A Serious Question

What if there were auto-rickshaws in America? I mean, not just the vehicles, but the drivers as well? What would America be like? One big racetrack, I think. Naturally, autos are a little slower than cars, but they are still considered a useful tool. And on the ever-so-smooth roads of America, they’d be in heaven!

 

http://rickshawchallenge.com/images/AutoRickshawAnatomy.jpg

 

The lanes in America wouldn’t have any meaning anymore, and the streets would look something like this:

 Or this:

An insider's view:

 

What about the drivers themselves? What would they be like in America? They would have to compete with taxis, but the public transportation situation in America would be boosted by about 500%. What if we brought these back:

 

 

These are just questions, but I think it’d be a funny world if we had auto-rickshaws in the States. Feel free to post comments about what you think it would be like! I want to know! 

Specific People

Before continuing, I must first acknowledge here that it has been many moons since I last posted on this blog (don’t be fooled by the date of this particular post, it is only being posted in November, though the actual contents of the post do correlate with the posting date), and for this delay I sincerely apologize. I encountered so much in so little time that I was overwhelmed by the intake of information, thus resulting in my inability to write. But it was a flight I took from Bangalore to Cochin that inspired me to continue writing… I’ll get to that later.

 

In this post I want to talk about some of the people I have interacted with in Sringeri, whether that is on the level of student-teacher relationships, friendships, or both, or just general interactions. I find that it would be impossible to successfully explain everything that I feel with regard to the people here, but I will certainly try my best. I want to explain my interactions with people here to frame the rest of my accounts regarding Sringeri in a context that can be understood later. Think of this as a “reference” post.

 

The first and foremost mention should undoubtedly go to the principal/headmaster of this university, Professor Ramanuja Devanathan. He is incredible, in every sense of the word. He is the Dumbledore of this institution, and I do not say that lightly. He is magical. His magic is that of commanding respect and attention, and he deserves every bit of it. Every interaction I have had with him, or seen him having with others, has been amazingly direct. He is able to handle probably around 100 tasks (or more) at once without seeming overwhelmed; he gives speeches in front of the students as a headmaster should and provides words of encouragement and criticism to everyone equally (showing that he knows and cares about everyone); he caters to the needs of individuals (students and teachers alike) on a micro-scale, but also caters to the needs of the university as a whole on the macro-scale with an astounding and adroit ease in switching between both. He is a master manager and friendly person, with palpable power in his speech and actions. I cannot say enough about him. He is my mentor here, my guide and my protector, as well as a friend.

 

The next mention should surely go to my Vyaakarana teacher, Priyavrata Mishra. He is a PhD student here at the university, and was the first of my teachers to be introduced to me. He teaches me Vyaakarana and Uttararaamacaritam. I find that every class we have turns somehow into a philosophical discussion about something or another, many times about liberation and often about dharma. He is only two years older than me, but his depth of knowledge and clarity about life amazes me. Our thought pattern is very similar, and our opinions/thoughts match on a lot of levels, but observing him has taught me that I have so much left to learn. Naturally, I have learnt from him about much more than just the subjects he teaches me; he integrates a modern perspective with ancient knowledge that makes him a very rare type of person. He is easily my role model here, but has also become my closest friend in Sringeri. He’s originally from Orissa (a state in eastern India), and his father is an English teacher back home, so he knows Oriya (Orissa’s state language), Hindi, English, and Sanskrit; but he is also fluent in Telugu, Marathi, and Kannada. Because he has been in Sringeri for three years, he knows the lay of the land pretty well, and is therefore also my guide around the city.

 

My Nyaaya teacher is named Shyaamasundara. He’s also a PhD student here, but a very sharp contrast as a person. He knows only Kannada and Sanskrit, learned in the Shaaradaa Mutt here, and I cannot help but be taken over by his ostensible innocence. Maybe he’s not innocent, though, because he betrays his depth of personality sometimes in class, but he laughs or smiles at the smallest of things. He also always laughs any time anyone else laughs. I am amazed by his depth of clarity (everyone just has so much clarity around here) and his method of presentation in class. He makes everything so clear, and makes sure the student (me) knows what he is talking about before moving on. His presence is a calming one, never unnerving, but he is always aware of everything, extremely observant. He knows when I’m confused or something even close to confused just by looking at me, even when (I swear) I don’t betray any sign of being confused while in class. Since he knows Kannada and Sanskrit, and I don’t know Kannada, when we come across something that I don’t understand, he is somehow able to convey its meaning through Sanskrit alone. I don’t know how he does it, really, because often times he just repeats the same word or concept and I end up understanding it on my own. Perhaps this has to do with the concept of “sphota” in Sanskrit (look it up on Wikipedia). All in all, I’m honored to be his student.

 

Food is a pretty important part of one’s life, as we generally eat three times a day, so it is about the lady who feeds me that I would like to write next. (I stopped eating with the two guys that would come to my room morning and evening to make food, because it was quite time consuming and also left my room relatively dirty on a daily basis. The reason I came to India was not to make food or learn how to survive on my own; it was to learn Sanskrit and the Shaastras. In the process, whatever life-training I receive is of course welcome, but I realized that I should not be engaging in activities that are so time-consuming that I cannot focus on my studies.) The lady who feeds me is named Usha, and the students who eat at her house call her Usha Akka as a form of respect. “Akka” means “didi” in Hindi, and there is no equivalent in English. It is a term of respect for an older sister figure. Since Usha Akka only speaks Kannada, I have had to pick it up in order to communicate with her. Which is awesome, because it means I will be forced to learn it, therefore (hopefully) expediting the process of learning the language.

