Camping in Nubra

Last night was the World Cup Finals. The World Cup happens only once in four years, and this time, the team that I was supporting was in the finals-Spain. So at 12 am (which is when the game starts in India) I got up and turned the TV on. I was all set to see Spain beat the Netherlands (at least, that’s what I hoped to see happen). At 12:01 am, the light went out. It never came back. The prayers to Vishnu, Shiva, Allah, Jesus Christ, and all other Gods remained unanswered. I missed the only game I really cared about in the entire World Cup.
Moving on, Nubra Valley was the destination of today’s trip. The Ladakh region has a few valleys: Leh Valley, Nubra Valley, and Zansakar Valley. We were currently staying in Leh Valley, now we were going to travel to Nubra Valley to see some other famous sights of Ladakh. We left at 9 am, and because of what happened yesterday at Lake Pangong, my mother, brother, and I only ate a Nutri-grain bar for breakfast. The route was as follows: 40 km to Khardung-la Pass, which is the highest mountain pass in the world that can be traveled by car, and then 80 km down to the valley. Before Khardung-la Pass we would cross South Pullu, a village and military checkpoint, and after the pass, we would pass North Pullu, a military checkpoint. Karma ensured us that only the road from South Pullu to North Pullu would be bad. Nevertheless, my mother and brother took Avomin (nicknamed Vomit-stop, for what it supposedly should do). While driving up the mountain, Karma showed us the medicine he had brought for himself (to improve blood circulation and breathing). It consisted of 13 herbs mixed together that were formed into a ball. I had already taken medicine this morning (Panadol, a cold medicine 20 million times better than Dayquil), so I declined the offer, but my mother tried one. It was extremely bitter, but she said later that it was helping her breathe at the high altitude.

After hitting my head a few times on the glass window, we finally reached Khardung-la Pass. It was 18,360 feet above sea level, which was higher than the Chung-la Pass, but somehow, breathing was easier today than it was yesterday. As I climbed out of the back seat, the cold immediately hit. Even though I was wearing a sweatshirt, it was freezing. In fact, after about two minutes, it began snowing at the peak. Snow in July, in the northern hemisphere as well. Amazing.

After that we began our descent down the mountain. I drifted in and out of sleep; something about the bumpiness of the ride was quite sleep-inducing. We reached North Pullu, where my parents and grandmother and grandfather had chai. I’m not a big fan of chai (I like coffee better), so I decided to pass. That was apparently a mistake. After drinking some of the water that was flowing through the stream in the back of the restaurant (straight from the Himalayas, so I’m pretty sure it was pure water), we headed out to the town of Khalsar, where we would be having lunch. As we got out of the car, I was so nauseous that I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to hold it in until I got a bag out of the backpack. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. I took Vomit-Stop, and proceeded to eat lunch. We ate at a small restaurant, the size of a stall, and I shared Maggi noodles with my brother. Maggi is the Indian equivalent of Ramen, except much better. I felt better afterwards. Lesson learned: always eat breakfast.

We finally got to our hotel, Mystique Meadows (located in a village called Sumur). Outside our hotel was a stream that was running through the streets. I’m almost positive that that water comes from the Himalayas, as almost every stream here originates in the Himalayas. Our hotel wasn’t really a hotel. It was more like a series of tents that were set up next to each other. For someone who has never camped before, I was slightly apprehensive about living in a tent. We had two tents, a “girls” tent and a “boys” tent. I opened the flap of our tent (there were no doors, just flaps of cloth that could be zippered to the main fabric of the tent) and peeked inside. There were three single beds, a small table, and a small mirror, and a single lantern hanging from the top of the tent. As a precautionary measure, there was a candle and a box of matches on the table. At the back of the tent, there was another zippered flap. It was the bathroom. The floor was made of rocks, but at least there was a toilet, a sink, and a shower type set-up. That shower was only a cold water shower; to have hot water (which was again starting from 6 am and ending at 9). Seeing as I was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, lying in a bed with a comforter and hoping that the wind would die down, I would probably be taking hot showers. Oh, and power would only come from 7:30 pm to 11 pm. We reached the camp at 4:30, dinner was served at 7:30, so for three hours, my family and I played theen-do-panch (translated to 3-2-5, an Indian card game) and Black Queen (which is like Hearts).

