Gwalior
Excerpts
A. To Live is To Give: I attended a three-day classical music festival here in Gwalior, and was reminded about my motivation for this project.
B. Santosh's Song: Santosh Sharma worked at my hotel, and was very curious about tabla and music. I ended up recording his voice and mixing a song for him.
C. Sikh Gurudwara: Gwalior has an enormous hilltop fort, and inside there are palaces, temples, and a Sikh Gurudwara. Three years ago, I visited the gurudwara and found friendship and guidance. I returned to reconnect and to return the favor.
D. Getting Back: Lately I've been the recipient of a lot of kind acts. They are so many and ranging from small to big, it's hard to keep track of them to recount. Here are some stories.
an older picutre of a parade for peace and vegetarianism, with a girl holding a sign saying "To live is to give."
Elaborations
A. To Live is To Give:
Two years ago, I was wondering a lot about compassion - what is it, what forms does it take, what does it mean to help someone, what really helps, how can I help? I went to an Indian classical music concert in New York City, with L Shankar playing double violin, accompanied on tabla by Zakir Hussain. It was a particularly intense performance, and set the foundation for me developing this Human Kindness Experiment.
Compassion can be in the form of immediate help - buying someone food or tending a wound. Or it can be in the form of empowerment - helping someone help themselves by securing a loan or a job, or teaching. Or it can be in the form of everyday kindness - patience, generosity, and enthusiasm. More basic than these, however, is a sort of internal compassion - self-awareness through self-reflection, that reverberates within and without.
Indian classical music demonstrates this perfectly. A performer, using traditional musical structures to support improvisation, intimately exposes his or her inner self. The audience is allowed to see every intention, new idea, and mistake as it is formulated and expressed. 'Good' musicians must be 'good' people, because they are completely revealed. And most Indian musicians are wonderful people, partially because they are constantly exposing themselves and undertaking the self-reflection that that requires. Meeting someone who knows themselves well enough to freely open up and reveal without fear, arrogance, or attachment is, to me, a very inspiring and uplifting thing. And as an audience-member, compassion takes the form of silent selfless listening.
Sitting for ten hours a day for three days, I rediscovered this in the singers, sitarists, sarodists, and tabla players. I found it in talking to other audience-memebers, as well (it was a free festival, so there were many kids and families). The mere fact that I was an American who was interested and somewhat knowledgable in India's classical music (not to mention a tabla player), meant a lot to these people. And I got the most out of the music by quieting myself and listening as completely as possible. Listening is what I try to do here.
a view from the ground at the Tansen Music Festival in Gwalior
the tomb of Tansen, a legendary singer to whom the festival is dedicated
B. Santosh's Song:
All the workers at my hotel were really curious about my tabla practicing. They would come in an sit for a bit, and sometimes I'd give them a brief lesson, until they inevitably got called to duty again. Santosh Sharma was a particulary sweet and genuine boy, and after a few days he said that before I left he wanted something to remember me by.
In the last month, I've been recording random sounds and pieces of music I come across. I brought a minidisc recorder and mic, and a sound editing program for my laptop. I've been meaning to transfer clips to the program, in the name of 'making music' with them somehow, but haven't gotten around to it.
One day I accidentally erased all the things I'd recorded (about 6-7 hours). Bummer. I decided to start from scratch and try to follow through and make a 'song'. Santosh came in while I was recording random tabla hits, metal rubbing on marble, a drone, etc. I recorded him saying his name. Four hours later, I had spliced the sounds and mixed a two-minute song, featuring "Santosh Sharma". Then I went ahead and transferred it to a cassette, and gave it to him. The look on his face when he heard it was unbeatable - like a magician had just turned him into a bird for two minutes.
The other hotel boys were really into it, and I ended up giving them a cassette walkman I had but wasn't using, some earphones, and another tape of tabla music (Ustads Zakir Hussain and Alla Rakha). The total cost was Rs. 125 ($3), and their excitement at having some music was really great.
Santosh Sharma - the only time he stopped grinning was for his picture
C. Sikh Gurudwara:
Sikhism, started in the 15th century, is a synthesis of Islam and Hinduism. Some Sikh men can be identified by their turbans and beards. Gurudwaras, Sikh holy places, are sprinkled throughout India and the world. In the Gwalior Fort there is a beautiful gurudwara, including a white marble temple, bathing pools, a huge mess hall, and a hostel. Any visitor is welcome to stay for free, and every day they offer food to 2000 visitors free of charge. In my experience, Sikh people are some of the nicest and most generous.
On my first trip to India, I came to Gwalior very confused - not sure why I was in India, what I was going to do with myself, or if I could make it alone. The people at the gurudwara welcomed me in, showed me around, and gave me food and tea. It was a simple gesture of kindness at the perfect time, and it helped me immensely to answer those questions. It turns out, I wasn't alone.
