An Indian friend of mine shared an interesting experience with me the other day. He traveled home last week to see his family and attend his cousin's wedding.
My friend is a Christian. He was raised Hindu. God stopped him in his tracks in his many years ago when his cousin (this one getting married) offered to pray for him one night. It blew him away. Pray, sure that's fine, but to me? He thought. There was no idol, there were no mantras. Just a plea to "Jesus" to help him.
That prayer set off a wildfire and the next years were spent learning about this Jesus. He took classes and read the Bible. One day God spoke to him in the night. As clear as a bell. He gave his life to Jesus.
So back to this trip home. His cousin is getting married a second time. Evidently there was a falling out with his first wife and they separated without a legal divorce. She ran off somewhere. This new wife is Hindu. The cousin who first led him to Christ seemed to be a little off the path.
The wedding was very strange for my friend to observe. It was presided over by several Christian pastors, but because the bride's family is Hindu, there were many Hindu rituals allowed to take place. The Word was not spoken.
After the wedding ceremony, the couple, the pastors, and the guests were all in some room - I don't quite know. My friend could not keep quiet and he stood up and shared from the Word. He called out the pastors who approved of his cousin marrying a Hindu woman, who said not a word about his previous marriage still legally unsettled.
His cousin was in tears. The pastors were convicted. All thought he was a pastor himself. No, just a follower of Jesus. It doesn't take a title to read the Bible and to know the Truth.
I was blown away by his conviction and his boldness. How many times have I felt the urge to stand up in my own circumstances and call out those around me? How many times have I kept quiet when lies ran rampant.
This was convicting to me. I hope it's a challenge to you.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Agra
So we went to Agra this last weekend. Saw the Taj, saw Red Fort, yadda yadda yadda. It was big it was beautiful it was stunning. Did you expect something else? Open up your thesaurus and look up the word "spectacular." Done? That's what it was. I painted the picture, I set the scene, you were practically there.
You are dropped off as close as they allow and hop on an official bus to take you the rest of the way. Walk the remaining 2 minutes to the gate. Ignore the shopkeepers, the little boys begging you to buy their postcards, the calls of "yes sir! please sir! one minute sir! come see my shop!" Pay the foreigner tax, 40x the rate of the Indian. Take a deep breath, it was your people who raped and pillaged this land anyways.
Your heart skips a beat as you approach the arched entry. There it is. The most beautiful building in the world. Mmm. All the heat in the world couldn't stop you from enjoying the moment.
A man who claims to be the gardener sees your camera and offers to show you some great places to take "nice photo." You realize too late he'll inevitably expect money. The pictures are good, and you pay him more than he deserves. Yet he still has the gaul to stare back at you in disgust.
You finally leave the grounds, waving goodbye as if expecting the Taj to wave back.
Again ignore the shopkeepers. A young boy with postcards from before pleads even more. His price drops quickly. "My name is Amit! Please. 20 rupees!"
After lunch, Pizza Hut of all places, head to the Agra Red Fort. Even if you wanted sunglasses, a hat, peacock fans, postcards, and other diddly doo-dads, ignore. You'll just get swamped with more. Get to the gate. No, the Taj ticket does not include entry into the Fort like you were told. Fine print is universal. Pay more foreigner tax. Take a deep breath.
Smile and look around. How did they carve this? Wow! Cool! The tour guide offered you a great deal and he tells great stories. Your eyes meet those around you. It looks as if you and your group are the attraction. Cell phones are raised to take your picture, or rather the picture of your friend's blonde sister. Some are even less subtle.
The tour ends and your guide gives you the classic "whatever you want to give" spiel. You pay him more than he asked for at the beginning - it was a good tour. He milks you for more. Walk away. You could never give enough to deserve something less akward or disheartening.
Nahi. Nahi. No, I don't want that. Get in the taxi. Take a deep breath.
Nearly out of Agra the car stops in the traffic. A young girl sees you, your pale skin. She taps on the window. Her face and hands are dirty, her clothes look old and ratty. Five, maybe six years old? You want to look. You want to look away. In the middle of it all, turn with sad eyes to meet hers. Something breaks inside of you. Shrug and smile.
She forgets all about your money.
She smiles back! You make a face and she does too. The car starts to move. You want to jump out of the car and give her a hug. Damnit she deserves at least that! As she slips further away she waves. She waves!
You sit quiet for a long time.
On the outskirts of Delhi, traffic slows. A crowded jeep pulls up next to the car. Too many people in one vehicle, though not nearly as many as you've seen. You catch the eyes of a few kids inside. Smile and wave. The car begins to move again. They pause a moment and then several pairs of hands reach out the window to wave back. Grins all around. You see them 10 minutes later. They're still smiling. So you wave again.
Get back to wherever it is you call home, whether permanent or temporary. Sit and reflect.
You are dropped off as close as they allow and hop on an official bus to take you the rest of the way. Walk the remaining 2 minutes to the gate. Ignore the shopkeepers, the little boys begging you to buy their postcards, the calls of "yes sir! please sir! one minute sir! come see my shop!" Pay the foreigner tax, 40x the rate of the Indian. Take a deep breath, it was your people who raped and pillaged this land anyways.
