pipe cleaners and googly eyes.

Where The Circle Ends.

2009-08-26T00:08:00.004-04:00

13Nov2008

I arrived into New Delhi in the bright brisk early morning. I made my way across the main street without hesitation as the oncoming cars, barreling towards me, slowly stopped.
Passing the sleeping dogs and cows that lay guarding many of the closed store fronts, I entered into Paharganj, walking down the empty, yet smelly, Main Bazaar strip, hearing the unique holler of the morning chai wallah echoing from the side alleyways.

For some odd reason it felt like camp, an ironic sensation-association that contradicted what I had declared 4weeks ago in the same area.
The cool morning, the still and quiet-emptiness, the faint yet distinct smell of burning firewood cooking breakfast… These are sensations that I so confidently defined as ‘Camp Only’ sensations; my sense doors triggering my associated defined experiences of the past, and clashing with the present.
I wasn’t camping or at a camp ground, so how could I be experiencing these sensations in India?
An example of conditioned thoughts being ‘reprogrammed’ through direct experience…

I think I’m tired from the train ride… that or I’m just crazy and letting my mind catch up from not talking for 10-days. A little bit of both, perhaps.

I checked into the Cottage Yes Please, and began the conclusion of my trip.

(Where The Circle Ends - Thursday)

Where Is My Mind?

2009-07-22T12:30:00.008-04:00

1Nov2008 – 12Nov2008

Emerging from the main Dhamma Hall with intense pain in both of my knees, I join the rest of the guys as we ‘walk’ like windup toys, only being able to lift a non-bending leg mere inches off the ground, as we shuffle along the short walking path.

This will be one of many flash backs that I have of the Vipassana Meditation retreat, for the rest of my life…

The Timetable:

4.00am: Morning Wake Up Bell.
4.30-6.30: Meditation in Hall or Residence.
6.30-8.00: Breakfast & Break.
8.00-9.00: Group Meditation in Hall.
9.15-11.00: Meditate in Hall or Residence, As Per Instructions of Teacher.
11.00-12.00: Lunch.
12.00-1.00pm :Rest.
1.00-2.15: Meditation in Hall or Residence.
2.30-3.30: Group Meditation in Hall.
3.45-5.00: Meditate in Hall or Residence, As Per Instructions of Teacher.
5.00-6.00: Tea Break.
6.00-7.00: Group Meditation in Hall.
7.15-Until Complete: Goenka Video Discourse/Dhamma Talk.
5min after Completion-9.00: Group Meditation in Hall.
9.00: Questions/Time to Retire.

At first I felt like this course was going to be like ‘meditation boot camp’ rather than the common negative internet comparisons of the course being run like a cult.
I am happy to say that I now disagree with both.
The absolute rules for the code of conduct; following the 5-precepts (8-precepts for returning students); obeying the noble silence; segregation of the sexes; no dinner (snack and chai available for new students, only); no reading or writing; the ceasing of all other meditation techniques and agreeing to practicing only what is taught; and the agreement of staying for the full length of the course, are all set up for a reason…[To remove all potential distractions that could prevent the student from calming the mind].
I’ll admit [though], as I was signing the form of commitment, that I was feeling a little… intimidated.
[Being left alone with my thoughts for 10-days without talking, had me nervous, as I remembered how cruel my mind can be.]

Leaving the grown comfort of Ao Zora and the simple life of Bodh Gaya behind, I rode the auto rickshaw 7km towards the last adventurous leg of my trip, ten-days of observing how my conditioned mind is subject to fear, anger, craving, aversion, and other intense emotions and learning to calm it through Vipassana Meditation; a technique and method taught by Gautama Buddha through the process of seeing things as they really are, impermanent and always changing, bringing self awareness by simply focusing on the natural breath.

I started meditating at Dharma Punx back in 2005; practicing the Buddhist philosophy has had such a profound impact on my life and has motivated me to read so many Dhamma books and to see how it all applies to the busy New York City life.
The Vipassana Meditation technique has intrigued me so much, particularly through my experience, but additionally learning how it has helped so many other people.
[It was the film, The Dhamma Brothers, and then reading the follow up book, Letters From The Dhamma Brothers, that really peaked my interest and inspired me to partake in a 10-day Vipassana meditation retreat.]

Upon arrival, I was caught off guard by how many Caucasian people there were, at the registration hall. I suppose I never gave it much thought at all, as to where people would be coming from.

After being assigned to Room 3, I found myself surprisingly eager to talk to the guys that were congregated in the open square of the Male Residential Quarters, particularly since the Noble Silence hadn’t started yet…
We all quickly began going around introducing ourselves, where we were from, where we’ve been on our travels, and how long we’ve been traveling for; most of the guys had been wandering around for about 4-6 months.

Oliver, from Germany, has been driving for 9 months so far [in his trusty Land Rover – Tank], going through Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, and Nepal; after India his plans are to continue through South East Asia and to eventually make his way up north to China and to finish in Hong Kong. [His travel website is http://www.oliabroad.de/]

Damien, [a former civil engineer, from Australia, after working for only 3 years, quit his job and] has been bicycling through Asia for the past 16 months.
Holy crap.

[Alyn, serving for 6 years in the Israeli Army setting up computers, decided he was done and would do what the others before him typically do after their Country’s National service obligation, travel India.]

It was awesome to talk to these people from Australia, Japan, France, Switzerland, Israel, Austria, Germany, and of course India.
It is funny; the local guys were a) impressed that I knew some Hindi b) amazed that it was my second time in India and c) that I was American. [They were so interested in what I thought of India and curious about the US and Obama.]
That’s actually something that has been pretty consistent on my trip; at all of the Buddhist sites and throughout India, most of the ‘Asian’ backpackers and tourists have been from Japan. As I would walk down the streets, the shouts of Konnichiwa in broken Hindi accents would come from smiling local passer biers.
I think this is why I’m not approached as often on this trip, as they assume I’m Japanese and possibly are used to seeing Japanese visitors, or are possibly more interested in talking to people they know they can practice their English with…
[The confused expression on their faces when trying to explain to them that I wasn’t Japanese, but rather Chinese American, always made me laugh.]

Anyways…

As fortune would have it, I ended up with a single room; this helped so much during the course as I wasn’t tempted to break the Noble Silence and I didn’t have to be distracted by snoring or any other bodily noises.

Every morning the wake up bell would faintly sound off; echoing into my deep sleep.
I quickly became grateful that [my roommate] Claudia, had recommended that I pack my softer hoodie, as its warmth comforted me during the very chilly mornings.
While waiting for the 4.30 [meditation] bell to ring, I came to really enjoy walking up and down the walking path, glancing up at my old trusty autumn friend, the starry constellation – Orion.
The stars were so bright in the morning darkness; I remembered my forgotten appreciation for this, [the dark calm beautiful silence experienced] during my past ‘lives’ as paper boy and as a Soldier in the Army [Basic Training].

The morning meditation was the hardest, at first, as I found myself so tired that my body and mind just wanted to sleep. The slouching back and the bobbing head always snapped me out [of my slow sleep, that is] until torpor would over take me again.
This was my morning meditation; by 5.30 or 6.00 I began feeling [more energized and] ‘awake’ enough to actually practice.

Breakfast was such a Samkara [ref. as self realization of attachment] of pleasurable craving! Hot cereal, warm sweet rice, hot chai, fresh fruit… these are already good as a breakfast, but when one hasn’t eaten dinner, breakfast [becomes the literal term and] turns into a much needed feast.

The break times after the meals were also comforting. Sitting for about 10hours a day, in the beginning, really [hurts and] brings a lot of pain; causing me to wonder what good the cushions do. These breaks not only allowed us to have time to our selves, but to also rest our legs.
Never in my experiences in playing soccer or in Basic Training, have I felt pain like the pain I felt in this course.
My knees, calves, ankles, and lower hip joints all felt as if they had hot knives thrust upon them. Surprisingly, with each nights rest and the 15minute breaks, the leg pains would subside and overtime, almost strengthen the legs… This is important later.

For the first three days we were instructed to, by the old [audio] tape recordings of Goenka, to focus on the breathing, Anapana Sati; the awareness of the [breathing] sensations from the nostrils on upper lip.
This was easy at first since I’ve practiced [meditation of focusing on the breath], but the challenge arose when I realized that wasn’t able to practice other [meditation] techniques as I have become accustomed to doing; 10hours of nothing but the breath. Samkara of aversion arising…

The reason one focuses on the breath, is to learn [and develop an awareness], through direct experience, the changing thoughts that arise, the changing sensations on the nose, and the different ways one naturally breathes.

Changing, always changing; Anicca.

The breath is such a neutral bodily experience, something we have to do to live, something we do [and are often] completely unaware of, and something that is with us, until we die.
Training the mind to focus and to become calm, all by learning from something [that is] so simple and that is always with us, is comforting to me… even now.

By the end of the third day I had become very aware of the arising and passing of [all of the enormous] itches, pulsing twitches, cool inhalations, and warm exhalations [happening around my nose and upper lip].
Vipassana is taught by using the ability to focus on different parts of the body to see what comes and goes, slowly scanning bit by bit.

The sensations that arise, good or bad/pleasurable or painful, get noticed as the mind scans parts of the body; [learning] not to react, judge, or bring craving or aversion into the picture (samkara) is the real practice.
Thoughts are also worked on the same way. I think this area or part of the meditation [practice] is by far the most challenging. All through this trip my mind has developed thoughts of worried doubts which caused stress through angst and fear.

[I laugh as I remember my experiences worrying about the train ticket while in Nepal and Gorakhpur.]

The idea of facing and understanding my thoughts, or just being able to see how the deeply rooted memories of the past can bring up feelings of craving or aversion [is a very challenging thing for me to do].
Generally there are two types of thoughts; thoughts of the future (fantasies), or thoughts of the past (memories, real or exaggerated). The mind doesn’t seem to enjoy being in the present, very much.

My mind seemed to have ordered premium cable as every time my mind wandered, it would be on a new channel of the ‘this is your life’ network.
Whenever a new channel would come on, the idea would be to catch the thought and to compassionately bring the attention back to the breath; often I would be pretty good at bringing it back right away, other times I would have gone through 3 or 4 channels before realizing my monkey mind had swung away.
One channel that kept stubbornly coming back was the relationship channel; the fights, the happiness, the intimate moments, the insecurities… of every girlfriend.

At first, it felt just like all of the other thoughts that would arise, but I began to struggle trying to return my attention to the breath… it was just too much.
I began having dreams… Frustration began developing.
It began to become more and more apparent that I was handling this thought pattern with such aversion.
Admitting a part of it was me not wanting the intimate memories to be played in my mind while I was meditating.
After realizing that I was avoiding the present and fighting the built up overly dramatized memories that were causing me to suffer, I did something different ‘crazy’, I allowed the thoughts to just play out.

What happened next was pretty interesting as I was immediately put into a deep stage of access concentration, a level in meditation of total awareness; I found fear was the root cause behind these memories, fear of the emotional harm caused by clinging to each relationship only to feel abandoned; the guilt that followed due to feeling like I had done something wrong in each [relationship] and feeling that I wasn’t deserving of true happiness.
This channel was showing me something that I’ve buried and avoided for such a long time.

With each breath of calmness, I applied the idea of impermanence of all things, anicca; with compassion, I allowed the fear to arise and to pass.
This channel no longer appeared the remainder of the course and hasn’t since I’ve come to face it, one week ago.

The experience and insight I’ve gone through cannot be put fully into words. The only thing I can say is that when the course was completed, I had gained more of an understanding on how I relate to thoughts and sensations that are both pleasurable and aversive; [this does not mean that I am free of stress, but rather better equipped to handle it].
The leg pains were the steady reminder that physical pain and the aversion that is associated with it, also passes with awareness.

By day 4, the guys’ side of the Dhamma Hall had some of the most creative cushion layouts, as we started to figure out which way to sit that brought the least amount of physical pain, based on each of our direct experience with it, paññā at its best.
When it boils down to it, the direct experience of wisdom is what makes morality and discipline work; these make up sīla, samadhi, and paññā, the three categories of the 8-fold path.

On the morning of the 10th day, the noble silence was lifted. The camaraderie, having gone through and (seeing everyone else) persistently making the effort and getting by, was silently formed over the course and was well vocalized with the shouts of ‘congratulations!’ to one another, the moment we stepped out of the Dhamma Hall. This was followed by sharing our individual experiences, often discovering and laughing at how similar our challenging mental experiences were.

We all felt different. This, considering most of the guys had little to no experience with meditation or with Buddhist philosophy.
I found myself explaining what the Brahmavihāras are all about, after the very brief closing Metta meditation.

