May 27, Goa - Shantadurga Temple near Kavlem

As we step into the yard surrounding the temple, we are hurried by a guard towards the entrance. There is a short thin building surrounding the yard where the disciples live, and plenty of space around the temple. The building looks like an L-shape from the top, and only a few meters from the entrance is a white tower, roughly 5 stories high.

Tourists are taking pictures outside the temple, coming from all parts of India. The guard asks us to continue inside, after leaving our shoes at the rack outside the building. The shade is on the other side of the entrance, so the floor is burning our feet as we hop inside; everyone is doing the same. On the other entrance, at the short side of the building, I see a shaded shoe rack, to which it seems devotees are going to. We were in the tourist entrance.

Inside was a small room which led to the main area, with a low ceiling and columns throughout the square plaza. At the end was a section separated by a low wall, where two priests were receiving baskets with offerings and distributing drops of holy water.

People crowded near the priests, putting their hands in front to receive the water. Mothers and grandmothers would push children through the crowd to the front, holding the arms forward, cupping hands, drink some water and drop some on their head, squish to the sides and out of the way. Tourists were part of this too, sometimes only to get a view of the alter, other times in an attempt to blend in.

Through the room on the right were 2 more narrow halls, leading to small spaces where some more priests were busy at work. While we walked through to the last room, to the entrance for devotees, 5 priests were seated on the floor to our right, with their backs on the wall, reading prayers out loud from separate scripts.

They were each, independently, chanting without fear, eyes closed and head pointed upwards, so it seemed they were signing to the passing tourists. They would occasionally glance down at their manuscript, and catch a glimpse of the passersby.

As if the voices of these priests did not fill up the room atmosphere, thin smoke emerged from a space to the left. I moved forward to peek in, and through the noise and smoke saw an elder sitting near an opening in the floor in the middle of the room, rhythmically dropping what seemed like colorful flowers, which reminded me of offerings I had seen people bring in.

When the flower would disappear into the opening, more smoke would rise. Soon the air in the room all turned to smoke and the people around me faded, all that remained was the priests' chanting, undifferentiable.

We made our way to the main room, through the crowd to the fresh air, and kangarooed over the burning stone floors back to our sandals.

May 25, Goa - Relax

Our hosts through friends and phone calls manage to arrange us a night at Goa's "Leela Palace," a 75-acre 5-star deluxe resort complex, at no cost.

At arriving to the hotel, we're asked for our passports, after a short security check. "We need to check your visa."

We were preparing to enter a new country.

Must have been a hoax, becasue even though we forgot our passports we were able to get in after a little while.

We're greeted by colorful garlands Divya had told me earlier are reserved for weddings & deities. This land is the complete opposite in space, comfort, service, and cleanliness to most of India.

A population of employees maintain 2 swimming pools, a 12-hole golf course, cricket area, croquet lawn, spa, 4 restaurants, water sports, huge botanical gardens, animas, and a private club house & villas.

Yet even in this meticulously manufactured paradise the entire resort lost electricity for a few minutes, twice. The reality of India escapes no-one.

By far my favorite part was the embeded surround system in the suite bathroom, connected to the TV/DVD/Radio set. I showered listening to Lady Gaga on MTV.

May 24, Goa - The Portuguese Caribbean

We land in Goa, and before baggage claim realize we forgot our phone on the plane. We rush to tell a guard who takes Divya to the runway after we explained what happened. A messenger is sent to tell an operator who transfers it via phone to an airport crew on the plane, then to their flight crew who share it with each other. Of the message, I hope at least the seat # goes through.

I couldn't make out if so many people were involved because of security, delegation, or diffussion of responsibility.

Even in Goa, the smallest state in India, every service is overstaffed, as is possible in a country with so many people.

While we wait for someone to take charge & bring us the cell phone, I talked to the guard. She is laid back and in a good mood, as is the standard in this caribbeanesque paradise. She tells me this tiny airport, the only one in the state, is of the Indian Navy Defense, but she is part of the National Guard. All photography is strictly prohibited.



That afternoon we sit for dinner with our host, commander Hooda of the Indian Navy. He is retired and at peace, now a service entrepreneur. He started a shipping management & training company and has invested in real estate throughout the region. Today he is a true businessman.

"The U.S. has lost all momentum," he was referring to economic power. "In India, the state and the people have money to spend. Countries are putting money into this country, and to China. And the people are spending all of it in India."

Last year, he told us, there was a project for constructing a Sky Bus, similar to a sky monorail, in a nearby town called Madgao, a massive undertaking by the Goan government. The first day it ran, however, there was an accident where 3 people died, and the service was immediately stopped. The entire infrastructure and the busses are still sitting there, intact and unused. "We can afford these kind of investments now, as the U.S. could in the past," he told us.

Commander Hooda told us that, in 2006, the goernment increased everyone's salaries, and this multiplied his own pension plan by almost 8x, monthly.

The standard of living is so much higher in the U.S. vs India, he argued, and should remain like that for a long time. A salary in India, though much lower than in many other countries, can buy more in India than a U.S. salary can buy in the U.S.