At 7:30, we went to eat dinner. We thought that power would come, but nope. It didn’t. As we learned, there was no way of regulating how people used power. The government would just turn the power on, and electricity would flow through the wires. Our camp managers through a hook over the wire and that’s how we were supposed to get power. It was windy today, so the connection was loose. We had a candlelight, completely vegetarian dinner. His Holiness, the Dalai Llama XIV, was going to come to Nurba on the 21st, so until then, everyone had to have vegetarian food. After dinner, we headed back to the tents. It was 8:30 at this time, to early to go to bed, but there was no electricity. Everything had to be done with candlelight: changing, brushing, etc. Going to the bathroom in the dark was a terrifying experience. At 9 pm, the candle was blown out.

Lake Pangong and Tanzi

Today again began at 6 am, again due to hot water reasons. At 7:15 am, we left for Lake Pangong. For those of you have seen the movie 3 Idiots, Lake Pangong was where the final scene of the movie was filmed (when Aamir Khan reveals that he is actually PhunsekWangdu). It was a five hour journey that would take us through the world’s third highest mountain pass in the world.
The first hour took us from Leh to Karu, which was at the base of the mountains. There was a military checkpoint that we had to go through, as our journey to the Lake would take us very close to the border with China. The second and third hours took us to the Chung-La pass, which is 17,586 feet above sea level, and is the third highest mountain pass in the world that can be traveled by car. The road started out smoothly, but the farther up we went, the closer we got to the snow and ice, which melted to form streams across the roads. In fact, as we went farther up the mountain, we weren’t sure if an actual road had been created. Our guide, Karma, ensured us that there was in fact a road that was built by people from the state of Bihar, which is one of the poorest states in India. The road itself was quite narrow, approximately 1.5 times the lane size of the US, but it was a two-way road. In fact, we actually had to pass a few military trucks on the way up, and it almost felt as though we were going to fall off the mountain. After two hours of perilous journey (in which my brother threw up twice, and my mother gained a splitting headache courtesy of the rocks), we reached the pass. As I clambered out of the car, I immediately felt dizzy, due to the lack of oxygen.

At the top of the mountain, the Indian military had created a sort civilian rest station, complete with a first aid center, a temple, and a complimentary tea station. After the first few minutes passed by, I felt better, but by the time I climbed back into the car, the lack of oxygen reared its head again, this time in the form of headache. Thankfully, as we began our hour journey down the mountain, it subsided. My mother and brother, on the other hand, had to move from the back seat to the front seat, as the bumpiness was becoming unbearable. I would like to say that the road got better the farther down the mountain we went, but that would be a total lie. The road only got worse. There were fist sized rocks scattered over the road and our car seemed to travel over every single one. Finally, we reached the bottom of mountain to another military check point. This time, we had about a 15 minute stretch of flat road through multiple villages, only containing two or three nomadic families who lived in white tents. Surprisingly, almost every village had solar panels and one even had about 15 windmills. The government had provided them for the villagers so that they could reduce the amount of electricity that had to be sent to the village. Going through the villages was nice, not only because it was a flat road, but all around us there were little streams running through lush green grass with yaks walking through them, and above the streams, there were huge, sandy mountains. When we got closer to the lake, we passed through another military checkpoint, and then began our journey to the lake. This road was probably the worst of all. At one point, we were traveling a narrow road between two mountains, with boulders that were leaning precariously on the slope of the mountain. But the sight of the lake made it all worthwhile.