So I returned this trip, just to reconnect and say thank you. Again they welcomed me and offered me tea and food. Everyone sits down and eats together, women and men, Sikh or not, rich or poor, and this is a big deal. I was enchanted by their system of free guides, food, lodging, and transportation for all visitors, Sikh or not. They can afford it because sometimes people offer money, when they have it and want to support the purpose. Part of me wondered why this way of things had to be limited to the holy places of our world, but part of me knew that it wasn't. I donated Rs. 1500 ($35), to go towards the community meals. I promised to return, and will.
the mess hall at the Sikh gurudwara in Gwalior (actually only a small part of the huge place)
D. Getting Back:
In Gwalior I went to change money and mail some things home. The bank was a ridiculous episode of waiting on lines, watching form after form after form be filled out, then entered into the computer by someone who couldn't find the 's' key, then checked over by the third person, then being sent to another counter with a token, etc. Then the post office man thought I'd go away if he played dumb, and I started to get frustrated. Two young men there, Opender and Suresh, took up my cause. I watched, bewildered, as they worked the system like only locals can do. They knew when it was okay to elbow your way into someone's face, where to go in the maze-like market to get the packaging, how to get behind the counter to weigh and calculate shipping, etc. At one point I asked why they were helping me, and they said simply, "It's our duty". When my package was on its way they got on their scooter, shook my hand, and were off. I hardly had a chance to get their names. I felt: they didn't want me to be their friend, I was their friend.
A Swarthmore religion professor, Scott Kugle, came to Gwalior for the festival. We ended up spending a lot of time together, talking about India and music and helping. We ate at really fancy restaurants, and he always paid (I was the 'tea person', who bought the Rs. 5 chai at night). He felt that his life had been full of reciprocity and generosity, that dwarfed his $5 dinner treats.
At this point, I've been given innumerable cups of chai; free snacks, meals, fruit; free rides on scooters, rickshaws, motorcycles, cars, buses; directions and logistical help; thank yous, encouragement, and affirmations; handshakes, smiles and head-nods.
I've been running into several people (mostly on trains), that end up offering to put me up in their homes. These are genuine invitations, and there are now more than a dozen places in India where I could be a guest in someone's home. Some of these I will utilize in the future, I think. In fact, right now I'm staying in Sarah Rizvi's apartment in Pune. I met her when looking into the NGO Shelter Associates (see 'Pune and Mahabaleshwar'). Now I'm here again, for another music festival.
A. To Live is To Give: I attended a three-day classical music festival here in Gwalior, and was reminded about my motivation for this project.
B. Santosh's Song: Santosh Sharma worked at my hotel, and was very curious about tabla and music. I ended up recording his voice and mixing a song for him.
C. Sikh Gurudwara: Gwalior has an enormous hilltop fort, and inside there are palaces, temples, and a Sikh Gurudwara. Three years ago, I visited the gurudwara and found friendship and guidance. I returned to reconnect and to return the favor.
D. Getting Back: Lately I've been the recipient of a lot of kind acts. They are so many and ranging from small to big, it's hard to keep track of them to recount. Here are some stories.
an older picutre of a parade for peace and vegetarianism, with a girl holding a sign saying "To live is to give."
Elaborations
A. To Live is To Give:
Two years ago, I was wondering a lot about compassion - what is it, what forms does it take, what does it mean to help someone, what really helps, how can I help? I went to an Indian classical music concert in New York City, with L Shankar playing double violin, accompanied on tabla by Zakir Hussain. It was a particularly intense performance, and set the foundation for me developing this Human Kindness Experiment.
Compassion can be in the form of immediate help - buying someone food or tending a wound. Or it can be in the form of empowerment - helping someone help themselves by securing a loan or a job, or teaching. Or it can be in the form of everyday kindness - patience, generosity, and enthusiasm. More basic than these, however, is a sort of internal compassion - self-awareness through self-reflection, that reverberates within and without.
Indian classical music demonstrates this perfectly. A performer, using traditional musical structures to support improvisation, intimately exposes his or her inner self. The audience is allowed to see every intention, new idea, and mistake as it is formulated and expressed. 'Good' musicians must be 'good' people, because they are completely revealed. And most Indian musicians are wonderful people, partially because they are constantly exposing themselves and undertaking the self-reflection that that requires. Meeting someone who knows themselves well enough to freely open up and reveal without fear, arrogance, or attachment is, to me, a very inspiring and uplifting thing. And as an audience-member, compassion takes the form of silent selfless listening.
