Human Kindness Experiment

Cup of Chai: 5:30am

2005-03-08T23:34:00.000-05:00

Now I'm in Varanasi, another holy city of temples and music, a 21-hour train ride down the Ganges from Rishikesh. To celebrate Shivratri - the 'Night of Shiva' - there is a 3-day all-night Dhrupad festival. Dhrupad is the most ancient and richest of the Indian classical music traditions. The pavilion looks out over the Ganges to the east, where the last sliver of the moon has just risen, and in an hour the sun will follow.

Together, the moon and I will end this cycle and start the next. I'm excited to see the new stars of the southern hemisphere, and meet the land and the people of New Zealand.

In the last three years, hundreds of times I've sat with a friend to drink a cup of chai. The simple ritual is such a deep metaphor - we surrender the time and space, we give patient attentive willingness, we be with each other, we share something. Sometimes I think this is all there is to compassion.

This time, as I sip chai and watch the sun rise, rare early-morning raga melodies in the air, I'm sitting down with my friends back in America. Over the course of this Human Kindness Experiment in India, I've shared something unique with/through each of them.

Looking back at all my HKE experiences, I've tried to encapsule some of the main themes and lessons. As long as you've read some stories in the posts, you can read it here: The Universe at the Bottom of the Empty Cup.

Rishikesh

2005-02-26T08:28:00.000-05:00

I'm in Rishikesh, settled for a while. Taking yoga courses and classical vocal lessons. I think this will be the last post of its kind, but it's a good one. I'm going to New Zealand on March 10th. I will write later with some synthesizing analysis (oxymoron?) of my Indian HKE experiences. Already I've added some pages in the sidebar.

Excerpts

A. Ganges River Cleanup: After walking past the piles of plastic enough times, I decided to honor the holy river by just picking it up. I organized a cleanup day, and was joined by curious Indians. Recycling projects are in the works.

B. "I look at you and I see the beauty of the light of music": my love affair with a 76 year-old master of music.

C. Our Bodies, Our Friends: Are your mind and body kind to each other?

D. An Accident: One worker at the yoga ashram, Siddhartha, witnessed an accident on the road and tried his hardest to help the man and his family. We collected some money for the doctor fees and visited the man's home. He is either going to die or be paralyzed forever.

E. The Mystical Compassionate Experience: An analysis of the act of giving as a transcendental experience.

rishikesh, from outside my room at the ashram

Uttam Das' grandson Aman trying his best at 'Hot Cross Buns'

the mind and the body, the teacher and the student, the water and the sand, the branch and the root

Elaborations

A. Ganges River Cleanup:

Every day I walked along the Ganges to my music lesson, and eventually I just 'couldn't say nothing'. Many Indian tourists walk on that stretch, on a mini-pilgrimage to worship the river. Some take out a wreath of strung flowers, say a prayer, and drop it into the river, followed with the plastic bag it came in. Or they pour a milk libation and then throw the plastic milk bag into the wind. One sunny day I came back and started picking up plastic. It was fun - wading in the water, rinsing the sand out of the bags. I knew I would get attention, and when the curious Indians stopped I would talk with them - about how long plastic stays; about how we can recycle; about how we must care for this land that belongs to all of us, and to Hindus is like the floor of a temple.

Then I got more organized. I bought big empty potato sacks. I found out there was an ashram nearby that collected plastic and delivered it to Delhi for recycling. I was there every day. I even told all the foreigner yoga students, and planned a big cleanup day when they could come (even offered to pay for their breakfasts and tea/coffee). It was a Sunday, when many Indian tourists would come to do worship or take a bath in the Ganges.

That Sunday no yoga students showed up. One Taiwanese woman, Monica, with a wonderful big heart, came and helped. But throughout the day I was there, and about a dozen Indians stopped and helped for a bit. It was really incredible - they just stopped going somewhere and started picking up plastic. I talked to quite a few Indians - perhaps the more important awareness-raising that makes waves of difference. We filled five potato sacks.

The best was the kids. They wandered over and started helping. It was a game, and we were the young kids, playing in the sun and water, that didn't know any better. Shiv Kumar and Mohit (who can't go to school because his family is too poor), both ten years old, helped all day and came back the next. I'll never forget the revelation I saw in Mohit's eyes when he understood that 'hum isse dusre chiz banaenge' - 'we can make new things out of this'. And they did it all with innocence and sincerity. Afterwards they were surprised when I bought them each a kg of chikkus as a thank you.

In terms of systemic change, I've gotten to talk to many Indian passers-by, and I know that the image of a white guy picking up their plastic from their holy river is something they'll remember. Talking with Jitendra Kumar, who runs the recycling station, I'm learning that all the infrastructure is in place for city-wide recycling, but it's that first spark of I-can-make-a-difference that's missing. I'm having trouble getting hold of the Municipal Chairman, who's work day starts at 11am and ends at 1pm. Even at the yoga ashram, 50 feet uphill from where I was cleaning, the workers were dumping trash and plastic onto a big pile in the sand.

I've found a real partner in Siddhartha, who gives talks at the ashram and has studied ancient sanskrit texts for 15 years. His life is dedicated to service. He tells me what the ancient seers would have to say, as we wander and wade around picking up plastic. Together we're going to get the ashram to set up a recycling system (Jitendra already drives by every day on pickup runs). And we can talk to other hotels, ashrams, and shops to spread the word.

Mohit, Pratap, and Shiv Kumar, playing in the river with me

90 degrees to the left, the ashram's permanent beach dumpster

B. "The Beauty of the Light of Music":

You see this tiny old man, crouching under a large painting of a holy man. The painting is of Swami Sivananda, known throughout the world, and the tiny man painted it 15 years ago when he was Swami Sivananda's personal musician. The tiny man, Mr. Uttam Das, is now 76 years old; he has dedicated his life to music and art. He plays the tabla and the ancient packwaj; he plays the harp-like santoor and its almost-extinct relative the sarobandar; he sings and paints. He is of the generation of musicians that don't belong to this world any more. He's stopped teaching; now he rattles around his room upstairs while his four children, and a few grandchildren, teach and practice all types of Indian classical music downstairs. Through a string of coincidences and good luck, I came to be his student, learning classical singing. There is no Western equivalent to the Indian relationship of teacher and student.

Every day I come and sit with him for two hours. Usually he talks about music - about the pure spiritual music, Naad, that can't be heard, about depths and subtleties I have only glimpsed. We drink chai, he listens to me sing, he eats his lunch ('just a formality'). He gives me some new material, most of the time. I go buy him cigarettes, or an umbrella.

Traditionally tabla players, and all classical musicians, spend years learning vocal music. It is considered the basis of all the other music in India. So I'm learning singing, but with a rhythmic perspective. Uttam Das always talks of the importance of 'mathematics and balance' in music. I agree.

I try to be the best student I can, and consequently learn very quickly. He's proud of me, but sometimes seems conflicted that I'm so eager and able to bypass the traditional learning style (which could take 10-15 years). One time he yelled at me, saying, "You eat music like a monkey!". But he likes showing me off to visitors, throwing new challenges at me to impress them (like clapping out a 15-beat cycle while reciting it twice in 7.5 beats and then four times as fast, twice).

But the best times are when we play together. He may spontaneously decide to play backup drums to my singing (testing my hold on the rhythms), or have me play tabla while he picks up the santoor or sarobandar. Sometimes he has me come in the evening, just to play together, and this is when the real magic happened. I'm permitted to witness, and take part in, this ancient musician's departure to the world of music. For him it is a familiar and comforting world, filled with melodies he loves sweetly. He becomes half wise master and half innocent child, and a serene smile appears under his cheerful eyes.

I feel grateful just to occassionally see this transformation. But I also know that I help bring it about. The best thing you can give a musician is someone to make music for. And not only am I a willing listener, but I play tabla for him, and thus intimately participate, offering what I can.

Uttam Das is starting to get old. His health is declining, and his musical skills and memory are inevitable going as well. I feel that one reason he enjoys teaching me so much is that I represent the continuation of the music, the music with which he has unified his life. When faced with decline and death, coupling it with its complementary creation and life can make it all make sense.

Usually I don't make it out of the house without stopping downstairs to play with Uttam Das' 28 year-old son, Pankaj. He's one of those really incredible tabla players, and we're real pals now. I don't have the money for lessons, but we usually end up playing anyway, exchanging compositions or playing games (like simultaneously playing a four-beat and five-beat composition that land on the one together). Pankaj appreciates someone who, while maybe 1/20th the player he is, understands the subtleties, and has seen so much music, in India and elsewhere. Recently I showed him pictures and music of the other world drumming I know - Cuban bata, Japanese taiko, West African djembe, Balinese Gamelan. I made him a CD, and, at his insisting, also included Usher's 'Yeah, Yeah, Yeah'.

music

Pankaj teaching

C. Our Bodies, Our Friends:

I'm taking an intensive Iyengar yoga course at the Omkarananda Yoga Ashram. Yoga is many things, but in its physical practice it is basically a way of exploring your self (body, mind, intellect, unconscious, etc) via poses. It is a methodical and ancient way of developing, expanding, and spreading awareness throughout your body. Yoga helps you realize the many connections within your body, mind, and beyond. It is a simple way of learning to listen to the messages you continually recieve from within.

For example, when we sit we can turn our feet out in a V, or make them parallel. If they turn out, then the knees move apart, tail bone curves in, spine sinks, shoulders close, lungs shrink, and we soon feel tired and heavy. If the feet are kept parallel, the thighs move together, tailbone moves down, spine lengthens, shoulders open, lungs expand, and we feel refreshed and light. Maybe we even smile, because our mind has made our body happy, and our body is returning the favor.

So what is the relationship between your mind and body? Is the mind the boss and the body the employee? Is the mind the driver and the body the vehicle? Is the mind the father and the body the son? Is one the teacher and one the student? If your body and mind are going to be together your whole life, why not help them become friends?

Downward-facing Dog Pose, with straight backs

Tortoise Pose, where you get to go inside

D. An Accident:

This is a sad story that demonstrates several ordinary aspects of Indian life and kind action.

One early morning Siddhartha, who lectures on Indian philosophy in the ashram, watched an old nightwatchman he knew, Mr. Ranit Bahadur, get hit by a truck. The truck didn't stop, presumably because the driver was afraid of getting in trouble, although it was a military truck and the military probably has insurance. Ranit was bleeding from his head, and needed to go to the hospital. Siddhartha tried to stop some rickshaws, but none stopped, as no one wanted to take on the responsibility. Siddhartha drove his scooter to one police stand, but no one was there. He went to another, and the officers were slow to wake up and get moving. Finally they got to the man, stopped a rickshaw, and headed to a large government hospital. The hospital took them, but didn't have any stitches. So Siddhartha had to go out across the street to the medical shops to buy some. But they were all closed, as it was too early. Eventually, he could buy the stitches, for Rs. 20 ($0.50). Mr. Bahadur's head was stitched up, but he had lost a lot of fluid.

That day Siddhartha told us the story in yoga class (full of foreigners), and asked us to donate money for the family, which lives in a nearby village and has very little. The hospital charges would be insurmountable for them. Among the 30 of us, we collected Rs. 3000 ($2/person). I don't usually succumb to cynicism, but it really tore me up, watching these beourgoisie yuppies slipping their loose change into the box, knowing that yesterday they might've spent 20 times that to buy a shiny crystal whose magic healing powers they hoped would alleviate their constipation. The Rs. 3000 wasn't enough to cover any costs - the family would have to sell some land. It served only as a gesture demonstrating concern, which is worthy in itself only if it really is backed up with concern. And what I saw in the 'yogis' was some concern, but also self-centered guilt and fear.

I wanted to visit the family with Siddhartha. So we went, with another student Michaela from Austria, to their village. It was a long sad walk in the rain, on a muddy road surrounded by fields of intense green and thin yellow flowers. In the distance the blue-grey Himalayan foothills shot up from the plain and disappeared into the low grey-blue sheet of clouds. The family - a brother, a son, wives, six grandchildren - were quiet with tired faces. If Mr. Bahadur doesn't die, he will be paralyzed forever and bankrupt the family as they dutifully care for their elder. They accepted the money we brought. We didn't stay for long, just sat silently with them, using our eyes to connect and offer our humility and respect. From what I've experienced of death, I think it is best honored with humility and respect. When we left I said an emphatic 'Namaste' - a common Indian salutation, whose literal meaning is 'The god in me bows to the god in you.'

E. The Mystical Compassionate Experience:

There's this thing called the mystical experience. As far as I know, it's had a place in every human civilization, but is notoriously nebulous. It's almost defined by its indescribable-ness. It is an intensely personal experience, and refuses to fit into time, space, or language. Everyone who experiences it recognizes it as defying logic and language, and then usually proceeds to use logic and language to interpret it. There are books written, philosophies and religions created for this purpose. And there are methods and institutions established for helping other people to experience this mystical experience. Thus we have meditation techniques and mantras, showing us the door. And endless imagery to use to interpret what we find inside. But in the end, it is a spontaneous personal experience that transcends these teachings and vocabularies. No one can feel it for us. In the end we can only try and make ourselves more receptive, move closer to the edge and wait.

The only other generalization is that those that have had this experience describe it as a unitive one. We feel, and are, unified beyond our common experience of separateness. And this is a deeply fulfilling and meaningful experience.

As I really explore the essence of 'the act of helping', I'm seeing many parallels. Before we actually help there's a spark, of something, that results in us deciding to help. We're walking down the street, and spontaneously pick up a piece of garbage and put it in the trashbin. Everything follows the logic of this world (perceiving the trash, the muscles moving to bend over) except for that instantaneous spark of decision. Actually, I don't think it's a spark of decision; I think it's a spark, resulting in a decision. The spark is the experience of feeling connected, somehow, to this piece of trash and its fate, to the cleanliness of this road, to the society that created it, to the environment it lives in. Real selfless compassion doesn't make any sense at all, until you see yourself as connected to everything else - until you basically transcend your separateness and feel unified with the 'stuff you aren't'.

This spark usually happens spontaneously, surprises us as we're on our way to do or be something else. How open we are to acknowledge it - that's up to us. The magic words: willingness and surrender. If we do acknowledge it, and consequently act, the result is indeed felt as unifying and deeply fulfilling and meaningful.

It's interesting to look at the human creations that have developed around this transcendental experience of compassionate concern. We have values and morals describing appropriate action (yes, these are also very handy for societal crowd-control, but notice that we make a distinction between mindlessly acting 'as you would have done to you' and acting purely selflessly). We have institutions for helping - charities, hospitals, governments. From childhood we're taught to be altruistic, given many reasons and methods. In the end, though, it is a personal experience, and it is up to us. There will always be inconsiderate doctors and corrupt politicians, just as there will always be profound glances and heartwarming ticketcollectors. Connecting is a personal unifying experience that happens (and can happen) all the time, everywhere.

What I'm noticing is that this understanding of helping is self-reinforcing. The more I help, the more I feel connected, and the easier it is for me to step outside myself and help more. The result is that I spend more and more time acting compassionately, and more and more time identifying with things outside my self. I can personally testify that this is very fulfilling and meaningful.

The Universe at the Bottom of the Empty Cup

2005-02-25T23:24:00.000-05:00

During my short stint as a potter, I discovered a combination of cup glazes that allowed for a magical chai-drinking experience. After the sharing ritual of sitting and sipping chai together with a friend, the drinker looks into the cup to find an expansive universe of deep shimmering and reflected light. While connecting with a thirsty guest, the drinker empties the vessel. By emptying the vessel and looking inside, the drinker reveals the spacious universe at the bottom of it all - in which his or her reflection is dispersed and interwoven with everything else in a web of light. With time and evaporation, the bottom will become an opaque layer of dried chai and spices. It is then time to invite another friend over for a cup.

