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Kavita Chhibber - January 14, 2007

I went back to India again three weeks ago

this time to spend more quality time with family compared to the frenzied three weeks back in September.

Perhaps the thing that stands out in the India of today, is the frenzied pace with which the world turns there. Delhi was a laid back city when Bombay was considered the happening place, many years ago. Delhi’s interiors were the Mecca for politicians and a lot of cultural stuff. Today Delhi thrives on speed, noise, pollution, continuous construction and yes a lot of cultural activities if you can make your way through the smog and drivers driving in hell. The smells and sounds of India are even more intensely rubbed into your psyche like a cigarette that is stubbed with unnecessary vigor-the smoker’s feet grinding in until the last remnants of his nicotine laced orgy meet their grave in the dusty road. And yet like a smoker addicted to nicotine, India continues to be my addiction.

Jammu has undergone an even greater metamorphosis. Once upon a time, the city of my birth, was a magical city-where people of all religious backgrounds lived together in harmony. I would wake up to the sounds of Allah hu Akbar blending with sounds of cymbals as the Hindu priest chanted hymns, and the sound of drums and keyboards as the Sikh priest sang the shabads in gurmukhi. Those were days when I would grumble-why do they have these loudspeakers-why can’t I sleep just for an extra hour before heading for school. Today in a city that has learnt to discriminate and hate, I yearn to fill that hole in my heart with the divine music that was ambrosia for a young girl-except that she sipped from that nectar not knowing its worth.

The memories of my childhood are lush with reminiscences of what seems to be another era-the overflowing Tawi River where as kids we’d go for a dip as the first rays of the rising sun burst forth across the wide blue expanse of the horizon. The skyline was speckled with hills and historic forts and old temples caressed by brilliant golden rays.

We’d be told to stay close to the banks as the currents were merciless. My grandmother would widen her eyes and whisper-remember that young boy who came for a swim and dared to go against the tide? The river swallowed him. So beware.” The river seemed so mysterious then and we’d wonder at its depth. Were there hidden monsters lurking beneath, we’d ask each other, as we took the first delicious bite of our morning breakfast-scrambled eggs, paratha (wheat pancakes) pickle and delicious mango or cantaloupe slices to cool our tongues that the spicy pickle had left burning for respite. A few days ago I saw the same skyline speckled with multilayered flyovers, high rise buildings, and a Tawi river that was dried to the core, sweeping away with it, all the childhood fantasies, the magical mysteries I could weave so easily in my mind-like cobwebs that had lingered too long.

We drove to the Goddess Mahamaya’s temple atop a mountain. Lore has it that the first king Gulab Singh saw the Goddess in his dream and she asked him to build the temple to honor her and that she would meet him at the place. She did in the form of a little girl. Today that little temple has been rebuilt into a larger monument, as the faith of people around it grew. Walking through cobbled streets laden with swarming ants, cowdung, stray cows, curious monkeys and nervous goats who nevertheless tried to yank the marigold garlands from your hand for an appetizer, I felt an amazing sense of peace. My lungs inhaled the mountain fresh air, and my eyes took in the majestic view of the hills and valleys on one side and that of the old Palace of the King surrounded by tons of buildings that have snaked their ways around the palace today.

I walked through the now heavily congested and much narrower streets of Raghunath bazaar which has all the upscale shops, eateries and the famous Raghunath temple dedicated to Lord Rama. In the old days my grandmother would bring us there every evening and then we’d go and eat at one of the little roadside dhabas-I don’t think any five star hotels can match the delicious food found in these roadside eateries for a fraction of the cost. I learnt to haggle with vendors from my grandmother. It gave me a major kick to have gotten the vendor to bring the prices down.

This time, as I look at the torn holes in the sweater of the vendor, I haggle still, but let him get away with what I know very well to be an exorbitant price for what I wanted. I tell myself, it’s not that much in dollars. He still tries to look the aggrieved party, but he knows that I know he’s made a killing. I’m less merciful with shopkeepers in the affluent part of town-even my aunts are surprised that I outdid their expertise a couple of times-but it all depends on how desperate they are to sell and how much I want to buy something.

