Akshardham

Friday, my last day at work was slightly sentimental. After work, one of my team members took me to a fabulously grandiose temple called Akshardam belonging to the Swarminarayin movement. During the period of Diwali, the temple exhibits a special display of candles in its giant courtyard. Ten thousand candles actually. And they are replaced every day.

Panir

I've just eaten the best chilli panir I've ever had. I congratulated the waiter in the hotel restaurant and extended my compliments to the chef. The waiter brought the restaurant manager over to my table and I congratulated him and extended my compliments to the chef. The restaurant manager brought the chef out of the kitchen to my table and I got to congratulate him in person. I would have shaken his hand, but my hand was covered in chilli panir and butter. The chef is Nepalese and is a Buddhist. I wonder if he'll give me the recipe?

Traffic

Ok, I think I may have figured out the road law in India. Although terrifying, it's remarkably simple and intuitive. There are only two rules, which are as follows:

1. Give way to anything bigger than yourself
   And, conversely, if you are bigger than the other traffic, you have right of way.
   
   
2. Use of signals is not necessary
   When joining a main road, just drive straight out without looking. It is the responsibility of oncoming traffic to avoid any collision. Likewise, when changing lanes, pull out without looking. Any overtaking traffic would have already blown their horn/flashed their headlights to let you know that they intend to pass.

Reputation

Today I went and hung out with Janardan again, which has basically been weekend routine here in Gujarat. After we got back to his house, I found that 2000 rupees was missing from my wallet. While we were out, the only people left in the house were his parents and three maid-servants who were cleaning in preparation for Diwali. Janardan was really shocked when I told him. 2000 rupees is about £25, which isn't that much. What bothered me was the bad karma the girl (presumably) is creating for herself. Just think if the girl had said "I see you have lots of money. can you give me 2000 please? It's to buy some food for my family, and I'll blow the rest on alcohol 'cos I love getting drunk." Then she gets the good karma of truthfulness and avoiding stealing, and I get the good karma of generosity.

Anyhows, the next day Janardan's mum came into my room, in tears, with a maid-servant who was also in tears. They both blarbed lots of stuff in Hindi with the occasional English word 'reputation' and handed me my 2000 rupees back. I offered 500 back to the girl but they staunchly refused.

When Janardan got back from his early-morning meditation, he explained that one of the maid-servants had brought their relative with them and it was the relative who had taken the money. Jana said that his dad had threatened police action which would have serious consequences - no one would trust the maid-servants any more and they'd all loose their jobs and so on. Seems this panicked the relative into coughing up the money.

Baldev

This evening, the delivery manager from the office invited me to his house for dinner. He and his family are Sindhi and had prepared Sindhi cuisine for me.

Had I gone to my boss's house back home, he would have talked at me about cars and I would have made puerile jokes. At Baldev's house, however, we talked about the nature of mind, the commonalities between world religions, the purpose of life, the nature of infinity and mystical experiences found in deep meditation. Baldev also showed me his shrine room which featured images of Krishna, Ram, Ganesha, Gautama the Buddha, and a number of Hindu saints, which I understand were actually his ancestors.

During the course of the evening, and even the next day at work, Baldev repeatedly commended me on my interest in spirituality and was profoundly overjoyed that I had visited his house. On one level, the difference between our two cultures if bigger than I thought.

Rum

After work, I went to the "Wine Shop" in the Haveli Hotel for the third time. This time, I had my passport, a photocopy of my passport, a photocopy of my Indian visa and a signed letter from my hotel stating that I was a resident there. A stamp was put in my passport from the Sub Inspector of the Prohibition and Excise department, stating the reference number of my new "Tourist's Permit to possess, consume use and buy Foreign Liquor for Personal Consumption".

I was then allowed to enter the "Wine Shop", which was basically like squeezing into the cellar at your grandma's house, except it's 35 degrees Celsius. Everything in there was made-in-India. I didn't see any wine. I was allowed to buy two bottles of spirits only, so I got a bottle of Rum and a bottle of Vodka.

Back in the hotel, tried to make Caipirinha by mixing lime juice, sugar and Rum. After drinking it, on an empty stomach no less, nothing happened. And then about an hour later my brain stopped working. I couldn't type or think straight, but I did feel relatively euphoric.

The next morning at work, my brain still wasn't working. I could type again, but I couldn't explain anything or remember words. Maybe that's what the authorities had in mind... to deter people from the evils of alcohol.

Kurta

It's the run-up to Diwali this week, which is like Christmas for Indians. For a bit of fun, the staff in the office will wear traditional Gujarati clothes today.