One of my realizations during this HKE is that the cup exists to be filled and emptied. This process represents the curiosity and concern of the simple human act of kindness. It represents the oscillation between unity and separateness that is the human condition.

******

My trip started in Delhi, where for the first time I subordinated all other aspects of my scattered life to the singular intent to help and connect. Quickly, I discovered a diverse spectrum - from political damage-control to systemic social change to creative generosity to cross-cultural dialogue to simple eye contact and being.

In Pune I entered the matrix of NGOs (non-govt orgs) and social organizations that are really getting things done, run by passionate, intelligent people with big hearts and ideas. This was Sarah at Shelter Associates and Mira the Ashoka fellow.

At the same time I befriended and connected with Subash Thorat and his family. This showed me the richness of caring and helping, even if for just one family. I think the real gift I gave was some new hope, which Subash turned into a new job. The real gift I received was awe at the simplicity and goodness of this exchange.

On the bus with Subash, going to visit his house, I had an experience that I'll never forget. The novelty of our friendship wore off, and we sat silently. I had sat like this on dozens of busses before, surrounded by strangers - but this time it was an intimate act of being with someone else. We stopped trying, returned to our own internal worlds, stared out the window. But we let each other in, to show and see this raw banal truth. This happened again living in Mira' flat, and later sleeping on Sarah's couch. Combined with all the classical music I sat for, it taught me an important lesson. One of the greatest gifts we can give is the act of simply being, of exposing our selves. By keeping this in mind, despite being so transient I was able to share very personally with many people - Mira, Sarah, Subash in Pune, Gagan and Anjali in Mahabaleshwar, Santosh at Sadhana Village, Suraj in Darjeeling, the Ghoshals in Kolkata, etc.

****

I started realizing the importance of knowing yourself in order to be kind to others. The more I shared with people, the more I learned about myself in the process. So development of ourselves and development of compassionate connections go hand-in-hand. This is a continual co-evolution - the more we help, the more we learn about ourselves, the more able we are to help. At Sevagram I found this idea in Gandhi's philosophy and life; he believed all change must start with ourselves. Later, in Rishikesh, I saw this taken too far - people were too busy chasing personal goals of development to care about each other.

These ideas - that being sincere and vulnerable is being kind, and that by sharing we help each other grow - expanded the dimension of humility in my actions. I started to really offer myself, as I was; surrender to a situation, without expectations but with curiosity. By focusing on humility, I also overcame a major obstacle that had appeared: it takes a lot of courage and strength to go out day after day, not knowing what will happen but promising that you will meet it willingly. But I was doing the best I could, and it was all an experiment, after all. Thus I was able to teach drumming at Sadhana Village, teach math in Kolkata, and sit down with incredible musicians and humbly play with them as best I could.

So rather than wander around thinking, "How can I help?", I thought, "How can we help each other grow? What can we learn from each other?". I learned a lot. There are so many good ideas out there. At Sevagram and Gwalior I learned about sustainable living, ceramic refridgerators, and non-violence. In fact, sharing good ideas is a good idea itself. In Pune, Shelter Associates and Mira focus on networking organizations to share information. In Bodh Gaya, MAITRI focuses on preventing leperacy by educating the public. In Kalimpong, the DGAS visits villages to treat livestock and make suggestions like: grade the stable floor so the urine doesn't stagnate. The lesson: sharing information and telling stories are two of the most effective, versatile, and enjoyable ways of connecting. Rather than focusing on getting more technology, more money, and more people, we need to better use the technology, money, and people we already have. Rather than trying to hunt down and kill all our enemies (and quite a few sympathizers), we need to look at the stories we're telling the world. We need to contrast the stories of arrogant pre-emptive strike, prison abuse, and Janet Jackson's breasts, with other stories.

****

At Sadhana Village I discovered two complementary frameworks for understanding the beauty and meaning of the compassionate lifestyle.

First. The people at SV all had unlucky physical equipment, but underneath were all so sincere and sweet. While on the outside, Bappu never spoke and our communications were by wide-eyed stares and handshakes, on the inside this was a wise and gentle old man and we were able to connect and share something with each other. The folks at SV made apparent the difference between our physical forms and our psychological (or maybe even spiritual) forms. I came to feel that the result of caring for someone, and being cared for, was a unification. Our arbitrary human forms represent a broken symmetry, between you and me, and by making a kind connection we restore this symmetry and realize a unity. That's my interpretation of the feeling. I remember feeling this particularly strongly with the Gwalior Post Office boys, and with Suraj, Amar, and the mountains during our Himalayan trek.

Second. At Sadhana Village I helped out - which meant hanging around until I could help somehow, and doing it. This 'hanging around' was a magical state. I just waited quietly, with willingness and kindness, holding onto my desire to help, listening to my intuition and creativity. I conversed, played games, and walked around with people. They all did the same. Suddenly Kalpana would need help getting up the stairs, or Mohan would need help carrying the milk, or I would decide to make a tape for Amol. Then the symmetry would break, and I would become the 'helper' and them the 'helped'. Or someone else would give Kalpana and hand. Or I would need help with something. We existed as equals, as friends, as one 'family'. Spontaneously, something would happen, initiated by the unfolding of the present or the unfolding of our creative imagination; only then would we separate, to play roles in an exchange of concern/kindness. Afterwards we would return to our symmetric state of willing attention, with a positive feeling and sense of purpose. I experienced this strongly, albeit briefly, with the Gwalior Post Office boys. Although we were strangers, they acted as though we were already friends, just waiting for a chance to help each other. This was also the story of the Darjeeling trek, and with Santosh and Siddhi.

Thus there is an oscillation or our identities (both self-conception and social role), between symmetry and asymmetry, unity and separateness.

****

On the one hand this is very profound and abstract, but on the other it is very practical. It suggests a method for helping.

Don't try to help. Don't try to be friends. Approach everyone with humility and willingness, and quietly listen until an opportunity for expressing kindness emerges. Let innate creativity speak up. This is not easy - quieting myself so I can listen to the present. Developing this empty stillness and open willingness is an example of the earlier idea of developing one's self in order to better connect/help.

From Sadhana Village onwards, I used this method, and I think that was the secret to the HKE working out so naturally. Opportunities to help just seemed to effortlessly fall in my lap, and I took them up as they came. Everything unfolded before me, clearly and simply.

This self-reinforcing cycle continues. The more I help, the more I feel unified beyond myself, the easier it is to quietly listen for how to help and connect more. The Rishikesh post expresses this with good stories.

*****

In the end, my experiences suggest a different perception of reality. There is an underlying unity, more fundamental than this world or separate forms (Indians call it maya). We experience this unity through connecting, and a simple and meaninful way of connecting is by being kind and helping each other. Meaning is derived from honoring and exploring these connections.

This also suggests a different way of life - where everyday human interactions, the stories we tell each other, and our web of connections has utmost importance. Since development as a person and development of positive connections go together, the process of living is a co-evolution, and co-operation, with our surroundings. We must always raise each other up, because really we are each other. This is done simply by acting out of humility - by quietly being ourselves and listening with willingness and surrender.

****

What is the next step, for me? As I think about, and feel, the interdependence of everything, I'm turning towards the earth as a whole. I connect strongly to Nature, and my concern for the relationship between humanity and Nature is growing. In New Zealand I'll work on a few organic farms, and walk in the woods (and on beaches, in jungles, through Mordor...). I'll focus on acting humbly, and sharing stories.

Reactions and Receivings

2005-02-25T07:31:00.000-05:00

From the beginning this experiment has been about connection, and connections are not one-sided. The idea was to give and receive both ways. I thought documenting reactions and receptions would be an integral and essential part of the project. What happened?

I dropped the ball, sort of. There has been so many positive reactions, feedback, responses, in so many different forms and sizes. And I receive so much from India and Indians, even before I can initiate an exchange. I couldn't keep track of it all. It was further complicated by the fact that my transient one-bag-and-a-pair-of-tabla lifestyle didn't allow for extravagant gifts or thank you gifts.

Recognizing the spectrum of manifestations of giving also helped me understand: there are many ways of saying thank you. It didn't seem right to end every encounter with, "Now smile and say thank you for camera." When people share and give from themselves, it's really impossible and silly to keep track of what gift is a response to what gift,

Below I'll give an off-the-cuff list of things I received, but first to generalize:

From the social organizations I donated to, on behalf of my American friends, there were copious and thorough thank yous. Many dramatically-official receipts, pamphlets and booklets, lifetime subscriptions to newsletters, pins, calendars. Answers to any question I could imagine to ask on visits (these I liked very much, as I learned and got to see much - leperacy, slums, etc). I always explained my project, and the American sources of concern that were putting the wind in my sails, and the thank yous were extended to them. Occassionally there was eventually a further request for help. Subash wanted to buy an ambulance for the labor union; he would put my name on it. Sanjoy Damyanti asked for an exorbitant amount to fund his school; I discussed with him how this external, over-ambitious funding would've been frowned upon by Gandhi, and two months later he found the funding locally.

From the small gifts I gave, there was always a wonderful combination of surprise, delight, appreciation, and pulling closer.

From the aquaintances and friendly conversations, I learned so much about India, life, everything. These people didn't bother to offer physical stuff, but told me I could visit them and stay at their houses, or call them if I had any trouble at the train station, or go to their friends' shop and get a discount.

From the unspoken connections straight between hearts (meaning deep centers of selves), I got the strongest positive feedback. Understanding, peace, pure kindness. Needless to say, these were hard to document and relay, but I felt them very powerfully - whether while picking up plastic, or pausing to make eye contact and smile, or letting someone notice me eat Indian-style one-handed.

Did I leave my American friends out? Rather than give a list of X says thank you for Y, I tried to tell the stories of the encounters. These stories are the essence of this experiment, and their telling is the manifestation of the positive connections that have been made.

Everywhere I go in India, I tell my story, and the stories of America. I told the young man who carried a photo of Osama bin Laden in his wallet about my sister, studying creative writing in a New York skyscraper. At the same time, on this website I tell my Indian story to America. I showed pictures of Diwali and explained the depth of Indian classical music.
The Indians learn about America; the Americans learn about India. India comes to understand and care for America; America comes to understand and care for India.

Now a list of gifts and return gifts I received, in no particular order:

--innumberable cups of chai
--innumberable meals: in homes, in restaurants, on the street, in trains (it is unacceptable to eat in front of someone without offering them some food, and it is almost unacceptable to refuse when offered)
--free rides: bus, motorcycle, scooter, rickshaw, car
--companionship: on Thanksgiving, when sick
--smiles and positive affirmation ("You should talk to more people.", "You should continue to travel in India and meet Indians.")
--the 'subash experience': a sort of overwhelming being together, that I first felt with Subash Tora, and may try to elaborate on later, or not
--call to home by Subash Tora: to say thank you and wish my family a happy Diwali
--help with my laptop: straight from the source, Anjali the call-center worker I met in Mahabaleshwar
--lessons in hindi: from talking to thousands of talkative Indians
--guides at almost everywhere
--directions almost everywhere
--to learn so many things
--complements on hindi, project, tabla
--sacred cloth at Gwalior gurudwara: they told me I could only use it on my head and shoulders, but I'm not the type that walks around with a sacred cloth on his head, and my towel had just been stolen from the hotel roof, and I consider my whole body to be sacred - so it became and remains my towel
--holy candy offering at Gwalior gurudwara: which I carried around until I decided to throw it towards Mt. Everest when I saw it
--a week of free, high-quality food: from Scott the Swarthmore professor, who was still thinking in dollars
--about 40 days of free lodging: from staying at Sarah's in Pune, Sadhana Village, Mira's in Pune, and Suraj's in Darjeeling
--help at train stations, banks, Post Offices (go to Gwalior Post for one of my favorite HKE stories)
--lifetime subscription, pins, calendars, pamphlets, thank you notes, and official reciepts: for donations
--meeting up with Subash Tora and seeing him working at his new job
--Rs. 5 from a Sadhana Village man who wanted me to give it to a Hindu temple for him; it emotionally turned into Rs. 500 at the Kali temple in Kolkata
--homemade candle from Sadhana Village, given to Mira
--homemade cloth from Sadhana Village, used for my tabla seat
--wonderful, large shawl from Mira as a parting gift, used for warmth, a pillow, and soon-to-be-sleeping-bag
--use of all sorts of warm clothes for our trek, from Amar in Darjeeling
--all-expenses-paid stay in Darjeeling, at Suraj's youth hostel, from Suraj
--several thank you cards and emails
--so much, from sharing music with folks
--a massage

Large-Money Givings

2005-02-25T07:14:00.000-05:00

One form my Human Kindness Experiment took was in giving small, carefully-placed donations to social organizations that I visited and got connected with. Sometimes I gave a large amount of money to a friend. On this page, I will summarize these relatively large money givings. At the end there's a final financial summary. You're not allowed to read this unless you promise to refer to the posts for stories and explanations.

format:
Place
Organization Amt in Rupees (Amt in US$)
Brief explanation
In Post, when not apparent

Delhi
(Delhi Post)

INTACH Rs. 1500 ($35)
Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage
essay prize for "Peace is Our Heritage" essay contest

Kalakar Trust Rs. 1000 ($24)
helping poor artist communities in Delhi's slums
half for musicians (instruments, costumes); half for health care/counseling

Shishu Ashram Rs. 300 ($7)
a school for poor and blind children

Pune

Subash Tora Rs. 333 ($8)
8 days of food for family
(Subash Tora Post)

Subash Tora Rs. 2350 ($55)
a bicycle to look for work
(Subash Tora II Post)

Shelter Associates Rs. 3000 ($71)
Baandhani, an organization of slumdwellers to teach/guide/organize other slumdwellers
(Pune and Mahabaleshwar Post)

Sevagram
(Sevagram Post)

Sanjoy Damyanti Rs. 2500 ($59)
an alternative school in the traditional gurukul style, including music and ancient Indian math education

Gwalior
(Gwalior Post)

Gurudwara Rs. 1500 ($35)
the community meals

Mumbai

CRY Rs. 4000 ($94)
Child Relief and You
a year of education for five city children
(Year-End Post)

Sadhana Village
(Sadhana Post)

Sadhana Village Rs. 3000 ($71)
whatever they want

Santosh, Siddhi, and Sakshi Rs. 10,000 ($235)
security deposit on new flat; to be returned interest-free sometime in the future

Darjeeling
(Darjeeling Post)

Suraj and Amar Rs. 2277 ($54)
transportation, food, lodging - trail magic

Amar Rs. 1200 ($28)
guide bonus

Suraj Rs. 2000 ($47)
half for his free lifestyle, half for his late father's hostel

TRSHC Rs. 300 ($7)
Tibetan Refugee Self-Help Center
for Tibetan orphans

Tibetan gompas Rs. 2500 ($59)
to five different gompas in Darjeeling and Kalimpong, one with a 3D mandala

NGSSC Rs. 3000 ($71)
Nepali Girls Social Service Center
for vocational training of young village women

DGAS Rs. 5000 ($118)
Darjeeling Goodwill Animal Shelter
to cows

Bodh Gaya
(Bodh Gaya Post)

MAITRI Rs. 5000 ($118)
Leperacy Hospital and health education

And In The End...

The total for these large money givings is Rs. 50,760 ($1194). The total from the small money givings (that I kept track of) is Rs. 5407 ($127). Thus from November 7, 2004 to March 10, 2005, the total amount of money given is Rs. 56,168 ($1321). From American friends I had collected $948; the other $373 came from myself. During these four months I also spent roughly $1300 of my own money for my own living/traveling/wandering expenses, providing the context for this Human Kindness Experiment.

