Indian Diaries of worldly and streetsmart travelers

Dag,

You write so well..such wonderful accounts of my country...I really liked the way you have unhesitatingly tried out Indian food ...and everything else...I wish I'd read this thread earlier..

Thank you, chin. Where are you in India? I love Indian food and well, just about everything. Am hoping to move to India for at least a few months, if not few years...

Here is the next installment. August. 15.

Monday, 15th August
Nagaland is a dry state. Theoretically. Practically it doesn't look any different than your typical Slovak village on any given day. Corridors in the hotel smell of beer, men stagger around with red watery eyes blabbering something paranoid. Those that are not drunk, are high. Nagaland is directly on the Silk Road, connecting India to China. Very strategic position. Especially for smuggling of drugs, arms, and prostitutes. Heroin can be exchanged here for a kilogram of salt (which is rare and in demand) and is of the purest quality. Many young people are addicted. AIDS has become the problem #1. In fact, at least one of our participants, is a former addict. Now he works with youth at the Baptist Church.

Nagas are deeply spiritual and religious. Former head hunters, they have captured their first missionaries and essentially forced them to educate the Nagas. Self-imposed conversion. The Baptist missionaries have ventured into the neighboring Mizoram in the 19th century. They were scared of the head hunters from Naga hills and did their best to stay out of their way. Once they were spotted by the Nagas though, they were done. Nagas were convinced that those white people are gods - as one of the Naga fables recounts that such deity will descend to Earth to uplift the Naga people - and naturally abducted them to teach their children. Quite an inventive approach towards shortage of teachers problem. Soon enough the Baptist Church was everywhere in Nagaland. Today over 90% of the Naga are Baptist. Christian religion is strangely close to the old Naga tales - you will find stories about a tower very much like Babel, that lead to the fragmentation of Naga people into tribes with different languages, or a story about the flood which only one ship with the Naga people survived… Bible was a hit, actually still is.

I have time to sit and ponder all of this, because our participants are late today. The public transportation is out of business for today. It's a security measure. Nagas don't like the Indian Independence day, which is the day when they were forced into the Indian Union against their will. Things are messy within India itself. A bomb blast here, a riot there, five people's throats slashed over elsewhere… We just have to hope nobody will think of kidnapping us silly Westerners in order to make some sort of a statement against India today. Mental note: never come to Nagaland during the Independence Day again. Finally we assemble and start another training marathon, until late in the evening. I'm not sure how much are our trainees getting out of it, as we stuff concept upon concept into them. Debates are good though.
In the evening, we are taken to meet with General Atem, one of the chief negotiators between Nagaland and the Government of India. He had his back and legs broken in 1984 with a rifle butt. He was a part of the Naga Underground movement, that fought the Indian army for over 50 years. Now he's trying to negotiate peace with India. Unfortunately the Naga demands include a condition of including what they consider Naga territories into the future semi-independent or autonomous Nagaland (whatever the arrangement with India will be). That would leave the neighboring Mizoram with some 10% of their current territory, and carve significant chunks out of other four neighboring states. It is absolutely unrealistic and Indian Government would have to be insane to grant them that. Kashmir and Tamil Nadu would be up in arms demanding the same for themselves. In that case, general assures us, we are ready to head back to the mountains. Harrumph. So much for a compromise.

For dinner we are taken to one of our trainees' house. Naro's tribe is from an area close to Bangladeshi border. A group of Chiung men came to sing us their songs. They're all decked out in their traditional black and red costumes with white sea shells. Those are interesting, since Nagaland is perfectly landlocked. There are theories that Naga are actually related to people from Papua New Guinea and New Zealand. They ventured towards Nagaland overseas, camping on the ocean side for a few centuries before they moved inland in the first few centuries AD. That would make sense, Papuans are former head hunters, too. Even their languages are said to be related.
Singing is very interesting. Melodic, with deep harmonies. Every now and then someone yelps or hollers some sort of a warrior cry, startling the living daylights out of me. We eat traditional Naga food, which involves lots of rice and meat. Less spicy than Indian food, more of a comfort food.
I can see how saturated the next two weeks will be. Must brace for it. Tomorrow we head into Kohima - city up in the mountains. We are pretending to be tourists, for our entry permit is for tourism. Somebody ?'cleaned' my room. That means somebody invaded my private space and wreaked havoc within my orderly mess. Every little last sock is folded, everything I had out is neatly stuffed into somewhere. Where it doesn't belong. Arrrgh. I pack my little suitcase again, mier nich dir nicht this time (no pretense of any design to my packing) and close it purely due to my resolve and faith and hope that I didn't pack my cockroach friend or any lizard into it. I vow to be more orderly and keep my suitcase closed.

