan, the audience went wild.

The evening came to a close with Ram requesting a rendition of We Shall Overcome. We began, singing a verse on stage, followed by the audience members singing it in Hindi, and then another verse by us, followed by a version of that verse in Hindi.

Transcending any possible boundaries, the universal joy of shared music and dance rang through the night air uniting us all in an unforgettable sea of song.

And as soon as the music was over, the lights went out, leaving only one solar powered lantern to illuminate the crowd of people that was gathering onstage to look at our instruments and talk to us. An afterglow party ensued (giving a total new meaning to that phrase). Gathered around that small table with our instruments, it was requested that I play my hammered dulcimer.

Improvising a little, everyone was transfixed, and for some reason that prompted the Rajasthani musicians to sing another song which I jammed on my hammered dulcimer with. Cheryl's husband Alan blew their conch shell (summoning up his shofar blowing experience), and Marytha and I sang a Balkan song.

The Rajasthani guys sang us a traditional goodbye song which we all LOVED (they said it is mostly sung by women in the villages, and it will definitely make its way into our repertoire!). Eventually everyone else had dispersed and all instruments safely (and miraculously) returned to the safety of their cases, leaving only some of Libana and Ram and his band of Rajasthani musicians (who now, having seen us do our thing and having just moments before tried out every drum and instrument, were incredibly animated and conversational). An invitation ensued to come back and spend 6 months--Ram would take us around to all the villages so we could learn thousands of songs.....

We stood there for quite awhile, by the light of a solitary lantern talking, exchanging touring stories (this band had traveled to Europe once), and.... much to our amazement (and yet again, not)--hearing Ram talk about his time working with Peter Schumann and Bread and Puppet Theater while in Germany! He was blown away that Marytha and I have also sung in a couple of Bread and Puppet productions.

How small a world can it possibly be? Or is it so vast that it is beyond comprehension?

I do know that it was the spirit and essence of Libana's 31 years together that catalyzed that amazing rural Happening. And it took Ram's intuition to know that it was possible.

After a short night's sleep on those hard mattresses (and I will not discuss the bathrooms), we woke to more birdsong and the best breakfast chapatis imaginable. After many closing conversations and tearful hugs and Namaste's, we got back on our bus, driven by our new best Punjabi friends, and headed back to Jaipur to catch a plane to Ahmedabad, Gujarat.

I knew, as we drove back down that dirt road towards the highway, that something sacred had happened.

Sue

Monks, Momo's, and a Million Tears for Tibet

libana — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 18:49:00 GMT

We are back in Delhi, where we are spending our last day in India repacking and shopping for that one more beautiful scarf or piece of sari silk....Our suitcases are already bursting at the seams. Retail therapy has been abundant, enjoyable and always a fascinating experience. And to say that it is inexpensive would be the understatement of the century. Tonight we are all going to hear Sufi chanting and then eat at Kareem's--a wellknown Delhi restaurant before our 0:dark:thirty departure for the Delhi airport in the morning.

We left Dharamsala yesterday, flying back to Delhi on a rather turbulent propeller plane ride. I couldn't stop crying most of the day yesterday, from the time we bid farewell to our guide and new friend Kunsang at our beautiful Tibetan guest house, all the way down the long, steep, narrow winding mountain road, through the small crowded vibrant towns (filled with the amazing melange of crimson-robed and knit-capped monks, elderly wrinkled Tibetans, sari-clad Indian women construction workers carrying piles of bricks on their heads, young white backpackers and Buddhist spiritual seekers, motorbikes, endless rows of sidewalk shop stalls selling everything from prayer beads to scarves to books to statues of the Buddha, sleeping dogs, and oblivious cows on the move), past the monkeys lining the edge of the mountain curves--all against the backdrop of the mystical snowcapped Himalayan foothills. What must it be like to gaze into the tallest Himalayas? The Tibetans knew on a daily basis, when they could live in Tibet.

The tears just wouldn't stop and they are starting again as I write this.

Dharamsala was the third culminating leg of the last 10 days traveling through Rajasthan, Gujarat, and then Himachal Pradesh. There is so much to write about each and every day, and as I have said before--we will be blogging for weeks after our return as we attempt to integrate our experiences here.