We were later shown the documentary, Doing Time, Doing Vipassana, a film I had heard so much about [which was heavily influential to the program developed for the film The Dhamma Brothers], showing how Vipassana was introduced as a way of rehabilitation in a maximum security prison in New Delhi, and the impacts it had on the guards and inmates.
There was something so powerful about seeing the two ‘opposite sides’ [militant guards and hardened inmates] embracing [after the course]; a method of true rehabilitation being applied to a system, which in my opinion, is full of flaws… You cannot heal or expect to reform by using tactics of hatred and enforced fear.

The remaining time was spent sharing where everyone was off to next, rejoicing over the announcement of Obama’s election victory, and trading contact information which got some to continue talking about where they were from and how long they have been on the road.
I particularly enjoyed talking with the guys from Japan, [Aki and Yoshi] as they were so curious about NYC. [We bonded about how we grew up playing rockman (Mega Man) as children, and how we are fans of the indie punk band from Japan, Thee Michelle Gun Elephant].

[After gathering for a quick photo, we all said our farewells.]
I extended the offer to all of the guys that if they are ever in the states and stop in NYC, to look me up.

I shared an auto rickshaw with Alyn, from Israel, and the guy [who I can’t remember his name, sorry!] from Switzerland, back to Bodh Gaya.
I got to practice my Hindi on the driver as I confirmed the price for the ride for the three of us, ‘Bis, Bis, Bis! (20, 20, 20!)’

[The ride back into town was so surreal. Having been isolated from the world for the past 10days, I was back in India. The morning calmness combined with the breeze of speeding down the main road, I had no worries, no anticipation, and no angst of catching the departing train that was to take me back to New Delhi. I felt happy.]

Upon exiting the tuk tuk, I heard the shout of, ‘Hello Brother!’ turning around to see Nikesh; he was heading to the bank.
I told him that I would meet him at the school later. It was good to see him again.

I said my final farewells to my ‘Dhamma Brothers’ as we all went on our separate ways.
I made my way back to the Deep Guest House to drop off my rucksack and decided to go back to the Mahabodhi Temple to pay my final respects; I wanted to try to pick up some fallen Bodhi Tree leaves to give to Sam and Rachel, two people who have been such wise friends to me this past year… as I approached the temple grounds I remembered how expectation does not bring happiness, [if I get them, I get them.
While I was circumambulating around the temple, a large leaf dropped from the towering tree, right in front of me. Bending down I caught from the corner of my eye, several hopeful practitioners suddenly racing towards the leaf, only to stop in their tracks as soon as I picked the leathery brown leaf, from the ground; smiling, I carefully slid the leaf into my saddle bag.
After my walking meditation, I decided to do a brief sitting Metta meditation. When I opened my eye I saw lying in my lap was a much smaller, tiny leaf.]

Walking through Bodh Gaya, I felt different; I can’t really describe it, but I felt un-phased by the quacking horns of motorcycles, the stands selling would-be holy trinkets and Mahabodhi Temple snow globes, the goats, the chickens, and the cows…
It wasn’t that those things bothered me at all before but it was like I was detached from everything around me.
Perhaps I have gotten so used to the life in Bodh Gaya, that it was truly time to leave.

As I walked up the steps to Ao Zora, I was noticed and greeted by the lady landlord who ran the store in front. I walked through the curtains and suddenly the attention of tiny little eyes were fixed on me, and with a loud chorus of piercing off beat shouts, I was welcomed.

‘GOOD MORNING!’

Tinku greeted me, smiling, asking me how my meditation course went. Understanding that my presence was causing an excited distraction with the younger classes, I followed Tinku upstairs to say hello to the other classes and settling in on the classes 4 and 5’s math lesson, being taught by Vinod.
The older kid’s attention were much more focused on the word problems being written in Hindi, where as my attention was fixed on observing how different they looked; all the ‘Ao Zora Boys’ had all gotten haircuts!

While my return visit to the school was incredibly short, it was so good to be able to see all the kids, one last time.

A meeting was held between me, Nikesh, and a local lawyer, whom was able to give advice and hear the plans on having a potential project started with EWB.
If Nikesh is able to procure land and set up the bank accounts [while getting Ao Zora approved by the Indian Government as an NGO] I think the project can happen…

The meeting concluded when we were all in agreement on how they would proceed and that they would keep me updated.
The meeting had also run a little longer than planned, as both the lawyer and Nikesh realized that my train departure time was rapidly approaching.

Nikesh quickly gathered all the ‘boys’ and I found myself suddenly surrounded. The ‘boys’ each gave me good-bye cards, orange construction paper covered in googly eyes and crayon writing… the supplies I had brought, that were a gift from me and friends from NYC, were used to make the emotional confessions of each brilliant boy.

Two bright orange flower leis were placed around my neck. Suddenly I found myself in a shower of flower pedals, being pelted by all the children, as cries of ‘Thank you!’ and ‘Good-bye!’ filled the air, followed by hugs and flashes from the camera.

It was a happy moment.
When I left the school to head to the Vipassana Course, I was choked up and had teary eyes as I said good-bye, one by one. This time felt much different, no sadness, only happiness-knowing… seeing how much I had helped, and feeling the energy of love and gratitude.

This truly happy moment will be with me, the rest of my life.

I said good-bye and thanked Tinku, Mukesh, and Vinod, hugging each one, and then climbing into my waiting transport. Picking up my rucksack from the Deep Guest House and placing it into the back of the auto rickshaw, Nikesh and Amid began expressing to the driver and his ‘co-pilot’ how they MUST get me to the Gaya Junction Rail Station on time, as the rickety metal chariot sped off quickly, leaving a dusty Bodh Gaya behind us.

Sitting in between my two friends, I could tell they were definitely nervous, as each took turns checking their mobiles to see the time.
It was almost humorous to observe how their mission became to worry about my potentially missed train; they began yelling at cyclists who were in the Tuk Tuks way, the passing cows, and eventually at one another, as Amid’s mobile revealed to be 3minutes ahead of Nikesh’s mobile.

The whole ride I gripped tightly to the piped roof frame as we barreled down the tiny and windy village roads. Not once did angst arise, nor did any fear, anger, or panic. Only calmness, attributed to my recent experience, allowed me to see that freaking out, as my friends were doing, wasn’t going to get me to the station any faster.

If I missed the train, I missed the train; one extra day with my friends in Bodh Gaya! Right?

Another part of me had to also laugh at how much I had changed from my experience on this trip. I think I would have been right there with Amid and Nikesh, arguing as to who’s mobile has the correct time, or who can shout at people in our way the loudest.

I also understood that Nikesh, being the gracious host, felt as if it was his responsibility of getting me onto that train. He also felt like it was his fault that the meeting had gone on much longer than expected.

I’ve been in his shoes before.

I leaned over, putting my arm around him, and thanked him for being such a good friend; assuring him that we’d be OK and that it was I who was leaving, not him.
He smiled and calmly said, ‘thank you, Brother.’

We made it to the crowded station with 6minutes left to spare. I strapped on my rucksack and followed Nikesh, who had taken off racing up the long stair overpass and back down to the platform through the sea of travelers, when he suddenly stopped.
The train was an hour late.

India Time! [Oh, how I have forgotten about India Time! Trains never leave or arrive on time!] You have to add time onto any timetable.

[Amid eventually caught up and found us on the crowded platform.] With the pressure off their shoulders, it was really good to hang out and to be able to spend the final moments laughing with my friends; that really meant a lot to me, to be able remember them happy…

As the train slowly approached, the platform became a frenzy of people pushing their way to board the train, all at once.
I embraced Nikesh and Amid, thanking them for being my friends, and said good-bye.

Exhausted, I climbed up onto my bunk and passed out.

(Where Is My Mind? - The Pixies)

I Stand Corrected.

2009-05-02T14:16:00.004-04:00

[The tattered Diwali string that has been on my left wrist, has been removed.]

31Oct2008

Today marked the return of regular classes at Ao Zora and my last-full day of volunteering.
Immediately entering the school this morning, a different vibe could be felt; there were new curious eyes on me as walked through the curtains and towards the stairs.
The Boys were all upstairs, dressed in light blue button up shirts and royal blue pants, kind of like uniforms, a more formal ‘changed’ look…
Well not all the Boys; lil’ Suraj was still wearing his favorite “New York” t-shirt, the same one he’s been wearing all week.

I saw Nikesh as I went downstairs; he looked exhausted.
I sympathetically laughed as I too felt exhausted; waking up to the local rooster and looking at the alarm clock and realizing that I had over slept by 15min.

I assisted Mukesh in teaching his class, the youngest group of students.
Having no idea how to teach [an official] class, I decided to take it step by step [using what I had learned from the past week], starting by introducing myself, in Hindi.
‘GOOD MORNING BROTHER!!!!!!!!!’

‘Good Morning… ummm…Namaskar! Mera Naam Victor Hai.’

‘MERA NAAM…!!!!!!’
The rest was flooded by a sea of little children’s names being shouted at me all at once…

Laughing, I turned to the blank white board.
Cold and blank.

I turned back to the class, all the blinking little eyes locked on me, wondering what I was going to say or do, next.
I was wondering, too…
Then, I remembered the songs I loved when I was their age…
[Writing out the lyrics on the whiteboard, we sang] Twinkle, Twinkle; Mary Had A Little Lamb; and the Alphabet Song.
I think it went over pretty well. I wrapped things up with basic rhyming lessons, [which got all the little girls and boys laughing].

Handing the marker back to Mukesh, I said goodbye to his class and decided to check out Vinod’s class; he was teaching math to a much smaller audience in the highest/most advanced class. Observing the way he was teaching, the way all of the [teachers] taught and spoke to the students, there is much more of a sincere caring and respectful mannerism, present.
[Vinod asked if I would like to have a go at teaching the math class, and while a part of me now wishes that I had, I opted to not interrupt the lesson plan and just observed how quickly each student was able to solve for “x”, hidden within the long division problems written on the whiteboard.]

Nikesh popped his head and asked me come with him.
We walked outside and he told me that he wanted to bring me to another school [located] near the Sujata Village. [We hopped on the motorcycle and off we went.]
The school had a much noticeably different atmosphere. It was quieter and felt less welcoming, compared to Ao Zora. We went into one class and Nikesh ‘handed me the mic’.
I reenacted the first part of my routine from Mukesh’s class.

The next class we went into was a bit more chaotic. I tried repeating my routine but was cut-off by the teacher and Nikesh [when the small crowded classroom gradually became full of soft whispers and side conversations.]
The students were asked to read their work books out loud, [as the two teachers stepped out of the class, leaving me to the chorus of piercing loud, high pitched, inaudible voices.] The problem at hand was due to the fact that the students were not on the same page… literally. Each child was reading [as loud as possible] something completely different.

Nikesh explained to me how Ao Zora has been trying to help this school out, by providing them with spare work books and supplies. His plan is to develop a partnership of sorts, for the future, which lead to his concern of Ao Zora’s current rented location; while being ideally situated near the bridge, the fact that they have to pay a monthly rent does not allow for much growth.
I’ll admit two things:

I did not like how the teachers handled the school, especially when compared to how Ao Zora is run. I understand his desire to want to offer guidance and support to them.
I have not told Nikesh about Engineers Without Borders, yet. He has expressed interest in building a school and re-locating Ao Zora, but without the assistance of a local NGO assisting them, I’m not sure how they would be able to organize both the planning and the teaching at the same time. When I do let him know about EWB, I will need to approach him with Right Speech and Right Action; keeping the intention of helping through the EWB guidelines.

I guess the first part is also contributing to part two. It’s not that I don’t want to encourage Ao Zora to help the other school, rather the opposite.
My concern is more of the feeling that if Ao Zora tries [to assist] too much and the other school isn’t ready for the changes, or worse, that after all the invested effort that the school does not progress or move forward, it could hold Ao Zora back or prevent Nikesh from focusing on his plans for the possible relocation.

Jeeze my thoughts are full of judgment.
Just the thing I need to think about before entering 10 ½ days of silent meditation.
I know it's not my decision; Nikesh is a very bright and compassionate person. He is so great for hearing me out, and I'm so very grateful for him sharing with me his heart's desires.
I will talk to him tomorrow about EWB...

I was very happy when I returned to Ao Zora; I helped out with the last 10minutes of class before school was officially released for the day.

Having lunch with the boys for the last time today was a bit sad. They’re so incredible, all of them; each with so much spirit and personality.
We spent the late afternoon playing cricket, followed by a brief demonstration of Baseball for Tinku.

Nikesh and I went to Amid’s home, next door to the school, to visit his daughter; her condition is definitely related to a dysfunction in the brain, possibly impacted by the seizures she has suffered, as noted on the medical reports.
[The little girl was lying on the family bed, starring up at the ceiling. She was conscious and present, but as I leaned over to make eye contact, she looked through me as if I were not there. Squirming, ever so slightly, Amid’s Wife lifted her daughter’s head up to feed her crackers.
Amid looked at me and explained how he has brought her to every big city hospital through out India, looking for answers as to what happened to his daughter.]
He does not know what else to do.
I asked Amid to make copies of his daughter’s medical report, explaining that the only thing I can do is to pass it around to generate awareness, perhaps someone else may be able to offer advice.

