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Monday
Apr162012

Return to India, Part 6: A cow, blessed and safe; Suji takes me to lunch, then goes out with Bhanu to do some wedding shopping

The big plan for this day was for Suji and Bhanu to go out and do some wedding shopping. First, before they did, Suji wanted to take me out for lunch. Even before that, I needed to take a walk, so I did and I met this cow. Such cows wander freely and wherever they go, they bring blessings with them. Many Americans like to use the slang phrase, "Holy cow!" to describe something that seems unbelievable. This is where the phrase comes from. Here, cows are considered sacred. This is a holy cow.

Not all Hindus are vegetarian, and there are many Muslims, a fair number of Christians and people of other faiths or lack of faiths, so many restaurants do serve meat - but not one time did I see beef on the menu. As I mentioned before, I did not go into McDonald's, but I was told that even in McDonald's there is no beef. They have what they call hamburgers on the menu, but they are made from chicken.

I did not see pork on any menu, either, as Muslims are not supposed to eat pork. The restaurateurs do not want to offend either Hindus or Muslims. I saw chicken, mutton and fish. This cow, and all other cows, bulls and calves that I saw, were all as safe as safe can be.

If Sandy had been with me, she might well have hugged this cow. She always did that kind of thing - even to animals not considered to be particularly sacred - although in Hindu, all animal life is considered sacred - but cows more so.

Come lunch time - which came not at noon but a bit after, Suji got onto her motorbike, I climbed on behind and off we went. She covered her face with a scarf because of the dust and smoke in the air and to keep the sun off her skin.

 

 

 

 

Suji told me it would be fine if I ordered a meat dish, but when I am with my Hindu relatives, it feels better to eat vegetarian, to eat what they do. Most of the item names on the menu mean nothing to me, so I asked Suji to order for me. I cannot remember the names of the dishes... one was a puree made of spinach and spice...but... oh, all were so superb!

No American jokes about the waiter's finger! He didn't know.

Just as we reached the house coming back, this fruit seller came by.

Before we went inside, Suji exchanged greetings and plesantries with neighbors who had not seen her since June, when she had left to go to London. They all seemed excited about her pending wedding.

I don't want anybody to see this gold and get the wrong idea. Having gold does not mean you are rich. In India, just about everybody has gold. Gold is very important to the culture. When traffic forces the vehicle you are riding in to stop, it is not unusual to have a thin, frail, woman from the street come up to you, begging, and to see gold on her.

Murthy claims that there is more processed gold in India than in all the other countries of the world combined, that there is gold in every single home. In terms of gold, he says, India is the richest country in the world. I don't know if this is a statistical fact or not, but it does seem that everyone owns gold - and they go for the purest gold they can get: as close to 24 karats as possible.

Here, the family examines some of the gold they will carry with them on the train to the wedding. The parents of the groom had also requested that they bring them a certain amount of gold as gifts, and in India, such a request from the family of the groom cannot be denied. Traditionally, it would be part of the dowry the wife is expected to bring into the family of the husband. Suji and her family had borrowed money in order to honor all the requests of the groom's family. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A bit afterward, a good friend, Prema, stopped by. It was the first time they had seen each other since June. Prima is studying medicine and dentistry, at the top of the honor roll and is a lecturer at a medical college. I am told that she has written some brilliant papers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Suji showed one of the sarees she would wear at her wedding. Remember the photo of Soundarya with the garland draped around it that I posted in part 2? Remember how I stated that it sat on a mantle, along with other items Sandy had brought into the house? The book case in the background is part of that mantle and the little elephant statue is one of the items Sandy had brought into the house.

When it came time to go shopping, we stepped outside to get into Prema's car, so we could go pay a visit at the home of her parents. As we walked to the car, this cat came skitting by...

...and then these crows rose above us. Cats and crows. How could I not think of Sandy? These were the two animals most special between us - although the crows would be ravens on the Alaska side. Of course, how could I not think of Sandy, anyway? All the time? I was in India - her country. I had moved over from Murthy and Vasanthi's to the home of Ravi and Bhanu, her parents, the home where she had once lived, the home where I had photographed her being blessed multiple times by her parents, grandfather and many relatives and friends in a function that took place in the early morning of her wedding day - and then in another with Anil about midnight afterwards.

Soon, we passed by a Van Heusan store. This is a men's store, and would be of no use to us on this night. We needed stores that catered to women - to brides to be. Suji did plan to buy me a suit to wear to the wedding - an Indian suit, not a western suit like those associated with Van Heusen.

