All Flowers in Time (Bend Towards the Sun)

Hi, I've been out of touch and trying to focus efforts--to figure out life... in a practical way rather than talking philosophy (though sitting down and reading a couple pages of Sartre is one of the best forms of motivation I have). I've realized how much I wanted to work for advocating for environmental issues, especially in energy. Not as a protester, but as an organizer, teaching and working with businesses as well. It'll be cool. I'll always be glad I'm making this decision.

I'll carry on with this blog, but I should let you know that I have two "tumblr's" going on right now... a tumblr's kind of like a blog where it's even easier to post quickly and the posts aren't expected to be long at all.
So I keep one for music: schroeder's pulse.
And one for environmental things in the news... or the Colbert Report or wherever: mattchatter.

Next week, I continue the rambling. I leave Nashville for two of my other favorite places Chicago and Ann Arbor. I can't wait. I'm already lining up the couches to crash on.

Somehow Still Moving

The rest of our time in India went well--not always smoothly, but Asad & I came out smiling. We found friends to crash with just outside of Delhi in Gurgaon. This spot was at times frustratingly far from the bus/train stations and things that we wanted to check out in Delhi, but our hosts the Kumars were not to be surpassed in hospitality. We were fed very well and received many rides from their driver.

In a small trip south and west of Delhi--the Golden Triangle--we made it to all of those places you see in pamphlets about it India: the palaces, shrines, the Taj Mahal. I particularly enjoyed the respite we found in a small town called Pushkar, the quiet in the middle of the storm of India's rickshaws, crowds, and heat.

From there, we headed north to the Himalayas, went rafting and camping near Rishikesh--where the Beatles hung out while at an ashram in India--and spent 4 days hiking from Joshimath to Tapovan via the Kuari Pass. All of this was great, though the style of camping was different--I wasn't used to having the guides cooking everything for you--and the India mountain roads were brutal on the stomach. Apparently, we came a week or two before a lot of the major trails were open, and a lot of places just a day more to the north seemed really cool.

Of course, there's more--the experience at the Golden Temple, the border-closing ceremony with Pakistan, and a couple days up on boat in Kashmir--but I'm already on my way, again. I've been home in Nashville almost exactly two weeks, but it's felt like nothing. We had my brother Drew's graduation from med school and a good part of the family here for that. So for a number of days we were happily caught doing family activities--cards with grandma, days at the lake--and my favorite things around Nashville--Pancake Pantry, bluegrass at Station Inn.

The next week afterward, marked the beginning of the job search, a.k.a. "time for Matt to figure out his life." I've been reading on the internet and making runs to the library constantly. After a bit of research, I started making phone calls and talking to people. Now that I've decided that I don't want to do medicine, I've been working to figure out the next step to work with the environment and business as my focus. There have been plenty of good conversations and promising possible opportunities to work with consulting and/or engineering groups even around Nashville. But before making that push to seal something, the road called, again.

Actually, my friend from college Reva called a couple days ago and reminded me that graduation was this weekend, which I had told a lot of people that I would try to make it to this year. I found a cheap flight up to Providence--god bless, Southwest--and I'm on my way... tonight. It's probably a good idea because I'm going to have a number of chances to meet and talk to alumni working in some of the areas that I'm planning to go into.

So, since I was already up there, it seemed to make sense just to take a couple buses down to New York and D.C. to crash with friends for a couple days and maybe continue conversations with people working in the environmental industry in these places--where I know there's a bit more of it going on than in Nashville. I just have to find them. And I will.

And suddenly it seems that I won't be back home and settled to find a job for another month. Yes, this trip through the northeast is only a week or two, but I have a friend who will be driving from Baltimore to where we will work fixing boats and launching them for a couple weeks at our old summer camp. I'm psyched for it. It's always hard to pass up paid sailing, but I'm kind of ready to be in one place and getting something done. It seems that part of that will have to wait, but I'll still be working to push this job search and research of grad schools.

From India with Love

We have headed out to the North, and this will be my last post from India. After a couple of days in Delhi and then seeing the Taj Mahal, I am in Jaipur, which in many ways seems to fit the India that I imagined as a kid--now that there are a few less rickshaws and, instead, more camels and elephants in the road along with monkeys crowding around many rooftops over the last day or so (concentration of cows remains about the same.

Many moments have left me in awe; many have left me worn-out. But Asad and I are energized and looking forward to rafting on the Ganges and hiking in the mountains, all just in a matter of days.

Sorry, still no pictures. We are traveling with as little as possible, and this is just a quick stop in a little cafe humming with fans.

