chalo bolo - deep dhillon

Anybody Work for Crocks?

2011-08-06T10:15:00.001-07:00

A Typical Day in Preixan

2010-08-21T03:41:00.000-07:00

Wake up in a cozy log cabin at Sidsmums, meander into the kitchen, brew some coffee, eat some breakfast, remember what time it is, and most importantly, give George, our fearless protector, a scratch on the way out.

Realize we are late for the bus. Very late. Then run, run, run.

Past the beautiful house with the colored pots.

To the bus stop. Then wait. Wait. And wait some more.

Later, find something spectacular to look at, like a 13th century castle.

Then, while meandering through narrow ancient alleyways, notice something, anything, perhaps even a bottle of olive oil resting on a shelf, and remember... that lunch is required.

Stroll to the nearest market and get distracted by color. Lots of color.

Then pick up a baguette, some brie, some olives, and even, some anchovies... and walk. And walk. Until a place appears.

Like along the river. Cool down. Swim. Lie. Read. Chat.

Then, finally, as the sun sets, stroll back to Sidsmums, and share stories of the day with fellow travelers.

You Get Me Stamp Fical

2010-08-06T11:24:00.000-07:00

I was lounging on a bench at Luxemburg Park here in sunny Paris watching the kids play. A rather twitchy South Asian looking fellow walks toward me and the following conversation ensues:

Twitchie fellow (TF): "I just got out of jail man, I just got out of jail."
Me: "Really. That must have been terrible."
TF: "No, no. Definitely it was not terrible. Most definitely not. It was very nice. Very very nice. These policemen of France are very pleasant people."
Me: "Uh, wow. I'm glad you enjoyed prison."
TF: "You know I just come from Sri Lanka. Look, look at me, just look!"

I look over and see his arms covered in what look like deep knife slash wounds.

Me: "What happened to your arms?"
TF: "I was the prisoner. The Sri Lankans... You know Sri Lanka, you know them? I was in prison for two years, two years, can you believe it, two years..."
Me: "Are you a Tamil?"
TF: "Yes."
Me: "Is it bad over there? Is the war really over?"
TF: "Yes, yes. Very bad. It is very very bad. Look at me, I was in prison for two years. Look what they did to me. Are you Sikh? You look Sikh? Do you speak the Sikh language?"
Me: "Yes. I speak Punjabi."
TF: "You know Sikhs, you Sikhs, you are very good peoples, you are very very good peoples. You'll help me. I know today is my lucky day. This is my most lucky day, my most lucky day. I have met you. You are very good person. You know I have been sleeping in this park for 5 days. 5 days, can you believe it? It is a nice park, I like France, they are nice people. These France police were very nice people. I need stamp fical. You know stamp fical, you know?"
Me: "No. I don't know what a stamp fical is. What is it?"
TF: "I came on a boat, you know I came on a boat just 10 days back. I came very long journey, very long, very very long. So much ocean. So much water. So much."
Me: "How did you get out of prison, did you escape?"

TF nervously looks over his shoulder, then he looks up at the sweeping tree canopy hovering over us, then back over his shoulder, than at me.

TF: "Yes I escaped. I escaped. I ran away. I found the boat. Today you have helped me so much. I am so happy today. Today is the very best day. My best day. You have made me very happy today. Very very happy. Come, lets go."
Me: "Where?"
TF: "You come with me, we get stamp fical. Come lets go, you'll help me. Lets hurry. Come."
Me: "But I don't understand. What is a stamp fical?"
TF: "Yes yes. I know what is stamp fical. I know what it is. Today is the best day. You are very good man."
Me: "I'm afraid I can't help you if you don't tell me what stamp fical is."
TF: "You are very good good man. I know what is stamp fical. We go now."

After going around in circles for some time on the stamp fical issue, I stand up and slowly start walking away.

Me: "Its been a pleasure meeting you. I have to go now. Good luck getting your stamp fical."

TF looks defeated, and walks away slowly, as I call out to my kids.

Addendum: So for those of you wondering what a stamp fical is, I don't really know, but I have a theory. After writing this post, I started searching around. I think TF perhaps meant to stay "stamp fiscal" or "fiscal stamp" which might refer to a fee for an EU asylum application.

La Recoleta Cemetary in Buenos Aires

2010-07-21T03:52:00.000-07:00

I started making this video back in February when we were in Buenos Aires. I had basically given up on making videos for the web because its difficult to secure license rights for a decent soundtrack. But then, thanks to my friend Amanda, I found out about Moby's very cool policy of making some of his music available for budding filmmakers on mobygratis.com. I'm not really a budding filmmaker, more just a guy with a cheap video camera that wants to share stuff with the world who really really really requires a sharp soundtrack. In any event, I got approval from Moby to use his great song titled Papa in this short. All footage was shot in La Recoleta Cemetaria which is an amazing place chock full of glycerine embalmed Argentines and funky tombs galore. Needless to say: great imagery to sketch and paint from -- you might recognize some of our hands and work flashing by. So, crank up your headphones, expand to view on a full screen, and enjoy.