At the home of Prema's parents Bhanu and Suji greeted her baby daughter, Aditi.

Prema, her husband Hemeth, Aditi and parents.

We left Prema's house for the shopping area in an auto ric. Evening was drawing nigh.

 

 

 

 

Then, instead of a Van Heusen's catering to men, we drew near to Fashion Point, catering to women. A man who looked like he might be the storekeeper signaled directions to two others on the floor above as they lowered a new glamour-banner into place.

We would not go into this store, but, just this evening's wedding shopping was about to begin. Originally, I had planned to skip this little vignette and go right into the shopping spree, but I didn't have time to figure it out this evening, so I did this instead.

I will post it next - maybe before I got to bed. Probably not. I had to get very early this morning to take Margie into town so she could babysit for two days. Then, tomorrow night, Lavina has to go to Phoenix for a conference. She did not want to leave Lynxton behind, so she is bringing him and taking Margie, too, so Margie can babysit Lynxton while Lavina attends her conference.

I don't think it will be that much fun. This is the time of year when the nice weather leaves Phoenix and it starts to get hot and Margie has no spending money. They return to Anchorage one week from tonight, but I probably will not see Margie again until Thursday night of next week, or maybe Friday, because she will need to stay in Anchorage and babysit.

"These days, it seems like I'm always home alone," I told her last night.

"Now you know what it's like," she answered.

 

 

 

Series index:

India series, part 1: With a little help from the Indian Air Force, I begin my India series without actually beginning it
Return to India, Part 2: Pain beneath the fan, a sprawling tree, monkey on a string; those I would soon join on a train ride; the garland
Return to India, Part 3: My Facebook friend, Ramz, her mischievous brother, her nationally recognized achiever mom, her dad at the wheel
India series, Part 4: When you overtake an elephant on the highway, be sure to pass on the right; birthday remembrance; In Wasilla, pass "oversize" on the left
Return to India, Part 5: I wander the cold, empty, streets of Bangalore
Return to India, Part 6: A cow, blessed and safe; Suji takes me to lunch, then goes out with Bhanu to do some wedding shopping
Return to India, Part 7-A: A three-snack outing as mother and daughter shop for Suji's wedding
Return to India, Part 7-B: On the painted holiday of the final full moon of winter, Sujitha and Kruthika go back to get a necklace
A spacer only - the Buddha and the glamour poster ad
Return to India, Part 8: henna, to highlight her beauty and deepen the love between bride and groom; a moment on the way to the train
Return to India, Part 9: A prayer and a blessing for Suji; we head for the train; three calls to Manu
Time for another spacer - the green man who showed up at the railroad station
Return to India, Part 10: The train to Pune, part 2: Sujitha by the window as a thin thread of her India flows by
Return to India, Part 11: On the train, part 3: Ganesh Ravi - Photographer: how we discovered his hidden talent
Return to India, Part 12: On the train, part 4: After dark
Return to India, Part 13: train ride, part 5: we click and clatter into Pune, take a perilous walk and step into a world beyond imagination
Return to India, Part 14: The groom his wedding suit; me in mine
Return to India, Part 15: A function to mark the final night Sujitha would spend with her family before the wedding
Return to India, Part 16: Inside the Biradar house: portrait of an elder woman - portrait of a young girl
Return to India, Part 17: We dine in the home of the groom's parents, then join in the Puja of Kalasha
Return to India, Part 18: Slideshow: Sujitha and Manoj at the wedding hall - Engagement and Haldi Night
Return to India, Part 19: The wedding band, in the visual style of Sgt. Pepper's (10 image slide show)
Return to India, Part 20: The groom rides a white horse to the temple, there is dancing in the street; Sujitha and Manoj are wed
Return to India, Part 21 - Benediction: Sujitha takes me to the sacred waters; fish dine - a crow flies
Monday
Apr162012

As an airplane flies overhead in Wasilla, I launch my Logbook Photo Store - with a blessing and a coin from India

Murthy and Vasanthi took me to see a certain Hindu temple in Ahmedabad where we crawled through a narrow, man-made cave built to replicate another in a temple built into a rock in another part of India. After passing through the cave, we came to place where a priest stood behind a countertop overlain with flowers. Incense burned and so did an oil lamp. As people stopped in front of him, he would say a short prayer in his language and would place a red mark on their forehead.