[I have scanned the report: http://www.slideshare.net/rotciv97/med-report-scan
it is a bit difficult to understand, but if you can offer any advice, please contact me. Thank you.]

I have packed up most of my things and as I look around at my empty room, I can’t help but express how grateful I am to be on this trip.
The fear and concern of the Vipassana Meditation retreat has not really been present, until now. I know it will be full of challenges and I will try to meet each challenge that arises, with a humble compassionate approach, much like I have with every experience I’ve encountered so far on this trip.

The next time I write in here, we will have a new elected President.

Happy Halloween.

(I Stand Corrected - Vampire Weekend)

The Blankets Were the Stairs.

2009-03-25T00:55:00.006-04:00

[The following is an excerpt from an e-mail from my good friend,Val.
Wed, Aug 6, 2008 at 11:17 AM

“Every little girl needs a doll (or two!)
:-)”

“more like, every KID needs a doll. :P
heh. I remember when my mom called my he-man ACTION figures, the 'D-word', I started crying.”

“It's true---I was going to write, "And every boy needs ACTION FIGURES!" But I was too lazy…
i can't wait to buy the girls dolls...I'm such a Aunt! Ha!”

Thank you, Val. I will always love you for your compassion.]

30Oct2008

The rooster that has served as my alarm clock for the past week was out done this morning by the distorted blaring music from the private courtyard, echoing into my room through the bathroom window; I don’t think it would have been possible for me to sleep in, even if accidentally.
My morning routine of eating breakfast at the Pole-Pole, taking my vitamins and malaria pills, returning to my room to brush my teeth, and heading off to the school was slightly modified.

I wasn’t going to the school this morning.

Nikesh and Vinod strolled up to the steps of The Deep Guest House, where I sat waiting for them; we were going to go visit Rajani and Vinod’s younger sister, Baby.
Since receiving news of their injuries, I have been trying, to the best of my abilities, to not be full of grief and sadness.
While not fully understanding how it had happened, I was able to generate awareness back home and send money from Dharma Punx to Nikesh to help where we could. I was kept updated by periodic photos sent to me by Nikesh.

[http://www.flickr.com/photos/sheythevic/sets/72157606425162055/]

With the two baby dolls that Val had given to me to deliver to the girls, patiently packed away in my saddlebag, Nikesh explained to me in greater detail how the accident had happened, as we walked down the back alleyways of Bodh Gaya… away from the bustling touristy streets.

It was a normal damp humid morning in July when the two little girls, Baby and Rajani, were walking to school; a sagging over hang (unshielded) electrical power line snapped, dropping directly right on top of them.
Rajani suffered electrical burns on her back, right arm and legs while Baby was burned on her hands.
Due to the lack of proper treatment available in Gaya, by the time Nikesh was able to get them to Patna, the capital of Bihar, Baby’s condition had worsened and the Doctors were unable to save several of her fingers.

[Rajani and Baby, being students of the Ao Zora School, have families of their own. Because their families did not have the money needed for their treatment, Nikesh and the Ao Zora staff stepped in and decided they needed to use donated money meant for the school, to help the two girls get the medical attention they desperately needed; Dharma Punx NYC responded immediately, sending donations.]

If it were not for the care and support of their families and the Ao Zora staff, the two girls would have suffered much more.

Arriving at Baby’s house, I met her mother and family and then, Baby, herself. We sat on the family bed, as I presented her with the Blue Doll. Her shy demeanor could not hold back the huge smile that appeared on her face, the unexpected gift had made her very happy.

Her mother brought in small glasses of steaming hot chai and handed Vinod a platter of Diwali treats and biscuits; the tiny room became very crowded as neighboring children had gotten wind of a visitor who had brought a present.
Baby emulated the mannerisms of a loving mother and showed off the proud infant doll that she held carefully in her arms, to all of her friends.

It was Baby’s baby.

I explained to her how happy we all are to know that she was safe and getting better.
She had been out of school since the accident and missed learning so much. She told me that Math was her favorite subject; another smile appeared when I shared with her that I too, love math.
After several photoshots, I hugged Baby and said goodbye.

Nikesh led us back to the alleyway, only to walk through the adjacent door… Rajani and Baby were neighbors.

With the cleaner, more spacious open roofed area of the house, Rajani’s family was noticeably more wealthy than Baby’s. Colorful hand painted flowers covered portions of the walls, reflecting the family’s happiness.

Much like before, Nikesh and I were greeted with Diwali treats and waiting cups of hot chai.

I still sort of regret having eaten breakfast at the Pole Pole this morning…

Hanging out with Rajani was a completely different experience. She seemed much more timid, but it also felt somewhat coy; the vibe of the conversation felt forced. Perhaps she just didn’t know what to say…

[I mean, what do you say?

“oh golly gee willikers, thanks for the doll! You know, I almost died.”
My self-judgmental thoughts began playing its own alternate scenario of how things were playing out by filling in for the narrative of Rajani.]

I pulled out the lone Doll, which I imagined was waiting eagerly in my bag, and handed it to Rajani as Nikesh translated and explained who I was.
She turned and smiled, thanking me but then handed it to her two younger sisters, who both seemed more interested in my visit to their home.

[Rajani didn’t owe me anything.]

Heading back to Ao Zora, I began to feel like I had some form of closure…
Even now, as I sit here reflecting back on the day, I feel extremely grateful that I was given the opportunity to be able to meet the both of them and see first hand, their proud reclamation of their lives.

On with the rest of the day…

We played Cricket and some more Baseball again. The boys were still in awe of the Homerun I hit last night and were asking if I could show them how to hit Homeruns, every time.

Hilarious, especially since I too was still in awe of how ‘perfectly’ it had connected.

I’m definitely starting to get the hang of Cricket. I’m hoping that they understand my explanations of Baseball; they at least physically know the difference of the two games.

I brought my Journal with me to the school and had asked Santosh and Lakshman to help me write down all the Hindi they had taught me.

“Brother! Ap ka naam kya hai?” [What is your name?]
“Mera naam Victor hai.” [My Name is Victor.]

“Brother, Ap ka kitna sal ho raha hai?” [How old are you?]
“Mera untis sal ho rahha hai.” [My age is 29 years old.]

It was so easy to learn from them; their patience and persistence gave me the confidence to continue trying until I got it right.
I asked the two of them if they could help me out with the proper spelling of everyone’s name, insuring me that I will always remember them.

In the evening, I helped Santosh and Arvind with their Math homework. The electricity was still on which meant it was early, but dark enough that the mosquitoes were now out and about.
Nikesh’s brother, Mukesh, came over and asked for me to meet him outside to bring lil’ Suraj with me. Rather confused and uncertain of what was going on, I found Suraj upstairs, already wearing his pink-corduroy jacket, and told him that Mukesh wanted to see us outside.
We walked out and saw Mukesh sitting on Tinku’s HondaHero Motorcycle, motioning to me with a cool head nod, to hop on…
Carefully maneuvering through the windy Sujatta Village streets, we arrived to a brightly lit intersection – a crowded area with music blaring through the insect flying night sky… so many large grasshoppers clinging and fluttering around all the fluorescent lights.

Nikesh and Mukesh’s parents were having everyone from the school come over to celebrate the quieter family night of Diwali.
I met Nikesh’s father last night, but tonight I was introduced to the rest of his family - his mother, and two older sisters.
Suraj and I climbed off the motorcycle and were welcomed into the dimly lit house; it was an honor to eat dinner at their home.

The rest of the boys from the school began trickling in waves, via the motorcycle school bus.
Amit showed up and handed me a much needed bottle of water.

[Suraj and I thanked Nikesh’s family and stepped outside to make room for the next group of dinner guests; across the way stood a large tent, housing a large statue of Lakshmi.
Pulling my hand, Suraj led me through the crowd to see what was going on.
Next to the tent stood a TV that looked like it was wheeled out from a High School AV room, hooked up to several large PA Speaker sets.
Without blinking or looking away, lil’ Suraj managed to explain to me that the high pitched musical we were all watching was about the story of Diwali. Needless to say, I was thoroughly confused.]

Tinku came over and told us that Amit would take Suraj and I back to Ao Zora.

Amit, the neighbor to the Ao Zora School and friend to Nikesh has given me the kindest welcome of all the non-Ao Zora staff; he’s a very down to earth guy.
Giving Nikesh and I a breezy motorcycle ride back to the Deep Guest House, he shared with me the unfortunate condition that his daughter has developed and how all the Doctors do not think there is anything that can be done.
Nikesh asked if it would be possible to ask any U.S. Doctors what they would recommend; I agreed.

Tomorrow, the classes of the Ao Zora School start back up; the kids are eagerly awaiting the return to learning.

(The Blankets Were the Stairs - Sunny Day Real Estate)

My Willow Tree.

2009-02-16T22:15:00.007-05:00

29Oct2008

It’s funny as I sit in my room with my rucksack completely emptied, all my clothes either spread out on the extra bed or hanging up to dry on the clothes line, I recall a concern that I had months ago where I envisioned myself being trapped in my room at night with nothing to do.

The doors of the Deep Guest House lock at 9:30, and despite not being able to really wander around alone at night, I don’t feel that I am a prisoner in my room at all.
Of course there have been times on this trip where the mini waiting game would play out, the reality of the combination of writing in the journal every night with managing to squeeze in time for reading, playing Sudoku, and meditating, the few moments really of down time that I have are very much welcomed.

In all honesty, I’m just exhausted from the amazing events from each day… even writing in this journal has become very challenging at times as all I want to do is just crash.

I bumped into Mukesh again on the Sujata Bridge, this morning. Biking into Ao Zora, the boys appear to have become used to my morning arrivals, shouting from the balcony ‘Good morning, Brother!’ as soon as they see me approach.

Today was sports day.
Vinod and I got most of the boys out to play a game of soccer, while some of the others just watched on the side lines, tossing around a beat up nerf football-rocket.
The games were abruptly halted, when out of the brush, a small kitten came marching through the dusty field and began rolling around in the sandy dust bowl.
Immediately all the younger boys rushed over and crowded around the tiny skinny animal.
They all lovingly took turns petting the billi while attempting to communicate with it through their chorus of high pitched-squeaking ‘meows!’
Naturally the billi wasn’t interested in making friends and decided it was time to leave, almost as if it were late for an appointment.

With all the stray dogs in India, it’s a wonder that there are cats at all… Vinod and I quickly noticed that the commotion from the children had alerted and gained the attention of several dogs, each with their heads low, fixated on the cat.

Vinod caught up with the small animal, scooping the billi up in one hand, rescuing it from marching into unseen danger. He crossed the field, towards a neighboring fenced property, and placed the cat down.

Game on.

Apparently the kitten had an adventurous death wish, it came crossing out into our field again; it was determined to continue its initial trajectory as each time we carried it away, it would walk back out, often getting the attention of a few more dogs in the process.

Dinesh came running out with a piece of left over Roti and shoved it in the kitten’s face. The tiny animal quickly began gnawing on the flat bread.
Huh… never would have thought of that…

The boys decided that the cat was more fun and interesting than the games as they all rushed back into the school carrying their new friend, thus ending sports day.

I asked Mukesh if they had anything special lined up for the day; I figured I could duck out for a few hours and run some errands.

The electricity was running so I decided to go to the internet center across from the Deep Guest House.
Nikesh has allowed me to borrow his Digital Camera; my first task was to transfer all the pictures from the past two days onto my flash drive. Since I was there, I decided to write an e-mail to everyone, wishing them all a ‘Happy Diwali’ and give them all an update on how I’ve been doing. I attached a photo of me setting off some firecrackers and another one of me with some of the boys. It felt really good to say hello to friends and to read new replies still arriving from my first e-mail.

The second task was to cash some Traveler's cheques; it seemed like a perfect time as any to get the money to pay for my week long stay at the Deep Guest House. I found a nice book store near the Mahabodhi Temple that cashed cheques.

This was convenient, as it was the first time during this trip to Bodh Gaya where I have been close enough to the Mahabodhi Temple… and that’s where I wanted to go to next.

Entering the grounds was just as I had remembered it; there is a still calmness that can be felt in the air, combined with the cold step of the marble ground from walking in your socks.
While it was important and satisfying that I was there, I find it rather interesting that I did not experience the nostalgic energetic rush that I felt in Sarnath.
Maybe it’s because my stop in Sarnath was so last minute and unexpected, or that the shock value of being in a returned setting has started to wear off.

I don’t know.

I paid my respects; bowing three times to the large golden encased statue of the Buddha, housed in the temple, circumambulating the pyramid temple three times, as well as sitting beneath the shade of the Bodhi Tree where Sid had sat.
I felt so far from Brooklyn…
More so, I felt so far away from the noisy horns, the loudness of people, and the smell of cows… I felt so far from India.

