Nice Work If You Can Get It

Just to bring myself up to speed, here, it's now August 3rd.

The adventures of Random White Girl and Nay Hindi are now officially over, as Gowry has gone home to Toronto. We ended our summer by dancing our asses off for 1 hour, all we could handle, at the uber seedy Decibel club. This was only after consuming lots of very inexpensive but tasty vodka, primping for hours, and laughing till our stomachs hurt.

Meaghan, the kid sister, has arrived safely and is turning 21 today. We've bought tickets to Thailand and leave tonight. I haven't packed, but I don't plan on wearing much more than a bathing suit for the next 10 days so I'm not too worried.

Okay, onto adventures.

Yesterday's happened by accident. We hadn't planned anything more than a trip to the Lotus Temple for a little zen and then maybe a coffee in Hauz Khas village, but it's often these unplanned outings that give way to the funniest (mis)adventures.

First off, it's been raining in Delhi. Finally, the monsoon is here and the place is soaked! Roads are out, buses are drowning in underpasses, and the traffic, as you can imagine, is horrENDous. Meaghan and I aren't the types to be swayed by obstacles, so we packed up Jason the new driver and headed all the way across town. On the way I kept asking Jason "Is this really insane? You can tell me if it is, I won't be offended." He just kept nodding and smiling, but I could tell that driving in the traffic was less than enjoyable.

Our trip to Lotus was short but lovely, something I had to see again and a touristy thing for Meag to cross of her list. We tried to go to Nehru place for electronics, but it truly was insane, even by our standards, so we bounced through the water logged potholes in the parking lot and back out onto the main roads.

Meag and I had seen Hauz Khas in the lonelyplanet guide the night before, and it looked cool - trendy shops, coffee houses, winding streets and ruins. We arrived to a shockingly empty parking lot - someone's smiling on us. We piled out of the car and started walking through exactly what the lonelyplanet had promised us. Parts of it reminded me of Britain, parts of it reminded Meag of Rome. Sadly we were both without our cameras.

At one point we found this little paved pathway that lead to what looked like a fence and then a really peaceful looking lake beyond it. Jason took one look at the garbage strewn pathway and said "I'm not going down there." Meag and I were like "Why not?" Oh, the unquenchable adventurer. We took his advice, though, and turned around back throught the windy streets.

When we got to the other side of the village we started to see these ruins poking out from between the buildings. Old domes, crumbling rocks and buildings, terra cotta walkways... Meag's a sucker for ruins and I like anything historical, so we started poking around. Jason, to our utter amazement, had never seen them! He said "I've driven past here thousands of times and sat in that parking lot more times than I can count, but I've never seen this before." He was born here and has lived here all of his 27 years, and it took two of the Beames girls to get him to these ruins. All the more adventerous for us!

It turns out most of these ruins were built in the 1200 and 1300s around the "tank", or lake, that was constructed at the same time to provide water for a fort. Again, though, we were sans camera so I can't even add pictures of what we saw. We wandered through the old buildings past groups of old men cross legged and smoking pot, couples making out in hidden doorways, and flocking birds who must have found something to eat nearby. All the while we could see this lake and an awesome walking path around it, but the fort we were in was 10 feet off the ground and we couldn't find a way down.

We started asking people in the village how to get to the lake, and they invariably pointed us back to the very same pathway Jason refused to go down.

We reached the pathway.

We stopped.

We looked and scratched our heads and asked "Is this really the way down? Folks in Delhi love giving people directions even when they don't have a clue in hell what they're talking about."

However, the unquenchable adventurers started picking their way through the fresh mud and garbage in an attempt to make it to the lake.

I can't begin to describe how gross things got. Because it's been raining a lot, all kinds of mud had collected on the walking path. But it wasn't just straight up mud, it was silty, smelly squishy, and full of all kinds of unimaginables. Luckily I was the only one who saw the drowned rat. We started laughing hysterically - none of us could believe how disgusting this was, but all of us really wanted to get to the lake! So we squashed through on tip toes trying not to wreck our sandals or nice shoes, grabbed onto each other, and tried desperately not to fall in the muck.

When we reached the end of the muddy part we all looked at each other and at the same time said "We are soooo finding another way out of here!" We trekked a little further and, to our great relief, saw the much cleaner walking path around the lake.

Sitting was definitely the next priority - we needed to compose ourselves after that episode of disgusting-ness. Jason kept making these "hhhhuugghhhh" noises, like he was trying to skake off the heebie jeebies. I mean, I'm not so okay with dirt a lot of the time, but I think he's REALLY not okay with dirt! Totally grossed him out.