Your heart skips a beat as you approach the arched entry. There it is. The most beautiful building in the world. Mmm. All the heat in the world couldn't stop you from enjoying the moment.
A man who claims to be the gardener sees your camera and offers to show you some great places to take "nice photo." You realize too late he'll inevitably expect money. The pictures are good, and you pay him more than he deserves. Yet he still has the gaul to stare back at you in disgust.
You finally leave the grounds, waving goodbye as if expecting the Taj to wave back.
Again ignore the shopkeepers. A young boy with postcards from before pleads even more. His price drops quickly. "My name is Amit! Please. 20 rupees!"
After lunch, Pizza Hut of all places, head to the Agra Red Fort. Even if you wanted sunglasses, a hat, peacock fans, postcards, and other diddly doo-dads, ignore. You'll just get swamped with more. Get to the gate. No, the Taj ticket does not include entry into the Fort like you were told. Fine print is universal. Pay more foreigner tax. Take a deep breath.
Smile and look around. How did they carve this? Wow! Cool! The tour guide offered you a great deal and he tells great stories. Your eyes meet those around you. It looks as if you and your group are the attraction. Cell phones are raised to take your picture, or rather the picture of your friend's blonde sister. Some are even less subtle.
The tour ends and your guide gives you the classic "whatever you want to give" spiel. You pay him more than he asked for at the beginning - it was a good tour. He milks you for more. Walk away. You could never give enough to deserve something less akward or disheartening.
Nahi. Nahi. No, I don't want that. Get in the taxi. Take a deep breath.
Nearly out of Agra the car stops in the traffic. A young girl sees you, your pale skin. She taps on the window. Her face and hands are dirty, her clothes look old and ratty. Five, maybe six years old? You want to look. You want to look away. In the middle of it all, turn with sad eyes to meet hers. Something breaks inside of you. Shrug and smile.
She forgets all about your money.
She smiles back! You make a face and she does too. The car starts to move. You want to jump out of the car and give her a hug. Damnit she deserves at least that! As she slips further away she waves. She waves!
You sit quiet for a long time.
On the outskirts of Delhi, traffic slows. A crowded jeep pulls up next to the car. Too many people in one vehicle, though not nearly as many as you've seen. You catch the eyes of a few kids inside. Smile and wave. The car begins to move again. They pause a moment and then several pairs of hands reach out the window to wave back. Grins all around. You see them 10 minutes later. They're still smiling. So you wave again.
Get back to wherever it is you call home, whether permanent or temporary. Sit and reflect.
An Indian Wedding
Taken from my journal for school.
----
About a week before the ceremony was to take place I was volunteered to play the role of official wedding photographer for a wedding at my church. Though I would rather have been asked, I was thrilled with the opportunity. With our project published and only minor in-house projects to do, I was able to take off early from work the last two days of the week to meet with the family of the bride and capture some traditional Garhwali pre-wedding rituals.
Thursday I was asked to meet the family and take pictures of a “Haldi” ceremony in which the bride is covered from head to toe with this yellowish cream in order to make her skin fairer. Interesting how most in the west seem always to try to darken their skin with tanning and creams, but here there is a fascination for paler skin. I suppose the grass is always greener on the other side. I was told to come at 6:00 and like a good, timely Westerner I was there at 5:55. I was the first to arrive. Unfortunately, I was also the only to arrive for the next hour or so. The guests (and the bride) finally showed up and the party started around 7:30, so I enjoyed a couple cups of chai with the parents of the bride. When the Haldi began, it was utter chaos. Dozens of hands reached into the yellow cream and spread it over the bride’s face, arms and legs, and then all over one another! The night ended with dinner and dancing (to the same song over and over again).
Friday I was invited to document the “Henna” ceremony, where the bride’s arms are covered with beautiful patterns with another cream that leaves a temporary tattoo. I learned from my mistake in showing up early, though evidently not well enough. This time the event didn’t start until 8:30! At least the company was fun. While the bride and younger cousins were having the henna done, everyone else danced (again to the same song).
Finally the wedding day arrived. Figuring such an important event would inspire a greater sense of urgency and promptness, I showed up right on time. I was to take pictures of the bride and her family, all dressed up and ready before the wedding ceremony. Ha! Finally, with some 20 minutes before the wedding, I was given five minutes to take some shots. In hindsight, they could have given me that hour anyway, as the groom and his family (crammed like sardines into two vehicles) arrived more than an hour late! The ceremony began and I nervously clicked through the processions and proceedings, not wanting to miss an important moment. Cake was cut, food was served, and dancing ensued (again to the same song). As with the Easter picnic, I danced too of course. Despite the hiccups and the lateness and the repetitive music, the event was an exciting and fun time. It was truly a highlight of this whole experience.
----
About a week before the ceremony was to take place I was volunteered to play the role of official wedding photographer for a wedding at my church. Though I would rather have been asked, I was thrilled with the opportunity. With our project published and only minor in-house projects to do, I was able to take off early from work the last two days of the week to meet with the family of the bride and capture some traditional Garhwali pre-wedding rituals.
