August

What Are You Looking At? (Part II)

Every morning I go to temple with Vijendra.

Before I begin Part II of this post, I need to address a notable aspect about Indian travel.

Before I left for India, many people asked me if I will come back “all spiritual,” “awakened,” or a “yogi.” What the heck does that mean?

Many people travel to India for a spiritual experience. I can see why. There is something special about this place, no doubt. The familial bond between friends, the color, the sublime shrewdness of the everyday citizen.

But, many people look for quick fixes – whether it be a seven day meditation retreat or backpacking across the country. I’m in no position to say this stuff doesn’t work, but instead offering an insight: one cannot simply travel to India to fix their problems. This place has healing power, but you must first find what you are trying to heal within yourself before you can even digest the healing. Nothing is earned without effort. One must get lost in India before knowing what to look for; yes, I’m still lost – and that’s okay.

There is a process for everyone. If you are looking for a spiritual experience in India, I’m not sure what that even means, but I’ll go ahead and support it. However, there must be a paramount understanding that the process does not begin and end within the borders of this country.

Religion undoubtedly plays a crucial role here in Bagru. I recently read that Hinduism is not just a religion, but more of a system of tradition, ritual, and lifestyle. It dictates how people live, and as a result, it is dictating how I am living.

Religion is a bottomless tomb that can be debated for eternity, we all know that. Nonetheless, one thing has been glowingly transparent during my time here in India:

When I enter any temple in India I am not stared at. It’s the only place nobody looks at me. A quick glance, maybe, but I’m not even sure they realize I’m a white guy wearing shorts and a Union t-shirt. There is no judgement, no accusation, no disheartened stares thrown my way.

Sometimes during my meditation I will open my eyes and there will be an Indian man no more than six inches from me, and the rest of the room is empty; his eyes are closed, fully focused, and he couldn’t care less if I’m a young Jewish kid or an elephant. Respect trumps all.

A short aside on meditation: I have no idea what I’m doing. I mostly attend temple with Vijendra out of curiosity and because it clears my head before work. Yet, when I try to clear my mind I immediately have visions of my family, a donut, my dog, and my morning tea. For those of you with any meditation experience you will know how hard it is to “recognize the thought” of the itch on your foot, tickle in your throat, or sweat on your brow – and “move on from that thought.” Now, imagine sitting in a boiling hot room and falling victim to a full-on assault by the flies of Bagru. They are little demons buzzing in my ear, landing on my damp neck and resting on my earlobe. Moral of the story: apply copious amounts of bug-spray before meditating in a Bagru temple.

My primary purpose here in Bagru is to work, while simultaneously helping a community that can benefit from my skills (still trying to identify those). The community that I happen to live in is deeply embedded in Hinduism, thus making my job extensively interconnected with this spiritual and religious mentality.

For now, I get stares – for the most part. What are they looking at? They’re looking at a guy who is finding his way. He’s lost, for sure, but he’s figuring it out.

And you can always stare back.

August

Unexpected Adventure

Some of my favorite experiences in India, so far, have stemmed from shear spontaneity.

For a person who structures their day around routine (see post below) and preparation, this has been difficult. On a daily basis someone will ask me, completely impromptu, to follow them. I have no idea how long I will be gone, where I am going, and most importantly – if I should bring my own supply of filtered water.

With that said, I have attempted to fully remove the word “no” from my vocabulary, and in return, been rewarded with some of the most authentic encounters with Indian culture I could imagine. As Gregory David Roberts says in his novel Shantaram: “surrender is at the heart of Indian experience.”

It was around 9:30pm and I was in bed when Vijendra asked me if I wanted to attend a “function.” I threw on some pants and jumped on the back of his motorcycle without a second thought.

Shortly after we arrived at a temple in Bagru that I had never been to. In situations like this I just follow Vijendra’s lead like a looming shadow; we walked in, put a small donation in a wooden box, kneeled before a Hindu shrine, then took a seat on the floor among the 40-or-so people who already gathered. Then, the singing began – and it didn’t stop for two hours.

A man came over to me with orange paste and painted my forehead, saying “welcome” in English. I didn’t understand anything else, not a word, but these Hindu prayers and chants were full of warmth. Each song started calm, building up slowly – not by the beat of the music – but by the energy of the community.

Throughout the function people would stand up and start dancing or throwing flowers, causing more and more people to give cash donations. More dancers, and quality of dance, caused more money to be put in the box.