Holy Bat Trees Batman

2010-07-17T20:25:00.000-07:00

One of our regular past times here in Chandigarh is to sit on our veranda at night and watch bats fly over our house. There is a steady, graceful procession of very large bats ( each about the size of a healthy ground squirrel ) every night from around 8PM until 9PM. They always fly from the west over our coti to the east, with one bat departing every minute or so. So for the past few months we've wondered where they are coming from, where they are going, and why they always fly east, and when, if ever, they fly back. While all of our questions remain questions, we recently stopped by Pinjore Gardens on our way home, and found an even more odd piece of information. I always assumed bats lived in caves and other dark places. Take a look at the photo below though. There were far too many to count -- relaxing, hanging from nearly every branch in a large, very exposed tree. These, at least to my untrained eyes, look just like the bats flying over our house. Any bat-ologists out there that can shed some light?

Another Hair Raising Trip to Himachal

2010-07-16T02:52:00.000-07:00

Make Your Business Different

2010-07-15T01:31:00.000-07:00

As I travel, I rarely find a small business which is market differentiated. Wherever I find one restaurant that offers: Indian, Chinese, Israeli, Tibetan, and German food, I'll find another ten or fifty with a sign out front, virtually identical to the last, that also offers Indian, Chinese, Tibetan and German food. On occasion, I do find folks in the middle of nowhere who do offer a differentiated service.

This Sardarji below sharpens knives using this rather clever eco-friendly home rigged device. He didn't seem to have much trouble finding business in Dharamsala.

This fine gentleman served us an amazing wood fired pizza in the remote nether reaches of South Africa. While wood fired pizza is hardly novel in traveler locales, in this particular town, it was the only offering. Also, he had a unique pay-what-you-want approach to the wine, and exceptional ambience using recycled cans cut into floral patterns for lamps.

The owner of a brewpub in eclectic Nieu Bethesda, South Africa, clearly differentiated his business. He was, to my knowledge, the only brewpub for hours and hours in any direction. I asked him how business was, and he said, "Great. Obviously we don't move hours out on a lonely dirt road to get rich, but we get by. People know about the brewpub, they get tired of wine tasting." We were in another town, over 5 hours away, in "the other" brewpub, which coincidentally, the owner of the brewpub below helped establish, when the owner told me how he was called "totally crazy" for opening a brew pub in what was obviously wine country.

This particular business might suffer from other problems, nonetheless, it is differentiated. I have to say, I've never before seen someone haul magic expansion moss out of the woods and plop it into pretty bottles before.

A Trip to the Bazaar

2010-07-03T03:28:00.000-07:00

First weave your way through winding narrow alleyways toward the nearest entrance.

Then chat with the official Nike spokesman to find the best place to purchase goods.

Next, visit this fortune telling robot to discover whether your trip will be a successful shopping venture.

Don't forget to select just the right spices for your tea.

Wave to the parking attendant on your way out.

And finally, hop on the bus and enjoy your ride home.

Anatomy of a Bribe

2010-06-30T02:54:00.001-07:00

So last night we were with a friend driving to an Italian restaurant for dinner. She makes an illegal U-turn, and we get pulled over by the cops. Our friend says, "oh great, here we go. Watch and learn."

Cop: "License."
Friend: "Sorry Sahib. I wasn't paying attention."
Cop: "License."
Friend: "There were so many cars, Sahib, I got confused for a moment. It won't happen again."
Cop: "License."
Friend: "My brother, please let me go. I wont make the mistake again."
Cop: "Madam, please come outside and bring your license."
Friend: "Sahib, I don't have much time, can't we just be done now. Lets just finish the bill now."
Cop: "Madam, please come."

Our friend steps out of the car, walks over to a shack filled with cops. In this city, the cops set up a special booth on the side of a given roundabout. A cop stands outside and points at drivers, indicating they need to pull over. The "processing center" is where a few other cops formalize the tickets, or gather whiskey money, depending on the time of month.

Friend returns to the car a few minutes later. "Okay, just waiting for my change. All I had was a 500 note."

Cop taps on my window. I roll down the window.

Cop: "Sir, please remember to have your seat belt fastened at all times."
Me: "But I do have my seat belt on."

Cop, annoyed at my ignorance, with closed fist, reaches into the car and plops some notes onto the seat, then says, "yes, please remember safety at all times." He walks off.

We drive away. My friend starts laughing, "my change please. Gosh I wish I would have had a 100 note, would have saved me 100 rupees. I had to bargain down to 200 for a couple minutes. Its tough, you know, they see this huge car, and the rate quadruples."

I ask, "so what are the rates?"

Friend: "10 for a bike, 20 for a rickshaw, 50 for a scooter, 100 for a nice motorcycle or tiny car, 200 for a big car."

I say, "And what if you actually paid the ticket?"

Friend: "300. But I have to go across town to pay the ticket. Would have taken me an hour."

Me: "And why all the sneakiness?"

Friend: "Well they are really careful since a lot of journalists set up anti-corruption sting operations, with mobile phone videos and the like. Technically, with this entire transaction, we have no idea if we paid a bribe, or a reduced ticket on the spot. And also, whenever they are fund raising for the police department, there is nothing you can do, you have to pay the ticket. That's when their superior officers are present and watching."

