111212.1821
I first came across the word "dacoit" in the guidebook. The Indian penal code has a special provision dealing with these modern day "bandits", who often rule, with intimidation, fear, extortion and blackmail, where the reaches of law enforcement is weakest and more sporadic. And this is the case in the very regions of India (and also Nepal) I've been traveling in...
A friend of mine warned me to be very careful on my travels and not to venture on roads at night. He told me to avoid a particular train station, Mughal Sarai Junction, which is supposed to be rife with these kinds of people. I tried to imagine what they look like, and keep picturing rough looking men with tattoos and bandanas chewing paan (betel nut). Somehow, fate led me to stand on the platform and wait there for three hours... But I never encountered any criminal elements, at least not that I was aware of.
Until today.
I took a tour of the surrounding area around Lumbini, and hired a driver in search of the ruins which allegedly is the kingdom where Prince Siddharta grew up before he left in search of deathless and liberation from this world. I arrived at Kapilvatsu, some twenty kilometers away, and spent a pleasant afternoon wandering around ruins.
Close to four thirty, the driver said we should head back. I was disappointed, for there were two other sites we did not see. But he was in a great hurry to leave, an it was another forty-five minute drive back to the village I was staying at.
He drove at great speeds as the skies began to dim gradually. We sped through the countryside, vast fields with wandering cows and goats all around us that looked so tranquil and so tame. The driver kept on honking to warn slow bikers and cow-drawn carts laden with hay of our mad and speedy approach.
Then we had to slow down, for there was a large lorry and tractor parked in the middle of the road. In front of us was a fancy SUV, whereas I was in a beatup little Tata compact. A group of men, in their late twenties or so, some sporting fancy looking jackets, stood on the side of the road and were shouting. A crowd gathered. There was confusion and commotion. I sat in the back seat and watched this all from a safe distance, unsure what was happening, but intrigued. Two weeks on the road in India (and now Nepal...) and I wondered what other unexpected there is to expect.
The driver honked, but we sat there for a good ten minutes. He eventually got out of the car and went to see what was happening. He returned and closed the door behind him. He looked nervous, and I heard the doors lock. Things were happening so quickly and so randomly, I was lost.
The SUV in front of us nudged around the tractor that till now was parked in the middle of the road but was beginning to move a little out of the way. The driver took this cue and did the same, trying to nudge in between a small space that was opening up between the slow moving tractor and the still stationary lorry. As we advanced, the men who had been standing on the side of the road closed in on our car. They shouted something in Nepali I could not understand. I did understand that their tone were not very friendly, and they seemed to be demanding something.
"No money! No money!" the driver shouted back, "No money!" With those words, he quickly sped away, leaving the rabble, parked lorry and tractor that took up more than half the road, behind.
We sped for a few minutes before the driver turned back to me, and said on broken English: "Fighting!" He gestured with his fists. "Ask money! Money!"
Then it occurred to me. These men were not in uniform, so they couldn't be the police, who at times are just as bad and good at extorting money as good-for-nothing dacoits. These men were perhaps.... So I asked. "Dacoits?"
"Yes! Yes!" We sped along the road, swerving left and right to avoid hitting the ocassional wandering cow or school children biking home from school. Several times I thought we were going to flying off into the ditch or flip over.
"How much? One hundred? Two hundred?" I asked.
The driver wanted to say something but he did not know how, it seemed, in English. Then, with one hand on the wheel, the other reached for his mobile phone. He typed a figure. Two hundred, and three more zeros behind that. Two hundred thousand Nepali rupees, that's close to $2500, or ten times the average monthly wage...
As we sped further toward Lumbini, I looked out the window at the fields that before looked so tranquil and tame. It now looked so barren, desolate, dead. Fog was beginning to set in, and soon wolves can be heard howling in the dark as they do every night. There was still some light of day left, but soon, the road would be pitch dark. The kind of dark that is unimaginable because there simply are no lights, and even if there were lights, they would often just suddenly switch off because of the common plague of blackouts. Not even the stars and crescent moon can be seen, for they are normally eclipsed by the nightly onset of thick fog prone to these lower regions of the Himalayas.
