India Journal- The first few days

Day 1`- Delhi


                I landed in Delhi and was immediately relieved that the 16 hour flight was over. With no leg room, three crying babies in the row next to me and some uncle behind me that felt the need to put his hand on the back of my head rest every time he had to get up for the bathroom but being here has made it all worth it. I realize now how much I really missed the sights and sounds of India.  The second I left the airport the humid, end of monsoon season air clung to my skin but I never enjoyed it more. Anything was better than a freezing plane.
                After I arrived I realized how much was going on in the country and city. Anna Hazare, the leader of the movement against corruption here in India was just arrested last night here in Delhi. Kiran Bedi, India’s most famous female policeman and staunch supporter of Ana was also arrested for peaceful protests. The whole atmosphere makes you wonder what it felt like when Gandhiji was protesting against the British. 
                 The protests are also something unique to India. In almost any other country I can imagine they would have become fierce riots by now but because this is India not a single finger has been lifted at all. Supporters of Anna Hazare have subscribed to complete peaceful civil disobedience. So I can quite easily say that because I am here I am seeing history in the making.    
                My friend’s new house is gorgeous and it’s nice to see some familiar faces. Tomorrow I will be left alone to do what I please. Let’s see what I come up with..

                Day 2- Delhi 

I woke up today to the sound of the Vedas, ringing bells and the sweet smell of jasmine flowers and incense. Due to jetlag this was at 6:30am and so after my morning puja and chai I did not have much to do until much later in the morning. Listening to bhajans in the morning I decided to go to the ISKCON temple in Delhi to see Lord Krishna. Though I am not a member ISKCON I have always enjoyed their temples because of their cleanliness and enthusiasm. Just as Adi Shankaracharya wrote:
 Bhaja Govindam Bhaja Govindam Govindam Bhaja Mudamithe Samprapte Sannihite Kaale Nahi Nahi Rakshati Dukrijinkaare.
                Meaning simply, worship the lord! Oh fools, grammar will not save you in the end. Though I do not totally agree with ISKCON from an orthodox standpoint I do admit that they have opened a gateway to those unlearned in the Vedas and orthodox scriptures by Bhakti. Which in my idea, devotion and purity, is by far more important than though proper performance of ritual. Though at the same time, I agree we must do everything to save those rituals in our mind as a base for our devotion.      

I, being white and wearing a choti and saffron dhoti, was confused as being a pundit while I was there at least a dozen times. It was nice though to not be looked at twice because of what I was wearing or how my hair was tied, at least in the way people usually look at me in… utter confusion. After, I went on a quick shopping spree around Connaught Place, A market left over from colonial times. The architecture is purely British but the shops are incredibly global. You can find anything from Levi Jeans and KFC to hand woven Indian tapestries and French cuisine. Being mid-day the weather in Delhi had become stifling and so I headed home as soon as I could.  

Day 3- Delhi

                I awoke and went through my usual morning rituals; showering, waiting for my tea and talking to my parents. During the day I stayed at home visiting Sauravs Dadi Ma (Fathers mothers) and relaxing since I know soon I won’t have a minute to myself after the beginning of classes of my program. She is an amazing woman with stories to tell that could keep someone listening for hours. She could tell about her many international trips, the incredibly connected people she knows, her time protesting and being arrested only to be placed in Tihar political prison for years. Her sense of humor and he grace of speech bring to light many of the undercurrents of the situation now with Anna Hazare and the current state of affairs of the Indian governmental system. 

In the evening we left for bowling with Piyush… I bowled the worst I ever have…. And then went to the acclaimed best Panwalla in all of Delhi. It was a sight, the nicest cars and richest people all crowded around this tiny many in the city center of Delhi. He has been the only Panwalla I have ever seen to be able to change 500 rupee notes without complaining. I have to agree though that he does make the best pan I have ever had.  
                We also got a chance to stop by India Gate and see the protests in support of Anna Hazare and the anti-corruption bill. The atmosphere was infectious; so many people with a single goal. Indian flags were held by nearly everyone and those who did not carry flags danced or raised their arms in protest. Though this was a protest it was interesting to see that there was no air of animosity, if only toward the central government. There was no feeling of hate except at what was being protested. The feeling was so infectious I almost wanted to stay longer than we did.

