On the train to Pune; happy times unfold atop the void that cannot be filled nor forgotten; feast, hunger, excitement and beauty on the street

Here is Sujitha, the bride, who in the morning had henna applied to her hands, arms, feet and legs, now riding the train that will take her from her home in Bangalore to Pune, where she will join her groom in a Hindu wedding ceremony.

As you would suspect, I shot a series of photos from the beginning of the 18-hour train ride to the end, except, of course, for the hours that I either slept or laid awake in a dreamy haze in my sleeping place, which just happened to be this place. Sujitha had her own sleeping place across the aisle, as did everyone else in our party, but sometimes she would sit with me for awhile to keep me company.

As to the rest of the pictures from this journey, I have yet to even take my first glance at them. I took this one very near to the beginning of the trip and so chose it to represent the entire trip.

Later, perhaps not until after I return to Alaska, I will take the time to do a decent edit and selection and will then make a post dedicated solely to telling the story of the train ride, another to tell the story of the henna application - and others to tell other stories until I am done.

So this is the kind blog I hope this turns into - one where I drop in framentary pieces of experiences on close to a day-by-day basis, and then tell more comprehensive, more carefully thought out pieces later.

I feel like I should be able to tell a comprehensive story every day, but I can't. So fragments, followed later by comprehenive - that is my goal.

I grabbed this one, because it was right at the tail end of the CF card that I last downloaded, and so it was easy to grab. Sujitha's cousin Aishu arrived here a bit after 5:30 AM following a 15 hour bus ride from Bangalore. Sujitha and Aishu are very close. Right now, they are out doing last-minute wedding shopping. I am very sad to have stayed back and if this blog were the only thing pressing me, I probably would have post-poned this post until tonight (it is now 1:00 PM in India) and would have followed them.

Oddly enough, a couple photo orders have come to me here in India, both with close deadlines, for pictures that I had taken in Alaska and, as a result of circumstances I won't bother to detail, happen to have brought with me on another harddrive. One is guaranteed to succeed and will pay me just a tiny bit of money, the other has no guarantee at all - in fact, the publication involved has sent or will send a photographer to Barrow to get what they need, but as I do have related material, they have asked me to send them a few as well.

So this is the one that will take me the longest time and greatest effort and it is the one that comes with no guarantee of success at all and to fill it I had to stay behind. Margie and I will be totally flat broke within just a few days of my return home and I have no paying jobs pending whatsover. If this one does succeed, the per-photo rate will be a good one, so I must take the time to fill the order, even though I am in India and would rather be out experiencing India with Sujitha and Aishu on the last day before Sujitha's wedding ceremonies begin.

As we move about and do the things that we do, there is much laughter, hugging and dining - we dine all the time - and we have a good time, an enjoyable time. My in-laws here treat me every bit as one of their own, so much so that I do not even like to use the term, "in-laws." I prefer the term, "family," because that is what they are to me and that is how they treat me.

Be certain, though, that even with the laughter, hugging and warmth, there is an underlying void of sadness that also travels with us at all times. As she was packing her bags in Bangalore, Sujitha came up with this bag that she had received as a gift from Soundarya - her Soundu, my Sandy. Soundarya painted the bag herself, so it truly carries her a window to her spirit.

Sujtitha also showed me a pile of mementos, such as birthday cards, notes, drawings and such that Soundu left her. Lying right on top was this picture of Margie and I. I took it in March of 2008, in Anchorage, right after we came out of a movie we had gone to at Century 16. I took it just for Sandy, so that I could email it to her and share the moment with her.

Not for any other reason did I take this picture. I took it for Sandy.

She then printed it and hung it where she could see it, everyday.

Sandy never met Margie, but she loved her just the same, because Margie is my wife and soul mate, mother of my children and I shared with my Muse and platonic soul friend the love I feel for them both - two very different kinds of love, but both absolute and unconditional love. This can be pretty hard to explain, but that's what it is. 

Love.

I had resolved before I came that I would let no one here see tears come from me - save for Sujitha, who planned to take me on a memorial journey that I knew could not help but bring out the tears - a journey that we actually did take and it did in fact bring many tears - but no one saw them, except for Sujitha, who shed even more of her own.