I was a little worried, because I knew I would be in front of him soon and the usual protocal called for congregants passing by to drop a little money into a box as an offering - kind of like passing the offering box through the congregation in a church. When I visit a church, even though I am not a member, I always drop some money into the box when it is passed in front of me.

I had no money on me. I did not know what to do. I was surprised when, instead of expecting me to give money to him, the priest handed me the coin in the photo above. With a smile and a gentle expression on his face, he said a short prayer, reached out, touched my forehead and left a red mark on me.

In his way, which is not my way but which I honor and respect, he had blessed me, but I had no idea what he said. When we stepped out of the temple into the glare of the hot sun, I asked Murthy what the priest had said in his blessing to me.

"God bless you," Murthy interpreted, and then explained that priest had also blessed me that I might find financial success. To me, financial success means to obtain the resources that I need to do my work... to take my pictures, write my stories, to put together the books that I still must get done in whatever time I have left. I decided to keep the coin for the rest of my life - as a good omen that, somehow, as challenging as the near future appears to be, everything will come together and I will obtain those resources and I will get my work done.

As regular readers know, I have two big goals right now, but no financial backing to do either one. There are books I must complete. For the most part, I have the material. I have the photos, I have the information, I have the experiences, what I need is the time to do the work. Then there is this blog. I'm not totally satisfied with the format, but I love the basic idea, the way a blog allows me to play words off photos.

And now, as of this week, I have no money and no income and no promise of income, but lots of bills ahead of me. 2011 was actually a very good year for me but it has passed. Uiñiq magazine and the other sources of support I had been relying on are gone. Uiñiq is over. I do not believe it is coming back. My inquiries to the new powers that be as to whether we could keep it going have generated no response - but I think this is how it is supposed to be, because if I get too comfortable doing Uiñiq and I rely too heavily upon it, then I won't get my books done.

I won't push this blog to where it needs to go.

Uiñiq was good for me and I loved it and many Iñupiat people continually tell me they loved it, but everything has its season and the season has come for me to move beyond Uiñiq. I am afraid to say this for certain, because if the offer came, it is hard for me to imagine that I would not take it. But I do know that there is a certain, major, book I have been working on for decades and I must finish it, at least to electronic form, before the end of August.

How will I do that, if I am doing a Uiñiq?

So, somehow I must make this blog the foundation of my income, so I can be free to do what I need to do.

It feels impossible. Yet, I know it can be done. Somehow, it can be done - but not if I just spend hours working on this blog every day without any kind of mechanism at all to bring in some coins. So, finally, now that we are solidly broke, I start my store.

The store alone won't do it. I don't really think the store is the answer - but I will start with this store, see if anything happens, and see what else it will lead to. There is a link to the store near the top of the right hand column, but it doesn't stand out at all, so I must make a button that does - but the button can't stand out too much, or it will diminish the impact of the photographs.

This is also why I am trying to stay away from ads. Ads make a blog ugly, and they can be so damned annoying. So I am trying to stay away from them. David Alan Harvey has succeeded in doing so with Burn. David is truly famous and has a huge following and features scores and scores of superb and innovative photographers and so pulls in a level of support and contribution that I cannot hope to match.

He is not getting rich at it, but he is succeeding and he is doing good, creative, fulfilling work that he loves and no one else is doing. If he can, somehow, I can.

I don't know how, so I start with this store. The store alone is not going to do it, but it is a statement that I am serious and I am looking for the way.

I don't have much in the store - just a few prints for now, and two prototype covers of some very simple iPad books I hope to make in the near future. I believe one week's worth of work would be all that would be required to finish the first book - because I have already completed it. I just have to revise it and adapt it to the iPad. I have zero experience and know-how at this, but I undertand there are simple ways to do it.

The second book will take a little more work, but the material is all at my finger tips. I just need to keep it simple.

As to the prints, I have been at a loss as to what to charge. For now, I have chosen $50 for an 8.5 by 11, $150 for 11 x 14 and $300 for 13 x 19 on Velvet Fine Art Paper. I fear very few people will be willing to pay $300, but so far I have not been able to talk myself into going any lower. I have never sold prints except on the rarest of occasions. About 20 years ago, ASMP sponsored a show I wanted to participate in but all those who hung a print had to put a price tag on it.

I did not want anybody to buy my print, so I priced it at $300. It sold anyway. A few years back, I had a major museum exhibition. The museum also bought a large selection of 13 x 19 Velvet Fine Art prints for their permanent collection and paid me $500 each, as I recall. They apologized for this price, as they said it was not enough and the prints were worth more, but they didn't have the budget for it.