After eating lunch, I headed back to Ao Zora.

Prior to leaving, I noticed that ‘Tiger’, the unofficial school-mascot/guard-dog, had taken an interest in the new animal friend that the kids were protecting; I wondered what type of chaos that might have ensued during my absence, as I walked across the long sandy Sujata Bridge.

When I got back, I was asked if I could give a lesson on English and Grammar.
It was odd; never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that I’d be teaching English. It was a very different experience from yesterday’s botched-Reading class-attempt, partially due to the fact that I had everyone’s attention, even that of Tinku, Mukesh, and Vinod.

Standing at the blank white board, I had no idea what to talk about…

One of my biggest pet peeves has always been how so many Americans screw up the proper spellings of “your/you’re” and “there/their/they’re”… and I’m not being a snob, it’s just annoying.
So I decided to teach them about contractions, punctuation, and the importance understanding homophones.

Laughter erupted as I explained,
“You’re Kids… this is very different from YOUR Kids! Dinesh, do you have kids?”

After the lesson was over, Tinku congratulated me for a job well done. The two of us some how got talking about the game Cricket, and how in the US, we don’t play it, but rather Baseball.
He asked me if I could explain to him how Baseball was played; picking up the dry erase marker, I began drawing the diamond, explaining the positions and how the game is played, who the Redsox and who the Yankees are, and how the ‘world series’ doesn’t actually involve the world… obviously he was confused.
I asked him if he could explain Cricket to me.
Tinku made me promise that he would teach me how to play Cricket in exchange for a game of Baseball. Agreeing to him, as some of the boys began tugging on me to follow them; the boys swooped up the cat and brought it upstairs.
I walked up onto the roof just in time to see them offering the scrawny animal, rice.

Suddenly Dinesh came running out of one of the classrooms, giggling, throwing to the floor, a mouse. The small cat was no longer hungry for Roti or Rice, as its eyes widened and it immediately went into hunting mode.
The cat pounced on the scurrying mouse, caught it, and ran off in to a classroom to eat it.
Watching the kids cheering on the cat and laugh at the death of the mouse was a bit disturbing.

They noticed I didn’t share in their joy.

Almost as if to break the uncomfortable silence, tiny shouts from Santosh, downstairs echoed up, “Brother? Brother? Let’s play Cricket! Brother?”
Sports Day was continued, as they taught me how to play Cricket.
Oh, what a fun game!

After the game, I decided to show them how to hit the ball, “Baseball style”, but instead of using the Cricket Bat, I yanked up out of the ground, one of the wooden stumps. They all laughed at the way I held it over my shoulder.
I instructed Santosh to throw the beat up tennis ball towards me, without running or bouncing it on the ground. Miraculously, on the first pitch, I hit the ball out of the dirt field, all the laughing suddenly ceased and quickly turned into astonished gasps.

“Home Run!”

I dropped the stump and began trotting through the dust bowl, around my imaginary diamond, returning to ‘home plate’ as the coolest kid in town.

(My Willow Tree - Alton Ellis)

What a Little Moonlight Can Do.

2009-02-02T23:16:00.005-05:00

28Oct2008

Holy Crap. Diwali is freaking awesome.

I’m kind of struggling at the moment to remember what else I did today… other than set off fire crackers and eat sweets…
The ringing in my ears from all the loud pops and bangs is going to be with me for a few days.

Last night I started washing some laundry by hand. I’ve strung up a little clothes line with the twine I brought.

The kids were very happy to see me this morning, as I rode up peddling on the rickety school bicycle with Mukesh on the back; trying to steer and keep balance with someone riding on the ‘backseat’ is a lot harder than all the locals make it out to look.

Nikesh suggested last night that I try teaching or helping the boys with their English, today.
Not knowing how to teach an English class, I asked them to open their work books for a lesson on reading comprehension; I remembered how much I hated these classes as a kid.
I noticed right away that most of them began expressing similar feelings; they weren’t interested at all as they quickly got up and left with all but 3-kids remaining…

Talk about utter failure!
To make things worse, I began feeling like the three that did stay, just wanted to hear me read to them a story.

The three boys began shouting out the answers to the questions before I was even finished with the question… while I was happy that the boys were answering the questions correctly something seemed off.
It quickly became apparent that the reason the others had left was because they had heard and read the same stories over and over again, doing these lessons so many times that they had even memorized the answers to their workbook questions.

They were bored.

Catching on to their ‘game’, I decided to mix it up a little bit and started asking new comprehension questions; their confused little faces all looking up at me, ‘what did the Piped Piper do when the Villagers refused to pay him?’

Silence.

‘he got made fun of… and was mad!’
‘they didn’t pay him!’
‘he played his flute and stole the babies and kids’

A crowd started to gather again as tiny arms started to rise with questions and eager answers. After running out of new comprehension questions for them, I decided to interject a vocabulary lesson by asking them if they knew what some of the key words, from the story, meant.
I think every English teacher that I have ever had, would have been proud of me at that moment.

After lunch, two boys, Santosh and Lakshaman taught me how to count to 10, and then to 100 by tens, in Hindi:

One = Ick
Two = Doe
Three = Tin
Four = Char
Five = Panch
Six = Chhao
Seven = Saat
Eight = Aat
Nine = Now
Ten = Deese

Twenty = Beese
Thirty = Teese
Fourty = Chaleese
Fifty = Pachas
Sixty = Sadh
Seventy = Sattar
Eighty = Assi
Ninety = Nabbe
Hundred = Sau

After an hour, I was proudly counting forward and backwards, and answering absurd questions…

‘brother, how many sweets will you eat tonight?’
‘Saat Sau! YUM, YUM!’

The three of us laughed hysterically with each silly response.

I am remembering what Nikesh had shared with me last night; I have to agree that after just two days with the boys, I’ve learned so much from them and am so very touched by the genuine happiness these kids have in life.

I’m very happy that I have been able to spend time with them while the school is on holiday; it’s giving me a chance to see what the Ao Zora School is really about.

Diwali tonight was much more formal than last night; tiny oil lamps were lit and placed along the edge of the building. The festivities started off on the roof with lots of fire crackers and sparklers, with everyone having so much fun.
It was later moved downstairs to where the Landlords held a small ceremony. All the kids and adults were singing songs as the Lady Landlord lit more oil lamps.
I had read last night, that the sisters are honored on one of the nights of Diwali. The Lady Landlord went around with a saffron powdered dye, marking each brother’s forehead.

I was a part of the family.
Vinod tied on my wrist, a red and white string. [I still have it on my wrist]

After the ceremonies, the sparklers and fire crackers were busted out again. Nikesh and Vinod brought out the humongous finale, which they insisted I light it.
It was beautiful… All of it.

I’m exhausted.
I don’t know how Nikesh and the rest of the staff do it… especially during the regular school year, 6day schedule.

(What a Little Moonlight Can Do - Billie Holiday)

Colors And The Kids.

2009-01-21T12:01:00.016-05:00

27Oct2008

With the sounds of lingering fire crackers echoing through the streets of Bodh Gaya, I can’t help but feel incredibly lucky and grateful to be celebrating Diwali with Nikesh and boys, while volunteering at the Ao Zora School.

Today was truly an awesome day.

Because of Diwali, the students are on holiday until Friday. The orphans living at the school are all boys, ranging from ages 5-14.
When I arrived this morning, I was asked if I could teach an arts and crafts class with the supplies I brought.

[Thank you to everyone who donated money for me to bring the supplies!]

Those kids are incredible… they’re all so talented at drawing and came up with the most creative ways to use the googly eyes!
Oh, and bringing pipe cleaners was such a good move, they love them!

After the morning of coloring and bending shaped bicycles/hearts/eye spectacles, I was asked to join them for lunch.

The kids gathered into a long room and sat on the floor in an elongated oval shape as food was brought in by a few of the boys. A plate of rice and dal, with aloo gobi, and poppodums, was placed in front of me. It smelled so good.

The boys began eating, mixing their food together with their tiny right hands, giggling at me and my fork. Throughout lunch, the kids continued to open up to me with their outgoing, yet curious, personalities.
While it was only the first day, I have started remembering their names based on their humorous personas… I’m horrible with names and I have 10 of them to learn.

We attempted to play a game of dust bowl soccer, but it naturally turned into a game of keep away when my tiny teammates found it funnier to try to take the ball away from me. I held my own for a good couple of minutes, as my former skills resurfaced long enough to show off some intense foot maneuvers, but I was quickly reminded how much energy kids have; my endurance eventually failed, I was no match for their little legs.

It was pretty hilarious…

The Fire Crackers were brought back from town by Tinku and Nikesh. Tonight signified the start of the Diwali festivities.
There is something truly hilarious about watching the teachers setting off fire crackers with the boys. The idea of the authority figures having fun, blowing things up with rascally boys, is just unheard of…

I definitely could not resist in partaking in the festivities, as we all began setting off bottle rockets, sparklers, m-80s, and what ever loud explosive that was pulled out of the bag. It was like being a kid again, without having to worry about getting busted by the cops.

Later in the evening, the kids started working on their math homework.
Holy crap, are these kids smart; most of them were doing multiplication, division, and square roots.
Arvind, the 14year old, was working on his algebra and geometry, in addition to his physics and biology… That kid is sharp as a tack.

Nikesh joined me in dinner tonight. His friend Amit, drove us to his friend’s new restaurant, via his sleek Hero Honda Motorcycle.
It was really good to be able to just talk and hang out with Nikesh.
I asked him questions on how it feels to be a teacher, he shared that he feels the students don’t learn half as much from him as he does from them. Working with children, he admits that it isn’t easy; he sees the impact he and his staff have made and feels the amount of joy and purpose they give to him, makes it all worth while…
He’s such a good guy and I am so very honored to call him my friend.

(Colors And The Kids - Cat Power)

Waiting Room.

2009-01-15T00:44:00.002-05:00

26Oct2008

Why is it that the act of waiting around for something to happen, can be the most difficult thing we do in life? I mean, physically it’s the easiest thing to do… you don’t do anything!
Mentally though, it’s completely different; even with a meditation practice, I still find myself struggling with the anticipation and the expectation of actions that have yet to happen… it’s torture.

In the Army, we had a constant saying, ‘hurry up and wait’. There would be many times spent rushing and preparing, getting our adrenaline pumped and ready, only to find out that we wouldn’t be mobilized or needed for another 6 hours. In Basic Training, this was a very powerful tactic the Drill Sergeants would use to break so many of us down mentally so that we would be ‘pliable’ and less resistant to their authority.

In the case of waiting for the train to arrive at The Mughal Sarai railway station, it was met with additional growing thoughts of doubt and uncertainty, as the hours ticked by. We arrived at the station early as we eagerly checked to see if the trains going into Bihar were running OK.
The departure/arrival board hanging in the large station hall seemed to show every train number except for our train - 2802.
I walked over to a crowded ticket window to see a white board propped up on a chair; the scribbled information was all in Hindi and while I couldn’t read what it said, I saw our train number and understood enough to figure that this board was updating everyone the status of the backed up trains. Our train 2802 was running and would be arriving on track platform-2, but it would be 3 hours late.

I just wanted to be in Bodh Gaya already.

It’s like all my patience, especially my practice, were thrown out the window.
I was very glad to have the company of Sigrid and Karla, as I was able to have somebody watch my bag while I ventured out to explore the rail station.

I found a Chai Wallah; sipping on the sweet morning chai, I reminded myself that trains never arrive on time in India.
How I had forgotten that!?
When one gets wrapped up in the narrative of their thoughts, they often forget the logic of life. I was making it about me…

I was the only one waiting at the crowded station… because I was the only one getting on the train… right?...

right.

The Ladies and I made our way to the crowded platform-2. Naturally, an additional hour was tacked onto the delay, just for good measure.

[It's funny as I transcribe this; I realize that I do not remember anything about the train ride... I remember that I had trouble finding my car and my berth, and that Karla and Sigrid were not in the same car as me.]

The Gaya Railway station looked completely different from how I remembered it looking… with my friends on that dark night over a year ago. As I made my way to the main entrance, I immediately recognized Nikesh.

Nikesh wasn’t at Ao Zora the night Sarah, Craig, Arleda and I went for that walk to the Sujata Stupa; the night we visited the school…
Upon returning to NYC, I received an e-mail from Nikesh, apologizing for his absence but thanking us for visiting the school.

That e-mail changed everything.

I asked the Dharma Punx Sangha if I could set up a donation box for the school, which would be left out in the vestibule; an online voting was held and a week later I found myself typing up a pamphlet, providing information about donating to the Ao Zora School.
Over the past year, Nikesh went from being a pen pal, as he continued to keep in touch with me, sending me updates and pictures of how the kids are doing; to being an admired friend, as I saw how much he believed in the school and how he would do anything for these kids.

