Cooking in Bodigaya

 One of my main goals coming to India was to cook in a Buddhist Monastery.  During my first trip to India I was fortunate enough to attend 6 days of teachings lead by His Holiness the Dali Lama.  During the lunch break, older chef’s and young monks would bring massive pots of rice and vegetable soup to feed the thousands of practitioners.  After working at Shambhala Mountain Center and getting some first-hand experience in feeding a Buddhist community I was hopeful that my second trip to India would provide me the chance to volunteer at a Monastery.  My intention was to learn from the chef’s and take a glimpse into the culture of cooking for a Monastery. 

     

It was with this hope that I landed on the front steps of Terger Monastery near the auspicious site of the Buddha’s enlightenment, Bodh-Gaya.  Terger Monastery is a Tibetan Kagyu Monastery lead by His Holiness the Karmapa.  The grounds where beautifully kept, which was a rare sight considering the rest of India often lacks an uncluttered aesthetic.   Administrative buildings and a small café bordered the large gompa (temple), which served as the centerpiece for this bustling monastery.  It was extra bustling considering the Karmapa was in residence and preparing for a large Monlam (religious festival/ teaching), that was scheduled to have over ten thousand attendants. 

I was slightly anxious looking at the administrative buildings wondering which office would be my best bet for broaching the subject of my culinary volunteering.  After knocking on a few doors and being helped by some very nice monks, I ended up at the door of the Head Lama in charge of the Monlam.  My request was extremely low on the rung of importance considering the huge logistics that were going into the Monlam, i.e. building a gigantic permanent hanger for the teachings, along with tents, kitchens, and toilets to handle the huge influx of Buddhists.  Fortunately the Head Lama had been to Shambhala Mountain Center for the inauguration of the Great Stupa and was sympathetic to my cause.  Without delay he told me he would personally bring me down to the main kitchen and see if the cooks could use a hand in the kitchen.

 After walking through the construction site we landed at a relatively small kitchen with three wood fire hearths, four gas burners, and three Nepali head chefs.  The lama speaking in Tibetan (I think) explained why he was escorting a foreigner into their kitchen and after some confused looks agreed to let me volunteer in the kitchen, cutting vegetables and stuff.  The kitchen was charged with the large task of feeding over a thousand monks, almost all aged 6-17.  Throughout the day one corner would pile up with the daily order of vegetables and large groups of local Indian helpers (plus me) would chop and dice them to specification.  Every day for lunch the kitchen would produce hundreds of pounds of rice, black lentils, and two vegetable dishes.  The food was a mix of Tibetan and Indian and had a huge helping of spicy red chilies.

I volunteered at Terger for only about a week but had a great time attempting to impress the other cooks with my chopping speed.  Despite the fact that the language barrier was pretty much unsurpassable I was still able to help out.  Some of the best parts where watching the interaction with the Chefs and the young monks.  Regularly groups of monks would come to the kitchen to do assigned chores, and it was always nice to see the Nepali cooks rough the kids up and get into a mild food fight. I was expecting to learn from all the differences between this kitchen and my previous cooking jobs, but looking back I realize I learned more from the similarities.  In my head I imagined a bunch of Zen-like cooks, all advanced practitioners who sang mantra’s while chopping carrots with Buddha-like precision.  What I saw was a collection of poor Indians and imported Nepalese.  It is the same thing that kitchens do everywhere, cheap labor.  Maybe it wasn't enlightenment with chef knives, but it was something very real and human.  It was instant coffee in the morning and drinking homemade sour coconut wine with the Indian workers.  It is being reminded that cooking everywhere is long hours, hard work and if you don't love feeding people then get out of the kitchen.

         

sometimes I think of time,
and ponder how the stars align,
and listen to the bells chime,
on my front porch

...and hope the sound in the air,
can match the subtle strands of hair,
that gravity decided to snare,
from her lazy head.

Just gaze into the swiral of a leaf,
or think of a complex reef,
and realize that you can't teach,
what you can learn.

