My Visit to the Sai Baba Ashram on the Magic School Bus

Dear Family, Friends and Creepy Strangers Who Have Been Stumbling Upon My Blog,

Sorry for the sparce proof of my existence in the last few weeks. I've been a little hesitant to write because India is not quite as inherently hilarious as England was, and as I may have mentioned earlier, I hate it when people insist upon assaulting my eardrums with their spiritual life journey / newfound enlightenment / bullhonky profound insights from living somewhere else / how they looked the coyote square in the eyes and saw both fear and respect, etc. So I really don't want to do that to you.

I believe I last left our adventure with my having just safely returned from Ajanta and Ellora, smelling of victory (and uriney public bus), yet still yearning to one day attain a reading list for my classes (call me spoiled, but the syllabus just wasn't enough). I'm happy to report after several more arduous weeks of struggle, I have finally managed to procure the list of books I am maybe supposed to be reading for class. Nevermind that the library doesn't have them; proof of their existence is enough for me. I'm starting to tinker with the idea that perhaps I should stop fabricating these incredibly stressful and apparently unecessary academic quests (i.e. getting my teachers to answer questions, getting my teachers to tell me when their classes take place, getting my teachers to tell me what kind of work I should be doing) since I'm obviously not supposed to do any kind of actual work this semester, but I guess I need something to freak out about. Otherwise these blog posts would be too calm and fulfilled, and who wants adventures without an unecessary, complicated emotional subplot?

At some point during last week (much like Shaggy and Scooby do in most episodes of Scooby Doo as they frantically seek a sandwich of some kind) I accidentally stumbled upon the secret switch that happens to be the key to solving the great India mystery (and getting Mr. Jenkins imprisoned for impersonating a ghost so the old amusement park would have to close down). India is suddenly being nice to me. Rickshaw drivers give me fair prices and unsolicited directions to the bus stop. Shop owners respect my haggling abilities and no longer start at 12 times the actual price. People make small talk with me in Hindi. (Suchita has finally decided to teach verbs in class. She was holding off because she thought I was going to use them for evil. I probably shouldn't have asked her how to say "androcentric.") Only one person tried to cut me in line this week, and I scared him away with my Indian stank face. (I'm not going to press my luck though. This is probably one of those trick Scooby Doo endings in which Fred and Daphne follow some false lead for most of the plot before Velma finally cleans up their mess. I can't stand Fred and Daphne. Anyway, I'm sure the nice-India-lever will switch back soon.)

Most of the last two weeks consisted of more general campus exploring (we have campus monkeys!), NGO visiting (small children think they can trick me into saying Telegu curse words by telling me its their name, but sassiness sounds the same in every language), going out to eat at various super swanky Indian restaurants (I have yet to find an unswanky eating establishment, unless you count the train station two weeks ago), and learning to be a cricket grand master. Yes, America, not only have I learned to play cricket, I got to play a game in the university cricket tournament, and this time, the announcer was even able to tell the other white girls and I apart! Oh, happy day! We won, thanks to our pitcher (a tiny dance major who takes a sprinting start at the pitchers mound, does this graceful little gazelle leap, and then chucks the ball at the batter like the incredible hulk), our two excellent batters, all the other fielders, and my ability to entertain left field with my whimsical American buffoonery. CIEE also took us to this woman's apartment for an Indian cooking lesson, which is awesome, and now when I go home I can make glorious Indian food out of every day items you know like ghee, semolina, and khoya. Oh, you haven't heard of those?

Most recently, I came back from a trip to Puttaparthi to visit the Sathya Sai Baba Ashram with my friend Rachel. We took an overnight bus on Friday and another one back on Saturday, so I am currently running on a weekend of bus sleep (to clarify, bus sleep : regular sleep : : a pizza flavored Hot Pocket : pizza ... with many of the same side effects. For instance, like the grease from a Hot Pocket, I can feel bus germs oozing out my face right now, and I think I might be dying), but it was definitely worth it. The trip went astoundingly well. Everyone gave us great directions. Our bus broke down at around 2AM in a very non English speaking area for about an hour, which could have been catastrophic, but one of the other passengers directed us to another bus, we didn't even have to pay extra, and we go there after sun up instead of having to wait in the unheated ashram bus station at 5AM. The ashram didn't allow pictures, but I did manage to get some pictures from the surrounding town.