So, as hard as I have been trying to, I cannot make myself go below $300, because it feels like I would be insulting my own work. Yet, I think hardly anyone will pay that.

But anyone who wants to surprise me - please do.

I am certain that anybody who has been following this blog lately will recognize Sujitha. Those who read part 2 of my return to India series might also recognize Natarajan's little green boy bank. The other hands in this frame are those of her mother, Bhanu.

I don' think anybody can make a worthwhile picture every day, but just the same, I decided to devote one section of my store to "The Daily Take." On every day that I can manage the time, I will put one image I took that day in the store. I will leave it there for two weeks, then remove it. I don't think many of these Daily Take images will sell. Maybe none of them. But I like the idea so I am going to do it.

This the first image in the Daily Take section - a plane that flew over me on my walk this morning. Anyone familiar with my work and history will understand the significance, whether I sell a single print or not.

Regular readers are also familiar with my Young Writer studies, focused upon Shoshana Hausmann, barista at Metro cafe. You will find one section of my store devoted entirely to the Young Writer. These 11 x 14 prints will include a sampling of her writing along with one of my pictures of her. I am not certain how often I will add a new one - at least once a month. I am not satisfied with the design on it just yet, so I will tweak it a bit.

If anyone has any suggestions or questions, please contact me at:

runningdog@ak.net

Now I just hope the damn robots don't jump on my email address. 

 

The Logbook Photo Store

Saturday
Apr142012

Intermission: Wasilla: At Abby's, every stool had a butt on it; a cup of eyes

When Abby's Home Cooking first opened, I took a picture of all the stools at the counter - empty. Then I set a goal to take a photograph on the day when I would find a butt on every stool. That day happened today. Unfortunately, I broke my 16-35 wide angle lens in India. I had my 24-105 with me, and if I had brought my Canon 5D Mark II or my 1DS Mark III - both full frame cameras, that lens would have been wide enough to have captured every butt.

But I had sent the 5D to the Canon Service Center for repairs a few weeks before I left for India, but they had wanted $500 to repair and I couldn't spare it. Despite having hit a hard, stone, floor in the same mishap that sheared my 16-35 into two pieces, the 1Ds is like a tank and seemed to come out of the accident unscathed.

But I do not like to carry it around if I don't have to - because it is like a tank.

So I had fallen back on the Canon 7D, which has a cropped sensor and on it the 24 was not wide enough to take in all the butts. So I went outside to see if I could get them all through the window, but there was so much glare and reflection on the window I could not see anything through it unless I came right up to it and blocked the glare and reflection with my head.

Maybe you think I am making all this up, that there really was not a butt on every stool and this is story I concocted.

If you think that, you are wrong. See? From a angle, I could get all the butts. I wanted to keep the same angle as the original, but when one goes about breaking lenses and ruining camera bodies, he has to make adjustments to how he shoots things.

These are the heads and faces that rise above the butts on the stool.

Tim and his grandson Wesley did not sit at the counter. We shared a table. There were diners at most of the other tables, too. People are discovering Abby's.

 

This is not what I had planned today. I had planned to launch my store and then make another post from India - Suji Niece doing her wedding shopping. But I had a big struggle with the store. What seemed to be simple tasks kept going wrong. I got it started yesterday evening and worked on it off and on throughout today and just didn't get anywhere.

I think its because my last post drained me. It did. It drained me. I could not make my mind bear down on what it needed to bear down on to solve all the problems. So, late tonight, I just gave up and retreated to this glimpse at life in Wasilla, this morning.

I will finish the store tomorrow, though - at least a preliminary version of it. Something to establish the idea.

And, if everything goes well, I will take readers back to India to go wedding shopping in Bangalore with Suji. It was great fun when it happened. I think it will be fun in the blog, too.

Friday
Apr132012

Return to India, Part 5: I wander the cold, empty, streets of Bangalore

At about 7:00 PM on a chilly evening in mid-February, 2009, I sat inside an Alaska Airlines jet on descent into Barrow as the pilot broadcast the ambient ground temperature: 48 degrees below zero.

The Borough had booked me a room at the Airport Inn, so when my bag appeared, I grabbed it, stepped out into the bitter air and walked over. It was not very far, about a block-and-a-half, but when you are still dressed in street clothes, wearing a light jacket and you walk through minus 48 degree air for even a short distance, you feel it.