                Day 4- Delhi 

                Today it was raining badly but I took the car to Khan Market to buy some topis in support of Anna Hazare… of course that’s the excuse I give but truly I’ve always liked the look of the Nehru topi. I then visited Qutab Minar; the largest free standing minaret in the world. The whole complex was amazing. I huge mixture of architectural styles as the complex existed from the 11^th century on wards. The Ashok pillar stands in the center courtyard of the complex. A feat of engineering of which even today we cannot compete metallurgicaly. I had known that to build the complex a lot of stone was taken from Hindu temples that the Delhi sultanate had destroyed but I was surprised that one could quite clearly make out the carvings of Hindu deities on many of the stones. There were even a few stones which had complete “wall” deities on them, undisturbed and undamaged. I did have very mixed feelings about this. On one hand the architecture and feat of engineering for the complex was amazing but on the other the builders had defaced so many sacred temples I became slightly angry though of course nothing can be done now.  

                In the evening I met up with a few close friends that I hadn’t seen in months. It was great to see them and feel as if it were freshman year of college again. We danced the night away at a place called Shiro. An amazing club/ restraunt but I was surprised that as good as the music was and as strong the drinks were very few people were dancing. Let’s hope the clubs in Bangalore are different.

               
Day 5-8 Bangalore 

                I arrived in Bangalore amidst the hustle and bustle just before Krishna Janmashtami. I spent the first two days reacquainting myself with Bangalore and helping Poojas grandmother “Pathi” get ready for the festivities. I really missed Bangalore; easily it is one of my favorite cities in the world. The first puja for the holiday was meant for only family and so was very sweet to be a part of. Tomorrow evening Pathi will have nearly 30 people from her Carnatic singing group here to celebrate properly.
                The orientation to Christ University has been fantastic. Everyone has been extremely helpful and the program seems to have taken every precaution for the participants of the program. We are required to wear formal clothes when the program starts officially on Monday

                Tonight I am meeting Vamsi. It’ll be great to see him as it has been a year or two since I have met him. He will be here for the rest of the time that I will be here in Bangalore so I am a bit more at ease with navigating day to day life here knowing that if I have any real problem I can have someone my own age show me the ropes. I have also finally gotten in touch with Mana. One my Poojas best friends from high school. She seems extremely nice on the phone and says she will help show me around campus and the surrounding area. 

                So far a great beginning in Bangalore; good friends, good food and a good school, it looks like this will turn out to be an amazing experience. 

The Politics of a Dress Code

Yesterday I went to a panel on the discussion of transgender topics. It is hard for me, as I am not transexual, to sometimes understand the feelings of a transexual person, though one comment really sparked my interest. The comment was how, even though on the outside a certain person may look calm and collected, on the inside they may continually have that tiny voice of worry speaking to them and making them wonder what the people around them are thinking or looking at while they walk by; wearing heels and make up for a transgendered woman or being bound and wearing mens clothing for a transgendered man was what felt right and comfortable for them inside but they may always have that tiny bit of fear about how people may react. The conversation continued that this voice of worry wasn't known if this was out of fear of how unpredictable can be (as the topic of physical abuse had already been touched on).

I can relate to this, wearing dhoti, shika and tilak around I am sometimes worried about what others may think or do even though I am doing, for myself, what feels right and comfortable. Stares of disbelief and confusion are quite common when you walk by a group of unsuspecting people

Depending on the area and people the range of emotions can change, among a group of Indians or other Hindu's I would feel very comfortable. Even if I was the only one dressed in dhoti, since I know they would understand why I dress the way I do. Walking by the average person on the street I may be worried about the stares I get or I may enjoy the face of disbelief I may give someone.

My favorite times are those when someone will shake off the disbelief and come to me directly and ask me what it is and why I am dressed the way I am. This takes away any irrational fear I may have as I realize the person is not an ignorant bigot but a curious and interested human being.  

I have gotten some very rude comments from ignorant people before, as they think I am wearing a dress or think I have some dirt on my face but in the end this is a tiny minority of people who will never accept anyone and are most likely more self-concious than we are.

All I can say, to all those Transgendered people out there, you've got courage! Keep doing what you do and enjoy it. Do what makes you feel right. Do what makes you feel you!

My Conundrum on Dualism

Today a friend and I were discussing the idea of duality (ex. a tree is separate in existence from its surroundings or the idea of good and evil) in theistic thought and I realized why the idea of duality had never made any sense to me.