Lake Pangong

Lake Pangong is in two countries: 25% of it is India, and 75% of it is in China. It’s about 138 km in length, and the water from this lake comes from an underground source. But possibly the most beautiful part of the lake was the fact that there were three distinct colors of water. Although officially the water color is turquoise, there was a turquoise patch, a light blue patch, and a dark blue patch. We sat at the water’s edge for a good 45 minutes, occasionally stepping into the water, taking a picture, and then hopping out, as the water was much, much colder than the water of the Indus River. Interestingly enough, no fish live in this lake, and scientists believe that there are huge magnesium deposits at the bottom of the lake. My question is, how was this lake formed? Not many places have huge amounts of magnesium deposits, so did a meteor containing significant amounts of magnesium hit the surface of the earth, creating the lake?
Speaking of the lake, there were many, many other tourists who were just sitting with their feet in the water, skipping stones across the surface of the water, and just generally chilling. However, there was this one group of tourists that came to the lake that came in a bus that looked like it could fit about 20 people. All the tourists were old women, maybe 75-80 years. After touching the water, they decided to blast old Hindi songs on the bus’ speakers. While the sight of them dancing was quite cute and it was nice that they were having so much fun, I think it was slightly inconsiderate towards the other tourists there. The Lake was a calm, peaceful place; the blasting of the music kind of ruined the ethereal character of the lake.
We then began our journey back, this time stopping for lunch. We had lunch in a small restaurant; although it looked like it was a tiny place, was using solar power to cook the food and heat the water. A girl who looked about my age was serving the food, and I immediately knew that I wanted to take a picture of her. I wasn’t sure that she spoke English, but it turned out that she was trilingual-she spoke English, Hindi, and Ladakhi. Her name was Tanzi, she was in 10th grade, and she wanted to become a doctor. I took a few pictures of her and showed them to her; she laughed seeing herself on the screen of the camera. It was then that I realized that yes, seeing all these tourist places are fun, but to truly learn the culture of a place, you have to step outside the boundaries of the “tourist places” and talk to the people who live there. It’s one thing talking to our guide Karma, and another talking to a Ladakhi girl who prepared all the food that we had for lunch. I helped her serve some of the food for the people who came after us, and then left.

The ride back was exactly the same as the ride going to the lake: bumpy, and nausea and headache inducing. I normally don’t get too affected by bumpy roads (unlike my brother and mother, I didn’t have too severe a headache and I didn’t throw up), but by the time we reached the last hour of a journey, I wanted to take an Advil and walk the rest of the way to the hotel. Tomorrow we’re going to travel through the highest mountain pass in the world. Bumpy roads and lack of oxygen here I come!

Three monasteries and a river

As I’m writing this blog post, the power has just gone out for the umpteenth time. And when I say umpteenth, I really mean that. All throughout dinner the power was flashing on and off, so much so that we just resorted to having a candlelight dinner. Our tour guide told us that electricity is Leh’s biggest problem, so looks like everything from charging this laptop to taking a shower is going to have to be done when the power is there.

Today began at 6 am, when I was woken up by the sounds of Tibetan/Ladhaki being spoken in the courtyard of the hotel. All though that does sound terrible, there is another rule that one must follow while in Leh: the hot water only comes from 6 am, and stays till whatever time it gets over, only coming back at the 6 pm. If everyone takes a shower at 6 am, then the hot water will be finished with by 6:30; staggered showering will let it last longer, but even then, the hotel staff (who all seem to be related-family business perhaps?) said that it will only last until 9 am. Seeing as most people here are Indian, who take showers in the morning, it was likely that the water would be done closer to 6:30 than 9. And, seeing as my entire family is also Indian, we decided to take showers as early as possible for two reasons: one, so that we could have hot water, and two, so that we could eat breakfast and have time before we went out sight-seeing for the day. Luckily, we all did get to shower with hot water, and we had about an hour before we had to start our journey. That hour was basically spent outside on the balcony, taking pictures of the snow-capped mountains and their neighbors, the completely dirt covered, barren, brown mountains.