 

Another person I must write about is Shivannaji. Shivannaji is one of the workers in the university, in charge of running errands for the headmaster, going to the bank for the university, and taking care of the posts associated with the university. He has been given the challenging responsibility of taking care of me and my needs while here. I call him the “Hanuman” of the university because he literally takes care of everything and everyone all the time. I don’t know how he does it, but it is fascinating to me! He makes me feel good everything I pass by him. I have traveled on his motorcycle more than any other vehicle around here so far. (And as an aside, traveling by motorcycle is so much fun. I must learn how to ride one. Over here, everyone looks at me in surprise when I tell them I don’t know how to ride one; for them it’s as common as riding a bicycle… I always have to explain that in America, not everyone rides motorcycles because the distances traveled are far more than the distances traveled here.) Shivannaji is awesome.

 

Another awesome character is Mohanji, the head guard of the university campus. He has also been given charge of taking care of me. The needs he takes care of are of a slightly different nature; rather than taking me to the doctor or to the post office, he does things like refill the water in my water filter. He is a great person to talk to, and I am often brought to tears by his passion for his work and also the circumstances he works under. The guards here are severely underpaid (this is a government institution, what more can you expect) but they keep this campus safe and stay on guard 24/7. Mohanji has told me that he can easily find another job that pays more, but because of his devotion to the headmaster, he stays here. He feels as though all the students on this campus are his own children, and therefore he works extra hard. He has trained all the guards to be professional and wear uniforms. He even works in the gardens on the campus. I don’t understand where he finds his motivation, but then, like I said, Devanathan Acharya (the headmaster) is magical.

 

I guess that’s all for now, but when I come across more people I just have to write about, I will!

Classes, Schedule, and People

I am told that when classes go slowly initially, the student is not intimidated; after a solid start, even if the teacher picks up the speed tenfold, it doesn’t matter. The student learns faster and is more comfortable in the class. This is the way classes were always taught in the Gurukulam system of India, and it is therefore no wonder the students were able to learn so much in such a short amount of time. When things changed eventually, due to imperial influences, school became a chore because even when the student did not understand the basics the teacher kept chugging on. Without a solid start, it becomes impossible for a student to fully grasp the material of a subject if the class moves too fast. Yet this is the method of teaching that the entire world has adopted based on the influence of the British style of education during the time of their global empire. Luckily, that influence has not reached the remote corners of India where the ancient method of teaching still survives. This is the way I am being taught here, and I could not be happier with the system. I have never been so comfortable learning new material before; I feel like I have a grasp of whatever I am currently being taught before the next topic arrives.

 

Now, my classes are in full swing. We started off slowly, I became comfortable with my subjects, and then we took off! Rarely am I seen not immersed in a book or not studying something (I have honestly never wanted to study this much before – except for maybe last time I came to India). This is the purpose for which I came, and I’m in the right place. I have been informed by several independent sources that Sringeri is indeed presently the best location for Sanskrit and Shaastra (which translates to “scripture,” although the word scripture is not quite correct because it gives the Shaastras a religious overtone which is totally not true, but let’s say “ancient science” for now) studies at the university and graduate level [officially; I’m sure unofficial studies at this level and with this method take place in several other locations, but doing work within established institutions has its benefits in the long run].

 

My classes are as follows, and though I don’t have a thoroughly defined schedule as yet, I will try to put them into a comprehensible frame for reference. I do not have the same schedule every day – this may seem like an obvious statement, but it’s worth noting because my schedule literally changes every day. So the classes are: 1) Vyaakarana Shastra, which is the science of Sanskrit grammar; 2) Nyaaya Shastra, which is Vedic epistemology (I will explain this one later); 3) Uttararaamacaritam (pronounced UT-tuh-ruh-RAA-muh-chuh-ri-tum, and literally means, “Later, Ram’s Character”), which is a Sanskrit play from the 14^th century by the playwright Bhavabhooti about Ram’s actions and character after defeating the evil king Ravana in Lanka; 4) Raghuvamsham, which is a mahaakaavyam (epic poem) in Sanskrit by Kalidas, one of the greatest Indian poets of all time, about the Raghu Dynasty, the dynasty in which Ram was; and 5) Bhagavad Gita, a 15-minute class where the teacher does a lead-and-follow read-through of one chapter of the Bhagavad Gita, with the purpose of memorization in mind, and with explanation of the meaning of the chapter as a whole – we do one chapter at a time for two weeks, and then we move on to the next chapter, and every two weeks I am supposed to have a new chapter memorized, so after nine months I should know the Bhagavad Gita by heart (there are 18 chapters).

