Language School

(Landour language School--the big church behind the tree)

थोड़ा समय पहेले मुझे मालूम हुआ कि यह ब्लोग की प्रोग्राम हिंदी की लिखाई कर सकाता है। जरूर है कि इसलिये मुझे बहुत कुशी लगी। मालूम करते ही मुझे अभ्यास करना पड़ा। तो, अभी भी मैं जानता हूँ कि कोई नहीं मेरे शब्द समझ सकेगा, मैं ये वाक्य लिख रहा हूँ। मुझे आशा है कि आप लोगों को पसंद हो जायेगा।

So, the preceding paragraph has nothing to do with anything, except for the fact that I just found an application through which I can type Hindi in English script, and the words are automatically transliterated to the Devanagari (Hindi) script। I am really excited to have found this, even though (as far as I can tell) it really gives no practical advantages. It is still very cool.

So, given my new toy, I think it is time that I wrote a little about my Hindi lessons, which incidentally are going extremely well. I will start by assuring you that yes, what I wrote above is real Hindi and not something I made up off the top of my head, although it would have been exceedingly easy to do so. You'll just have to take my word for it.

I'm now in my sixth week of Hindi language instruction, out of eight weeks in total that I will be in Mussoorie. Landour Language School is actually one of the premier places to study Hindi in the country, and routinely loses teachers to European institutions. Of course, to enroll in this prestigious institution requires that you pay the tuition, which at 4 dollars per hour of one-on-one lessons is quite outrageous compared to most Indian institutions. It draws students from all over the world, and in the height of the tourist season (which is now just beginning, as the temperature in the rest of India becomes unbearable) this part of the already laid back Mussoorie essentially becomes a foreign colony, with people from everywhere congregating to study Hindi. It really is a wonderful place to meet people; I've developed fairly strong relationships with people from Australia, Edinborough, Hamburg, Vienna, Seattle, Belgium, France, Italy, Canada, and, of course, India itself. My social life has been quite interesting as a result.

I arrived with next to no Hindi skills, but was immediately able to recall nearly everything that I learned during my five weeks at the school six years ago. So, I had a pretty substantial base upon which to begin. Since then, I have been adding constitently to my linguistic repertoire. Tenses, verbs, phrases, adjectives and clauses, they've been piling up until I finally have a decent well of information from which to draw. I have had class four hours per day, with a couple hours of study afterwards. This has made for quite a full schedule, although it may not seem like much; I'm in India, after all, and studying all day is not only I want to pass my time.

So far, my weeks here have revolved around a fairly set schedule--namely, my Hindi classes and the set mealtimes at my guesthouse. Because of this, the time has passed much more quickly than I would have thought. I really cannot believe that it has been five weeks since I set foot in this country! While I would not refer to my situation as boring (although realistically, how exciting can intensive language study be?), but I have come to appreciate the odd interruptions. The parties on Friday nights with 10 people from 8 different countries. The frequent monkey-related dramas (monkey's stealing my bananas, monkeys with cute baby monkeys, monkeys attacking someone, monkeys breaking into out kitchen--all of which I have witnessed in my time here). The games of Ping-Pong with the language school teachers, all of whom have to play with their left hands to give me a chance to win. The trips into the city of Mussoorie (about a 30 minute walk downhill, which takes you down 200-300 meters) for beer and momos (Tibetan dumplings, served steamed, fried, in soup, with chilli sauce--you name it). The odd Bollywood movie, seen on someone's laptop. These are all the little things through which I am becoming very attached to my time here. It is not the language instruction (the whole reason I'm here!) but the distractions which I will carry with me as the fond memories of my time in Mussoorie. Here you meet people with the most unlikely stories, and you form the most unlikely friendships. Despite the bad food at the guest house and the lack of water for long portions of the day, it really is a fantastic place to spend time.

But not to forget the Hindi, by far the most useful thing I'll be doing here. Well, let it suffice to say that I am almost sure of my desire to continue studying Hindi in college. India has certainly got me. I already find myself looking for an excuse to come back.



For the first time I can actually write what I mean to say. So, a nice नमास्ते (namaste) to you!

फिर मेलेंगे!