I found it when I think of friends,
Or when the night has no end,
except the sun shining again,


just wave hello.

Stand-Still

Its a magical moment when the sun touches the sand,
Two very distant things caress.
All the laws of possibility dissipate.
And for a second you get to see reality the way it should be.

I wish I could start walking towards that beautiful orb,
And keep it hanging just above the earth.
Watch it dancing on the sand like a dew drop on a blade of grass.
Start moving fast.

Until the sunset no longer means tomorrow.
Just brilliant illumination
the realization
that time is really borrowed.

Start running.

Rajasthan last leg of the trip

It has been a long time since my last entry. Having a travel partner makes it more difficult to write. I could lie and say that Jessica sucked out my creative juices like marrow from a stewed goat bone, but the reality is we have been busy. My previous time in India was filled with long bouts of down-time and periods of routine. It is much more conducive to reflection. Since Jess only had 20 days in India I figured traveling and sight-seeing would be a good option. For better or for worse our time has been filled with a lot of busy travel. The trade-off is that we have got to see a lot of awesome sights and extensively explore the largest state in India. Rajasthan, or the 'Land of Kings', is a diverse ancient land filled with majestic forts and picturesque palaces.
After an abysmal few days in Delhi we moved on to Rathambore national park. This despicably touristy location, with bad food and over-priced accommodations, is home to a beautiful national park. Rathambore is popular for giving visitors a very high chance of a tiger sighting. Its 40 feline residents are not in a caged zoo, but truly wild, roaming the 400 square kilometers of protected land. Our early morning jeep safari was at first freezing but in between my hoarse coughs we got up close and personal with a large female tiger. It was truly majestic. We also had a great time feeding wild monkeys, admiring the numerous peacocks, and watching the tigers big-eyed prey. A variety of deer and antelopes dotted the landscape and a plethora of birds and owls sat perched on exotic trees. One particular plant is called the walking tree and has tentacle like roots extending in all directions. Over the trees life-time it is capable of moving the multiple roots in order to better access sunlight or groundwater.
Our next stop was Udaipur and our first glimpse at a real Indian palace. Rajasthan is the land of fairytale India. I expected Aladin and his Genie around every corner. We stayed at a 300 year-old water front Haveli. The large many floored building was home to an old maharaja or perhaps a rich English Ambassador during the Raj. The roof-top restaurant served minauture portions but had a massive view of Udaipurs iconic 'Lake Palace'. The colossal white structure glimmers as it floats in the middle of Lake Pichola. Only accessible by boat, the royal families former summer home, is now one of India's most famous hotels. Boasting 800 dollar a night rooms you are promised the royal treatment, literally. Over the water to the east, lies the main city. A twisitng jumbles of hilly streets weaves around ancient temples and old Havelis. The main attraction is the royal families home, simple deemed 'City Palace'. The present family is the seventy-sixth generation of Mewar rulers and the longest unbroken chain of Royalty in Rajasthan. Part of the palace is now an elaboate museum showcasing Rajasthans royal artifacts and life-style. Of course the sickness from Rathambore progressed to constipation and a flu like lethargy. Thankfully prescription drugs are cheap and don't require a prescription. One and a half days of bed rest set me straight and I was back on the filthy streets of India.
On to the next city.
Jessica has tantrum number 2
O sorry I forgot to mention tantrum number 1.
We where on a short train ride leaving Delhi when the prospect of not sitting next to me, in a horrendously dirty train mind you, moved her to tears. Luckily the other passengers took pity and let us sit together in ridiculously cramped seats.
Number 2 was less tears and more anger. We paid for a late night sleeper train to the desert city of Jaislmer. Promised individual lay-down sleeper seats we where forced to share seats on a overnight train. If this wasn't bad enough the seats where sticky with tobacco juice and we weren't even sitting together. I cowered in fear as Jessica's face reddened and steam escaped her ears. Lucky for everyone the train conductor found a few empty beds and we where able to get a little shut eye before our 5 am arrival. Jess was pissed but who can blame her. She is now adamant "NO MORE TRAINS!"