 

As for the schedule of these classes, I generally have Vyaakarana and Uttararaamacaritam daily (when I say daily, I mean every day, including Saturday and Sunday), though the time is not fixed. I have Nyaaya on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. The time is not totally fixed for Nyaaya either, though it could be at 10:00 AM or 4:00 PM. It depends on what time I have fixed with the teacher the previous day. Raghuvamsham is supposed to be on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays at 5:00 PM, but the teacher has been so busy that we have only had three classes so far, and we won’t be having more class until at least the ninth of September because the teacher is leaving in a few days for an exposition of one of the school plays in another city, as he is one of the directors, so he and all the students in the play will be gone until the ninth. My Bhagavad Gita class is supposed to start on the 1^st of September. I am really excited for this class, because I have always wanted to memorize the Gita, and here is my opportunity to do so in class format! I am told that it will happen without any effort on my part, such is the ancient method of memorization. Nervousness. Can I do it? We will see…

 

My daily routine is pretty simple. I wake up at 3:00 AM, perform my daily morning rituals (brush teeth, heat up and drink about a liter of water, go to the bathroom, shower) and by the time they are over it is usually around 4:15 or so. At 4:30 I go to do Yoga in the main school building, where the Yoga teacher (who is one of my friends, and I will write about him later) holds a daily Yoga class in one of the conference halls. The Yoga sessions include a physical work out, breathing exercises, postures, and meditation. Yoga ends at around 6. I use the next two hours to study or read, then at 8:00 two of my friends come to my room (one of them is the Yoga teacher) to make breakfast with me. We make breakfast and eat it by about 9:30 or so, followed by clean-up, then the school day begins at 10:00. At 1:00 PM I go to eat lunch at a home nearby, where a lady hosts a few students for meals daily. The students eat there in the form of paying guests, and it works out nicely. At around 6:30 or 7:00 PM my two meal buddies come over again to make dinner with me, we make dinner, eat it, and clean up by around 8:45 or 9:00. For the next hour or so I do my own work and then sleep. Usually I am completely exhausted by 10:00 PM, and since I have to start again at 3:00 AM, I try to make it a point to sleep by or before 10:00.

 

I have met some amazing people so far. This includes the headmaster, teachers, and fellow students of the Vidyapeeth, the Shankaracharya of Sringeri, and many random people. I will only write in detail about a few of them in this blog, but it can be safely understood that everyone I have met is absolutely amazing. Everyone here knows more than me about almost everything (except for English and computers, I suppose). I am not exaggerating. And I am not just talking about academics: I am talking about life. Most people here sing exceptionally well, so I have been picking up tips here and there from everyone, and I have noticed that my singing has improved since I came, more towards the Indian classical side (finally). Everyone I interact with knows more Sanskrit than me, so I feel like I am constantly in class. They are always teaching me new things, and since I am eager to learn, I find teachers everywhere. I am picking up bits of Kannada here and there too, since there are people in Menase who know no language other than Kannada. I am forced to learn some, and hopefully this will turn into a working knowledge of the language during the time I am here. My friends teach me life lessons just by their actions, but they are sure to teach me in words too if the situation ever arises. I never thought I would be doing Yoga but here I do Yoga daily at 4:30 AM. In general I feel like I have placed myself into an environment where everyone has different qualities that I would like to inculcate, and therefore it is my job while I’m here to pull myself up to their level. They are selflessly providing a helping hand as well, and I feel honored to be in the constant presence of such amazing individuals.

Menase and the Monsoon

Having been in Sringeri for about two weeks now, I have realized a few things. First of all, I’m not actually in Sringeri. Sringeri is the town nearby, about two or three kilometers from where I’m staying: in the guesthouse of the Rajiv Gandhi Campus of Rashtriya Sanskrit Sansthan (a.k.a. National Sanskrit University) in a village called Menase (pronounced MAY-na-say) just outside the town of Sringeri, in Karnataka, India. It’s like living in “Chicago” – we say that we live in Chicago, even though we’re from the suburbs. Although in my particular situation, I would say the distance is more like that from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade – I’m in a remote location, surrounded by fields, on a college campus, outside of a town that is accessible by foot where everyone goes once in a while to hang out. (As an aside, this place is EXACTLY like Hogwarts... I will write about that later.) It’s still far enough where one must make a special effort to go there though, even though it’s possible to go every day (there are people who live in the city itself and come to college every day from there – by foot, of course).

 

Menase is beautiful. I will be guilty of mentioning this several times, forgive me in advance. It is located in a valley (although not completely at the bottom, it’s sort of in mid-hill), therefore surrounded on all sides by hills, which make for excellent scenery as the backdrop for my studies (which have started, and which I will write about later).

 

It is presently the monsoon season, and in Sringeri this means a lot. My actual trip to Sringeri was delayed because of the rains in the first place, owing to the fact that there was nonstop rain for four or five days just before I was supposed to come (on the 15^th of July). I was unclear on what that meant, however, before I actually came here. I realized that just saying “rain” does not quite capture the essence of the monsoon. It is being unable to see because of how thick the sheets of rain are, being unable to walk because you cannot see the ground due to the depth of the water, it is the uselessness of an umbrella in the face of the power of the God of the Hydrosphere. It is the swelling of the river Tunga to the point where the water level is higher than the bridge that crosses it. My umbrella is already broken; I guess American umbrellas are not made for this kind of rain. I should be (have to be) getting a new one shortly, or I will be permanently soaked!