The first thing I did upon settling into my room was to get out my laptop, log on to the hotel wireless and open my email. I felt certain I would see one from "Sandy R" - Soundarya Ravichandran, soul friend and Muse. I did not want to fully believe it until I saw it, but that's how it always seemed to work. If I felt I would see "Sandy R" in the inbox, I would. If I felt there would be no "Sandy R," her name would not be there.

Sure enough, her email was there. I opened it. Inside, she recounted a pleasant experience she had with her fiance, Anil Kumar, very late the night before, when they had been out walking about alone on "the cold, empty, streets of Bangalore..."

Sandy's description struck me as incongruous. Bangalore streets? "Cold?" "Empty?" In my experience with Bangalore, the streets had always been teeming with people. Masses of people, on the go, rushing here, rushing there, selling this, selling that; roaring about in a compact swarm of motorbikes, auto-rics, buses, cars, trucks - horns honking continually as each driver out there engaged in the continual game of chicken all drivers who navigate the hot, crowded, streets of Bangalore must play.

The streets were hot, even at night - even when the local people told me it was cool. Granted, I had been there in August and it was now Februay, but still, this close to the equator, how cold could it have cooled off to? Fifty-five degrees (12.7 C), maybe? If it had somehow matched Bangalore's all time record low, then 47 (8.4 C)?

T-shirt weather in Alaska.

The seeming absurdity of it made me chuckle and smile. Sandyz description (this how she would write her name when she used the possesive - Sandyz) put a pleasant and romantic image into my head, one that I liked: two healthy young lovers, soon to be married, out alone on the street - talking, laughing, stopping here and there to exchange hugs and kisses. 

It made me think of Margie and me, and how we had courted through the fall and first half of winter on Utah's Wasatch front. We sometimes did find ourselves on empty streets in near or sub-freezing weather and it had been wonderful. The cold had only made our embraces feel that much warmer, the empty streets had made it seem as though we, together, were all that truly mattered.

So I pictured it somehow being that way for Soundarya and Anil - if I could but redefine my concepts of "cold" and "empty" a bit.

As I have written elsewhere, Sandy and I had bonded upon first meeting. The simple sight of her on the other side of a table at the wedding of my niece, Khena, to her cousin, Vivek, had given me a warm feeling, as though I had always known her, as though she had always been my close and trusted friend. It was the same for her. I called her "Muse" and "soul friend." She called me "soul friend" and "best friend." She had another friend or two who she also called "best friend," such as Nikel, westernized to "Nick Hill." 

This did not make the designation, "best friend" less meaningful. One can love many people in different ways, simultaneously, and can have more than just one friend who ranks right at the top, in the category that can only be called, "best friend."

Nick Hill would die in the same crash that took Anil. That crash and the suicide that followed ripped a huge chunk of life and spirit out of so many - we continue to live, breathe, eat, drink and love, yet inside suffer this aching, empty, void. The crash was horribly hard to accept, the suicide - seemingly impossible. Yet, those who loved her live and continue on, anyway.

Some of us sometimes do strange and irrational things, like, sink one's self into a time-consuming blog with virtually no payout and then, in the face of the greatest financial challenge of one's lifetime, a challenge with great promise beyond but no interim survival solution - save for the construction of an online store that he can never seem to complete - drop everything and rush off to India.

Early on, Sandy and I would "talk" often of love, and the quest for love - which she was on. I would tell her about Margie, whom I called "Soul Mate." She would tell me of her desire to find her own soul mate, a man she could travel intimately through life with and embrace as father to her children. But she was confused, because she had been badly, badly, hurt before, in many ways and more than once. In some of these matters of the experience of her heart, she swore me to confidentiality.

On the day I met Soundarya, a relative a few steps removed from her had told me how her future was supposedly to play out - in about a year, a marriage would be arranged for Sujitha. Theoretically, as Soundarya was older, a marriage should be arranged for her first, the distant relative told me, but she was too independent minded, too adventurous, too free in her thinking to be tied down just yet. No marriage would be set up for her for two more years - by then, the relative told me, it was hoped she would be ready to settle down into an arranged marriage.

"Whoever told you that, told you wrong!" Soundarya retorted through rapidly typing fingers when I brought it up in an online conversation. Nobody but Sandy would chose a husband for Sandy. This would prove true for Sujitha as well. Both sisters would choose their own men. I'm pretty sure the brother will choose his own woman, too.

