incredibly, India: Day 2, part 1

From Day 1- browsing at Dilli Haat

Before I begin my recounting of day 2, let me start with how day 1 ended. With a shower. Because I am a night shower-er. I just like getting in bed and feeling clean. Anywho. I get in the shower and begin testing all of Anusree’s shampoos. Just kidding, Anu! But I start washing my hair, and going through the normal shower rituals. Until icy water begins to flow in abundance from the showerhead. Now, I have been in the shower all of 53 seconds when this happens. Needless to say, I am not ok with this. My fingers and toes are starting to turn blue. I urgently call out to Anu, “Um, the water is REALLY cold.” And she says, “Oh, I forgot to tell you, if you turn the water pressure high, the hot water runs out fast.” Great. I can barely move my fingers because they’re frozen and I’m shivering. Long story short, I had to go get into another shower that was in another bathroom in another bedroom. Wearing only a towel and having shampoo in my hair (I’ll give you a moment to laugh; it’s ok). Good thing no one else was upstairs. I've never been so appreciative of a hot shower.

Another thing I learned over this first night is that Nikka likes the covers. She may be small, but girl can steal covers like it’s her job. Though how she could use all that cover by herself is beyond me. I slept with just Anu the next night. I learned my lesson.

About an hour in, the sun started peeking above the horizon. Oh, and
that's not early morning foggy dew-- it's smog.

So, back to Day 2. We got up before the crack of dawn, got dressed in warm clothing and ate a little breakfast before heading out.Well, I dressed in warm clothing. Meaning a turtleneck. But it turned out to be really warm. Go figure. To start the day, we meant to leave at 6:30, but the driver we’d hired had trouble finding Anu’s house, so it was more like 7am. We piled into the backseat and got cozy with blankets and pillows. I wanted to stay awake to look at the sights we were passing on the drive, but it was dark, so I wasn't getting much.

There was a lot of dozing on this drive, with a few interesting pictures scattered in there, but other than a stop for gas and a stop at a rest stop where we ordered masala chai, it was uneventful.

We passed these two gentleman on the drive.

Something that I found interesting was that there are specific rest stops for tourists. They have walls that surround the restrooms and the shop and parking lot. We made separate stops for the driver-- I guess they aren't allowed to use these facilities. The tourist facilities have restrooms where you tip the ladies who are inside handing out paper towels (I don't know about the men's rooms, since I obviously didn't go in there), and browse shops that are filled with items that are targeted at tourists. With Anu's inside information, it was helpful to know we could find everything at cheaper prices elsewhere.

Eventually, we started getting close to the Taj Mahal (eep!). This icon was really the only sight that I had prior knowledge of before coming to India (hello, ignorance), so I was excited to get this tourist thing going.

The Red Fort

We passed the Red Fort on the way to the Taj and it was beautiful. The Red Fort is also in Agra, and apparently, you can see the Taj from the Red Fort. It was so named because (I'm assuming) of the red stone that was used to build it. There was also a Red Fort in Delhi, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Not to be confused, this was the Red Fort that we did NOT enter.

The cow.

In my excitement, I had my lens sticking out the window, snapping pictures of anything and everything (trust me, I had over 600 pictures in 3 days), when the driver made a turn and started driving through a herd of cows. Cows roam freely in India, so this was not unusal. I just wasn't expecting it, and nearly got cow nose juice on my camera. Needless to say, I got a very detailed shot of this cow. He (or she) could use it for their profile picture.

Here is where we got dropped off. Do you see the Taj? No? We didn't either.

The women, waiting.

Our driver dropped us off after the cow encounter, and we headed towards the Taj. We got a ride on a bike rickshaw and we were off! Until we got dropped off... on the opposite side from the entrance. I actually think we could have entered from that way, but Anu knows best. And we got to see a little more of daily life around the Taj. So we walked around, purchased our tickets, breezed through the short "foreigner women" line (guess February isn't a popular time for tourists) and headed in.

Nikka and I started taking pictures at the gate to the Taj and I think Anu was a little puzzled. She was probably thinking something along the lines of "guys, this is just the gate... the Taj is INSIDE." Eventually we went in, and saw it. The famed Taj Mahal. It was grand, beautiful and a testament to creative ingenuity and an emperor's love for his favorite wife.