 

One cannot leave one’s residence without an umbrella, even if it’s not presently raining, because one second it could be sunny and nice out, and the next it could be pouring. Sometimes, it is sunny and rainy at the same time – this confuses me but also makes me very happy. The sun and rain work together in brilliant ways, especially when everything around you is green. It makes the greens greener, and there are so many shades of green that one cannot know the beauty of this sight until one has seen it for oneself. And every shade becomes more accented with the rain.

 

One thing about Sringeri is quite fascinating. Despite the constant downpour, work goes on. People put on a hood-like thing; it is like draping a sweatshirt behind you, wearing only the hood. This particular accessory is made of plastic or some woven material, and covers the head, shoulders, back, and waist. It resembles a [huge] plastic grocery bag, cut in half vertically, turned upside down, and draped over the body. People can be seen wearing these things and doing their work, which could be anything – fieldwork (sowing seeds or planting crops), electric work, construction, automotive, transportation, even just random walking. They are so used to the rain that it doesn’t affect them at all! This intrigues me. For the most part, when it is raining, people are more hesitant to step outside, more reluctant to do their work. I can attest to this; although I like playing in the rain, my mind does not stay focused on my work when it is raining (it is a totally different story in Sringeri, the rain makes me extra focused). Over here, rain or no rain, people are constantly doing what they need to do.

 

My classes are moving slowly so far, so I will write more about those as they pick up.

Sringeri

I took a bus from Bangalore to Sringeri, which departed from Bangalore at around 10:30 PM to reach Sringeri in the morning. Thursday night was full of goodbyes, good lucks, and good wishes. I was really amazed that even having stayed in Bangalore for just about a week, I had made a family already. They all told me to come back whenever I had a break. I told them I would come back for sure. It was not a sad parting at all; in fact, it was happy, because we all knew what was ahead… Adventure!

I took an auto rickshaw from Aksharam to the Majestic, which was the bus stand from which the bus would depart. We found the bus I was supposed to take, known as the “Ambari” coach bus, and I boarded. I was carrying one large suitcase, one small suitcase, and a box about 1 ft x 1 ft x 2 ft full of books given to me at Aksharam to prepare me for my studies. I was so grateful, because they gave me the books for free! They said it was on them because I was doing work for Sanskrit anyway, which was a big enough payment. Such is the way of Sanskriti. I am amazed by its potential every time it reveals itself. There is so much love everywhere I go, within the Sanskrit-speaking world, because that is often the only thing they [we] have to give to each other. Beautiful. It’s a good world to be part of.

The bus departed on time (surprise!) and we were off to Sringeri! I still had absolutely no clue about what to expect, and I was surrounded by people who seemed to be professional Sringeri-goers. This was slightly intimidating, I will admit. At this moment in time, for the first time in a long time, I felt slightly alone. I did not speak the local language, it appeared to me that nobody on the bus spoke Sanskrit (or they were too good to be spoken to), I did not know what to expect, I was going into completely unknown territory, and I had absolutely no friends on the destination side. This combination did not strike me as the best possible scenario. However, putting my faith in the Divine Mother, who holds me in her grace for which I am eternally grateful, I let go of my fears and took a deep breath. I know that there is always a plan in the universal mind whenever things happen, so I put my trust in that plan, though unknown to me, and closed my eyes. This was the start to a big adventure, I could feel it. I slowly (the ride was bumpy) drifted into sleep.

My sleep was broken several times through the night by many things: sounds, smells, jolts, mosquitoes, temperature changes… but the time that I finally woke up, I realized how beautiful my final destination was going to be. It was around 5:30 in the morning, and the sun was ready to rise. I realized we were surrounded by dense forest and the most abundant tree I saw was the palm tree. Palm trees, as many people know, are the symbol of paradise. Whenever someone draws a picture of paradise, it includes palm trees for sure. So here I was, entering my semi-permanent destination… paradise. When the sun finally rose, just 30 or 40 minutes before I reached my destination, I realized the extent of the beauty I was to be surrounded by for a year. With the sunlight, I was able to see past the forest that surrounded us. I got a clear view of mountains and hills, covered with forest and fields, clouds and mystery. The possibilities that lay ahead were racing through my mind. I still held no expectations, but had I held any, this place would surely have exceeded them. Never in my imagination had I come across such magnificence – there was so much to see here! I silently thanked the Mother Goddess for showing me the beauty in everything and not the flaws.

I realized that what we see is what we want to see – always. There is never a time that we see something other than what we want to see. The people who want to see beauty see beauty everywhere – in nature, in animals, in people, in places, in existence. The people who want to see imperfections or defects spot them right away. If we see imperfections, or rather, if we highlight imperfections, it is because we want to see them. We only see what we want to see. Always. And why do people want to see imperfections? Do they get some sort of happiness in doing so? Anything we ever do is for our own happiness; there will never be a time when someone does something to be sad. But the amount of happiness one gets from seeing beauty instead of flaws is infinitely greater, because it is lasting happiness. We may get a fleeting sense of happiness, or satisfaction, from pointing out the faults in another, but what happiness is there in remembering that we pointed out the faults in someone/something else? Instead, if we see the beauty in everything, we will not only be happy when we see it, but be happy when we remember it too. Therefore, seeing beauty is infinitely more beneficial than seeing imperfections. Remember, it is 100% our own decision to make.