We started our tour at 9 am, when our English-speaking guide and the driver came to the hotel. Today’s plan was to visit 3 monasteries and the Indus River, one of India’s holiest rivers. We would start with the farthest monastery first, and make our way backwards. Along the drive to the monastery, we passed a couple of Indian military camps. As our guide explained, these mountains offered the military a chance to practice parachuting covertly, as well as rock-climbing and other activities that soldiers take part in. In fact, our tour guide (who’s name was Karma) told us interesting facts about Leh all throughout the drive. The population of Leh is about 200,000, about 30% make their living from agriculture, 50% from business (the tourist business is a big part of the economy) and 20% were nomads. This was a land of extremes, with temperatures in the summer being about 30ºC, and temperatures in the winter reaching negative 20 ºC. And all though there are snow-capped mountains, this area receives very little rainfall, hence the barren lands. Speaking of snow, the last time this place had snow? Last month, meaning June. And religiously, about 95% of the people in the Ladakh province are Buddhist, and about 5% were Muslim. Surprisingly, there was a huge Tibetan presence in Ladakh, so much so that even though the border with China was only a stone’s throw away, the Dalai Llama was a highly admired, highly respected leader.

Young monks at Hemis monastery

We finally reached the Hemis monastery. This monastery not only had many statues of Buddha (who were told had about 1000 manifestations-everything from medicinal Buddha to the Buddha you pray to for prosperity), but also many pictures of the person who founded the monastery in 1624. I am Hindu, and even in Hinduism we believe that Buddha was a real person who achieved Enlightenment, although we believe that he was an avatar of Vishnu. What’s different is that Buddhism seems to be much more liberal in what you can offer to the God. In most Hindu temples, you can only offer raw vegetables/fruit and milk. Here we saw everything from pearl earrings to Coca Cola to chocolate bars being offered. In the center of the monastery there is a large open space. Every year, during the month of January, a festival takes place (the dates are based on the Tibetan lunar calendar, so the dates vary). Everyone from the Chief Minister of the State to the villagers come to the monastery. Most come to see the monks dancing with devil-like masks over their faces, however, in the middle of the performance, two monks (who have meditated for 3-4 months before this festival) who claim to be possessed by God’s spirit, run around the roof of the monastery. In the ancient times, they used to jump of the roof, but (probably due to safety reasons), they now use the stairs. They then begin to run around the courtyard while cutting their tongue with a knife.

An old monk with the Prayer Wheel at Thiksey

The next stop was Thiksey monastery, where we also had lunch. During lunch I began to feel that I my breaths were becoming shorter and shallower, and I was running out of air. Seeing as this is a sign of altitude sickness, I took an oxygen pill, which is apparently supposed to help expand your breath. Most of us only fill up 25%-30% of our lungs with each breath; this would increase that percentage. This monastery was much like the other one, except more monks were present. There is actually some logic behind the color of the robes that the monks where. The red robes signify that you are praying for yourself, while the orange robes signify that you are praying for others (mankind in general). The latter of the two also signifies gaining some amount of enlightenment. Around the temple there were many Tibetan prayer wheels, which were in essence silver-looking cylinders on wheels that were to be rotated in a clockwise manner. Needless to say, I spun every single one. But the thing that surprised me the most was that there was also a huge lamp, perhaps 4 feet in height, which if filled with oil, could be burned for the entire year. I looked into the lamp-it looked as if the lamp had just been lit, as the level of oil was quite close to the top.

Prayer wheels at Shey Palace

Next stop: Shey palace. The story behind this palace is as follows: One day, the prince of Shey built a 3-story statue of Buddha (which we went and saw) for his father. When he went to his palace, he realized that his palace was actually higher than Buddha’s, which he considered as being sacrilegious. He promptly destroyed his palace (the ruins of which we could see), and built a new one below the Buddha. As we were walking around the palace, we noticed that people had stacked stones of top of each other to create little stone towers. According to the villagers, the higher the mountain, the better your luck. Hopefully that works-I built a 5 layered tower.

Finally we went to the Indus River. This river starts in the mountains and trickles its way down to a point slightly north of Leh, where it splits into two. We put our feet into the probably zero degree water, as that’s the most we were willing to do. See, when you visit most holy rivers in India (like that Ganges) you’re supposed to submerge your entire head under water. It was slightly too cold for that, and we were all exhausted.