Thankfully the rest of the walk was relatively dirt free. We wandered around the tiny green lake laughing about the mud and talking about random stuff. We were still shocked that he'd never seen any of this. There were peacocks, white geese, tiny ducks, wildlife of the human variety - all in all an awesome meander. You'd never know you were in Delhi. At one point Meaghan said she wanted to throw stuff into the water. Jason suggested she throw me in. Great, guys. We're friends, right? Right??? They placated themselves by throwing stones instead, but I received at least 7 threats to be thrown in the drink with the ducks and the algae.

We got about 9 10ths of the way around the lake when we encountered a tree that had been blown down in the previous night's wicked thunderstorm. Alas, we were forced to turn around and walk the entire circumference of the lake again. Mom phoned while we were walking back, and Meaghan told her that getting to the lake was the most exciting thing she'd ever done in her life. I laughed so hard I almost peed. Funny, people don't laugh out loud much here.

Our walk back to the car was much less exciting, but that was fine by us. We talked about rock climbing, Jason told us stories about childhood cricket matches and how to run up and over a 7 foot wall... then we were back in the car and yawning. Perhaps the unquenchables aren't so unquenchable after all.

The afternoon was short, but it was the kind of adventure I'd been looking for for a while. This time it found me. It was pretty incredible sharing it with one person who just arrived and another who's lived here his entire life - seeing the city with completely different but fresh eyes. Wonderful.

Will update post-Thailand. Or during warranting a connection.

I tried not to go over 60 even though the speedometer said I could reach 140 km/hr. Considering mom’s old Tercel could only cruise at 140 on the prairies, I figured the chances that my two wheels of fury would top out at anything more than a buck and change were pretty slim. Either way I didn’t think the residents of Koh Lanta Yai would appreciate two random white girls speeding through their towns on scooters, plus this was only Meaghan’s second day riding a motorbike.

Friday afternoon’s scooter ride was likely the most fun I’ve ever had on two wheels. The weather was perfect, the roads were clear, and the scenery was breathtaking. I’ve never seen beaches that were bluer than the sky before, and the puffy clouds were amazing!

Koh Lanta is a little island off the south coast of Thailand tucked out of the way of big touristy places like Phuket and Chiang Mai. It’s only about 22 miles long and even fewer wide, covered by palm trees and mangroves and lined on one side with beaches. We were there at low season so there weren’t too many tourists crawling around the place, which suited us fine. We were only there for a week, and after living in Delhi’s mania for 3 months a week of peace and quiet was exactly what we needed.

Mom, Meaghan, Dan and I stayed in this bungalow resort at Kaw Kwang beach on the northern part of the island. It was the coolest little place, family run since 1986, absolutely sweet, hilarious, wonderful young folks working the restaurant and trucking us around the island. Kaw Kwang beach itself is sheltered from the worst of the season’s waves by a tall outcropping so you can still swim when it’s choppy farther out, but it isn’t far from the windy spots if you really feel like being buffeted. If you’re not into sea water there’s a big tiled pool right next to the shore, and you’re never more than a 30 baht tuk tuk ride from the nearest corner store that stocks cheap but good Thai rum. All in all, a place I could have spent way more than a week in.

Anyway, Mom, Meaghan and I rented motorbikes from the resort on Thursday afternoon. About half an hour into our two wheeled adventure, I popped a flat tire that couldn’t be repaired by the guys at local thatched cottage/service station. Meaghan had to ride me double back to the resort after having only ridden a motorcycle for, oh, the half hour we’d been out on the road. It was only upon return that we found out these were just the staff’s bikes, and that I had popped a flat in Ooy, the cook’s, rear tire.

Friday Meaghan and I tried again, but this time we rented scooters from a more reputable place in town. My back brakes were still a little spongy but we were too excited to care. The sky was too blue to pass this up!

We scooted the length of the island that borders the Andaman Sea. Most of the road is built in from the water, so you can’t see it the whole way. We drove through small towns and bush and past all kinds of homes built of nothing but thin palm trunks and thatched palm leaves. There were lots of narrow concrete homes as well, but these were obviously owned by the wealthier islanders. Satellite dishes don’t discriminate between rich and poor – both thatched cottages and more substantial homes sported dishes outside.

Down near the bottom of the island the Thai government is building cookie cutter concrete houses in the style of the ones Meag and I had driven past. These are being built in an attempt to replace the homes destroyed by the tsunami two years ago, but they still look like houses instead of homes. Few are occupied and fewer are finished.

Driving through this lush land was pretty incredible, especially considering it had been devastated so recently. Two years might seem like a long time, but isn’t. There is construction everywhere, both tsunami related and non tsunami, because tourism is starting to catch on. It’s almost impossible to tell that the island was swamped 30 feet under water. Some of the trees and roads were washed away and sometimes you can find large and unusual debris on the shore (ie. full toilet and basin bathroom sets), but other than that the place looks perfect.