Or I was shrunken by Ms. Frizzle's shrink ray at a minigolf course. One of those two. Anyway, the ashram was amazing. We got to attend darsan which was an hour and a half long prayer ritual conducted entirely in song with tabla, sitar, etc. We discovered shawls were mandatory for entering the prayer room. We had made sure to wear high collared long sleeved kurtas so as not to offend anyone, but we had forgotten scarves. So we used the only things we had available, Rachel's pretty Indian sheet with lovely floral pattern that cooincidentally matched perfectly with her outfit and my fleece bright blue polka dot Barney travel blanket. I wish I could have gotten a picture of the inside of the prayer room. There were no walls, so it was an open space with a blue and gold carved ceiling, and ornate glass chandeliers with pigeons living in them intermixed with what appeared to be crape paper pineapples. The little kid sitting next to me kept trying to get me in trouble. She started making funny faces after hour one. Kudos to her for sitting still that long. After that we also got to sit in on a lecture by one of the holymen which was super interesting but I don't want to go on a nerdy tirade right this second. We asked where the best place to eat for lunch was and were immediately directed toward the Western Canteen by the gentleman at the South Indian Canteen who instinctively knew that all white people like plain potatoes, bread, and mayonaise. Upon arriving we discovered that the canteen could not operate unless someone volunteered to work, so we ended up serving rice and potatoes with the other lunch ladies for next hour (which was very fun) before we were rewarded with the first green vegetables I have seen in two months (you cannot possibly fathom how exciting recognizable vegetables are after two moths in India). After eating half my body weight in spinach, my excitement subsided enough for me to realize what it was that had been putting me mildly ill at easy since we had entered the canteen.There were pictures of Sai Baba about every two feet, and all of them were watching me. In fact there was one fairly popular photo of just a cut out of Sai Baba's eyes. I don't mean to make fun of Sai Baba. From what I gather, Sai Baba promotes peace, love, community service, and the end of the caste system. Seems like a pretty good movement. But eye pictures are creepy.


Imagine this picture. But with just eyes.

It didn't help that when we tried to leave the canteen, the women at the door forbodingly shook their heads and directed us toward a brick wall instead. As it turns out, they just wanted us to leave through the secret kitchen exit; we were not in fact trapped in a 1984-esque fantasy world with Alice in Wonderland buildings



You can't tell me that you wouldn't be concerned if you were locked into a room with pictures of eyes everywhere and the archway from Candyland right outside.

 Anyway, it was a really fantastic trip and we made it back to campus by 6:30 this morning, giving me some time to get a shower (I wiped down my arms and legs with Rachel's remaining acne pad in the bus station the night before, but I decided to treat myself). My professor had offered to take me to a local NGO for my research, which was cooincidentally a Sai Baba affiliated organization, so I was super prepared. Except she forgot to mention that they only spoke Telegu. Luckily, the founder's son, who spoke some English, was there.

I think that brings us about up to date, unless you want to count the Jim Gaffigan Youtube videos I've been watching for the last half hour. I'm starting to enjoy India a lot more now that I have met more Indian students and have exciting things to do other than hunt my professors down and flee from rabies. Thanks to all who have continued reading this blog. It's really hit me this semester how long I've been away from home. I don't expect people at home to feel my absence as much as I feel there's because I'm the only thing missing from my home -- life goes on -- but my entire home is missing from me (Life is going on, but is uprooted and restarted every few months). So it does mean a lot that people are still checking in on me after all this time. India continues to be glorious/action-packed/life-changing/full-of-opportunities-for-toilet-humor/etc, but I'll be excited to get home. I'm off to Hampi next weekend to hike and be blessed by an elephant.