After that, we reached the hotel. With 2 hours to go before dinner, we just lazed around the room, playing card games, listening to iPods (which was actually the only piece of technology we had used all day). After dinner, we sat on the balcony. Because Leh doesn’t have many tall buildings or many outdoor lights, the sky was clear. We could see Venus and Sirius, along with many constellations like Orion and Ursa Major. It was something that I hadn’t been able to do for a while; in Princeton, although there aren’t many lights, more than half the “stars” are actually planes. Although I’m not sure if I like being this disconnected from the rest of the world, just sitting on the balcony and looking at the stars made me feel at peace.

Arriving in Leh

Today began our week long trip to Leh, which is located in the Ladakh province, in the state of Jammu and Kashmir. Leh is located at 11,500 feet above sea level, which is higher than the base camp of Mount Everest, and is only about 140 km from the Chinese border. The entire state is currently in a period of turmoil, due to the fact that various regions in the state are disputed by various countries. The Ladakh province is currently a disputed territory, as both China and India believe that it is part of their country. So when we landed at the Ladakh airport, which can only take two or three planes, my father was about to take a picture of the beautiful mountain scenery (even in the summer the mountains were snow-capped), the soldier quickly came in front of the camera and said that pictures weren’t allowed. In fact, right after our plane landed, an Indian Air Force plane landed.
Leh, located 11,500 feet above sea level, also has a lower air pressure (and lower oxygen content) than Delhi, which is located at sea level. I could feel the lower oxygen content as soon as I stepped off of the plane. Immediately, my heart began to beat faster and the breaths that I took were shorter. Most tour guides in Leh advise that for the first day, you do nothing but rest. Which is exactly what we did when we reached the hotel. It was about a 20 minute drive from the airport to the hotel, climbing through the mountains and driving through local bazaars. The people here look like a mix of Indians and Chinese, although many people also look Tibetan (in fact, right outside our hotel there was a small stall that said, “Tibetan refugee market”). The local languages are Ladakhi and Tibetan, but because of the huge tourist economy, many people also know Hindi and English. When we reached the hotel, we slept for almost three hours. The waking up at 4:30 for a 6:30 flight, as well as the low oxygen level, took a lot of energy out of all of us. That being said, for the entire three hour nap, I was freezing! Yes, in India, without fans and air-conditioning, I was cold. My feet felt like they were going to fall off, and I was wearing three layers of shirts (the last one being a sweatshirt). The temperature in Leh was about 20ºC, which is 64ºF. After coming from over 100 degree whether, this was cold. After our nap came a simple, home-cooked meal at the hotel. While we were eating, a little girl (who we assumed to be the daughter of the hotel manager) came running in wearing a school uniform. She had bright red cheeks and looked Tibetan. Throughout the meal she would come in wearing different clothes, sometimes Indian clothes and sometimes the traditional Tibetan dress. Her behavior and attitude just reinforced the small-town, disconnected-from-the-rest-of-the-world feel of Leh. In Leh, none of our cell-phones worked, and we didn’t have Internet access-something unheard of in the 21st century. The lack of connectivity is due to security reasons, because satellite communication is very easy to break into and disable-which would cripple Jammu and Kashmir, and could create a security vacuum in the state. Yet the withdrawal symptoms I felt from being disconnected from the world wore off after a few hours. It was nice to not constantly be tweeting or texting. For the next seven days, it’s going to be sight-seeing and looking at the beautiful mountain scenery. I’m looking forward to this vacation.

Lack of Posts

For the past week, I have been in a place called Leh, which is in the province of Ladakh in the state of Jammu and Kashmir. Unfortunately, Leh does not have accessible Internet service. As a result, I haven't been able to upload all the posts that I have been writing. However, they should all be up in the next few days!