A Tale of Two Cities

In this post I would like to tell about two side trips that I have made in the last two weeks, to Haridwar and Rishikesh. These two cities would appear to be alike in many regards- they are both fairly small cities, they are both situated on the banks of the holy Ganges river and thus both constitute Hindu pilgrimage spots, they are both both full of ashrams where one can study yoga and meditation, they are both completely dry cities (no alcohol is served), they are both quite hot this time of year, and they are both manageable weekend outings from my home base in the mountains, Mussoorie. Given these similarities, I thought it was safe to assume that my experiences in Haridwar and Rishikesh would be similar, but after visiting both of these holy cities I realize that it could hardly be further from the truth.

I visited Rishikesh two weekends ago, leaving on a Saturday morning and coming back for dinner on Sunday. It is about four hours away, reached from Mussoorie by a series of two unpleasant public bus rides. You may have heard of Rishikesh; it was the place where the Beatles holed themselves up in an ashram for two months and wrote the White Album while studying yoga. Nowadays, forty years after John, Paul and George (Ringo didn't like it and immediately went home) hung out there, it is still a very chilled-out and hip place. The streets of Rishikesh are full of white tourists, most of them of them twenty-something Israelis, most of the guys wearing skirts known as lungis. the little shops along the main bazaar sell tye-die shirts, cheap shawls and scarves, colorful bags, sandalwood pieces for carving and flashy jewelry. Nearly every restaurant had a lounge where the floor was padded, the tables were 18 inches off the ground and everyone sat barefoot sipping chai and eating organic food. There were advertisements everywhere for ayurvedic massages, yoga lessons and, of all things, rafting in the Ganges.

The river itself dominates the geography of the city. At Rishikesh, the Ganges is a hundred yards wide, bridged only at two points. From the ends of these two bridges the bazaars sprout, stretching in a long line parallel to the river on each side. There are saddhus all dressed up, imploring all the tourists to give them a rupee coin--but it is generally a hassle-free place, where westerners come to relax.

When I went to Haridwar last weekend, I expected somewhat the same thing. I was greeted by absolute mayhem. While Rishikesh has western tourists on a pilgrimage to smoke marijuana in the same place that the Beatles did, Haridwar has one of the holiest sites in Hindu India, and tens of thousands of Indina pilgrims each day. While both cities are on the Ganges, Haridwar ranks much higher in terms of importance as a religious place. Har-ki-Pairi ghat (see picture above) has a major connection to all three major deities. It is Brahma's abode in this part of the country. It is where Shiva was placated and coronated after defending his daughter's honor, and it is where Vishnu left a footprint to mark the spot where the Ganges officially emerges from the Himalayan mountains. In Haridwar, near Har-ki-Pairi the streets were absolutely packed, even when we arrived at 9 o'clock on Good Friday evening. I could hardly get from the bus stand to the ghat, a straight walk of 3 kilometers down the main road, without being run over by riskshaw, cow, scooter and people alike. I thought there must have been a festival; but no, Haridwar is always like that.

If Rishikesh is a city for tourists, Haridwar is a city for Hindus. The twisting and dark streets of the bazaars sell no western food, only Indian. There are no tie-dyed clothes, only kurta pyjamas, saris and salwar cameez. The shops are full of religious propaganda and periphernalia, not tourist trinkets. Along the far bank of the Ganges is a slum area whos people literally live off the river, depending on it for drinking water, bathing, clothes washing, etc. The city is much more intense, much more Indian.

The differences between the two cities is best explained by my experiences at Ganga Aartis (devotional services to the Ganges on the banks of the river). In Rishikesh, the devotional was a show. There was swaying, clapping, a choir of boys dressed up for the occasion. There were huge numbers of western Hari Krishnas, converts who are, not surprisingly, the most fervent of demonstrators. In Haridwar, the service was solemn, with everyone joining in the chanting in unison. Afterwards, people purchased little boats made of banana leaves, filled with flowers and candles and sent them down the river with their prayers. It was, for me, a much more moving and genuine display. There were no foreigners among the ranks of the devotees.

Although I did like both cities, I have to state my preference for the one that I found to be more genuine. Rishikesh was more relaxed and hipper, but much less Indian--Haridwar struck me as being a powerful testament to the power of the Hindu religion. I emerged from Haridwar sweaty, sunburned and exhausted, but I will never forget the site of thousands of people gathered on Har-ki-Pairi, sending their prayers to Ganga Ma.