A Son of Lucknow
"4 Times" Nida said with a sense of assurance in her voice that made me doubt the version of events. "Once before independence, once after independence and once in his seventies."
"That's only 3" I thought to myself. "Ghazal said something like 14." Samira agreed, she remembered it too, from just recently when Ghazal was in Madison and we all went met at my parents home to visit. Ghazal had just been flown into New York to attend a muppet conference. She played the part of Chamki from Gali Gali Sim Sim. Nida still insisted it was 4.
Rahil and his family drove in from Minnesota and Samira and Asma flew in from Ohio. We stayed up late into the night trading stories of family history. Our side of the family didn't have too much too offer but we listened intently as Ghazal regaled us with tales of how cool our Nana was. He had just passed a few months ago.
When I asked our Seema-khala she said yeah 14 times, but our Nani our corrected her. "18 Times! They used to hang them up and beat them. But still they would not stop fighting. No matter how many times he was arrested! 14 times before Independence. 4 times after, even when he was 70 he was in jail. 3 days he spent in jail cell."
I had heard about the last jail cell not too many years ago. It was after he gave a rousing speech to a crowd of striking Union Workers. A few of them took it upon to attack one of the managers. Nana was arrested for inciting a riot. Released 3 days later for lack of evidence.
We heard second-hand references to the stories he told about the rats which attempted to chew off his leg. He said he had to stay up all night to beat them off. It was one of his "Damned Fools" stories, because someone always played the part of the damn fool.
After he was released a crowd of workers carried him on their shoulders all the way back to my Nayara Khala's and Shahid Uncles apartment in Lalbagh. The neighbors were wondering what happened. There were no elections pending so he couldn't have been chosen to serve again.
He was a student leader during the Indian Revolution. Was arrested with Gandhi. He was a Freedom Fighter, but never signed up for the pension, because he said he never did it for the money.
My Nana, Muhammad Shakil stayed a staunch Communist up until his last days. He spent most of his time as a lawyer, some as a politician. A member of Congress. Some still refer to him as a Nawab of Lucknow. We never heard too many of Nana's stories growing up, since he passed last year I've been asking everyone I can about stories about him.
I even asked Vikas, the head pimp at charge we met presiding over his sisters wedding. When I mentioned Nana's name the entire room hushed. A raucous animated group of brides brothers and cousin-brothers fell silent ... and Vikas said it with that characteristic Indian sideways bobble. "He was a great man, a son of Lucknow." We had only met Vikas a few hours ago when they were attracted by the unsual sign of a ghora yogini walking down the streets Maria, Mike and I were soon invited into the wedding and fed and welcomed as guests. That Indian hospitality is something else.
At the internet cafe in Varanasi I got a vague promise from Ali to ask his parents for more stories. He was from Lucknow as well and we met while We met while Facebook'ing the girls we left behind.. I asked if they had heard of Muhammad Shakil. He knew the name but not too much more.
Nana was a true renaissance man. Still remembered for his poetry. A family story is told that on the night of their wedding he looked at my Nani for the first time and told her "Woman, even those raven locks will not tempt me, I am off to fight the revolution!" My mother loves reciting his verses, with a teary nostalgia in her voice.
My Nani dutifully supported him throughout all those difficult years while he was in jail. And all those years since. And my Nana returned to her over and over again, until a year ago last December when he finally passed. Throughout those years he composed more and more verses to her and her beauty and intelligence and continued to embody his beliefs.
Before I left Lucknow my Nani pulled me aside one more time and besieged me with love. "Kashif beta, this is no way to behave. Your Nana was not an ordinary man, but he was very orthodox with his family. He loved us, he would do anything for us. But he fought for what he believed in. He was a great man and he raised a family. It is high time you get married now and stop this wandering life of yours."
The great thing about my Nani is that it was only with the love and support of a woman like that was my Grandfather able to rise to such heights. Before their marriage, all the family told her to do anything but marry at Freedom Fighter, what chance has a cause like that got. But my Nani was no slouch in her own right, she was one of the Daughters of the Revolution, later training the next generation as the Dean of an all girls school. But that which would deter those who seek order and reason excited her.
I told my Nani not to worry. That I would make her proud. That my history had not yet been written and no one knew what my story would yet be. That maybe someday I would find a woman as strong and capable as she was, who would love me just as she loved my Nana. And just imagine what heights I could rise with that type of support!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Life At The Ideal
As I deplaned in Tijuana my first thought turned to a street taco. Not that the food in the Yucatan and Chiapas wasn't fabulous, but I am 100% convinced that the best street tacos in the world can be found right off of Avenieda Revolucion in Tijuana. But I was tired. The long bus ride the night before to Villa Hermosa coupled with the two flights that brought me within 20 miles of home, just south of the border, had exhausted me. And moreso than that, I was just ready to be back in a familiar place.
So instead of heading off in search of pastor, I crossed the border and caught the trolley to downtown San Diego. I had already managed to secure a soft landing at the Ideal Hotel, which isn't a hotel at all, but rather a ... well ... sort of a ... meditation center? I had been helping out there randomly for a while and had been assured I would be warmly received. I had already figured out what I was going to be doing here for the next 3 weeks. I needed to tie up some loose ends, sell my car and practice as much yoga and meditation as I could, preparing myself for my upcoming trip to India.