Here's a recent story that adds an interesting flavor to this mouthful of money and cross-cultural exchange:
Tarun, 20, works at a bookstore/moneychanger shop that I pass and visit daily. Two days ago a Canadian, using a counterfeit credit card, ripped him off of Rs. 95,000 ($2,000). And so it goes.

Small-Money Givings

2005-02-25T07:04:00.000-05:00

Giving a gift is really an art. It takes timing, understanding, intuition, and spontanaeity. It also takes a lot of creativity. And it usually takes a little money, but not much. This page is for taking note of small gifts I found a way to give. It's mostly here because of the stories.

Note that all the gifts are purchased goods/services, not direct cash. The total amount of money given is not very much. But these are the really wonderful, well-thought gifts that break down barriers that money sometimes sets up between you and me.

I reached a point where I forgot to keep track of these small purchases, etc. I think this was a good development, because at the same time I unconsciously increased the frequency of this type of giving. I've tried to recall most of them, because they make for nice little stories.

The conversion averaged Rs. 42.50 = $1.00, so divide these numbers by 50 for rough dollar amounts.

Delhi
(Delhi Post)

Rs. 90 - firecrackers for the hotel staff that had to work during Diwali, the biggest holiday of the year

Rs. 50 - alarm clock for the hotel, for any other guests that had a graduate school entrance exam to wake up for

Rs. 50 - to Sanjay, an almost-too-gone philosopher, for half a drawing of a pond and stimulating conversation

Pune
(Subash Tora Post)
(Subash Tora II Post)
(Pune and Mahabaleshwar Post)

Rs. 40 - developing fee for Subash Tora's copy of our glorious studio photograph

Rs. 185 - mango sweets, then brown bread, then again mango sweets, as gifts for Mira and her family

Rs. 500 - parting gift for Mira et al., given to the housemaid Laxmi as a bonus

Rs. 335 - real cheese, again for Mira et al.

Rs. 15 - assorted communal fruit (/2) while staying with Sarah

Rs. 10 - vegetables for a meal (/2) I cooked for Sarah - the only time in the whole four months that I got to cook my own food

Rs. 100 - 'Foreign National' entrance fee to a Gandhi museum, at an estate where he was imprisoned by the British and his wife died. The 'Indian National' fee was Rs. 2; I thought it was interesting how the times have changed.

Rs. 1 - the only time I gave money to a beggar. These laughing kids were playing 'Let's Moan and Make Faces at the White Walking ATM". I didn't give in, but joked with them and chatted while waiting to use a payphone. Then while on the phone, I accidentally dropped one rupee. A girl quickly grabbed it, with a big victorious grin. While still talking on (shouting into, really) the phone, I gestured to her to give it back. She looked at me; she looked at the coin. She gave it back. I was so amazed, I praised her and returned her well-deserved prize.

map of Pune city - left with Mira

candle made by the folks at Sadhana Village - given to Mira as yet another gift

$80 Dunham Wafflestompers (hi-tech hiking sneakers from America) - to some stranger who stole them from me while I was visiting a temple, having left them at the entrance (with a very apologetic shoekeeper and her nursing infant); in return I kept his worn-down sandals, which lasted me all the way to March.

Gwalior
(Gwalior Post)

Rs. 60 - Zakir Hussain tape, for the musically curious hotel boys

Rs. 40 - blank tape and copying fee, for giving Santosh a tape of the song I made for him, a groove created using his recorded voice

Rs. 35 - earphones for the hotel boys

walkman - for the hotel boys, brought from America but unneeded

disinfecting hand cream - to a more-hygenic-than-me Scottish man (who had just been grabbed and soiled by a bleeding madman)

GRE info packet - to a curious, studious, ambitious, low-caste mathematician on a train

Sadhana Village
(Year-End Post)
(Sadhana Post)

Rs. 200 - developing fee for two dozen pictures I took of and for the folks and the valley

Rs. 60 - blank cassette and adaptor, for giving them a copy of world drumming music, and their own singing and drumming

Rs. 40 - blank cassette, for giving world drumming music to Varun, a visiting 'drum therapist' with the rhythm bug

Rs. 50 - a tape of South Indian rhythm master Vikku Vinayakram, to Amol, a grooving Sadhana boy

Rs. 285 - for chai and snacks at a mountain restaurant, and then a swimming fee and coffee. For New Year's, some of the Sadhana folks wanted to go for a walk up the nearby hills. A party of nine of us set out, with me as leader, and promised to be back for dinner. For some of them this was their biggest excursion of the year, and, as these people really know how to dig the present, it was a grand time. Three of us even went swimming, which was a once-in-a-lifetime happening. The sun set and we walked the 4 km back under an ocean of stars like you rarely see, holding hands and singing comforting songs.

watercolor postcard from Chloe in America - to Sakshi, the wonderful child of Santosh and Siddhi

Darjeeling
(Darjeeling Post)

Rs. 110 - hat and gloves, spun and knitted by Tibetan refugees at the Tibetan Refugee Self-Help Center (because they wouldn't take a donation, only except purchases of their made-from-scratch goods), given to Suraj because he losts his on our trek

Rs. 75 - map of India, to use on the website (Map of Travels); for you!

Rs. 18 - red marker, for the map

Rs. 220 - 100 gm bio-organic Darjeeling tea, from the August 2004 harvest, eventually given away to hotel staff, chai shop pals, etc.

Rs. 85 - 50 gm 'First Flush Super Fine Tippy Golden Flowery Orange Pekoe #1' tea, taken from the teapickers' personal stash, with the money going directly to the teapickers. This is the best of the best. It can brew a strong tea in five seconds - this was demonstrated for me. 'First Flush' and '#1' mean this was the first picking of the year, in April, with the strongest and purest flavor. 'Golden Flowery', 'Super Fine', and 'Tippy' refer to the fact that in this first picking they collect the tiny (and sparse) flowers as well, giving the tea a unique flavor. 'Orange Pekoe' is the kind of bush. This tea came from Happy Valley Tea Estate, which has been completely organic since it was started 150 years; some of the original bushes continue to produce. I eventually gave all this away as well.

Austrian handkerchief - given to a young village woman (see post for excellent story)

Kolkata
(Kolkata Post)

Rs. 500 - to a Kali (wild goddess of destruction) temple, after a thorough and moving puja ceremony, in which I watched small goats get beheaded as a sacrifice (the connection lingers after it is severed)

Rs. 250 - tip to Narendra for reheading my tabla, because a world-class skin and a sweet man deserve more than $6.

Rs. 436 - books. For Babu, 'Mathematical Circles' - a collection of cleverly exciting math topics and puzzles from Russia. For Abhinav, 'Narcissus and Goldmund' by Hermann Hesse.

Rs. 40 - chocolates for the Ghoshal family, as a greeting gift

Rs. 100 - for Jyoti, who came to the city to collect money for her poor village in Orissa

Rs. 60 - developing and shipping of a dozen pictures to the hotel staff

'Scientific American' magazine from the US - to Abhinav

Rishikesh
(Rishikesh Post)

Rs. 70 - to Baba Prakash Nath, a saddhu who played a mean been (used to charm snakes). His daughter's wedding was on Valentine's Day

Rs. 20 - a month's total of continually passing and giving to an old blind man and his wife, who played folk tunes on a flute and drum all day long every day. Giving to street musicians is, to me, a sort of Social Security.

Rs. 80 - an umbrella for Uttam Das

Rs. 30 - fruit offerings to Uttam Das, Saraswati, and Durga

Rs. 10 - incense offering to same

Rs. 15 - three trips to buy bidis, tiny Indian cigarettes for tiny Uttam Das. A matchbox of 40 sticks costs Rs. 1, but the matchsticks are pathetic. I once commented to someone, "It's hard to believe that something that's worth one rupee... could *not* be worth one rupee".

Rs. 500 - to Pankaj, who was going to buy a tampura machine to help his tabla practice trance. This was informally in exchange for our pseudo-lessons.

Rs. 20 - notebook for Aman, Uttam Das' grandson

Rs. 100 - cassette and copying of a recording I did of Uttam Das playing, given as a parting gift

Rs. 90 - developing fee for nice pictures I took of Uttam Das and Swami Shivananda

Rs. 220 - CD-burning fees for copies of bad-ass American music I gave to Pankaj

Rs. 20 - developing fee for Ganga-cleaning pictures for the boys, Mohit and Shiv Kumar

Rs. 30 - potato sacks for plastic collection

Rs. 40 - transportation to and from recycling center, with five full sacks and two boys

Rs. 31 - chai and biscuits for Ganga-cleaning helpers

Rs. 120 - one kg chikkus (delicious Indian fruit) each for Mohit and Shiv Kumar

Rs. 47 - fruit and incense as a parting offering to Uttam Das and Saraswati

Total: Rs. 5407 ($127).

Go read the end of Large-Money Givings for a final financial synopsis.

Free-Money Givings

2005-02-25T07:01:00.000-05:00

One aspect of this experiment has been my exploration of the vast spectrum of forms that kindness and personal connection can take. These range from simple acts of being, to glancing affirmations, to aquaintances and friendships that are manifested in exchanges and sharing. The connections range from intimate one-to-one (as in a musical exchange), to global (as in environmental concern), and beyond.

Through the lens of the intentional giving act, calibrated by money, these can be 'free' gifts of time and energy, 'small' gifts of goods/services purchased for a friend, or 'large' gifts of charitable donations to social organizations of systemic change.

To hear stories of those gifts and exchanges that didn't involve money, you just need to go to any post from any part of my travels. To me, these creative gifts from myself - my time, energy, knowledge, imagination - are in fact 'larger' than any money donation.

Here I'll put just a few, that were particularly poignant:

-volunteering at Sadhana Village for two weeks, helping out and teaching hands-on drumming to the unique folks there
Sadhana Village Post
Year-End Post

-teaching a math class to Babu's tutees in Kolkata
Kolkata Post

-sharing music
Rishikesh Post
Kolkata Post
Gwalior Post

-cleaning the holy Ganges River, and setting up recycling at the yoga ashram
Rishikesh Post

Bodh Gaya

2005-02-07T04:01:00.000-05:00

I left the music of Kolkata in a rare rainstorm and headed west. For two days I was in Bodh Gaya, Bihar - an island of Buddhism in India's poorest state. Then I continued to Rishikesh, Uttaranchal, a beautiful and holy city where the Ganges river leaves the mountains. Here I'm settled in a yoga ashram taking intense yoga classes, practicing tabla, and taking tabla and classical Indian vocal lessons. I'll be here until mid-March.

Excerpts

A. MAITRI: an organization dedicated to leperacy prevention and treatment. While they treat lepers in their hospital, they focus on prevention through health education. This means dispelling the myth that leperacy is a curse, and spreading the word that free medicine is available to completely cure this disease. I discovered that I too could use some education. Gave Rs. 5000 ($118). (also: read about the underground government that's taking over India!)

B. Elections: Lots of politics have gone down lately. Bodh Gaya had a response to Iraq's elections, while Bihar prepared for an important state election that might get rid of Laloo, the corruptedest chief minister who's watched the state sink. And as Bush starts frothing at the mouth again, the people here have a lot to say. (editor's note: looks like Laloo's back)

C. Ecology: First comes willingness, then comes concern and attention, then comes action. Usually the willingness is the only intentional part, the rest just unfolds. But how does this pertain to loving our little planet?

Elaborations

A. MAITRI:
Bodh Gaya is where the Buddha sat and was enlightened. There's a wonderful temple complex around the Bodhi Tree, and many other nations have built Buddhist temples in this town. Outside the temples are lines of beggars. The state of Bihar is India's poorest, and has the highest percentage of leperacy cases.

What do you do when someone comes up to you without any fingers, bandages on their feet, asking for money? Many people would give a little, but out of pity or guilt - and this is hardly meaningful or helpful. Many other people would shrink away, afraid that they might catch something. Last week I admitted to myself that I didn't know anything about leperacy, and didn't know how I could help. The cold wall between me and them was just in my imagination, created by my ignorance. For many Indians this wall is supported by the karmic myth of an inherited (and deserved) evil curse, and many lepers are too ashamed to seek the treatment that could heal them.

MAITRI treats lepers in their free hospital, and focuses on preventing leperacy by educating both lepers and nonlepers about what leperacy actually is. Three years ago I came to Bodh Gaya, and gave Rs. 500 to MAITRI, wanting to help in a way that would matter. This trip I planned to revisit MAITRI. It turns out the day I arrived was 'World Leperacy Day 2005', and they were distributing pamphlets and blasting information on the street with loudspeakers.

Leperacy is a disease caused by a germ, only mildly contagious. It starts with a numb rash, grows to a hairless ulcer, spreads to kill nerves, and eventually results in loss of fingers, toes, etc. At any stage it can be cured (although fingers don't grow back). The question is: sooner or later or never? The medicine, MDT, is free at public health clinics and easily self-administered. Besides miseducation, there's no reason anyone should suffer from this illness.

And yet, when I visited the MAITRI hospital, there was a taxi with an old, poor leperacy patient inside. The folks at MAITRI were torn because he was in too bad a condition - they had to turn him away. I wondered how he had paid for the taxi to get here, and how he could ever pay the fees of the government hospital he was deferred to.

MAITRI, as an organization, has succeeded tremendously considering the strains it is under. Established in 1989, MAITRI has excellent hospital facilities, but can only take care of a few dozen patients at a time. Yet they are solely responsible for all the cases in the Gaya district of Bihar, with a population of about 4 million. What about the government? The government has done almost nothing (see B below). In fact, in 2002, the government came to MAITRI and asked for help, and since then they've supervised the creation and development of the government's leperacy program.

I think that's amazing! With a bogus government ignoring the people, this organization started its own program and was successful. Finally the government came and asked them for help in creating its own leperacy program. This is not the first time I've heard this story in India - well-run NGOs filling the holes of the government, which eventually defers to their success. Still, MAITRI relies solely on donations. So finding these NGOs and donating to them is basically fueling an underground government, formed as a network of local, energized and efficient social organizations directly serving the problems of communities. Amazing.

I gave a donation of Rs. 5000 ($118), half for leperacy treatment and half for health education.

just because it takes care of all the lepers of Gaya's 4 million people doesn't mean the hospital is easily accessible; sorry no leper pictures

B. Elections:
I think there are many differences between freedom and democracy. One is that freedom can only come from inside - whether from inside a person or a country.

On Iraq's election day I was in Bodh Gaya. There was a 'world peace prayer' at the huge 80ft Buddha statue; holy people from many religions spoke. Later, I was inside a beautifully simple Japanese Zen Buddhist temple, being led in a zazen meditation, when the 'Bell of Peace' across the courtyard was struck. The sound resonated a long time inside.

Bihar is having important state elections now. At night, heavy rain didn't stop the half-dozen parades of chanting men, all waving different parties' flags. There were crowds around TVs, listening to speeches until the power was cut and they discussed by candlelight. Twice I saw and heard the sirens of the riot police van, going somewhere fast through the muddy streets. It was all very dramatic. One reason: the people want to get rid of the corrupt Chief Minister, hated by everyone except the folks he pays to vote for him, referred to as 'Laloo', always with a chuckle and sigh.

India's democracy is very different from the USA's. There are dozens of parties representing different platforms, which end up compromising and forming coalitions in order to create a majority. The result is that parties are defined by, and get their power based on, their positions on issues (not on which guy's taller), and every decision requires dialogue, compromise, and collaboration. (But as a politician you can get your criminal cases postponed, so politics has become filled with literal criminals.)