For reasons always unknown to me, I have had a profound connection to Tibet over the years. To have had the opportunity to come to Dharamsala, and to know that being in and with this Tibetan community-in-exile is as close as I am likely to get to Tibet, has filled my soul to the brim. It has also made the struggle of the Tibetan people painfully real and palpable.

When emailing our guide before we left the States, I had asked that he help us have as deep an experience of his culture as we could in the three days we had there. We had hoped to meet with elderly Tibetan women, or some of the artists at the Tibetan Institute for Performing Arts in order to learn some Tibetan songs that we could bring to our audiences. Sadly, all the TIPA artists were in Orissa on tour (therefore unavailable) and the community respectfully protects its elders by not allowing outsiders access to the elder homes. So, those hopes did not materialize. But another whole journey was presented to us, lead by our soulful, passionate, humorous, sparkling-eyed 25 year old guide Kunsang.

From our first night there, he accompanied us everywhere, answering all our gizillion questions and presenting us with opportunities that deepened our heart and mind understanding of what the Tibetans have been through and continue to go through since the Chinese occupied Tibet and the Dalai Lama escaped to Dharamsala. To BE immersed in a community that is in exile--unable to go home to the land that is their ancestral and spiritual right--and to hear more stories of harrowing escape, loss, and oppression was, simply put, heartbreaking.

We spent a profound evening with a friend of Kunsang's--a man named Lobsang who is an ex-political prisoner. After spending five years imprisoned and tortured by the Chinese for having spent a tension-releasing five minutes one day (with three other teenage friends in the streets of Tibet letting off some steam by shouting Free Tibet and a couple other political chants), he was then harassed and kept under such close scrutiny after his release that he finally risked his life and escaped to Dharamsala where--after a thirteen year saga-- he was welcomed, comforted and guided by a private audience with the Dalai Lama. He now works tirelessly with an office full of colleagues on the behalf of the hundreds and hundreds of other Tibetan political prisoners still in Chinese prisons. He continues to suffer severe health issues involving organ damage as a result of the beatings he endured at the hands of the Chinese prison guards. Women and men alike have been imprisoned, and he said that as rough a treatment as he and his fellow male prisoners received, that women had to endure even worse. We all knew what he meant with nothing more needing to be said.

As a true Tibetan Buddhist, he said that the hardest thing for him while he was imprisoned was practicing compassion for his Chinese captors.... but he did.

On another night, we met another friend of his that now heads the Indian branch of the international organization Students for a Free Tibet (several of us were already on their email list). We got to hear more about what the situation is like in Tibet currently, some key moments of the past decade, and their thoughts about the future of Tibetans and Tibet. Both Kunsang and his friend hold on to hope and believe that one day, Tibet will once again belong to Tibetans.

This was all certainly non-musical activity for us touring Libanites and family members!

But it was REAL. And heart-wrenching and eye-opening. Probably all of us knew a fair amount about the history of the Chinese occupation, the approach of the Dalai Lama, and the struggle to regain Tibet's independence. But to hear such personal stories of pain and loss, interspersed with walks through the streets meeting the peaceful and smiling eyes of Tibetans we would pass, interspersed with eating our daily batch of momo's (delectable Tibetan dumplings),interspersed with hearing beautiful pentatonic melodies wafting through the air being sung by people as they went about their daily business, interspersed with gazing at those spiritual mountains, interspersed with visiting monasteries and turning prayer wheels on the streets....I have, I could, and I probably will, cry a million tears for Tibet.

We performed here at the Tibetan Children's Village--a large boarding school complex of buildings way up yet another twisty narrow mountain road. Kunsang himself went here and had arranged a concert for the students who were still there (the school was at the end of their two month winter break and not in session, but there were about 75 students that spent their winter break at the school not having anywhere else to go in India). So, after a long wait for a key to get inside the building (Endre and Lexi had a rousing game of soccer with a bunch of kids on a playground while we waited) we sang and danced for these open-eyed and excited young Tibetans inside a cold and somewhat dark meeting hall on a stage that had a beautiful painting of Lhasa as a backdrop.

Our auspicious audience with His High Holiness the Karmapa on Monday is deserving of its own blog entry. A truly amazing experience that will remain with us all forever--as will every other moment of our time here.

And so we prepare to come home. We can. So many around the world cannot. Including this community of Tibetans in Northern India--and all other Tibetans, not only in other parts of India but all around the world, including Boston.