Chiung Tribe singers



Every Naga village has two raised round stone platforms. Village elders meet there during every single sunset to talk or just sit around.

Another nice post - I didnt know this much about Nagaland. And your work - sounds very intersting and worthwhile.

I live in Bangalore, Dag. Would your work lead you here too? Bangalore has lovely weather and a nice cosmopolitan culture but the traffic will drive you nuts (i know you survived the taxi rides in mumbai but my city is in a league of its own).

You were in Kerala again, weren't you? Did you manage to go for one of those backwater cruises? I know you are here on work - but you can go on a half-day cruise too...Went for one recently - oh, it's breathtaking!! The best places for these cruises are Allepey and Kumarakom...You get to live in a houseboat - it's lovely.

And one more thing. Have you tried putting on Mehendi in India? Maybe you'll like it...you can find a good mehendi artist in almost all big cities. I recommend you ask for a Marwari lady artist (their designs are lovelier - or at least more "indian" - than the "arabic" ones). Try and attend an Indian wedding. LOUD and colorful.

I see I have some reading to do.....

Wonderful writing!

I agree.

Hey chinmayee, Clary and I should be in Bangalore in Nov/Dec...no firm plans yet though. We're starting in Mumbai, then touring by train.

Hi MacTag, please send me an e-mail for any help/information. I don't know how to send you my e-mail id and phone number - I can't PM you yet - dont have the privileges.

But bangalore isn't much of a tourist destination as you might already know. Rajasthan and Kerala are lovely. Of course so is the Taj (but the rest of Agra stinks)...Nov-dec is a nice time. February to April is very hot in most parts of India.

Good to see another active Indian on the boards

...hello there, Gautam. Nice to see you too..

Sorry to chatter so much on your thread, Dagmar. Please come back with your interesting accounts soon.

How did you know my name ?

Dag is a sweetheart, she wont mind chatter on her thread as long as it is me who is one of the parties.

She loves me you see

Arre baba...it's there on the other threads... Noticed the Indian name ...

Tuesday 16th August, 2005
In the morning we head for Kohima bright and early. I say goodbye to my little new antennaed friend, whom I'm happy to see in the bathroom still - that means he's not in my suitcase. Into jeeps we are stuffed and off we go through winding beaten roads into the hills. Indian Government puts up amusing signs alongside the road: "If married, divorce speed", "Go slow, somebody's waiting for you at home", "where drink competes with drive, you lose", "don't gossip, let him drive" - and other such jewels. We stop by at a hospice ran by the Naga Mothers Association. That's a peace-making group started by women who are trying to reconcile various factions within Nagaland. Once they went up on a three day long hike into the mountains in Burma to find Kaplang - leader of a faction that wars with the leading Naga political party. Talked to him about this, that, or the other, and hiked down for another three days. Women. What more can I say… Nobody else ever made it up there.
Hospice has only 16 people and some staff. Patients are mostly HIV positive, former addicts, a few little kids with AIDS. They don't distinguish between staff and patients, all work together, according to their abilities, in the little garden that they have. They also run a paper mill, the only one that makes recycled paper in Nagaland. We buy a few cards, a folder, trinkets, kids sing a few songs, we bid good-bye.



We can see Kohima from here. City built on stilts - building upon building propped up every which way on the sides of the steep hills. Most sport corrugated tin roofs and formica or wooden walls. We check into our hotel, accompanied by Neichu, Naro, and their friends. We are taken to a traditional village near Kohima, to see what life is really like in Nagaland. Houses are again patched up from wood, metal sheets, mud and bricks, but the village is very practical. It shows that hardworking people that are able to sustain themselves live here. Every village has two round platforms made out of rocks, where the village elders meet every evening to talk or just sit around and gaze over the vast valley. Hills around are breathtaking. I take pictures like a Japanese tourist, wreaking quite a havoc among the teenage girls in the village, who scream, giggle, and run away each time I point the camera towards them.