As I turned up 3rd Avenue I saw Wesley out front acting a fool as usual and I knew that I was home. Within minutes I was greeted with hugs all around and a cup of hot tea. I shared a few stories of my travels to Mexico and marvelled at all that had changed in the 3 short weeks that I was gone. I was suprised to see Mike Callaghan at the Ideal, last we talked he was heading to Santa Barbara or some other spot, but no, he too had moved into the Ideal. Our first conversation in a couple of weeks went something like this:
Peter, true to his word, had left a note on my new bedroom door, lollipops on my pillow and a key in a secret location. But it wasn't until Hip Fu's Qi Gong class that evening that I realized just how stagnant I had allowed my Chi to become after just a few weeks of hard living. Teaching my first yoga class in several weeks made it all that much clearer to me. So the next day I decided to head to my friend Maria's class up the street.
Her chakra flow was exactly what I needed, I started feeling all the tension melting away. But I could tell there was something else going on, and after class I found out. She had just broken up with her fiance Travis and had that look of fear and uncertainty about her. I told her about how Mike and I were heading to India and saw her eyes light up. Within a few days our group had grown by one more.
But it wasn't until Dipika arrived on the scene that I really started to understand just how wrong I had been about everything I had thought up until now. She had grown up in India and is far more connected to the culture than I was. And after not too long of hanging out with her I realized how woefully unprepared I was for this trip. Whenever I tried to speak to her in Hindi somehow Spanish managed to come out of my mouth.
The next few days were a whirlwind of booking flights, applying for Visas and trying to balance my intentionally unprepared nature with that of my two new travel companions. While Mike and Maria crossed off the items on their checklists and purchased things that set their minds at ease, I kicked it with "Dibs" and started to realize just how differently things were going than I had intended when I arrived in San Diego.
The next few weeks descended into a bunch of late night wine and bullshit sessions while we excitedly talked about "plans" and watched bollywood flicks. Instead of devoting all this time to my practice as I had intended we somehow managed to turn the Ideal Hotel into the coolest Buddhist Frat house in the world.
As my impending departure came closer and closer, I realized that I hadn't actually tied up most of those loose ends I came to San Diego to take care of, but instead had created a newer, far more complicated thread, that I had no idea what to do with.
Instead of selling the car, I left it parked illegally in the same spot with a dead battery and a flooded engine. But in between this trip and my last I had learned a little something about which friends I could rely on to help me out and in what way. And I felt assured that I left it with good ones that would do what they could to ease my burden and make this irresponsibility of mine possible without resenting me for it.
The night of our going away party was the worst. We all knew that there was a chance, perhaps even a good chance, that Mike and Maria weren't coming back for a while. They had nothing calling them back to San Diego, or anywhere else for that matter. But that's not where I was. With each warm embrace and heartfelt goodbye I assured my friends that I would be back in 3 months, if only just to convince myself.
I was leaving San Diego and heading to India with a few particular goals in mind, open to the possibilities of what might happen, but closed to the notion of floating away. Expectations are crazy things because the reality of the world seldom plays out like you imagine. I learned that lesson first hand throughout my 3 weeks in San Diego. And I had to admit to myself that even before I left I was imagining how life would be like when I got back, letting my mind wander and dream about the possibilities, about how certain loose threads might be neatly tied up.
I was ok with that, because knowing where you're at, also means knowing which trajectory you're headed on and setting your intention for how you wish the world to play out. It's being open to the wonderfully amazing and unexpected opportunties that life throws your way and adjusting mid-stream that's the key. And if these last 3 weeks were any indication, I felt fully confident in my ability to sieze those moments and make the best of them.
As I deplaned in Tijuana my first thought turned to a street taco. Not that the food in the Yucatan and Chiapas wasn't fabulous, but I am 100% convinced that the best street tacos in the world can be found right off of Avenieda Revolucion in Tijuana. But I was tired. The long bus ride the night before to Villa Hermosa coupled with the two flights that brought me within 20 miles of home, just south of the border, had exhausted me. And moreso than that, I was just ready to be back in a familiar place.
So instead of heading off in search of pastor, I crossed the border and caught the trolley to downtown San Diego. I had already managed to secure a soft landing at the Ideal Hotel, which isn't a hotel at all, but rather a ... well ... sort of a ... meditation center? I had been helping out there randomly for a while and had been assured I would be warmly received. I had already figured out what I was going to be doing here for the next 3 weeks. I needed to tie up some loose ends, sell my car and practice as much yoga and meditation as I could, preparing myself for my upcoming trip to India.
As I turned up 3rd Avenue I saw Wesley out front acting a fool as usual and I knew that I was home. Within minutes I was greeted with hugs all around and a cup of hot tea. I shared a few stories of my travels to Mexico and marvelled at all that had changed in the 3 short weeks that I was gone. I was suprised to see Mike Callaghan at the Ideal, last we talked he was heading to Santa Barbara or some other spot, but no, he too had moved into the Ideal. Our first conversation in a couple of weeks went something like this:
Kashif: I'm heading to India for a few monthsAnd within minutes of arriving my voyage of self discovery to my parents' homeland had become a buddy trip. And pretty soon all my preconceived notions about what this stop over in San Diego was all about would be thrown out the window.
Mike: I want to come
Kashif: Buy a plane ticket and get a visa
Mike: OK
Peter, true to his word, had left a note on my new bedroom door, lollipops on my pillow and a key in a secret location. But it wasn't until Hip Fu's Qi Gong class that evening that I realized just how stagnant I had allowed my Chi to become after just a few weeks of hard living. Teaching my first yoga class in several weeks made it all that much clearer to me. So the next day I decided to head to my friend Maria's class up the street.
Her chakra flow was exactly what I needed, I started feeling all the tension melting away. But I could tell there was something else going on, and after class I found out. She had just broken up with her fiance Travis and had that look of fear and uncertainty about her. I told her about how Mike and I were heading to India and saw her eyes light up. Within a few days our group had grown by one more.