"Everyone has 2 cell phones, and nice ones," the Commander laughed, calling his helper Balaji who boasted a large color screen on his tiny model, the latest in the market.

Several times during our stay in Goa we had no electricity, at times for several hours. The commander explained this is due to the intense heat, and everyone wanting to use their AC full blast. The issue is Indian power producers cannot meet this demand.

"India's power problem will be fixed in 5 years," he predicted. "Today they are signing deals with several countries: Russia, U.S., France, and so on, to build power plants. Nuclear, hydro-electric. All to meet this demand."

"India has become a spending counry," he concluded proudly. "We are looking to a strong future."

May 22, Pune - Live Jam Concert

"Please, here's our business card," Tanmay, the lead guitarist, is leaving a strong impression at the hotel they were staying at, "that's the name of the band, 'Something Relevant' ". They're a local jam band from Bombay.

We were just arriving from the 3-hour drive from Bombay. Divya's cousin had invited us on a road trip to watch the band play at an Indian MTV Rockathon event. It took us an hour to leave Bombay from the outskirts, but the highway from there to Pune was very smooth. Tall mountains, mostly arid landscape, but at no times would there be a patch of land without people. This countryside was entirely rural & mildly popualted.

When we reached the city limits, the main task was to find directions to the hotel to meet the band. Since Something Relevant is not from here, we had to find our own way without directions. Not a problem. India is one definite place where you will always have someone you can ask nearby.

After lunch with the band, there's mention of being tight on time. The sound engineer seemed to find that an understatement: we see him outside the restaurant in his car, nearly climbing out of the window yelling, "Fellows, we need to make motion. We have to be there in 20 minutes!"

What followed was The Italian Job, Indian style.

4 Maruti Suzukis, none knowing the way, each trying to keep up with the next through the streets of this town at extraordinary speeds. People, motorcycles, cars, trucks, animals, all were obstacles and challenges. We had 4 eyes keeping track of the car in front "Left, left, they turned left!" and another 4 on the car behind us. Fairly constantly Tanmay would call the leader, calmly ask "Was it a right at the signal? Got it, thanks."

All cars make it, with 2 minutes to spare. We go backstage and watch most of the concert from there, with people hustling and relaxing, security loose, and everyone enjoying the hot night.

The crowd responded to Something Relevant the loudest.

May 21, Mumbai - Hare Krshna Temple near Juhu

We leave to meet a family friend, Venu, the person who will be lodging us in Bangalore. I realize that neither Divya nor Muna, the driver, know exactly where we are going, so we head towards the landmark Venu had mentioned: the Hare Krshna Temple near Juhu. After asking several people on the streets, we managed to find the building complex. No other place in the world does the saying, "By asking you can reach Rome" apply better than in Mumbai. There are people everywhere.

Venu greets us from the 3rd floor, and we enter the apartment. The kitchen is on the right, his sister comes out to greet us with snacks, and we sit on the living room at the left. Our host wants to make sure our trip through India is well planned, so we mention that we don't yet know what to do in Kerala. "Karan," he roars to his son, "go bring me some paper and a pen." "Just a few ideas, we'll only be staying in Kerala for 4 days," we tell them.

30 minutes later we have enough activities and places to go to for more than a week. There is a place highly recommended, the southern most tip of India, which is only a few hours from Kerala. He says, you can find sands of all colors in this region. Unlikely that we go, but Venu takes the time to tell the myth from the region.

Two deities were getting married, and the celebration for the wedding was taking place in this southernmost tip of India. A massive feast was prepared for all the guests, as this would be the greatest marriage yet. However, at this time the bride was at her menstrual cycle. and by tradition it is not good luck to marry at that time of the month. As it happened the wedding needed to get postponed, so all the food was dumped into the sea. Only the spices of the food got washed back near the land, thus coloring the sand of the region; Mustard Seeds (Black), Turmeric (Yellow), Salt (White), Chili Powder (Red), Cinamon (Brown), Cilantro (Green).

We thank them for their insights and ask them if they would like to join us at the temple. "I'm not much of a temple person," Karan replies.

We enter the temple, and following the woman in front of us we go to a window to leave our shoes. I look down; I had brought a cheap pair of flip-flops in case I don't find them when I get back. Down the walkway there is "food for life," a portion of this food is handed to those who come to worship.

The is a 3-story temple in white, with the outside courtyards covered in white and black tile. To the right of the temple there is a stand with snacks, which then leads to the temple restaurant. Following some steps inside the temple, it is an indoor courtyard where people are following rituals, each at their own pace and timing. On the sides, there are fenced off windows depicting different deities, with text in both English and Hindi on the side. In front of the window is a box to donate money. As there are times to pray to different deities, on one side the deities were lonely, on the other side they were full of flowers, roses, and offerings.

In the middle of this courtyard people are facing one side, with very little space to walk through. Instead, we decide to step through a door to an outside walkway. On the outside walls we find paintings telling the story of the deity Krshna in chronological order, with short captions in English and Hindi below. Slowly strolling down the walkway we reach the end, and continue towards a door to continue inside.