We reached Sringeri at around 7:00 AM, and there was a man (one of the teachers at the university I would be attending) by the name of Giridhar, waiting for me at the bus stand. Together, we came to the university in an auto rickshaw. He dropped me off in my new room, in the guesthouse on campus, and told me to take some rest. At 8:30, there would be other students who would come to get me to take me to breakfast. Emotionally, I was a mix. I had the sense of excitement to begin my new journey, and the sense of uncertainty about my destination. I was ready to become who I would become, but I was nervous to see who that would be. I was relieved to have finally reached my destination, but I was tense about what that meant. With this mixture of feelings, I lay down on the bed that was to be mine for the next… I didn’t know how long. But I let the feeling of relief spread through my body and mind and decided to rest. After much anticipation, I had finally arrived in Sringeri.

Veda Vijnana Gurukulam

By traveling to Uddhavji’s place, I became an “expert” bus traveler. So with my new confidence I decided to go visit the Gurukulam where I stayed for a month last February, called Veda Vijnana Gurukulam, which is located in Channenahalli, in the outskirts of Bangalore. I went to the same bus stand as last time, and asked around for bus number 242, which is the bus number I was told to take. After asking around for a while, I again became as confused as I was the first time I went to the bus stand. For some reason, nobody knew anything about bus number 242. I was sent from one side of the station to the other side and back again at least three or four times, when I finally realized that I had a cell phone and that I should use it. So I called the Gurukulam, and the headmaster told me that the bus could actually be found at a different bus stand, not exactly Market. So I asked nearby folks where this bus stand was, and they directed me down the street. So I started walking.

After walking for a little while, I asked a few more people where the bus stand was, and they kept saying “Go down, just a little further.” I kept going, and finally I saw a bus stand. But my confidence was shaken now, so just to make sure I asked another person where the bus stand was. He looked at me as if I were crazy and pointed right across the street. I crossed the street, and here I asked guards where bus 242 could be found, going to Channenahalli. They directed me and I finally found a bus whose director was shouting, “Channenahalli!” I asked him if it was bus number 242. He said this bus didn’t have a number, and that bus 242 would not even be coming, so I should get on this bus. So I trusted him and got on the bus. I asked him about eight or nine times whether he would tell me when the Channenahalli stop would come, and he told me he would.

Nobody else on the bus spoke Hindi, so I was sort of lost. These were all people going back to their homes after school or work (it seemed), and they clearly lived in the village area. This meant they spoke only Kannada. For me, this was a problem because who could I ask to make sure this was my stop if the conductor was not available or if he forgot? Instead, I just kept asking the conductor if he would tell me where the stop was. He got kind of annoyed with me, but at least I knew he would not forget to tell me where my stop was.

I stood almost the whole way there. For about an hour I was standing in this bus going to Channenahalli, which had a T.V. in it playing some Kannada movie (really, really loud). People who did not speak my language and who were otherwise enraptured by the movie surrounded me. And I was holding the top railing the whole time. This was not the most comfortable position to be in for an hour, especially on a moving bus (in India), but I had a goal in mind, a mission to accomplish. I was going to get to Veda Vijnana Gurukulam no matter what it took.

Finally as we approached the stop I was supposed to get off at, I started to recognize the landmarks and the scenery. So I asked the conductor if this was where I was supposed to get off (one last time) and he said it was. I got off, and another lady who got off with me pointed me in the right direction towards the Gurukulam.

When I got to the Gurukulam, it was exactly as I remembered it, except for the new faces that I saw. It was break time for them, so they took me to their new volleyball net that they put up outside their temple. There was apparently a volleyball tournament going on amongst the students, so I watched for a few minutes and then made my way back to the grounds. I wanted to meet the Pradhan Acharya (headmaster). I met him after about a year and a half, but he remembered me perfectly well. I shared the rest of my story from last year (I had many more adventures after visiting Bangalore before I came back to the States). He was happy with my Sanskrit, and I told him I was going to Sringeri to study Sanskrit further. We had a nice discussion, and afterwards joined the other students outside for the collective prayer. They all wished me good luck on my journey ahead.

I noticed that as soon as I got on the grounds of the Gurukulam, I felt a sense of peace. The atmosphere itself was quiet, serene, welcoming. I shared this thought with the Acharya, and he told me that green is the secret to their peace. There is so much plant life on the grounds of the Gurukulam, which provides a calm environment and thus an opportunity for everyone to appreciate the beauty of nature and of simple living. And even if they don’t notice it at first, they come to notice it on their own eventually, because the area is so unique – it is totally calm, but full of life as well. And you feel the life around you, but you also feel the tranquility. This is the secret to their peace.