Me: "And by your guess, what percentage of folks pay the bribe?"

Friend: "Maybe 1 in a hundred does not."

And on a final note, if you enjoyed this post, you should check out these recent NPR podcasts on corruption in India:

Norbulingka Institute Preserves Tibetan Culture

2010-06-27T18:42:00.000-07:00

We spent a wonderful afternoon at the Norbulingka Institute in Dharamsala. It feels amazing to escape the hot, dusty, chaotic horn honking streets of India into the peaceful and incredibly colorful temple complex. We particularly enjoyed watching the Tibetan craftsmen making huge Buddha statues. On our next trip we will definitely have to stay a few nights in the guest house.

And a few words from the Dalai Lama on the Norbulinka Institute: "Buddhism changed the whole Tibetan way of life, giving rise to a more compassionate community, in which there is a more peaceful attitude towards ourselves, towards our fellow human beings, towards animals and towards the environment. In today's world there’s a lot of talk about peace and non-violence, but the real factor in creating genuine peace is compassion, not just education and technology. Where there is compassion, a sense of community, a sense of respect for others' rights is automatic. In order to promote compassion, it is not sufficient just to talk; it needs to be spread through example. I believe that our peaceful and compassionate Tibetan society is such an example; that’s why it is worth preserving, and I am pleased to see that in its work to keep Tibetan culture alive, the Norbulingka Institute is actively contributing to that task."

Don't miss the lovely doll museum. This blue one below is about 3 apples tall.

A lively exchange of ideas amongst a group of female monks.

A monk listens in to glean a few enlightening words from Princess Leia and her wise brother.

Tossed to the Facebook Backshelf

2010-06-25T18:25:00.000-07:00

Last night, at dinner here in a small village high above Dharamsala, with our new friends from Sweden and Austria, someone mentioned their grandparents just had their 60th anniversary. I said, "That's so wonderful, to enjoy such a long marriage. Unfortunately, perhaps the last generation to stay married. Since then, we've all learned to throw away our spoons, plates, and cameras, why not out marriages too." A bit cynical, unfortunately, and I'm not sure how the thought popped into my head, but I fear there is some truth to it.

100 years ago, even something as simple as a spoon was considered a permanent heirloom, to be washed, polished, reused, and ultimately handed down to a subsequent generation. Nowadays, not only do we presume plastic spoons are to be tossed, even our formalware might get a Martha Stewart inspired overhaul every few years, just to keep us current on the latest designs. With rapid advances in electronics, we know ahead of time our new iPhone 4 will be uncool, and fit for the tossing a mere couple few years after its purchase. Its a rare first generation Indian immigrants' child that can't remember vinyl runners winding down hallways, up stairs, sprawling over chairs, and wrapped around the sofa. That generation, born in an impoverished pre-partition agrarian India, cherished their goods, and made great efforts to preserve them well into the future. Not only did that generation cherish their goods, but also their social relationships.

I remember throughout my childhood, whenever my parents announced we were leaving for a vacation, to a place like California, we kids would get really excited; we presumed our time would be spent at Disneyland, or wandering the glammy streets of Beverly Hills. We'd be so annoyed to find the reality of us sitting in a dark house in a no name suburb for weeks in the relatively uncool (literally and figuratively) climes of Yuba City. Few of us in the modern generation can envision "sacrificing" our hard earned 2 weeks of vacation to visit second cousins in a non-descript locale, but this was normal for my parents, as these relationships were cherished in the old country, more generally, in pre-industrial society.

We of the modern world were raised early on to know that social connections, like spoons, were to be disposed of when the economic need had arisen. I recall being 8 years old, and extremely anxious about moving across the country, primarily because I was leaving my friend network behind. I of course thought I would return to visit, in the summers, or on holidays, but alas, that was never to be. They are friends whose names I can't recall enough to even locate them on Facebook. In the modern world, we know we have to pack up and move; we move for jobs, for college, for graduate school, for fun, for a change. Sometimes we return, but often we don't. I recall being 17 years old, 2000 miles away from home, and clinging to the phone, calling friends and family alike, in an attempt to keep these links real, alive, and relevant. Over time I learned that most folks loved the chats to keep up, some would even return calls, but a very rare few would actually initiate such communication. And then we face a great paradox of our time. Ancient eastern wisdom says, "be in the here and now, focus on the moment you are in, do not live in the past, or in the future, live now." And ultimately, when faced with this, the friends of where we are become more important than those of where we were. And indeed, like spoons, plates and cameras, even our friends, become disposable. I suppose there has been some improvement, for in recent years, we don't need to fully toss out friends, we can downgrade "real" friends to "just Facebook" friends.

I read somewhere that 100 years ago, the average person had 50 social contacts in their entire lives. This was because most existed in an agricultural economy, lived in a village, socialized primarily with fellow villagers, and only rarely ventured beyond the village. Now, its a truly uncool Facebook or Twitteroid that has a mere 50 "friends." We live in multiple cities, we vacation in multiple countries, we interact with humans we've never met, all of which means we have far more than 50 social contacts. Its significantly easier today to meet new people, and we do, so I suppose it is only inevitable that some we've met from before, disappear from our lives.

