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    Day 59: Taking The Road Less Traveled

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    I have thoroughly enjoyed my time up in the mountains where I spent my formative years from 8 to 18 years old. Today I went to visit the school and then afterwards found some less-traveled paths to take. Despite my bad knees and poorer sense of balance I managed my way up the hill. It reminded me of how I use to wander those hills when I was young. It also reminded me of how often in life I take the paths less travelled.
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    I've been been taking this time to do some writing. Perhaps not as much as I had planned. I think about the long hard task ahead of me. Most of the time it is daunting. How will I ever manage? But just like these roads I just plod on forward. Yes, there are times, quite challenging, when it takes a while to gain a sure footing. I nearly fell off the side when I stopped to take a picture of Rhodadendrens high overhead. But I made it to the top. I reached the destination.
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    And while it may be a lonely road and less traveled -- in the sense that I utilize my organic intuitive processes to express in story historical, economic, political, and religious themes -- I have full confidence that somehow I will get to the top, to the end. My way less traveled is strewn with the foliage of openess, reflection, attentiveness, and vision.
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    The fact is that these paths through the mountains have been forged by others that have gone before. It may be less travelled, but if there is a road or path, even ever so primitive, someone has taken it before you, and likely with alarming regularity. And this is what makes me sure-footed, having the evidence that the way is possible.
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    May you find freedom in those rugged paths of you life. Enjoy the scenery and don't fear. Once in a while look up to the skies and see what lies ahead.
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    Day 48: Mountain Retreat

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    So I have arrived to that one place hid in my heart as home and, yes, it feels like home. The plan is to spend at least a good solid week writing. My room with a view is idylic.
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    The plan also is to walk around. I arrived at the Ivy Bank guest house mid day, unpacked, and then headed out for a walk. The back path up to Chaar Dhukhaan is very steep, and I realized it would take a while to get my lung capacity up to the 7000+ feet altitude. You just plug along at a steady plod and eventually you arrive at one of the oldest crossroads of town in front of St Paul's church. Every time I come there are more cafes. So no longer four (chaar) stores (dhukhaan). I sit down at Tip Top and its good to see a familiar face.
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    After chai and fried momo I got my second wind and walked on. The steepness of a path is always relative. As a youth here I never realised how steep the road was between St Paul and Kellogs. But not anywhere as steep as to Char Dukhaan. The weather was very comfortable for walking. I walked the path that ribbons the top of the mountain ridge in the secluded "suburb" called Landaur. Due to the government taking over most of the hill, and strict building restrictions, this part of town is pretty much the same. I don't know how many times I walked this road when I was young. To walk it again, after all these years, did feel like a homecoming.

    Arriving at Prakash's I just went in and ordered some basic survival supplies, as if I had been shopping there last week. I couldn't remember if it was Anil or Sunil who had taken over the shop.  I asked. He told me he was Sunil and then he instantly remembered that I use to live just up the hill in Buena Vista. He asked about my parents.
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    Now to head back home, This time around the back of the mountain, where few live. The path goes under what use to be our house, but that was torn down long ago and taken over by All India Radio. Its a quiet. path with pines that must be twice the size as 40 years ago.
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    The walk down any gradient proved to be very difficult on my knees. Just before the guest house where I am staying is possibly the very steepest road. I did my best to criss cross down or go sideways, as people rushed pass me with no problem. There is another road I can take that is a little more gradual, though three times longer.

    So tomorrow I wanted to see the snows early in the morning, before smog and clouds come in. It may be that the best way to treat myself on my birthday is to stay home and rest my knees. Or I will go down Mullingar early in the day, and get the tension on my knees over with early, and see the snows from the Camels back road.
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    Day 43: Leaving Delhi

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    View from my room at YMCA

    I am so grateful that wind has blown the smog away. Delhi is the most polluted city in the world, but not while I was here. And rather than being the predicted 90° it is cool and lovely! I only hope that all the smog didn't blow up to the mountains where I am headed now.
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    Spice Market Old Delhi

    I had to try to get on line before leaving Delhi. Theoretically the WiFi should be better here, but who knows what factors are preventing my connectivity today. For those who think that technology will revolutionize societies around the world by providing easy information and education, the infrastructure still needs to be built. In a country where infrastructure for roads, water, and housing is lagging behind, putting emphasis on technical infrastructure may only reinforce the disparities of opportunity.

    That is the extent of my assessment of this country. I might only add that it is unfortunate that in the present political environment the wealth of diversity is being undermined, not recognizing the multiple minorities that make this such a vibrant country. My hope has been that I have opened some eyes in America to the fact that the face of India and its cultures are very diverse. A minority may still equal a higher population than in other countries. More Muslims in India than in Pakistan, for instance. Over 2 million Christians constitutes a minority. The other wonder of India is that this diversity typically lives in harmony, side by side. It is only politics that divides people, using religion as a divisive tool to destroy the peaceful coexistence. But this evil is pervasive all around the world. This is why I am inspired by grassroots movements that help build community and collaboration. We do not have to succumb to the powers and principalities in the air.