In my "world view" I realized that duality had never made sense to me because since childhood I had always believed that all things were a part of each other and the universe was actually one.. I guess you could say entity. I don't believe I was ever taught this view of life... it has always simply been a part of me. Considering Christianity is full of duality (good vs. evil, God vs. Satan) and that is the basic religion I was raised with.

I tried to explain my views with the analogy of a black hole.. the black hole representing the ultimate truth or reality. 3 astronauts were being pulled in (aka.. Good, Neutrality and Evil).. as the men are pulled in their atoms are slowly pulled apart and they can see (from a purely philosophical standpoint) that they are made of the same basic materials. Then as they get closer to ultimate truth they start to intermix and one cannot be seen as being different from the others. Finally they are pulled in as the realization of oneness is complete.

A friend gave me a slightly less violent analogy of white light being shot through a prism. Though it is all from a single source the light is spread into many different forms (the different forms of existence or reality). This I think is a slightly nicer analogy compared to the one I thought of.

Then my friend began asking me that since good and evil were actually the same then why should we be good. This is my thought, yes, good and evil, light and dark are all from the same primordial source and true realization is to realize there interconnectedness but from that primordial source they have spread and become there own manifestations and so we should continue on the higher path of good... even as we know that good and evil are actual of the same source.

I haven't thought this out totally but these are my own private ideas.

Any ideas???

A Rough Beginning To An Autobiography

White, Adopted, Gay, Hindu

An Autobiography

                Categorization, the dictionary definition states that categorization is the description of objects, people and places by labeling or giving a name to characterize. We are all categorized in our lives; it allows others to instantly believe they know everything about us. In our ever faster paced lives social utilities like Facebook and MySpace allow us to categorize ourselves to our friends and thousands, if not millions, of others we don’t know.  Categorization gives us a basis for our identities; it gives a basic name to who we are. Our all important identity is in fact who we are, whether that identity is what we are born with or what we become is decided as we grow. We can choose to expand or stay in the shell or protection that we are granted by following societal identification norms to the T.

                Since the early 19^th century it has been obvious that humankind is obsessed with categorization as the whole field of scientific thought of that century and beyond became completely enslaved with the need to classify everything and everyone in the great taxonomical experiment. We have created whole lexicons of words to describe our genders, religions, race, and relationships.  Is this all we are; A classification that can be done in a few words? Can this possibly ever hope to describe our experiences, show the true depth of our relationships or even attempt to explain the vast expanse that can encompass our beliefs on fate, the universe and what the word religion means? 

                In the short phrase, White, Adopted, Gay, Hindu; I am classified by race, family relationship, sexual preference and religious views. As different and odd as this classification may seem when put together it does give a quick, if small, insight into who I am but as a person, as a human, I am so much more, we all are, possibly more than words will ever be able to describe.  

This book is my testament of what and who I am. My experiences and thoughts that I want to pass on and give to society. The story of how and why I am classified in this way and what it took for me to finally realize my ideals, morals and my beliefs that set me apart. This is also a book to show how each person is so much more than a number on a page or a name on a Facebook account. 



Chapter 1
Childhood Memories

I was born in the rural town of West Union in Adams County the Southern Ohio valley. I was born to a girl of sixteen who had arranged for my adoption long before the date of my birth. My new parents, John and Cheryl McCane had become parents after expecting that it was impossible for them to have children after nearly ten years of marriage on November the second 1987. I was born a month premature so I had been kept at the hospital for a month after my birth before I could finally be taken home. 

Even after being allowed to be taken out of the hospital my health was very poor and so my father had me sleep on his chest and whenever I would stop breathing he would shake me lightly to bring air back into my lungs. My mother still tells me how I was so small, a little below five pounds, that I couldn’t cry at first and I sounded like a baby chicken if I did attempt to cry. Though soon I did learn to cry and I made up for what I couldn’t do as a new born because of a terrible case of colic. So much in fact that after several months, my aunts and uncles took pity on my mother and began taking shifts with me so she could finally sleep. 