Suddenly, a man rushes out, and closes the door behind him. Another man is waiting outside for him, holding what looks like a food on a big leaf. Divya and I are now looking at these 2 men down a dead-end aisle as they sit and start eating. We turn back, heading towards the temple. As we turn, we spot another man heading towards us, empty-handed. He swishes past, and joins the feast. We continue walking, when I hear someone speaking. I look back, the 3rd man waves and speaks to us. I alert Divya, hoping she can help translate. She calmly walks back, me following her, and begins a conversation. The man extends his food, I learn it is the "food for life," and insists we take some. We put our hands to receive it, the man serves us, bows, grins, and returns to his place.

I regret not joining them.

We walk back to the inside, through the door we had exited. There is no-one inside. The doors are closed, the altar is blocked and it's doors shut, lights are out, and we cannot hear a sound. We continue down, cross the courtyard to the other side, where the offerings are still on the ground. We find an exit sign. We reach the door, and it is blocked tightly. We return, and spot some people on the second floor; they are dressed as monks, so we think they live here. We look up at them, while they speak to each other pointing at us. We make eye contact, they put their hands together, smile, and bow. We bow back speechless as they walk off. We head to the door next to the altar, which is also locked. Next, to the entrance, and it is also closed and locked. We are back in the courtyard, and spot another monk upstairs. He serenely bows at us, we greet him back.

We go back to the outside walkway, sit up on a wall, and hop over a fence to exit. We find the place where we left our shoes, and amazingly retrieve them, untouched.

May 18, Mumbai - Slums can be clean

Breakfast: Hot Chai. Weather: 40 C + sunny.


Indian hosts (I've been told by different people) will feed you and treat you like you are the star guest at a 6-star hotel.

Between noon and lunch, we talked about some last minute preparations for the 3-long trip, and made a list of things to buy.

Between noon and lunch, we had a suggested walking tour of downtown Bombay, and then were promised a walk through a nearby slum. We decided that tomorrow we'll go downtown. Not long after that, Divya and I found ourselves, after lunch, outside on our way to ___ slum.



Muna, the host family driver who we were following, sped through the narrow streets within the slum, both sides filled with doors leading into houses the size of rooms. I was able to catch glimpses of people inside, sitting, letting the heat pass, letting lunch settle. I would lose Muna on most corners, the sharp turns and uneven grounds (at times tile, at times cement, at times neither), every right followed by a quick left.

The slums were clean. The still air was a parade of smells, the smell of sweat met with soap.  The streets are under 2 mts. wide. There is a door every 2 mts. Are there 2 floors? Between door cracks I spot shirtless old men sitting, grandmothers entertaining children, TVs full blast. In shops, which are a window packed with all types of snacks, heads would pop up at a chance of a customer. Kids were playing cricket, women hanging up clothes, sweat dripping down everyone's forehead.

People kept to themselves, yet the view of white skin, me, was an eye catcher. Those we would pass would shyly look at my legs, then catch a glimpse of my face, look away, check again, and triple check. I think this is how super models feel walking down the street.

We stopped at Swathi's house, her a friend of Manu and helper at our host's house. The door was open and 3 women were inside: Swathi, her mother, and her grandmother, sitting on the inside floor. Swathi jumps up with a smile upon seeing us, insists we come in. "Do you want some water? Something to eat?" she reaches into the kitchen drawer.

Water is a treasure in Bombay, and it is the first thing and last thing any host offers here. We'll remind Swathi several times through our short 10-minute visit that we just had lunch and aren't hungry. The Indian host culture surpasses social status.

The house is 3 steps by 4 steps. The entrance is the kitchen; I was able to spot about 20 pots and pans on the walls. There is nothing more. There is an upstairs, reached with a ladder. The second floor is 3 steps by 5 steps. There is a single bed, a lone CPU, an LG TV, 3 small tables, and the remaining wall space is filled with family portraits and diety figures.

With Divya's help, we are able to communicate with Swathi; the grandmother also joins us upstairs. 5 people live here: Swathi's sister is at a wedding & the father out working. This picture here is of Swathi and her sister, that one is Swathi, the other picture is Anita, a friend, who is part of the family. The largest picture in the room is of the older brother, an tender image of him laying smiling on a beautiful green patch of grass. The grandmother points to the TV and back to him; the brother is working in Puna and instead of sending money, sent the nice TV.

Where is the bathroom? "Public one down the street." Where do you wash clothes? "Oh, there is a place near the restroom." And to dry them? "That is ok," she waves, "there is space above the bed."
We thank the grinning family once again, and head back out through the labyrinth back to the roads of Bombay. "How do you know where to go?" Divya asks Muna. "I know because I'm taking you through the streets I know. There are too many others," responds the 23-or-24 year old: he is unsure of his age.

I know I am back on the roads and out of the slum because I can feel a breeze.


Dinner - a short lesson on basic Indian spices.
Snack - Dahi Vada. Dumplings soaked in fresh yoghurt with some spices. Actually fried lentils soaked in curd with chili powder and sprinkled cilantro.