As we travel, on some level it makes me sad to know my kids have gotten used to entering a new place, playing for weeks with some local kids, and then leaving abruptly, never to see the kids again. My son, when he was 3, and we were spending time in Norway, became fond of our dear friend's nephews. He actually only spent perhaps 5 hours with them, but Nayan shrieked for over a week about wanting to see them again. I wonder if we aren't hardwired for longevity in social contacts, especially when we form an emotional bond, and if our modern world's new found fondness for "social disposability" isn't, well, unnatural.

Its become a ritual of ours, and most travelers nowadays, to exchange Facebook info, on departure. It makes saying goodbye easier, and it leaves future interaction possible. Facebook interaction is definitely lame while compared to real interaction, nonetheless, it does seem like a slight improvement over utterly disposable friends.

I'll leave you now with a slightly related, but nice little "Goodness, Gracious Me" clip.

Babas and Waterfalls in the Parvati Valley

2010-06-01T09:28:00.000-07:00

The kids got out of school last week, and are off until the 15th of July, so we packed up, and ran for the hills. When we left Chandigarh, it was 46C and searing hot. 8 long and nauseous hours later, when we arrived outside Manikaran, it was a cool 25. Life is so much better when you can open the door, walk outside, and not immediately break out into a sweat. We spent a week outside Manikaran Sahib, and its nearest town called Kasol, in a fairly secluded cottage above a raging river in the spectacular Parvati Valley. Our hosts at Parvati Kuteer treated us well. We especially enjoyed the many local hikes we did in the valley. A short walk from our cabin is a mundir. I can't remember much about the history of the temple, other than this baba below from Rajasthan bought the place and told me he makes money off it now; also, the tree is 500 years old and marks the location of the original temple.

Nayan, my 8 year old son, and I were descending from a hike when Nayan said, "wow Papa, this place is just like hiking near Seattle." Right then the guy in the orange outfit below walked by asking me if I had seen his goat wander by. I said to Nayan, "just like hiking in the Cascades, except usually dread-locked sadhus don't wander by asking about their lost animals."

We spent much of our week in Kasol hiking and lounging near these pristine pools and waterfalls.

Guided hikes in India come with multiple gentlemen that carry your whiny kids. Its really great, as Ananya will certainly tell you.

Many of the areas we went to have little or no trails. Nayan is demonstrating the proper facial expressions to use when hacking through the jungle with a nice long machete.

One of the most beautiful waterfalls I've seen. Our guides hacked a trail through the jungle to get to this fall. The journey was a bit more adventurous then we normally take with the kids, but was well worth it.

A cool shot of a Ganeshji image outside the Babas place.

Father and daughter modeling fancy glasses.

The Amazing Sikhya School

2010-05-24T09:36:00.000-07:00

I've recently become quite interested in the non-profit sector's work in combating the crushing poverty here in India. My aunt suggested I check out an old friend of her's school. So my wife and I spent some time with the principal, my aunt's friend, and toured the school. Sikhya is a non-profit school providing a high quality education and nurturing environment exclusively to slum dwellers and other extremely poor children for free.

While the government offers an almost free education, the quality is significantly below that of the education offered at myriad private schools. Many of the government school's are grossly underfunded and mismanaged. There are an amazing number of stories about teachers that never show up to class, standardized test scores that are simply manufactured, or the answers are distributed to the kids by corrupt principals ahead of time so school incompetence cannot be effectively measured. I'll save chatting in more depth about the public schools, as, despite all of this, there has been some improvement the past few years in Punjab, in part due to private money from the west arriving most often in the form of NRI (Non-Resident Indians) money given directly to school projects.

Sikhya strives to match the standards of the elite private schools in the city. Sikhya also provides a nurturing and loving environment for these kids who come from extremely difficult backgrounds. All schoolwork is performed in school; this is because, according to the school teachers I chatted with, it is simply impractical for the kids to do work at home -- most do not have electricity in the slums and many are required to work long hours. Another challenge is abuse; many kids are abused at home, and tragically, there simply is not an effective social service system in India which can help. Despite all these difficulties, it is obvious from the photos below, that the kids are thriving.

The computer labs are quite extensive at Sikhya, complete with broadband Internet connectivity.

When Slumdog Millionaire came out, many friends of mine asked me if the slums are really like that in India. I said, well yeah, in fact, they're even worse. Its tough to convey just how stinking hot it is here on the big screen, not to mention, how stinking stinky it can be. I also hear from friends and family traveling or living here that everyone is corrupt, and there's not much anyone can do. This is patently false, Sikhya school was set up by one man who simply wanted to do some good.
There is no doubt corruption is rampant in India, but it is also true that everywhere you look there are examples of honest, caring locals striving to improve the situation.

We were so inspired with the Sikhya school that we started volunteering a few days a week. Our first assignment was to paint murals. The school is broken into 5 groups, one for each of the basic "elements," which according to eastern philosophy and religions, are the base materials from which the universe is made.