Last night I went clothes shopping to I could be part of the fun. Imagine being in the changing rooms at your local swimming baths. Except it's the size of bathroom. And it's packed full of men, women and children. And they're all screaming. Yes, this is what the clothes shop was like. But they sorted me out.

I also went across the road to buy decorations because yesterday was decorate-your-cubicle day, which we forgot. The decorations shop also sold "toys" and "ornaments", all, of which, were entirely devoid of quality and taste. I was hoping I could indulge my kitsch fetish in this shop, but sadly I didn't find anything which was actually criminal.

You can see the outcome in this amusing video I made for my boss...

Shivaya

On Sunday morning, Jana took me to his local Shivite group. The host couple had invited local followers to their apartment to chant bhajans as guided by their spiritual master Avdhoot Baba Shivanand. I wasn't convinced. They chanted:

I am not this body
I am the soul
I am Shiva
Namo Shivaya

Well, as a Tibetan Buddhist I have to pick them up on a couple of points. The chant should go:

I am not this body
Nor am I the soul
Self is unfindable
This is the nature of reality

Anyway, the morning wasn't completely wasted. The young man sat in front of me was wearing this T-Shirt. If you look closely, you will see that it reads:

4 ways to win friend
Feel guilty like a guy
The news stand?
Girl

I thought I had a random sense of humor, but this is just legendary.

Rock

I spent the day with Jana, who enjoyed telling me, at length, about all the miracles his gurus can perform.

In the middle of the cutthroat urban warzone which is Ahmedabad, we visited an aesthetic and peaceful Swaminarayan temple (see photo).

That evening, I pushed Jana to find a party for us. As a DJ, he must know where the party's at, right? Well, apparently because it's the run-up to the Diwali festival, there aren't really any parties. So the closest thing we found was a rock concert organised by students of Gujarat University.

In Gujarat, it's forbidden to drink alcohol, have a girlfriend or be gay. But apparently doing this is fine:

Underpants

Back in the UK, my chiropractor had given me some exercises to do, to flex my spine and avoid any problems caused by hunching over a computer for 12 hours a day. After doing these exercises, the stiffness between my shoulder blades has kind of spread out into my shoulders and neck.

Well, at the hotel where I'm staying, the "Orient Spa" offers massages, "body scrubs", luxurious milk baths, "body wraps" and Ayurvedic treatments. Great. I'll see if they can give me a shiatsu chair massage to work out the tension in my shoulders.

I went over to the spa and explained to the manager exactly what I wanted. He called over a young Indian man and they muttered together for a while before the masseur said "Swedish Massage". I said "Er... okay". The manager said for it to work properly, I'd also need oil. I hesitantly agreed.

I was directed to the male side of the spa and into a massage room. I took off my shirt and laid on the bed in my Hawaiian shorts. The masseur came into the room with a pair of disposable underpants. He told me to strip naked and put them on. I felt the blood drain out of my face and told the masseur that it wasn't necessary. He insisted and left the room.

So I put on the stupid disposable underpants and laid on the massage table feeling very vulnerable. The young man came back into the room and then proceeded to pour oil all over my body. And hair.

He then rubbed his hands everywhere, paying a disturbing amount of attention to my inner thigh. The only thing which kept me from jumping off the table and trying to escape was the fact that homosexuality is illegal in India.

After the masseur had finished violating me, I was directed to the shower were I tried to get the oil out of my hair. On exit, the manager asked me, with an expectant look, how much had I enjoyed the massage. I said "Er... very... er... nice" and hurried back to my room.

Bagdadi

Sunday evening, Jana took me to a Sufi temple. Even though Jana's a Hindu, he's open to anything which exhibits genuine spirituality and has been accepted by the Sufis. Sufism is the mystical tradition of Islam, and while on paper they are Muslims, in practice I found them to behave almost identically to Tibetan Buddhists.

Before I went, I was asked by Jana to have a shower and put on clean clothes. When we arrived at the temple, I had to thoroughly was both my feet and then put on a scarf to cover my hair.

We first went into the shrine room which was decorated in Islamic imagery and which also contained a large decorative coffin. I discovered that the coffin contained the body of the temple spiritual master who had died 3 months earlier. We had brought bags of flower petals with us, which we used to decorate the coffin and shrine.

The deceased master was succeeded by his son, Hazarat Bagdadi Bava shown in the photo with his son at the right of the picture. The family were originally from Baghdad, but were now resident in India.

Bagdadi didn't speak much. He just seemed to observe. And would occasionally get up and spit on the roots of a nearby tree. From time to time, visitors would come over and offer the master money or other gifts. Bagdadi would just hold their hands or place his hands on their head. Sometimes he would spend a minute muttering something in Arabic and then blow three times on the visitor's forehead. In my own tradition, Tibetan Buddhist lamas receite mantras in Sanskrit which blesses the breath. The lama will then blow onto a person or animal so they may receive the blessing.