Jaislmer was probably our best stop. The city is not too small or too big. A awesome crumbling fort juts out of the sand and looks like a giant turreted hill from far away. We where able to relax. It probably helped that Jessica booked a room a the nicest hotel in the city. A 5 star resort called Fort Rajwada. It still only cost 100 dollars a night which was more than worth it after last nights fiasco. We took it easy and leisurely explored the city and the intricately carved Jain temples. We even extended our stay in Jaislmer to go on a Camel Safari.
After a 6:30 am pick-up (we have grown accustomed to early morning and even earlier nights) we where thrust into a beat up jeep and started the 60 km drive straight into the desert. Clutching onto our shawls we watched the sun rise in the distant horizon. It looked like half of a pink/orange neon orb hovering daintily above the ground. A reddish haze hangs in the morning air and reflects off the wispy clouds. The jeep bumps and rocks as it moves from pavement to rolling sand. Deeper and deeper we go until we spot some camels and rugged looking Indians crouching over a smile fire. They make us some chai and introduce us to our camels.
Camels are interesting creatures. They regurgitate and re-chew their food like a cow. They can be stubborn as a mule. Yet you can ride it like a horse. Well sort of. If a horse had a sharp ridge for a back, was twice the size, and lurched forward in awkward bumpy steps, then maybe it would be like a horse. They do have some positives. For one, they remind me of one of my best friends (not a insult), also the hundreds of flies swarming around their head means they are not swarming around my head. I guess the putrefied green mess of regurgitated brambles, which are foaming at the camels mouth, is attractive to flies. Okay, I am overstating how bad the camels where but a little dramatic effect never hurt. When I wasn't concentrating on how bad my ass hurt it was pretty fun roaming around the desert. Long expanses of sand where punctuated by scraggly trees and sharp bramble bushes. The intimate excursion consisted of just Jessica, myself, and the solo camel driver, Kareem. He knows the desert like the back of his hand and guided us through the arid landscape and various desert villages. At each village the children swarmed, hoping for sweets or toys, and clamored for their pictures to be taken. The small multi-roomed huts where made with mud mixed with dung and topped with layered straw. The skin of the desert people where as leathered as the saddles. Years of sun turned their complexions dark and their skin hard. Wrinkles formed early and betrayed their true age.
For lunch and dinner we stopped to set up camp. The camel driver doubled as the cook and made pots of delicious chai as we basked on the rolling sand dunes. While the sun set over the wind-rippled dunes the smell of hot subzi (mixed vegetables) rose from Kareem's make-shift wood fire kitchen. He usually had a little desert boy running around collecting wood and cleaning dishes. He used sand to clean out the dirty dishes, and a tiny remnant of grit was always left over in the food. It didn't bother us much as the desert dry kindling made the food hot and delicious. The deep rusty orange sun was half engulfed in wispy clouds and night fell quickly. Kareem rolled out comfy makeshift mattresses and blankets . We went to sleep around 8 under a sky filled with stars.
We are now in Jaipur and will be moving on to Delhi then home.
I will be back in January. Call me.

Delhi Morning

The early praying of the monks
The morning braying of the pigeons
One hard step on cobblestone
One long exhale
One word
Truth.

The mangy flea-ridden dogs
The dirty lice ridden kids
The beggars with open sores
and hands
One hard step on cobblestone
One short inhale
One word
Truth.

The scent of spiced chai
The stench of fresh shit
The feel of another bead
Shifted with my thumb
One hard step on cobblestone
One long exhale
One word
Truth.

The sobriety of twilight
The artistry in the sunrise
The colors of filtered rays
Through smog
One hard step on cobblestone
One short inhale
One city
Delhi

Transportation and back to Delhi

For a city called Delhi you'd think they would make a good pastrami on rye.

Ok before you immediately close the page just let me justify this. As a Lawrence I am obliged, by laws far beyond my control, to tell the most terrible, nay horrendous, nay abysmal jokes known to mankind. The only problem is that age not only diminishes the filter for such jokes, but one starts believing they are actually clever and humorous. God help my loved ones in 40 years.