Well, perhaps some standing nearby saw our tears, but they would have been more concerned with the tears of their own hearts.

Yet, when I saw this, I could not stop a few more tears from coming. And then Ganesh gave me a very special memento and that was that. I could not hide my tears from anyone present, and all the immediate family were present. I did not shriek and bawl, but the tears did come, and then my tears were joined the by the tears of others. Sometime, maybe when I am home, perhaps I will photograph that memento and write about it, but not right now.

Late yesterday afternoon, Sujitha took me on a shopping trip that would last until a bit before 11:00 PM. Her mom Bhanu came along, as did Murthy and Vasanthi and also the groom, Manoj. Sujitha bought me a "sherwani" - an Indian-style suit so that I could wear it to her wedding. She says that I look very handsome in it. Being kind of short and stubby, I am not certain the word "handsome" ever applied to me and if it did, I have left whatever day or two that handsomeness took place on long behind.

Still, it is nice to hear her say such things.

After we bought the suit and then left it to be taylored, we journied to a snack shop, where we first had very thin, round, pastries about the size of golf-balls filled with the liquid of one's choosing - spicy or sweet, or sweet and spicy. Then Manu bought us all what he jokingly called "Indian hamburgers," although I did not know he was joking and so afterward told our hosts here in Pune that we had eaten India burgers. They had no idea what I was talking about. Sujitha was laughing like crazy. That was when I realized that Manu had been making a joke.

Anyway, they are served on a bun of sorts. I do know know what they are made of, but maybe it is some kind of big, stuffed, pepper. It is hot. And I, who so love hot and spicy foods, am on doctors orders to avoid hot and spicy because after decades of stuffing myself full of jalepeno peppers and spicy Mexican food, I developed a terrible acid reflux problem and it really tore up the walls of my esphagus, throat and upper stomach.

So, even though I still love hot and spicy, I must be very careful with it. My condition has improved significantly, but even so a hot and spicy meal can take me down, fast.

In India, all the food is delicious, hot and spicy - and I am fed huge serving of it upon huge serving, and when I say, "Enough! Enough! I am stuffed." they say, "okay, have one more" and then give me three more, or maybe four. And I eat it all, every bite. Just before we left Bangalore, I learned to say, "Pottam! Pottam!" ("Enough! Enough!" in Tamil and it helps, but still I get extra servings even after I am filled.

Anyway, as our meal neared its end, I saw three children of the street step quietly up from behind us to stare at our food.

Very discreetly, so much so that I did not even realize she had done it until the shop-keeper served them, Sujitha bought "Indian hamburgers" for the children.

After they had eaten, I was scrolling through the pictures I had taken so far through the evening when I became aware that all three of the street children where standing just behind me to my left, intently peering at the pictures that flashed across the LCD on the back of my camera.

They were fascinated.

They spoke no English, but through gesture I asked if they wanted me to photograph them. They did. So I did. It astonished me how happy and excited this simple gesture made them. Unfortunately, I could not photograph the scene as I showed them the pictures of themselves on the LCD - but, as you can see, they were truly excited.

Now, I had a big debate in my mind whether to use this frame or the one just above it. There is a very strong school of thought in the photographic community that I hang out in via the web that even though the web presents us with the opportunity to put up as many pictures as we like, it is perhaps more important than ever to strictly edit yourself, to narrow the ten pictures you want to use down to as few as just the one that most succinctly tells the story.

To tell the story of how excited the children became, the first picture works best. So I decided it would be the one I would use.

But this picture better tells the story of beauty: how beautiful these children who live and eat off the street are.

I wanted you to see their beauty, these children of the Indian street, who I am helpless to help.

And I wanted you to see their excitement.

So, discipline and schools of thought be damned - here they are, two pictures instead of one - or maybe, four pictures instead of one.

Or perhaps I blew it alltogether and failed, because I did not take one picture that told the whole story by itself. So maybe I should have disciplined and edited myself so strictly that I should not have posted even one of these pictures.

But I did.