Thanks,
Nikki

Stories from India, part 1

In one of the posts, I had mentioned that when we visited the temple, we were unable to see Lord Juggernath because he was "sick". There is actually a story behind this, which I got to know from my grandmother as we were resting in our home in Puri. To begin with, in the Hindu religion, there is one God (and myriad forms of this God, which is why almost every day is a holy day). Three Gods, however, make up this one God; they are Brahma (the Generator), Vishnu (the Operator) and Shiva (the Destroyer). Yes, their initials spell out God. Lord Vishnu has come to Earth 9 times, in various avatars (one of them being Lord Buddha). It is said that when he comes to Earth for the 10th time, something bad is supposed to happen, like the Apocalypse is supposed to occur with the 2nd coming of Jesus Christ. Anyway, Lord Juggernath is one of Vishnu's avatars. And, as Vishnu comes to Earth as a mortal, he must also go through everything that mortals go through. That is what this festival of Rath Yatra essentially celebrates. The giant statue of Lord Juggernath in Puri temple first is married, and then gets "sick". He then goes on a trip to his aunt's house, along with his brother and sister. This trip starts at the Juggernath temple, which is on one end of the main road in Puri, and stops about halfway. The three statues of the Gods are carried on long wooden chariots, called the raths, hence the name of the festival. While we were in Puri, we saw people constructing these massive raths. In fact, it took approximately 9 people to carry a piece of wood that was probably 7-8 feet in length. These raths are massive. Anyway, his aunt gives him some food, after which he continues on to his destination, which is the other end of the road. There he stays for 9 days, meditating, and he then makes the return journey to his house. Upon reaching, he finds that his wife, Lakshmi, has locked him out. Why? Because he didn't take her on the journey. Outside he stays for two days, begging and pleading Lakshmi to let him inside his house (the temple). She finally relents; that's the end of Rath Yatra.
Even more interesting is the story of the statue. First of all, Hindus follow the lunar calendar, in which each month has 28 days. There are 12 months (and a few days) in a lunar year. Eventually, there are enough days left over to create another month; this month is called the "double month," as it has the same name of another month (it would be like having two Julys in one year). When the month called Ashar is the "double month," (about once in 12 or 13 years) the statue of Lord Juggernath has to be rebuilt. But not just from any piece of wood. The head priest supposedly gets a dream from Lord Vishnu as to where he can find the wood for the statue. It can be from a forest in India, or it can be a piece of wood floating in the ocean (apparently last time it was Madeira wood that was floating in the ocean). Lord Juggernath is then built from that wood. Once the statue is built, the head priest goes through a very sacred ceremony, to transfer the "soul" from the old statue of Juggernath to the new statue. He first blindfolds his eyes several times over with black cloth so that he can't see, and he then covers his hand in flour and wraps them with thick cloth so he can't feel anything. Using a key he carries with him at all times, he unlocks the old Juggernath's "belly," and transfers the "soul" to the new Juggernath. Legend has it that after the new Juggernath is put into the temple, the head priest dies within a few months.

"Hospital Ahead: Drive Dead Slow"

Our farmland

This was an actual sign that I saw when we were driving to Dugal; I'm not sure that whoever put the sign up realized the irony behind it. Anyway, today we (my grandmother, father, and I) decided to visit our family's farmhouse and land in the village of Dugal. The farmhouse had been built by my great-grandfather, but my grandfather decided to let other farmers rent the house and till the land, as he had no time himself to do it. As I had never seen our ancestral farmland, I asked my grandmother if we could go to the village, and that's what brought me on this journey to rural India. As we were driving along the dirt road (and this was a complete dirt road- not a road covered in dirt, a road made out of dirt, fit for a Jeep, not the Honda City that we were traveling in), I wondered what had put that question in my head. I'm not one to get nauseous very easily, but driving along this one-lane road made me want to throw up everything I had eaten for the past week. Dugal is surrounded by a few other villages; seeing as our driver didn't know which exact village was Dugal, we frequently had to ask people where the village was, back-tracking and reversing until we found someone else to ask. At one point, the road suddenly increased to a higher level, almost like a set of stairs. There was no way that a car could "jump" to the higher elevation, and there was no ramp in place for the car to drive over, so the driver and my father found stones to put in front of the car's tires that would act as a ramp. Although ingenious, this idea failed, and we soon had to reverse the car and take an alternate road that would take us through the villages instead of above them. We finally reached the village and our house.