On the way from the village we stop for a picnic at a Naga open-air museum. It's a made up village where each tribe has a model traditional house. We sit at the Angami house, feasting on food that Neichu's aunt prepared. It's out-of-this-world good. Unfortunately David is still getting used to India, has upset stomach, and glances suspicious looks at the food. We eat with hands. David sticks to white rice mostly. Our apetite is boosted by water buffalo and human skulls (replicas of the latter) hung from the ceiling. The open air village is under a hill adorned with a sign much like Hollywood, except it says 'Naga Heritage Village' or rather, '.A.A ERIT..E .I....E'. Rest has fallen off.



David and Hillel are off to meet the Chief Minister of Nagaland, me and Jasmine are taken out shopping. I complete the collection of gifts that I already got - a Naga shawl and a vest - with more ethnic gear. If I am to bustle about the world as a silly white girl in tribal wear, let's take it all the way. I get a necklace and a thingamajig for my hair, a bag, some placemats for mom… At least I'll be set for the next few Halloweens. We stop for a coffee at the Dream Café, nice new little place started by Neichu's friends. You can see the whole city from up there. Dominated, naturally, by the Police Headquarters, an impressive white palace, which probably cost more to build than the rest of the city altogether.
We head over to the Naga Students Federation. Hillel and David are already there, talking to the students mostly about the 51 day long blockade that has just ended. Students blocked the roads to Mizoram, which was in an upsurge because of a ceasefire agreement India signed with Nagaland. Mizoram didn't like it. They thought Indian Government is too lenient towards the Naga, who claim most of Mizoram as a Naga territory. The Naga think the Indian Government is too harsh, stubborn, and uninformed, and the Meites (the main people of Mizoram) - the natural enemies of the Naga for centuries - are just Meites. Dumb and wicked. Many ordinary innocent people were starved due to the blockade. Hillel is attempting to talk some sense into the student leaders. They, too, claim to be ready to head for the mountains if the peace talks don't produce territorial integrity of all the Naga territories. Forget the fact that Nagaland as a unified land has never existed and the tribes were at war with each other from times immemorial. When it comes to national causes, such details rarely matter.
Our friends give me a bag of pan - a vile concoction of things wrapped in some sort of a leaf. You have to chew it and spit out saliva every now and then. That's the cause of many Nagas and Indians' stained teeth. It's also said to be addictive. I can't imagine how, as it tastes horrid and renders you speechless (having a bursting-full mouth of the grool) for a long while. Truly a nuisance, if you ask me. They are naturally making fun of me as I roll my eyes around, trying to save my bare life. We find an Indian-Chinese restaurant in our hotel. That's cuisine that is not found anywhere else. Indian-Chinese has actually absolutely nothing to do with China, it's just one of Indian peculiarities. Jasmine meets a special new friend there. This time it's not a giant bug, but a human, albeit a weird one. Our waiter is extremely talkative and revolves around her like a satellite. He comes later into our room under various pretenses, asks for her address, sits down and talks and talks and talks. When we get rid of him gently, David comes and we all watch Forrest Gump that just happens to be on TV. Unfortunately we see our dear waiter again. He brings tea and 5:45am. That's right. 5:45am. What the <BLEEP> is he thinking?! We get rid of him a little less gently and resume sleep until 7:30. We were supposed to be woken up by the same ours truly at 7am, but no. That he forgot. Bringing tea at an ungodly hour has probably exhausted him too much. We scramble around, throwing things into suitcases and break our legs running downstairs where everybody's waiting. We're on our way to Neichu's home for breakfast.
It's a house where three generations of strong women grew up. All her male predecessors were killed in the Indo-Naga war. Her grandmother worked on the family rice paddies and raised kids alone. Her mother, losing her husband, too, started the Naga Mothers Association and is a pioneer in the field of reconciliation. A force to be reckoned with. Neichu herself is a dynamo. A true firecracker. She's involved in HIV/AIDS social work, and a godzillion of human rights and charity projects. And is sharp and funny, always on point. We have the best pineapple in the world, as well as mangoes and other such wonders, straight off the trees. Before we leave, I ask for the restroom, and am shown to it. Great, it's one of those holes in the ground… That's fine, I'm the worldly and street-smart traveler, I've seen many of these before. Just how do I….good lord the floor is slippery…and oh, I guess one needs to practice aiming from early childhood… now, it's all good, just…how the hell do I flush? Aaaargh, not knowing what else to do, I grasp the hose that is lying around and hose down the whole bathroom. Just in case. Thank god we're leaving!
We clamber on back into the jeeps, and we endure another two hours on the winding broken roads down back to Dimapur and off to the airport. Temperature rises with every meter as we descend down from the hills. Dimapur is hot as hell. Tfooey. I will miss Neichu, Naro, Bambi, and Akum though. Must come back soon. I'll just have to find three more people in order to get the RAP (restricted area permit). Any takers? They don't head hunt any more, I swear!