Even as she sought the right man, Sandy received many unwelcome advances. She was a teacher - a trainer of youth and young adults who needed to learn the skills to advance in a modernizing world, integrating in voice and by phone with the west. Her ambition was to start her own training institute but in the meantime, she had to apply for temporary positions. She had been very excited about one interview, but afterward she reported to me in fury that it had seemed to go well - until the man doing the interview and who would have been her boss if she got the job hit on her.

Another time, a man hit on her and she punched him right in the face. There was another man who she did like, had dated and who wanted to make a life with her. She liked him but the statements and promises he made did not seem quite right to her - not true to life. She did not believe it could be that way. She wondered what I thought.

I lack the wisdom to give anyone advice on love or much of anything else, so, whether the topic was love or otherwise, I would respond mostly not with a real answer but maybe just by relating an experience of my own - something that happened with Margie when we courted, maybe, - something that happened that day with Jim Slim Many Toes - my good black cat.

Somehow, whatever I told her, it always seemed to help. She always felt better afterward. 

I made a promise to her. When she found her man, I would come to India to photograph her wedding. 

And I always felt better, just to see her words on my screen. Her words were bright, filled with energy, passion and the desire to fully experience life. She would speak of those she associated with and things they did. There was "Barbie" - her pet name for Sujitha; Gayarti, a village boy, and he was very pretty and she was protective of him. There were many others. She described an eclectic group of young people determined to make very different lives for themselves than those lived by their parents and the people in the India of yesterday.

One day the name "Anil" appeared in her writings.

Somehow, even though she did not write about him in the context of love or make any extraordinary statements about him, I sensed electricity in her very typing of the word... "Anil."

Soon, there came a dark and frightening period, yet one mixed with flashes of brightness, glee and love...

As it transpired, this period of time seemed long, but it was short. When it came to an end, Sandy told me that, after many bitter tears mixed with redemption and new-found trust, she had finally found her man, her Soul Mate, the man she wanted to go through life with. She said I had been instrumental, that she had felt my love and guidance all the way through, as if my hand had been on her shoulder. She said this soul mate of hers was one of the people whose names had appeared in our past conversations. Could I guess who?

Immediately, I thought of Anil - but was reluctant to say so. I didn't want to be wrong.

It was Anil. Soon, they decided to marry. We tried to bring her to Alaska for a spell first, but it didn't work out.

They needed to set a date. I told her to please avoid late spring through early fall, if she could, as I hate to leave Alaska during the time of light. Anytime in the winter would be okay - except Kivgiq time. Kivgiq had not been scheduled, but I was certain this would be a Kivgiq winter.

Other than Sandy and Anil's wedding, there was only one event that would take place in the year 2009 I absolutely could not miss - Kivgiq: the great celebration of Iñupiat song, dance, gift giving, story telling, trading and bartering. I HAD to be there.

She wrote of the children she hoped to have...

A daughter, to bring the sun into her life...

She hoped her son would be just like Calvin, of Calvin and Hobbes: mischievous, naughty, yet sensitive, observant, good at heart - despite his sometimes seemingly twisted outward manifestations.

She sometimes had second thoughts, misgivings, because she knew first hand many of life's cruelties. Was this really the kind of world she wanted to bring children into? She would push these fears aside, because, yes, whatever the challenge, the love was in her. Yes, she wanted children.

I kind of hoped she would prevail upon Anil and name one of them, "Bill." I was afraid to suggest it, though - in part because it would probably be important to the larger family that this son carry a Hindu name.

Good grief, this story is getting too long! Not too long for the telling of - it is a much longer and more involved story than I can tell here - but the construction is getting too long for the technology.

Soon, the number of photos will really jam up, bog things down and drag down the browsers of readers who must endure slow connections.

So I had better zip along and wrap this up. Kivgiq was scheduled. Sandy and Anil set their date - right smack in the middle of Kivgiq - the very Kivgiq I had gone to Barrow to cover on the night when Sandy told me about "the cold, empty, streets of Bangalore." It became apparent that the family of the groom has more say about the wedding date than does the bride and they base their choice on a number of factors - not one of which is an Eskimo dance celebration in Arctic Alaska.

Yet, somehow, Sandy got the wedding postponed - right into the heart of bowhead whaling season. I have covered whaling in many different years, but I was working on two stories in two different whaling villages and had planned to divide my spring up between them. Yet, I had made a promise to Soundarya, Muse and soul friend. I would keep that promise.