But it wasn't until Dipika arrived on the scene that I really started to understand just how wrong I had been about everything I had thought up until now. She had grown up in India and is far more connected to the culture than I was. And after not too long of hanging out with her I realized how woefully unprepared I was for this trip. Whenever I tried to speak to her in Hindi somehow Spanish managed to come out of my mouth.
The next few days were a whirlwind of booking flights, applying for Visas and trying to balance my intentionally unprepared nature with that of my two new travel companions. While Mike and Maria crossed off the items on their checklists and purchased things that set their minds at ease, I kicked it with "Dibs" and started to realize just how differently things were going than I had intended when I arrived in San Diego.
The next few weeks descended into a bunch of late night wine and bullshit sessions while we excitedly talked about "plans" and watched bollywood flicks. Instead of devoting all this time to my practice as I had intended we somehow managed to turn the Ideal Hotel into the coolest Buddhist Frat house in the world.
As my impending departure came closer and closer, I realized that I hadn't actually tied up most of those loose ends I came to San Diego to take care of, but instead had created a newer, far more complicated thread, that I had no idea what to do with.
Instead of selling the car, I left it parked illegally in the same spot with a dead battery and a flooded engine. But in between this trip and my last I had learned a little something about which friends I could rely on to help me out and in what way. And I felt assured that I left it with good ones that would do what they could to ease my burden and make this irresponsibility of mine possible without resenting me for it.
The night of our going away party was the worst. We all knew that there was a chance, perhaps even a good chance, that Mike and Maria weren't coming back for a while. They had nothing calling them back to San Diego, or anywhere else for that matter. But that's not where I was. With each warm embrace and heartfelt goodbye I assured my friends that I would be back in 3 months, if only just to convince myself.
I was leaving San Diego and heading to India with a few particular goals in mind, open to the possibilities of what might happen, but closed to the notion of floating away. Expectations are crazy things because the reality of the world seldom plays out like you imagine. I learned that lesson first hand throughout my 3 weeks in San Diego. And I had to admit to myself that even before I left I was imagining how life would be like when I got back, letting my mind wander and dream about the possibilities, about how certain loose threads might be neatly tied up.
I was ok with that, because knowing where you're at, also means knowing which trajectory you're headed on and setting your intention for how you wish the world to play out. It's being open to the wonderfully amazing and unexpected opportunties that life throws your way and adjusting mid-stream that's the key. And if these last 3 weeks were any indication, I felt fully confident in my ability to sieze those moments and make the best of them.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Fear not of Man
Every trip, every trek, every night has a turning point. A single point in time where a split-second decision will lead to outcomes and eventualities that can only be imagined in advance. Wisdom is nothing more than being able to recognize those moments and the consequences of the decisions we make. I stared at that shot of mezcal, it stared back at me. I wondered how I had managed to arrive at this point.
I didn´t mind so much the tequilla. Tequilla and I had danced before and I knew what I was in store for. Johnny had turned me on to Tequilla Sunrises and the ecstatic joy of Hafez just a few days before in Campeche. And I knew my encounter with him and his friend Amy was one of the turning points I speak off. It was while getting to know those two, my new favorite stoners from Oregon, that I caught Maddie looking at me and she caught me looking at her. And that led to a splendid week of trapzing through the jungle, exploring Mayan ruins, jumping off of waterfalls and understanding what Hafez was talking about.
And I also realized that I wouldn't have met either of them if it wasn't for the warmth and openness displayed by my good friend Alex. When he invited two perfect strangers he met minutes earlier in an internet cafe to stay at our crash pad I initally joined Patrick in expressing doubt and concern. But he told me not to worry, he had looked into Munia's and Nyasha's eyes and knew they were down. And when I let go of my fear and did the same, I saw what he saw. That led to 4 wonderful days of adventues and connections and a change of mindset.
So when Emanueli, the Italian guy we met at the hostel in San Cristobal de las Casas offered to buy me my 3rd shot of tequilla that night I initially declined, but soon afterwards allowed myself to be talked into it. I loved Emanueli's energy; his way of answering awkward requests with "Yes, of course" in his Italian accent; the smile on his face as we caught a ride in the back of that pickup; his love of sampling exotic liquors from around the world. So I couldn't turn down his offer to share a drink.
It was the prior night, when Emanueli and I kept our cooks for the night, Maddie and her friend Jessica company, that proved to be another turning point. Emanueli was an engineer as well, and He asked me why I was changing professions from that of engineer to pursue yoga as a career. Since his English was limited and my Italian non-existent I had to come up with a simple answer that conveyed the point. I was having troubles explaining it, until I found the word "freedom." He smiled and nodded in understanding and I learned something about myself.
And so far, this last night in San Cristobal de las Casas, I was pretty happy with myself. I'd let Tim and Taylor the two crazed Botanists buy me the first two shots of tequilla I didn't even want. But since even the faux-innocent girls from the University of Texas were down I wasn't going to start out the night as the party-pooper. I did, however, turn down the offer to shotgun a beer outside of a church while we waited for the bar to open. Fucking botantists.
Once the doors to "Madre Tiera" finally opened, we helped the proprietress setup the tables for the night and ordered ourselves several beers. And before I knew it, there I was, with a far healthier buzz than I wanted, and a shot of mezcal calling me all sorts of dirty names. Everyone had already picked theirs up and was getting ready to "salud!" and throw them down. I just leaned back in my chair and sat. Maddie must have seen the look on my face, she just took a wee nip, made a face that resembled death, and put it back down. Jessica drank a little and dumped the rest into her beer.