With gratitude,

Sue (PS. Even though we are leaving India, please keep checking this blog. We WILL all continue to write, and once we are home and figure out the technology, will be posting gizillions of photos and hopefully video footage as well.)

Great news!

libana — Sun, 20 Feb 2011 13:55:00 GMT

We have just come back to Delhi from the amazing lands of Rajasthan and Gujurat where there has been NO time or computers to blog on--our apologies! We all promise to blog about everything for weeks to come after we are home.

However, I got here late last night to an email from our guide in Dharamsala who let us know that he has arranged for a special audience with the High Holiness the Karmapa on Monday! Wow. He is widely regarded as who will most likely be in line to lead the Tibetans when the Dalai Lama passes on. We are all beyond words about everything.

It is all as bit much!!! Not really... Miracles and life-altering experiences abound at every turn and how could we possibly feel more grateful!

More later, as soon as we can.

Sue

Dentistry in India

libana — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 14:15:00 GMT

Who knew we would need a dentist while in India? My son Jared is traveling with Libana on this trip and his lower wisdom tooth chose this time to assert it's presence screaming it's need to come out NOW! Being in Jaipur and away from our friends at AES, we had to rely on our tour guide to take us to a dentist that was reliable and clean.

Jared arrived at the dentist early in the morning after three days of a tooth ache. First an exam by Dr. Shweta Sharma... yes the tooth will need to come out! But a full mouth xray at another location was needed and then return to the office at 4:00 pm. We hired a tuktuk to take us for the xray, picked up prescriptions, ate a big lunch and spent the day in the Old City of Jaipur. At the Krishna Temple, we watched young women preparing for a performance of classical Indian dance that evening, in the bazaar we walked among the unbelievable mixture of housewares, colorful clothing, food, and people. The scared cows roamed the streets as did the stray dogs and monkeys. After our day of photographing the city and it's people we headed back to the dentist.

The husband of the woman who had examined Jared that morning was actually in charge of the procedure. We were ushered in before the line of Indian people who were waiting to be seen by the doctor (this felt pretty weird) and from the xray it was determined that the procedure would be straight-forward.

Twenty minutes later Jared's wisdom tooth was removed and we were on our way. All of this for the cost of 1050r, which is about $35! Perhaps we'll have to come back to India to have all our dental work done. Jared is doing fine and is keeping his tooth as a memento of this unexpected experience.

Cheryl

Delhi Concerts

libana — Tue, 15 Feb 2011 17:08:00 GMT

Contrary to what we have written thus far, we have done more than drive around and buy things!!! We are now in Jaipur, Rajasthan after a 7 hour road trip yesterday, worthy of its own extended blog entry. But Libana gave three concerts while in Delhi. The first was at the most honorable and beautiful Ravi Shankar Center. The performance space was so beautiful and the acoustics were just crystalline. We knew that some amazing music had been created in that space and I was so honored to be there. It was a small but intimate audience, a mix of Westerners and Indians, and everyone sat on the floor on mats. As we began the concert with our big Nepali bell opening I Arise Facing East--the power went out. There was luckily no sound system, but as we sang "I am Asking Towards the Light" several of the staff members scurried about and lit candles. By the end of the next couple phrases the lights had come back on and the candles blown out. By the end of the next couple phrases, the lights were out again and the candle scurry happened again. But the lights finally came on for good --our vocal invocation finally worked! A young 20 year old Indian woman named Mamta who worked in the office was totally smitten with us all and many photos had to happen after the concert. She and Lexi (our traveling teen, Linda's 15 year old daughter)bonded and goodbye hugs ensued.

After the concert we were taking to a South Indian restuarant in a hotel. On the way there we passed a wedding procession in the streets complete with brass band, horse drawn carriages, a lot of celebratory hoopdela and a guy pushing a generator that was powering the spotlights that were being carried-- illiminating the procession.

The second concert culminated our week residency at AES on Friday night. A beautiful theater, filled up with the broader school community of international parents and staff and kids who would be perfoming with us. We did the first half of the concert ourselves, and some of the second half. But the second half also included some performances by the students that we had been working with. We had taught the Middle School chorus a Croatian song and the High School chorus a Bulgarian song--and then they combined and sang a Georgia Sea Islands song together. They were amazing!