Sitting for ten hours a day for three days, I rediscovered this in the singers, sitarists, sarodists, and tabla players. I found it in talking to other audience-memebers, as well (it was a free festival, so there were many kids and families). The mere fact that I was an American who was interested and somewhat knowledgable in India's classical music (not to mention a tabla player), meant a lot to these people. And I got the most out of the music by quieting myself and listening as completely as possible. Listening is what I try to do here.
a view from the ground at the Tansen Music Festival in Gwalior
the tomb of Tansen, a legendary singer to whom the festival is dedicated
B. Santosh's Song:
All the workers at my hotel were really curious about my tabla practicing. They would come in an sit for a bit, and sometimes I'd give them a brief lesson, until they inevitably got called to duty again. Santosh Sharma was a particulary sweet and genuine boy, and after a few days he said that before I left he wanted something to remember me by.
In the last month, I've been recording random sounds and pieces of music I come across. I brought a minidisc recorder and mic, and a sound editing program for my laptop. I've been meaning to transfer clips to the program, in the name of 'making music' with them somehow, but haven't gotten around to it.
One day I accidentally erased all the things I'd recorded (about 6-7 hours). Bummer. I decided to start from scratch and try to follow through and make a 'song'. Santosh came in while I was recording random tabla hits, metal rubbing on marble, a drone, etc. I recorded him saying his name. Four hours later, I had spliced the sounds and mixed a two-minute song, featuring "Santosh Sharma". Then I went ahead and transferred it to a cassette, and gave it to him. The look on his face when he heard it was unbeatable - like a magician had just turned him into a bird for two minutes.
The other hotel boys were really into it, and I ended up giving them a cassette walkman I had but wasn't using, some earphones, and another tape of tabla music (Ustads Zakir Hussain and Alla Rakha). The total cost was Rs. 125 ($3), and their excitement at having some music was really great.
Santosh Sharma - the only time he stopped grinning was for his picture
C. Sikh Gurudwara:
Sikhism, started in the 15th century, is a synthesis of Islam and Hinduism. Some Sikh men can be identified by their turbans and beards. Gurudwaras, Sikh holy places, are sprinkled throughout India and the world. In the Gwalior Fort there is a beautiful gurudwara, including a white marble temple, bathing pools, a huge mess hall, and a hostel. Any visitor is welcome to stay for free, and every day they offer food to 2000 visitors free of charge. In my experience, Sikh people are some of the nicest and most generous.
On my first trip to India, I came to Gwalior very confused - not sure why I was in India, what I was going to do with myself, or if I could make it alone. The people at the gurudwara welcomed me in, showed me around, and gave me food and tea. It was a simple gesture of kindness at the perfect time, and it helped me immensely to answer those questions. It turns out, I wasn't alone.
So I returned this trip, just to reconnect and say thank you. Again they welcomed me and offered me tea and food. Everyone sits down and eats together, women and men, Sikh or not, rich or poor, and this is a big deal. I was enchanted by their system of free guides, food, lodging, and transportation for all visitors, Sikh or not. They can afford it because sometimes people offer money, when they have it and want to support the purpose. Part of me wondered why this way of things had to be limited to the holy places of our world, but part of me knew that it wasn't. I donated Rs. 1500 ($35), to go towards the community meals. I promised to return, and will.
the mess hall at the Sikh gurudwara in Gwalior (actually only a small part of the huge place)
D. Getting Back:
In Gwalior I went to change money and mail some things home. The bank was a ridiculous episode of waiting on lines, watching form after form after form be filled out, then entered into the computer by someone who couldn't find the 's' key, then checked over by the third person, then being sent to another counter with a token, etc. Then the post office man thought I'd go away if he played dumb, and I started to get frustrated. Two young men there, Opender and Suresh, took up my cause. I watched, bewildered, as they worked the system like only locals can do. They knew when it was okay to elbow your way into someone's face, where to go in the maze-like market to get the packaging, how to get behind the counter to weigh and calculate shipping, etc. At one point I asked why they were helping me, and they said simply, "It's our duty". When my package was on its way they got on their scooter, shook my hand, and were off. I hardly had a chance to get their names. I felt: they didn't want me to be their friend, I was their friend.
A Swarthmore religion professor, Scott Kugle, came to Gwalior for the festival. We ended up spending a lot of time together, talking about India and music and helping. We ate at really fancy restaurants, and he always paid (I was the 'tea person', who bought the Rs. 5 chai at night). He felt that his life had been full of reciprocity and generosity, that dwarfed his $5 dinner treats.
At this point, I've been given innumerable cups of chai; free snacks, meals, fruit; free rides on scooters, rickshaws, motorcycles, cars, buses; directions and logistical help; thank yous, encouragement, and affirmations; handshakes, smiles and head-nods.
I've been running into several people (mostly on trains), that end up offering to put me up in their homes. These are genuine invitations, and there are now more than a dozen places in India where I could be a guest in someone's home. Some of these I will utilize in the future, I think. In fact, right now I'm staying in Sarah Rizvi's apartment in Pune. I met her when looking into the NGO Shelter Associates (see 'Pune and Mahabaleshwar'). Now I'm here again, for another music festival.
posted by Luke Wolcott at 3:39 AM
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