The farmhouse seemed to be a two-room house, although I wasn't sure because it seemed rude to explore. The family initially wanted us to sit in a room, assuming that we would feel more comfortable inside than outside, but as that room was partially covered in large rice sacks, we decided to sit outside on a mat. After that began our tour of our land. We were sitting facing the backyard, which had ten coconut trees. As we had come, the family sent for someone who would climb up the tree (using only a rope) and bring down three young coconuts. Acting as a typical tourist would, I pulled out my dad's camera and took quite a few pictures of this incredible feat. After the coconuts were deemed fresh, someone else pulled out a cross between a knife and the swords that pirates used (with a curved blade), and hacked off the top of the coconut. These were young coconuts, meaning that there was delicious coconut water inside. Sticking a straw in the top of the coconut, I quickly finished the coconut drink, and then ate the flesh of the coconut. It was a taste that I hadn't tasted since my vacation to Thailand the year before; nothing in the US could compare.

Afterwards, we walked to our farmland, where rice and lentils are grown. While my dad was talking to the three farmers about the amount of rainfall that allows for the maximum amount of rice to be grown, the type of lentils grown, and other such topics, I was busy taking pictures of the village (that will soon be uploaded). I wanted the pictures to truly symbolize the village and the tight-knit, hardworking community that the villagers had created. So in addition to the pictures of the rice-fields, I took pictures of the villagers, particularly the girls. Many of them were shy, running into their houses before I could take their picture, but once I took a picture and showed it to them, they were all smiles. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but smiling and nodding seemed to transcend the boundaries. Word must have somehow spread that there was a tourist girl snapping pictures, because every time someone saw me, they would try and pose for a picture. For a small time, it seemed as though I was accepted in the village (which is more than I could have said half an hour earlier-people would stare at me as I crossed their house, surprised to see a girl not wearing a sari (even though I had dressed conservatively, wearing a long skirt instead of jeans)). I was almost a part of the village. And in truth, I could have been. It was mere fate that landed me where I am today- a slight change in plans could have landed me in Dugal, speaking Oriya and learning how to husk rice. Each village had a temple, so too did this one. On the way to the temple, my dad explained everything he had learned about the farmland a mere 15 minutes earlier. Apparently, our rice fields amounted to 0.9 acres; each year, rice would be grown only once, as the water from the canal wasn't enough to have it grown twice. The rest of the time, lentils (apparently my favorite lentils) would be grown. They used no modern technology when harvesting rice-they only used oxen and their own farm-made tools. Even with that, the amount of rice grown per year was about 900 kilos, equivalent to about 12 sacks of rice. 900 kilos on 0.9 acres with no technology?! My mouth fell open. Originally, when my great-grandfather had told the farmers to take care of our land, we had proposed a 25-75 split, meaning that they could keep 3 sacks of rice, and we could keep 9 sacks (eating one and selling the rest, the money earned going towards my grandfather's education). Now, it seems to be less a split and more that the farmers can keep 11 sacks, give us the one sack that we consume, and give us coconuts and lentils when we need them. We reached the temple, prayed to the Gods, and returned to the village, as all three of us were eager to get out of the humidity and heat and into fans and air-conditioning. While my dad and grandmother gave some money to the farmers (my grandmother later explained that it was out of politeness, for these families had been tilling our land for generations), I was busy taking pictures of the village kids. Their smiles (at seeing their own pictures) reflected happiness. True, their life was much more labor-intensive and more difficult than mine, but their simple pleasures seemed to give them more happiness than any material object ever could. Their happiness seemed ethereal. It is the smiles of not only the children but all the villagers that will continue to stay with me even as I finish typing this blog post.

The village temple