It costs 200 US$ to educate one child for one year at Sikhya. The school can arrange for you to sponsor a specific child, or children, and track their progress through school and life.

My favorite part of working on the murals was meeting the curious kids wandering about.

If you wish to donate to Sikhya school, please drop an email to: sikhya_head@rediffmail.com and mention you are friends of Deep and Ameen. Unfortunately they don't have PayPal set up, but you can either wire money to the school's bank or send some along with a relative visiting India.

Drop me a note if you are interested in setting up a letter writing exchange with students of a particular grade.

Drop me a note if you have any trouble donating or volunteering.

The Rockin Rikshawala

2010-05-15T08:06:00.000-07:00

My son and I flagged down a bicycle rickshaw for our journey home tonight. As I stepped onto the rickshaw, I noticed it was brand spankin' new -- cardboard and plastic still wrapped much of the cycle's tubing. After the many hundreds, perhaps thousands of rickshaw rides I've taken in India, not once have I ever ridden on a brand new one. So I said to Gopal, "Vah, your rickshaw is absolutely fantastic!" He smiled and said, "No Sahib, this one is already a month and a half old. Its simply okay."

As we were cruising home, Gopal was totally cranking -- I've never seen someone pull a rickshaw this fast. It was obvious something was different about Gopal. It turns out, Gopal owns 14 rickshaws; he himself rides 7 days a week, 18 hours a day -- from pre-dawn, through the searing summer heat, and late into the night. He keeps a brand new rickshaw for himself, once it gets a little old, he adds it to his collection of rentals. According to Gopal, the average Chandigarh rikshawala will earn between 2500 and 5000 rupees a month (that's between 58 and 116$US). Gopal makes about 900 rupees per month on each rickshaw he rents out. A brand new rickshaw costs 9000 rupees. Now according to Gopal, each rented rickshaw comes with significant overhead, there's the occasional worn out tire, a broken chain, and other bike maintenance related problems, but his biggest expense has more to do with his riders, who can require a fair amount of money for things like a marriage (for their daughters), a funeral, medical bills, etc. So all in all, Gopal says he grosses about 15000 rupees a month, and after all his expenses, pulls home around 11000. I asked him how he manages 13 other rikshawalas. Gopal says he has a cell phone in his pocket, they call him if there are any problems. All his riders return their bikes to him at the end of the day, where they all sleep on their rickshaws together. He said he has no problems with the government and hence no need to pay any bribes. There is a one time license fee of 500 rupees per bicycle. I also asked if he had any problems with riders running off with his bikes. He said no, he has all their paperwork in order, they have to sign for the bikes, and he learns all their family history before hand. I asked Gopal why he doesn't upgrade to an auto-rickshaw. He laughed and said, "Never. That is the worst business ever. For them it is just a status symbol, that they don't have to work hard like us." Apparently autos have many maintenance expenses, petrol expenses, license fees, taxes, penalties (tickets for things like too many passengers, traffic violations, etc.), money for bribes and more. Gopal says his business is good, hard work for sure, but good.

I asked him where his wife and kids are. He says he owns a house in Delhi, has 3 kids, 1 of marriageable age. His daughter's marriage will cost him 1.5 to 2 lakhs (3500$US to 4650$US). He has 3 rickshaws running in Delhi, he visits once a month or so, otherwise he sleeps on his bike, and keeps growing his business.

I must say, I was totally blown away by my conversation with Gopal. Before Gopal, like most others, I thought of rikshawalas as men to feel sorry for, men with few options, no education, and little money. While 11000 rupees per month doesn't sound like much to a westerner ( a mere 256$US) its almost twice as much as a teacher makes here, and more than 6 times what a farm laborer makes. And most importantly, Gopal's income is growing. I asked how many more rickshaws he thinks he could handle. He felt he could double the number without many problems. I asked how many rikshawalas are entrepreneurs like him -- he kept peddling, and just laughed.

Nature's Business

2010-05-13T18:38:00.000-07:00

This porcelain pair of hemorrhoids sparing squat toilets offer a deluxe view of the magnificent Chandigarh Rose Garden park.

For you art lovers and mountaineers, here is a colorful stand up work designed to offer fresh air, as well as a nice view.

And my personal favorite, a rather endangered species, which never fails to bring back childhood memories of crickets chirping, wheat stalks swaying, and the scent of a new day.

I Love the Rain

2010-05-10T08:28:00.000-07:00

No AC buzz. No whirling fans. No reason to squint. Black sky cracks open, and dumps a bucket of bliss. The searing heat subsides, at least for the moment.

And the sun returns, though the rain is not forgotten.

Salesmanship: No MBA Required

2010-05-08T02:18:00.000-07:00

"Oh sahib, you're such a budda sahib, please help an old man. Here, hold him, hold him, he'll give you good luck sahib. Oh chota sahib, yes, he likes you, here take him, yes bring the camera mehim sahib, yes please shoot, yes take the picture, oh budda sahib, why are you backing away, chota sahib is not afraid, he is a brave sahib, yes mehim sahib, take the picture, go on take it, yes take more, go on, yes, good, it is a good picture. Oh bless my sahib, you're such a budda sahib, praise be to God, may he bless you day after day after day."