I never realized there are such different kinds of democracy. If the US is going to succeed in imposing democracy on Iraq (etcetera), it'll have to be a unique form of democracy that fits the region. It'll be interesting to see what emerges, although right now I can't even find out who the candidates were.

Another interesting story: on the train I like to stand in between cars, looking out the door. On the trip from Bodh Gaya there was a politician in the first class car next to my second class car. At all the stops he would meet a crowd of cheering men and would energetically lead them in chants. Between stops we would stand silently and look out the door together. At one point he tried to bum a cigarette off me.

the 'Bell of Peace'

actually from Kalimpong, which was covered with these hand-painted election poems and symbols. That's a big army van of 'peacekeepers' next to it.

C. Ecology:
As my sense of concern has shifted with time, lately it's been focusing on our connection with Nature. A development from trekking in the Himalayas, suffocating in Kolkata, visiting the trees, and feeling rain for the first time in three months (in the form of a two-day downpour). I wish we thought of ourselves as part of the ecosystem, instead of its boss. It would change so many things. What form does compassion take here, when it's directed towards the planet? I re-evaluated my habits: food started tasting better as I appreciated its source and creation, bags got names as I consolidated and sized up my plastic footprint. My exchange with the ecosystem will always continue, and here is a good example of how being personally mindful can make all the difference.

Now in Rishikesh, I started to look into environmental organizations and discovered two things. One, it just didn't seem like giving money was the right manifestation of a compassionate attention to the environment - better and simpler to just be ecologically. Two, there are hardly any 'social work organizations' here. Rishikesh is a holy Hindu city, full of ashrams and holy people. But hardly an institutionalized way of doing 'good karma'. The ashrams take all their donations and use them mostly to sustain the lucky Brahmin priests therein. While I'm here, I'm going to look into this more.

a typical veg market

primordial polythene ooze; in a bazillion years, when the humans are long gone, the crust of plastic we leave behind will begin breaking down, and new plastic-eating lifeforms will take over

Kolkata

2005-01-29T04:49:00.000-05:00

Excerpts
A. North Indian Classical Music: I stayed in Kolkata (Calcutta) for almost two weeks, and got into the music scene there. Almost every night there were concerts, and I met and played with some musicians.

B. Cheerful Serenity meets Rhythmic Math: The Ghoshals are a family of musicians, with Pandit Arun Ghoshal a tabla master. I went to a few concerts with the son, Sourav, and visited their home. We sat together and played, exchanging not just compositions but also musical understandings.

C. The Irrationality of the Square Root of 2: Through a series of 'quantum mechanical' random events, I got connected with Kolkata's high school math Underground - where math is revealed in its elegance and depth to eager tutees. I ended up giving a sort of lecture, based on the presentation of a proof of the irrationality of root 2. In addition, with one student, Abhinav, we took math out of the classroom and to the chai stall, bookstore, music concert, etc.

Nagin, the chai man, who supplied the caffeine for my all-night music

That's all one tree - the second largest tree canopy in the world, at the Botanical Gardens.

the horizontal limbs are the branches, the vertical 'trees' are above-ground prop roots. You go inside the tree.

this living thing presented a beautiful metaphor for the interconnected web of Us that I think about a lot these days.

Elaborations

A. North Indian Classical Music:

Calcutta - lots of traffic noise, lots of classical music. Lots of foreigners studying music. I met serious sarod, sitar, and tabla students from all over the world, here for a few months for serious practice and lessons. I played with a few, which was exciting.

Lots of concerts. My favorite: the Dover Lane festival - four all-night concerts in a row, with the best of the best performing. I attended three years ago when I came to India, and was awed by the magic and majesty of this tradition. The audience of four thousand is full of connoiseurs, and the spirit of the traditional music is very present. The audience is also full of upper-class snobs, and the family of small bodies sleeping on the cold pavement on my early-morning walk home is still there, except for an infant's blanketed sillouette I remembered but didn't see this time.

One interesting story: during a sitar performance by Shalil Shankar, Shuben Chatterjee was playing tabla. I had snuck up to the second row of the VIP section, to the side so I could watch the tabla. As a tabla player, I know that while playing you sometimes need to solidify your grasp on physical reality, and do this by focusing your eyes somewhere. Well, Shubenbhai focused on me. At first I wasn't sure, but our eyes met and we smiled at each other more than once. During tough solos he would stare at my hand, with which I would keep the pulse for him. Sometimes he would play tricky embellishments and then look right at me, as if to say, "How'd you like that one?", or "Isn't this fun?". It was overall one of the most fun performances all week. We never met or spoke after that, but I feel like I had a conversation and made a friend.

Rashid Khan et al. after singing. The Dover Lane festival is dedicated to small lime-green aliens with bendy arms that play one-string guitars made out of golf tees, called xenorabs.

B. Cheerful Serenity Meets Rhythmic Math:

Pandit Arun Ghoshal is a professional tabla player, employed by All India Radio. His son Sourav is my age, and has been playing tabla since he was seven. Sourav and I met and went to a few concerts together. He gave me the address of one of the best tabla makers in Kolkata, and I got my tabla reheaded there. The visit to the tabla shop was sweet, because after studying tabla making in Jaipur in 2001 I have a deep respect and appreciation for these craftsmen.

One of my best musical exchanges was during a visit to Sourav's home. He lives with his father and sister Somashree, who teaches classical singing. His father is a very traditional player. They showed me fading black and white photos of today's masters, (including Pt. Ravi Shankar and Ustad Alla Rakha) hanging out at festivals, playing together, or sitting with the masters of the generation before. Thus not only could Pt. Arun Ghoshal trace his musical lineage back for generations, but he was connected to the other Pandits and Ustads that carry the wisdom today.

We sat and played together - Sourav, Arunji, and I, with Somashree keeping the rhythm cycle on harmonium and singing occassionally. We knew the same composition, starting 'Ghe na tet te, Ghe na dha ge Di na gi na, tet te gi na...', but knew different variations of the theme. So we taught each other some variations.

The real exchange, however, was not in sharing this substance, but in sharing our different approaches to tabla.

I felt honored to be let into their family in such an intimate way - being a witness and participant as they sat together, making music with such simple joy and closeness. I could tell they did this every night, and it was as much about the music as about simply being with each other. In hindsight, it reminds me of my family's ritual of cleaning the dinner table. Several visitors to our Rhinebeck home, allowed to participate in the ceremony, have remarked that the unique character of the Wolcott family is revealed in this unifying (in the sense of consolidation into plastic) and cleansing act.

While I heard this story of musical warmth, I told my story of rhythm and math. They were impressed by my ability to pick up new material almost instantaneously - to figure out what structures were being manipulated in the variations, and to process that in real time while my knee unceasingly kept the pulse. I explained how I understand tabla compositions - as puzzles with patterns to be revealed. This is essentially what mathematics is, and by using the mind's mathematical machinery, so many things are possible.

It became clear that we experienced tabla very differently, and had managed to give each other musical glimpses across the barriers. For all four of us, it was a sincerely interesting and heart-warming exchange. The only thing that failed to cross the cultural barrier was Somashree's parting words - some Bengali phrase. Later Sourav tried to interpret, but apparently couldn't find the right english words and finally settled on, "I love you".

the tabla womb

Narendra, the tabla maker

after playing with the Ghoshal family - Sourav, Pt. Arun Ghoshal, and Somashree

C. The Irrationality of the Square Root of 2:

Abhinav is a math major at a university here in Calcutta. I met him, and got the inside scoop on math in India. It's a frustrating story of exams, boredom, and stiflingly uncreative beaurocracy. For example: he gave me a tour of his university. I wanted to see the library. The math library was closed for lunch, and the librarian extended his lunch break by an extra half hour. When the time came, we discovered that I had white skin, and somehow that caused a problem. Thankfully we had permission from the head of the department (who asks to be addressed as 'Master'). The books were locked behind glass, but at least I could see the titles, which wasn't the case at the main library.

Abhinav was lucky to have met Babu when he was younger. Babu has the magical ability to make math and physics an exciting and interesting act of creation, thought, and discovery. He tutors 11th and 12th graders in math and physics, fanatically trying to breath life into these subjects before they die and are thrown overboard. Babu, who chain-smokes and drinks chai like it's his job, feels he is slowly losing the battle against rote sterile formulae. The three of us, plus other thinkers, would meet and talk about math and physics at the chai stall for hours.

I visited one of Babu's group sessions and talked with the students. I wanted to tell them something I wish I had known then - about the dance of logic and intuition that is math, really, and how that is represented and integrated into math via proofs. As an example, I gave a proof of the irrationality of root 2.

Basically, it's a proof by contradiction. If you assume root 2 is rational, then it can be written as a fraction m/n, in simplest terms. Then 2 x n^2 = m^2, and m^2 is even. If m^2 is even, m is even (because m can't be odd, and every integer is either even or odd but not both). Write m = 2 x j, and you find n^2 = 2 x j^2. As before, n^2 and n are therefore even. So m and n are both divisible by two, and it is therefore impossible to write root 2 as m/n, where m/n is in simplest terms. Thus root 2 must be irrational.

Abhinav and I became good friends. He is an independent thinker, and is lucky to be from a family that has the means to send him to graduate school. He wants to go to the US, and I want him to as well. When we met, he would always buy the food and drinks, and I would share math/physics tidbits (non-euclidean geometry, vector calculus) and grad school advice.

Darjeeling

2005-01-18T03:31:00.000-05:00

Excerpts

A. Trek in the Himalayas: Darjeeling, at 7500 ft, looks out at hills of tea and up at the tallest mountains in the world. I met some guys, one a trained guide, and off we went to walk in and above the clouds for six days. Hiking together is a really wonderful way to connect and share with people.

B. A Young Village Prostitute: In one village on the trek, I had a close (but not that close) encounter with a 19 year-old prostitute. It really effected me, and back in Darjeeling I found an organization, the Nepali Girls' Social Service Center, that was focusing on the root cause of this problem: economics. I gave Rs. 3000 ($70) to go towards a village vocational training school they run. I also found a clever use for a handkerchief I'd been given (funny story).

C. Tibet's Tsunami of 1950: what was my reaction to the recent tsunami? How did it find me learning about weaving, and visiting Buddhist monasteries? There are three parts to the answer.
C1. History Lesson
C2. Tibetan Refugee Self-Help Center
C3. Monastery Walking Meditation

D. Tribute to the Cow: I went to a neighboring hill town, Kalimpong, to honor what, in my opinion, is the Mother of India. From the Darjeeling Goodwill Animal Shelter, Dr. Naveen Pandey walks miles to neighboring villages to help sick or pregnant cows, never charging a rupee. Although I missed seeing him assist a birth, I gave him Rs. 5000 ($116) on behalf of my cow-loving American friends.

a hill of tea. They've been all-organic here for 150 years, and there was a little shop run by and for the workers. I bought some 'super fine tippy golden flowery orange pekoe 1', which takes 5 seconds to brew.

Elaborations

A. Trek in the Himalayas:
As for the mountains - I'm not good at describing that type of experience. As usual, it was a lesson in respect and awe. We visited remote villages on the India-Nepal border, above 12,000ft; watched majestic weather move through dramatic valleys; saw Everest (#1), Kanchenjunga (#3), and sunrises; walked through monkey-full jungle; drank 7-8 mugs of chai daily; and always ended the day huddled by a fire in a village hut, usually making music. The Himalayan mountains seem so young and vital. The young mountains and old culture tell a very different story than the worn mountains and headstrong culture of the east coast of America.

Amar and Suraj, my companions, seem straight out of a Jack Kerouac or Hermann Hesse novel. Amar, a professionally trained Himalayan guide, is half man-of-the-mountain wisdom and half playful child. Suraj spent ten years addicted to heroin and brown sugar, and now passionately plays guitar in a gospel band. For six days we were in step, and had a blast. In villages we would make music for chai - singing, guitar, and 'body percussion'. I taught them yoga each morning, and they adapted my litter-collection habits. Amar taught us about the mountains, including cardamom growing (my favorite spice). Everyone helped everyone, but no one did it intentionally. I started to think that maybe anybody can meet anybody on common ground, and create a positive relationship. But then we met Pallav, who joined us for a few days. He was an India-born electrical engineer, working on his PhD at Princeton, and his and my worldviews were painfully incompatable. Oh well.

Because the three of us on the trek were so balanced, Amar lowered his already-lowered fee to Rs. 200/day. In the end, though, I gave him Rs. 500/day as we had agreed. Thinking of my American hiking friends, I wanted to introduce these guys to Trail Magic, so I also paid for their food and lodging on the trip. The total for them was Rs. 3477 ($81). The favor was returned when we got back to Darjeeling - Suraj let me stay in his father's hostel, and arranged all meals for me.

playing cricket with the border police, Suraj at bat

deserted shepherds hut, lunch stop

at 11,000ft, looking at Kanchenjunga, third highest in the world at 26000+. Amar, Suraj, and I, and Pallav's guide Baje

B. A Young Village Prostitute:
In Rammam, a village on our trek, we met some young, attractive women while huddled by the hearth. After some time, one older woman offered us the girls, for Rs. 500 ($12). I felt like I had been stabbed. It's one thing to see a tired, old woman on a city street at night, with too much makeup and a sad face - you just look the other way. But it's much harder to befriend an attractive, 19 year-old girl, thinking of her as your younger sister, and then learn that she's a whore.

Back in Darjeeling, Suraj helped me find the Nepali Girls' Social Service Center. His uncle, Subba, worked there. For 30 years, they've been running a school for disadvantaged girls (and some boys), and have undertaken various other projects (providing medicines for TB, building toilets, women's empowerment). I was most interested in the vocational school centers they had set up. I thought that maybe if the village girls had the opportunity to learn a trade, they would have another option in front of them. The NGSSC has training programs in tailoring, weaving, typewriting, etc. I gave Rs. 3000 ($70) for these purposes.

Having put in some chips for systemic change, I was still thinking of the girl I had met. Then I remembered the Austrian handkerchief I had brought along, with a strange (and mildly imperialistic and sexist) HKE request. So I packed it up with a note, and gave it to Amar to deliver on his next trek through Rammam. The message:

"I'm sorry but I won't be able to return to Rammam to meet you. Please take this handkerchief as a gift. It was given to me by an Austrian man, on top of a mountain in America. He had also received it as a gift. He told me to give it to the most beautiful woman in India. Please take it, and keep it safe and clean. Someday, give it to the most handsome and caring man you meet. I urge you to also save yourself - your body and heart - for only the most caring and devoted person."

your typical village hut kitchen

C. Tibet's Tsunami of 1950:
On the trek, I thought about the recent tsunami - all the destruction and pain. I haven't heard any desperate calls for volunteers, and it seems they're getting a lot of money for relief causes. I'm not going down to help. Instead I thought of all the other disasters our world has seen, which have gotten more or less international attention. The Himalayas are dotted with Tibetan shrines and prayer flags, which in my opinion complement and uplift the nature in a way that few human endeavours do. So I started thinking about Tibet.

C1. History Lesson:
On the 15th of August, 1950, there was an earthquake in southeast Tibet. Robert Ford, a British radioman, said, "This was no ordinary earthquake; it felt like the end of the world. Mountains and valleys exchanged places in an instant, hundreds of villages were swallowed up, the Brahmaputra river was completely rerouted..." On the 7th of October, the 'wave' hit - China invaded Tibet. Since then, over 1.2 million Tibetans have been killed, 6000 monasteries have been destroyed, and horrendous human rights violations have been documented. Since then the Chinese have continued 'population transfer' - bussing in Chinese to make Tibetans a minority in there own land. A 1965 UN resolution described "acts of murder, rape, arbitrary imprisonment, torture and cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment of Tibetans on a large scale, thereby completely destroying their liberty and freedom."