I asked Vijendra after what the donations were for, and he said that the event was called “Kirtan” – a fundraiser for cows. Every rupee donated that evening went to feeding the cows in Bagru, which in turn provides dairy to the town for a month.

In the midst of the singing, clapping and cheerful joy of the evening, I became a part of the community. This was no tourist destination; this was a tight-knit community in celebration – and I was just another person enjoying my time.

In my eyes, I was in a completely polarizing world. But in “their” eyes – the people –  I was not an outsider. I was one of them. And that’s the a gift I cannot buy, but only earn.

Truthfully, I felt displaced for a short while because I was incredibly uncomfortable sitting crossed-legged for such a long time. My groin was sore for days – it makes me regret sitting on my knees during “morning meeting” in kindergarten! Bad training!

Jokes aside, I realized in this moment that some of the loneliness I have been feeling wasn’t a result of the lack of friends or social life I have here; I have plenty of opportunities to communicate with my friends/family with today’s technology. Instead, lonesome solitude originates with a lack of community, an absence of connection or participation in a cohesive group. At Kirtan, I was adding to the energy – I was bringing something to the table.

As each day goes on, I feel the the thread of Bagru wrapping tighter around me, weaving my confidence into new stitches of this beautiful, hand-printed community.

 

August

My Routine

As my friends and family know, I am a man of routine. So here it is:

6:30am: Wake up, do either a quick push-up exercise or some reading.

7am: My host mother, Santosh, serves my my frist cup of tea in a Union mug. I also have my own breakfast: a banana, pair, almonds and some dry chocolate cereal that I purchased from the loud, bustling Bagru market the evening before.

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View from the the porch

8am: I go to temple with Vijendra. This has become a nice habitual part of my morning that I look forward to every day. The temple we go to is just a five minute walk, but little is said on the way over as we are both getting in the spiritual “zone.”

The first couple times I was confused as to what was going on. At Hindu temples, it is rare for there to be a formal service or communal prayer. Instead, everyone goes on their own time, does their own gig, chanting their preffered versions of different prayers doing their own customs, etc.

Before we go to temple Vijendra picks flowers from the trees outside our house and fills up a kettle of water to bring with us. When we get there, he does his prayer exercises while I sit and meditate behind him (a more detailed blog on my temple experience is above). After fifteen minutes we go into another  and a similar procedure follows, before I am marked with a tilaka – a red dot on my forehead. This is to symbolize the opening of my “spiritual eye.”

I have been reading up on Hinduism to get a better understanding of what Vijendra is doing, and what I am taking part in. On our walks back to the house I allow myself 1 question per day about the temple or Hinduism in general. I’m learning.

9:30am – I return to the “office” (also my bedroom and the textile showroom) where Sonia has arrived. Sonia is the other manager that was hired 5 months ago by the previous fellow, Dave. She is amazing. We sit and work together in what actually feels something like an office environment. It is very nice to have her company and wisdom.

We work until about 11:30, when I am served my first meal of the day. Chapatti (bread) and some potato subji or chickpea. No meat.

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After lunch we get back to work. I am going to write a post soon on what, more specifically, I am doing at Bagru Textiles; for now I can say that I am quite busy. Even though it is monsoon season and business is slow, we have hit the ground running. I’ve set up long-term business plans, made new pdf’s, learned how ordering processes go, learned the printing process, had daily skypes with clients, and am working on innovative programs to benefit the community. On the operations side, I’ve been exposed to so much already; it is a privilege I have such an integral role in running this business.

3:30pm: I’m served my second cup of tea in a Union mug, and continue working for another hour or so. This is also the hottest point in the day and you can feel the heat sucking the energy out of you.

Second cup of tea in my bedroom - you can see the Bagru Textiles desk where Sonia and I sit every day.
Second cup of tea in my bedroom – you can see the Bagru Textiles desk where Sonia and I sit every day.

4:30pm: After I finish work, I play with Yash and Chehika, which usually consists of them pretending I am a jungle gym and climbing on my shoulders, or simply trying to guess the password on my kindle or computer.

Although most of my work is on the business side of things, I am slowly learning the printing process. Here I am reppin' Bagru with Chadrakantha, one of our full-time female printers.
Although most of my work is on the business side of things, I am slowly learning the printing process. Here I am reppin’ Bagru with Chadrakantha, one of our full-time female printers.