I was so happy to have come and visited the Gurukulam. It is always a pleasure to be in such a peaceful environment. I felt rejuvenated from the experience, and attempted to make my way back to Aksharam the same way I had come… When I got to Market, I asked a conductor if his bus was going to Girinagar, and he said yes, so I hopped in. Unfortunately, when the bus came to its last stop and that stop was not my stop, I realized that I was on the wrong bus. This bus was going to Srinagar, not Girinagar! I wandered aimlessly for a minute or two, not really knowing what to do or how far from Aksharam I had come. It was dark by this time, and I was actually a little bit scared. What if I didn’t make it back to Aksharam?

I found an auto rickshaw driver and asked him if he would take me to Girinagar. He said he would, which was a huge relief for me, because that meant I was not too far from it. At nighttime, auto drivers tend not to take anyone very far because they have their own homes to go to, so they don’t want to take too much time in driving a customer. I sat in the auto and was absolutely relieved when I reached Aksharam again. After dinner, I was so tired that I could not think of anything but comfortable, peaceful sleep.

Uddhavji

On Thursday, I decided that I should do something on my own. I had received a call earlier from a friend and teacher of mine, named Uddhav Chaitanya, whom I call Uddhavji. He said he was staying in Bangalore until Monday, at which time he would be moving to Dallas, Texas. So I called him back saying that I’d love to meet him, and he told me his address. He said to get on a bus to White Field. One of my newfound friends took me to the place where a bus goes from Girinagar, which is Aksharam’s address, to “Market,” which is a central location where all the buses go and come back to. I, however, did not know this. Nor did I have any idea what “Market” looked like or felt like. From Market, he said, I could take a bus to White Field. But frankly, I was scared of taking a bus, because a) I had never taken a bus in India before (let alone by myself) and b) I do not know the language Cannada, which is what everyone speaks. So instead I asked my friend to grab an auto rickshaw for me so that I could just take a rickshaw from Girinagar to Mahadevapuram. He called over a rickshaw driver, told him where I had to go, and then sent me off. I found, luckily, that this rickshaw driver knew Hindi. I also learned that most of the educated people in Bangalore area speak Hindi. Even the uneducated individuals speak bits and pieces. If this wasn’t the case, I would be utterly lost. We reached the market and I was completely shocked.

Take the crowd at your nearest Six Flags, or amusement park, multiply it by about 100, insert Indian traffic, put it all in a huge junkyard for buses, and that was the market that this auto driver dropped me off in. The market literally looked like a junkyard, filled with buses (at least 30 – 40 of them at once) with a through road that all the buses take when leaving for their routes. It is located under a flyover, so there are lots and lots of homeless people that live there. (There are homeless people everywhere – don’t get me wrong – but this was a particularly huge concentration of them.) What I didn’t know at the time was that this was only half of the market. The other half was on the other side of a fence, which was the traffic going in the other direction. I later found out that it is exactly like this side, but going the other way. And this whole bus junction was surrounded by a market.

I was directed by the auto driver to the center of the junction where he said I should ask for a bus to White Field. What he didn’t tell me was that there was no system by which I could actually find out which bus to get on, I would just have to ask anyone and everyone. So when I got there, for the first minute or so I was totally lost because I was surrounded by massive buses and 1000 people who looked like they knew exactly what they were doing. I found out soon after that they did not in fact know what they were doing; they simply looked like they knew what they were doing. Nobody I asked knew what bus to get on to go to White Field, but everyone gave me an answer. Of course, there were the rare people who told me they didn’t know, but for the most part, people would just point in a direction. A couple of people even told me bus numbers, but every answer that I got was different. Each bus has a number written on it, so if you know the number of the bus you need to get on, you can ask around. But if you only know where you have to go, you take a huge risk when you get on any bus. In India, everyone will give you an answer in an attempt to help, but you have to ask about 8 or 9 people before knowing where to go. How? By seeing which answer you got the most. You also must judge the confidence with which each person answers you. In this case, however, I got every answer only once. And I asked about 20 people. And nobody was confident.

I could not for the life of me find the bus going to White Field in this mass chaos, so I called Uddhavji to ask him what bus to get on. He said he didn’t know, but that I should get onto a bus going to “Tin Factory.” So I asked around, and I found a bus going to Tin Factory. I don’t know how. When I got on the bus, I asked a few people if the bus was going to Tin Factory, and luckily, there were two boys in the back of the bus who said they were going to Tin Factory as well. I felt relieved and sat down in front of them. While we were waiting for the bus to leave from the market, another man came and sat down next to me. I was on the window seat, and he was on the aisle seat. The two boys going to Tin Factory were sitting a couple of rows behind us. Before we even started moving, however, I glimpsed the two boys getting off the bus! I checked behind me and sure enough, they were not in their seats. I did the “excuse me, excuse me” thing and jumped past the man sitting next to me in pursuit of the two boys (because they were going to Tin Factory, so if I followed them, I would eventually get there too). When I got off the bus, I could not find the boys anywhere. They vanished into thin air it seemed. I ran around aimlessly for about 10 seconds, then realized that if the bus I was on was actually going to Tin Factory, I should get back on it. So I got back on the bus, found a seat (somehow there were still seats available), and sat down. The bus started moving. I asked the man next to me if the bus was going to Tin Factory, and he said it was. We hit the first stop, and I realized that I would never know which stop Tin Factory was, because the bus seemed to randomly stop in the middle of the road, open its doors, (which were sometimes just left open between stops too) wait for a few seconds, and go. Everyone who had to get off and get on did so in that time. And those who didn’t make it on the bus during the few seconds that the bus stopped would run alongside the bus and then jump-climb on when they got the chance. Now I was afraid I would miss the stop because I had no idea which stop was which! You just have to know where your stop is if you want to get off. The other problem was that the bus filled up after the first couple of stops to the point where the seats were full, the standing capacity was overflowed, and there were people hanging outside the bus. So I asked the man next to me if he would tell me when Tin Factory came. He said he would. Unfortunately, within five minutes of my asking him, he fell asleep. How would he tell me if he was asleep? So I asked another boy who was standing next to my seat. He told me he would let me know when Tin Factory came. On a whim I trusted him, and relaxed.