It began to dawn on me what just happened, and how close I was to being in danger without even realising it. Thank goodness we quickly got away, otherwise how would we live up to the demand for that much money? Who has that much money in this region of one of the ten poorest countries in the world anyways?
What would they do to me, a foreign traveler in the middle of a backward region of Nepal? How would they react if they opened my bulky looking bag and found only three stuffed animals, some Buddhist prayer beads and a picture of my mum?
I felt nauseated, even more than before when it was just due to the side effects of the malaria pills I needed to take to stay safe in this region. The accumulated traveler's fatigue mingled with a creeping realisation of what could have happened ( but luckily did not...), and since I began this journey two weeks ago, I longed to go home...
I
11 December 2012
Wandering thoughts
This was supposed to be a trip to remember my mother, and in some ways my father... to remember the way they were, how kind and compassionate they were, how they gave me so much and asked for so little in return... It was supposed to a trip and time alone to figure out how to go on now that they are gone, and now that I am all alone. (Yes, I have a brother... But I get so little from him, and will only hear from him if I call... And my messages, telling him what I'm doing and how I'm feeling are almost always answered with: "Ok".)
I've thought of mum, and on occasion of dad too... I've been carrying with me two pictures of them, taking them from site to site, and finally parted with them at the Bodhi tree in Bodh Gaya where the Buddha became enlightened... In my little shoulder bag, I have a picture of mum, taken on brother's engagement day, and every time I come across a sacred site, I would take that picture out and sit it on the beautiful white teddy bear mum bought me last year. She said to me then: "This bear will be with you when I'm no longer around..." And that's true... The bear is a reminder of her, and I often fall sleep hugging it, sometimes with tears in my eyes...
This trip is supposed to be about remembering my parents, and finding myself... Yet, I find myself thinking of my ex... thinking of what we had, what could have been, and what broken relationship we seem to have now within such a short period of time... Is it really just me, as he seems to have suggested so many times over the past few months? Have I really changed so much that I'm so unbearable and unlovable? How can I not change having lost my mother and remaining parent? Have I really become such a terrible person after emerging from perhaps the greatest trauma of my life to date, so terrible that I get the impression from him that i only bring him grief and misery?
This time, this trip, alone is partly to get away, and to give my ex some distance from me, because increasingly I feel he's so tired of me. Yet At times, even while visiting so of the sacred sites, I find my mind remembering the wonderful moments, precious little intimate moments we once shared, and also remembering some of the mean and hurtful words that were exchanged. i find myself thinking about how he's doing, what he's doing. And I wonder, does he even think of me at all?
I do think of him fondly, miss him, sometimes even imagining how it would if he were here with me. I've written so many emails and notes over the last month or so telling him how I feel about us, our impasse, I made little surprise gifts and appearances for his birthday, and there's been very little reaction.
Is he doing this to spite me, to get his own back because I was gone and ignored his messages and calls for much of the start of of this year? I find myself, despite being in such peaceful surroundings, thinking and wondering: what is wrong with me...? Perhaps he's feeling free and uninhibited to do whatever, be with whomever while I'm not around, and yet I think of him so much, and carry with me his beloved teddy bear everywhere I go... Why am I using so much energy on my ex, when it is my parents I should be thinking of and remembering on this special journey?
here and there I am reminded of Buddha's words:
"They do not brood over the past,
They do not hanker after the future,
They live upon whatever they receive
Therefore they are radiant.”
What am I doing, but brooding over the past and longing for a distant, dream-like future? Why am I thinking about someone who is so far away, and who seems to grow more and more distant from me?
At this moment, I feel deeply the pain of loss and loneliness, especially when my body feels so wretched from illness and the nauseating effects of malaria pills I have to take for at least two weeks...
