nilima en el mundo

“The skinny but not gaunt man leans over the top of the bus and reaches down with one hand and hoists my backpacker’s pack up on the top of the bus. Next is Vasi’s — both of us can barely lift it above our heads, but he pulls it and disappears towards the front of the bus. When he hops down I’m ready with my tip, in the past enough is never enough and I want to tip generously so we dont need such an exchange. Vasi too has the same idea, but the man brushes away our money with a wave of his hand and goes to find someone else to help with their bags. Read the rest of this entry »

“Do you know how trains work in this country?”

a haggled European, I think Dutch, asked us, sweat pouring down his face in the Train Station in Agra.

Vasi and I laughed. We were at the “reservations counter”, yesterday we’d bought tickets to go to Agra only to discover they were “unreserved” and thus we had standing room only. this was okay until the stench from a nearbye toildet hole, some aloo parathas I’d eaten for breakfast and still recovering from high fever made me nauseated to the point of contemplating sitting on the floor of the train. So, now, we bought return tickets, but wanted to make sure our “general tix” enabled us actual seats. At the original ticket counter, the man was nice until a tiny woman started jabbing Vasi in the back and then the whole crowd men and women (in the “woman” line) started yelling at him to make us hurry up. On the third jab in her back, Vasi flarred around, eyes wide,

Would you please stop that for 1 minute! she barked. Read the rest of this entry »

This girl seems happy, not exploited.

But looks aren’t always what’s important. Read on for more thoughts on exploitation and my growing cynacism.

The above child is making bread on the streets of Rishikesh. While Akalu and the story I am about to narrate truly saddened and angered me, I find myself becoming slightly jaded, and cynical, able to ignore beggars whose stories I think false. Ironically, or perhaps, realistically, as part of me is able to scurry past a man with one arm, or learn to look out for potential followers, the other aspect is able to take great joy from buying ice cream cones for rag-pickers, or other such smal l gifts, that, in the past might have been overshadowed with worrrying about the greater political implications of their conditions and my reactions. Read the rest of this entry »

Now I understand and don’t begrrudge celebrities “mean” celebrities their privacy. Being a “gauri” (white) and therefore a celebrity is getting old. Fast. (But, as I’ll note later, the friendly fascinations many people have here, though grating at times, is also one of the most charming aspects of travelling in India — like most things, two sides of the same coin). I had a high fever and massive cold/headache for three days in Gangotri. Read the rest of this entry »

SO, Vasi and I decided to go from Rishikesh to the start of the Ganges in Gangotri, which is about 12 hours away. India is not made for women’s bladders. Along the way we’d periodically stop in small towns and the men would pee in these open -backed urinals, but no one had bathrooms. When pointed to one public restroom (think putrid holes in the ground that dont drain and havent been cleaned in years) i Read the rest of this entry »

Here’s a cow (duhh) the shot isnt that great, they are all over and very beautiful, gentle creatures. In the US we think they are stupid, but any animal that can wander around these streets and calmly deal with all the noise and traffic is to be admired. Their eyes are very gentle and I just make sure to avoid the tails. Though they often look healthy many eat out of garbage heaps.
This is Maya, one of the woman who works for Hope for Woman, the Fair Trade greeting card company we visited in Dehra Dun. I didn’t write much of a blog on it though I meant too, but crazy, dangerous or ironically awful experiences have filled my pages. Checkout Hopeforwomen.comfor more info.
Here’s me in the mountains behind Rishikesh where Vasi and I went hiking. It was literally about 110 degrees that day but it felt so great to escape the crowds that the heat didn’t really bother us — sure walking was hard cause our cotton pants clung to our legs, but other than that, no problem.
Here’s Vasi and I and or original host family (the one i wrote about in the protected sections. We are at a Sikh place of worship (not a temple, mind you) but I forget the name. Still I got into to as evinced by the fact that I ate the prasad (blessed food) a sweet oily mixture of grains and sugar — dispenced by a bare hand, but stopped short of drinking the holy water. We had to cover our heads to enter.

 India is a beautiful country, but when we ask for trashcans, shopkeepers point to the streets. this is burning trash on the streets of Rishikesh

So, on one of the aforementioned waterfall hikes, the temp. probably 110 degrees F, Vasi and I are hiking up this hill, carrying 4 liters of water, completely soaking our clothes with sweat. this picture only peripherally relates to this entry, oh well..
Read the rest of this entry »

Today Vasi and I paid 60 rupees to take a small boat across the Ganges, well that’s what we thought it would do, but it was really just a two-minute joy ride out and back. I cleared my seat from the water that was filling the boat and sat down next to a man holding a fichety baby, he handed me the baby, as his family beamed at us. Im not actually sure if they took a picture of us or not, but that’s the theme of this entry, so let’s say they did. I was really overjoyed to hold the adorable baby. Read the rest of this entry »

Okay, so we were filming and visiting with Hope for Woman in Dehra Dun and vasi went to use th bathroom, but found it unpleasant, so came out. Sajee explained to her something about how the plumbing was bad so she’d have to use the bucket and water. TO me i knew this to mean that instead of a push flush she’d have to fill a bucket with water and manually flush it. When I asked her why she didnt use the toilet she said,
“he said the toilet didnt work so i’d have to use the scoop to scoop out the toilet when im done.”This is one of the HFW workers