I go to this run down Dogra Art museum. The building is shabby from outside-the people inside can’t believe their eyes that they have a bunch of us wanting to look inside. The guide who has spent perhaps so many days twiddling his thumb, falls over himself in his eagerness to share the little stories, show some special pieces of art from 3-400 years ago. When I volunteer to buy all the cards they have-they scramble and come up with just 3 packets.. “No one comes here..so” says one of them sheepishly. There are some real gems inside that place, gathering dust because who cares about the past anymore? It intensifies my need to keep looking back, to wanting to reconnect, to want to be a child again, to run carefree on paths that were full of innocence, and had not yet created the memories, that were lingering once again, in the air that I was breathing today.

I went to Jaipur-the pink city-my brother has a beautiful farm house in 3 acres of land-open, green, with three dogs, each with its own personaly. Shakti, an 11 year old black lab-her name means power-but she limps towards me, her leg stiffened by arthritis-full of love and dignity, welcoming me even though she is meeting me for the first time. Bonzo a golden lab has just turned one-he makes flying leaps at me almost toppling me over as he drools and licks my face-and Bonnie, who is not yet one and wants only to take nips at anything because she is teething- is careful not to bite my hand too hard. I sit in the wee hours of the morning in the lawn outside, massaging her gums, as Bonzo jumps up on the bench and sits behind me, his entire body pressed against my back, his face on the arm of the bench and gives a contented sigh. I find myself surrounded by unconditional love that only a dog can give. Later I walk into the temple my uncle had built. He was my mom’s oldest brother, and passed away suddenly 2 years ago. It was a tough loss, because he was truly the most lovable man in our family and I find myself breaking down and telling him how much I miss him to this day.

I walk down into the prayer room-the dholak, the cymbals are lying there as if he would walk in any moment and begin the prayer session singing in his deep beautiful voice. His favorite help Shankar, and I choke talking about him. Shankar had not left my uncle’s side for years, and today he feels orphaned even though my brother has made sure he continues to stay with us and is well taken care of. I wish I could rewind my life by a few years and spend time with my uncle, laughing and joking. Instead I look at the beautiful artistry of his work-he painted and decorated the prayer room himself. It still reverberates with positive energy and serenity-as if he left a protective aura behind. As if it all flows still the way he wants it.

I visit the old palaces-Amber fort and the city palace which houses so many artifacts donated by the King-the stories of many kings are told through pictures, weapons, clothing and mementos. The king who was an astronomer and a camera ace in the 19th century, the king who was 7 feet 2 inches tall and 4 and a half feet wide and loved to eat. How 9 people sat behind him and in front of him as he sat in the middle of a boat to save it from toppling over. The largest cannon in the world that was used only once and its fear was enough to scare all the king’s enemies from attacking Jaipur.

The Taj Mahal-as majestic in real life as it has seemed in the pictures I have seen of it. I caress the cool white marble of the mausoleum, which has been a symbol of the love emperor Shahjahan had for his queen Mumtaz Mahal. And yet the invisible drops of blood that have washed over the white marble, remain unseen. Thousands of artisans who built the Taj had their hands cut off because Shahjahan didn’t want them replicating the Taj. Do all the great things in life always come with a price? I hope not.

As I stood in line at the security check 2 days ago and thought of the past 3 weeks, I realized that while the India of my childhood has changed because change is the only permanent thing in life- what hasn’t changed is the fact that every step of the way, in these three weeks, my journey was made sweeter by the love of my parents, my sister, my brothers, their wives, their children. The fragrance of that love warms my soul again and again. Seeing the loving faces of my aunts and uncles and brothers, meeting mom’s friend who I haven’t seen for ages, and who tells me possessively-I was in the delivery room with your mother-I have known you since the day you were born” meant a lot. It also meant a lot that coming back in a couple of months, didn’t make me outlive my welcome. ” We didn’t get enough time with you” remained the constant refrain.