I've thought of mum, and on occasion of dad too... I've been carrying with me two pictures of them, taking them from site to site, and finally parted with them at the Bodhi tree in Bodh Gaya where the Buddha became enlightened... In my little shoulder bag, I have a picture of mum, taken on brother's engagement day, and every time I come across a sacred site, I would take that picture out and sit it on the beautiful white teddy bear mum bought me last year. She said to me then: "This bear will be with you when I'm no longer around..." And that's true... The bear is a reminder of her, and I often fall sleep hugging it, sometimes with tears in my eyes...
This trip is supposed to be about remembering my parents, and finding myself... Yet, I find myself thinking of my ex... thinking of what we had, what could have been, and what broken relationship we seem to have now within such a short period of time... Is it really just me, as he seems to have suggested so many times over the past few months? Have I really changed so much that I'm so unbearable and unlovable? How can I not change having lost my mother and remaining parent? Have I really become such a terrible person after emerging from perhaps the greatest trauma of my life to date, so terrible that I get the impression from him that i only bring him grief and misery?
This time, this trip, alone is partly to get away, and to give my ex some distance from me, because increasingly I feel he's so tired of me. Yet At times, even while visiting so of the sacred sites, I find my mind remembering the wonderful moments, precious little intimate moments we once shared, and also remembering some of the mean and hurtful words that were exchanged. i find myself thinking about how he's doing, what he's doing. And I wonder, does he even think of me at all?
I do think of him fondly, miss him, sometimes even imagining how it would if he were here with me. I've written so many emails and notes over the last month or so telling him how I feel about us, our impasse, I made little surprise gifts and appearances for his birthday, and there's been very little reaction.
Is he doing this to spite me, to get his own back because I was gone and ignored his messages and calls for much of the start of of this year? I find myself, despite being in such peaceful surroundings, thinking and wondering: what is wrong with me...? Perhaps he's feeling free and uninhibited to do whatever, be with whomever while I'm not around, and yet I think of him so much, and carry with me his beloved teddy bear everywhere I go... Why am I using so much energy on my ex, when it is my parents I should be thinking of and remembering on this special journey?
here and there I am reminded of Buddha's words:
"They do not brood over the past,
They do not hanker after the future,
They live upon whatever they receive
Therefore they are radiant.”
What am I doing, but brooding over the past and longing for a distant, dream-like future? Why am I thinking about someone who is so far away, and who seems to grow more and more distant from me?
At this moment, I feel deeply the pain of loss and loneliness, especially when my body feels so wretched from illness and the nauseating effects of malaria pills I have to take for at least two weeks...
10 December 2012
Pilgrimage of the lonely
Almost two weeks on the road now, and I have seen and experienced some amazing things that will remain with me for a long, long time...
But sitting at the restaurant today, having the n-th meal by myself, my mind crept to that terribly empty feeling of loneliness again. On this trip, I seem to have been surrounded by people. Though poor (and I would never want to suggest that it's good to be poor, especially as many seem to have trouble knowing where the next meal will come from ...), people are together, surrounded by family, relatives, friends. And many backpackers and travelers I encountered are with someone, close friend, lover, whatnot. It does make eating and journeying all the more meaningful...
There have been so many moments I wish I could just share with someone my thoughts, my realisations, and how this trip has transformed my mind (or not...) But who...? Who can I share with, who will care to listen and reflect with me how meaningful and important this trip is for me after all that happened in my life in the past couple of years? Who will understand and not judge me or make fun of me for coming on a pilgrimage and venturing to a foreign and impoverished place?
Of course, the lonely tends to glamorous and idolise others who seem surrounded by people. The lonely longs for intimacy and care and yet shies away from people who try to reach out. But I could not help think: is the path of a lone pilgrim a reflection of what life is like? You travel, move from place to place, encounter people from all walks of life, but ultimately you are alone, or at least on your own. And most likely, you will die alone... That is a thought that scares me the most, especially after my death of both my parents. They were surrounded by loved ones, by family... But will I be?