From Dust to Dust

2010-05-04T18:16:00.000-07:00

We were walking along a dusty road in the beautiful mountains this past weekend and ran across a rather gruesome site. In classic Indian style, the contrast was dramatic. Marlin Perkins, host of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, might have read: as the radiant red sun slowly set across the Himalayan skyline, two gentlemen casually sip chai and chat while a sweet street dog gnaws industriously on the victim of a traffic mishap.

WARNING: THE PICTURE YOU ARE ABOUT TO SEE CONTAINS ELEMENTS OF A GRAPHIC NATURE. PLEASE CLICK AWAY IMMEDIATELY IF YOU WANT TO PRESERVE YOUR DISNEY PROVIDED MENTAL IMAGE OF DOGS AND MONKEYS AS CUTE AND CUDDLY.

Things to Do in Chandigarh When its 112 Degrees Out

2010-04-29T04:24:00.000-07:00

Find a nice comfy spot to take a nap.

Find some shade and get a shave.

Find a job in an air conditioned museum and take a nap.

Hang out.

Cruising Kasauli

2010-04-21T21:19:00.000-07:00

It has been a bit warm here in Chandigarh, with daily peaks over 110 degrees. So last weekend we decided to head up into the mountains to escape the heat for a bit. We zipped through the skinny winding roads of the Himalayan foothills, with each child clutching a plastic barf bag. Despite many false alerts, we managed to remain vomit-free, a rather rare event for our kids on windy roads. The mountains are beautiful here, though a bit dusty this time of year. We did manage to escape to the much cooler temperature of a mere 102.
One of the treats of the mountains is the ever entertaining monkey drama. In Kasauli there are lots of these cute and fluffy, relatively well mannered gray monkeys.

This plump nugget and Ameen became friends. He enjoyed her chips, and promised to come visit us soon, though he said he prefers to wait until cooler days.

Kasauli is a quaint little town, which once served as a hill station for the Brits. It's primary tourist attraction is called Monkey Point, where legend has it, Lord Hanuman, the Hindu monkey deity, took a rest during his many exploits aiding the hero Rama against his battles with the demon king Ravan. Unfortunately we never made it to Monkey Point. For some reason, Monkey Point sits inside a high security Indian Air Force base. We diligently emptied our pockets of all electronic devices, waited a few hours for the Air Force officers to complete their lunch, pushed and shoved our way through a mob of excited devotees, only to find out that my painstakingly acquired Indian government provided proof of "Indianness" card was not sufficient proof that I was Indian. Upon leaving the premises, I was approached by many folks kindly offering me use of their IDs so we could go inside. After glancing at the handful of uniformed and rifle carrying jawans, we chose to eat lunch instead.

One of the many heritage homes from the days of the British raj.

We saw this lovely bovine shopping for "home making" things.

A devout Ramones fan working as a jalebi maker -- they were extremely tasty, perhaps it was the spirit of Joey Ramone and his sticky sweet voice.

And finally, an amazing sun set on the way back down to Chandigarh.

Akhand Path in Sukharan

2010-04-16T00:45:00.000-07:00

We recently went to an Akhand Path in Sukharan, my maternal ancestral village. I wrote a detailed blog post a few years back on the history of Sukharan. If you're interested, you can read it HERE to see the story of how a Punjabi village formed and evolved. Also, don't forget, you can click on any of the images in this post to see a much more clear, higher resolution version of the image.

Random village singing extortionist women who heard about the Akhand Path. They sing and sing and sing and then say things like, "Aray Bibiji, you've come from so far, and heard our songs, please give us some money now. Thats it! More now, come on, we are such good singers. This is such a small amount of money for a person as impressive as you." This is the crew leaving after a successful mission of cash extraction; notice the bag of cash slung over the woman on the left's shoulder.

Ananya suspicious of yet another photo.

My nephews listening to the amazing kirtan in the Gurdwara.

I dig the Bollywood cinemagraphic quality of this shot.

These guddas used to be everywhere in Punjab, but the numbers have plummeted recently, like so many other Punjab classics. Modernization has really started to take root. Back in the day I used to love riding in the back of a gudda.

Fortunately, Facebook and the XBox haven't yet hit in the village, so raising Nishan Sahib at the Gurdwara is still a big deal. We all hung about for a few hours as this gentleman shimmied up the flagpole to wrap and raise a bright new flag of the Khalsa.

More fun with slow shutter speeds at dusk.

Nayan cruising with his new pindh buds, aka, Punjabi homeschooling lessons.

Long Walk to Freedom

2010-04-13T05:52:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I went through a phase where I was inhaling books far faster than we could find decent book shops. As a result, I decided no more books less than 700 pages. So after a couple weeks, I finally finished the captivating memoirs of Nelson Mandela titled Long Walk to Freedom.