5pm: I  fill up my camelback, hop on my bicycle and head out of Bagru. I ride 10 minutes out of town and into the countryside where I lock my bike to a tree. Then I head out for a run. Sometimes Yash and his friends cycle alongside me while I run, or other times it’a just me. It’s good to get out of my bedroom and Bagru in general, clear the head, and work up a fierce sweat.

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6:30pm: I walk to the market downtown and buy my necessary food items.

All you need is 5 minutes in the Bagru marketplace to get more cultural exposure than a layman does in year. Sights, sounds, smells – interactions you see, animals, and people things say to you – it’s a wonderful and overwhelming experience.

Funny to think how I was nervous to go to town and buy a water on my first day, and now I feel calm and comfortable haggling over fruits and vegetables. Seeing how far I’ve progressed in less than a month baffles me; I can’t wait to see what I can accomplish in nine.

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Vijendra buying flowers in the market to bring to his (and my) Guru, on Guruprav day.

 

I then took the flowers and a coconut and gave them to the guru. The guru told me I was "innocent." I'll take it as a compliment.
I then took the flowers and a coconut and gave them to the guru. The guru told me I was “innocent.” I’ll take it as a compliment.

7pm: Chehika and I go on the roof to watch the sunset. Sometimes we bring an English book. In the beginning I read to her, but now she reads to me. Then we go downstairs and I’ll help Yash with his homework as well.

A few days ago Yash was learning about Hitler, the Nazis, and the Holocaust. After I told Yash I was Jewish, we looked at a picture in his textbook of two young Jews in Warsaw walking to a gas chamber. Yash couldn’t believe that I would have been one of those boys because I’m Jewish – that I would have been killed. It was simply unfathomable to him. When I asked him why he was learning about the Holocaust as an Indian, he promptly responded: “Never again. Never again.” A beautiful teaching moment.

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Taking a break from reading

 

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English homework makes Chehika happy!

8pm: Dinner, another amazing helping of all-you-can-eat Chapatti and vegetable, or some variation. The food has been an adjustment, but I haven’t had any issues and I actually love it.

Batti, which means "circle" in hindi. It's basically a tasty ball of bread, which you break up and put in a spicy broth.
Batti, which means “circle” in hindi. It’s basically a tasty ball of bread, which you break up and put in a spicy broth.

9pm: Long day! I say goodnight to our Bagru Textiles mannequin/model at the foot of my bed, who I have named Shelby (my sister’s name). Goodnight, Shelbs!

Shelby @ Bagru Textiles
Shelby @ Bagru Textiles

 

Some other pictures of my time here:

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Mukesh printing some of our traditional Bagru designs
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Final product: drying on our roof
Vijendra boiling fabric
Vijendra boiling fabric
Puddi (which means Angel in English), me, Balraj
Puddi (which means Angel in English), me, Balraj
July

Dinner Party

On my fourth night in India I went to my first dinner “party.”

The party took place in Sangara, a small town similar to Bagru, but closer to Jaipur ( it was about 20min away). Sangara is also a “printing town,” but now they only do screen and digital prints. Bagru is essentially the only town in Rajasthan that still does traditional hand-block printing, making it that much more unique, special, and a place I can be proud to call home.

For those that don’t know, Vijendra Chhipa is owner of Bagru Textiles and my host father. The party was for Vijendra’s sister (he is one of 12). She and her husband are moving into a new 4-story home; the husband has three brothers – so there is one floor for each family. Considering each family has about ten kids each, this is roughly a 40-person home. In India, when you move into a new home, it is customary to invite your family and the entire community to celebrate. This, along with hanging different symbols around the house, attempt to keep bad omens away from the new residence.

As Vijendra’s guest, I was considered ‘family’ and thus a host of the party.  We arrived around 4pm to set-up and ‘pregame’ – with Chai, of course, there is no drinking here 🙂

From 4-9pm it was basically a ‘normal’ family party – kids running around, the men conversing about politics and business, and the women…well, the women seemed to be forced to sit in the basement until the food was presented. Blog on gender roles is forthcoming.

The family hired a team of cooks to prepare all the food – what a production! They had to feed 1,000 mouths (can you imagine hosting 1,000 for dinner?) The process is an art; they prepare food in massive trash cans and stir with large wooden sticks. Seas of flies swarm all the food – it’s part of the deal.

During this time I felt lost and alone. Nobody spoke English, I didn’t know what to say or how to act, and truly felt like an outsider – like I didn’t belong. And finally, this loving-happy-family vibe made me miss my own kin back home.