When I relaxed, I saw a whole new dimension of operations and methods amidst the chaos that is the bus system in Bangalore. There are two conductors on each bus; one is the driver, and one is in charge of the tickets (for convenience, I will just refer to the ticket conductor as the conductor, and the driver conductor as the driver). The conductor has a whistle that allows him to communicate with the driver even if he’s not near the driver, and even if there is so much noise on the bus that you can’t hear yourself think. Each stop, the conductor blows the whistle to let the driver know that he should stop (sometimes people want to get off the bus even when it’s not a real stop, so if the conductor blows the whistle, the driver knows to stop), and the driver stops. The conductor leans out the door or gets off the bus for a few seconds to watch people get on and off the bus, and also calls out to the public where this bus is going. Once everyone for that stop is on or off the bus, the conductor blows the whistle again and gets back on the bus. The second whistle is to indicate to the driver that he can start driving again. So in this way, the bus system is really efficient. Once the bus starts moving again, the conductor makes his way through the bus (somehow) and collects money for tickets. He remembers who was on the bus last time, and who got on the bus this time because he stands outside the bus watching the people get on and off the bus. So he knows who is new. He then dispenses the tickets, and the system restarts. All of this happens in a matter of seconds.

Eventually, my stop came, and I got off the bus at Tin Factory. I called Uddhavji, and he said that I should take an auto from there to his place. So I did. It took a total of about two and a half hours to get to his place, through traffic and using public transportation, but I made it. The stay with Uddhavji was very pleasant (worth it), and the trip back to Aksharam was just as tough as the trip to his place. But I find that there is no replacement for good company. It is the company one keeps that helps one form his or her values, habits, attitude, etc. Thus one should choose his or her company wisely. When I made it back to Aksharam I was so tired and so relieved that I went straight to bed.

Bangalore

I left Delhi on Wednesday, July 15^th ready for adventure – but I had no idea what was in store for me. At the airport in Delhi, I encountered absolutely no problems. I arrived way early so I sat down and read for a while. It’s interesting how at Indian airports you see all kinds of nationalities, all kinds of people, and when you leave the airport they all seem to disappear. Where do they all go? Do they stay indoors mostly, or with their own groups? I guess India can be an intimidating place, but it’s actually very friendly if you let yourself go with the flow.

We landed in Bangalore around 12:45 PM. I found myself outside with my luggage in no time. As soon as I exited the airport, right in front of me was a sign that read “Mr. Varun Khanna” held up by a man in a red shirt; I thought he was the taxi driver who was supposed to take me to Aksharam, which was my destination. Aksharam is an office/school/residence of Sanskrit Bharati, the organization through which I first learned how to speak Sanskrit. I nodded to the man and he nodded back with a smile and took me to the taxi, accompanied by another man in red. When I got into the taxi, however, I saw that the driver was someone else! I saw all the papers in the hands of these guys and they all had my name on them, so I felt relatively secure. The second man in red got into the car with me and the driver and we started driving. About five minutes into the drive, the man in red asked me, “Do you know how to get there?”

I was rather confused for two reasons: 1) Wasn’t he supposed to know where we were going?? 2) He asked me the question in Hindi. In Bangalore, the local language is Cannada, and the generic language is English. Hindi doesn’t really make its way into the scene, so I was rather surprised that this guy knew Hindi. It turns out he also knew English and Cannada. So did the driver.

I told them that I had no idea where we were going, and that I had the address but not the directions. About 15 minutes into the drive, the man in red got out of the car at a stoplight and just started walking away. The driver told me that his house was nearby, so he was going home. I was somewhat confused as to what was going on, but I just went with the flow. We ended up stopping four or five times to ask for directions before getting to the place. When we actually got there, there were a few people waiting for me at the door. (I had called them from the driver’s phone to let them know that I was coming). I paid the driver and went inside.

As soon as I got in, I felt at home. The amazing thing is that throughout the country, even though there are hundreds of local languages and dialects, Sanskrit is one language that remains constant. Each person in India can call Sanskrit his or her own. The local languages change by region, but Sanskrit is truly the mother of all languages. So no matter where you go, if people speak Sanskrit, you can get around. More people than expected speak Sanskrit, especially if you know where to go. Another thing is that the bond created between two people who speak Sanskrit is a very powerful one. The language itself is so strong that when the two people meet, they are automatically connected. Unless you experience it for yourself, this written explanation won’t mean very much to you. Also, I don’t do it justice.