But the showstopper was a combined African drumming and dance production number with around 90 4th graders that (mostly) Marytha and Linda had taught over the week. A row of 20 or more drummers (the school had that many tubano drums available!) playing with such power and steadiness of rhythm under Marytha's expert teaching guidance, and a joyous melee of dancing 4th graders in a choreography that had kept Linda awake for many hours one night in order to figure out! Honoring the Guinean Forest Spirit of Kakilambe, they sang, drummed and danced to an admiring audience.

We then went back to a really fun reception at the home of the man who brought Libana to AES--Douglas Beam, who we send ongoing gratitude to for having the vision of Libana coming to India.

Saturday night was a great experience at the American Cultural Center (the Cultural arm of the State Department that brings American performers to Indian audiences). It was a primarily Indian audience, and they loved it! So many people talked to us afterwards about the connective power of music, and the universality of humanity that they experienced in our performance. And they really appreciated our efforts at performing the Gujurati Garba (and totally dug our authentic costumes purcased at the market I described in an earlier blog!) Allison was interviewed by a Delhi newspaper...

So, Libana's first performances in India have been meaningful--each in their own way. What a life we lead--bringing music from the mountains of Bulgaria and the islands of Hawaii, from the deserts of the Arab World and the Civil Rights marches of the 60's--all to the capitol city of India. And to have our work respected and understood...what more could we ask for?

Sue

Mela Melee

libana — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 13:43:00 GMT

Yesterday, the 10 of us, our wonderful driver from the AES school and two teachers packed into our van and headed 45 minutes outside Delhi to the Surajkund Mela--a huge open air crafts festival. We arrived to find hundreds upon hundreds of stalls filled with every conceivable craft from the various Indian states and several surrounding countries. And thousands upon thousands of people. A sea of humanity, really.

In the early part of the day it wasn't quite as crowded, so it was more possible to actually shop. Shopping is an experience here. First there is the process of looking at innumerable items all the while vendors are vying for your attention: "Madame, see here this shawl"--coming at you from every direction. It's hard to look amidst all the distraction.

We spent some time at a really wonderful stall with all kinds of woven and finely embroidered scarves. The two gentlemen at the stall patiently unfolded numerous scarves while several of us tried to make up our minds about what we wanted. And then there is the haggling. Luckily, we had one of the teachers at AES with us--and she has a great eye for good work and a good sense of a reasonable price to pay. So eventually we came away with our chosen scarves, leaving the two men to rearrange their wares for the next customers.

By that time, it was beginning to get really crowded. It would have been enough to just stand aside and people-watch. All the beautifully-clad women in their saris and colorful scarves. But of course--we were the people being watched as well. White people are a bit of a curiousity here--especially tall blond ones like me. Many people wanted to have their pictures taken with us, which most of us obliged--since after all, we are taking pictures of them as well.

We walked around and browsed and haggled for hours and then made our way back to the van at the appointed hour and had fun inspecting the great purchases that everyone had made. The drive home was exceedingly slow because of the unbelievable traffic. We shared the road with cars, buses, bicycles and motorized rickshaws, cows, elephants and people begging for money amidst the idling cars. The hardest to take are the little kids who play drums and do gymnastics on the median strips and in between the cars--wanting you to pay them for the entertainment. The extent of the poverty here is truly astonishing--the topic of another blog later on, I am sure. But there is also great beauty--and it is hard to reconcile the cacophony of the mix. Today, we leave for our next adventure in Jaipur!

Allison

Tibetan Opera meets Libana Songs

libana — Fri, 11 Feb 2011 14:12:00 GMT

Last evening, culminating the fourth day of our five day residency at the American Embassy School here in Delhi (which has been REALLY delightful), we were invited over for an evening of singing with American women teachers from the school. They have been singing together for awhile, and---wouldn't you know, they sing lots of music from Libana's recordings. One of the women had seen us perform at the Chico(CA)World Music Festival almost 15 years ago, and had bought a songbook there and brought it to this group of singers. So, here we were singing together in a (exquisitely beautiful)living room in Delhi, India. Huh.