I am far from a wise man, but even with the clouds of alcohol floating through my mind, I could see where this night was heading. And I knew we were at that turning point. Maddie had already let me know a few minutes earlier that she was ready to bolt, and I had yet to learn to say no to those ferocious green eyes of hers.
The mezcal mocked me once more "are you afraid! are you going to run away?" I answered with full confidence, "No, I'm not afraid, I just have a healthy respect for your powers. And I won't be running, but walking away slowly, making sure not to turn my back on you."
I was the one who did it, who ended the night early, who made another man take his shot of mezcal, who started the round of goodbyes, who gathered up our group and started the walk back to the hostel. It was a position I hadn't found myself in all that often, but that night played out exactly as it needed to.
Every trip, every trek, every night has a turning point. A single point in time where a split-second decision will lead to outcomes and eventualities that can only be imagined in advance. Wisdom is nothing more than being able to recognize those moments and the consequences of the decisions we make. I stared at that shot of mezcal, it stared back at me. I wondered how I had managed to arrive at this point.
I didn´t mind so much the tequilla. Tequilla and I had danced before and I knew what I was in store for. Johnny had turned me on to Tequilla Sunrises and the ecstatic joy of Hafez just a few days before in Campeche. And I knew my encounter with him and his friend Amy was one of the turning points I speak off. It was while getting to know those two, my new favorite stoners from Oregon, that I caught Maddie looking at me and she caught me looking at her. And that led to a splendid week of trapzing through the jungle, exploring Mayan ruins, jumping off of waterfalls and understanding what Hafez was talking about.
And I also realized that I wouldn't have met either of them if it wasn't for the warmth and openness displayed by my good friend Alex. When he invited two perfect strangers he met minutes earlier in an internet cafe to stay at our crash pad I initally joined Patrick in expressing doubt and concern. But he told me not to worry, he had looked into Munia's and Nyasha's eyes and knew they were down. And when I let go of my fear and did the same, I saw what he saw. That led to 4 wonderful days of adventues and connections and a change of mindset.
So when Emanueli, the Italian guy we met at the hostel in San Cristobal de las Casas offered to buy me my 3rd shot of tequilla that night I initially declined, but soon afterwards allowed myself to be talked into it. I loved Emanueli's energy; his way of answering awkward requests with "Yes, of course" in his Italian accent; the smile on his face as we caught a ride in the back of that pickup; his love of sampling exotic liquors from around the world. So I couldn't turn down his offer to share a drink.
It was the prior night, when Emanueli and I kept our cooks for the night, Maddie and her friend Jessica company, that proved to be another turning point. Emanueli was an engineer as well, and He asked me why I was changing professions from that of engineer to pursue yoga as a career. Since his English was limited and my Italian non-existent I had to come up with a simple answer that conveyed the point. I was having troubles explaining it, until I found the word "freedom." He smiled and nodded in understanding and I learned something about myself.
And so far, this last night in San Cristobal de las Casas, I was pretty happy with myself. I'd let Tim and Taylor the two crazed Botanists buy me the first two shots of tequilla I didn't even want. But since even the faux-innocent girls from the University of Texas were down I wasn't going to start out the night as the party-pooper. I did, however, turn down the offer to shotgun a beer outside of a church while we waited for the bar to open. Fucking botantists.
Once the doors to "Madre Tiera" finally opened, we helped the proprietress setup the tables for the night and ordered ourselves several beers. And before I knew it, there I was, with a far healthier buzz than I wanted, and a shot of mezcal calling me all sorts of dirty names. Everyone had already picked theirs up and was getting ready to "salud!" and throw them down. I just leaned back in my chair and sat. Maddie must have seen the look on my face, she just took a wee nip, made a face that resembled death, and put it back down. Jessica drank a little and dumped the rest into her beer.
I am far from a wise man, but even with the clouds of alcohol floating through my mind, I could see where this night was heading. And I knew we were at that turning point. Maddie had already let me know a few minutes earlier that she was ready to bolt, and I had yet to learn to say no to those ferocious green eyes of hers.
The mezcal mocked me once more "are you afraid! are you going to run away?" I answered with full confidence, "No, I'm not afraid, I just have a healthy respect for your powers. And I won't be running, but walking away slowly, making sure not to turn my back on you."
I was the one who did it, who ended the night early, who made another man take his shot of mezcal, who started the round of goodbyes, who gathered up our group and started the walk back to the hostel. It was a position I hadn't found myself in all that often, but that night played out exactly as it needed to.
Friday, January 02, 2009
Turn the Page
It took about half an hour, but my naive optimism had vanished. With each additional step I felt the straps of my backpack digging into my shoulders. What had started as a wonderful feeling of being grounded and pulled towards the earth was starting to turn into a ache in my lower back. As the 100th car drove past me without slowing down I started to wonder what it was that I was doing again.
It had all started out so easily once I left Chichen Itza. I was kinda timid at first, failing to raise an arm to the first car that passed. But within 15 minutes a frinedly long-distance truck driver named Alberto had stopped and offered to take me the first 105 kilometers of my journey back to Merida, the city I had left the day before.
He didn´t have too much to say, although we made some small talk here and there. I think he just liked having some company. He offered me a few cigarettes and stopped once and had me run out and buy two cokes. We listened to his cumbia CDs and although his truck was slow the ride went rather fast. When he dropped me off on the side of Mex-180 I was excited to catch the next ride on my way to Campeche.