And I did the children no good at all - except, perhaps, for just a moment, to show them that their presence on this earth has been acknowledged. When one's presence is acknowledged, then one knows one matters.

Three in an auto; exhausted painted boy; the alms seeker and her calf

I have a number of stories coming together, but no time to edit, no time to post. In less than half-an-hour, we leave for the train station, where we will begin an 18 hour ride by rail to Pune. Anyway, here I am with Kruthika and Sujitha - off to do some pre-wedding shopping. Yes, this will be one of the little stories I will tell when time and circumstance allow.

Kruthika and Sujitha have wrapped their faces to protect them from the smoke and dust that will beset us on the drive to the place where we will shop.

After the shopping trip, we stopped at this tea shop where Sujitha treated Kruthika and me to a mango shake. Oh, it was good! I drank it too fast.

Then four people, including two children, came in all painted, as they had been participating in the holiday, Holi, which is more of a north Indian celebration than here, but still Holi celebrators could be spotted painting each other. This is Lavith Golechha, 3.7 years old, who had been celebrating hard.

A couple of hours ago, I heard a horn blow outside the house. It was this woman and her calf, seeking alms. Oscar, the family dog, grew overly excited.

The alms seeker. 

Bhanu stepped through the gate and gave her the sari that now rests atop the calf, plus some coins.

Now I must pack up this computer and go!

Little Miss Vaidehi reacts to her nose and other noses, too

I have spent two very busy days with Sujitha - the first given to memorial and the second to some of her many wedding preparations. I will blog it all, but before my evening with Little Miss Vaidehi, her parents, grandparents and great-grandfather slips any further into the past, I will blog it right now.

Here she is, Little Miss Vaidehi, two-and-a-half, greeting her grandmother Vasanthi right after we arrive for dinner.

Now she greets her grandfather, Murthy.

She takes some time to show her grandmother some of her jewelry and makeup.

She is a girl whose energy and movement never seems to slow - even when she takes a nap with her great-grandfather, Nataranja.

She tells grandma a wild story as great-grandpa showers her with affection.

She pinches her nose shut.

Then she pinches her grandmother's nose shut. It works pretty good, but she figures it could work better if she  had the right nose-pinching tool.

So she finds the exact tool she needed and uses it to better pinch shut the nose of her mom, Vidya. Thanks to our common love of animals, including cats but also polar bears, elephants and such, after I returned to Alaska from my first trip to India in 2007, Vidya and I frequently exchanged emails and sometimes we would chat.

Now, we seldom do either.

Know why?

Facebook.

Facebook brings us all together and at the same time, pushes us apart.

Communication, Vidya noted, has become a sentence or two here and there, punctuated by a click of the "like" button.

Next, Little Miss Vaidehi tries to clamp shut the nose of her dad, Vijay. He parries her attempts.

Sadly, it is time to go.

Goodbye! See you soon!

The butcher, the stone workers, the boy on the bike, and other people I met as I ambled about beneath the gaze of Mahishasura and his cobra

Sujitha and I took a little trip and wound up at a temple where our foreheads were marked with red and orange tumeric and a crow rose over us. Inbetween, tears were shed and important things happened, but I will save my account of our journey for another time. I am so far behind on my blogging here in India that I will never catch up. As always, the blogs I most want to post are the same ones that would demand the kind of time from me that I can't give them right now.

So, instead, I will just introduce you to a few people I happened upon as I took a walk the other day. Not a single one of them spoke much English and I can't give you any of their names, but here they are, beginning with these Muslim stone workers, who were cutting and hauling big slabs of stone to be used in one of the many construction projects booming around here.

They also cut markers for Muslim graves.

I really love the brightly-painted trucks they use around here. Last time, when Melanie traveled with me, I told her I wanted to bring one home.

Why? She asked.

So I could park it in the yard. I said.

Why would you want to do that? She asked.

So people could admire it as they passed by. I answered.

That's so Wasilla! She observed.

And yet, I have never seen such a truck in Wasilla.

Sidewalk shop keepers.

I hear that there are a few big US-style stores here, and that Wal-Mart has leveled its sights on this area, but basically big, huge, box stores of the kind that dominate the US are not here, nor do you find big supermarkets. What you find is small shop upon small shop, all within an easy walk no matter where you are, offering every kind of good and service that you can think of, stretching on and on and on, seemingly forever.