Meag and I had a milkshake in one restaurant I can’t name right now so that we could cool off and do a little gawking at the turquoise water. Apparently the water is even more vibrant in high season, but the storms we’d had over the week had churned up the sea floor so it was a little duller than normal. The green islands with their tiny yellow beaches, the fishing boats on shore and on the water, and the giant waves were more than enough for us, though. And not all of the islands rise on a grade, either. No graceful sloping beaches or tree covered hills. Sometimes it’s just bang cliffs straight out of the water to a tall rounded top, kind of like enormous silos in the middle of the ocean. The cliffs somehow retain their ability to grow vegetation, however, so sometimes you can see trees growing up on angles from the sides of these silo islands. We also ended up having lunch in Lanta Old Town, a mainly Chinese village with some great restaurants that are built on stilts over the shore.

Scooting is tiring business, so we packed up shortly after lunch and started heading back to town. The sun sets really early because we’re so close much closer to the equator, so the island was all golden even though it was only 4pm. The white clouds, green hills, and gold light were almost too beautiful to bear. Lanta also starts to come alive around that time on a Friday afternoon. We drove through this one section with a bustling market on our left and an official looking soccer game complete with bleachered spectators being played in a school field on our right. It felt like real Thailand, at least the Lanta section of real Thailand. We had to slow right down and weave through shopping mothers and their children, men and women hawking street food, drinks, clothes and household goods. The market stalls were covered by dirtied yellow tarps and it was breezy, so these yellow tarps were flapping in the wind with the hills in the background. Lanta is mostly Muslim, so the women were all wearing colourful mirrored head coverings that were also waving like flags in the wind. That minute or so it took to drive through the don’t-blink-or-you’ll-miss-it town was the most incredible minute of the whole week – it was the closest we came to feeling like we were actually a part of the island as opposed to just visitors on it.

The rest of the ride home was kind of a blissful blur for me. We came shooting back toward Long Beach where we’d stopped to take tourist photos of us on our bikes. The road slopes down and around a curve before it reaches the beach, so for a few seconds it looks like you’re going to ride right out into the sparkling blue sea. Kind of a tempting idea in that blissed out state, really. We went out for a shorter scoot to the other side of the island before returning the bikes to see what the less touristy half was like – lots more houses, mosques dotted between tiny Buddhist shrines, thatched cottages and goats on the roads. Beautiful, beautiful island.

We finished the night by watching the sun go down from a cliff behind our bungalow. It was the perfect way to cap off our seven days on Koh Lanta Yai before heading to Bangkok for two days of madness. Personally, I think we all would have happily traded Bangkok for another two sunsets on Kaw Kwang Beach.

Teaser: my next post will be entitled "six beers in bangkok and the world's your oyster."

here we are
this crew of four,
two homegrown and showing us around,
lamenting days gone
in this light shone on 24 hour 5 star
coffee grounds in the bottom of my cup.
we two,
uncle ben's laugh a minute white rice,
two grains among millions we,
grins split,
fellow diners peeling left over laughter from
their tables near by -
how dare you have so much fun -
we are determined, this crew of four,
to have fun despite the unforeseen and
somewhat sweaty circumstances.

the burn the rented baby's hand was sporting was not
the latest fashion trend;
nor was the supposed mother's "hello madame, chappati"
the chorus to the latest
love song.
poverty stricken, market driven,
sunday afternoon's all right for
begging.

drowning in cars, bars, and
movie stars -
all that glitters must be worth something -
hustle past the hungry because
somehow
somewhere on that magic (tragic) wheel they've done
something
to deserve this.

now i'm angry,
four year old unbridled pounding
fists against the billions
as i climb into my car.
desperate to escape the scene,
coddled head in double bed,
wrapped in wrath and the self-righteousness that is bound
to solve everything.

epilogue:

i will tune this instrument as best i can.
i will play the notes i know
until i tire my hands and if the
music stops before i get a chance to learn the words
i'll keep singing.

i say nothing,
afraid
that if i open my mouth the
whole world is gonna come spilling on out and
when the deluge ends will the
wet walk away?
will i be left a weeping jaw
on the brand new beach where my heart
used to live?

i'm tight-lipped and slipping through life
saying nothing.

broken there is just
too much
to mourn
in us

"a love struck romeo
sings the streets a serenade
layin' everybody low
with a love song that he made" - Romeo and Juliet, Dire Straits

My family and I were shopping a few weeks ago in an upscale market. Bear in mind, when I say upscale, it doesn't mean there weren't hawkers, garbage, and the occasional cow patty in the streets between the shops. However, the stores themselves were clean, expensive, and, more often than not, Western.