I figured getting the next ride would be just as easy. So I started walking with my pack along the side of the freeway. The first kilometer went really fast, but as I walked passed the exit to the Centro where the bus station was I wondered if I should just spend the $9 on the bus that would take me to Campeche.
I´ve been reading the stories of characters like Dean Moriarty and Alexander Supertramp my entire life. And I´ve always had this romanticized, idealized notion of what it would be like to hitch rides cross country. When I met Nyasha and Munia in Playa del Carmen and they told us about hitching from San Franciso to the Arizona / Mexican border my ears perked up. When we met the tall German guy who spent three weeks hitching from Tijuana to Playa I was hooked.
Sure I had hopped in the back of a few pick-ups here and there and caught rides across town. But I had never actually travelled across any significant distances by using my thumb. I liked to tell everyone what a roaming vagabond I was but I never left home without my credit cards. It was an experience I decided I needed to have.
I used to think of myself as an independent sort, that squared away my debts and always did what was fair. But over time I have grown to realize that no man is an island unto himself. We all survive only through the grace of God, Allah, the Universe or whatever you wish to call it. I had experienced first-hand the kindness of strangers, and the truth of the matter was, we all depend on it to survive, whether we wish to acknowledge it or not. We are connected in ways we cannot even begin to understand.
But after about an hour and a half of walking the along the freeway trying to wave down cars with no luck I had my moment of doubt. Gonzalo and Dulce´s house was still only a few peso cab ride away and I knew I would be welcome with open arms. Or I could still just try to grab a bus headed to Campeche. I looked down at my feet and noticed the increasingly ridiculous looking tan line from my sandals. It was still early, about 2 PM and the hot Mayan sun beat down without mercy. But I set my intention, no, this was something I was going to see through, just to collect another life-experience and for no other reason.
After 7 kilometers I started doing some mental math. I had 155 kilometers to go, so at this rate that would put me in Campeche, approximately never. I stopped at the very next refresco stand I saw off the freeway exit ramp and regrouped. I figured if worst came to worst I could just sleep under a freeway underpass on my yoga mat or maybe under some trees in the median of the freeway. But I wasn´t going to give up on this stupid idea that easily. I kept waving down cars with zeal and then finally an old school red VW bug stopped right in front of me. I felt my eyes light up and I practically ran to the car.
The driver, Martin I would later learn, asked me where I was heading. ¨Campeche¨ I told him. He thought about it for a second and told me to get in. We started talking immediately just like old friends. When we saw a car broken down on the road in front of us he pulled over and offered to help change the tire. ¨No gracias¨ they said with a smile, they had it under control.
¨You´re a very helpful person¨ I told Martin. ¨Si?¨ he replied, as if he had never noticed. We traded stories about women and travels and jobs we´ve had and everything else. As we grew closer to Campeche he told me he was off to visit a friend about 1/2 hour outside of town and invited me along to meet him and to grab some tacos. ¨Si, como que no!¨ I answered, I had nothing else really to do. He told me he had met Carmello, a Pentocostal Minister a year ago, when he picked up Martin and his two boys while they were hitch hiking and since then they had become good friends. I mentioned how I thought it was funny how things come around full circle sometimes.
We pulled up to a broken down church in the middle of Pumach, a town of about 6000 people. I met Carmello and his wife Susana and their two adorable kids. And then it turned out there was someone from his congretation Carmello wanted Martin to meet, to see if he could help him get a good high-paying job on the oil rigs outside of Ciudad de Carmen where he worked. So we spent the next few hours socializing and tracking down friends and looking for food.
It was getting dark and I was wondering how I was going to get to the hostel in Campeche when Carmello asked if I had a place to stay. ¨No exactamente¨ I replied sheepishly. He told me I was welcome to string up one of their hammocks in the bulding they used for sunday school if I´d like and I accepted immediately. After dinner Martin headed back to Merida, having had accomplished what he came to Pumach to do. But not before we exchanged contact information and vague promises to keep in touch and come visit when possible.
I went home with Carmello and Susana and we sat and talked for a while, they showed me their wedding pictures while I played with Suri the cutest two year old Mexican girl you could imagine. Right before bed-time Carmello gave me a pocket Bible in English that someone else had given him. I already had explained my religious views to him, as best I could, but he told me everyone needs some guidance from above and I agreed with a heartfelt honesty that suprised even myself.
It wasn´t the first time in my life someone had presented me with a Bible, but I had never made much of an effort to read one before. As I lay swinging in that hammock I found myself more interested in flipping pages than heading off to sleep. The Gospel of Luke caught my attention. verse 6:38 in particular
The next morning when Carmello and I sat down to coffee he filled me in on the parts of Martin´s story I didn´t know. His job at PemEx involved being on the oil-rigs for two weeks at a time, away from home. About a year ago, he found out his wife was cheating on him and abusing the kids so they wouldn´t tell, burning them with cigarettes. When they divorced Martin got the kids, which is practically unheard of in Mexico. But in August she broke into his house and stole everything and kidnapped his two boys. He hasn´t heard or seen from them since.
My heart sank. How could this person, how just went through the most difficult time I could possibly imagine any person having to deal with, still maintain his faith in humanity? How could he maintain his sunny disposition, how could he be so willing to help everyone who crossed his path, even a complete stranger such as myself?
I spent the rest of my day there helping Carmello run errands around the church. They were getting ready for a party for the kids in the congregation. We bought food and sweets and a piñata. Susana cooked, we talked about family and our cultures and we all played with Suri. As the sun started to set, they asked if I´d like stay another day, keep helping around the church. But I told them it was time for me to head to Campeche. I knew I had to keep on my own journey.