So, where was I? I believe the last time I left off I was still at the Ashram. Shortly after that, I went back to Kasar Devi and resumed my post at Kalmatia Sangam. Initially it was very slow, but I continued to learn some. In fact my role in the kitchen started to shift towards cooking the staff meals. It is funny because that was my job at the first restaurant I worked at. Of course in that restaurant I had a little more freedom in my choice of genre. This was strictly Indian. For breakfast I rolled out parathas, Lunch was dal (lentils) and rice, and dinner was curried vegetables with chapatti (bread). The other cooks and employees where very good to me, and loved to joke around with me. There was one guy named Balwan who didn't speak a lick of English, but we had an ongoing joke. He would say 1-2-3 and thrust his hips with each number. They got a kick out of it when I appeased him and moved my hips also. One of the chefs said Balwan's only problem is that he can never get to 4-5-6. I spent more time at the Kasar Devi temple and made friends with the Swami that lived there. He is very smart guy, with a gentle soul. He preaches the virtue of moderation (which I find funny for someone that abstains from so many things). Either way it is a great teaching and important to remember that too much pleasure is just as unhealthy as too much pain. A good way to train your spirit and will is to abstain from pleasurable things every once in a while. It makes the good that much better and teaches you to have a strong mind. I actually fasted to try this out. As anyone that knows me can tell you I have a very big problem with being irritable and mean when I am hungry. After 36 hours with only some mango juice and a banana I can tell you I am on the road to recovery. It is amazing that when the mind WANTS to not eat it feels empowered and not cranky. I am learning a lot about myself and the connection between my mind and body. It is also very healthy to fast every few weeks because it gives your digestive system time to clean out extra build up in the system. Just make sure that you drink plenty of water, and if it's longer than 24 hours, drink fruit juice that has vitamin C and chlorophyll. Of course I am not a doctor and I feel obligated to inform all readers that they should consult a physician before doing anything. Before I left Kalmatia I had a meeting with the manager and we discussed improvements that I felt could help the restaurant. From his point of view that was my primary purpose for my presence. The meeting went very well and I felt that the manager was very receptive to my advice. I doubt I will go back, but at least I know I can.

I left to go back to the ashram for a few days because I could not get a train to Delhi from Almora but I could from Dehra Dun. The rest of this entry will break away from the narrative format and be more of a compilation of tales that further illuminates the transportation system, culture, and people. Many entries ago I was getting extremely feed-up with the people. I felt like everyone simply wanted to screw you for every paisa (that is a rupee cent haha) you are worth. Or course the businessmen and taxi drivers are like this but that is their nature you can't blame them. Only laugh. For the most part Indians are friendly, inquisitive, and helpful. I have not been to a single rail station or airport where someone did not spark up a conversation with me. Their level of English was the biggest factor for how personal and in-depth the conversation went. Sometimes it stopped at "What country are you?”America, New Jersey." Period. Other times questions about my occupation, salary, religion, or marital status came into play. In America asking someone their salary is generally considered rude. In India it's common-place. Of course when I convert 9 dollars an hour to rupees they think I am raking it in. It's hard to explain that currency is relative, and I make relatively little. I had one such conversation with a very friendly group of 20-something traveling from Lucknow. They where all going to university together and where traveling with their English Lit. Professor. They where quite enamored with me. Earlier I said that Indians have contempt for people with white skin. In reality it draws jealousy. The Indian cosmetic world is full of skin whitening creams. One of the college kids (male) was quick to tell me I'm 'beautiful' and asked why I didn't work in Hollywood. He asked as if such a proposition was simple and obvious. They urged me to play guitar and I of course obliged. Looking up from the strings, I saw a large gathering. I very much regret not knowing some Michael Jackson songs or better yet some Backstreet Boys. They love that shit. I don't think my blues and rock really did it for them. Of course the crowd was gathered to see the strange skeptical more than hear the music. The professor came over and started to discuss English Literature. We started to talk about poetry. I brought up Ginsberg and Kerouac; he brought up Frost and Dickenson. I quoted some Shakespeare and he let me off the hook for not knowing all the classics. He took every chance he could to admonish me for my ignorance of English Lit., Indian geography, or even Indian classical music. He started to write down sitar and tabla musicians that "I simply must hear". The boys started to ask me about dating in America and particularly how to pick up girls. I told them I wasn't the one to ask. When they asked how I picked up my last girlfriend I told them it was a long story and involved whisky. I departed the train station with them jogging along side yelling "I love you David". Now I have boy friends all over the world.