Unfortunately, the world's response to this disaster was very different than our recent tsunami. Politically, the world was tied up in the Korean War. Tibet made a plea to the UN for help. It was ignored, until tiny El Salvador finally brought it up. However, the UN Steering Committee deferred, indefinitely, putting it on the agenda. Thousands of Tibetans, including His Holiness the Dalai Lama, were forced to leave as refugees. Many came to India.

a frosted-over Tibetan shrine on the mountain. In the background is Everest.

C2. Tibetan Refugee Self-Help Center:
Darjeeling shows obvious signs of this immigration, and many of the older generation are still alive to tell the stories. Searching stories and faces, I went to this refugee center, set up in 1959 by the sister-in-law of the Dalai Lama. They run a collection of workshops in traditional Tibetan crafts, as well as a small home for elderly and a school for orphans (I think). I met Tenzin Wangmo, a recent college graduate whose parents and grandparents had fled Tibet. She was born in the TRSHC, and, unlike most of her friends who want to move away, she's planning on staying there for her family and people. She wants to visit her homeland, but can't. I got a thorough tour of the workshops, seeing each step from sheep to yarn to dyeing to knitting, and also weaving and rug-making. The center survives only on what is sold in their store; they don't accept donations. I wished I had use for a large, beautiful rug, but instead bought a hat and gloves for Suraj, who had lost his on the trek (Rs. 110 - $3). I also put Rs. 300 ($8) in a box for 'Tibetan orphans'.

C3. Monastery Walking Meditation:
As I said, I find Tibetan religious art internally and externally harmonious. It's something about the circles and squares. There are many Tibetan monasteries in Darjeeling, and I decided to visit them on a walk. I was thinking about the parallels between our current tsunami disaster, with overwhelming destruction getting the full force of the world's concern, and this disaster in the past, from which people and families are still suffering. Also, the philosophy of Buddhism has a lot of insightful things to say about pain and suffering (just skim one of the Dalai Lama's books). My walk was a silent walking meditation on pain and suffering - about the difference between the two and the space they leave for joy. In each of five monasteries I left a Rs. 500 donation (to acknowledge the wisdom at the source and to honor Tibet's painful past). In between, walking on the only road along the mountain ridge, hugged with shops and homes, I saw many aspects of life and death, pain and suffering and joy. I even happened upon a Tibetan funeral procession, and with horns, drums, and tears was joined in my contemplation.

D. Tribute to the Cow:
Anyone who wonders why cows are sacred in Hinduism needs only to visit an Indian village. Milk provides precious protein and fat, as milk, yoghurt, butter, or clarified butter. Manure is used as fertilizer, but is also collected into patties and dried. These patties are burned for warmth in the winter (similar to the old european way of burning coal's predecessor, peat moss). Being surprisingly antiseptic, the patties are also used in the walls and floors of 'mud' huts. In most villages, oxen still work the fields. Sometimes you can even see, in a field with weak soil, a streak of healthy crop where a working ox peed on-the-go, depositing needed nitrogen via urine. A few times I've seen underground manure piles that are sealed to collect the gasses, which are then used in cooking stoves!

The Indian government doesn't provide vetrinary services to most villages. Transportation to and from many villages is still by foot, and few city vets are willing to make the trip. Being employed by the government also has the tendency to promote apathy and a sizable Rs. 2000-3000 vet fee. In reality, most problems require less than Rs. 100 of medicine.

The Darjeeling Goodwill Animal Shelter is an NGO on the outskirts of the small town of Kalimpong. Until recently, there was no road to the shelter. Even now, most village calls require the vet, Dr. Naveen Pandey, to tramp 15 minutes to two hours through fields, carrying whatever equipment is needed. Naveen is no ordinary vet. He was top of his class in each of the ten semesters of vet school, and received three gold metals from the governor. While his fellow, 'mediocre' vet graduates all headed to the US for fame and fortune, he headed to the villages. I visited on Sunday, his day off, but earlier that morning he had been called to help deliver a calf that was positioned incorrectly. It was Sunday morning, but he knew that if he didn't go, the cow and calf would die. It was a 30-minute walk, and took 45-minutes and Rs. 60 of medicine (a shot of anaesthetic and a shot to help with contractions). He didn't charge a rupee, and left the village family with a newborn calf.

Naveen told me how he uses cleverness and a holistic approach to minimize costs and to make up for lack of diagnostic tools. Hopefully this month he'll get a microscope and centrifuge, to allow him to do bloodwork. Sometimes he sends animals to the city elderly nursing home for an X-ray. He's a very loving and intelligent man. His one regret is that, as he lives on site and is on call 24-hrs/day, he has no time to visit friends or look for a wife.

I explained my Human Kindness Experiment to Naveen, and told him that some American friends had given me money to help a cow. Although I wasn't exactly buying a cow, the Rs. 5000 ($116) I gave could help heal dozens of sick cows, or allow successful delivery of many calves.

Occassionally the shelter organizes a week-long village trip, when they visit half a dozen villages and go door-to-door, checking on and treating all livestock and animals. This gives them the opportunity, also, to educate the villagers about ways of keeping themselves and their livestock more healthy. On the 27th of January, Naveen and staff will set out on one of these trips, and the cow-loving money he received will be very helpful.

I wanted to stay in Kalimpong, to get to see an assisted delivery. That would've made me very profoundly happy. But politically the area is a little unstable, and I was advised to leave before the next day, when the local leader would declare whether or not he would allow elections to take place. There were more men with guns than I'm comfortable with. So I headed back to Calcutta.

a yak on our trek

Dr. Naveen Pandey, holding a puppy he had recently neutered

Links

2005-01-11T05:08:00.000-05:00

Here are all the links I can think of.

Michael J. Deluca's Site
Some creative writing from the only fantasy author I've played Mask with.
Gram
My Gramma's Blog
Murmurs
The REM Website

Sadhana Village

2005-01-02T03:14:00.000-05:00

A tsunami hit India, and a lot of people are suffering. I'm fine. At this point, I'm not planning to go to the southeast coast - I may change my mind as things develop. If anyone is concerned, I don't know what you can do except send money. Here are a few websites that are reliable:

http://pmindia.nic.in/relief.htm - the site for the Prime Minister's Relief Fund
http://www.cry.org/abtcry/campaigncmc.htm - set up by CRY, whose Mumbai branch I visited, approved (see 'Year-end' post)

Excerpts

A. Drum Classes: Situated in a beautiful valley of farms and villages 40km outside of Pune, Sadhana Village is a home for mentally challenged adults. I stayed here for 2.5 weeks, teaching hands-on drumming. The people really loved it, and I learned a lot about helping through teaching, as well as the human relationship to rhythm. I also generally helped out, spending time doing various things with each of the 'special friends'.

B. In the meantime: In love with the surrounding area, I climbed mountains and explored the neighboring villages. I learned firsthand about growing rice, wheat, and sugar cane, irrigation, and milk collection/processing. I got to know the local tabla maker, tailor (for my christmas present to myself), and blacksmith.

C. Santosh, Siddhi, and Sakshi: This couple, with their 1.5 yr old girl Sakshi, worked as 'house-parents' at Sadhana Village. At first I befriended them and helped them to get a break from the 24-hour parenting of a dozen often-troubling 'special friends'. It turns out they had to leave Sadhana, but didn't know where to go. I offered what I could: moral support, advice, and Pune contacts. I also helped them with their astronomical rent deposit, as a sort of interest-free loan. An American friend, Chloe, made a watercolor painting for me to give to an Indian child, "with a great big smile". I gave this to Sakshi.

D. Tightening Connections: As I prepare to leave the Pune area, I experienced a pulling together of many of the connections I've made here. All my newfound friends are meeting each other. Subash Thorat now has a job and a big enthusiastic smile.

Elaborations

A. Drum Classes:
I have so many funny, sweet, intriguing, or disturbing anecdotes about my stay with these 'special friends'. But I'm not going to tell them, because out of context they only have 'huh' value, and misrepresent these wonderful people.

In college I developed a lesson plan for teaching hands-on drumming to a diverse group of willing folks, and here at Sadhana I had a chance to use it. I had to really understand the essence of what I was trying to teach, in order that I could say (or play) the right thing at the right time to the right person. My ideas of conventional progress and learning had to be adapted to these unique people. In the end, most of them enjoyed themselves - they gave complements, hugs, asked "When are we drumming again, Dada?" (Dada means 'big brother'; Luke is tough for the Indian tongue), and "Can we drum sooner than that?". It's such a thrill, seeing everyone's unique internal world be expressed, in some imperfect way, through sound. Some can't handle the drumming, but get moving in a rhythmic way that you can tell feels good. Some just get up and dance.

I realized that I prefer teaching when I'm not a 'teacher'. Outside of the classes, some guys came into my room to listen to my tabla practice, which became spontaneous lessons, which became daily lessons. At random times, drumming came up and we would go with it - spontaneous singing, vocal rhythms, or dancing. These people could teach us all about spontanaeity and seizing the day.

At each of the classes I was helped by Chinda Maushi, a wonderfully energetic worker at Sadhana, who has a good sense of rhythm. She learned all the exercises I taught, tricks I used. I also wrote them all down, as well as suggestions for the next steps. Chinda really liked the electronic music I played, as part of a mini-presentation of pictures and clips of rhythms from around the world.

Similarly, I prefer helping when I'm not a 'helper'. I fit into the daily routine here - talked with people that wanted to talk together, walked with people that wanted to walk together, listened to people that wanted to be listened to, sat silently with people that never spoke or were taking a break.

This experience was a wonderful complement to all the 'systemic' help I'd been thinking about. Here I just focused on the basic human part of being kind and helpful, without expectations, efficiency, or intention. 'Sadhana' means service as a spiritual path.

On the last day, New Years day, we said goodbye to Luke, hello to the new year, and heard the news (a week late) of the tsunami. I had decided to give Rs. 3000 ($71) to Sadhana, on behalf of my friends in America. The house-mothers wanted to send some money to the tsunami victims, so some of my (our) gift will go to that cause.

special friends, digging the present

Ravi playing, Ashokbhai singing

B. In the meantime:
I climbed mountains that had no names, and no trails but hundreds of small trails from thousands of years of wandering villagers and goats. The land and the people seemed in a sort of harmony; working together, at least more. I shared stories of my travels with many locals, and in exchange learned so many 'hows' and 'whys'. Us Americans have enough money to travel anywhere in the world, but we don't know how to make butter or sugar. I learned how to make butter and sugar last week. And watched them harvest sugar cane, and ate it raw. I can give these people the opportunity to ask questions about other places in the world, and they can give me the opportunity to ask questions about rice (and see and touch!).

the north side

the small white dot in line with the two plants is Sadhana Village

C. Santosh, Siddhi, Sakshi:
One of the 'house-parents', Santosh is a genuinely good person - the kind where you can tell as soon as you meet him. He and his wife, Siddhi, work at Sadhana, and have a 1.5 yr old girl Sakshi. We became friends. On the day I decided to stay here for two more weeks, he handed me a plant sapling and led me to a hole in the ground. It was a mango tree. Together with little Sakshi, I was instructed to fill the dirt and give water. Some people said some prayers, and Santosh said, "I pray that this tree and my girl grow to be as tall as you, Luke."

The next day, when the special friends were having their evening chai, Santosh and I played ping pong. We kept playing, until it was so dark I was playing more by sound than sight. (The electricity in the valley wasn't on that day). Afterwards he said, "Whenever I have stress, I play table tennis". Then he told me that he and Siddhi were being kicked out, because of disagreements with the other house-mothers. He had been kicked out of his father's home too, and didn't know where to go. He asked me for advice, but I had little to give. I could only sympathize and play ping pong.

Eventually, he found a job and a room in Pune. But they wanted an astronomical Rs. 13,000 ($310) for a deposit (evolution of the indentured servant). His job would make Rs. 2200 ($52) a month, and his life savings was Rs. 5000 ($119) (at Sadhana they didn't pay the workers, only provided their basic needs). The hardest part for me was getting him to accept money from me - he wouldn't even let me bring him chai when he was busy. But he didn't have any other options, and I explained that I was here to help people when I could. My interest-free loan of Rs. 10,000 ($238) came from my personal savings, because it's so much and it springs from the personal connection I made with that family. It's also a promise to find him again some day, in three years or thirty.

In America, my friend Chloe gave me a small watercolor painting she made, with the instructions to give it to a child, with a great big smile. I gave it to Sakshi. We all smiled great big smiles, except for Sakshi, because we had made her put down the kitten that she likes to carry around by the neck.

Santosh, Siddhi, and Sakshi with the watercolor postcard

Sakshi with her favorite kitten

D. Tightening Connections:
I met Subash Thorat (the man with the new bicycle) again - he now has a job as a mason, and is involved with the labor organizations for Dalits. He's called my home in New York a few times - first to tell my family thank you and Happy Diwali, then to try to get in touch with me to tell me about his job. He even had a letter written and sent to New York. My parents were surprised, thrilled, and confused. In an incredible feat of modern technology, I saw a digital snap of the letter, recorded the address (in Hindi), and used it to find him in Pune. He bought me lunch. I don't know to what extent his bicycle helped him get the job, but what matters is the positive connection we made.

I visited Mira again (the Swarthmore grad who immigrated to India in the '60s). She's befriended Subash because he's called her so many times, looking for me. She's going to try to hire a plumber through Subash's union contacts. Mira visited Sadhana Village, and may collaborate with them in creating posters for her organization. We went together to chat with the director of Sadhana Village. It turns out that Mira is an Ashoka Fellow, a 'social entrepreneur'. Mira and Sarah (the young Pune NGO worker) have been in email contact. Sarah came to visit Sadhana, and may get involved in their village women's workshops. Santosh's family is going to invite Mira for tea once they're moved in.

From here I'm leaving for Darjeeling, on the other side of India, in the mountains. Having been based in Pune since mid-November, leaving makes me aware of the many good connections I've made and things I've shared.

Subash Thorat, on the job

Mira and her 'children'

Year-end

2004-12-19T13:00:00.000-05:00

Excerpts

A. In Pune Again: Here in Pune I've been staying with a friend, Sarah, and attended another three-day non-stop classical music festival.

B. Pandit Anand Badamikar: At the music festival I met a very good tabla player and shared compositions with him.

C. Sadhana Village: I visited and will be staying for two weeks at this rural rehabilitation center for mentally disabled adults. The people are wonderfully unique, and the setting is peaceful and simple. I'll be teaching them drumming and rhythm, which everyone understands and enjoys in their own way. The chance to focus my energy and give from myself is exciting.

D. Mumbai: On my first trip I spent two months studying tabla in Mumbai (Bombay). I made a short trip back to reconnect with friends and places, most notably with my tabla teacher.

E. Child Relief and You: In Mumbai I visited this national organization working to provide India's children with education and health care. They directly support children while also working to empower communities and address root causes. I gave Rs. 4000 ($93) to pay for one year of education for five children.

Elaborations

A. In Pune Again:
It's amazing how little you accomplish when you spend 8-18 hours a day listening to Indian classical music. One of the highlights was sharing back rubs with Mr. Uday Jyothi, and seeing my Mumbai tabla guru, Pandit Suresh Talwalkar, perform.