Mandela's life was so different than the rough image I had outlined in my head. For one, his life is far more exciting and inspiring than his speeches. Also, prior to reading his book, I associated Mandela with Gandhi or MLK, especially with respect to the latter two's idealism and strict adherence to the principal of non-violence. While it is true that he leveraged non-violent techniques, it is also true that Mandela was an effective strategist, and pragmatist; he later became a major proponent in the ANC for waging a violent campaign, ultimately founding, funding, and leading the ANC's guerilla arm called Umkhonto we Sizwe. Speaking in his own defense in the trial which saw him locked up for life, Nelson Mandela says:

We of the ANC have always stood for a non-racial democracy, and we shrank from any action which might drive the races further apart than they already were. But the hard facts were that fifty years of non-violence had brought the African people nothing but more repressive legislation, and fewer and fewer rights. It may not be easy for this court to understand, but it is a fact that for a long time the people had been talking of violence -- of the day when they would fight the white man and win back their country, and we, the leaders of the ANC, had nevertheless always prevailed upon them to avoid violence and to use peaceful methods. [...] it could not be denied that our policy to achieve a non-racial state by non-violence had achieved nothing, and that our followers were beginning to lose confidence in this policy and were developing disturbing ideas of terrorism. [...]

Umkhonto was formed in November 1961. [...] Experience convinced us that rebellion would offer the government limitless opportunities for the indiscriminate slaughter of our people. But it was precisely because the soil of South Africa is already drenched with the blood of innocent Africans that we felt it our duty to make preparations as a long-term undertaking to use force in order to defend ourselves against force.

The photos in this post are from our recent trip to Robben Island, where Mandela and other anti-apartheid political prisoners were locked up.

This is the limestone quarry where Mandela smashed rocks for much of his life:

And his prison cell:

My wife, Ameen, is shown chatting with our guide, who was a prisoner sentenced to life in prison who served 13 years. He was caught after a botched power station bombing attempt. I asked him how it felt to live on the island guiding tourists through the prison he spent so much of his life in. He said it felt great to tell the freedom story of South Africa every day.

1st Day of School

2010-04-11T21:21:00.000-07:00

After months of homeschooling, we have finally surrendered our children's learning to someone else. The kids started school today at The Millenium School in Mohali. After multiple frustrating months of trying to arrange for the kids admission remotely, and despite all the warnings we got from folks, it was remarkably simple to find a great school and get them admitted on arrival. The hardest part was actually paying for the school (and our flat).

Its quite awkward doing business in cash; I felt like a gangster running around town with bags of money, sitting across from someone and repeatedly counting out bills one by one for many minutes. Most folks here have boxes full of fruit colored cash lying around for such transactions, but we were left with repeated trips to the ATM, and an onslaught of phone calls from vigilant bank officials back in the states.

The school itself is quite impressive: swanky new buildings, oodles of computers, projection systems, cute uniforms, and heavy piles of books. The school is taught in English, which wasn't our first choice, but too many folks were freaking out about the kids being kidnapped or getting lice from the "low class" Punjabi schools. Nonetheless, the kids have a class for Punjabi, Hindi, English, Math, "Computer Training" and some other subjects like Environmental Science.

On admission, Nayan took a challenging examination. Its a good thing we home schooled him in math and brought him up to Indian standards, the Seattle School system is spectacularly slow, and North Beach uses an overly repetitive curriculum called Saxon. We switched him onto the Singapore math curriculum, augmented with my own impromptu few months of computer programming (using a cute visual programming language called Scratch), where he wrote automated math exam programs. The excitement of taking exams of his own creation kept Nayan excited and motivated.

The school itself is quite impressive. A bus swings by in the mornings, picks the kids up, and hauls them off. For the young ones, there are Ayas, or nannies, on the bus. Ameen hopped on the bus for Ananya's first day to witness multiple shreaking 2 year olds (yes they start school here that young) who were quickly scooped up into the warm, loving arms of the Ayas, and eventually cooed into smiling submission. Once at school, the teachers greet the buses, slurp the kids off and pop them into class. Unlike virtually everything in India, the schools are remarkably organized and efficient.

After the kids left, my wife and I realized that this is the first day in 8 and half years that we've been alone together. To celebrate, we're heading to The Taj for breakfast.

Life's Short Says Seneca

2010-03-25T20:12:00.000-07:00

Now that we've reached India, and are in the warm protective embrace of family, the questions have started. So what are your plans? The truth is, our plans are none -- we are simply out of life plans right now. I feel like I've been on a very long road trip, and not the literal one we were just on, but the metaphorical life journey, and we've managed to pull over into a rest area to have a look around, eat some warm paranthas, and flip through the atlas. I had one goal for this trip, and it is being met. My goal was simply that our lives would slow down -- that time itself would slow -- that a great life divider would appear: before the trip, and after. Back home, we have a wonderful life; we're blessed with loving friends and family, a beautiful city, a lovely neighborhood, and work that I love. All this is such great fortune, and I strive to be thankful every day, but the one thought that couldn't escape me, is that our life is simply racing by. I would blink and a new holiday season would be upon me. Mondays would appear as if I had just taken another breath. My 10th anniversary appeared and it was only moments before we were completing our final lavan. I was chatting with a good friend about this, and he suggested I read a classic philosophical work by Lucius Annaeus Seneca titled On the Shortness of Life. It was great advice. Here is a short but poignant snippet:

Though all the brilliant intellects of the ages were to concentrate upon this one theme, never could they adequately express their wonder at this dense darkness of the human mind. Men do not suffer anyone to seize their estates, and they rush to stones and arms if there is even the slightest dispute about the limit of their lands, yet they allow others to trespass upon their life—nay, they themselves even lead in those who will eventually possess it. No one is to be found who is willing to distribute his money, yet among how many does each one of us distribute his life! In guarding their fortune men are often closefisted, yet, when it comes to the matter of wasting time, in the case of the one thing in which it is right to be miserly, they show themselves most prodigal. And so I should like to lay hold upon someone from the company of older men and say: "I see that you have reached the farthest limit of human life, you are pressing hard upon your hundredth year, or are even beyond it; come now, recall your life and make a reckoning. Consider how much of your time was taken up with a moneylender, how much with a mistress, how much with a patron, how much with a client, how much in wrangling with your wife, how much in punishing your slaves, how much in rushing about the city on social duties. Add the diseases which we have caused by our own acts, add, too, the time that has lain idle and unused; you will see that you have fewer years to your credit than you count. Look back in memory and consider when you ever had a fixed plan, how few days have passed as you had intended, when you were ever at your own disposal, when your face ever wore its natural expression, when your mind was ever unperturbed, what work you have achieved in so long a life, how many have robbed you of life when you were not aware of what you were losing, how much was taken up in useless sorrow, in foolish joy, in greedy desire, in the allurements of society, how little of yourself was left to you; you will perceive that you are dying before your season!"⁷ What, then, is the reason of this? You live as if you were destined to live forever, no thought of your frailty ever enters your head, of how much time has already gone by you take no heed. You squander time as if you drew from a full and abundant supply, though all the while that day which you bestow on some person or thing is perhaps your last. You have all the fears of mortals and all the desires of immortals. You will hear many men saying: "After my fiftieth year I shall retire into leisure, my sixtieth year shall release me from public duties." And what guarantee, pray, have you that your life will last longer? Who will suffer your course to be just as you plan it? Are you not ashamed to reserve for yourself only the remnant of life, and to set apart for wisdom only that time which cannot be devoted to any business? How late it is to begin to live just when we must cease to live! What foolish forgetfulness of mortality to postpone wholesome plans to the fiftieth and sixtieth year, and to intend to begin life at a point to which few have attained!

Addo Elephant National Park

2010-03-24T21:08:00.000-07:00

One of the highlights of our road trip in South Africa was Addo Elephant National Park. We decided to pass on Kruger Park, the largest and most well known of the wildlife refuges in South Africa, primarily because we wanted to avoid the malaria zone with the kids. We burned a bunch of time trying to find an organized safari to go to. We went to all the usual suspect web sites like go2africa.com and found the packaged safari thing didn't work for us, as we initially suspected. Neither Ameen nor I have ever been interested in organized group tours, for multiple reasons, but mostly because we don't like having a rigid predetermined travel schedule. We also love chatting with folks we meet on the way and asking them where the best places they've been. So we chatted with well traveled locals in Cape Town who assured us that our rental car in Addo and Mountain Zebra parks would fill our game viewing fix. They were right, Addo's an amazing park, and not obnoxiously overpriced like all the tours and game parks we researched.

In the 120,000+ hectare park, I felt like I was in Jurassic Park, the movie. The main rest camp is surrounded by large electrified fencing, inside of which are humans, outside of which lie many very large beasts including but not limited to: elephants, lions, hyenas, rhinos, zebras, wart hogs, and lots of cool African deer-like creatures. Some of the oddest areas were the "picnic" spots deep in the gaming area. One we considered entering was wrapped in multiple layers of 8 foot tall fencing topped off with layers of electrified wires. Multiple dents about the size of an elephant head could be seen. Next to a skinny gate were a few more warning signs. It felt like voluntarily entering a massive jail cell. Needless to say, we chose to picnic in the car.

The sign next to Ameen reads: "Beware of Lions, Alight from Vehicle at Own Risk." Instinctively and laughing, we hopped out of the car to shoot this photo. Once out of the vehicle, we were quickly overcome with paranoia. Ameen was looking for lions over her shoulder, I was looking behind us. The bush is very thick, so you can't visually be certain there are no predators for more than a few feet. We rushed the photo (hence the lack of focus) and quickly hopped back into our car. A few minutes later we drove by this not so lucky critter.

There are a number of sneaky areas called hides, where you can hang out and watch the animals undetected. The hides are usually located near a watering hole. Its an amazing way to spend a few hours.

By far the most fascinating part of the park for us, was watching the elephants in their natural habitat. Back home, we have a rather nice zoo, but it is a zoo, and it lies in a cramped urban setting. The elephants there have such a depressed look in their eyes. To see elephants living in the wild, albeit managed, but with vast space and their family structures intact was a real treat. Elephants are such social animals; we observed for hours how the adults treat the children, the teen interactions with each other, the assistance elephants gave to one another, and the discipline ( a baby was pestering her mother, and the mother slapped her trunk into the baby launching it off into the water).