At about 8pm the food was all cooked but needed to be carried up four flights of stairs to the roof where the party was taking place. It was a clear, crisp, beautiful night.

An aside – I would post pictures, but I didn’t have my phone with me. My two beautiful younger siblings, Yash (yesh) and Chehika (chai-yi-kah), were playing with my phone so I tried to change my password to lock them out. In the process, I locked myself out, and haven’t had a phone since. Some things just don’t go your way. But, just imagine a bright Indian skyline with me standing and looking out, wind in my hair, motionless, contemplating the purpose of my journey here. That’s when my solemn evening started to change. 

I eagerly volunteered to help carry things up the stairs, and received major brownie points for doing so. In the process I worked up a massive sweat. Finally, guests started to pour in and the rooftop suddenly looked like an illuminated Manhattan summer cocktail party (no alcohol to re-iterate).

The hosts (me included) were in charge of serving food to the community who came (all 1,000). It was actually stressful because the hosts want to make a good impression to all their guests. So, when I asked if I could help serve food, they were reluctant to say yes.

The way it works: hundreds of people at a time sit crossed-legged on the ground (this was a big roofdeck). The servers walk between rows of people asking if they want water, puri bread, caccuri, sauce, yogurt, and other things that are foreign to me. If they say yes, you can place it on their plate with your hands. After I kept asking to help, I finally got my chance to hand out some puri. I did a good job until I accidentally gave an older, traditional woman some unwarranted puri and then tried to take it back off her plate (a big no-no). I was relinquished of my duties.

After all the guests were served, we (the hosts) got to eat. And the food was great! When we left at 10pm, I couldn’t help but grin, zooming in the dark on a motorcycle in who-knows-where, India. In the cool night air, something about the dinner experience made me glad I went.

If I am to make a difference here, even small, every lesson is important. Looking back at the beginning of the night, obsessing over my lonely solitude, I could have been a wallflower. But, on the Minerva Fellowship, there are limited ‘perks of being a wallflower.’ Indeed, one must observe, but at some point, you have to get your hands dirty in the action. I made an effort and the people received it well.

While it may seem negligible that I served some bread, it:

1. Did not go unnoticed, 2. Gave me purpose, and 3. Taught me something new.

Cheers to many more Indian dinner parties.

July

Getting here

It’s hard to capture what my eyes are seeing. I feel like a newborn baby trying to take in the world for the first time.

I arrived to India on Thursday at about 6am, and waited outside the Jaipur airport for over an hour for my ride. I had no phone, no idea where I was, and hadn’t slept in over 24 hours.  At one point, a skinny mustached-man with a “welcome home” sign told me to get in his van. Being the only white person in sight, and his sign being in English, I followed. I soon realized he was taking me to the hospital and got out quickly.

With no idea what to do, I went over and bartered with a man to borrow his cellphone to make a phone call (for which I certainly overpaid). Somehow, about a half hour later, a small Indian man named Mukesh pointed at me and said “Davis.” If figured if he knew my name, he must be the guy. And so the adventure began – the adventure to Bagru.

The ride from Jaipur to Bagru is 45 minutes of pure absurdity. I use the word “absurd” carefully here, as many have used it to before describe India. I found myself constantly double-taking things passing by: donkeys carrying people, people carrying donkeys, roaming dogs, cows, and pigs, children bathing in sewers, no rules of the road, constant honking horns (they are more of a form of communication), and anything and everything carried on motorcycles.

I was immediately opened up to the fact that India is organized chaos. But the beauty is there, quietly hiding beneath the chaos, and that was what kept me grinning the entire way to Bagru.

Now, I have almost been here a week. I am living moment to moment; some are hard, difficult, and lonely – others lead me to joy, adventure, and curiosity. Since I am often alone, I find my mind wandering and thinking more than ever. In contrast, at school I was always surrounded by friends and academics to occupy my firing synapses. I never know what the next day, hour, or minute will bring. Now my best friend, and worst enemy, are my thoughts. At any given point I am thinking:

What’s next? Am I doing things right? Am I being respectful? When am I eating next?  Beer. There’s no beer. I feel good. Stay focused. Go with the people. Live with them. Learn from them. What’s my mom doing right now? I miss my mom. Wow, that smells funky. I like it. Is my heart racing? I’m sweaty. Still need to workout.  Hindi is a hard language. People are nice. I don’t understand anything. Anything. There’s a lizard on my ceiling staring at me. I wonder if he knows I am foreign. I must learn more about Hinduism. Pigs outside. Shh. Beautiful textiles.  Go do something.