Each time I come home, it’s like slipping my feet into those old comfortable pair of socks that one keeps returning to even after buying a lot of new designer wear. The love that lingers like the fragrance of the Jasmine flowers I loved so much as a child, continues to envelop me in its warm embrace, making my home coming as joyous today as it was in all my yesterdays.

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Posted by Kavita Chhibber at January 14, 2007 05:12 AM

Comments

Hi Kavita,

Nice to see you post. Would you ever want to go back and live there?

It sounded like a very nostagia trip home. When you say your uncle built a temple. Was this a private one just for the family, or one that anyone goes to?

This reminds me of a few summers ago when I was in NYC and went to the Talwar Gallary and saw the old photograph exhibit that a very talented artist did. He took old photos, blew them up and then sort of drip paint over the fading pictures. You could see thru the paint. It was like going into time and seeing ghosts just standing still.

Going to this gallery was a story within itself as I heard about it on here. When I walked in, the exhibit had closed and the young woman said to come in anyway. So I did this tour of the gallery solo and it was even better.

Sounds like you really enjoyed yourself during this trip. I hope you had time to relax from your busy life. I wish you a belated Happy New Year as well.

Love, Joanie

1. Posted by joanie on January 14, 2007 06:02 AM

Dear Kavita

Thanks for a great post. This and the two below it have brought the soul of Intentblog back to life, this morning.

love, Heath

2. Posted by hgquinn on January 14, 2007 06:29 AM

Hey Kavita:

Welcome back! Your visits seem to sync with my family's visit! Your last visit and my last visit were pretty much at the same time.. and this time my wife and kids were in - Jaipur and Agra and Punjab and Bombay in the last two weeks of Dec..

Hope you had a great time!

Cheers,
Desh
Drishtikone.com

3. Posted by Desh kapoor on January 14, 2007 06:39 AM

Hello, hello Kavita!

Lovely to see you again, my friend.

That was beautifully written! Not having been there myself,
I appreciate the visuals you brought to me today.
Sorry to hear your homeland has become so "civilized".
That's a silly way to put it, the meaning has lost
it's affection somewhere along the "road to progress".

Dwelling in the past...some say, "Don't do it!"
"Let the dead bury the dead", yada, yada, yada.
There is something to be said for the sake of History,
no matter if it's a famous epic or a quaint gathering.
Our memory banks are faulty, our rivers dry...
surely one can see 'the present' as destructive and menacing.
A restoration is in order here, there and everywhere.

Rivers were meant to run even when full,
and we are meant to swim in it, whether we are or not.

To see full tummies and raging streams...
is it asking so much or could it be too late?

Pickles for breakfast? You have to be kidding?!!!
I'll take my daily bread, thank you.
And I'll pray for all those without...and within.

Come back soon now, ya hear? Keith~

4. Posted by Keith on January 14, 2007 07:27 AM

Aloha Kavita

What a wonderful gift of change and remeberance. The past and present are shaking hands while the future is taking place in the present. I hope you revisit and share more or maybe write a book. It would be a wonderful read. Mahalo, love patty

5. Posted by patty on January 14, 2007 09:25 AM

Dear Kavita, absolutely beautiful piece!!

Great imagery!!

As I live in my home-town where I were born and raised.. not that much has changed; except where we were once, up to 27,000 people strong; we are now down to less than 7,000 people...

Welcome home, and very much looking forward to January's issue!!

with loving kindness,
North

6. Posted by North on January 14, 2007 09:30 AM

Gorgeous post. Your heart comes through.

I was in Delhi last January and visited some of the same places you mention. I stayed with afamily of musicians there. Plus I got up to the Punjab and stayed with some musicians there too and got to experience the Golden Temple. I am looking forward to another stay there.

In Delhi we spent our days actually working on our compositions and practicing, without the 100's of distractions there seem to be everyday in the US.

I hope India never loses its vibration of deep meditative spirituality, even as more highways and high rises keep going up.

The family I stayed with welcomed me and treated me as a brother. That is the right way to treat guests. I hear that even one year later the staff at the little restaurant where I always had my morning coffee still asks about me.