I don't know why anyone would want a Wal-Mart here.

And here is a fellow who I believe works in a butcher shop. He was unable to tell me, but there was one close by. Given the remnants of meat and blood on the knife, it must be so. I didn't ask him if I could take his picture, but through gestures and the word, "photo!" he made it clear that he was asking me to take his picture. 

That happens a lot around here. Afterward, I showed him the picture on my LCD. He was very pleased. That's how it usually goes. I wish I had some kind of tiny printer that I could easily carry around that I could use to whip out some decent prints.

Mahishasura, a demon, who stands near a bus stop.

The butcher. He is Muslim. My family here is all Hindu and they do not eat meat. I have not had a bite of meat to eat since I arrived - not even an egg. But it is so hot and my family members all know how to cook and prepare such delicious food that I have not missed meat.

Not even a little bit.

This will change when I get home, but here I don't miss it.

Ganesh wants to come up and roam about Alaska with me. I want him to, too. Out where I go, and in the climate I work in, no one is going to be able to last for long on a vegetarian diet. We will figure that one out when we get to it.

He was pretty proud of these little cars.

He pedalled his bike beside me for probably close to a mile. We spoke to each other the whole time, but, except for some very basic things, neither of us really knew what the other was saying.

I was hot and thirsty when I returned. I needed something to drink. So Murthy produced a coconut. I drank its water.

My 80 cent haircut; friendly dog; crow on the wing; family on a bike

Once again, I face the conundrum: I have many, many pictures I believe I could do some good things with, but I haven't the time to edit and post them - let alone write much about them. Also, I am learning that I need to clarify the word, "edit." Here, in relation to a photograph, many folks tend to use the word "edit" to mean to manipulate it in Photoshop in a way that changes the content.

Basically, that is something I never do. What you see is what I photograph. I do adjust the levels of brightness and contrast to bring the values closer to what my eye saw in real life, but that's it. So, to me and most of my colleagues, to edit means to sort through and choose.

And this is the one I chose of my haircut the other day. I left home feeling very disappointed that I had not found the time to get a haircut, mustache and beard trim. Once again, I had become a shaggy mess. 

Worse yet, by the time I got here, I had reached the point where I got to taste all my food twice - first, when I ate it, second, when the leftovers would slip off my moustache onto my tongue.

But now I am glad I did not get a haircut in Alaska. With tip, it would have cost me about $25. Sree Venkateshagents charged me the equivalent of 80 cents. I was told tipping was not required, but I tipped him about 25 percent. 

He did a fine job with a haggard subject. He took his time. He used clippers only to trim the edge around my neck - the rest, scissors and comb only.

Yesterday, I also made a purchase of a service at a fraction of a price the same service would have cost me at home. In so doing, it looks like I may well have extended the years of my own life. More later.

Most street dogs ignore you. This one is friendly. Very, very, friendly.

I have written, mostly in my other blog, about how Soundarya loved crows and ravens - along with the other creatures of this earth - and how she twice defied taboos and customs to save the life of one or the other. I have always been a little worried about the raven part.

The first time I was here, someone pointed out some birds to me and called them, "ravens," but they did not look like ravens to me. They didn't look like crows either, but I saw enough other birds that did look like crows that I knew for a fact they were.

Two days ago, I was stepping into the shower when I heard a familiar shout just outside the window. So I pulled back the curtain and there was a very familiar looking big, black, bird. A bit smaller than our ravens at home, but too big to be any kind of crow that I know of. I'm not sure it was a raven. It might still have been some kind of big crow.

But to me, it looked more like a raven than a crow.

This one is a crow - Suji tells me for sure.

They really have little choice. If they want to get around under their own power, then this is what they must do. It kind of makes one understand the value of making economical tiny cars, like Ganesh's new $4000 Tata. Yet, the streets here are already so crowded that if all the motorbikes were to be removed and replaced by even tiny cars, the thoroughfares would completely jam up.

Maybe the upcoming Metro - a big train in the sky - will help.