Making Friends... Of All Species

Today is my third day in Mussoorie, India and I woke up around 4;30. The Pittsburgh Pirates were just beginning a baseball game back in the states and I watched that for half an hour before I saw the sun creeping through the curtains of the upstairs loft. I decided to go hiking to watch the sunset. On my steep ascent up into the mountains, I ran into two wild dogs.

India has wild dogs absolutely everywhere. In fact, yesterday, as the students and I walked through the shopping district of the town, we came across an abandoned litter of puppies shivering in the street, piled under a few motorcycles. The girls (and I) were rather heartbroken over the ordeal.

Anyhow, the two wild dogs ended up following me for over an hour as I hiked. When I came to the pinnacle of the mountain I was on, they sat down and watched the sunrise with me. It was there that I promptly gave the names of Pocahontas and Geronimo to my two fellow companions.

The dogs followed me back down the mountain until they started languishing behind, whining, as I neared the gate of one particular village. I urged them on with friendly tussling of their manes and cooing of encouragement. However, it seemed I was in the wrong. No more than one minute passed this gate, a pack of dogs came flying out from a fork in the road and attacked my two friends. The large alpha male, Geronimo was chased back into the village. Pocahontas, the very small female who almost seemed like a puppy, was pushed over one of the walls down fifteen feet where she somersaulted, cried out, and peed herself. I stepped in front of her and stood protectively as half of the dogs split to chase Geronimo, and the other half preyed upon Pocahontas. However, they had no interest in confronting a human for her.

Pocahontas would follow me all the way back into the Hanifl Center. However, after I returned from the dining building to wash my hands, she had vanished. I think I’ll see her again… and Geronimo too.

The sunrise, for once not obscured by the monsoon's clouds and mist.

Geronimo on the left, and Pocahontas on the right.

The Rhesus Macaque

Geronimo can't resist the chase.

A Stream of Country

 The train ride into Dehradun was exceptional. I got to ride through much of the Northern India countryside seeing the people, the overtaking foliage, the terrain… and the pollution. Man, I knew about the slums and I knew about the problem with the accumulation of trash in India but I was not prepared for it. Trash is absolutely everywhere that there is any human populace within 20 miles.

 I started reading a book called “Still Life with Woodpecker” by Tom Robbins and as I was riding, one quote stuck out to me. It read, “People who sacrifice beauty for efficiency get what they deserve”. Now, I hate to sound like I’m judging India or anything for that matter but I couldn’t shake the cons of industrialism, especially in a country that has been in the fast lane of industrialism for the past century or so. It’s effects scream out of the landscape of the country (Northern India). I also had a rather uneasy thought in my head as the train flew by the passing villages, slums, and cities: ‘If this train were to strike someone… I don’t think it would stop’. A metaphor for the world’s current path.

I arrived in the Hanifl Center around late afternoon the other day and was immediately welcomed with open arms by the students here. Dr. Alter was more than kind, and accommodating to me off the train.

I don’t want this blog to turn into an every day, every moment record of the things I do but I do want it to record specific thoughts and events that stick out.

Awaiting my train to Dehradun

One of the first small towns to come into view.

Trash strewn about the water systems. You wonder why all the tap water here is tainted.

:/

Torrential downpour upon climbing the base of the Himalayas; heavy flooding.

Climbing up to the Hanifl Center... almost there.

Mission... Almost Accomplished

Operation Get-The-Fuck-To-India went into full effect this morning upon waking up. Immediately, I quickly packed up my gear and I was off to the airport around 1. I got to Newark around 3:30, and said my goodbyes to my family. It was surreal, yet… nothing had hit me yet. I couldn’t possibly imagine exactly what India or Delhi would be like and upon my arrival, the futility at any preparations to do so were clear.

The plane was 12 hours and I sat in the very last row of the plane nestled in between two fellow Indian flyers. I watched 21 Jump Street, Cloud Atlas, and half of Lincoln. It was quite enjoyable. The other few hours were spent reading, sleeping, and complaining within my mind about the utter impossibility of falling asleep sitting upright, yet it was done.

Arriving in Delhi was an absolute trip in itself. I no longer had cell phone service and just hoped that I would run into a guy holding a sign with my name on it. After trudging through customs and the foreign guest’s line, I exited the airport with anxiety creeping in as to whether or not I would have to find my own way in this bustling city.

However, as I exited the airport and was greeted by the evening mist of smog, there was a man holding a yellow sign reading: “Ralf Johnson, Woodstock”. I was in business. As I walked with the man, a stranger approached and clasped his hand over my hand that was gripping the handle of my luggage. Out of pure instinct from contact, I withdrew my hand. Unsure of what to make of the man, I walked with my driver for a couple more feet before he turned to face the man who took my luggage. He yelled at him in another language, and shooed him away with his hand. After the man argued back, he begrudgingly gave me back my luggage. The driver turned back to me and said, “He just wants your money. You must look out for those men”.

We got to the man’s vehicle and headed out of the parking garage. I got the man’s name but the pronunciation and dialect that he spoke of totally obscured it from me. I asked again, pronounced it, and was told it was correct but I’ve totally lost it. I never was good with names.

The roads of India! Holy shit! I was terrified! There are lanes drawn upon these “highways” yet no one follows them whatsoever. As opposed to using turn signals to move between these “lanes”, drivers instead just beep their horn. It was utter madness. I saw two families all piled onto motorcycles steering through tiny gaps in between cars. There are tons of cyclists and motorcycles, in general, just dangerously flying down the road. The man and I eventually arrived to the hotel I’m staying in for the night called the YWCA Delhi. He’ll be here tomorrow morning at 6 am and I’ll be taking a 5-hour train ride into Dehradun where I’ll meet Professor Alter. My mind is still whirring just from the drive. Culture shock has totally slapped me in the face.

YWCA Room

The error in forgetting my camera was apparent. It cannot take pictures in the dark... and since my whole night in Delhi was at night, this is the only clear picture I captured.

The Gift of the Present

I've decided, to hell with it, I sort of miss keeping a little journal of my thoughts, experiences and adventures so this is the product of those feelings. Here I am again, starting another one of these blogs. On this occasion, I'm bound for Mussoorie, India for a semester.

For starters, I'm already in a tad bit of trouble regarding my mode of transportation, timing, and the entire journey to India. Coming back from my bike trip to San Francisco, I neglected to get my VISA papers in on time so I'm awaiting their arrival. Today was actually the day I was to board the flight alongside the 20 or so other students. So, once again, I'll be on my own for the flight to the New Delhi Airport... whenever that might be (hopefully just a few days).

It's funny how very little I've actually given avid, conscious thought to the actual experience. I've had a lot going on in the past few months. Before the bike trip, I had been thinking and planning for that for months. It was one of the few times I've ever actually had something to look forward to with genuine sincerity and happiness. Dreams were filled with thoughts of just being out, free on the road, able to see or do whatever I wanted to do. It was just that.

Now, I'm at home and I am continuously "stuck" in the present sense of time. This can also aptly describe why I bungled the VISA process; truthfully, I just hadn't given it the thought that I should have. I've spent a lot of time, reading, and striving to attempt to live as grounded as possible in the present tense to avoid missing out on what's going on right in front of me. I believe I'm in that very mindset, experiencing the positives and negatives of what that holds. So, while I am here in the beautiful Cape May Court House, NJ, I shall continue to live that way, enjoying the borrowed time I have with friends and family.

When the time comes to fully engage my senses to India, then I'll be fully endowed inside that present experience. Until then...