With tears welling up in my eyes I told them if there was ever anything I could ever do for them, they need only ask. I had known these people less than 24 hours but I knew their impact would not soon be forgotten. As I boarded the bus to Campeche and paid my $2 fare I didn´t mind that I failed to complete my intention of getting to town without paying for a ride. I set off seeking adventure but instead I found grace.
It took about half an hour, but my naive optimism had vanished. With each additional step I felt the straps of my backpack digging into my shoulders. What had started as a wonderful feeling of being grounded and pulled towards the earth was starting to turn into a ache in my lower back. As the 100th car drove past me without slowing down I started to wonder what it was that I was doing again.
It had all started out so easily once I left Chichen Itza. I was kinda timid at first, failing to raise an arm to the first car that passed. But within 15 minutes a frinedly long-distance truck driver named Alberto had stopped and offered to take me the first 105 kilometers of my journey back to Merida, the city I had left the day before.
He didn´t have too much to say, although we made some small talk here and there. I think he just liked having some company. He offered me a few cigarettes and stopped once and had me run out and buy two cokes. We listened to his cumbia CDs and although his truck was slow the ride went rather fast. When he dropped me off on the side of Mex-180 I was excited to catch the next ride on my way to Campeche.
I figured getting the next ride would be just as easy. So I started walking with my pack along the side of the freeway. The first kilometer went really fast, but as I walked passed the exit to the Centro where the bus station was I wondered if I should just spend the $9 on the bus that would take me to Campeche.
I´ve been reading the stories of characters like Dean Moriarty and Alexander Supertramp my entire life. And I´ve always had this romanticized, idealized notion of what it would be like to hitch rides cross country. When I met Nyasha and Munia in Playa del Carmen and they told us about hitching from San Franciso to the Arizona / Mexican border my ears perked up. When we met the tall German guy who spent three weeks hitching from Tijuana to Playa I was hooked.
Sure I had hopped in the back of a few pick-ups here and there and caught rides across town. But I had never actually travelled across any significant distances by using my thumb. I liked to tell everyone what a roaming vagabond I was but I never left home without my credit cards. It was an experience I decided I needed to have.
I used to think of myself as an independent sort, that squared away my debts and always did what was fair. But over time I have grown to realize that no man is an island unto himself. We all survive only through the grace of God, Allah, the Universe or whatever you wish to call it. I had experienced first-hand the kindness of strangers, and the truth of the matter was, we all depend on it to survive, whether we wish to acknowledge it or not. We are connected in ways we cannot even begin to understand.
But after about an hour and a half of walking the along the freeway trying to wave down cars with no luck I had my moment of doubt. Gonzalo and Dulce´s house was still only a few peso cab ride away and I knew I would be welcome with open arms. Or I could still just try to grab a bus headed to Campeche. I looked down at my feet and noticed the increasingly ridiculous looking tan line from my sandals. It was still early, about 2 PM and the hot Mayan sun beat down without mercy. But I set my intention, no, this was something I was going to see through, just to collect another life-experience and for no other reason.
After 7 kilometers I started doing some mental math. I had 155 kilometers to go, so at this rate that would put me in Campeche, approximately never. I stopped at the very next refresco stand I saw off the freeway exit ramp and regrouped. I figured if worst came to worst I could just sleep under a freeway underpass on my yoga mat or maybe under some trees in the median of the freeway. But I wasn´t going to give up on this stupid idea that easily. I kept waving down cars with zeal and then finally an old school red VW bug stopped right in front of me. I felt my eyes light up and I practically ran to the car.
The driver, Martin I would later learn, asked me where I was heading. ¨Campeche¨ I told him. He thought about it for a second and told me to get in. We started talking immediately just like old friends. When we saw a car broken down on the road in front of us he pulled over and offered to help change the tire. ¨No gracias¨ they said with a smile, they had it under control.
¨You´re a very helpful person¨ I told Martin. ¨Si?¨ he replied, as if he had never noticed. We traded stories about women and travels and jobs we´ve had and everything else. As we grew closer to Campeche he told me he was off to visit a friend about 1/2 hour outside of town and invited me along to meet him and to grab some tacos. ¨Si, como que no!¨ I answered, I had nothing else really to do. He told me he had met Carmello, a Pentocostal Minister a year ago, when he picked up Martin and his two boys while they were hitch hiking and since then they had become good friends. I mentioned how I thought it was funny how things come around full circle sometimes.
We pulled up to a broken down church in the middle of Pumach, a town of about 6000 people. I met Carmello and his wife Susana and their two adorable kids. And then it turned out there was someone from his congretation Carmello wanted Martin to meet, to see if he could help him get a good high-paying job on the oil rigs outside of Ciudad de Carmen where he worked. So we spent the next few hours socializing and tracking down friends and looking for food.
It was getting dark and I was wondering how I was going to get to the hostel in Campeche when Carmello asked if I had a place to stay. ¨No exactamente¨ I replied sheepishly. He told me I was welcome to string up one of their hammocks in the bulding they used for sunday school if I´d like and I accepted immediately. After dinner Martin headed back to Merida, having had accomplished what he came to Pumach to do. But not before we exchanged contact information and vague promises to keep in touch and come visit when possible.
I went home with Carmello and Susana and we sat and talked for a while, they showed me their wedding pictures while I played with Suri the cutest two year old Mexican girl you could imagine. Right before bed-time Carmello gave me a pocket Bible in English that someone else had given him. I already had explained my religious views to him, as best I could, but he told me everyone needs some guidance from above and I agreed with a heartfelt honesty that suprised even myself.