Thursday I was asked to meet the family and take pictures of a “Haldi” ceremony in which the bride is covered from head to toe with this yellowish cream in order to make her skin fairer. Interesting how most in the west seem always to try to darken their skin with tanning and creams, but here there is a fascination for paler skin. I suppose the grass is always greener on the other side. I was told to come at 6:00 and like a good, timely Westerner I was there at 5:55. I was the first to arrive. Unfortunately, I was also the only to arrive for the next hour or so. The guests (and the bride) finally showed up and the party started around 7:30, so I enjoyed a couple cups of chai with the parents of the bride. When the Haldi began, it was utter chaos. Dozens of hands reached into the yellow cream and spread it over the bride’s face, arms and legs, and then all over one another! The night ended with dinner and dancing (to the same song over and over again).
Friday I was invited to document the “Henna” ceremony, where the bride’s arms are covered with beautiful patterns with another cream that leaves a temporary tattoo. I learned from my mistake in showing up early, though evidently not well enough. This time the event didn’t start until 8:30! At least the company was fun. While the bride and younger cousins were having the henna done, everyone else danced (again to the same song).
Finally the wedding day arrived. Figuring such an important event would inspire a greater sense of urgency and promptness, I showed up right on time. I was to take pictures of the bride and her family, all dressed up and ready before the wedding ceremony. Ha! Finally, with some 20 minutes before the wedding, I was given five minutes to take some shots. In hindsight, they could have given me that hour anyway, as the groom and his family (crammed like sardines into two vehicles) arrived more than an hour late! The ceremony began and I nervously clicked through the processions and proceedings, not wanting to miss an important moment. Cake was cut, food was served, and dancing ensued (again to the same song). As with the Easter picnic, I danced too of course. Despite the hiccups and the lateness and the repetitive music, the event was an exciting and fun time. It was truly a highlight of this whole experience.
The past month in brief
I haven't written here in a month, shame on me. And so much has happened! So here is a quick list to get you up to speed and to help me decide on what to write:
- Played the role of 'Official Wedding Photographer' at a Christian Indian wedding ceremony one weekend.
- Spent lots of money (relatively) on photo prints to share with friends here.
- Said goodbye to a wonderful staff family.
- Went to Delhi to pick up a friend's family, visiting him in Mussoorie.
- It's been raining most days, though locals insist monsoon doesn't start until, precisely, June 15th.
- Walked again to Happy Valley and got to know some Kansan's who are here.
- Assigned a new project with a local ministry.
- Went to Delhi (again) and to Agra, touring and eating very well with my friend's family before we sent them home. Saw the Taj Mahal!
- Watched 5/6 of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy (extended) over the weekend
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Rafting in Rishikesh
Today I went with Matt, Matt and Ko to Rishikesh to raft the Ganga. I didn't take pictures but wow was it fun! For some 17 km we rafted, rode rapids and jumped in and floated down the river. We even got to do some cliff jumping, though it was only maybe 20-25ft or so. It's higher than it looks!
Today I saw a few kids all dressed up and painted to look like a god. A man in similar fashion tried to put a tilak on my forehead. And of course, it was impossible to walk through the bazaar without being assaulted by "hello! yes please! you see my shop! large variety! high quality! yes sir, please sir!" Or the hundreds of beggars - sadhus (men of renunciation), crippled, elderly, women, and children.
It was interesting thinking of how many come to take a holy dip in this river. Others go to dump their garbage. And others to raft. And some all three I'm sure. What a strange object of worship.
Matt had an interesting thought as we ate at The Third Eye "restaurent" overlooking the Ganges. "I wonder how many people come to this place seeking some sort of spiritual high and leave feeling no different than when they came." Only finding a nice place to rest, but no enlightenment.
We walked past a huge temple across the Lakshman Jhula. Dozens of ornately decorated and sculpted gods. Most with several faces, many hands and feet. Some of love. Some of wrath. Any can be The god of your life. So many gods, so many paths.
I'll never complain about Nebraska roads again.
Today I saw a few kids all dressed up and painted to look like a god. A man in similar fashion tried to put a tilak on my forehead. And of course, it was impossible to walk through the bazaar without being assaulted by "hello! yes please! you see my shop! large variety! high quality! yes sir, please sir!" Or the hundreds of beggars - sadhus (men of renunciation), crippled, elderly, women, and children.
It was interesting thinking of how many come to take a holy dip in this river. Others go to dump their garbage. And others to raft. And some all three I'm sure. What a strange object of worship.
Matt had an interesting thought as we ate at The Third Eye "restaurent" overlooking the Ganges. "I wonder how many people come to this place seeking some sort of spiritual high and leave feeling no different than when they came." Only finding a nice place to rest, but no enlightenment.
We walked past a huge temple across the Lakshman Jhula. Dozens of ornately decorated and sculpted gods. Most with several faces, many hands and feet. Some of love. Some of wrath. Any can be The god of your life. So many gods, so many paths.
I'll never complain about Nebraska roads again.
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