Jaipur, Amber Fort, Taj, Mathura, Vrindavan, all made deep impressions on me. India is the birthplace of all the world's great meditation based spiritualities (Hinduism, Buddhism, Sikhism, Jainism, The tradition of sannyas, and Yoga itself).
For someone who is receptive, the vibration is still there. I think everyone who practices a meditative spirituality should visit India's sacred places, especially some of the smaller, out-of-the-way ones. India is the spiritual home on Earth of meditation, there is no question about it.

Of course, my experience cannot be like yours because you were born there and raised there, so I can only speak of my impressions as a guest.

But like you, I feel strongly that there is a side of India, shown by its deep spirituality and the hospitality of the people, that I hope never fades no matter how much development comes.

7. Posted by yogi-one on January 14, 2007 09:49 AM

Hello Kavita and Everyone,

Kavita, great welcome back story! Thank you.

have a great day, all, ruth

8. Posted by ruth on January 14, 2007 10:43 AM

Thanks, Kavita. I enjoyed reading that.

I've been feeling especially grateful for family lately too. I had a chance to see my sisters last weekend. We live far apart and so the three of us don't often get together all at once, but when we do it's the best. :) We don't meet at a childhood home, but then, "home" isn't really a place.

Love, Kristin

9. Posted by Kristin Masterton on January 14, 2007 09:21 PM

Hi Kavita and to all the visitors to India. I must say that the famous saying "Far from good, and good from far" must have been said for India and the visitors from far. India is endearing and addictive if you live 11 out of 12 months out of India. Very endearing and addictive indeed!

10. Posted by xyz on January 14, 2007 10:31 PM

Thank you everyone. Joanie and Yogi-one-interesting reads on the gallery and your stay in India.Yogi-one the people of India are like that-even in big metropolitan cities where you may wonder if modernization has taken the spirit of welcoming strangers as honored guests-I saw to the contrary, people bending over backwards to help me, and not expecting anything in return.
My answer to your question Joanie and the comment made by xyz(hmm..wonder who you are)is that it really isnt the country but the people who capture your heart. If I go back each year and stay there for extended periods of time(the joys of freelancing) its because of my need to reconnect with my family. By nature I love to travel and meet new people,(being an army brat) and visit new places-and every country has its own enchantment-so does every city and every village and India is so diverse, but the memories of each place are attached to the people who live there or took me there. The temple that my uncle built is inside the farm house but open to everyone for evening prayers.
However he also built a school and a temple outside and for the last 20 plus years of his life worked tirelessly to educate underprivileged children, ran medical vans to make sure the poor got free medical treatment. Someday I hope to write about him-he went from a hard drinking, chain smoking military man with an intimidating personality to a man who found spirituality and his true calling-serving others...I'm still collecting material on him and my family.There are some very interesting stories there.
Desh, I wish I had known, I would have met you some where..
Thank you Heather, Ruth, Keith and Kristin for your beautiful words.
Love
Kavita

11. Posted by Kavita Chhibber on January 15, 2007 10:38 AM

Thank you also Patty. I am indeed collecting material and hopefully there will be a book. I interviewed my dad and other family members about their lives and realized there was so much I didnt know had I not asked.

12. Posted by Kavita Chhibber on January 15, 2007 10:41 AM

Kavita,

Your book about your dad sounds really interesting! And as if it could be a great experience for you to write it.

Love, Kristin

13. Posted by Kristin Masterton on January 15, 2007 11:40 AM

Dear Kavita,
Your stories have always made me feel right there with you, wherever you travel - thank you!

I find returning home to my place of birth holds just the same kind of warmth and magic you have described. Different as we are from our place of origin - still I see those common experiences of the heart. It's so nice.
~ Kate

14. Posted by Kate... on January 15, 2007 12:03 PM

Hi Kavita,

I am new to this site here. The very "hawa" of India is so different! And one thing I miss is the diversity of India as opposed to the sameness of the west.

I have also been to your website before. The interview with Ustad Shujaat Husain Khan was excellent!