So, in May of 2009, I came back to Bangalore for the wedding. Back in Alaska, some amazing things happened in both of the whaling villages I had been working in, events I would sorely have loved to have photographed.

That May was brutally hot in Bangalore - hotter than the Bangaloreans I spoke to could ever remember May being. I came straight off the Arctic ice to temperatures in the 100's. I sweated profusely. I drank gallons - literally - of lemonade and water and never even had to pee. I drenched my clothes in sweat. Sandyz desire to have me as the only photographer had been overruled by the family of the groom, and I had to contend with an aggressive, abrasive, photographer/videographer team who did not believe in subtle light and so blasted the beauty right out of the natural with their scorching spot-light and hot, pasty, straight-on flash.

Still - the wedding of Soundarya Anil Kumar is a cherised, cherished, day of my life. Cherished! Not for anything else that happened in the world that day would I have missed it. Nothing. I was in the right place - just where I needed to be.

One morning, early on in this trip of 2012, I walked down a street in the neighborhood where Sandy and I had walked on my first visit, shortly after we met. We had found a cat on that walk.

Now, in 2012, as always, many people swarmed all about - but the street felt empty, so horribly empty.

The rays of the sun burned my untanned skin, yet the absence felt cold - so bitterly, bitterly, cold.

"The cold, empty, streets of Bangalore."

Suddenly, I understood.

 

 

 

Series index:

India series, part 1: With a little help from the Indian Air Force, I begin my India series without actually beginning it
Return to India, Part 2: Pain beneath the fan, a sprawling tree, monkey on a string; those I would soon join on a train ride; the garland
Return to India, Part 3: My Facebook friend, Ramz, her mischievous brother, her nationally recognized achiever mom, her dad at the wheel
India series, Part 4: When you overtake an elephant on the highway, be sure to pass on the right; birthday remembrance; In Wasilla, pass "oversize" on the left
Return to India, Part 5: I wander the cold, empty, streets of Bangalore
Return to India, Part 6: A cow, blessed and safe; Suji takes me to lunch, then goes out with Bhanu to do some wedding shopping
Return to India, Part 7-A: A three-snack outing as mother and daughter shop for Suji's wedding
Return to India, Part 7-B: On the painted holiday of the final full moon of winter, Sujitha and Kruthika go back to get a necklace
A spacer only - the Buddha and the glamour poster ad
Return to India, Part 8: henna, to highlight her beauty and deepen the love between bride and groom; a moment on the way to the train
Return to India, Part 9: A prayer and a blessing for Suji; we head for the train; three calls to Manu
Time for another spacer - the green man who showed up at the railroad station
Return to India, Part 10: The train to Pune, part 2: Sujitha by the window as a thin thread of her India flows by
Return to India, Part 11: On the train, part 3: Ganesh Ravi - Photographer: how we discovered his hidden talent
Return to India, Part 12: On the train, part 4: After dark
Return to India, Part 13: train ride, part 5: we click and clatter into Pune, take a perilous walk and step into a world beyond imagination
Return to India, Part 14: The groom his wedding suit; me in mine
Return to India, Part 15: A function to mark the final night Sujitha would spend with her family before the wedding
Return to India, Part 16: Inside the Biradar house: portrait of an elder woman - portrait of a young girl
Return to India, Part 17: We dine in the home of the groom's parents, then join in the Puja of Kalasha
Return to India, Part 18: Slideshow: Sujitha and Manoj at the wedding hall - Engagement and Haldi Night
Return to India, Part 19: The wedding band, in the visual style of Sgt. Pepper's (10 image slide show)
Return to India, Part 20: The groom rides a white horse to the temple, there is dancing in the street; Sujitha and Manoj are wed
Return to India, Part 21 - Benediction: Sujitha takes me to the sacred waters; fish dine - a crow flies
Thursday
Apr122012

India series, Part 4: When you overtake an elephant on the highway, be sure to pass on the right; birthday remembrance; In Wasilla, pass "oversize" on the lef

When you see an elephant going down the road ahead of you in India, you must remember to pass it on the right. This is because, just like in the UK, people in India drive on the left hand side of the road. This is true whether they are driving cars, motorbikes, auto rics, trucks, elephants, camels or monkeys.

Actually, I have never seen or heard of anyone driving a monkey in India, but that doesn't mean it has never happened or never will happen. If it does, then, for sure, they would drive the monkey on the left-hand side of the road.