Now, for a brief foray into the scary word of Delhi's metro system. It has the pure quantity of people that you would find in a Tokyo rail station but absolutely none of the orderliness. Instead of polite ushers with white gloves you have a few guys with whistles trying desperately to keep the crowds under control. As the train rolls in the people on board try desperately to push their way out as the throngs of people start flooding on board. The poor fools that are inside hardly have a chance unless they’re close to the front. It's absolutely mayhem. Surprisingly the underground is very modern and clean, plus there are no beggars.

Dehra-Dun to Delhi. 6 am departure. I spent the large majority of the ride reading until I heard loud yelling a few seats in front of me. Two young lovers where laying on the sleeper in front of me, and wrapped in their blanket it was very cute. I saw the young man get in a quarrel with an official. He was mighty pissed. It started to escalate to the point where everyone in our section of the train took notice and men started to rush forward to get involved. I was not sure who was at fault until the gentleman next to me translated. Apparently the young kids are only students and did not have the appropriate I.D.'s for the online tickets they purchased. Mind you, I have never once been asked for I.D. on the many train rides I have taken. They paid for their tickets. No other passenger claimed the seats they where in. Why, you ask, was there such a hassle? Simply because they are two kids lying next to each other and not married. The initial fine was 250 rupees and after this asshole official dragged the kid off the train and tried to get him arrested (the cops told the official NO) he upped the fine to 750 rupees (a very large fine for two kids). The kids finally gave in and where fumbling for the money when the official escorted them to another part of the train. An hour later the young kid came back to get his stuff and informed us that since he is 18 and she is 17 (a minor) the official is making the ludicrous claim that he kidnapped the girl. Yes you read properly. There is no law against them traveling together and any judge in India would acquit them without a second thought. All the adults where outraged at the official and said that any other official would have accepted the college I.D. and make nothing of it. That my first real glance at corruption and the evil streak of conservatism that is suppressing the youth of India.