The Taj Mahal, taken by yours truly, because I stood here!

Proof that she was there, looking straight at the Taj

We walked all around the Taj and up into the mausoleum. What was majestic from afar was intricate and meticulously crafted up close. There was detailed carving and inlaid stone everywhere. We had to wear coverings over our shoes or go barefoot to actually enter the Taj-- they wanted to keep it clean and shiny.

A detail shot of the inlaid stone-- designs like these covered the building. There were not only flowers, but inlaid Arabic script flowing up and down windows and columns. I believe it was from the Quran.

A view from the side as we walked around to enter
the Taj

There were a couple instances where people asked to take pictures with me (because I am clearly a foreigner), but eventually I just had to learn to say no. It was actually a little uncomfortable-- I'm not really anybody famous and it was a little awkward. This happened a few times, so I tried to be gracious but keep it short. I wonder why they wanted a picture with me. Is it the idealized conception of the west? Was it their impression that movie stars are often white? Was it because they had never seen a non-Indian in person and wanted proof? Was I a spectacle to them? I'm not unaccustomed to being stared at-- growing up as white looking child in a foreigner-sparse part of China made me accustomed to that, but going to places like India and the Philippines (which both have western colonization in their histories) and evoking a similar response intrigues me. I don't feel any ill will towards them, but I am curious about their perspective.

There was another set of these buildings and they
flanked the Taj- I wonder if there are or were living
spaces here.

As magnificent as the Taj Mahal was, I was struck by the building itself-- it centered on the mausoleum. Both the emperor and the wife for whom he built this palace were entombed there. There were no other rooms; all alcoves and nooks surrounded this tomb-- there were no living quarters at all. I know that the emperor built this for his wife after she passed away in childbirth and it is a symbol of great love in India, but I was saddened by this. Though the world knows, she never knew the length that he went to build this for her. Did he tell her how much he loved her when she was alive? Did she know?

The Taj, while it is now a national treasure and source of tourist income, never housed families. The emperor couldn't take it with him when he died to show her. How did it make his other wives feel to see him build this for one woman? Was building this structure an expression of how they felt about death? The afterlife? For me, it was a reminder of how temporal this world is-- how, no matter what we do, build or accomplish, we will one day die. And this makes me think-- I don't want to leave an elaborate and beautiful tomb behind me. Something to think about.

Any way. We took many pictures, and got some pictures taken and printed by a local vendor. I can't seem to find mine at the moment :( but hopefully they will turn up somewhere. I'll keep you posted if they pop up. 

Courtesy of Anusree :)

And here is where the intermission comes in. I know I have only covered the first part of this day, but I didn't want to overload on pictures or words; neither did I want to leave out details, because I want to be able to look back and remember as well. I spent a whole post talking about my first half day in India, so I thought this would be fitting as well.

Through my words and pictures, hopefully you'll see what I saw in this incredible India. 

Stay tuned for the rest of Day 2!

Good

He Is Risen!

Good Friday wouldn't be good if Jesus hadn't risen from the dead. Someone said that to me the other day, and it's true. If Jesus hadn't risen from the dead, everything he said would have been a lie and we would still be as stuck in our sin as we were from day one after the Fall.

I was driving down a country road the other day and listening to radio when I was suddenly crying. I was listening to K-love and the host was asking for call-ins from parents about how they explained Easter to their children. One woman called and was talking about her conversation with her 10-yr-old daughter. I don't remember her explanation for how the conversation came about, just her explanation of what God did on that cross. She asked her daughter (and I'm paraphrasing slightly), "Can you remember the worst thing you've ever done? And how bad and how heavy you felt about it? And you've just been here ten years; there are murderers and criminals out there who have hurt kids. Well Jesus took the heaviness and guilt and shame for everyone so that you don't have to because he loves you." She went on to describe how her daughter broke out crying. She got it. Joy. Thankfulness.

I don't know about you, but I wrestle with shame and guilt. I know that heaviness very well. To be reminded of my freedom so unexpectedly, yet at such a perfect moment brought me to tears. Sometimes it takes a succinct, simple explanation to reach through the busy-ness and self-absorbedness of my mind.

