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On Wishes and Adventures

Many times when I mention the “MommyWizard life” I often describe the effects without writing much about the attitude that created the effects in the first place. What’s been interesting to us over the years is the number of people who say, “Oh I wish I’d done that!” But when it comes down to cases, the same folks will happily choose sitting home in the burbs to watch some reality TV instead of eating some rat on a stick, traveling through a revolution, or building a dual-system dirigible
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The decision pattern sounds something like this: “It’s too weird not to do.” Or “I’ll always wonder if I hadn’t.” Or: “The timing on this is just too coincidental…” Nobody we know has ever spent a lot of time wishing for a normal life. Occasionally I’ll try to picture myself in that life my mother originally intended me to have–good middle manager job, husband, kids, a nice house in the burbs–and give it up after a minute or so. Because, let’s face it, the MommyWizard life involves being very very bad at being normal.

India is a place that’s really conducive to this attitude. Few things you expect to happen do, while things that would never happen normally in the States do happen here, with an immediacy that’s often startling. This is all by way of explaining that last Thursday morning, I fully expected a regular day of shopping for vegetables in town, followed by a day at the computer, and so on. Instead, by about 10 AM I found myself packed in a truck with a mob of women, children, and a couple of goats, all headed for the temples at Naina Devi, near the Holy Caves of Padmasambhava.

I guess a little background is in order. Our landlord Bitu lives just down the road with his extended family including four out of six brothers (of the others, one works in Dubai, the other in Simla). In the beginning of our stay here, I couldn’t keep track of all the brothers’ names. So in my mind there was our landlord; Eldest brother Naru, who drives a tractor, was “Tractor Brother”; while a younger one with a truck was “Truck Brother”; another brother located next door to was a schoolteacher, so: “Schoolteacher Brother”; while the one working in Dubai was “Dubai Brother”. Yes, I know that list is two brothers short. the other two don’t come into this story, so work with me here.

Anyway, Tractor Brother was scheduled to marry off his daughter this past weekend. But Indian marriages are actually drawn-out affairs lasting for days, while this ritual and that puja are carried out. A number of weddings in Rewalsar proper involve a visit to the temples, complete with a band, while the bride and groom promise Shiva, Hanuman, Durga, and company that they’ll play well with each other, or at least not run with scissors, as long as the marriage lasts. On this fine Thursday morning, I was at my desk when I heard a band start up a cheerful tune. This is not a rare occurrence; wedding bands often pass by the house either on their way down to Rewalsar from the upper villages, or headed the other direction, back to a bride or groom’s home. This band stopped for quite a while, and sounded as if it was in front of the complex Bitu and his assorted brothers live in, so I went to take a look.

There I found Truck Brother and Tractor Brother puttering around, while a gaggle of women from the family were clustered around the family truck. As I arrived Schoolteacher Brother told me they were heading up to Naina Devi, and invited me to come along. But only if I came now–they were just about to leave! Well, there was really one answer to that, which was to rush to the house, collect my dupatta, djola and good sandals, and rush back to get in the truck.

Indian trucks are not at all like Western ones. They’re middling size open topped wagons, with railings above the main compartment. In case of rain or goods that might fall out, a tarp gets thrown over the top. Sizable families that need to get from point A to point B without going broke on taxi fare often hire out a truck instead, stuffing as many folks in the back as will fit. In Rewalsar, since it’s a major pilgrimage point, you sometimes hear comments about “truck tourists”. I climbed in with the other women, and found that two goats–a mother and baby, both white–would also be joining us for the ride. In a truck, there’s really only two riding options. Option one is to sit on the floor of the compartment, jouncing along like a marble in a kid’s treasure box, and hope you don’t get stepped on, or peed on, by a goat. Option two is to stand next to compartment wall and hang onto the railings, and hope you don’t get stepped on, peed on, or gored, by a goat. For the kids and the musicians, there’s a third option, which is to climb all the way up on the railings or on the cab of the truck. Once there, you cling there like a limpet, and hope you don’t fall out of the truck entirely and into the road…or on a goat…

So this is how I ended up clutching the railings of the truck as it bounced along the road to Naina Devi, with mama goat’s right horn pointed rather frighteningly at my stomach, and a band player’s trumpet trying to stick itself in my armpit. Once I was settled as much as I was going to be, I looked around for Tractor Brother’s daughter Meena, the prospective bride-to-be. In a Hindu wedding party, the bride is easy to spot–she’s always the one dressed in a red and gold sari, with a headdress of red fabric and gold tinsel. Unfortunately, this time Meena turned up right next to me in the truck–dressed in a regular salwar suit. Hm. I spotted the actual bride, and realized that I had no idea who she was, and that I’d accidentally crashed someone else’s wedding party. Oops.

Well, alrighty then. The truck was already a good 4 kilometers into the 8 kilometer trip when I made this fascinating discovery. The women were singing temple songs at high volume, while mama goat did her best to get herself untied and out of the truck, and baby goat followed along, because that’s where its next meal would be coming from. About a kilometer away from Naina Devi proper, the truck pulled off the road onto a pull out with a small shrine. We were actually going first to the older Shiva temple on a hilltop across the way. The temple turned out to be “Just up here”–a direction I’ve warned about in a previous blog post. It turned into an hour-long uphill hike, during which I got badly winded and people took pity on the poor American lady. The trail was narrow, rocky, and well-furnished with thorny bushes. Partway along I turned to Meena, and asked her how much further we had to go.

“Oh, just two (vague gesture uphill) or three (vague gesture)..”

By plugging away at it, and taking frequent rests, I managed. I’m good with the path from our house to town, but this was as difficult as the trail from Rewalsar up to the Holy Caves. In time we made it, and sat on cool marble in the shade, while waiting to offer dhoop (incense) and small coins at the shrine. The goats got blessed, as well, and got doused with red powder. We all noshed on prasad–food cooked for Hindu pujas–while the band played a few tunes, and the bride made her obeisances to Shiva. A bit of roti, or dalia (cracked wheat) cooked with sugar and ghee, and we were all set for the next stage. We plugged our way back down the hillside again, and piled back in the truck for Naina Devi.

Naina Devi is not just one temple, but a whole complex of them, and many local families come up there for the various ceremonies of Hindu life. So instead of a solemn atmosphere of quiet, there’s the kind of chaos you normally see at mehlas. Two different sets of brides and grooms came up to have a pandit declare their marriage while folks threw rose petals. Meanwhile, just behind us, a family was having their toddler undergo a different ceremony, complete with head shaving and a (mostly) voluntary bath. The goats also underwent their bit of ceremony, having the families of the bride and groom toss a bit of water and red powder onto mama while a barefoot farm girl tried to keep her from bolting out of Naina Devi altogether.

All of that accomplished, we snacked on a bit of pani puri and chana dal, piled back in the truck once more (with the goats) and headed for home.

Oh, I did finally make it to the correct wedding. But that’s another blog post…

April 28th, 2008 Posted by admin | India | 2 comments