My Father was an electrical engineer for Cincinnati Milacron and had been for ten years at my birth and so traveled everywhere and anywhere for the company. His time at home was limited when I was a child but I still remember well waiting at the window to see him drive up after a week’s trip to Japan or a month in Europe. This left my mother alone for the majority of the time and so from my earliest childhood I have mostly memories of her. Though, I could never get enough of hearing my father’s stories about places that were so far away and so different to the tiny village that I grew up in. He would bring presents from the places he had been so to this day I have the most interesting home décor, Amazonian dart guns, a Japanese tea set, sculptures and pictures from around the world dot my apartment. As a child I had no idea how the instillation of such curiosity would affect my future.

My younger sister, Julia McCane was born 2 and a half years after me, a surprise to parents who thought that having a child of their own was impossible. I was never the child to be envious of my mother’s attention toward my new sister. If anything I was the most excited big brother there could be. As children we fought worse than two gladiators in pitted combat and yet our parents were always told how well behaved we were. At the age of 13 my parents decided to teach us discipline and enrolled us both in a Tae Kwon Do school. Instead of instilling discipline this simply gave us the tools to turn our fights into mortal combat. My sister was an amazing Gymnast, one of the best in the country for her age and so this enhanced her ability to gracefully flip over my head while kicking me in the back. As horrible as our relationship sounds, as any brother, if anyone dared hurt my sister I was there to defend her and Vice versus. We were a very tight knit country family that was quite common for the area.

We went to church every Sunday morning where either my grandfather or one of the families close friends was probably the preacher. Both of my grandfathers were preachers and devout Christians. My mother was the member of a family singing group with her brothers and sisters. Some of my fondest memories as a child were of sitting and listening to those old, familiar songs. If I ever feel down or homesick I just think of those times and I am instantly in a better mood. While I never liked to sing in public my parents made sure I was in every Christmas, Easter, and every possible holiday play in between the two that the area could offer. Now that I think back to those days when my wise man costume was a XXXL sweater or a cut up sheet it amazes me how much you can do with so little.

Yard sales were very common summer occurrences where I grew up and I am very sure that my family always put up the biggest. Our house was a very large, Victorian style home with a complete wraparound porch… this meant that we hosted every even that could be hosted. Weddings, baby showers, funeral wakes, anniversary parties and yes the inevitable summer yard sale. Of course not everything in our yard sale was ours but a conglomeration of our families, my grandparents and all of my uncles and aunts families stuff. As children we used this as an opportune time to get a little cash ourselves and so would sell off our old toys or open up lemonade stands next to the rode and sold to whoever the yard sale attracted… I mean, no one can resist a few 6 year olds at a lemonade stand. It also gave us reason to go on adventures with our cousins.

At one such summer yard sale when I was about fourteen years old I decided to take my sister and our cousins Jack and Kayla (who were slightly younger than me) on an adventure to see what we called a rainbow tree somewhere in the forested hills near our house. The summer had been particularly wet and so the ground was damp and muddy. My cousin Kayla had worn a new light blue leather jacket and brand new white tennis shoes to show off. We sneaked away from the house as our mothers all sat together gossiping about everything on the porch while waiting for customers to show up. We hiked for about a half-mile into the forest without incident until we came to a huge canyon that we had to cross before we could reach the fabled rainbow tree. A tree had fallen the year before and could be used as a bridge between the sides of the canyon. It was large enough to crawl over for kids our size so I headed right over. Kayla followed, a little more cautious and then came her younger brother Jack’s turn; he scooted until he was half way and then began to cry incessantly and told us all he hated us for getting him to do this... my younger sister being who she was crawled out to him and tried to push him so he would scoot to the other side. This turned out badly as she fell off the log onto her back in the bottom of the canyon nearly ten feet below. By this time we were all hysterical, I thought Julia had been paralyzed because she kept screaming she couldn’t get up and Jack was still crying that he was going to die on the log. I crawled down the canyon wall to get Julia who jumped up perfectly fine…  “I thought you were paralyzed”, I remember saying. 

“Oh, I’m fine now”, I remember her saying back. Smiling and giggling the whole time. We managed to climb the canyon wall where we found Jack had finally crawled onto the ground and off the log. Just in time for us to give up and climb back over… oh and I forgot to mention, in all the fuss Kayla’s new shoes became a nice muddy brown that never came clean even after my mother washing them over and over and her leather coat had been ruined.  When we made it back home in this disheveled and absolutely filthy state all of our mothers berated us and forced us to take showers… even as we knew had the best time on our adventure; even if we had given up half-way.

Shub Navratri to All!