That e-mail started something. I am back in India because of that e-mail…

Despite never having met face to face, it felt like we were old friends being reunited.
We embraced, laughing; smiles on both of our faces.
Meeting Nikesh for the first time was such an honor… by the expressive gratitude he showed, he felt the same way.

He had been waiting patiently at the station for my arrival with Tinku, one of the teachers at Ao Zora.

Tinku and Nikesh pulled out a bright orange flowered lei and placed it over my neck, welcoming me to Gaya.

I turned to my German travel companions and gave each of them hugs, thanking them… I said goodbye to Sigrid and Karla.

My new friends from Ao Zora procured an auto rickshaw, and we were off to Bodh Gaya! I showed Nikesh the mala beads, a gift he had asked Bryan to deliver to me, 6 months ago when he visited Ao Zora; he was so happy to see that I appreciated the gift.

They immediately began asking me questions about Obama and if I liked him, how the stock market and economy has affected me, what it is like living in New York City and how I enjoy my job… I felt so comfortable talking to the two of them as listened intently.
I asked Nikesh how the kids have been, particularly how Baby and Rajini are feeling; he explained to me how the whole accident had happened and how our donations had gone to getting the two girls the medical attention they needed.

Pulling into Bodh Gaya was great; similar to how it felt arriving in Sarnath, but without the sadness.

A part of my pre-trip anxiety was spent wondering how I would feel staying at the Deep Guest House again; Sarah and I started dating here.

Following Sunoch up to the 2nd floor, forgotten memories of seeing Jack’s boots, Nic’s shoes, and Sarah’s shoes next to mine, outside of our rooms, arose and faded as I walked by my empty old room; this is not why I am here.
I have things to do; having thoughts that are no longer harmful and just allowing them to come and go without trying to force them out, is so important. Controlling the thoughts can exasperate the state of the mind…
But thank goodness I’m not staying in that old room…

Dumping my rucksack on the extra bed, and grabbing the art supplies, I met Nikesh and Tinku outside and we began walking towards the school.
Crossing the long bridge over the dried out Falgu River, Nikesh’s brother, Mukesh, pulled up on a motorcycle. After quick introductions, Tinku took over the bike and asked me to climb on; Mukesh got on behind me and quickly the three of us sped off across the long sandy bridge.

Walking into the Ao Zora School this time was just as amazing as it was the first time.
The power was out and despite it being dark, the warmth of the kids quickly surrounding me was truly incredible.

(Waiting Room - Fugazi)

The Inefficiency Of Emotion.

2009-01-11T14:22:00.004-05:00

25Oct2008

It was a rainy morning, minutes prior to our imminent departure in the ‘tin-can-van’, I walked over to the small wooden stilted shop. The medical ‘tree-house’ situated next to the van, was the hang out of the three guys who were seated comfortably inside. I stopped to talk with them until it was time to depart, at which point I asked if I could take a picture of them.

That shot has become one of my favorite pictures that I’ve ever taken.

Last night, as I walked past the festivities on my way back to the Jain guest house, I saw a warm glow… the medical stand was still opened. I pulled out the picture out of my bag and held it up, trying to determine if either of the two men resting in their fort, were any of the guys in the picture.

Recognizing his eyes in the candle lit glow, I cautiously approached and said hello.

I told him of my last visit and how I took the picture, showing them both the photo, I pointed to one of the pictured men and asked if that was him.

The ‘Doctor’, as everyone calls him, studied the photo… suddenly a large smile appeared as he stared back at me.

If there is something so beautiful in life, that I feel is often overlooked, it’s the impact from being aware of ones’ intentions. It was easy for me to print these pictures and to bring them with me knowing that I was not planning to stop in Sarnath.

But also knowing how incredible the feeling would be if I did happen to cross paths again with these people; being able to thank them in person for allowing me to take these beautiful photos, that I have shared with the world.

Judging by his smile and the numerous ‘Thank you’-s that followed, I think I made his day.

…er, night.

I still feel good.

I reflect this as I lay in my room in the Hotel Saraswati in the distant town of Mughal Sarai.

The train to Gaya was canceled.

Munching on my morning stacks of buttered-jammed toast at the Jain Guest House, I was reading in the news paper, an article about recent student protests in Bihar that turned violent with the local authorities. Not quite understanding the whole conflict because I was jumping into the loop apparently 5days into the conflicts, I gathered something that had to do with unfair treatment of northern Indians, resulting in students shutting down the railway stations and setting fires to some of the trains, and Mumbai being the root of all the problems.

The article reported that service had been restored, yesterday.

[If you would like to read what the conflict was about, check out: http://www.indianexpress.com/news/mns-mayhem-students-set-ablaze-train-coaches-in-bihar/376584/]

Dr. Jain asked what time my train was scheduled to depart, he offered to give me a ride to Varanasi Junction, as he was picking up his visiting Daughter. It was so nice of him!

The car ride was full of inquisitive questions, asking me of my opinions on foreign (American) policies. I enjoyed talking to him very much as he had some very good opinions of his own.

Upon our arrival at Varanasi Junction, the distorted announcement came over the loudspeaker that several trains were canceled, mine being one of them.

In the midst of the quick crowded confusion, I regretfully parted ways with Dr. Jain without thanking him for his hospitality, as he asked me to follow his driver to the foreign ticket office in attempts to procure a new train reservation.

The tiny ticket office was guarded by a station officer; I was asked to show him my passport in order to enter.

I sat down in front of the desk that was manned by the solo ticket clerk on duty. The bulky old Hercules computer monitor told him that all trains into Bihar were canceled today; my e-ticket had been canceled and I would be refunded.

The next available train to Gaya would be departing tomorrow from another railway station, in the neighboring town of Mughal Sarai, but there was no guarantee that service would be restored by tomorrow.

I agreed to take the reservation for the train departing tomorrow; if the train gets canceled, I would just do this again…

Behind me in line and were two older women from Germany; they asked me what I had decided to do as they too were on their way to Gaya.

Rather quickly, the office began to fill up with tourists from all over; they were all affected by the Bihari train cancelations.

The lone clerk looked overwhelmed as questions and exclamations from the crowd begin to get louder and louder.

I found myself assisting the desperate clerk in answering the questions being barked out by the new arriving travelers, as to what had happened in Bihar and why the trains have been canceled, offering what I’ve chosen to do, and explaining why the clerk was saying that taking a bus at this time of day into Bihar might not be the best or safest idea…

“Long bumpy rides… not recommended to travel at night… Naxalites with machine guns…”

The story I’ve retold so many times, people’s heads began looking up and crowding around.

I have a feeling I helped the Indian Railway sell a lot of rescheduled train tickets… right speech? I don’t know.

The two German women told me that they had also reserved for the rescheduled train and that they were thinking of making the 17km trip out to Mughal Sarai, now, to scope out where the railway station was and if there were any hotels near by, and if I wanted to tag along. I was up for a little reconnaissance.

The Lonely Planet started to become nothing more than bulky paper weight on this trip; it listed nothing about Mughal Sarai. The auto rickshaw driver said there were no hotels in Mughal Sarai; finding it hard to believe, we asked him to take us to the railway station.

‘How much?’

‘200 rupees, station fixed price.’

Leaving Varanasi, the auto rickshaw ride out was a relaxing trip, passing by beautiful old structures as the scenery transitioned from the crowded slums to the rural farms.

The main road through Mughal Sarai was lined with shops and business alike, it was a much cleaner and quieter town than the likes of Varanasi.

We passed by a hotel and asked the driver to stop; with cat like agility, his co-pilot jumped out of the moving vehicle and immediately went into the building as the driver made a sharp left turn into the empty parking lot.

His companion returned almost too quickly and said, ‘no rooms’.

The three of us looked at one another to why they first said there were no hotels, and then why there were no vacancies in such a large hotel building.

When we arrived at the railway station, we asked the driver if he could inquire with the other tuk tuk drivers, for a recommended place to stay for the night. He parked his vehicle and got out. I followed.

I stood listening as he began speaking to a man in Hindi; a small crowd formed around us as a few people offered replies back.

He turned back to me saying that there wasn’t anything around.

‘What?’ Something didn’t feel right.

One of the ladies told him to go back the way we came as she had seen a sign for another hotel on the outbound side of the road.

We pulled over to the side of the road, and this time I jumped out first and walked down the alleyway into the hidden hotel.

I smiled and greeted the desk clerk, asking if he had any available rooms. He looked past me and began talking in Hindi to the co-pilot who had caught up with me.

The driver’s sidekick sheepishly told me that they had no rooms.

‘BULL SHIT!’ I thought to myself.

I turned back to the desk clerk and asked him again. He this time looked at me and said, ‘No rooms for you.’

I walked out and tapped the sidekick on the shoulder, asking him what he was doing and what had happened.

‘they had rooms available, I know it!’

‘yes, but they no want sell to you.’

‘what?! Why?’

‘because they no sell to foreigners.’

I climbed back into the auto rickshaw to explain to my travel companions what had happened. A little annoyed by everything, I told the driver to bring us back to the first hotel they stopped at. I wanted to find out what was going on.

We pulled back into The Hotel Saraswati parking lot and this time, one of the Germans jumped out with me as we both went inside.

They had rooms.

I looked at the sidekick and asked him why he had lied to us.

‘No, lie. No have AC rooms.’

‘Yes, we are sorry, there are no AC rooms here, sir’, concurred the desk clerk.

We had never said that we wanted AC rooms…

We asked to see the rooms; 500rupees for my single room, 350 rupees each for their double. They were fine.

As we headed back outside to get our bags, a level of distrust, frustration, and confusion over the unnecessary ordeal, continued to rise.

The driver and his friend insisted they were not familiar with this area and that they tried to help us in finding a hotel. I didn’t want to hear it. He was going to get a bad tip…

I grabbed my rucksack and handed the ladies their bags and turned to pay the driver; we each handed him 70rupees.

‘200rupees.’ pointing to each of us.

‘No, no, no!’ the Germans began shouted. ‘You said 200, fixed station price, not 200 per passenger!’ as they pointed their fingers back at him.

The look in his eyes expressed his feelings of shock and confusion, rather than a look of disappointment… he didn’t understand why we were upset.

‘But I help you! You say, I take you to Mughal Sarai railway, and I do. I try help find hotel for you!’

Suddenly, the anger and frustration began to melt away at the consideration that he could possibly be telling the truth; that he truly didn’t know Mughal Sarai, that he misunderstood our unspecified English, and that he wanted to help us by getting us a comfortable room.

My angry companions made a final offer, ‘350rupees!’

The driver had no choice but to accept.

We went inside the hotel and were asked to fill out the guest registration book; waiting for my turn, I turned and slipped out of the lobby and ran back outside catching up with the tired motor rickshaw as they began pulling away.

I looked him in the eye and asked him to tell me the truth.

Shaking his hand, I handed him the concealed 300rupees.

I believed him.

He opened his hand and began crying. He grabbed me and hugged me as he began thanking me and apologizing for making us angry.

I went inside and filled out the book and went to my room.

I didn’t feel the need to tell the ladies what I had done.

After unloading, I walked over to their room and told them that I needed to go into town. I had seen an ATM, an AIRTEL, and an Internet centre on the tuk tuk ride through the main strip; I needed to get some cash, recharge my mobile minutes, and to tell Nikesh that I was not going to be arriving tonight…

Walking through the streets in India, I’ve noticed on this trip that I am not being approached as often or stared at by everyone; compared to my last trip, where we were constantly stopped by curious locals wanting to practice their English.

Not being Caucasian, allows me to slip by the radar… funny.

The ‘smell of India’ was definitely noticeable as I walked down the main strip in the warm sunny day.

I found an ATM and took out some cash.

CHECK.

It’s interesting how secure I felt when I had money; something I haven’t written at all was the nervousness I had of not having enough cash.

LAME.

Having to use cash everyday is something that I’m still getting used to.

Two doors from the ATM was the Internet centre.

CHECK.

Nikesh called right as I walked into the air conditioned store. He had heard that all trains had been canceled and wanted to know if I was alright. I told him I had reserved a train departing tomorrow and gave him the new train number.

Just as I said goodbye the phone cute off, I ran out of minute on my mobile.

An hour on the computer later, I found an AIRTEL shop.

CHECK.

I handed the lounging store clerks, my mobile asking if I could recharge my minutes. They said the network was down and suggested that I come back in an hour.

I decided to grab some food. Walking into the tiny restaurant, I said hello and took a seat. A little boy with a huge smile on his face handed me a menu.

I smiled back.

I opened the menu and noticed it was all in Hindi.

Laughing to myself, I attempted to try to order, with the few words I knew.

‘Aloo-Gohbi?’

‘naheen, no.’ Shaking his head.

‘Hmmm…motar?’

I was confusing him.