Switching gears, there's something else I want to share with you. I've been catching up on reading this weekend for various classes, and one book that's had me absolutely engrossed is Picking Cotton. It is the story of a violent rape, a wrongful conviction and an amazing story of forgiveness and redemption. I highly recommend it. It's a true story written by two people brought together by an act of evil, yet, by God's grace, this was used for incredible good. A woman was raped, and she identified an innocent man. After 10 years of imprisonment, DNA evidence set him free. Two years later they met. He forgave her, which allowed her to forgive herself and the man who actually committed the crime. They became good friends. This is incredible to me. It goes against all of this world's sense. As one who has wrestled with forgiveness and thought about it a lot, this little bit resonated with me. Let me share it with you:

"Forgiveness is tricky. People think when you forgive someone, you excuse what he did. That's not what it is. It's about power and letting go...If Ronald (the man wrongfully convicted) had forgiven me (the victim who accused him) so gracefully, so completely, could I forgive the man who had hurt us both?" (page 252 for those interested)

I agree. Forgiveness doesn't mean everything is as it was. The past doesn't disappear. But we move forward from it. And God forges something stronger, more beautiful than imaginable. So on this Easter weekend, I praise God for being God. For being Unchangeable, Unshakeable, Forever I Am. For being bigger than my sin and yours. For forgiving me more than anyone could ever wrong me. For victory over death, darkness. For not leaving you and me in a pit of loneliness, shame, guilt and heaviness. For being a God of Love. Of Creativity; who else would have designed something beautiful such as a flower to thrive in what we would call refuse, waste or manure?

Happy Resurrection Day, everyone.

race

What are you?

Out of context, this is a jarring, unexpected question. The first time I was asked this question, I was stunned into speechlessness, unsure how to answer it. Umm, a human? A woman? were the first thoughts that ran through my head. What exactly was this person asking? After a couple seconds of surprised silence, I figured that she was asking about my racial/ethnic background. Having my physical appearance send people into confusion for most of my life, it wasn't a huge leap to assume that the woman asking me this question was having the same dilemma. I had simply never been asked in this way before. Most people were a little more subtle, asking where I was from. Having been asked this question many times, I'm always curious to know where they think I'm from. I've gotten answers ranging from France to Russia to Mongolia to America.

The discussion of race in America is complex, with many nuances and perspectives. There can be no generalization of the experience of minorities. Each has a different history, and with that history, different feelings. However, there is no doubt. Being white has inherent privilege. Should we feel guilty about it? Although I may not have been the person who created the systems (slavery, segregation, general social discrimination, etc), I am a beneficiary of someone else's disadvantage, for white advantage came at the cost of another's loss. So what do I do about it now?

My professor calls it cultural labor. This basically means I need to work to reverse stereotypes. That I have to be intentional about entering the worlds of people different than I am, with the desire to learn. With the courage to admit my privilege. And yes, I am privileged. Though I am not only white, I don't stand out among whites, appearance-wise. In seeking a job in the corporate world, I have a white name. Of course, I strongly believe that my privilege extends much further than these two examples, but they are a start. After admitting privilege, I also admit that there are many things about other minority experience that I have no understanding of. Hopefully conversations can happen from this point.

After this conversation, what has changed? Have I and this other person suddenly eradicated institutional racism in one fell swoop? I wish. But hopefully from here, more conversations can come. Hopefully healing can begin. Hopefully these conversations will be occurring among the people who actually do have the power to enact legislation that can begin to fix this massive, unspoken (at least among white people) issue that perpetrates the entire nation.

These are some of my thoughts as I learn about what being white means in the US. In the world. I've started and restarted this post many times, but I wanted to get some beginning thoughts out. I heard an author once say that she hoped that we would be discussing race with our children just as you would discuss sex and drugs. I had never thought about this, but I totally agree. However, as I sit here thinking, I realize that is another sign of my privilege. Not having the issue of race be in my face everyday, not having to be aware of my race in every interaction. Many minorities are extremely conscious of their race and racial domination from an early age. These conversations probably happen at much higher frequencies among minority families--not so with white. I've gotten the sex/relationship talk, as well as the drug talk, but I never got the race talk.

Something to think about.