And the thoughts continue. I am trying to pull away from the chaos and constant noise of my thoughts, and I think work is helping with that. As I learn more about Bagru Textiles, my thoughts have become more productive and satisfactory. I had my first skype with a client yesterday; slowly but surely I am pushing myself to find innovative ideas and contribute something positive to this business and community. As each day goes on, I am becoming more and more comfortable in a place that is far from normalcy and routine.  For now, I am taking it all in.

 

July

Final Thoughts

For the past four months people have asked me what I’m doing post-grad, what job I have, or how many interviews I’ve set up. I rarely receive a ‘normal’ look when I tell them I’ll be living in India. I usually get a strange half-grin with wandering eyes, their minds instantly picturing me sweating profusely in a 110 degree room, drowning in curry, engrossed by horrible body odor, feeding naked children, and then making some joke about arranged marriages. But to be fair, I’ve had the same pictures in my own head from time to time.

“So what are you actually doing in India?” My answer has become so routine that it almost feels like fantasy. I know what I’m doing, but they’re just words. Until I get there, it will remain that way.  I’ll be working for a textile company, Bagru Textiles. I’ll be in Rajasthan, about an hour from Jaipur in the town of Bagru. I speak zero Hindi. I don’t know much about Indian culture. I’m not even sure if I like Indian food. What do I know about running a business? I was a poly-sci major – I know as much about business as the menstrual cycle. So yes, I am pretty much walking in blind. Any other questions?

People stare with trepidation. They stare with fear, almost scared that I won’t even survive. Indeed, I’ve looked at myself with the same bold glare, asking myself, “what. in. the. world. are you doing?”

But that’s when I get this feeling of shear excitement. I can do this. What’s stopping me?

So what if I don’t speak the local language? One doesn’t need words to communicate. Food is food; I’ll be okay. Running a business? Sure, why not? I’ve learned from incredible professors, I’ve read famous texts, and recently received a wonderful liberal arts degree. I wrote a thesis, made presentations, worked with brilliant and hard-working students, foreign students, drunk, hungover and high ones too. I’ll get along just fine. And while many would say I’m in over my head, that Joyce and Shakespeare can’t prepare me for what is to come, I have to turn a blind eye.

There’s this strange confidence I have that I’d be lost without. Once I start thinking “I can’t this, I can’t that,” I shouldn’t even board that plane.  I’ve essentially attempted to transform every negative thought into something constructive – at least tried.  I’m not trying to change the world – I’m just trying to plant a seed. And one day, maybe, that seed will grow into a garden, and that garden will change a community – and maybe, that community will somehow change the world.

Honestly, I don’t blame people who look at me funny when I tell them I’m going to India. They genuinely hope I do well and stay healthy. My friends and family have been incredibly supportive, and it’s just the beginning. Am I being naive? Perhaps, but there is a fine line between ignorance and pragmatism, between dreams and drive.

Part of me wants to tell them they could do it too. It’s incredible how much doubt people have in themselves. I want to change that. I realized this not too long ago:

Last saturday I spent a relaxing weekend on Cape Cod with my family. Before I left for India I desperately wanted to run a marathon. I’d run many halfs, but not the full 26.2 miles. It was just something I had to do before I got on that plane.

There weren’t any formal races in the Cape, so I decided I’d do it on my own. My brother, with zero hesitation, said he’d pace me for the final 15 miles. So I laced up the shoes and hit the pavement. My mom and dad biked alongside me, handing me water as needed.

I’m telling you this because something happened at about mile 23. With 3.2 miles (5k) left I wanted to quit. My two-ish weeks of training hadn’t been enough – my legs felt like bricks, my achilles was popping in and out, and it felt like the cartilage in my knees had disappeared along with all my energy.

But I didn’t stop. I kept running, not because of the fans, (there were none) the prize ceremony, (there was none) or the free race t-shirt (wish there was one). I ran because something inside me wanted to push harder, challenge myself, and learn something new.

I know my experience in India will be full of mile 23’s: times where part of me says ‘no’, situations where I want to leave, quit, and fly home. There will be hard times, sure. But after all the unexpected, I know I’ll come out a better person; more importantly, I hope to leave a footprint behind that makes Bagru a stronger community, build a transformative, entrepreneurial business, and push toward a path of sustainable development.

This is an opportunity. It’s a chance to learn, to teach, and to create something meaningful. The journey starts now.