The tiny shaky airplane jolts us to dreaded Calcutta. I had a rough introduction to India in Calcutta the last time I was here. Cab drivers are insane, everyone is in your face, everything is dusty and weird! I am thus extra suspicious and eye everything with disdain. The four of us jam ourselves into one of them death vehicles and take our chances in the rush hour afternoon traffic. We get to hotel Lytton in one piece miraculously. One of the bell boys is grinning from ear to ear: "Do you remember me, ma'am? I brought you a plug converter last time!" Dayum! I must be memorable. He chatters for awhile, offering to bring the blue from the sky, if I want. No time for blue from the sky though. We are meeting with our main ally-and-enemy in one, good ole' lisping Umpakaf (Omprakash, really). Before then, however, we want to make it to the famous Calcutta market. This time we're equipped with Jasmine, who is Punjabi by birth, speaks Hindi and haggles like a pro. Calcutta market is a huge maze of corridor upon corridor, story upon story, of vendors with jewelry, bags, clothing… I can't imagine how anyone can profit there. Immediately you are seized by someone who drags you through the belly of the building to his stand. Without him, you'll never be able to find your way back out. Thus we have to do some business if we want to get out alive. In an unbelievably short time we bu y close to half a kilo of earrings, rings, bracelets, shawls… all under twenty dollars.
Omprakash is on his best behavior tonight. No lewd remarks, he even brings a gift for me and Jasmine from his wife. He actually mentions his wife! The gift is a sari. Very nice, but what on Earth will I do with a sari? I guess I can hang it on my wall. Oh no, and where will I put it now? I wanted to buy a bag, but they only had small ones. I give up. I will have to ask Hillel to carry some of my stuff in his suitcase… Next time, I will pack into a small suitcase AND leave some space in there for things I will acquire during the trip. It must be doable somehow.

August 18th, 2005. Kerala!
I can't wait, I can't wait! Tonight we'll be back at the loveliest school on Earth, up on a tea plantation in Pullikanam! We fly through Bombay early in the morning, where we wait forever for a connecting flight to Cochin. There we are picked up by another jeep and off we go on the already well known route up to the mountains. Hillel sleeps most of the way in the jeep. That amazes us - the road is enough of a challenge to even sit still, not to mention sleep. David and Jasmine recollect some funny movie - Weekend with Bernie, or at Bernie's and cannot stop laughing the whole way. Hillel being Bernie - his head bobbing on the front seat, propped up by the seat belt. David also recalls Hillel's latest butcherings of Indian names. That's a special skill of Hillel's. Nobody else I know is quite that bad with names. Indian negotiator for Nagaland Padmanabia is the most favorite target as of late. Hillel calls him ?'Padmanabooba', ?'Padmandu', ?'Padminabee' and all sorts of other things except for his rightful name. I've never seen David laughing so hard and so long, tears running down his face as soon as "Padman…" is mentioned. Funny stuff.



We arrive! Our insect and lizard-ridden, yet the coziest and cleanest guesthouse welcomes us as if we never left. Down I run to see all the guys. Beautiful Nidhin is smiling from a long distance. And there's Anitha and Asha. We meet with the faculty, talk about the training and about our programs in India. We're exhausted and starving. Hillel mentions ?'Padmonoonon'. David loses it. We all chuckle helplessly. Finally dinner comes, we attack it with our hands and feet. I, the worldly and street-smart traveler, know by now how to eat with my hands, not that I'm proud about it or anything. Well, at least I pretend I know how. I choose not to see all the drippings on the floor, myself, and the unfortunate few around me. After dinner we make battle plans for trainings that start tomorrow. We have too many students. Instead of one three day long training we resolve to do two two day trainings instead. Ooof. At least I'll get more practice teaching mediation this way.

