Devender, our guide, told us that it was Sunday and that it was not crowded. Well, I am a New York girl and you couldn't prove it by me, but as I learned in India, everything is relative.
When I've gone to the other side of the world for twenty-two days it would be great if coming back I can actually say, I loved it, yet this time all I can say is, it was interesting.
If the flight was a warning of how India would meet my expectations, I was warned. Oh, the food was good, surprisingly so, but the on-board entertainment left a lot to be desired and it was not as if those of us who wanted to were able to see and hear it. The seats had seen better days - years ago- and so had the video screen. Consoles did not function. Even reading was not easy. The cabin lights were out most of the flight and the seat lamp, targeted toward my shoulder, didn't exactly help. Ticketed to Delhi, we landed for the night in Bombay (Mumbai) and were told by three or more officials to follow different directions. Eventually we figured out that we shouldn't take our bags with us, that we were to check them through to Delhi so we wouldn't have to go through security in the morning. Most of us didn't care. All we wanted was a shower and sleep but that was not to be- not for awhile, anyway. It would have been laughable trying to figure out the people in uniform, who with great authority, contradicted one and other, but we were tired and wanted to be out of the terminal and begin seeing the sights of India.
The first thing I saw was a queue (hundreds) of shabby black vehicles with drivers lined up in a lot waiting to pick up a fare. Herded to the bus, we were driven to a glamorous hotel, given a few hours to shower, sleep, eat and return for our flight to Delhi. By 2:00 PM, day two, having done nothing but sit in a terminal, on a plane, or in transit, we were in Delhi and told, "You have a few hours to rest." Well, that was the last thing I wanted but our hotel, in a tree lined area of New Delhi had no sign of commerce and I didn't think there'd be time to take off, find some and get back at the designated hour, so I stayed put.
Sightseeing began in the old city at the Jamal Masjid, the largest mosque in India. To my surprise I didn't find opulent architecture, mosaic tiling, icons, or paintings, just an abundance of bird shit, the most I'd ever seen in one place - ever! I was shocked - why? Mosques are usually clean and a haven for worshippers. This one wasn't, besides, we were told to remove our shoes. Yes, I walked barefoot, trying to avoid droppings which were everywhere, eager to get out as fast as I could. From there, we hopped on a rickshaw, two to a carriage, an arrangement that had me hanging on for dear life, not only because the carriage was crowded, but because traffic was astonishing.
Devender, our guide, told us that it was Sunday and that it was not crowded. Well, I am a New York girl and you couldn't prove it by me, but as I learned in India, everything is relative.
After a day of limited activity, we were en route again, this time to Jaipur. The people and countryside kept my attention. As you can see, looking out the window was often quite fabulous. 
We stopped to buy items for a pre-arranged school visit and were upbeat about the prospect. Then we got there. I, for one (I think most of us felt the same) was horrified to learn that the kids who greeted us and asked for pens were not the school children. No, these children didn't go to school and probably never would - and there were at least 50 of them in this little farm village. They couldn't pay the $12 annual fee and surely couldn't pay for books. It was heartbreaking. At school, the students were well groomed and disciplined despite the fact that their building was little more than a hovel. Classrooms had no desks, seats, blackboard, books, bulletin boards, shelves or file cabinets. The only source of light was the cut out for a door and window. Forget electricity, water fountains or bathrooms. They didn't exist nor did corridors, glass windows, a cafeteria, shop classes, typewriters, computers, PA systems, clocks, cafeterias, maps, gyms or playing fields. The teachers joined us but attempted no dialogue and never asked Devender to translate. So, they stood there, he stood there, the students stood there and the sixteen of us stood there. Eventually, someone told the kids to sit. They did. And nothing happened. Finally, Nancy, our own pied piper hunched down with the kids who sat near her and began showing them postcards she brought from her home state of Alaska. They were thrilled, but at most 3 or 4 could see them. That left the other 46 sitting on the ground waiting for ???? 
After about 10 of the most awkward minutes I've ever had in a school, Devender asked if we wanted to teach anything. What a laugh. Unprepared, with 50 kids in 5 rows, with toes to the back of the person in front of them, what could I teach - a dance with no music, an exercise, a game, tell a story in a language that the kids could never understand? I was speechless and mortified. Someone suggested that we sing a song, which we did. Singing didn't assuage my horror.
I left that school feeling as if I'd learned more about the caste system and the limitations of DEMOCRACY than about education in India. Certainly I couldn't understand how Indian students come to the states so well prepared. That left me questioning the value of elected officials who don't build schools to enable people to learn to help themselves and wondering if life with no semblance of equality or hope can be free? Needless to say, such observations underscored my antipathy toward the Bush Administration's espousal of democracy being the answer to evil. These children - the ones not going to school - despite living in the largest democracy in the world would never be free, not to choose the life they want - no matter how motivated they were. The realization was so swift and horrifying, it clouded my feelings for the remainder of the trip. Frankly, if something good could be seen in the squalor and the masses of have-nots and never haves, I had a hard time seeing it. Fortunately, my photos went a long way to reminding me of the wonderful things we did see and feel.
Everyone welcomed us with smiles, handshakes. They asked if we would take their picture. They tried to practice their English. Without exception, if we were willing to stop and talk, they were interested and in seconds people came from what seemed to be nowhere to surround us and become part of the activity. 
Here Nancy is showing her postcards. She started by talking to a couple of kids. As you can see, she was surrounded. The children were beautiful, those in school and those who were not. Frankly, it was difficult to tell the difference. They all seemed eager to learn. They all wanted a pen. They hovered at the doors and climbed so they could lean over the roof of the school to look and listen in.