O’ Mother, Jagadambe. O’ mother, Narayani. O’ mother, Sherowali.
The nine lights are lit; the incense strong and burning. Offerings of Sari’s and flowers are about you.
Give us your blessing on this Navratri. Grant us the boons we need.
Your child adores you o’ mother. Your face shines with the light of a thousand stars.  
Bangles are put on your arms as kum kum and sindoor are applied lovingly.
The holy lights are a dazzling site. All is given for you.
A mother cannot refuse her child. Your love is kind and merciful o’ Padmavati.  
Grant us our wishes dearest of all.


Happy Navratri to All!!! :) 

A Short New Composition

To the one who plays the magic flute, the one called Keshava.
My mind is always focused on you, chanting your many names and thinking of you always.
I can hear the strain of a flute in my most desperate times, comforting and divine.
I relish the sight of you, you with the peacock crown.
Whose eyes are full of love, you peer at me from your stone form, always caring for your devotee.
The love of Radha, Meera and of the entire universe, sustainer of life we greet you in many forms.
The faces of God in this human existence are many but truth is one. All is that and all are one. 

My Rant on Tradition in Religion (Written December 2008)

In many churches, temples and cathedrals across the country I have noticed the same terrible phenomenon happening over and over again.  Tradition and ceremony have taken the place of true worship in many religious orders. Tradition is not a bad thing it allows us to remember the ways of our ancestors. It gives us a base to launch from in our own spiritual journey. Though in many ways we have forgotten why we do these ceremonies of worship.  Many of the most sacred sacraments have lost there extremely profound meanings. 

Take the idea of the Holy Communion, in which the miracle of transubstantiation is meant to take place. In my own church and in other church’s I have attended it seems as though we are simply repeating that which we have done since we were taught as children, while never even thinking of the wondrous miracle that has happened or even the deeper meaning; what the actual ceremony signifies. I personally do not believe in transubstantiation. I believe this sacrament is a symbolic memorandum for Christ and the price he paid for Christians. This is still an extremely profound and spiritual ritual. Another example, in my home church we used to take the beginning of services to pray and reflect on God. Though, if you look around very few are doing anything but falling into a drowsy state. The only one, it seems, who is doing any reflecting or making any prayers is the preacher.    Are we worshiping god or are we simply repeating the motions in a blur of forgetfulness.           

If you were to ask the average churchgoer anything of the scriptures that wasn’t as superficial as a story that had been drilled into them since childhood, they probably would not be able to answer you. To ask them the deeper meaning of it or even if they saw any metaphors or morale’s in the story would appear to be a waste. As it would seem that we would want to know as much about our religion as we could, this does not appear to be true among the masses. In my experience I have met many who had read the Bible but had retained none of it. None of its incredibly intricate storylines, hidden meanings morals and metaphors. They then believe that reading it once is good enough and think little of it for the rest of there life as a “Christian.” I have seen Ministers preach the most ludicrous messages and then I have seen the masses follow that message without even a thought. No thought to read the passages yourself and gain your own understanding of the text. It is written that no other can face the God almighty for you but you on judgment day and I have a feeling he’s not going to accept the excuse “But I was told this.”  One must think for themselves. We cannot become sheep among the wolves. I do not wish to say that all Christians are of this sort. On the extreme you have Christians who read there bibles and pray everyday. These are good people for the most part though there are those that would use the scripture against the Christians who have become sheep. 

I have seen many examples of a single, charismatic person who had read and thought about the scripture and had then twisted it for their own means. In the story where Satan took Christ to the pinnacle of the mountain Satan was able to use the Holy Scriptures against Christ. He shaped them for his own will. Lucky for us Christ knew his stuff.  We must do the same. We are meant to at least attempt to become Christ-like. If we read and know the scriptures we cannot fall pray to these wolves in sheep’s clothing.  It is in this way that pure tradition is a bad instance, it numbs us, in a since, it allows us to become comfortable in our routine of going to church on Sunday and simply following what the preacher has us do without question.  There are many very good preachers and ministers but at the same time it is written that one must beware false prophets. So I repeat the statement, are we truly worshiping god or are we simply repeating the motions in a blur of forgetfulness. 

Disclaimer- I am not going after only Christians in this post but at the time I had written this I had not enough experience to say it is true of other religions which I know understand to be sadly true.