It wasn´t the first time in my life someone had presented me with a Bible, but I had never made much of an effort to read one before. As I lay swinging in that hammock I found myself more interested in flipping pages than heading off to sleep. The Gospel of Luke caught my attention. verse 6:38 in particular
Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.Karma baby, I knew that already, but I also knew how I failed to put it into action. How I kept score and resented when I did not recieve back as good as I gave. I marvelled how this family, how Martin, who had so little, welcomed me, a complete stranger into their home. Fed me, offered me whatever they had, embraced me as one of their own and refused all of my attempts to compensate.
The next morning when Carmello and I sat down to coffee he filled me in on the parts of Martin´s story I didn´t know. His job at PemEx involved being on the oil-rigs for two weeks at a time, away from home. About a year ago, he found out his wife was cheating on him and abusing the kids so they wouldn´t tell, burning them with cigarettes. When they divorced Martin got the kids, which is practically unheard of in Mexico. But in August she broke into his house and stole everything and kidnapped his two boys. He hasn´t heard or seen from them since.
My heart sank. How could this person, how just went through the most difficult time I could possibly imagine any person having to deal with, still maintain his faith in humanity? How could he maintain his sunny disposition, how could he be so willing to help everyone who crossed his path, even a complete stranger such as myself?
I spent the rest of my day there helping Carmello run errands around the church. They were getting ready for a party for the kids in the congregation. We bought food and sweets and a piñata. Susana cooked, we talked about family and our cultures and we all played with Suri. As the sun started to set, they asked if I´d like stay another day, keep helping around the church. But I told them it was time for me to head to Campeche. I knew I had to keep on my own journey.
With tears welling up in my eyes I told them if there was ever anything I could ever do for them, they need only ask. I had known these people less than 24 hours but I knew their impact would not soon be forgotten. As I boarded the bus to Campeche and paid my $2 fare I didn´t mind that I failed to complete my intention of getting to town without paying for a ride. I set off seeking adventure but instead I found grace.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
A Friend Indeed
Right before Alex set off for the bus terminal I heard him talking to his Dad on the phone. After a few pleasantries, my name came up. "No Dad, I don't know when he's going to take off, probably tomorrow with Ricardo to head to Playa for New Year's." I felt a bit of concern. Alex had assured me that it was cool to crash with his folks for as long as I wanted, and even stop by after a bit more of my aimless wandering for one of Dulce's home cooked meals, a comfortable bed and a hot shower. And after being welcomed with open arms into Gonzalo and Dulce's house I felt it would be rude to not accept such a generous offer.
But when I heard my name mentioned my immagination immediately filled in Gonzalo's side of the conversation with something like "He's not going to stay too long is he?" I didn't want to be a burden, to put anyone out. But it turned out Gonzalo just needed to know if I was staying so he could figure out what to ask Dulce to make for dinner. I need not have worried, this warm Mayan culture couldn't possibly be more welcoming. And since I was their son's friend, I was golden and I knew I would forever be welcome in their home.
Alex and I exchanged a hug and he set off for the bus to Cancun so he could catch his flight back to San Diego. I still had no real idea what I was going to do, but I was starting to make a semblance of a plan. I took a moment to reflect on the past two weeks and how Alex and I had grown as friends. I'll be happy to get back to doing my own thing, devoting more time to my yoga practice and not feeling like I have to keep up with his hard drinking ways. But I'll miss the touch of chaos he brings into my life. We are two very different people, Alex with his work hard, play hard ethic. And me with my constant quest for moderation in all things. But our easy-going natures compliment one another quite well. And travelling together with someone for an extended period of time either brings you closer or tears you apart. And we are definately better friends now than ever before.
During this time travelling together, I've come to realize what makes us true friends is the fact that we both encourage and nurture each others dreams and ideals. Alex with his desire to build and create, developing those 11 acres of land in Jamul. And me with my desire to learn and teach and be in a constant state of introspection. We are the sorts of friends that work to help each other realize their dreams. That take joy in each others successes and accomplishments. And after this trip, those dreams are intertwined to the point where we can only succeed by helping the other realize their own.
As I came to that conclusion I also realized the flip side, all the other people in my life, who despite their friendship and love, only held me back from realizing my own personal story. The friends who itemized and counted against me each inconvenience that my escape caused them. The lover who by not wanting to be a burden, rejected the most precious gifts I tried to bestow. My own family members who only saw how my irresponsiblity put their own security at risk.
I've grown to understand that only by recieving friendship and love when it is freely given can you put yourself in a position to return it. For acceptance of that gift creates an implicit understanding that you must pay it forward, backward and to those all around. Those who refuse to accept the gift of friendship that is given freely do so because they don't want to put themselves in a position where they have the obligation to return it. And by doing so they lose out on the most valuable treasure that life has to offer.
I've tried to forgive those who've rejected the gifts I've given. Those who offered gifts to me inauthentically, and resented the fact that I accepted. Those who accepted willingly but never gave back as good as they got. I know intellectually that it does not matter, because in the long run the universe evens out those scores, karma still applies. But I've yet to transcend my humanity to the point where I can let go of the pain caused by the unskillful actions of those I've tried to pull in close. I still keep score because it's too hard to embody a true Bodhisattva nature. I realize that those unenlightened actions are only a result of their own unresolved fears and they can only be overcome by continuing to pour out love and friendship to those who have failed to hold up their end of the bargain ... but it's just too hard. So I choose the easier route, to pull away and keep at a distance those who refuse the embrace of a true friend.