The chef came over gave me a smile.

‘ummm… Mai… shakaharee hon.’ (I am a vegetarian)

‘ahhh! Haan, haan. O-K!’

Feeling, satisfied that I was able to ‘order’, I asked the smiling boy, ‘Pena Thums Up.’

The food arrived, it was vegetable lo mein.

Hilarious.

My frosty Thums Up cola was uncapped for me.

After getting my mobile minutes recharged, I walked back to the hotel; stopping by a fruit stand, I bought some apples.

I went back to my room and meditated for a while and relaxed, reading my book and listening to my music.

Later I got a knock on my door. Sigrid and Karla wanted to know if I would join them; we sat out on the lobby balcony munching on our apples and bananas, sharing stories of where we were from and where we have been, as the sun began to set.

We decided to go to the restaurant next to the hotel for dinner.

The two are from Berlin; they have been in India for about 6 months volunteering for a traveling clinic as Occupational/Physical Therapists, helping children who are suffering from polio.

I love how I’m meeting so many interesting people on this trip.

(The Inefficiency Of Emotion - Grade)

Memory Lane.

2009-01-03T14:14:00.004-05:00

24Oct2008

I Left Gorakhpur helping the recovered British neighbor, Mike, one more time, offering him travel tips as we shared an early morning rickshaw ride through the empty streets. Mike had told me that when he arrived in New Delhi, he had met some people who convinced him to take a trip up north to Kashmir.

I laughed to myself, as I remembered Suneal and the ‘clubhouse boys’.

When he had arrived at the guest-boat house, his travel agent ‘friends’ turned on him and demanded all his money. When he refused and said that he was leaving, they demanded again, this time threatening that they would go to the local police and say that he had drugs on him. He managed to haggle his way out of it by paying a 2/3 of the money he had…

‘Do you have traveler’s checks?’ I asked him

‘No. I didn’t bring much money and had just planned to get cash from ATMs.’

I was not laughing.

He could tell by my silence that I had my judgmental thoughts... I was in disbelief that he had made it this far.

Mike seemed like a really good guy, but I felt he was walking around with a huge bullseye target on his chest.

I told him that mistakes are bound to happen as we travel through life… and that he will at least have some great stories to tell friends and family, when he gets home…

He told me that I was a very ‘diplomatic’ person.

When we arrived at the Railway station, I insisted that I pay the 50rupees for the rickshaw.

‘I was going to pass this thank you note under your door, but I am very glad that I am able to thank you in person.’

‘No worries buddy. I’m happy that you’re feeling better… It was easy and it feels good to help people out, you know?’

‘I know what you mean. Thank you for listening and helping me out, mate.’

‘Have fun in Nepal. Stay well, Mike.’

He disappeared into the morning darkness walking to the bus station.

The train ride was long, as we arrived into Varanasi Junction 3hours later than scheduled. I’m very glad that I am not rushing and not having to worry about connections.

When I stepped out of the railway station, I could feel that I was back in the stream of India; the stale smell of the ancient city combined with the quacking horns of auto rickshaws and scooters.

The connection to the River Ganges’ religious importance, Varanasi, has been considered the holiest cities in all of India, for Jains, Buddhists, and Hindus, for several thousand years… It is also one of the most heavily congested cities, receiving pilgrims, devout followers, and the mass of gawking western tourists, daily.

[Mark Twain put it best, “Benares (another name for Varanasi) is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together.”]

Hindus believe that bathing in Ganga, remits sins and that dying in or being cremated next to the river, ensures the release of a person's soul from the cycle of its transmigrations… the cessation of reincarnation, Nibbana.

Jains believe it to be the birthplace of Parshvanatha, the 23^rd Tirthankar (enlightened being through asceticism).

For Buddhists, the neighboring town of Sarnath is the town where the Buddha gave his first teaching.

I had fun the last time I was in Varanasi… it’s kind of like a zoo, a circus, a shopping mall during Christmas, and a college dorm room all in one; monkeys, cows, crowded markets, thieves, devoted religious followers, and patchouli smelling-dread locked-westerners smoking hash with the ashed covered Saddhus.

I took an auto rickshaw to Sarnath, leaving Varanasi thinking to myself, next time...

This being my first auto rickshaw ride, I had forgotten how inconsistently expensive they are. Haggling, agreeing, and confirming the fare, is a must with these drivers.

As the bumpy auto rickshaw made its way down the calm tree lined street, I immediately felt the nostalgia kick in.

I had a lot of fun here last time, with my friends; that being one of the happiest moments of my life.

I was BACK!

I checked into the Jain Paying Guest House, again feeling full of happiness from the nostalgia.

Dr. Jain and his wife asked me how I had heard of their home; I began explaining my previous visit. Mrs. Jain remembered my face and after hearing my story asked if Craig was here, with me!

I gave them the photo that I had brought with me and they were so very happy.

I had a very brief conversation with Dr. Jain on the economic state of the U.S. He is a very well informed man and is a huge supporter of Obama.

After filling out the guest registration book and paying my bill, I decided to go out to pay respect to the stupas in Sarnath.

Again the nostalgia fueled the excitement and feelings of joy… but I began to notice bits of sadness growing.

As I walked through the ancient ruins and passed the deer park, seeing all the sites that were so specifically associated to my last trip, made me miss everyone; I didn’t feel lonely, just sad that they were not here seeing this place again.

It made me also realize how much has happened to us all since then and how we’ve all changed and moved on… or apart. Anicca!

I decided to go to the Internet centre, which was right where I remembered it to be, and wrote my former travel companions, an e-mail, sharing with them all, my thoughts.

As I walked back to the guest house, I remembered Nicole telling me about the Lassi stand that she went to with Craig. Remembering the descriptive location, I approached a stand on the side of road.

‘Namaste! Do you make Lassis?’

‘yes, come in friend. Sit, please.’

A few moments later I was handed a small cold terra cotta clay cup. I sipped the thick, sweet, creamy Lassi and immediately knew that this was indeed what Nic had raved about. It was, hands down, the best Lassi that I’ve ever had.

Contemplating if I should have another one, I placed the cup on the counter.

‘No, no, no…’ the young man took the cup out of my hands that had not yet lifted from the cup. He took the bowl and threw it on the floor and laughed.

I had forgotten… This is why the bowls are made of clay.

I began to hear blaring music as I walked to the centre of the town and saw a large crowd of people; vendors selling cheap color strobe light wands. Next to the rotary turn about was a gigantic straw and wooden figurine… of what looked to be a woman.

Entering the guest house, Mrs. Jain asked if I was hungry and if I would like some dinner. Remembering how much I enjoyed her cooking, I sat down at the table instead of going to my room.

I was joined by one of their daughters and another guest, a beautiful girl from France, who had been in Sarnath teaching for 9 months and was getting ready to go home in a few days.

They both inquired about my travels and where I was from.

I shared my adventures of traveling through France on the TGV with hung over friends on New Years morning, several years ago.

The daughter remembered me, as she recalled helping Sarah to burn a cd on her laptop.

I asked her what was going on outside and if was related to the approaching holiday, Diwali. She explained that it was not Diwali, but related to it as they were celebrating Dussehra, the day that Lord Rama triumphed over the evil King Ravana… who apparently wore a triangular dress like outfit… After the celebration, they would set ablaze the wooden statue.

The dinner was phenomenal.

I think I will always love it here in Sarnath and at the Jain Paying Guest House.

My train to Gaya leaves at 11.30. I should be in Gaya by 2.30 or so and Nikesh will pick me up… I finally get to meet my friend, Nikesh.

(Memory Lane - Elliot Smith)

Where Are You Tonight (Journey Through Dark Heat).

2008-12-28T20:33:00.006-05:00

23Oct2008

Talking to the two hotel desk clerks at the Buddha Maya last night, was interesting; our world views were very similar, but our views of America differed greatly.

How does one go about, skillfully explaining the truth of how things really are, without causing confusion or damaging and destroying their dreams?

The concept of Right speech is often one of the most challenging parts of the 8 fold path for me to practice; Jack’s ever so wise summation of it plays through my mind even now…

‘Does it need to be said?

Does it need to be said, by me?

Does it need to be said by me, now?’

While I still feel like I followed those ‘check points’, I don’t think I did a very good job of skillfully presenting my obviously passionate opinions, as their awareness of things like racism, sexism, political and corporate financial corruption, greed, and poverty existing in their perfect America, could be seen in their expressions.

Those are all concepts that they are all too familiar with, and often see in their own lives, but had never really considered that ‘the land of opportunity’ could share these unfortunate humanistic flaws, as well.

But then they mentioned hope. We spent a long time talking about the hope of Obama and the upcoming election. There is something so comforting that the idea of hope for a future to me, to America, and to the world, can come from one man.

This morning they were both very happy to see me; they expressed appreciation for our conversation as I left them a lot to think about. One of them shared with me his dream of moving to Australia and his desire to see the world without delusion; the good and the bad… the truth...

After I was finished packing up my rucksack, I found myself filled with angst, even after meditating. I decided to listen to Craig’s Dhamma talk on Anxiety. It helped a bit, as I was full of anticipation caused by the uncertainty of not knowing what was going to happen with the train ticket.

It was eating me up; the waiting list meant that I would not be able to get on to the train to Gaya….

I reminded myself that there would be other trains. For a brief moment, I felt better and eased up, but then the next queued thought arrived.

I was bummed that my time in Nepal was so short.

Next time…

The mind has a great way of causing so much unnecessary stress.

When I arrived at the Nepali immigration centre, I noticed my saddle bag was damp. I opened the bag to discover a tiny pond of water.

My water bottle cap had come off, spilling water all over, soaking everything; my beloved digital camera was in the bag.

…I wasn’t angry.

I was actually a bit surprised; my disappointment didn’t lead to a cursing temper tantrum, but rather the thought of, ‘aww, man… oh, well’ and then it was over.

I knew that Nikesh had a Digicam, and I had my camera on my mobile. Getting angry was not going to dry up or fix my camera; I am in another part of the world and I want to enjoy my time… Anger will only distract me from the beauty of everything that I am seeing, smelling, and experiencing...

Plus I was hungry.

Shortly after walking across the border, I was approached by two men asking if I wanted to take a car to Gorakhpur.

‘How much?’

‘150rupees.’

‘Naheen! The bus is only 55rupees!’

‘But sir, the bus, very crowded and makes many stops; the car is faster.’

‘70rupees, no stopping.’

‘100rupees, we make two stops.’

‘Naheen. Shukriyaa.’

Yeah, India is totally different from Nepal; I can’t help but laugh as I was haggling over the $3 car ride service.

That’s ‘chump change’… right?

Thinking about it, these car services are specifically targeting backpacking foreigners, attempting to take away business from the local buses for an individualized profit; this may not seem like a big deal, but the normalcy of haggling is a cultural custom, however when an alternate business starts gaining a profit from the absence of this norm, the impacts are felt in the local business.

The buses, in these regions, are heavily traveled by locals and backpacking foreigners. With the loss of the foreigners because they don’t mind paying the higher ‘un-haggled’ price or are just unaware of the lower priced buses, it could potentially impact the fare of the buses, making it difficult for the locals that rely on the buses, to afford what I call ‘chump change.’

I am traveling through a developing country and must respect and understand their customs and be aware or mindful of my actions, particularly as I travel away from of the large cities.

With that said, the bus ride back to Gorakhpur seemed longer and more crowded… ha.

I had a little boy sitting next to me. Waving to him and shaking his hand, I befriended him right away, offering him a piece of gum. He saw my arm and exclaimed the only word we both understood, ‘tattoo!’ as he quickly began the curious examination, forcing and contorting my arm to see the dual winged flames.

45minutes in, I looked over at him to see his head bobbing for apples; I guided his sleepy head to my shoulder.

The bus pulled into the main street, terminating in front of the Gorakhpur Railway station. I gathered my rucksack from the trunk of the bus and hopped in a rickshaw and headed to the Hotel Bobina.

This place is nice, but is definitely ‘India’; I feel like they’ve spruced everything up just to draw the westerners; the ‘Hollywood set’ hotel rooms with fake doors and windows that open onto drywall, the bathroom sink that drains to the tiled floor, light switches that are glued into position, and the hot water knobs that do not turn.

So hilarious…I love it!

I decided to go find the nearest internet centre. It ended up being a good walk, and quite frankly, I’m surprised that I found it at all.

I checked up on tomorrow’s train ticket; I was still on the waiting list. After an hour of checking out the other train schedules and searching for available tickets, I found a train leaving Varanasi for Gaya, the day after tomorrow.

This meant I would have a layover in Varanasi for the night… Better yet, it meant I could spend the night in Sarnath! I became excited by the idea of going back to the Jain Paying Guest House, and that I would be able to visit all four of the main historic Buddhist pilgrimage sites, in one trip… awesome.