Life in Film

For the last month, I've been inundated with Indian media. In spite of the status that English has around here, being the government's official language and being seen alongside Tamil script on about every street-sign, American media has not penetrated into the culture of Chennai as effectively as most other places I've been. On the news, thave so many political talking heads that I haven't even seen Obama on TV since I've been here. In entertainment, the country has a prominent music industry that sounds nothing like American pop as well as a film industry that dwarfs Hollywood in annual output. The center of this movie-production powerhouse: Bollywood.

I saw my first Bollywood film two weeks ago. It was not only a perfect, air-conditioned escape from the Sunday South Indian heat, but the movie was also fantastic. Even though it was mostly in Hindi (as well as French, English, and Tamil), it was shockingly easy to follow; Asad just gave me updates explaining exactly why someone was mad as well as translations of the crowd-stirring one-liners. The film was controversial and unorthodoxed for Bollywood, but I was satisfied and felt properly prepared for more exposure.

The next day, Eleanor was approached by a Chennai film producer looking for foreigner as extras. We were offered a weekend trip out to Mysore--an ancient capital of one of many ancient kingdoms in India-- to dress up (tuxedos & fake moustaches, satiny gowns & necklaces) and then to stand about, clap, and dance in a period drama about the end of British colonial occupation in Madras (that's Chennai, where I am right now). Though it was a story about Madras, they wanted to use the White Palace for the scene. So, we would have to be shipped out about 8 hours away. Feeling Eleanor's contagion for a paid-for weekend trip and for the limelight--"We're going to be in Bollywood!"--I accepted, and we were on our way to Mysore.

Concerning my experience as an extra, it wasn't really remarkable. In fact, in spite of getting on film, meeting a lot interesting travelers, getting a nice shave & haircut, wearing a slick suit, and eating some delicious food, I hated it. All the waiting around and not being allowed to do anything and then jockeying for position to be seen by the camera... I couldn't stand it. I felt like an animal being herded around, told to smile, and then politely inching around to get in front "because, if you don't get on camera, you might as well be playing tiddly-winks." These unfortunately-true words were spoken by a weathered actor/extra in Indian films still trying to make it big. After meeting him and others, I tried to endure it for one day and then bolted. We were supposed to do it for the whole weekend, but we had to leave the money and just appreciate the free ride out and food. Instead, we went to some temples up a nearby mountain, played cricket with some kids and got my first sunburn of the year. It was fantastic.

But no matter how I tried to separate my life from film, it haunted me. Just days later, we watched Wes Anderson's Darjeeling Limited about three brothers traveling across northen India by train and having typical, oddly ridiculous experiences shown in the awkward Anderson form. Since then, I've been either blessed with humor or cursed with self-consciousness (as though I hadn't been self-conscious in many of these situations before. Situations that originally would have been just nice cultural experiences have become hilarious. A number of experiences each day have become caricatures of interactions where almost everyone is confused. Basically, I have entered my own Wes Anderson film--it doesn't help that I've been listening continuously to the soundtracks of his films.

It's hard to explain--especially if you don't know Rushmore or other Anderson films--but a good example may be my experience at a small concert I went to a week ago. For a couple days, I was taking lessons to learn how to play the tabla, an Indian drum that you hear all the time--notably, in "Within You, Without You" from Sgt. Pepper's. Anyway, I was thinking about getting one of these drums, and my tabla guru, Madhu, invited me to see a tabla concert one night. Of course, I said sure, and he sends me off ahead of him with his son on the "scooty" (a horrifying experience, holding on behind a teenager on a motorcycle in these streets. So I arrive at a tiny back-alley Hindu temple, and the kid kindly drives off saying that he has some other things to do. I'm left alone and walk into a white-tiled room covered with walls covered by smiling gods. And I'm there to hang out with some 10 small ladies lined-up and bowed in reverence to an image of Shiva. A couple sadhus--shaved head, orange tunics, big yellow streaks across the forehead--are waving around incense and reverently laying bananas in front of Shiva while two guys sit in a corner banging wild, different rhythms on a drum and squeaking out a entangled, snake-charming melody on a four-foot-long reed instrument. And I was standing in the middle of all of these kind strangers, exchanging smiles. As the rituals came around, like touching a flame before pressing your fingers to your face, I meekly smile and mumble, "I'm really not Hindu" (as though they don't know). That went on for a bit until I could enjoy the drumming with singing and violin, but that's really it. Sorry if it was too much build-up, but it felt more like I was shocked at how much I felt as though I was in Darjeeling Limited. I was amused, so luckily these sorts of things have continued happening to me.

