Just Another Week in Delhi...

I didn't rush to update my blahg for a couple of reasons, but mostly because I still get the chills when I read the last entry. It's powerful prose that my confused ramblings could never match. And thank you to my commenters, who, in just a few sentences, ensured that the life of that poor chicken from Bandipur was not taken in vain..

This week has been filled with a wide variety of experiences that I am unable to cohere in any way, so before I launch into my ongoing internal struggle, I'll just share some random experiences, thoughts and observations:

A Woman Owned

Auntie Veena is the woman who owns the flat where I stay. She invited me to stay with her in Delhi while I waited for my visa and then promptly went to Mumbai, leaving me, Asha (the maid), and Asha's daughter, Kanchan (9 years old), to work our language barriers out on our own. The only lifeline I have is Auntie Veena's daughter, who I will call “Divya.” Divya is only two years older than me and lives with her husband, daughter, and in-laws just one block away. She is not a talkative woman, and my initial impressions of here were that she was a bit sullen and unfriendly. I rarely see her, and only one or two times have we had any real conversation.

She did tell me about her arranged marriage seven years ago. After she married, she discovered that her husband's parents don't like noise, children, visitors, or daughter's-in-law. But when a woman marries in India, she becomes part of her husband's family. I don't want to call it ownership, but I will. As a typical Indian woman, Divya is completely subject to the whims of her in-laws, who wield complete authority. She literally has no option for “outside” help, that is, her family still loves her, but there is nothing they can do to ease her pain. Divya mentioned that “the first five years” she was miserable, but after that she “got used to it.”

Yesterday I came home to find Divya extremely upset and sitting on the sofa. She told me her in-laws had decided they didn't want her to cook in their house anymore and she was helpless to do anything about it. She said she and her daughter had not eaten, and she didn't know what to do. I listened in silent shock as goosebumps covered my entire body. When she finished I had not a single word of comfort to offer..what could I say? She finished by telling me not to say anything to her husband, because he always hides these things and would be embarrassed...

Divya's life and my life could not be more juxtaposed. Even now I have goosebumps just relating the story. Helplessness is the one thing that always turned me into a raving maniac in my past life (I'm so sorry, Vince), so my brain was on literally overload as I tried to fathom her situation. She is no different from me, but she lives the life of a woman owned. I cannot say how or why, but this little exchange has been permanently etched in my soul.

Gay Kashmiri Fashion Designers??!?

I really just couldn't make this stuff up! In another inexplicable twist of events, I met a group of young fashion designers/artistes from Kashmir (North India). They are super stylish, they like to sing, and they are hi-larious, so of course I said yes when they invited me to attend their book release event at the French Ambassador's residence. Then they asked me if I had something appropriate to wear. Ummmm....

Before I knew it I was whisked to “a friend's house” to raid the closet for emergency clothes. I felt like a precious commodity as they brought me tops, sweaters, and trousers to try, inspecting me carefully and, unfortunately, suppressing no opinions whatsoever about how I looked. We finally settled on a mohair sweater and black trousers with tall silver heels. That's right, mohair. I felt divine, if incredibly strange, as we made our way to the Ambassador's residence. I was positively giddy as we arrived, and that was before I saw the wine and fruit tarts!! Two glasses of red wine later (it's been almost a year since I had red wine!!), I was chatting up a couple of people who worked for the Ambassador, laughing and smiling and thinking to myself, 'yep, I still got it.' After all, working a room is a skill, right Bob? I floated for a while after the event was finished. Moral of the story? Power is a serious drug.

I still don't understand how or why I came to be at this event, but I do have some intuition about it's ultimate purpose as part of my adventures. But I'm quite sure that the meaning of this experience - like all the other seemingly incongruous experiences - will become clear as the puzzle pieces continue to fall into place...

Miscellaneous Bits

Friday is Diwali, the Indian New Year. It's the biggest holiday of the year and for the last week there have been firecrackers throughout the nights. When I hear the firecrackers, I flinch. After all, I come from a gun-loving culture, so to me the blasts could be guns...is this a permanent condition?