And then ironically after Dulce got back from dropping Alex at the bus terminal, I saw that which I resent in others manifest itself in my own being. I was hungry, having not as of yet eaten. And she offered to cook me some eggs. My initial reaction was to say no, I will just grab an apple, I don't want to be a burden. And then I spotted it, my own inability to accept that which is given freely. So when she offered again, I smiled and said "Si, por favor." The eggs had just the perfect amount of grease, the beans the right amount of garlic and the croissants were toasted perfectly. No one ever goes hungry in Dulce's kitchen. And she sat with me while I ate and told me about the places she's gone. "San Cristobal!" she said when I asked her what her favorite Mexican city was, with a smile that lit up the room. And now I have a new destination on my journey and my own surrogate Mexican mother who will make sure I never get too skinny.
People often ask me why I travel. What it is that I do while I'm not doing what it is that I'm supposed to be doing. And I realize now, it's not for the things I see or even the people I meet. But rather the unfamiliar surroundings present an opportunity for growth and advancement. Usually it's two steps forward one step back, but that still gets you somewhere. And with this current journey, I'm curious to see where that will be.
Right before Alex set off for the bus terminal I heard him talking to his Dad on the phone. After a few pleasantries, my name came up. "No Dad, I don't know when he's going to take off, probably tomorrow with Ricardo to head to Playa for New Year's." I felt a bit of concern. Alex had assured me that it was cool to crash with his folks for as long as I wanted, and even stop by after a bit more of my aimless wandering for one of Dulce's home cooked meals, a comfortable bed and a hot shower. And after being welcomed with open arms into Gonzalo and Dulce's house I felt it would be rude to not accept such a generous offer.
But when I heard my name mentioned my immagination immediately filled in Gonzalo's side of the conversation with something like "He's not going to stay too long is he?" I didn't want to be a burden, to put anyone out. But it turned out Gonzalo just needed to know if I was staying so he could figure out what to ask Dulce to make for dinner. I need not have worried, this warm Mayan culture couldn't possibly be more welcoming. And since I was their son's friend, I was golden and I knew I would forever be welcome in their home.
Alex and I exchanged a hug and he set off for the bus to Cancun so he could catch his flight back to San Diego. I still had no real idea what I was going to do, but I was starting to make a semblance of a plan. I took a moment to reflect on the past two weeks and how Alex and I had grown as friends. I'll be happy to get back to doing my own thing, devoting more time to my yoga practice and not feeling like I have to keep up with his hard drinking ways. But I'll miss the touch of chaos he brings into my life. We are two very different people, Alex with his work hard, play hard ethic. And me with my constant quest for moderation in all things. But our easy-going natures compliment one another quite well. And travelling together with someone for an extended period of time either brings you closer or tears you apart. And we are definately better friends now than ever before.
During this time travelling together, I've come to realize what makes us true friends is the fact that we both encourage and nurture each others dreams and ideals. Alex with his desire to build and create, developing those 11 acres of land in Jamul. And me with my desire to learn and teach and be in a constant state of introspection. We are the sorts of friends that work to help each other realize their dreams. That take joy in each others successes and accomplishments. And after this trip, those dreams are intertwined to the point where we can only succeed by helping the other realize their own.
As I came to that conclusion I also realized the flip side, all the other people in my life, who despite their friendship and love, only held me back from realizing my own personal story. The friends who itemized and counted against me each inconvenience that my escape caused them. The lover who by not wanting to be a burden, rejected the most precious gifts I tried to bestow. My own family members who only saw how my irresponsiblity put their own security at risk.
I've grown to understand that only by recieving friendship and love when it is freely given can you put yourself in a position to return it. For acceptance of that gift creates an implicit understanding that you must pay it forward, backward and to those all around. Those who refuse to accept the gift of friendship that is given freely do so because they don't want to put themselves in a position where they have the obligation to return it. And by doing so they lose out on the most valuable treasure that life has to offer.
I've tried to forgive those who've rejected the gifts I've given. Those who offered gifts to me inauthentically, and resented the fact that I accepted. Those who accepted willingly but never gave back as good as they got. I know intellectually that it does not matter, because in the long run the universe evens out those scores, karma still applies. But I've yet to transcend my humanity to the point where I can let go of the pain caused by the unskillful actions of those I've tried to pull in close. I still keep score because it's too hard to embody a true Bodhisattva nature. I realize that those unenlightened actions are only a result of their own unresolved fears and they can only be overcome by continuing to pour out love and friendship to those who have failed to hold up their end of the bargain ... but it's just too hard. So I choose the easier route, to pull away and keep at a distance those who refuse the embrace of a true friend.
And then ironically after Dulce got back from dropping Alex at the bus terminal, I saw that which I resent in others manifest itself in my own being. I was hungry, having not as of yet eaten. And she offered to cook me some eggs. My initial reaction was to say no, I will just grab an apple, I don't want to be a burden. And then I spotted it, my own inability to accept that which is given freely. So when she offered again, I smiled and said "Si, por favor." The eggs had just the perfect amount of grease, the beans the right amount of garlic and the croissants were toasted perfectly. No one ever goes hungry in Dulce's kitchen. And she sat with me while I ate and told me about the places she's gone. "San Cristobal!" she said when I asked her what her favorite Mexican city was, with a smile that lit up the room. And now I have a new destination on my journey and my own surrogate Mexican mother who will make sure I never get too skinny.
People often ask me why I travel. What it is that I do while I'm not doing what it is that I'm supposed to be doing. And I realize now, it's not for the things I see or even the people I meet. But rather the unfamiliar surroundings present an opportunity for growth and advancement. Usually it's two steps forward one step back, but that still gets you somewhere. And with this current journey, I'm curious to see where that will be.
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