What is more, our host/landlord, McKay, was just filmed in our place a couple days ago for a documentary about ex-pats in Chennai. As I've been saying, I can almost taste it, the limelight, in my daily life.

in medias res

I'm going to have to start in the middle of things. I've thought about starting this blog a hundred different times in a hundred different ways. The good thing is that I've waited until I have plenty to say, and I'll have some retrospective commentary for the many parts of this trip that have transpired over the last two months pre-India. But I'll talk about Berlin, Prague, Paris, London, & Edinburgh as though I were still in the middle of these vibrant cities--vibrant in a completely different way from India.

So I'll start with India for now even though many good bits just keep break off from memory as the new experiences draw my attention and interest. To begin discussing my experience here, I'll have to start with bits (the same sort of bits that I'm losing from... Scotland, for instance--like the way full moon came out right at sunset as were on top of Arthur's Seat looking across to the North Sea and Edinburgh Castle and the grass was so soft, remarkably so). Anyway, we are in Chennai-, which is on the eastern coast of Tamil Nadu. The first thing I always have to say about this place is that it's hot. It's muggy. Nashville is muggy but pales in comparison. You can get soaked by just leaning away from a fan. It's not just hot though, it's city-hot. The streets here are nothing like Ankara's or even Cairo's.

Since elementary school, I had this image of India: it was of a group of people sort of bustling through the streets. The scene in my mind is dusty but nostalgically sepia-toned and urban but simultaneously quaint, rustic. In this street--actually it's a large dirt road--there are women in saris with baskets on their heads, cows, elephants, beggars, men in turbans, bicycles, kids running around. You know, it's typical romantic, exotic scene. It could have been in the Jungle Book or from an old black-and-white sketch made way back in the day. I've seen plenty of all of these things, except the elephants and the sepia-coloring for all of it. The sun is alway bright, until it's gone. Asad and I were flying a kite up on some rooftops one night and almost caught Chennai in that light, but it wasn't really the shade I'd imagined. Basically, everything here is raw.

The streets are concrete, and I see naked toddlers sitting in them everyday. Cows can be found in the most unexpected places, but most of the time they'll be by a dumpster eating trash and adding a bit of their own to the filth. India's not necessarily a dirty place. In its favor, my stomach has done better here than it did in Turkey, though Turkey was decent gastric preparation. But it can be filthy. That's really all I want to say about that for now. Back to the bits: most women wear saris all the time (Chennai's a conservative city, but while in Bangalore recently I saw many in Western dress--also hearing that some were attacked now and then); English written everywhere alongside the spiraling Tamil script (English is the one common language from one Indian region to the next); train and bus doors are always kept open (standing by the door of the train two-stories high has been one of the best, breezy views of the city I've gotten; normally you have to run alongside the bus to get in or out); red splatter-marks all over walls from paan (Indian chewing tobacco, chewed inside a folded palm-leaf with a mix of all sorts of stuff, like walnuts); eating saucy meals with your hands--correction: your right hand; kids playing badminton barefoot in sidestreets with chickens trotting around between them from one doorstep to another. Most doorsteps have quick but elaborate chalk designs drawn around them, often a crisscrossed diamond or a flowery Star of David with all sorts of extra swirls wrapping round.

Mentioning this one form of decoration/religious ritual brings me to how ornate Hindu society seems to be--and I'll end on this point. They mark much more than their foreheads with red dots and horizontal saffron stripes--which I believe indicate that you're primarily a worshipper of Shiva. Somewhat consistently, they dot statues, rickshaws, walls with double yellow-red pinches of wet powder. Little temples--each with a barrage of iconography from the Hindu canon--dot the city as well. Decoration go wherever they can be afforded it seems. You'll be likely to find paintings or little tiles of the elephant-headed Ganesh on walls at street corners. Trucks are painted with birds, flowers, big-toothed smiling faces, and mysterious eyes. Most of them are covered; it's a very colorful place.
More later on my favorite parts of Hinduism and it effects on living around here. One teaser: Ganesh was the son of Shiva, who was married to Parvati. After leaving her for a long time, Shiva returned to find a boy at his house who told him that he couldn't see Parvati because she was bathing. Of course, Shiva said, "She's my wife, and by the way I'm Shiva." And he cut off the boy's head. When Shiva entered to see Parvati, she first asks him, "Oh, did you meet your son?" Yeah, crap. So Shiva goes out and takes the head off the nearest animal, an elephant, and he puts it onto the body of his beheaded son. This is why Ganesh has the head of an elephant.

As you can see, I like just letting bits and details flow out. Eventually, I will start writing coherent things, but this blog may end up as an outlet for desperate updates for all of my distant--perhaps estranged but simultaneously dear--friends and family out there. This is more than a travel-blog though, I think I'll hold onto this one for a while I think. The title is a reference that I really liked to both the Talking Heads and Miles Davis--again, bits.
Good night, mc