After a sumptuous good ol' American-style pot luck (of mostly Indian food) and lots of good conversation, a Tibetan woman who lives with one of the women finally agreed to sing for us (it took a bit of coaxing her through some shyness). Once she started to sing--first folk songs then songs and dance from the deeply traditional and sacred Tibetan opera--her soul poured through her beautiful voice and all of us in that living room were mesmerized by this woman who had sung for awhile with the Tibetan Institute of Performing Arts in Dharamsala (where we will be in about 10 days. A conversation about Tibet and Tibetan music followed, and it made me even more excited about going to Dharamsala than I already have been!

The power of song-- connecting women from the world...

Sue

It is hard to write in the midst of amazement!

libana — Thu, 10 Feb 2011 20:16:00 GMT

After bidding good riddance to umpteen feet of snow and ice and tolerating a manageably long flight by watching Hindi movies, Libana landed in Delhi last Friday night.

Wow. And Wow. And Wow again.

We were met in a couple of vans by our contacts from the American Embassy School and headed away from the airport into the smoke laden evening air (it is the end of "winter" here, so many fires are burned to keep Delhi warm--given what we just left, lets just say that winter is a relative concept!). Our first experience with the infamous Delhi "faith-based driving". A wild cacophony of constantly honking horns as buses, cars, vans, auto-rickshaws, motorbikes laden with a whole family riding sidesaddle, gaily decorated trucks, bicycles laden with more stuff than should be possible given the laws of physics, horses, and even pedestrians shared this utterly chaotic road (an equivalent of Boston's Route 128) where lanes were simply a suggestion and the flowing sea of humanity surged ahead in a miraculous and trusting dance. Everywhere we looked elicited an exclamation of some sort--from the microcosm of a rickshaw's marigold-adorned dashboard altar to Krishna to the tent covered openair market stalls on the highways side--we then knew we were beginning our adventure in Mother India.

Our first weekend held many great forays as we braved our way around Delhi. One of the teachers at the School knew we needed "costumes" for our new Gujurati Garba and Dandiya Raas dance, so off we went. No problem! We were led into a market area (sensory overload doesn't begin to describe what awaits on just ONE street)--and forged our way past street food vendors, sidewalk henna artists, thousands of Indian men hanging out, thousands of Indian women shopping, and all those same modes of transportation continuing to honk and vie for the same small piece of asphalt.

We landed in a Rajasthani clothing store where every square inch on the shelves vibrated with intense color, glitter, sari silk, mirrored fabric and hundreds of options for our every Indian costume need.

Our male Indian shopkeepers brought down skirt upon dress upon shawl upon scarf upon tunic upon pants upon silk upon gorgeousness--as we all sat there trying again to go from microcosm to macrocosm in a profoundly visually stimulating environment. How could one choose? But eventually choices were made (LOTS of mirrors set in red for Allison and black and orange for Linda), the requisite bartering happened, and Libanites--happy with their purchases, made their way downstairs and back into the perpetual circus-like feeling of Delhi.

Every moment holds a challenge to what one knows as reality. Today, while sitting on the front porch of where Marytha and I are staying, a young man rode down the street on a bicycle pulling a dilapidated wooden cart filled with bags of stuff. He stopped, opened the gate, came in and yelled in Hindi up to the second floor. He then saw me-- at which point all time stopped and we exchanged a slow and generous Namaste-- and then he carried on with his mission--which became clear. He was collecting the neighborhood garbage.

The morning air is filled with the sound of men on bikes riding up and down the street sounding "Paaaaa--niiii" in a very distinctive nasal street cry. Trying to sell water to whoever will buy.

We are all going to try to stop occasionally from being in the moment of this utterly amazing culture and write. We WANT to. It is hard to stop being amazed long enough to open a computer!!!

Sue

India Here We Come!

libana — Thu, 3 Feb 2011 09:56:00 GMT

India Here We Come!

Photos: Libana travels to India

libana — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 10:07:00 GMT

Photos from India, Feb 2011

Connecting Cultures

libana — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 09:36:00 GMT

As we ready ourselves for our trip to India, we're thinking about all the fun we had when we performed at the International Folklore Festival in Bourgas! What a wonderful way to connect with the music, people and places in Bulgaria!!

The journey begins...

libana — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 09:19:00 GMT

Hello and welcome to our travel journal! We're Libana, the global music ensemble. We've been traveling and performing together for more than thirty years, and are very excited to set out for India next month! Travel along with us!