15. Posted by Sourav on January 15, 2007 01:43 PM

Kavita : What a fabulous write up!

You are so right; once you fall in love with India, it is nothing short of addiction.

16. Posted by jasleen on January 15, 2007 10:45 PM

Glad to see you back Kavita and after enjoying your story realised how IB too seems to have undergone a gradual change in content recently - it is inevitable and welcome. Can well imagine how you felt revisiting childhood haunts, friends and family and the void and happy memories that much loved elders have bequeathed us.

It was a shock to read that the once beautiful Tawi is a dry bed now. Spent a lot of time just driving around in that area in the '70s and the sheer beauty of the countryside with flowing rivers and streams cutting through the wooded areas is a memory that I treasure.

17. Posted by Dara on January 16, 2007 12:16 AM

Hi Kavita, I failed to mention earlier that your post was quite fascinating and colorful. Hope to keep hearing from you often.

18. Posted by xyz on January 16, 2007 07:52 AM

Thanks Sourav, Jasleen, Dara and XYZ.
Sourav, glad you liked Shujaat's interview-he is an amazing musician and a dear friend. Dara, indeed Tawi is no longer the lush flowing river of my childhood. I have pictures in the weblog section of the new issue of my online emag-you can see how it looks now. Thanks Kristin and Kate. Yes a large part of the trip was devoted to collecting research material, and recording stories that will be published in subsequent mag issues and blogs. I love my career for the simple reason that no two days are the same, and so many stories are waiting to be written about.
Xyz I dont know where you live, but I would love to read your impressions of India and whichever part of the world you live in. The interaction I have with people who respond to my blogs is what really educates me and adds to the richness of my ever growing knowledge and experiences.
Thanks for writing.
love
Kavita

19. Posted by Kavita Chhibber on January 16, 2007 09:57 AM

Kavita, I live in Ranchi, India where I moved back to from California 2 years ago after living in SF Bay Area for around 7 years. I could relate to your experiences of having a real good time on visits to India. I used to be extremely excited about visiting India when I was out there, and despite some hardships during the visits I was quite overwhelmed by all the attention and love doled out to a 'guy visiting from the US'.

Living here permanently is different as you perhaps well understand. The daily hardships of life quite overwhelm the people, food, and culture factors that one finds so attractive when away from home. I am not sure I want to carry on living here in India. I miss the quiet beauty and sophistication of northern California and the US in general. I know a few others who have adjusted well after returning to India, but I guess I just dont feel like I fit in here that well...so after I settle a few things here I plan to go back. (After they start impeaching/imprisoning Bush would be the best time to arrive for me :)

You have a good day....

20. Posted by xyz on January 17, 2007 05:52 AM

Hi XyZ, I understand where you are coming from. Of friends and acquaintances of different ages who have returned for good to India, many came back, some have stayed but interestingly, have sent their kids back here for further studies. Then there are a few who have struggled through the inconveniences, cribbed like crazy but still loved the fact that they felt like they were finally home. I have relatives scattered over all kinds of cities, and I personally still love going to Jammu best because majority of my mom's friends and some siblings have chosen not to move from there. I envy the fact that she has friendships that have spanned 50 years and are still going strong. She on the other hand envies me the 24 hour running hot water, the cleanliness, and open spaces. Dad always jokes that each time she visits the US, she comes back and talks about the pollution and dirt as if its a conspiracy they concocted against her!
I think the most amazing thing about this country is that it gives you the opportunity to be anything you want to be if you are willing to work hard-at any age, from any walk of life.
But I think home is where your heart is. Here's wishing you a welcome home back here as and when you decide to come back.

21. Posted by Kavita Chhibber on January 18, 2007 03:20 AM

Hi Kavita, you are so 'interactive'. I couldn't say that about most other contributors on intentblog. Deepak never ever says a hi...never...to no one...sigh :(

Good to talk to you. Yes, when the impeachement begins you can be sure I am back :)

You take care and have a good day.

22. Posted by xyz on January 18, 2007 06:58 AM

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