Sarah and our home-cooked meal

the Pune music festival, with a really great tabla player

B. Pandit Anand Badamikar:
One of my American tabla friends, Dan, gave me a creative HKE task: to find tabla players and exchange compositions, in the spirit of sharing and connecting. He taught me a composition to share. I met Pt. Badamiker at the music festival, and he turned out to be an amazing tabla player. He has played for decades and has many students, but needs to run a clothing business to support himself. He is a Pandit, an official musical master. I told him Dan's composition, which he memorized immediately and recited back. Then he told me one composition he knew, which dealt with the same phrases and phrase structures as Dan's, but in a more complex way. I recorded the 30-second piece, and it took more than an hour of looping to decipher all the intricacies.

C. Sadhana Village:
This place is really wonderful. It's 40 km outside of Pune, in a simple, undeveloped valley of villages with one road and intermittent electricity. The surroundings are beautiful. The village is actually a collection of houses for mentally disabled adults, organized into family structures with 'house-parents' and servants that provide 24-hour care. The members (called 'special friends' in a quirky way that you just have to get used to) have a range of abilities and disabilities, but each has an internally consistent understanding of what they perceive of reality. These people aren't like children - inexperienced and unaware; they have had full lives of experiences and input, only felt and interpreted with imperfect machinery. Life in the village is a simple daily routine focused on caring and engaging these people, and trying to understand their unique worlds.

Sadhana Village is not just about these 21 folks, though. The organization has reached out to the villages in the valley (which used to avoid, taunt, or even throw rocks at the special friends), in order to spread the goodness that comes from connecting with such challenging and human people. They've gone so far as to organize the construction of 125 public toilets, women's empowerment workshops drawing over 500 local villagers, and irrigation systems. The people in the valley now accept and engage with the Sadhana village, and this is wonderful.

I'm continually looking for ways to give creatively from myself, and will be teaching hands-on drumming workshops here. Rhythm is something that everyone can understand and enjoy, and the lessons learned extend to every aspect of life. In college I took an education class, and developed a syllabus for teaching drumming like this. The challenge is not in the complexity of the drumming, but in understanding how to teach it. I visited the village for a few days, and after getting to know the special friends and leading some workshops, they really wanted me to stay. So I will, and the experience will be really great for me and them, I think.

I'll be at Sadhana Village for Christmas and New Years, and will be thinking of all my relatives and friends on the other side of the world.

some of the 'special friends' at Sadhana Village - the man's shirt says Member: Today's Generation

a view from the roof of a Sadhana Village home

D. Mumbai:
The biggest lesson of revisiting one of the most populated (16 million), hottest, most polluted, maddest cities in the world: Mumbai is my version of hell. I advise against anyone visiting. Patsy, the woman I stayed with three years ago, has moved to Goa. But I enjoyed visiting my old tabla teacher, with whom I developed a wonderfully personal relationship three years ago. I used to go every day to his home, and sit with him. He once told me, "The most important thing in determining whether or not a student succeeds is not how much the student practices, but how much the teacher loves the student." He loved me without bound, and that lesson has stuck with me. I think about it as I play the role of teacher with the mentally challenged folks of Sadhana Village.

in Mumbai (Bombay), the place where most of the city's laundry gets done

my old tabla teacher, Shripad Rajguru, with his wife and son

E. Child Relief and You:
Going back to Mumbai, I had a strong desire to help the problems that overwhelm you within. The hardest things for me are the overcrowding and the street children. This nation-wide organization has run 170 projects over 25 years, working to help children directly and systemically. They build schools and pay for education, but also educate and empower communities to fight for their rights and organize. For example, they worked in a tribal village where children of indentured laborers were forced to work. They set up schools, but also organized the laborers into a political group. Now 98% of the children attend school, and CRY is not needed because the local community organization has the power to enact the changes it needs. The way they address the larger problems and causes reminded me of Sadhana Village's activities in raising awareness in the surrounding villages, and my own efforts to include people back home in my project of connecting. I gave a donation of Rs. 4000 ($93), which was earmarked for one year's worth of education for five children. They are very open to any sort of volunteering of gifts, and have a good website: www.cry.org.

Gwalior

2004-12-11T03:39:00.000-05:00

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.

Sevagram

2004-12-04T06:52:00.000-05:00

Excerpts

A. Gandhi's Ashram: Sevagram, in the heart of India, was established in 1936 by MK Gandhi as an experiment in sustainable living. Gandhi believed that before India was ready for independence, it had to relearn how to operate independently - from the earth up. So he started the Swadeshi movement - a grassroots reaffirmation of traditional Indian lifestyles and self-sufficiency, coupled with fundamental ideals of truth, non-violence, equality, and love. I spent five days with the wonderful people here, who gradually let me into their lives. Besides eating utterly-home-grown food, and lending my hands to sweeping, cooking, and spinning, I learned first-hand about making the things we all need: food, clothing, paper, homes, ceramic refridgerators...

B. Gandhi on Terrorism and America: I visited the Institute of Gandhian Studies, and got to share questions with the dean, Prof. Ranjit Chaudhuri.

C. Sanjoy Damyanti's Alternative School: Sanjoy has studied Gandhian thought, and is running a new Gandhian alternative school in the neighboring state of Gujarat. Students that can't or don't want to learn in the rote British model can learn traditional Indian music, math, farming, etc. He explained many things to me, and brought me around to see Gandhi's legacy. He also plays tabla. I surprised both of us by giving him Rs. 2500 ($57) for his school (which gets no government funding). I hope to visit there in December.

mud hut Gandhi built, used to plot revolution

Elaborations

A. Gandhi's Ashram:
My yoga teacher used to say 'pose and re-pose', meaning that we must continually readjust our perspective on even the most fundamental things. Life is in the going, not the arriving. So recently I've taken a step back to rethink some parts of the HKE. Having found a positive and effective way of donating money, I was really getting into it. My experiments in friend-making were going great. So I stopped.

Arriving at the Sevagram ashram, I figured out why. Here they live a simple routine life (if you ignore the fact that they're living in mud huts that Gandhi built, making 90% of their own food and clothes). They get a lot of visitors that read the signs and take pictures and leave, or that stay for a day to enjoy the tranquillity and fresh food. I came here out of curiosity, and they treated me with indifference at first. Looking in the guest book I saw dozens of foreigners (although hardly any Americans) that came for a day or two - always actively seeking something (called 'peace' or 'rest'). Rather than force myself on them, I watched quietly (and often awkwardly) for the first night - the dinner routine and the evening prayer and reading. I tried to fit in where I could, took the cues I was given, and was always willing to answer a question. But I approached these people and their lives with patience and respect.

The second day, after spending the day gradually getting to know the routine and the people, I received a complement. Sanjoy, with whom I spent the afternoon, said that he thought I should travel around India more - that he felt I had an understanding of India and the Indian people that would allow me to fit in wherever I went. I made a good impression on these people - whether it was the fact that I play tabla, my willingness to work for my food, or my patient curiosity - and they've let me in. I've gotten to experience the change from being an outsider that didn't belong to being someone that was greeted with a smile and 'How are you?'.

So having taken a step back, I again eased into my role of the-guy-who-just-wants-to-help. But I've reminded myself why I'm doing this: to give a positive impression, and to wait until people offer me into their lives.

Personally, I'm very curious about where things come from. At the Ashram, I am filled with awe as I eat bread while looking out at the field where the wheat was grown, having watched them drying and grinding the grain. Or drink milk that has just been collected and boiled. In the last week, I've been asking questions with the curiosity of an insatiable three-year-old.

One day, I went with a crew of comical Gandhians on a tour of the area. We went to a museum/institute set up to raise awareness about village industry. I met a Gandhian beekeeper who was collecting the honey from some vicious bees (whose sting could kill an elephant). He found that a calm, fearless, yet patient attitude calmed the bees, and as long as he didn't fight them (with spray or nets), the bees wouldn't try to sting him. I saw and touched cotton growing, learned how it was cleaned, tried my hand at spinning, saw where they weave the fabric, and even visited a (completely organic) dye shop. We went to the Center of Science for Villages, where they are doing several very innovative things. They're experimenting with different paper-making techniques. I learned (and saw!) how paper was made: from the banana, coconut, or burlap scraps, to the pulp, to the pressing and drying, to the coloring. They do it without any chemicals here. They're developing an old style of building roofs - cheaper, stronger, safer, and more environmental than concrete - by basically arching a long stack of ceramic cups. I saw the clay, the spun ceramic, the kiln, and the final product. They were also producing simple ceramic refridgerators - large urns with a concentric basin at the opening, to be filled with cold water.

I was thoroughly enjoying myself, learning, touching, and asking. These people were combining traditional good ideas with modern good ideas, all with a do-it-yourself stipulation. Then, unbelievably, I saw something I thought only existed in my imagination: a bicycle whose chain was rerouted, via gears, to spinning a table saw. One person rides the bike, another person cuts wood. I felt like I'd seen the loch ness monster, or a purple elephant with two heads, or a giant squid.

homespun fabric drying after dyeing

ceramic 'cups' that will be fired, stacked, and arched to form a cheap but strong roof

the ceramic refridgerator, next to another natural cooler (the porous clay sweats and the evaporation cools the water inside)

what paper looks like as it is strained from watery pulp, before it is pressed and dried

the loch ness monster

part of the Sevagram crew (from left) - Sanjoy, a very helpful and wise man; Prakashbhai, who hasn't brushed his teeth or worn shoes for 20 years, and is going gently senile; Jendrabhai, a very inquisitive Gandhian who, I found out later, has written several books on Vedic Mathematics; Damyanti, Sanjoy's wife and partner; another very nice lady

B. Gandhi on Terrorism and America:
I went with Sanjoy to a nearby town, where we visited the Institute for Gandhian Studies. Sanjoy had studied there, and he took me to meet the dean, Prof. Ranjit Chaudhuri. I was curious about how Gandhi's ideas were being applied to the present, especially with regard to the global threat of terrorism. Prof. Chaudhuri had organized world-renowned workshops, taught classes, and written books on it, and I met him sitting on his bed in his pyjamas. He's a very animated and engaging man, and we had a delightful conversation.

In summary, his message to the American people is twofold: there is a non-violent solution to terrorism, and 'you Americans are too proud!' (he pointed and yelled this phrase).

First of all, terrorism is in the mind, and violence is in the mind. Terrorism is a perfect demonstration of the idea that violence only creates more violence, and violence can only be stopped by starting internally, with our minds. There will always be violence and terrorism, but we can hope to minimize and isolate it by taking away its effectiveness in causing pain and fear. There are hundreds of Saddam Hussains in the world, and we must take the power out from underneath them. Politically and culturally, there are ways of making violence ineffective. To do this, we must start with ourselves, our own minds. He told me a meditation he teaches, where you visualize your enemy and hold that idea with the idea 'I have no enemies'. Christianity has been corrupted, he said; Jesus taught we should show our enemies love, not hate. All religions teach this.

Secondly, he said, America is addicted to power. We can destroy the world many times over, but we can't create it. Modern Gandhians think we all must be world citizens, acting in the interest of the earth and all people. Americans are unaware of how they are affecting the world, and they are too proudly imposing themselves throughout. He thought our invasion of Iraq was perfect evidence of this arrogance and lack of respect for world cultures or the power of non-violence. Gandhi understood that a country must prepare itself for independence (thus the efforts in traditional sustainable living). It's really no surprise that Iraq is a mess, and there's nothing America's military power can do about it.

I told Prof. Chaudhuri about my project, and some stories. He approved. He said that the Gandhian principle on non-violence doesn't only mean refraining from destruction, it means acting creatively. To live non-violently is to act without violence and to act in a way that makes others less violent. I thought of one of my favorite quotes: 'The opposite of war isn't peace - it's creation.'

C. Sanjoy Damyanti's Alternative School:
Sanjoy and his wife, Damyanti, are Gandhian scholars. They were returning to Sevagram briefly on part of a three-week tour of India and India's Gandhian institutions. They were looking to see the state of Gandhi's teachings, in the form of NGOs, schools, ashrams, etc. They offered to show me the local organizations, and interpret, so I tagged along for a few days. Their school in Gujarat is a sort of charter school for children that 'don't fit' in the national system, although the Indian government doesn't offer them any funding. They teach Indian classical music, Vedic mathematics (part of India's rich history, recorded in the Vedas 3000 years ago), traditional organic farming methods, and other standard subjects. They do this while emphasizing Gandhi's principles of respect for life, equality of all people, humility, and simplicity. I really liked Sanjoy, especially because he was my teacher here - he explained and interpreted all the things I learned (see B). We had a moment: standing in a field as the sun was setting, he told me how Gandhi's principles of truth and non-violence are inherent in the earth, and have been resonating ever since the first flower. I believe there is wisdom there, and his hope for the future was contagious.

Sanjoy also plays tabla. I brought him to my room and we played for each other. I spontaneously put Rs. 2500 in an envelope and gave it to him. He very nearly refused it in kindness, but we both knew that it was for a good cause. He insisted that I should come and see the school, see what they were doing, and especially see the tabla students. I would like to, and perhaps I will.

Pune and Mahabaleshwar

2004-11-26T06:22:00.000-05:00

Excerpts

A. Living with Mira: I stayed with a family in Pune for the week - Mrs. Mira Dakin, her daughter Sunita, and the maid Lakshmi. It was interesting to fit into the routine of a household, and try my HKE in that context.

B. Various Encounters: Besides meeting Subash Tora (see earlier entries), I had several friendly encounters, mostly positive. I spent a day with Rajesh, a traditional meditator who described the imbalances of a call-center job; shared impressions of India with another American, Sarah; met a young couple on the bus to Mahabaleshwar, where we've been hanging out and cooked a pseudo-Thanksgiving meal; ran into a few groups of young men who described Osama bin Laden as a 'good man' (one carried his picture in his wallet); and others.

C. Shelter Associates: After visiting this NGO ('non-government organization' - basically a non-profit organization focusing on social change), meeting the staff and the director, and going to see a new housing development they had assisted with, I gave a donation of Rs. 3000 ($68). The money was for Baandhani, a newly-formed political organization of 'slumdwellers', to help hire slumdwellers to conduct surveys and raise awareness within their community.

D. Cooling Off: Struggling with the pollution, intensity, and 90-degree days, I headed to the hill station of Mahabaleshwar, where I'm getting some fresh air, calming down a bit, and processing my experiences. I continue the most enjoyable part of this project: talking with people and sharing questions, chai, songs, pictures, etc. To balance the willingness and humility I try to embody, I need to continually recenter myself. I do this best with yoga, drumming, and walking.

Elaborations

A. Living with Mira: Mira attended Swarthmore in the '60s, and works in an NGO that facilitates communication among NGOs, as well as organizes women's empowerment projects. She was born in California, but left during the Vietnam War and has been adopted by India. Her household is more than a little unconventional, but she's at least as Indian as I am American (she's been in India for almost twice as long as I've been alive!) Her daughter's boyfriend is living with them, and they have a good time. The maid, Lakshmi, is treated as an equal, and is learning to read. Mira herself is 'happily unmarried' to an Indian writer. (In my limited experience and knowledge, this is unconventional.)

The family was incredibly generous and helpful, giving me more than I expected or asked for - food, boiled water, privacy. The best I could do was buy them sweets and delicacies they hinted at: six-grain leavened bread and cheddar cheese. We shared as all families do: through conversations, outings, and eating. I left for Mahabaleshwar a little overwhelmed by their generosity, but feeling that I hadn't given the time to get to know them as well as I could. I would've loved to spend more time with them, but had always been a little too distracted and unwilling. Often I feel the same way about my family in Rhinebeck, NY, sadly.

from Mira's house: Laxmi the maid and Manjushri, a friend staying while she looks for a job in Environmental Technology. Mira wasn't around when I had my camera

B. Various Encounters:
Rajesh, a friend of Mira's, took me around town for a day. He's seriously into Vipassana meditation, and has been working in a call center for two months. He had an interesting perspective on what happens to your mind when you sleep all day, then sit in a cubicle all night long, telling people: "Hello, thank you for calling. My name is Robert Grimm, how may I help you?". His boss told him she "can't stand to see the sun". I really enjoyed talking with Rajesh about traditional Indian philosophy, globalisation, and many things in between.