Well, maybe I shouldn't say "for sure." One thing that I have noticed in India is that even though people drive on the left, it is not uncommon for someone to decide it suits them better to drive on the right and then, sure enough, you will see them coming straight at you, driving down their right hand side of the road, which is of course your left and left is just where you are.

In at least one such incident after Sandy's wedding in 2009, I thought certain death was coming straight at us - Melanie, Vasanthi, Murthy, Buddy, our driver, and me - but death missed by a hair. No elephant was involved. Just people and machines.

But, generally, they drive on the left, as they do here. 

As Soundarya so dearly loved animals, I think this is a good time to note that today is the 33rd anniversary of her birth. Not April 12 - she was born on April 13, 1979, in India - right now, it is April 13th in India.

Happy birthday, Sandy!

I had not planned to post this little elephant vignette today. I had planned to put up a major post in this series, and I did quite a bit of work on it. Then I took my coffee break, thinking I could finish it up in two hours after I got home, but no sooner had I started back to work on it when my office door flew open and in came Kalib, who had just arrived from Anchorage with his mom, baby brother, and grandma. He wanted me to get the Thomas the Train that Suji gave the family for Christmas out, so that he watch it go 'round the track.

Then some Mormon missionaries knocked on the door and stayed for awhile to visit. After that, I needed a hamburger. I could still finish it, but not until late, because I am certain that two hours I had anticipated would turn into four and I am drained. I am just drained.

So I decided to finish it tomorrow, and today go for the elephant Vignette instead.

Now, I am just too drained to finish it, so I will finish it tomorrow.

Of course, if you are driving in Wasilla and you see a cowboy hat going down the road - be sure to pass on the left. In Wasilla, we drive on the right side of the road.

The cowboy, by the way, is named Bill. Sometimes when I am out walking and he is plowing the road, he will stop for a few seconds to say "hi."

I'm not sure why Bill was plowing snow. There is still snow here but it is melting fast and as near as I can tell, there is none left on the pavement - certainly not enough to plow.

 

 

 

 

Series index:

India series, part 1: With a little help from the Indian Air Force, I begin my India series without actually beginning it
Return to India, Part 2: Pain beneath the fan, a sprawling tree, monkey on a string; those I would soon join on a train ride; the garland
Return to India, Part 3: My Facebook friend, Ramz, her mischievous brother, her nationally recognized achiever mom, her dad at the wheel
India series, Part 4: When you overtake an elephant on the highway, be sure to pass on the right; birthday remembrance; In Wasilla, pass "oversize" on the left
Return to India, Part 5: I wander the cold, empty, streets of Bangalore
Return to India, Part 6: A cow, blessed and safe; Suji takes me to lunch, then goes out with Bhanu to do some wedding shopping
Return to India, Part 7-A: A three-snack outing as mother and daughter shop for Suji's wedding
Return to India, Part 7-B: On the painted holiday of the final full moon of winter, Sujitha and Kruthika go back to get a necklace
A spacer only - the Buddha and the glamour poster ad
Return to India, Part 8: henna, to highlight her beauty and deepen the love between bride and groom; a moment on the way to the train
Return to India, Part 9: A prayer and a blessing for Suji; we head for the train; three calls to Manu
Time for another spacer - the green man who showed up at the railroad station
Return to India, Part 10: The train to Pune, part 2: Sujitha by the window as a thin thread of her India flows by
Return to India, Part 11: On the train, part 3: Ganesh Ravi - Photographer: how we discovered his hidden talent
Return to India, Part 12: On the train, part 4: After dark
Return to India, Part 13: train ride, part 5: we click and clatter into Pune, take a perilous walk and step into a world beyond imagination
Return to India, Part 14: The groom his wedding suit; me in mine
Return to India, Part 15: A function to mark the final night Sujitha would spend with her family before the wedding
Return to India, Part 16: Inside the Biradar house: portrait of an elder woman - portrait of a young girl
Return to India, Part 17: We dine in the home of the groom's parents, then join in the Puja of Kalasha
Return to India, Part 18: Slideshow: Sujitha and Manoj at the wedding hall - Engagement and Haldi Night
Return to India, Part 19: The wedding band, in the visual style of Sgt. Pepper's (10 image slide show)
Return to India, Part 20: The groom rides a white horse to the temple, there is dancing in the street; Sujitha and Manoj are wed
Return to India, Part 21 - Benediction: Sujitha takes me to the sacred waters; fish dine - a crow flies