As we were leaving, we were called to by this woman who was sitting cross legged on the ground holding a baby. She was calling to anyone who walked by and displaying the baby's hand, shaking it and holding it in the air. This isn't an unusual scene here, but this time the baby's hand was burnt. And we aren't talking just a little scald or anything; the baby's hand was blackened. It had stopped crying, though I'm sure the pain must have been immense.

The blanks that must be filled in are as follows:

Thousands of people walked by that woman and the baby that day.
You can't put her in the car with you and take her to the hospital without worrying about what you'll contract.
You can't put her in a taxi because the taxi driver probably won't accept the fare.
Even if you do get her to a hospital, it's unlikely that anyone would be available or willing to treat the baby on account of the countless others in the same predicament.
The woman likely doesn't want to go to the hospital because that would eliminate her begging income for the day.
The baby's hand was burnt on purpose.
It's likely that the woman on the street has rented the baby from its mother who is even poorer than she is.

This desperate scene was enough to have me reeling, and still is even though it's been weeks since it happened. It summed up so much of what I've seen here: the poverty, the hopelessness, the willingness - no, the necessity - to go to extremes to survive. Though it was only a few seconds long, that moment was almost enough to make me throw my hands in the air and say "that's it, nihlism it is, folks." But I didn't.

I was talking to Varun about it the night before my fateful trip to Agra. We were talking, as much as I could, about the construction of the self and how that same desperation is in all of us. He said that if it isn't happening outside your door step, it's manifesting itself in other things. Take the movie Saw 2, for example. Can't get your gore and desperation at the market? Watch it on the big screen.

But desperation doesn't just manifest itself in horror movies and high school shootings. It comes out in all the means we use of preserving ourselves, of either making ourselves immortal or at least pushing away the possibility of death as much as possible. Take addictions: people use drugs, alcohol, work, fitness, fanaticism etc all the time to either create for themselves the possility of life after death in spirit or in the memories of others, or create for themselves the illusion that they are invincible and can't be harmed.

I lump greed in there as well. Greed to me is that self preservation instinct run amok. I'm sure greed will be blantantly obvious when I return to Canada now that I've been away, but for now my closest frame of reference is India. Greed runs rampant here. People who have money have LOTS of money and they'll craft entire religions to keep it. Those who have nothing truly have nothing. Farmers are killing themselves and their families in droves in the poorer states because they don't even have any hope anymore. But greed smells like desperation to me, it's the consciousness's personal full-body leper pat down to make sure all the limbs and digits are present and accounted for, and then this maniacal hoarding to make sure that each and every time they do that pat down they won't be sprung with any surprises. Greed replaces gratitude; it isn't a feeling of being lucky to be alive, it's a desperate fear that tomorrow my luck will be that of the begger on the street.

I think the most interesting manifestation of desperation though is love. I'm not saying all love is just desperation in disguise, it's just that, because it's such an all-encompassing and overwhelmingly vulnerable feeling/emotion/state whatever you want to call it, it's an easy place for desperation to take root.

We hear about desparate love in the news all the time. Man/woman kills lover/partner/spouse over actual or assumed infidelity. Man/woman kills self over loss of loved one. Lovers commit suicide over restriction/religion/family obligation. Hell, judges and juries will alter their perception of a case in court because it's termed a "crime of passion."

We've even sanctified desperate love - when you marry someone, it's forever. Till death do you part. Don't leave me because of sickness or poverty, don't get bored of me when I'm healthy, don't fail me because the only way to "win" at marriage is to stay together until we die, and that means one of us will have to live in mourning after the other has passed.

And we play each other movies and songs about desperate love. Chick flicks and power ballads abound, Shakespearean tragi-comic happy endings rife with sacrifice and concession, song after song about pining for someone the singer can't have, or could have had, or did have but lost. I think my favourite one of all - please forgive me Bono, I really do love your song, it follows me wherever I go - is "With or Without You" by U2. This fatalist doomed to live forever in limbo for a loved one symbolizes for me that resigned desperation, the moment when you figure out it's never going to work the way you want it to but that you can't bear to let it go, either. If you're open to it, these tiny carvings of the human psyche can reach in and tear your beating heart straight out of your chest. It's a gross image, but does it ever feel good to indulge in those emotions.

In no way do I mean to say that by being lovestruck you're somehow equivalent in nature to someone begging in the streets, or that someone who is begging in the streets is somehow incapable of being lovestruck. I just find it interesting that we make desperation okay for ourselves by turning it into something we choose to take on. Once that desperation manifests itself as something someone has to take on by necessity, ie woman and burnt baby begging in the streets, we shy away from it, cal it bad or wrong or turn it into something that is outside of ourselves.

I'm not too sure how to end this one. I haven't figured that out yet. I just don't want to forget, that's all.