I was informed that I was not going to Sringeri that day. There was massive rainfall going on in Sringeri, so much so that some of the buses that left from Bangalore did not make it to Sringeri. Even the university where I would be studying was taking a few days off for the rains to pass. (Imagine that! As opposed to a snow day, a rain day! How much rain must have been falling in Sringeri?) Thus I was advised to stay at Aksharam for a few days, at which time it would be safe to go to Sringeri. I have never known rain to be unsafe, but there is a first time for everything I suppose. I experienced some initial frustration at not being allowed to go, but I decided that rather than being angry at the turn of events, I would go with the flow and seek the good that could come out of this new opportunity. Either way, I was in a Sanskrit-speaking environment, so I was happy.

The rest of Wednesday went by rather uneventfully, I helped out here and there and got to meet a few people. It appears there is the creation of a new Sanskrit dictionary going on at Aksharam, so different pundits and scholars from all over the country periodically come in and stay for a few days or a few weeks to help. I watched them work for a while, I watched others do certain tasks (helped as well), watched a Sanskrit class for little kids take place. It was quite enjoyable. Of course, I didn’t understand a word of what was being spoken outside of the Sanskrit, because it was all in Cannada, but what was being said in Sanskrit I could understand. The day ended early for me, I turned in around 9:00 PM because I was too tired to do anything else. I went right to sleep.

The Trip to India Part 2

I have arrived in Delhi!

 

From Frankfurt to Delhi, I slept. Every hour or two, however, I was woken up by a food or drink call by the attendants. It was rather uneventful. The sky was absolutely beautiful though: the clouds underneath, and the sun setting behind us. When we landed, I had no idea what to expect. It was night, around 8:45 PM or so Indian Standard Time. We stopped in the middle of nowhere, and the doors opened! As it turned out, there were stairs leading to the ground, where we were supposed to hop on a shuttle bus that would take us to the terminal. As I stepped outside, I was completely unprepared for what I would experience. I was wearing a sweatshirt (it was cold on the plane) and jeans, but when I got outside, I was overwhelmed by heat. We were not told what the actual temperature was, but I asked someone and he said that it was 37 degrees Celsius. Since it was nighttime, I thought it would be cooler. But it was almost 100 degrees Fahrenheit! And it was dry heat.

 

As we were waiting for the shuttle, an airhostess came downstairs helping an old lady. She spotted me, came my way, and asked me if I was alone. I told her I was, and she said, “Can you help this lady off the shuttle at the terminal?” And in the moment, I replied that of course I would. So I helped her off the shuttle, and into the terminal. We found a wheelchair, and then I let her go with someone who worked at the airport. The exchange itself was rather plain, but only later did it strike me how odd the exchange would have been by American, or generally western, standards. To the airhostess and the old lady, I was a complete stranger. But the word “stranger” does not mean anything to Indian people. Only because they feel comfortable with each other and trust each other are they able to ask things like this of one another. I don’t know why it is the way it is, but for some reason everyone is like family. In America, we somehow don’t share this relationship. I cannot even begin to wonder about why there is a difference. Aren’t we all people? Shouldn’t we love and trust each other as people? But we don’t. Not yet, anyway.

The Trip to India Part 1 and Some Background

I am in Frankfurt, Germany.

 

The day of departure snuck up on me so fast! It still does not feel like anything has happened. I left home at around 12:15 PM on Tuesday, and my flight departed at 4:00 PM. Everything went by very smoothly, and so far my trip has been relatively smooth too. I had a window seat and nobody sat in the seat next to me on the way to Frankfurt, and I think I will have the same seat going to Delhi. Our flight leaves in a little less than two hours. Not much more to report for now, but a great adventure awaits.

 

I will be joining my uncle in Noida, Uttar Pradesh when I arrive. I will stay with him for about a week before going to Sringeri, Karnataka where my real studies will begin. Let me recap and give you some background before I continue posting on this blog. I went to India from December 2007 to May 2008 to study abroad. My purpose was to study Ayurvedic medicine, or at least get an idea about what it is. I realized, and was rightly informed, that before pursuing any ancient Indian study, one must have a working knowledge of Sanskrit (for his or her pursuit to be successful). So I started studying Sanskrit. Over the course of the 6 months that I was there, I studied in environments where the medium of instruction was Sanskrit, and many times Sanskrit was the only language that I had in common with the people there. I became fluent in the language and realized that the benefits of studying it further were immense. Thus I decided to pursue Sanskrit instead of Ayurveda, because by studying Sanskrit I could gain access not only to Ayurveda but also to all the ancient scriptures of India, for they are all written originally in Sanskrit. There is so much knowledge hidden in these scriptures, a whole world of information yet to be explored and discovered by modern students. My intention, therefore, was to find the secrets hidden in these texts.

 

Now, I am going to India to study Sanskrit for one year under the tutelage of a Guru. I will be studying at Sringeri Vidyapeeth, also known as the deemed-to-be Sringeri branch of National Sanskrit University. My studies will take me to the next level of understanding of Sanskrit, whereby I will hopefully be able to read these ancient texts on my own without help. Where my quest will take me from there I have yet to discover, but it will be a wonderful journey.

 

This quest is what I will update you on along the way.