A camel ride near Kalakho Lake took us through pristine countryside. We saw people of the village doing their daily tasks. We visited with people of all ages. Everyone was as curious about us as we were about them. 
The kids posed for a picture with us without being asked. They must have learned something about digital photography from earlier tourists because by the time we arrived, they couldn't understand why I wouldn't show them how they looked on my camera. It was difficult explaining that an SLR uses film, not digital images. Though I couldn't accomodate their yearning for a self image, the kids still sood with me giving me eyes, their warmth and their hands, while attempting a few words in English. Some took my hand with one hand, some with both. 
Our guide had been warning us all along not to let anyone touch us and not to get in the middle of a crowd, but I felt safe inside the village and frankly thought his "caste" was talking more loudly than his experience. Well, I'll never know for sure, but it was among the lovely kids that I noticed one of my rings missing from the hand that a young boy, minutes earlier had been grabbing with both of his, asking for a dollar and grimacing as I told him I didn't have a dollar to give him. He seemed like one of the wise guys I had during my teaching days at Sewanhaka - just with a different language - and having lost the ring, I had a bad feeling about him and the "friendliness." The tour organizer, whom I told right away, was upset and took the kids aside, hoping that by speaking to them, my ring would turn up later that evening. It didn't but I did have closure. The following morning it was on the bus- in two pieces, a half on Devender's seat, the other, we were told, found on the floor in the back of the bus the afternoon before. I think of the story as a face saving saga and nothing more. Had my ring really broken (and why would it have?) both pieces would have fallen to the floor in the same place. Still, I marvel at what I saw and felt. The village, without running water, was clean and neat. People even swept the earth. 
And, if you looked in their eyes, well, you saw serenity and beauty.
My memories of the forts and Palaces 
are dependent on photos which remind me that we saw places that were breathtaking. Still, I cannot say I thought India was beautiful or that I love India or that my exploration of it was fun. I started out loving the Indian people I'd met over the years and loving the food. Yet, after two weeks, I was tired of eating the same dishes for lunch and supper that were on the buffets no matter where we were. The truth is that spending three weeks in India was challenging despite our being in wonderful hotels and being escorted in relative luxury.
Never far from my mind were the school and the millions of kids who'd never go. That bothered me immensely. And though I got accustomed to the typical street scenes: men peeing whenever and wherever they wanted, litter everywhere, cows sniffing garbage,
pigs roaming the streets, goats on leashes like dogs, and animals with noses in the food stalls, it sickened me. I was appalled at the absence - almost total - of women on the streets during most of our trip in the north. It is hard to understand how women who subjugate themselves to male authority, who accept arranged marriages, who live with their husband's family and who obey their husband's father in all decisions can become head of state. I learned to hate what it means to use products that are not bio-degradable after seeing streets and fields spotted with colored plastic bags and wrappers - everywhere. I could not get over sharing the road with cows, pigs, oxen, and elephants. 
Nor could I stand the constant beeping car and bus horns to get the wandering animals to move out of the way. Not surprisingly, the congestion made our country drives of 80 miles into all day affairs. Still, after days of the same, I thought I'd seen it all. Then I got to Varnessi and was actually sick to my stomach. It was worse there, far worse.
Yes, the grimness of Indian life in the north clouded my view. I expected an exotic, colorful country with poor people in poor neighborhoods that we would drive through, occasionally. I found something completely different. If India is colorful, I missed it. We talked. We tried to understand the government not building and equipping schools. We were surprised at the poor network of roads, the trains whose windows we could not see out of, the airport terminals that never saw an ATM and the millions of people just hanging out who, with a plan, could be helping to project India into the 21st century. We were told of empty treasuries, of a small taxable base, of the graft and inefficient courts, and of the inability of a small percentage of the population to pay enough in tax to make a dent in the needs of the country. This info left me thinking about what it means to have a bare treasury - no universal education, no effort to enlighten the masses- and I decided that if living a tax-light life means empty treasuries and being surrounded by scenes typical in northern India, then please, TAX ME!
On the bright side, I'm told there are two India's. During our extension south, we almost found out. Half our group headed home after the first 17 days but seven of us stayed on for the trip south. Those bound for JFK hit the air as the snow shut it down. While they spent days trying to get home, we spent days in Cocchin and our Indian world changed. Cochin was upscale and clean and that was apparent from the moment we arrived in the terminal. Our driver took us straight to our hotel. During the 45 minutes drive he didn't have to honk his horn more than once and we were wondering why? In minutes everyone started remarking that we hadn't seen a guy take a leak or a cow in the street or the piles of garbage we'd become accustom to. We even began seeing women, and colorful Saris and families traveling together. Kids wore school uniforms - all kids. There were no kids hanging around. People were not on their hunches staring into space. It was different and we wanted to know why. Kerala, a state in India which elected a communist government for many years, was on the trade route and greatly influenced by foreigners and their religion. The state claims a literacy rate of well over 90%. Obviously, it provides for the kids who can't afford school fees, books and uniforms. The cows are kept in the field. Instead of tuk-tuks, the most common vehicle was a white retro cab. Churches with alters were a place where people could congregate. Women were everywhere, in the fields, cleaning pots in the river, everywhere, wearing their colorful Saris and looking brighter and happier.
Yes, the south of India was a far cry from Varnarsi, where people with advanced leprosy, reached out with infected limbs, begging us for whatever we could give them as we headed to the ghat on the Ganges River.
What will India be like in twenty years? Who knows? I can't imagine much progress if the masses are not educated. Frankly, I am not sure I will return to find out. But one thing I can say. I saw one of the most beautiful sunsets I'd ever seen in Cochin and the brightest moonlite last nite.