I rented a bicycle in Pune. Traffic in India presupposes a mindfulness of others, and successfully navigating the people, animals, potholes, vendors, scooters, motorcycles, rickshaws, and cars induces a selfless state of interactive participation.

Some boys heard me practicing tabla, and we jammed together.

A young girl begged me for a rupee coin. I refused, but then accidentally dropped one while making a phone call. She grabbed it with a grin, but then gave it back to me. I couldn't help but give it to her for being honest.

Here in Mahabaleshwar, while walking I scared two chickens by the side of the road. They both ran into the middle of the road. One turned around and ran back, but the other crossed the road. I don't know why.

At a deserted viewpoint, some boys were painting a truck. They thought Osama bin Laden was 'a good man', and one had a photo in his wallet. I simply pointed out that Osama bin Laden hadn't done anything but kill thousands of innocent people, including many Indians and many Muslims. They gave me some watermelon, and said that American people weren't bad, but they didn't like the American government. When they asked why America re-elected Bush, I didn't know what to say.

On my way to see the sunset, I was picked up by a jeep full of young men. A few of them thought Osama bin Laden was 'king of the world'. As before, I reminded them that he had killed many innocent people, but why? I told them my younger sister was living in a skyscraper in New York City, attending college.

Anjali and Gagan are a young couple, secretly meeting for a holiday without their parents. They both work in call centers, and have a strange concept of American culture (as well as many hilarious stories about troubleshooting calls from Texas). I taught them how to play Hangman, and Anjali helped me fix my laptop. We had a sort of Thanksgiving dinner - convincing the hotel owners to let us cook chicken in the 'pure-veg' kitchen. Today I was bedridden with some serious food poisoning. They kept me company (when I wasn't sleeping), and brought me some rice and yoghurt. Gagan even fixed the clogged toilet. I was incredibly grateful. I'll visit his family when I return to Delhi (his mother is a math teacher who can tell me about teaching opportunities in India), and Gagan may visit my family when he heads to New York City next year for theater school.

Gagan and Anjali (she's looking at my laptop), in Mahabaleshwar. Sorry for the darkness.

C. Shelter Associates:
Of Pune's 2.5 million people, 45% are in slums. Yet, besides a basic census, the government has no demographic or geographic data on the slum areas. How do you help these people, when you don't know who they are, where they live, or how many public bathrooms they share? At a Sufi music concert I ran into Sarah, a young American of Pakistani descent who was working at Shelter Associates, where they hire slumdwellers to conduct surveys and raise awareness among their communities. They are collecting information on the slums, which can be used by the government and other NGOs, and they are doing it by employing slumdwellers themselves.

I visited the office of Shelter Associates, and met the staff and director. In addition to this project, they've helped Baandhani, a political group from the slums, to speak up and be heard in Pune government. On a micro-scale, they've helped one community's members secure loans in order to relocate to a new housing development, because their slum is in the path of a new bridge's construction.

With Sarah, I visited the new housing development. Forty percent of slumdwellers are unskilled construction workers, and they got to work to build their new homes. The flats are bigger and cleaner, with proper waste management and electricity, and with the potential for further additions. The people were very hopeful and grateful, but in a self-sufficient way.

the resettlement housing development that Shelter Associates assisted with, and some of the kids in the community

Remembering the story of Subash Tora, I felt Shelter Associates was doing a very good thing, and was particularly impressed that they were hiring slumdwellers to do it for themselves.

Sarah had written some case studies of families, to be used, along with a video, in presenting this successful resettlement project to other slums' organizations. She knew many families personally, and we were invited in and cooked a sweet dish of milk and nuts, as a late Eid celebration. Personally, I felt a little uncomfortable - via Sarah (who spoke fluent Hindi) I was gaining access to these people's lives in a way I couldn't have independently. They were overwhelmingly kind and generous, and I could only shut my mouth and try to listen.

Afterwards, Sarah and I went out on the town, enjoying the chance to compare thoughts and stories of life in India.

My purpose in India is to try and convey good will back and forth between the US and India. As far as this translates into giving semi-large amounts of money, to be used in a helpful, effective, and efficient way, it seems natural that there might be another link in the connection. In these contexts, US - Luke - local NGO - India seems to work best, with back and forth along each line. So by visiting organizations and seeing what work they do, I can still personally connect with the Indian people. And I find that in these situations, I walk away with a deeper understanding of India and people in general, and a few positive friendships.

D. Cooling Off: Mahabaleshwar is at 5000 ft, and every monsoon they get 20 ft of rain. I got my share of exploring, hiking, rock climbing, etc, but now I've got a stomach bug. Once I'm better, I'm heading to Sevagram, in the center of India, to visit the ashram that Gandhi set up in the name of service and sustainability.

Mahabaleshwar is known for its 'rasberries' and strawberries

a little cool green elevation

Subash Tora II

2004-11-20T05:52:00.000-05:00

Note: I'm in Pune, living as a paying guest with Mira Sadgopal, a Swarthmore alum (class of '68). Every day I meet and talk to many people, and share with and learn from them. What follows is the second half of my encounter with Mr. Tora; the first half was posted on 18 Nov.

The Continuing Story Of Subash Tora

This morning I met Subash at the Cave Temple again, and we soon realized we had made a serious mistake. He needed Rs. 30,000 - not Rs. 3000 - although he had consented earlier when I wrote the latter on a piece of paper. I had a hunch this might happen. We had genuinely misunderstood each other. He thought we could buy the window and some building materials, but I thought that was a bad idea, knowing the rest of the money was a long way away.

In an amazing demonstration of the fundamental Indian way of detachment and willing acceptance, he took a deep breath and released all the hopes he had created in the last two days. He was still sincerely thankful for my desire to help, and ready to go home friends.

Instead, over chai, we brainstormed. He needed a job, to support his family and save for the addition. He was wasting a lot of time and money with buses and rickshaws, looking for work. A bicycle would allow him to find work more easily. And a good bicycle was like a good pair of shoes - as much a status symbol as a practicality. With a nice bike, he would have a slight advantage over the thousands (tens of millions, really) of other unemployed.

Subash started to get excited at the prospect of getting work. He thought he could save up, and when he was close he could write or contact me (via Mira). I agreed I could offer some money, but only some and only after he had raised most by his own work. If I was in India, I would come and help with the building. I genuinely offered this, because I felt that if he found work and was able to save Rs. 25,000, while supporting his family, he had more than earned the Rs. 5000 I offered.

So we picked out a nice bike, with all the 'fittings' - lock, rack, chainguard, and bell. I paid the cost: Rs. 2350 ($55), thinking of all the people in America that would sympathize with this man and approve of the gift. While it was being put together, we sat and had chai.

Subash was curious about why I was helping him. I explained that many Americans care about, and want to offer help to, the Indian people. My friends in America had given me money and emotional encouragement, and I was going around India trying to help by making friends. He said that made him very happy, and I said it made me happy too. I thought sharing and helping was important for the world, every day and everywhere. I asked him, cautiously, if we was a Dalit (an 'untouchable'), and he proudly said yes, and told me about the famous Dalit Dr. Ambedkar, who wrote in the Indian Constitution that all Indians were equal. Subash thought India was a great country, but it would be even greater if all people were treated equally. I emphatically agreed, and told him about a similar ideal in America. I tried to explain to him about my website, but he didn't really know about the internet and I couldn't explain it sufficiently. To keep in touch, he offered to write a letter (we had exchanged addresses, etc) in English and send it to the US. This will be hard, since he doesn't speak any English, or read or write English or Hindi. He said his friends would help. I told him to contact me (via Mira), when he got a job. He told me to tell my friends in America that if they come to India, they can stay with his family 'for eight days'.

Delighted that I had taken several photos, and had promised to remember him 'hameshaa' (always), he wanted a photo of us for his house. We went to a studio, where we were dressed with suits and ties. He insisted on combing my hair, and as revenge I insisted on paying the Rs. 40 ($1) fee. He intends to send one copy with his letter. I got the picture with my digital camera.

our glorious studio photograph

Subash and his bike

In my opinion, this whole experience was really, really great. I learned a lot about the Dalit way of life and the struggles of the unemployed, not to mention the Hindi language. By sharing with him, and buying him a bicycle (as well as the food earlier), I could give him new inspiration and hope for the future. Judging by how appreciative he was, and by how many times he stopped in his tracks to look skyward and mutter a prayer, he was genuinely and utterly thankful. And I was, too, for somehow finding myself in this role as ambassador of compassion.

Subash Tora

2004-11-18T05:47:00.000-05:00

Two Cultural Notes:

Last week was Diwali, the largest Hindu holiday, dedicated to Laxmi, Goddess of Wealth. It is like a combination of Christmas and New Years - gift-giving, buying new home or shop items, updating annual records, over-the-top decorations, fireworks, and sweets. People everywhere, even in the poorest areas, are refreshed with a new hope and outlook for the next year.

Everyone has heard of the "Untouchable" caste in Hindu philosophy and Indian society. While the caste system is becoming less and less significant, this sub-human class of humans are still struggling against prejudice and inequality. Often they are forced to travel separately, eat separately, and drink separate water. They have chosen the name 'Dalit', which means 'pulverized', over Gandhi's condescending 'Children of God'. Dr. BR Ambedkar, one of India's foremost humanitarians and the primary architect of the Indian Constitution, was also a Dalit who fought discrimination every day of his life. He is considered a national hero by the Dalits.

The Story of Subash Tora

the tree I was looking at when I met Subash Tora

Today I went to the Pataleshwar Cave Temple in Pune. After chatting with a Christian Indian who was convinced Muslims were dangerous and Pakistan wanted to take over India, and then with a young woman who was taking American dialect courses in order to work at a call center, I met Subash Tora. I think he was drunk, as he was talking fast and was very gregarious. He was very impressed by the Hindi I was able to respond with, and we decided to go have chai. He is a social worker that now can't find any work; he seemed accepting of his despair, but maybe that was the alcohol. He has a wife and three children. I offered to buy him some food, and in an amazingly delighted state we found a supply shop and bought 5kg each of rice, dal, a bean called jwarir, a few kg of sugar, and (on his insisting and the advice of the man at the counter) a bottle of coconut oil. I explained to him that my family and friends in America wanted me to help Indian people, on their behalf, and I explained that this was a gift for his family. He said it was enough for 8 days for his family of five. It all cost Rs. 333 ($7.50). He wanted me to meet his family, so we took a bus to the outskirts of Pune.

Subash with his food

Subash and most of his family, in their one-room home

His house is in what is considered a slum, but it is the most freshly-painted and well-decorated slum I've ever seen. It had more the air of a crowded village than an urban wasteland. His sons and daughter are all teenagers; the five of them live in one concrete room with a metal roof. There's a double bed, a TV on a bureau, a dresser, and a kitchen, all in 150 sq ft. He pointed out the three framed and blessed photographs of Dr. Ambedkar, and I started to think that maybe he was from the Dalit caste. This would explain the area he was living in, his inability to get a job, and maybe his last name ('tora' means little). So then life had dealt this sweet man and his wonderful family a crappy hand, and they were destined to be 'pulverized' for generations. (There was an incident with the water they offered me, which I didn't want to drink for my stomach's sake. I explained but they insisted it was clean, which probably had Dalit undercurrents.) He let his wife open the bag of food, like it were Christmas; it was probably the best Diwali present they hadn't been able to afford. I explained again that my family and friends in America wanted me to offer help and friendship to the Indian people I met. They were delighted, especially by the pictures I took.

Subash led me back to the bus stop, and explained to me that his son was ready to be married. This meant that they would bring a sixth person into their one-room house. He wanted to build a second story. Basically, he thought that with Rs. 3000 ($68) he could buy the materials, and his friends had offered their time and knowledge to help him in construction.

I had many hesitations. He didn't strike me as someone who was trying his hardest and had exhausted all options - he was wasting what money they had on alcohol instead of looking for work. He had succeeded in getting me to buy Rs. 333 of food when I thought Rs. 100 would suffice, so I forsaw some underestimating in his Rs. 3000 price. Couldn't I use the money more effectively by giving it to some social organization, which might then hire him (killing two birds with one stone)? And I didn't know if this was the right message to send to the village: go find a rich white person to solve your problems.

But alcoholism is a disease that he, and his family, need not be punished for. As a Dalit, his current state in life was probably not his fault. I felt I could stick to Rs. 3000 if I were clear. I could, in addition to this, make a donation to an organization hiring social workers. And if I worked to help build the house (which he said would take four days), I would be sharing not just money, but time, energy, and experience with him and his neighbors. I would get to learn about Indian construction, which I have been curious about, and get to befriend his neighborhood. Also, I feel that a new building can represent hope and growth and strength in facing the future.

So I offered to give Rs. 3000, and to help with the construction. We agreed to meet in two days, and I imagine it's now too late to change my mind. I feel that this is a good thing to do, as long as I do it the right way. It might end up being a mistake, but this is all an experiment anyway.

Delhi

2004-11-16T04:41:00.000-05:00

I've been in India for a week, staying in New Delhi, and I have an exciting week of 'Human Kindness Experiment' encounters and thoughts to share. I understand that my enthusiasm for this project probably surpasses your enthusiasm for reading about it, so I will try to avoid the Solo Traveller's Wagging Tongue Syndrome. I'll give excerpts, followed with more elaborate stories for anyone interested.

Excerpts

A. The Beginning: Staying in the touristy part of New Delhi, I quickly was reminded of how necessary it is to judge people's intentions. There are some people willing to do anything to rip you off, and because of them everyone has to be guarded with their connections. However, most people here are incredibly friendly - willing and curious.

B. Eye Contact: In India, eye contact and subtle body language are very important to everyday communication. I had to practice avoiding eye contact with the touts - one glance and they would follow me down the street, offering goods or services like alcohol, drugs, and even prostitutes. But simply meeting gazes with someone else for a second was enough to make us both smile, with a sort of 'In this crazy world, we might as well humor ourselves' feeling.

C. Creativity: For the people I spoke with, or ran into enough times to become acquainted, my creativity was challenged as I thought of fun ways to interact personally. Friday was Diwali, the biggest holiday for Hindus; I went out and bought firecrackers (Rs. 90 = $2.00) for the guys at my hotel who had to work instead of be with their families. While the rest of the country exploded like a warzone, we had our own "light and sound show". The grumpy man on the train yesterday turned out to be a retired mechanical engineer that worked outside of Boston "on the circle road, 128" during the '60s. He reminisced about India before Independence (his father was in the army, and after the British split India into India and Pakistan, he fought his old colleagues), and the Ford he bought for $2000 in 1960. I learned all about Indian politics and history from someone who was there. A lot of the Indian papers were interpreting the Bush reelection as a "mandate", so I couldn't help but offer my thoughts to several people. I learned a lot about what Europeans and Indians (Muslims and Hindus) think about America's international behavior. I even wrote a letter to the editors of the Indian papers, but no one published it.

D. Money: I didn't want to rush into giving lots of money to people in Delhi, given my short stay and the nature of the tourist areas. So I searched out organizations that were doing good work, and made a few donations. See below for more details.