Part 2 continued

The ceremony came to a close shortly after he left. Now it's time to walk over to another building. The prime minister of this state (i guess something like our Governors) is here and the adults are waiting around to meet and greet him (or just see him). I could care less. I see a playground, "Yo, Ankit wanna play on those swings". "Sure." He replies.
We run around for a while and I am confident in my decision to be a kid. As the two German's join us I go to a park bench and do some reading and my daily meditation.
"You read more than anyone I know" interrupts Ankit.
"Thank you" I smile
"Hey kids come over here" Aman yells. He introduces us to the 'Lord of Lords' (a former doctor, turned wealthy business, in order to give money to charity), and Dr. Ganesha (sorry most certainly spelled wrong) a leading holistic doctor. These men where crucial in the founding of the great hospital. The Himalayan Institute is unique in many ways. Not only is it a fusion of Eastern and Western medicine, it is a full-fledged medical school, and it's all targeted towards the poor of India.
"This is David, He is a chef and is learning how to cook Indian food" Aman proclaims.
"Come to my house I'll teach you to cook" The 'Lord of Lords' says (still not smiling). I half chuckle not sure if its a joke and pose for some snap-shots.
We still have time to kill before lunch and I can feel my stomach churning. We decide to wait at the bookstore. After browsing for a while I turn around and see the kind face of Dr. Ganesha. I shake his hand and start to tell him about my plan for spreading learning's to my family and friends in America. I tell him I want to help heal body and mind by focusing on the question of life and God. I say that the plan would be to start with breathing exercises, meditation, do some physical exercise, talk about philosophy, and then nutrition. He was eager to help and gave me some great suggestions. He said the most crucial thing is to START with nutrition. "Everything starts with nutrition." He suggested a book for me to buy and we departed with a big smile on my face.
Ok lunch time. We make our way to a huge tent and I marvel at the operation. Hundreds if not thousands of people are seated. As flocks of volunteers, carrying buckets of delicious vegetables, curries, rice and bread feed the hungry masses, 25-30 men are preparing jumbo sized portions of excellent vegetarian Indian fare. It's all served on leaf plates, and its all free. As a chef this is magic.
With lunch time done we decide to make the short drive to Riskikesh. More singing ensues. As we are crossing a bridge one of the Germans points out a tree that George Harrison apparently wrote a song "OH shit, watch out!!" A huge truck nearly runs us off the bridge. In India lanes are merely a suggestion. After that I was in the mood for Beatles so I decided to kill everyone with my singing. Lucky for them I fell asleep soon after and didn't awake till we where right next the Ganaga. We reached the holiest river in the world and started to make the steep downward climb to the shore. My head is spinning from the car ride and the narrow suspension bridge makes me feel dizzy and just plain awful. I stumble to the River Ganaga and instead of the euphoric feeling of Hindu pilgrimage I fell like I need to lay in the sand. Thankfully it works and my head feels a whole lot better. A mother and her son come over to talk. I figured they where either beggars or friendly. Turns out both.
As the rest of the group joins me, after their dip in the river, we make our way to a cafe for a late afternoon snack. I thoroughly enjoy the leisurely stroll, nutella and banana toast, plus silly pictures overlooking the river. We look at the clock and decide to trek back towards the car. Rishikesh is a pretty cool town but its nation-wide fame makes it a mecca for Hindu pilgrims and foreign hippies. This strange brew attracts long-haired sadus (holy men) and long-haired guys trying to sell you chalis (hash). Only the orange robe distinguishes them.
The care ride back is dark and much more dangerous. My decision to take the front seat is proving to not be very wise. Luckily Felix is a great driver and got us back unscathed. It's time for the nights closing ceremony. I take a seat in the VIP area (yea I know big shot) and watch the classical Indian musicians warm-up/ tune-up. There is a violinist, tabla player, a percussionist playing a gourd type thing, and a the center of the Quartet, a female vocalist. The deep rhythm, and piercing melody touches the part of my soul that music is supposed to touch. I am moved so greatly that devotion, in the form of words, came streaming to my head. I try to suppress them so I can concentrate on the music, but as my eyes are on the brink of tears my hand scrawls a poem in this notebook. As the performance closes, I have a strong desire to read her the lines. I find Aman and ask his advice. He leads me to her husband who with a smile, tells me she would be flattered. I wait on line as the rows of Indian fans wait for pictures and autographs. With my hands trembling and voice shakey I say "Hello, your voice is so beautiful, That I was compelled to write some words down, I would be honored to read them to you"
"Of course" she replies with a kind smile.

"Perhaps the only thing that could match,
Your voices Power and Finesse,
Is Water.
What else could crash
Like a wave over my emotions,
Or sooth my never-ending thirst.

It's as if I was blind,
And the first color I saw was the vibrancy of a red rose.
Maybe that could match it's subtlety,
Or grace,
Or the delicate taste,
Of Honey.

If the nimble dancer could soar,
Or the artist, turn clay to life,
Then maybe they, could turn the night,
Into Day
Or candles into Stars
Or words into far-
Reaching strokes.
That turn my heart, body, and mind into strings,
And my soul into beautiful music."

As her two hands out-stretch for mine she says "That was very beautiful can you please write me a copy in your own hand writing."
"Thank you you have the most beautiful voice I have ever heard." I say redundantly.
She signs the poem and I scurry off to write her a copy in the shakiest hand-writing ever. The rest of the night is a blurr, but I know I got home.