I canceled the train ticket and with it, the stress that I carried with me through Nepal ceased.

I checked my e-mails, a lot of replies from my mass e-mail that I sent out yesterday. I wrote Sis, letting her know that I was ok.

Walking back to the hotel, two hours later, I was hungry and was looking for places to eat. I remembered reading in the trusty Lonely Planet book that the restaurant at the Hotel Bobina was recommended… so I decided to eat there.

Earlier when I was checking into my room, the guy across the hall, in a very sickly and very British voice, was placing an order for room service. I asked him what was wrong and he explained that he had been sick in bed for 4 days and had a bad case of diarrhea.

I went into my rucksack and handed him two Imodim-AD’s.

He was very grateful.

After placing my order at the restaurant, I went upstairs to check up on the ‘sick brit’ to see if he needed any water or food. He was feeling better from the early donations I had made, but felt that rest was all he needed now. I went to my room and emptied out a good chunk of my pro-biotics into a plastic bag; I gave him the remaining pills in the bottle, explaining how they could help on his adventures.

It felt good to be able to help.

As I was heading back to the restaurant, I passed by a guy that I recognized from the bus from Sunauli, and said hello. Richard invited me to join him and his girlfriend, Sara, for dinner. It felt nice to have company for dinner.

We laughed as we exchanged tales of our travels, talked about Global politics, and just about life.

Richard and Sara were from England and were also on a 4week trip through India, with a pass through Nepal.

The food was delicious.

After Dinner, I thanked them for the company and parted ways, heading back to my room.

I pulled the tattered business card for the Jain Paying Guest House from my travel folder and dialed the number on my mobile. Reservation confirmed.

My train departs at 5.20 in the morning, for Varanasi. Waking up at 4.00; goodnight.

(Where Are You Tonight (Journey Through Dark Heat) - Bob Dylan)

Bike Ride To The Moon.

2008-12-24T00:00:00.004-05:00

22Oct2008

Morning:

I slept hard. Since arriving, my sleep pattern has been a bit off, most likely due to combination of adjusting to the times zone and the constant noises of the tooting horns, barking dogs, or the echoed alleyway conversations. Deciding to book at the Buddha Maya Hotel was a good move as I can recharge…Quiet nights and hot Showers.

Nepal is beautiful. At the surface it isn’t so different from India; they drive the same way, there are dogs everywhere, they dress the same way, and they even speak in a very similar way.

Much like how parts of Canada and northern US or Mexico and southern US, there are subtle differences at first glance. Being here for only a night I’m starting to see past the subtleties and already notice a very different culture.

Last nights rickshaw ride through the gardens, gave me the opportunity to talk to my driver, Raju. With his WWF ‘John Cena’ T-shirt and oily hair, he looked no different from some of the other younger guys I’ve met on my trip, except his attitude seemed different… he appeared to be very happy and rather laid back; I could tell that he wasn’t trying to rip me off.

The security guard at the Maha Devi Temple was saying how he felt that while most Nepalese and Indians look the same, they act and think very differently; the Indian majority having a ‘corrupt and apathetic’ mentality where as he felt that the Nepalese are more about helping.

I don’t necessarily agree, as I feel that to a certain extent the further I get away from the big cities, the hospitality of people has been more exhibited. Lumbini was no exception as everyone was very outgoing and nice. Perhaps the provincial life has very little room for corruption.

(a map of the gardens, which helped me get around)

Since arriving in Gorakhpur, I’ve realized that I no longer ‘smell India’. Maybe it’s because of the lush vegetation and trees; or maybe it’s because it’s geographic location to the north, fresh air from to the Himalayas; or maybe and quite possibly so, that I’ve become used to the ‘smell of India’. *GASP!*

I tried writing a mass e-mail last night; the dial up modem connection went dead before I was finished. I did get to say hi to Claudia and a few friends over g-chat; that was nice…

Evening:

Today I rented a bike from the hotel. It was awesome. As much as I wanted to give Raju business again and ask him more questions about Nepal, I couldn’t refuse the idea of being able to bike here!

The bicycle was a banged up, old blue, rickety thing with wobbly handlebars, and an old spring seat. She was beautiful.

I biked through the gardens heading to the places I didn’t get to go to last night. The large World Peace Pagoda on the northern most area of the park was my first stop. The massive white dome, which could be seen from the eternal torch, had three tiers. I circumambulated each tier, 3 times each for taking refuge in the triple gem: The Buddha, The Dhamma, and The Sangha.

After I was done, the glaring sun was starting to reach high noon and the white stupa had nothing more to offer me, except for a potential sun burn.

I stopped in at a small stand in the parking lot and bought some biscuits and had an orange Fanta; I’ve forgotten how good soda, without corn syrup, tastes.

I continued biking and exploring the gardens, stopping in at all the different monasteries that were open to the public. The Thai Monastery was fantastic; the white temple was something that I had never seen before and combined with the typical jagged architecture, it looked like it was from outer space.

I became pretty hungry and decided to go back to the small restaurant that I ate at last night; the momos were actually a little disappointing… I think the momos from the Himalayan Restaurant back home, are much better. I look forward to eating my post Dharma Punx – momos with the gang, when I get back.

After stopping for lunch, I asked where the nearest Internet centre was; extending the time to bike outside of the gardens, I peddled my way 3km to the small neighboring Parsa Bazaar.

I was able to send off that e-mail that I wrote last night and then wrote to Nikesh updating him on my train status; I’m still on the waiting list for the train from Varanasi-to-Gaya…

A little nervous, but I guess what ever happens, happens.

I leave Nepal tomorrow morning to head back to India and back to Gorakhpur via bus. I would like to come back to Nepal in the future, it’s so beautiful.

(Bike Ride To The Moon - The Dukes Of Stratosphear)

Baby, I'm an Anarchist!

2008-12-21T13:51:00.006-05:00

21Oct2008

My stay at the Linh Son Buddhist Temple presented me with an opportunity to pick my host and new friend’s mind. Giovani, was born in Vietnam but moved to San Jose when he was a kid. He took robes about 4-years ago and has traveled to various parts of the world to work and assist in teaching little kids.

The 8 young monks-in-training stared at us on the opposite end of the long table, occasionally looking down at their dinner plates to eat; Giovani had invited me to dine with them for dinner.

Hearing him say that he was planning to disrobe in a few weeks, made me curious; his feeling was that just because he looks like and has the appearance of a monk, doesn’t make him a monk. As ironic as it is, image does have a large presence in Buddhism… He saw that through his experience of living the monastic life.

He felt he no more of a Buddhist than I, and him wearing robes didn’t mean he was any different… as I slurped on my pho noodles, noticing that he was eating a rice dish… not abiding to the 8^th precept, refrain from eating past noon.

Anyways, on with the day…

The evening was tough. I think the jet lag in combination with the ‘I hear mosquitoes flying’ effect, kept me from reaching the sought after state of sleep. Thank goodness I have that mosquito net though, especially by the sound of those relentless buggers.

My morning departure from Kushinagar was much easier. Two hours later, my rucksack was strapped to the top of a new bus and I was heading to Sunauli, a town next to the India/Nepal border. I passed out and awoke to the stillness of the bus’s engine being cut and the static hot sun, shining through the window.

While I may have been suckered into paying more, a rickshaw driver convinced me to let him help me cross the Nepal border. I did get through customs and obtain my Nepali visa much quicker…in reality he did help.

I am staying at a somewhat of a fancy hotel, in Lumbini, near the main garden. I made a quick run through, stopping at the eternal torch, the Burmese Stupa, and then to the archeological site of the Maha Devi Temple – the birth place of Siddhartha Gautama.

There was a quiet and calm feel to the air as I stood on the wooden deck looking down at the glass encasement of the stone marker, “The exact birth place of the Buddha”.

Somewhat unexpected… I started to get teary eyed.

Siddhartha was a baby.

For some odd reason, I was affected by this. Of course he was a baby…

I guess with all of the teachings and the suttas that I have read and studied, they have always focused on his adult life up to his death. I was used to that image of the emaciated Sid, the Buddha, and the old reclining dying Buddha.

He was a baby that cried and pooped, giggled and laughed, drooled and slept.

Yeah, I’m getting sleepy… not making sense.

Write more tomorrow, falling asleep.

(Baby, I'm an Anarchist! - Against Me!)

Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying.

2008-12-19T00:47:00.016-05:00

20Oct2008

Huddled under the mighty protective mosquito net, I lay reflecting on the intense day that I’ve managed to have.

The swaying train slumber was quite nice and I oddly appreciated the cool AC steadily blowing on me as I was tucked away under a wool blanket.

When the train arrived in Gorakhpur (around 12.15, a few hours later than scheduled), the ever so kind, lower berth neighbor, Mukesh, offered to help point me in the direction of to the bus station.

Stepping off the train, my chilled skin went into direct shock from the brutal heat of the sun. Immediately I knew this was not going to be easy; I was truly in India… Nowhere to be found were the English news papers or the English warning/directional signs found in New Delhi. Everything was in pure Hindi. The memory of Dad insisting that he buy me the Hindi - Rosetta Stone computer program popped into my head.

I laughed.

Humbly, I thanked Mukesh for pointing out where I was to walk to get to the bus station, and parted ways with him as I began marching with my rucksack, down the dusty, noisy, smoggy streets of Gorakhpur.

According to the Lonely Planet all I had to do was hop on a bus to go to Kushinagar. What they didn’t mention was how tough it would be to actually accomplish that. I think I asked about 5 people; each giving me a silent head bobble puzzle piece, pointing in different directions to which I began following, walking away from the bus station, only to realize that this had nothing to do with my original question, ‘bus to Kushinagar?’

I felt small, scared, border line frustrated, and yet with each lead, I followed; I slowly breathed in and smiled continuing the slow patient search… probably because I knew it would eventually bring me to the right place.

My water was low and I hadn’t eaten a proper breakfast, or lunch for that matter… I could feel that the hypoglycemic/low blood sugar shakes, would hit soon.

Again the memory of Dad’s offer to buy me the Rosetta stone arose.

I wasn’t laughing this time.

Finally wandering back to the bus station, I made eye contact with a young guy (late teens, early 20’s the most), asking him if he spoke English. With his preppy white polo short sleeved shirt and matching white pants, he smiled and acknowledged while shaking my hand. He immediately countered my follow up question with, ‘Where is your home?’

‘Oh so far from here… and how I wish I was there, right now...’ I thought to myself.

‘New York City, USA.’

‘You are American? But you do not look like you are from U.S. What is your name?

‘My name is Victor… what is your name?’

‘Why are you here?’

he ignored my question...

‘uh… I would like to go to Kushinagar.’

‘Why do you go to Kushinagar?’

I had to play his game of chess before I would be allowed to ask a question.

‘I would like to see the beautiful town where the Gautama Buddha died.’

‘ohhhh.’

Feeling satisfied with my response, he told me that the next bus would depart after 1.00. I thanked him and went to into the sheltered waiting area, stepping out of the sun’s reach.

I took off my sweaty button up shirt when I immediately sensed that I was being stared at; I glanced over and saw that I was being circled by a curious bearded old man, and realized he was looking at my tattoos. I decided to cover up as I didn’t wish to draw unnecessary attention towards myself.

I began digging through my rucksack for the Lonely Planet book, convinced that I would find and read the paragraph that I HAD to have missed that said, ‘GOOD FUCKING LUCK GETTING A BUS TO KUSHINAGAR, SUCKER’, but it wasn’t there.

A cow slowly walked by, pushing into me ever so slightly.

I was approached by the young guy, again. It seemed that because I had answered his questions and successfully played his ‘game’, he revealed that he was born in Kushinagar and that he was very proud to have been from there.

He told me to board the bus that was silently parked directly in front of us. I got onto the small empty bus and sat down, dropping my 36-pound rucksack onto the seat next to me.

Ten minutes later, the bus was packed and I was forced to slide the bag onto the floor through the tiny crevasse in front of my seat, with my right leg painfully contorted on top of it.

The shaky bus began to roll forward. The shakes of my low blood sugar level hit as I also began to roll forward.

I pulled out an emergency granola bar; peanut butter, prefect for hot days in India when your water level is low. I took a swig of the little water I had left, it was warm.

Amazingly I was brought back to life but wanted to sleep as the dust and dirt began to blown in my face from the open window in front of me. I whipped out my state trooper-like sunglasses.

I was reminded at how intense it is to travel by ground transport through rural India; the honking and the passing around trucks while oncoming traffic plays chicken, barreling towards you…It was just like last time, except I wasn’t with friends. I still wasn’t 100% sure if I was going to Kushinagar, but my doubts were quickly quieted when my ticket was purchased for 25rupees.

About two hours later, they called Kushinagar, and the crisp white polo shirt drew my attention, the guy nodding to me that this is my stop.

I got up and grabbed my bag, to no avail. My bag was stuck. I was the only one getting off. I was holding up the bus.

