25 July 2016 Amritsar. My glasses have steamed up, going from the air conditioned room to a table outside. Michael is bringing pranthas [they were yummy] . . . Back in the A.C., waiting a bit to go back to the Gold Temple. Saw it all lit up last night. Hundreds, thousands of people circumambulating at 10:00 p.m. on a Sunday night. Sat for a bit and two young men asked if they could talk to me. We chatted. They said their uncle lived in the U.S. but they didn’t know where. I said a lot of people from the Punjab lived near Sacramento. They said, that’s it, Sacrament. Small World. We are back in India, so to speak, where it is so hot, food runs right through me. Going back to the Temple and the memorial where British troops shot down hundreds of defenseless people. Then return to air conditioning. Last night, since they had beer available, I had a beer and “something fried,” namely pakoras (they were good) but that wasn’t such a good idea. J Running on empty . . . So, we went to the Gold Temple, waiting in line to go inside: worth it to see Guru Granth Sahib, that is, their holy text. Turns out all the singing and chanting over the loud speaker wasn’t taped, but was live, sung from inside the temple itself. We had some chai, sitting near where volunteers feed thousands of people for free, day and night. Thought about it compared to Loaves and Fishes (the homeless services project in Sacramento). One difference is that rich and poor alike eat there, in part because it is a holy site. There weren’t any class or caste distinctions. Everyone is directed to a place on the floor, covered with long mat runners. But the sound of metal plates clanging against each other was deafening. That and the metal chai/water bowls. Still, it was impressive. I like the idea of people eating together, without distinction of “serving the needy.” 24 July 2016
Took a last walk around the Kora this a.m. before leaving Dharamsala. Saw a man off the trail, whom I thought was taking photos. Nope, peeing in the open (the telltale hip-shake as the zipper goes up). As I turned some of the many prayer wheels, a skinny black and white cat stuck her nose between the wheels. Cats here are very small and skinny. At the top of the hill, by the Temple exist, I noticed the camp of the beggars: tarps spread on ropes right down the hillside. Not sure why I never noticed it before. Stopped at Chokey’s for a last visit and tea, of course. She has very severe edema, even around her knees so she cannot bend her legs. You cannot see her ankles. I told her she needed to see a doctor about that; I also told Tsering. We exchanged [greeting] cards, she put a kata on me, and gave me a card and kata to give to Cathy, whom I think provides substantial support to Tsering’s family. Cathy’s kata (blue) was blessed by the D.L. I guess Chokey was having some thoughts, so she also gave me an orange kata blessed by H.H. She also apparently walked the kora, or maybe just the temple, since there was a receipt for an offering (100 Rps) for Cathy, Helen, and me. Last night’s party and departure from our learning partners was a bit emotional. Y— was still in New Delhi, trying to make arrangements so her nephew can go to the U.S. on a visa. She has hired some sort of advocate to help in the process. D— had a successful trip: her Chinese passport should be approved in twenty days. She wants to stay in Dharamasala for some sort of festival, though, and won’t return to Tibet until next year. I don’t know if she will be able to leave again, though, since she escaped once already. The ties of home and family are very strong. . . Long drive from Dharamsala to Amritsar today. It got hotter and hotter as we rode down the mountain. The Punjab (Sikh) seems a lot better organized than other parts of India, though Amritsar seems as untidy and half-built as every other place in India. As were driving on the toll road (!!) it really looked a lot like I-80 between Vacaville and Sacramento: lots of farms, growing corn and rice. Going to a lecture on Sikhism, then on to the Golden Temple to see it, and to eat, since the Sikhs serve dinner to thousands every night at the G.T. [Actually, they feed thousands 24/7 for free. More on this later.] 22 July 2016 I don’t get the mixture of compassion and cruelty in India. Cows are sacred, but neglected unless they are still producing milk. Yesterday, and again this morning, I heard a cow bellowing in distress: whether it was stuck on a hillside or needed to be milked, it was awful to hear. Dogs are everywhere, many look scraggly, or lame from arthritis. People feed them scraps, but it’s mainly carbs, no protein. Yesterday I saw a female dog (yes, a bitch) just standing bewildered in the path of the Kora. She was scrawny and look to be starving. Then there’s the enormous bull, or rather, the bull with the enormous stomach, that appears so painfully distended. That can’t be right. He wanders around the road near Ahimsa House, but today I saw him at the top of the Kora path by the D.L. temple. Then there are the people on the Kora who bring food for the monkeys and dogs. And this morning, a little old man who had been arguing vociferously with another LOM (must have been trained in dialectics) gave what I presume was a bag of food to the beggar family that hangs out at the top of the hill. I’ve been somewhat selective in who I’ve given money to. Several women with children have come up with the “I don’t want money, only rice / milk” approach. [This is a scam whereby you buy food, and they re-sell to the store getting a bit more money than if you actually gave them a few rupees.] Usually I have to put money in my pocket before I go out, with the express plan that that’s the budget I’ll spend that day [on donations]. Dharamsala is small enough anyway that you get to know the local crowd. Yesterday I’d put three 10-Rp notes in my pocket to give to the folks at the top of the Kora, but darn if there weren’t four groups that day. [We’re talking less than 50 cents, folks, not a big spender here!] The last guy lucked out, as I fished out a 100-Rp note. Still, it doesn’t seem like the level of absolute destitution is as great here as in New Delhi. Probably because there are fewer people, it’s a tourist town, and it gets too cold for people to sleep on the streets. . . I did give some money to Tsering for his sister since he blessed some prayer beads for me in a rather elaborate ceremony at his home altar. He said his sister could use it for the butter lamp (to buy butter) and I protested that I wanted her to spend it going to the hospital, since she is dehydrated and vomiting. That’s kind of what I mean by cruelty (callousness?) and compassion. Why would you buy a religious item when you needed an IV? This was Christopher Hitchens’ critique of Mother Teresa in The Missionary Position: she spent millions in donations not on hospitals or services but on gold monstrances and other paraphernalia for the church. Of course, I was the one who bought the prayer beads! 21 July 2016
Well, I did it! The thing I was most afraid of: being left all alone in India. Everyone had gone to Gallu for the night except me. I was mainly alone in the guest house: there is a family who lives here (the manager) but I’m not sure they would have been very helpful, since their English is limited. So I was pretty much alone. No phone, no Internet, nothing. At first I was nervous about being nervous, but when I realized I wasn’t nervous, I felt fine. I didn’t sleep very well, but that was for other reasons. Got up, walked the Kora (the circumambulation around the temple) with the old Tibetans, headed for the Internet café and breakfast. Scrambled eggs always include onions and tomatoes. Did some errands, had lunch with Tsering’s niece Phurbo and a Tibetan doctor (who accurately made some diagnoses based on feeling my pulse). Then went to Chokey’s, Tsering’s sister, to bring her some pizza and vegetables. Again she arranged them artistically and took photos. I asked her to say some prayers for Mac’s mother: she tried to get me to buy some prayers at the temple, but I said I wanted her to pray for his mother. She wanted her name, so I wrote “Helen” on an envelope. Not alone tonight: several students came back, very sick. Scott, an assistant leader, took them to the hospital. Another student apparently got left behind because she over-slept, so she took a cab back. So while it’s not a full house, it’s not an empty house either. |
Author Rebecca Moore is Professor Emerita of Religious Studies at San Diego State University. She is currently Reviews Editor for Nova Religio: The Journal of Alternative and Emergent Religions and Co-Director of The Jonestown Institute. Archives
December 2021
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