We were offered food and drink while we were there which I understand had special blessings. I also met Bagdadi's mother, the widow of the deceased master. Again, disciples there considered her to be a spiritual master and sought blessings from her.

The ambiance at this temple was one of highly apparent loving kindness. When anybody came or went they would greet each and every member of the congregation with a handshake followed by a gesture towards their heart.

Jana told me to make aspirations, as the masters here and the associated celestial beings would grant them for me. So I aspired that my moody brother attain instant and lasting happiness. And that I find a guru entirely appropriate for my own path.

As I fell asleep that evening, I had dream-like visions of Bagdadi's mother who was emanating a very compassionate feeling. During the night I dreamed that Jigme Khyentse Rinpoche was giving me teachings.

Darshit

On Sunday we were invited to lunch at Darshit's, who is one of Pete's co-workers.

Darshit was very hospitable and his lovely wife, Kunjika, made extensive vegetarian cuisine for us. Sadly, Kunjika couldn't speak English. And didn't speak at all actually. Nor did she choose to eat in front of us. She went and hid in her bedroom to have her lunch. Not quite sure what was going on there. I suppose if I made lunch for Darth Vadar and Grand Moff Tarkin I would also be quite hesitant of making conversation. Shame, because I could have easily turned her to the dark side.

Janardan

On Saturday me and Pete went into Ahmedabad to visit Jana. Ahmedabad is the old city close to Gandhinagar and the traffic there is really rather terrifying.

As a DJ, with connections, we were hoping that Jana could get some alcohol for us (alcohol is forbidden in Gujarat).

Instead, Jana turned out to be a spiritual nut and proceeded to explain, at length, the origin of the universe and the potential of the human mind. In particular, he glorified his gurus Sri Sri Ravi Shankar and Avdhoot Baba Shivanand, and then diagnosed our life problems with his crystal pendulum. His mother made Indian tea for us.

Garnier

In England, girls want to look more tanned, and so buy products that make their skin browner.

In India, girls want to be white, and buy products that make their skin whiter.

As a lard-white Brit, am I the Platonic ideal of beauty?

Wedding

On Tuesday night I got back to my hotel, exhausted after the Garba social event. I was unable to sleep, however, because this was happening right outside my room:



Yes, it was an Indian wedding, between two large business families. I discovered that the groom's business was ship-wrecking and the bride's business was iron smelting. The "happy couple" are the ones standing in the middle. The ones standing still. Wishing it would all just finish.

On that note, in India almost all weddings are arranged and it's completely normal. In fact, either you are single or you're married. There's no concept of a 'girlfriend'. Sex before marriage is forbidden. People in Mumbai are currently shocked because the regional government have acknowledged something called a "live-in relationship". Gay relationships are also forbidden.

The following day, the wedding was still in full-effect. I invited myself over to the festivities and tried to make friends. People looked at me with the expression "Who the hell invited the white guy?" But as soon as I spoke to people, to find out who's wedding it was, the ice broke and they all seemed to be quite chatty.

I helped myself to gourmet Gujarati cuisine from the buffet and went to sit down and watch Aditya Narayan, the Indian pop-star who had been hired to perform at the wedding. At this point a young man came over and asked me if I remembered him.

"Er... ye... n...."
"I'm the DJ from the Garba last night. DJ Jana."

I got talking to him and agreed to go and visit him in Ahmedabad sometime to compare deep underground house music with the Gujarati, Punjabi and Bollywood music he was playing previously. His name is Janardan. You'll hear more about him later.

Hotel

The hotel where I'm staying is very nice and the staff try very hard to make it as pleasant as possible. However, they do go slightly over the top.

Like, whenever I get back to my room at night, everything is switched on including the air conditioning, set to 20 degrees. I have to go round switching everything off.

And whenever I get my laundry back, it's vacuum packed (see photo). Maybe it's so that it looks like it's new, and I can have the pleasure of opening it for the "first" time.

Dinner is another ordeal. I'm the only person in the 100-seater fiercely air-conditioned restaurant. There are 6 or 7 waiters milling around. They efficiently guide me to my seat and then insist on unfolding my napkin and draping it lovingly on my lap.

Then they'll immediately switch on the plasma TV so I can "enjoy" watching adverts while I eat. They will fill my glass with bottled water, and just as soon as I've taken a sip... they'll come scurrying back over and top up the unfilled inch of the glass. When they bring my curry, they insist on spooning it onto my plate. And after a mouthful, they'll come running over and spoon more onto my plate.