August 19th, 2005
So the training marathon starts. One good thing is that I cannot get distracted with internet up here. It's too hot and muggy during the day for the connection to get established, it only runs between midnight and 6 or 7 in the morning. I am able to connect but once in the entire time we are there, and that only for long enough to send out the silly G8 summit article I finally finished. It must be fate. Training starts smoothly. We get a group of 30 students - 15 older ones that we already know from February, and 15 new ones. The kids are extremely sharp. It makes me want to cry when I think of my students back in the States and compare the level of information intake, enthusiasm, and maturity. Although the Indian students seem more naïve at the first sight. We actually had a long and interesting discussion about that. David, who specializes in asking direct questions about the most sensitive issues, asks Nidhin and Arun point blanc how will they cope in the business world where everybody backstabs everybody else with such naïveté. Nidhin explains that if he gets to the top by honest means, there's no reason to change that once at the top. If cheated and backstabbed, well, maybe he'll lose money or will be taken for a fool, but he will keep his moral integrity, and that's more important in the long run then anything. Naïve? Maybe. But hell, I absolutely love it!



Nidhin and Arun armwrestling

We go until almost 8pm, breaking only for lunch and tea. There are two long role plays that afternoon, one really gets them fired up. It's about the mosque in Ayodhya that was destroyed by a Hindu mob in 1992, because it was presumably built by the moghuls on the site of a former temple to the Hindu god Ram sometime in 1500s. There are a few heated exchanges as we get into the crux of our training - historic memory and mediation of identity conflicts. We have dinner with the faculty. We talk at length about their conflict resolution student group Shanti and Hillel pushes and pushes until they don't promise to make the work at Shanti a part of school's curriculum. That way students will have time to actually do something and not just talk about it in their spare time. After the endless meeting we collapse into beds, we watch a bit of Before Sunset with Jasmine, merrily snoring away within five minutes.

August 20th, 2005
In the morning we proceed to the computer lab for another perfectly futile exercise of seeking internet connection. We miss breakfast because of that. Training goes smoothly, we get better every day. Students tell us how they admire our teamwork. Go team! Another two role plays, and a role reversal exercise - that makes our work a lot easier. And more interesting for the kids. Nidhin takes care of all of our needs, always checks in if everything is OK. He has these piercing eyes that make one blabber complete nonsense when looked at, which he does often. I'm sure it happens to everyone. It's a good thing I'm taken, much older, and extremely rational. Damn these Indians, why do they make them so gorgeous?
Anyhow, we dine with the students. David quizzes them about romantic relationships on campus: do couples get together? Do boys ever climb into girls' dormitory? I always hold my breath and my eyes are about to jump out of my head when David asks something. But there's something about David. No matter what he asks, it comes across as a genuine interest in the people, cordial and open. So no, there are no romantic relationships on campus, it's forbidden. They are ?'like brothers and sisters' there. They were entrusted by their parents as adults and they take that responsibility seriously, they say. They would never break the trust of their parents and teachers, that's just how things are in Kerala. Nidhin carries my bag back to the guesthouse, and dedicates the flashlight to the road in right under my feet. I feel like a silly over-aged princess. We watch another five minutes of Before Sunset, sleep through the rest.

Nice, Dagmar, well done, much appreciated.

Clary had better look to her laurels, I can see.

More power to your pen (and camera.)

McT

Don't say it out loud. I still have another few days to write up. I may never stop!

Marvelous again.

<I'm confused about the Shanti group thing being included in the curriculum or not, why it was pushed to be out of it?>

Me too, I think there is an extra word there...

As for this:



Are you mad, woman??? What can't you do with a sari? (First thing you can do if it's a, ya know, a burden is send it on to me...) You can sew with it (skirts, dresses -- 6 yards of gorgeous silk [is yours silk?] fabric), you can make curtains out of it, heck you can wear it (I've only worn my favorite one once, but that was fun).

Loving the accounts again, was wondering what would happen when you saw the beauteous Indian chap again... Taken, good, good... :-D

shhhh. i know mr. b. is lurking around. don't call his attention to beauteous indian chaps!