I have no real plan yet, but it looks like I may finally have an invitation to celebrate Diwali with some people from my work! It's been two full weeks, but these Indian people are extremely difficult to know and understand...I only hope the entire day is not painfully awkward.

I'm finally getting used to servants, but I decided there is no way I will ever be able to speak rudely to them. Ok, so it's “rude” in my culture, but pretty standard here.

Now for the part you've all been waiting for...

endless ruminations about my personal internal struggles! My dear mother, a true force to be reckoned with, recently inquired about why I'm struggling here in Delhi. My response to her is excerpted below. I include it because I learned a lot from it, and maybe it will be of some value to someone “out there.”

My struggle in Delhi is reminiscent of my struggle in DC. The only real difference is one of magnitude. DC deserves its nickname "the epicenter of hell." But Delhi is just your typical, money-hungry capital city.

As was the case in DC, my materialistic tendencies are magnified here. Apparently it has to do with the environment, the energy and the people I've met. At least, that's what I've surmised partly because I've spent time with people who think nothing of hanging out in expensive venues (fancy hotel restaurants/lounges, discos, etc.) where they will casually order an entree costing the same as my punjabi suit. It's standard for them, shocking and extravagant for me.

That said, I freely admit I've enjoyed some good times here. But there is a conflict of interest brewing deep within my soul. While it's been "fun" in the superficial sense, I'm sensing a hefty price tag...

I find myself wanting to dress nicer (like in my old life), with earrings, fashionable clothes, etc. And my thoughts focus more often on my financial status, which is definitely not suited to the posh living standards of Delhiites. It's almost like rubbing salt into a wound that was finally beginning to heal...so much of my past was absorbed in material thoughts and interests. I want to leave these patterns behind, not indulge and encourage them!

Thus I am deeply conflicted. Since I came to India, I've been thrilled to "discover" my soul - a simple, contented, loving, peaceful person I never knew existed before. In fact, my purpose for being in India is to unearth and cultivate this soul...about this there is no doubt. The question is, what exactly am I cultivating in Delhi?

I have the tradition of "hurling myself into the fire" to learn the lessons I need. But now that I'm a bit older, I am finally starting to see things differently (If this is not a clear example of God's mercy, I don't know what is).

I understand that my only responsibility right now is to evolve my soul, so that I will be ready when my purpose in this lifetime reveals itself, whatever it may be. I could stay here, engage myself in proper employment, buy jeans, rent a flat and go disco dancing on the weekends...but how does this contribute to the foundation I need for my spiritual progress? I suspect I have been compelled to stay in Delhi specifically to draw my awareness to this conflict within my soul and to clarify my options. That is, I can choose to evolve my spirit in the midst of a greedy western vortex ( a.k.a. The Hard Way), OR I can choose an environment that is conducive to spiritual progress (a.k.a. The Smart Way). This is how I realized...it's not necessary anymore to hurl myself into the fire!

Did I mention how great it is to be 30?!!

Hamdullah (thanks to God), I will be here for only ten days more, whereupon I will embark on my next adventure; a two days' train ride to the most westernized city in all of India – Bangalore - where I will greet my dear friend, Fred, at the airport. We've decided to head out to the Andaman Islands and are thinking of putting together some kind of documentary project with photographs. I haven't seen Fred since our unforgettable New Years' celebration in Brooklyn, 2005, and I could pee my pants I'm so excited to see him again...

After that? God only knows, but with a generous March deadline for my return to Delhi, I'll have time for a couple other adventures at least. Heh heh...in spite of the struggles, the difficult days and the clouds of uncertainty floating intermittently by, there can really be only one conclusion: I am one seriously blessed soul!

Here's to fighting the good fight!

Always,
LMA

P.S. I was flipping through my calendar this morning when I noticed that yesterday was marked “election day.” Then I had a sudden thought...was there an election yesterday?! Can I claim disenfranchisement?