What felt like such a jump out of my comfort zone, I was brought back with the sense of accomplishment with the sight of the triple arch gate - the entrance to Kushinagar. I walked down the road and reached the gates of the Buddhist Monastery that I was to be spending the night at.

The head service monk, Giovani, roughly my age, welcomed me and asked how my trip has been thus far. Only two days in, I felt like I could go on and on about what I had been through just getting there, but I just smiled and laughed.

He asked where I was from, knowing I was American. He told me that he was from San Jose, California. I noticed he had tattoos on his arm… He gave me a room for 250rupees. With a deep breath, I had made it…

After settling in, I went out to buy some water and to get some food. I was in Kushinagar for a reason, to see and to pay respects to the where the Buddha breathed his last breath.

It was all so beautiful; walking in the early dusk through the quiet ruins, seeing pilgrims from all over chanting with monks and nuns at the large golden statue of the reclining Buddha…peaceful.

I plan to go back to Gorakhpur tomorrow morning, to take a bus to Lumbini, Nepal. The fear of the unknown will be there again, I’m sure, but I know I can get by… I’ve got time.

(Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying - Belle & Sebastian)

You've Been Gone Too Long.

2008-12-17T00:16:00.004-05:00

18Oct2008

There are certain sensations in life that are so specific; the feelings of the crisp fresh air, the crickets, and the smell of firewood… With camping, the memories linked have such a specific associated sensation; an experience that can never be replicated outside the campgrounds.

India is the same way. For me, the natural association of memories linked to the smell, the sounds, the dense feel of the air, all came rushing back the moment I stepped off the plane.

Not more than 18hours ago, I found myself getting choked up on the phone saying good bye to Mom and Dad.

As I sit in the familiar pink room of the Hotel Namaskar, I know that my emotions will always come and go, changing and bringing new thoughts while pondering what is yet to come, on this journey of mine.

I am very happy to be back in India, again. My memories of the past will surely join me, but will change and be replaced with the new experiences I gain on this solo trip… new memories with the same senses.

19Oct2008

As expected I had a difficult night trying to fall asleep. Irrational thoughts and fears replayed over and over in my exhausted body and tireless mind.

I decided to emerge at 7.30, despite the lack of sleep. Today would be the official start of my journey and the start of my solo mission.

It’s funny because since arriving in New Delhi, I find myself resisting the urge to play photo scavenger hunt; every familiar scene from pictures taken before…missing only my beloved friends.

Ironically, I picked up new friends for the day… The outgoingness to talk to (and or help) a complete stranger never gets old in India. Suneal approached me as I walked down the crowded Main Bazaar street of Paharganj saying hello and asking me where I was going.

I told him I was looking to get a SIM card for my mobile. My spidey senses tingled, as a part of me was a bit wary of his persistent outward curiosity; I knew that there would probably be an ulterior motive for me to check out his or his friend’s store afterwards, but I was up for an adventure.

Not realizing the amount of steps involved, I became very appreciative of Suneal’s help, as I eventually got set up with new mobile number.

His offer to have some chai was immediately followed up with an invitation me to see his store. I tagged along and entered a comfortably cool sheltered step-down shop; two young men sat leaning on a low glass display case smoking cigarettes and laughing, while another lay sleeping in the corner. The forgotten, yet hopeful jewelry and trinkets hung on display, not being moved or touched in weeks; interested in business seemed have shifted. Suneal and his friends began showing me photos of their home in the beautiful lakeside land of Kashmir. It became very obvious that they were running a travel/tour operation, extending their hospitality to all who could be seen as a profit, especially to their most recent returning customer, the man from Madrid, Spain, Eugene. I was a guest in their club house, even after deflecting their sales pitch, as the chai continued to flow and questions were asked about Obama and how hopeful we all were about the future.

‘Gene and I spent most of the day together, wandering around the windy streets of Paharganj, looking for lunch followed by the next delicious treat or chai available to be had.

Just as quickly as my induction to the clubhouse was, it came to an abrupt departure upon returning to the shop, I instinctively removed myself when they began smoking a rather large spliff with the two new Dutch customers. I was not able to thank Suneal and the gang for the adventurous day; such is life, I’m over it.

I made it onto the first of my trained-transports; heading to Gorakhpur, arriving in the late morning. I’m in AC-1 (first class – air conditioned)… fancy!... there is a cockroach crawling around on the walls.

(You've Been Gone Too Long - Ann Sexton)

B - A - select - start.

2008-12-15T13:58:00.016-05:00

I've been back home officially for a month now, during which I've had time to reflect on the life changing experience, not only from traveling through India, but from traveling alone.

Jumping back into NYC life has been an adventure on it's own... While it wasn't my original intention, through sharing and telling my city friends about my adventures, I decided that I would transcribe and blog my journal that I kept with me.

Before I begin posting the entries, I thought it would be fitting to share two posts from my old blog, on my first trip to India... both of which help set the tone for what's to follow.

Enjoy.

(B A Select Start - Curl Up And Die)

Originally posted
*19 April 2007:*

Nothing Dreadful Ever Happens.

"Mos Eisley spaceport: You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious." - Obi-Wan Kenobi

As I write this I can't help but chuckle as I am reminded of my Mother warning me, 'my student's Mother says the town where the Buddha was enlightened is a very dangerous place. Are you sure you want to go there?"

Often referred to as the land of lawlessness, the states of Bihar and Jharkhand have a reputation for having the unexpected happen. While it isn't as dangerous as my Mother's warning made it out to be, it goes without saying I wasn't surprised that this happened to us.

It was supposed to be a three-hour ride from Sarnath to Bodh Gaya. The passing rain storms brought with it the dense moisture which clung to the windshield as our fearless driver skillfully maneuvered the van through the seemingly endless road of ditches and dirt pot holes; by the 10th hour of being trapped in the van, we were all starting to get more than a little antsy… I was trying desperately to lie still in the seat that I had become car sick in, anticipating the slow rocking feel of the next dip in the road.

I opened my eyes and realized I had dozed off and we were still driving. The interior of the van had that worn out look, as the passing headlights of on coming traffic, provided briefly a dim illumination, enough to see how stretched thin we all looked.

The road disappeared from our line of sight instantly as the driver turned off the main road to exit.

The once again bumpy road shook the van, but this time the driver couldn't see anything. The fog from the rain was so thick that the headlights did nothing… except making us visible to the waiting car on the side of the road; it was like something out of a camp fire ghost story.

The van became full of panicked shouts to the driver as he slowly pulled up to the jeep on the side of the road; the fog cleared and the headlights revealed four men holding machine guns. Naxalites, the Moaist extremists that have caused problems for the Indian government, are often feared for their unpredictable nature.

One of the men approached the side of the van to speak with the driver, while another one methodically walked in front of the van, the lights shining on him almost too purposefully, showing all of us his rifle.

The van jerked forward and suddenly stopped, angry shouting from the men followed by three loud cold palm slaps echoed from the side of van; they wanted something and we weren't going anywhere until they got it.

I took a deep breath and slowly looked around at my friends. With his eyes closed and his lips silently moving, I knew immediately that my teacher was reciting a mantra chant. Some were intently watching the windshield as if it were a television show gone horribly wrong, while others were huddled over in the bent fetal position as we had been instructed to in case of a plane crash. Fear came over me, as the thought of my friends being potentially harmed flashed in my head.

The driver, being shouted at by the armed men, reached into his pocket and handed them something and began driving again.

Like an old western cowboy movie, we were being held up by armed men. The Naxalites were demanding money, a toll to continue down a free road; the driver gave them what they asked for… 50 Rupees, which is the equivalent of about $1.00 US.

When the van emptied out, and was safely parked in front of The Deep Guest House, I glanced over and saw the driver, his head in his arms against the steering wheel… completely crushed.

(Nothing Dreadful Ever Happens - Every Time I Die)

I Will Follow You Into The Dark.

The four of us quickly walked towards the Sujata Bridge as the sun began to set on our last night in Bodh Gaya. The soft step of sand, blown up from the dried river below, covered the narrow bridge making it feel like I was walking on carpet.

I turned to Craig asking him questions about how this trip had differed from the last time he was here, and discussing the political nature of the country from what we had both observed thus far. Suddenly we looked over and saw we had curious friend walking next to us.

The little boy glanced up and with a big smile and said, 'hello!' followed by a joyful giggle. He was maybe 8 or 9-years old, confident of his curiosity and yet humble with his approach; Craig asked him if he knew where to find the Sujata Stupa, the boy acknowledged saying he could bring us.

The sun had retired and quickly the small village we were walking through was blanketed in darkness. Craig and I pulled out our mini flashlights to assist in the journey.

To walk down a street at night without the secure comfort of electric street lamps is something that westerners rarely have to endure; we are conditioned to fear the dark and the many unseen dangers we imagine lay waiting for us.

The association of that, clashed with the sudden understanding that this was a normal nightly routine for the people we slowly passed.

Bending the corner of the tiny village revealed an open field, brightly lit by the large moon above; we stood in awe at the silhouette of the stupa and the lone Bodhi tree that rested on top.

Craig was in utter shock as the large ancient structure we gazed upon was not what he remembered it to be when he was here 7 years ago. The little boy explained that they started excavation of the large mound of dirt 4 years ago, slowly unearthing the amazing preserved site.

Walking around the base of the stupa, we noticed we had picked up two new friends, another little boy and a tiny puppy.

Asking questions about where he lived, I could see that our guide's curiosity was tightly fixated on my flashlight. I detached the intense small pocket LED light from my keychain and handed it to him, showing him how to turn it on and off; he quickly began shinning the beam of light everywhere, illuminating the puppy that was prancing around our group.

Feeling satisfied with our night tour of the ancient stupa, we decided to start heading back to the guest house. Following the dirt village road, our friend asked us if we wanted to see where he goes to school.

Seeing the warm glow of light radiating out of the sturdy barn sized building ahead of us, I somehow knew instantly that this was his school. As we stepped inside, we were literally greeted in song; roughly 12 children stood standing on wooden beds that were pushed together to form a makeshift stage and were in the middle of singing a song. The expression of unexpected joy overtook each child as the singing suddenly halted, their eyes turning bright while smiles and laughter filled the small room.

The universal crayoned markings depicting people of stick figured decent playing in outdoor green fields with the smiling sun guarding them from above, proudly papered the brick walls. The Teachers welcomed us to The Ao Zora School and briefly explained that the children here at night, were orphans and cared for directly by the school.

The soft tiny whispers of secret gossip abruptly stopped as I cautiously approached the now giggling children. I decided to sit down next to a little boy who immediately began asking me questions of where I was from. He proudly and eagerly began to read to me his English work book, each word clearly enunciated as he matched the verbs and nouns to the appropriate matching pictures; a forgotten memory flashed in my head as I started remembering how much I loved The Weekly Reader and the lessons from Buddy Bear, in Ms. Thomas' 1st grade class; this transitioned into remembering how much I used to love drawing on my hands in her class.

I asked if he could write his favorite word on my hand. Almost surprised that an adult would know of such a playground secret, I assured him it would be ok. He carefully began drawing on my left palm, the symbol Aum. On my right palm he began drawing the Swastika.

Even still at that point, knowing full well that the Swastika means peace and well-being life, it was very difficult for me to have the conditioned symbol of death, placed on me without pulling away.

To ease my emotional discomfort, I asked him what they both meant to him. I found it rather interesting that I needed him to reassure me and to tell me what I already knew, so I didn't feel bad.

Almost if he were asking for a return favor, the boy asked me if I could write my name in his notebook; upon doing so I realized he wanted to remember me.

(photo by: Silke Tudor)

I glanced at my beat up watch; it was getting close to our departure time. I stood up to tell Craig and the others, and turned back to the boy. He thanked me and upon doing so, I reached over and gave him a big hug. Suddenly I found myself being hugged by all the students, even those whom I didn't get to talk to. Thanking the Teachers, I signed their guest book and accepted graciously the business card.

Stepping back out into the darkness, I turned on my flashlight to allow my eyes to readjust. Our young tour guide reappeared as we began walking back across the bridge, thanking us for coming. As we reached midway, he stopped and told us that he should be getting back. We all began thanking him for his genuine outgoing friendship; as I went to hug him goodbye, I handed him my flashlight. He took it and turned it on and off and gave it back to me, almost as if he were showing me that he still remembered what I had taught him.

I told him that I wanted him to have it.

He said no.

I told him it was a present for helping us and for being so friendly. Even in the dark, I could see in his eyes that he had never received a gift before and that while he wanted it very much, he didn't know how to accept it.

Again, giving him a hug, I confirmed that I truly wanted him to have it. He hugged me back, confirming the acceptance of the gift… thanking me and waved goodbye, he turned running off into the dark; the flashlight turning on and off.

(I Will Follow You Into The Dark - Death Cab For Cutie)