1. INTACH - Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage; Rs. 1500 ($34), to sponsor prizes for an essay contest for children on the topic "Peace is Our Heritage"

2. Kalakar Trust - Rs. 1000 ($23), to musicians in Delhi's slums, half earmarked for instruments or costumes, half earmarked for health care counselling

3. Shishu Ashram - Rs. 300 ($7), to a school for blind, handicapped, or poor teenagers

E. Next Step: Now I'm in Pune, where I will stay for at least a few weeks. I'll try and make the website more elegant, and add pictures (I keep forgetting my camera).

a smoggy picture of Diwali celebrations

a design made of dried flowers and powder

Elaborations

A. The Beginning: I think there's a sort of line of decency between two people (or even between me and the dog I tried to befriend). In order for me to offer my time and energy to someone, I need to be able to trust that they won't cross the line and take advantage of my willingness (or give me rabies). If we both do that, and operate within our comfort zones, then we can be genuinely kind and get something positive out of it. I'm realizing that these connections are as much limited by my own faults - insecurities, prejudices, or lack of willingness, patience, or energy - as anything else. I do believe that we need to better ourselves in order to better the world.

B. Eye Contact: The act of walking down the street, trying to offer gentle willingness and kind understanding to every person, animal, or pile of shit I encounter, is to me a very profound state of being. Every act can be done in a kind and present way, in a neutral and distracted way, or in a hostile and selfish way.

C. Creativity: Most of my HKE time will probably be spent in this sort of bridge-the-gap creative interaction, and it's going to be fun. I'm starting to think, "What can I do or say or ask that will bring this person out of their shell and allow us to share something personal?" I just took a 30-hour train ride from Delhi to Pune; in the beginning our compartment was 12 strangers (in 8 seats), and in the end we were maybe 9 friends and 3 strangers. In a park I met Sanjay, who offered to draw my picture for Rs. 50. I asked him to draw the landscape, but he never got very far because after he sat down we started talking. It turns out he had a philosophy PhD from Nepal but was living as a self-imposed political exile, drawing to survive when he could be a professor. He never finished the drawing, but I gave him Rs. 50 anyway in support of all his ideals he explained to me. He insisted on giving me another drawing he had completed, to make a fair exchange.

from the train to Pune

the excited software engineers on the train, and the retired GE worker Rachi (called "Rocky" in the US)

D. Money: I think that giving to local organizations, after scoping them out personally, is an effective way of giving larger donations. It is not as direct or personal, but it will allow me to help a wider range of people. And it's still possible to personalize the donation.

1. INTACH: INTACH is involved broadly in preserving and developing India's heritage. I searched out the department working on Heritage Clubs in schools - teaching teachers how to adjust their curricula and sending out a newsletter to 12,000 students. The newsletter uses art - drawing, poetry, calligraphy, writing, etc. - to encourage students to become interested in their cultural heritage. The last newsletter had solicited quotes about peace, inspired by the M.K. Gandhi quote: "If we are to reach real peace in this world, we should begin with children." Bhanu Mittal, a 7th grader, responded: "Anything war can do, peace can do better." The nice people at INTACH suggested we use the money as prizes for their next essay contest. I sat there and helped them brainstorm their next project: a teenage motorcycle tour of national heritage sites. They gave me a collection of postcards with childrens' painted depictions of Indian landmarks.

2. Kalakar Trust: I had to walk down endless narrow alleys of randomly numbered houses, and ask each passerby for directions, in order to find this small office focusing on the artist colonies in Delhi's slums. They've funded educational performances on TB and AIDS, organized out-of-state performances, built a theater, given loans to women, and given advice on family planning and health. When I found the office, it was full of old childrens' sweaters they were mending for the winter. They were astonished to see me walk in, and delighted for the donation. I asked that half of it go to musician's instruments (if I'd had time, I wanted to meet up with a drummer and go with him to buy a drum), and half go towards health care counselling. They gave me their annual report and a lifetime membership.

the one-room office of the Kalakar Trust in Delhi, where they're mending winter clothes for poor children

3. Shishu Ashram: Marvan Singh walked up to me in a park and pinned a red ribbon on my shirt. Normally this would've made me unconditionally suspicious, but he showed me his bonafide, stamped and notorized certificate of authenticity, proving he was genuinely collecting money for this ashram. After learning about its work - providing the one-on-one teaching attention that blind and handicapped children need but India's public schools can't provide, and after answering his questions about schools in America, I gave a donation.

If you have any questions or comments on how and what I'm doing, please let me know. I'm learning new things every day. And I haven't yet figured out the best way to relay how much of what kind of information back to the potential cyber-audience.

AT done, soon to India

2004-10-09T12:28:00.000-05:00

Here's an update on me, Luke:
I finished thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail on August 23rd. The whole experience changed me in strong and subtle ways. Now I'm working for Wolcott Builders to make money for my trip to India. My plane leaves November 5th, and the return ticket is tentatively set for August 1st, 2005. I'm very excited, and getting ready for my Human Kindness Experiment in logistical and emotional ways.
My friend Ben is living with us (we hiked from Harpers Ferry, WV to Maine together). We took a break from construction work to drive down to Philadelphia and register voters for 10 days. We registered 300 voters, and are going back for Election Day.

Introduction

2004-10-09T10:42:00.000-05:00

Note: Time has passed. This is the original post. To discover how this project has unfolded, follow the chronology and read stories.

My name is Luke Wolcott, and I've set up this blog for my Human Kindness Experiment. Thank you for arriving here; I hope you find something interesting. My email address is terekitadha@hotmail.com, and I welcome any thoughts or questions.

The Human Kindness Experiment is a project I'll be undertaking while in India in the coming year. I leave on November 5th, and will spend 10 months giving it my energy and focus. Please read the "Summary" and "Frequently Asked Questions" for information on the project. If you feel like contributing, look at the "Contribution Form" (email me to request a file attachment).

Basically, the HKE is an exploration of compassion and kindness on a personal level. I'm hoping to act as an 'ambassador of good will' - transferring positive thoughts, intentions, and wishes from friends in the States to friends in India. In some ways it's an idealistic, naive, and quixotic adventure in making the world a better place. In other ways, it's a timely and essential call to spread positivity across the globe, in order to counter the terror the American government encourages and to combat the growing anti-American sentiment abroad.

Map of Travels

2004-01-18T03:56:00.000-05:00

Locations In Posts Dates
1. Delhi Delhi 16 Nov 04
2. Pune
Subash Tora 18 Nov
Subash Tora II 20 Nov
Pune and Mahabaleshwar 26 Nov
3. Mahabaleshwar
Pune and Mahabaleshwar 26 Nov
4. Sevagram Sevagram 4 Dec
5. Gwalior Gwalior 11 Dec
6. Pune Year-End 19 Dec
7. Mumbai Year-End 19 Dec
8. Sadhana Village Year-End 19 Dec
Sadhana Village 2 Jan 05
9. Darjeeling Darjeeling 18 Jan
10. Kolkata Kolkata 29 Jan
11. Bodh Gaya Bodh Gaya 7 Feb
12. Rishikesh Rishikesh 26 Feb
then back to Delhi, and to New Zealand...

Summary

2004-01-01T14:43:00.000-05:00

Note: Time has passed. This is the original post, given to my American friends. To discover how this project has unfolded, read some stories from India posts.

A Summary of the HKE

When I think about the people on the other side of the world, I wish them well. I want good things for them. I want to understand them and be understood, and I want to be a kind friend. Sometimes I would like them to know all this. Do you as well? Why not tell them?

Part I – ‘Pure’ Kindness
Find something simple and meaningful that you can and want to give, and I will travel to India and give it on your behalf. Compassion has to do with concern and attention. We connect with people by sharing, giving, and listening. Meaningful giving is not easy – here are some ideas:
--cultural tidbit ("Every Thanksgiving our family gets together and…")
--hug, handshake, or smile
--political disclaimer ("Not every American supports ruthless imperialism. In fact…")
--sincere eye contact
--story ("When I was young I had an invisible tree fort that I would play in…")
--prayer, kind words, positive vibes
--advice, a question, a cup of chai and an open ear, patience
--tune of a song, directions to a game, a good recipe

These are simple manifestations of human kindness, and although they seem insignificant, I think that it is through meaningful giving that we spread goodwill and foster understanding. For example, I may make a friend, look them in the eye, and say: "My American friend apologizes for the USA’s bullying foreign policy and wants you to know that you have a friend in New York City."

Part II – ‘Concrete’ Kindness
The people of India, like Americans, and like all people in the world, struggle as they grow. While I don’t think it’s possible to end all hardship, I see this universal striving as an opportunity to establish positive connections and show compassion. While I was in India, I found (and documented) very clear opportunities to help in a personal and direct way. I would like you to give me money, which I will use in a variety of ways to show kindness. Some ways in which your money can help:
--education (some kids can’t afford school because terrorism hurts tourism)
--malnourishment, leprosy, health (on a personal basis or through local groups)
--overpopulation/contraception (many Indians are unaware of the options)
--agriculture (support of traditional methods, help with livestock or tools)
--culture (support for yoga, music, or religion on a local level)

There are many subtle issues with equating money and kindness that I have carefully thought over (see FAQ). Perhaps I’ll befriend a farmer and buy him a goat in exchange for learning about milking. I will carefully document all exchanges, and send pictures and stories back to the States.
You have the option of itemizing how you would like your money used. As an incentive, I’m taking pledges for my hiking trip on the Appalachian Trail. Would you agree to pay one cent for every mile I hike?
If you are interested in participating in my experiment, please fill out the Contribution Form. I encourage you to read the Frequently Asked Questions. Please, please, please ask me questions or tell me what you think about this project.

Frequently Asked Questions

2004-01-01T11:48:00.000-05:00

Note: Time has passed. This is the original post, given to my American friends before I left. To discover how this project has unfolded, read stories in the India posts.

Frequently Asked Questions about the HKE

GENERAL

Why are you doing this?
It would be an exhilarating honor to represent my friends and family and help establish positive, personal connections. I feel that America is making the world a worse place, and as an American I want to do something to balance the negativity we’re spreading around the world. This project gives me an excuse to travel to places I might not otherwise go, make lots of friends, and learn about many different ways of life. It presents a personal challenge and allows me to affirm and develop my ever-changing ideals of kindness and compassion.

Why India?
I spent a year wandering in India in 2001, and focused on being an observer – experiencing India on its own terms while projecting my American biases as little as possible. I saw ways that I could help, but usually tried not to interfere in things I didn’t understand. Now I am ready and willing to help, and have Indian friends, local contacts, and some language skills.

Why not do this project in the US?
I’m trying to figure out an answer, not the answer. Maybe some day I’ll be able to give my sincere attention, compassion, and willingness to everyone I meet on the street. Maybe some day we’ll all be able to do it. This HKE is one small step in that direction.

Who’s paying for this trip?
Using my earned savings (and graduation money), I am funding the ‘context’ of the trip – the plane tickets, food, lodging, and travel expenses. If you decide to give money, it will go directly to helping the Indian people.

PART I – ‘Pure’ Kindness

Do Indians really want to hear stories about my invisible tree fort?
Yes, just like I would. Many misconceptions and misunderstandings would disappear with closer communication and connection. The world is much smaller than we think.

Does a smile really make a difference? What about Absolute World Peace?
Suppose you pass three people on the street – the first smiles warmly at you, the second intentionally ignores you, and the third pushes you off the sidewalk. Is there a difference in these interactions? I believe we change the world on a small scale, by affecting those around us on a personal level.

How will you share these good wishes?
I will make friends, and decide when it is appropriate to establish a kind connection between these friends and my American friends. You are trusting my judgment.

What if I can’t think of something to give?
No one said that giving is easy – in fact, the more difficult and personal the gift, the more meaningful the giving. Suppose your neighbor called you and said something that simply made your day – what would it be? If you have questions about the appropriateness of a gift, please ask me.

PART II – ‘Concrete’ Kindness

Why should I give you my hard-earned money?
I’ve written a sort of petition about kindness and compassion in the world, and I’m trying to collect as many signatures as possible. That is why I’m asking for small amounts of money from many people.

How will you give money so that it is received as kindness?
This is very difficult. By participating, you are trusting my judgment. I will try to make sure that the gift is actually a gift, and that it is understood for what it is – a hand reaching out from my friends in the USA. I won’t go looking for people to give money to; the money will come only after the context is established and understood. I can make it less about economics by avoiding giving money directly – rather than give a farmer money to buy a cow, I’ll go with him and buy it for him.
To maintain a balance, I will encourage reciprocity (particularly: what can we learn from each other?), and document responses (pictures, return messages, etc), which will be sent home.

How much money do you want for your experiment?
My aim is $1500-$2000. A meal costs $1, and a cow costs $100. When the cause is inexpensive (like talking with people to dispel myths about the US), the money will go to supporting my travel, food, and lodging. I will be happy to work effectively with whatever amount I can collect. As incentive, I’m asking for pledges for my Appalachian Trail hike, with a minimum pledge of $0.01 per mile (the trail is 2,160 miles long).

Why not join the Peace Corps or give to Amnesty International?
For a gift to be meaningful, it must be personal. I could get a grant to distribute money as I see fit, but the point of this HKE is to send positive feelings from my close friends and family to friends in India. Philanthropy shouldn’t be a selfless, distant ideal, it should be simple and commonplace. I think we need to augment large philanthropic organizations with small, personal connections. In fact, many massive organizations think they are helping, but may be corrupt or ineffective, and may actually be supporting dependencies and misunderstanding.

What are other examples of causes I can support?
I have a network of contacts to start with and build upon. There is a poor shantytown in Jaipur, Rajasthan whose residents are collecting money to build their own small temple. There is a local leprosy foundation in Bodhgaya, where the Buddha was enlightened. By talking with young Indian men about sex and contraception, it’s possible to avoid sexual abuse and unwanted pregnancies. Many children’s parents can’t afford school tuition because Osama bin Laden hurt the tourism industry.

How will you measure the success of this project?
The best gifts are given freely, without expectations or attachment. There is something to be said for setting and reaching goals, though. I will keep a written and photographic record of each exchange, and stories and pictures will be sent back to the States.

Yes, I’m interested. What do I do next?
Think carefully about what you’d like to give (Part I), and what causes you would like to help (Part II). Fill out the Contribution Form when you have decided.

Contribution Form

2004-01-01T01:13:00.000-05:00

Contribution Form

Thank you for participating in my experiment to spread kindness. You can email me to request this document as a file attachment. Either edit this document and resend it as an attachment to terekitadha@hotmail.com, or print, fill out, and mail it to the address below.

PART I – Pure Kindness

Please write a description of what you would like me to give on your behalf. Feel free to specify a time, place, or recipient. Read the Summary or FAQ for suggestions.

PART II – Concrete Kindness

Mark an X by one option below. Make checks out to ‘Luke Wolcott’ with ‘Human Kindness Experiment’ in the memo line. Mail to:
Luke Wolcott
7 Feller Rd.
Rhinebeck, NY 12572

___ I do not wish to give any money.
___ I wish to donate the following sum: $_______
___ I wish to pledge the following amount per hiked mile of the AT: $___ (per mile)
The Appalachian Trail is 2,160 miles long, and I’m asking a minimum of $0.01 per mile (or $21.60). I successfully completed the Trail this year, starting February 6th in Georgia and finishing August 23rd in Maine.

If you wish to do so, you can itemize how you would like the money spent. Here is a short list of possible causes, but feel free to add or qualify. Email any questions.
___ education (some kids can’t afford school because terrorism hurts tourism)
___ malnourishment, leprosy, health (on a personal basis or through local groups)
___ overpopulation/contraception (many Indians are unaware of the options)
___ agriculture (support of traditional methods, help with livestock or tools)
___ culture (support for yoga, music, or religion on a local level)
Write any other comments...

Thank you, deeply.