At breakfast once, I had some coffee. It was black coffee so I walked over to the buffet and grabbed up the milk jug. Just as I was about to pour milk into my coffee, a horrified waiter took the milk jug off me and insisted that he poured it. And then a second later, realising his heinous mistake, he hurried back and moved my cup around so that the handle was pointing in my direction.

I think before long I'll just get accustomed to this. And I'll starve to death next time I'm in the pub, waiting for the bar staff to spoon vegetarian chili onto my plate.

Garba

In the UK, an office social event usually involves going to a restaurant where the company foot the bill. And then going to the pub where you get drunk and moan about people behind their back.

Well, in Gujarat they do things slightly differently:



In this video, the chap dancing in front of me is the senior project manager:

Office

On Monday morning, I was taken from my air-conditioned hotel room, in an air-conditioned car to the air-conditioned office. As a "client", I was greeted with a bunch of flowers, and directed to my own private "cabin".

My new co-workers are all extremely polite. They might have been a bit nervous. But apart from that the office is basically like being a corporate office back in the UK. The Indian guys are bright, enthusiastic and ask all the right questions. But they speak a very odd kind of English.

The only other westerner I've spotted is another "client" called Pete shown in the photo. Weirdly enough, he's also from West Yorkshire and he's also a Tibetan Buddhist. Sadly, he develops using imperial Microsoft technologies, whereas I develop using technologies supplied by the Sun-Oracle rebel alliance. Nevertheless, he understands me when I speak.

Snot

When I arrived in India, I had a heavy cold. I had avoided the cold my Mum and brother had by eating garlic, ginger and vitamin C. The night before I left, I went out in London with Daves and induced a sufficient dip in my immune system by drinking too much Peroni beer. Whoops.

In Ahmedabad, the temperature was 37 degrees. Walking out of the airport was like walking into a sauna. Initially, this was a novelty. I spent the Saturday and Sunday in bed trying to shake the 'flu. I occasionally left my room to get food, but it was all a bit confusing:

Waiter: Good afternoon, sir. How many persons?
Adam: One. I'm really hungry. What do you have to eat?
Waiter: Yes, sir.
Adam: What food do you have?
Waiter: Would you like a drink sir?
Adam: Er, ok. The lime juice looks good.
Waiter: Ok, sir.
Adam: So what do you have to eat?
Waiter: No food, sorry sir.
Adam: But this is a resturant.
Waiter: Dinner is at 7:00pm
Adam: Oh. So I can't get any food now?
Waitier: No, sir. Sorry, sir.
Adam: Aren't there three resturants in this hotel?
Waiter: Yes, sir.
Adam: So can I get food there?
Waitier: Yes, sir.
Adam: Great, so if I go to Marco Polo resturant, I can eat?
Waitier: No sir. Dinner is at 7:00pm.
Adam: Oh. So I can't get any food anywhere then?
Waitier: No sir.
Adam: Oh dear.
Waitier: Would you like a snack, sir?
Adam: Er, yes. What do you have?
Waitier: Sandwich, Pizza, Burger, Fries, Pakora
Adam: Er, right. I'll have Pizza.

The rest of the weekend was like wandering around in a dream. But a dream where a lot of hotel staff keep saying "Good afternoon, sir".

Context

Ok, cool weird stuff has already started happening so it's time to start writing my blog.

I'm an IT contractor (specializing in enterprise Java) and I'm English. I'm also a Buddhist of a Tibetan tradition and I've signed up for a 4-year language course. The course is in Dharamsala, North India and starts in November.

Right now I'm working for an IT company. I've been working mainly in the spare-bedroom in my Mum's house. Her house is in Huddersfield, UK, but that's a different story altogether.

My boss contracted help from an Indian IT company in Gandhi-nagar, Gujarat. The deal is that I design the project and the staff in Gandhinagar implement it. Me and the company I work for are in different countries so I work from my laptop at home. And I get paid per hour. In pounds sterling. And I get to make all the technical decisions. It's basically my dream contract.

My boss thought I was crazy when I phoned him and informed him I was quitting my job and moving to the Himalayas to learn Tibetan. After a while he came round and we agreed that he respected my life decisions and rather than quit I'll plan to work just a couple of hours per week, consulting more than anything else. And that I'd fly to Gandhinagar for the month of October and train the new staff.

So that's why I'm here in the hotel in Gandhinagar. And it's kind of fortunate because now I'm in India and the company's paying for it. I've been here a week and already a bunch of cool, weird and annoying stuff has been happening. I'm going to write it all down in this blog. Soon. When I get my act together.