A number of times, when close to having accidents on the treacherous (and lawless...) roads here, the thought does cross my mind: if I were to die here, would I be missed? Would anyone care? Would I not be forgotten, as if I never existed? These words would then be, like the many monuments and writings inscribed in stone, the only evidence of someone having thought these thoughts, written these words...
If I were to die or disappear here, at least I have fulfilled my dream of taking mum to the sacred land of buddhism's origins...
But sitting at the restaurant today, having the n-th meal by myself, my mind crept to that terribly empty feeling of loneliness again. On this trip, I seem to have been surrounded by people. Though poor (and I would never want to suggest that it's good to be poor, especially as many seem to have trouble knowing where the next meal will come from ...), people are together, surrounded by family, relatives, friends. And many backpackers and travelers I encountered are with someone, close friend, lover, whatnot. It does make eating and journeying all the more meaningful...
There have been so many moments I wish I could just share with someone my thoughts, my realisations, and how this trip has transformed my mind (or not...) But who...? Who can I share with, who will care to listen and reflect with me how meaningful and important this trip is for me after all that happened in my life in the past couple of years? Who will understand and not judge me or make fun of me for coming on a pilgrimage and venturing to a foreign and impoverished place?
Of course, the lonely tends to glamorous and idolise others who seem surrounded by people. The lonely longs for intimacy and care and yet shies away from people who try to reach out. But I could not help think: is the path of a lone pilgrim a reflection of what life is like? You travel, move from place to place, encounter people from all walks of life, but ultimately you are alone, or at least on your own. And most likely, you will die alone... That is a thought that scares me the most, especially after my death of both my parents. They were surrounded by loved ones, by family... But will I be?
A number of times, when close to having accidents on the treacherous (and lawless...) roads here, the thought does cross my mind: if I were to die here, would I be missed? Would anyone care? Would I not be forgotten, as if I never existed? These words would then be, like the many monuments and writings inscribed in stone, the only evidence of someone having thought these thoughts, written these words...
If I were to die or disappear here, at least I have fulfilled my dream of taking mum to the sacred land of buddhism's origins...
09 December 2012
Illness
091212.1922
Though generally things have gone smoothly, this trip has not been without mishaps. I twisted my leg a week ago, and despite applying a technique my friend taught me, I had to almost limp for a few days...
The worst is the coughing, which I've been having for almost two weeks now. It began in Delhi, and didn't get better the more I traveled. The mixture of dryness, dust, smog and chocking exhausts has irritated my throat and lungs terribly, and there's almost a constant flow of phlegm that I have to resist the urge of spitting out like the locals do...
A fellow traveler said I seem to have a lung infection, which is not uncommon for foreigners in India, and recommended I take antibiotics to stop it before it gets worse. I've taken the meds for five days now, and taken some cough syrup and candy, but it seems to have little effect.
To add to that, I think I've fallen ill, perhaps due to the fluctuation of temperatures, which can reach the mid-twenties around noon and falling to five or so Celsius at night. My nose feels running but strangely feels blocked at times. Generally, just very agitated and uncomfortable, with an itching throat and difficulty breathing.
If that were not enough, because Lumbini and this region of Nepal is a malaria zone, I've had to take malarone, an antimalarial pill everyday after breakfast. The pill look small and pink and harmless, but within an hour or so I feel my stomach churn, my head feel light and so sleepy. I find my concentration has really deteriorated over the past few days, and that I'm just lethargic and want to do very little-- a far cry from when I first began this journey two weeks ago (then again, this may all also be attributed to traveler's fatigue...) Feeling this way, I cannot but admire how brave mum was, for I can only imagine her chemotherapy pills and shots made her feel a thousand times worse...
Oh, perhaps this is part of the experience of the pilgrimage... Experiencing first hand Buddha's teachings about suffering, physical and mental discontentment and illness, which tortures the body and disrupts the mind...
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