    So in Delhi I said farewell to my fellow travelers, my Dad, Kay and Wolfram. The next 4 weeks and 4 days I will travel alone. Not really alone; staying with friends who live in India. Five days in Dehra Dun, 2 weeks in Mussoorie, 5 days in Ranchi again, and a final week in Mumbai. Much of that time will be to process and write about the information gathered.

    Last night I had a wonderful visit with Leyla, a distant relative. She is the great great grand daughter of Doris'cousin. The branch of the family that went to St Petersburg, Russia. She came with an Indian friend who is also researchIng his great great grandparents, Sikhs from pre-partition Pakistan. It was interesting sharing our common heritage journeys. It is facinating to me how wonderful it is to meet and hug a distant relative for the first time, and feel like we have known each other a long time.
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    Leyla and Sambhav

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    Day 36: Halfway Mark

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    it is hard to believe I have only been here for half of my time. My fellow travelers are at the end of their trip. The second half will be more processing all I have learned here and doing some writing.

    I've changed my plans slightly. Instead of going to SattalAshram I will go to Mussoorie to have 2 full weeks of writing.

    While I am in Darjeeling I am trying to imagine what it was like in 1910.

    Doris writes in her diary:

    " Father, Libele and I traveled quite calmly to Darjeeling, in early May, where we had reserved our lodging already much earlier with Miss MacIntosh’s Clover Cot, for two months. We had a very nice time of recreation there."

    I cannot find where this cottage may have been. But I have taken pictures of old buildings to spark my imagination of what might have been.
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    Alcott Lodge a d Rose Cottage

    Internet is not strong enough here so I apologize to my non-FB followers, the bulk of my pictures are there.
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    Day 32: Asiatic Society

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    The Orient has always been a facination to the west. Ancient trading routes soon became pathways for Imperial expansion, that exposed places and people to each other, the "mysterious other." Exposure to the East led to an exploration into how the "other" thinks, behaves, believes. Orientalism, Indology, and Asiatic Studies became the forbearers of archeology, anthropology, and linguistics: the study of ancient places, people and language. Likewise, scientific study of plants, animals, and lands spawned a wide range of theories such as early genetic determinism and evolution.

    The Asiatic Society in Calcutta, and eventually in Bombay and then Delhi was established by the English to capture the studies conducted in India particularly, but throughout Asia. Collections hold ancient documents in Tibetan and Chinese as well as Sanskrit and Persian. Not everything went to England after the British left India. And the fascination with everything Indian was shared not only by the West, but by Indians from all backgrounds. Contributions to the Journal, Archives, and Library have been collected over the centuries from a variety of sources.

    Today we went to see the Asiatic Society in Kolkata. I went to seek what I could learn of my great great grandfather, Ferdinand Hahn, knowing he had published some articles. Indeed I found the books he had written of the Kurukh language. Three books, first editions, each in delicate condition after 100 years in the moldy and dusty archives.
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    I want to share the process I had to go through to find these three books, and also three articles, all published between 1900 and 1904. , but not to poke fun at the Indian way of doing things, nor to romanticize it. Just to simply state what one must patiently endure to accomplish a simple task. At the very least my librarian friends may appreciate this story.

    Upon entering the building, which is the "new" building that was built concealing from the street the original building, we were asked to sign in. I went with my cousin and sister-in-law. I asked about the archives so they sent us to floor 2 where there was a Museum. We took the elevator (the kind with double cage doors that must be mannually open and shut). Various people standing around directed us to a desk. I explained to the woman behind the desk what I wanted in the archives and if the other two could look at the museum.

    "Have you shown your passport?" she asked? I was puzzled, for no one had asked to see ID. 

    "No," she continued apparently annoyed at our niavete, "You must sign in at 3rd floor and then go to Library on 1st floor to get your pass."

    While this confused me about which floor to go, I dutifully followed the instructions and indeed found an office on the 3rd floor that asked for us to record our names with passports. Then down to 1st floor (in US that would be 2nd floor), where we were met at the elevator by a man who would take our bags. Again registering our names in another records book. We filled out a form each that was in triplicate and the supervisor signed each and gave us the pink copy. This granted us permission to go to any part of the building. By the end of my two hour visit I would sign 7 different registers.
    We returned to the Museum floor and the original woman was very pleased to take the information I had shown her before. As she went to search the archives, we went through the library that housed some incredibly old documents written in various languages on a variety of papers, wood, stone, copper, etc. She returned at the end of our walk around the musty humid room to state there was nothing in archives, but something would be available in the library.

    I went down one floor again to look through the card catalogues and then filled out the forms and gave it to the circulation desk where someone dissappeared in search of the books. I then approached another woman who appeared to be the main librarian. I inquired about the journal articles and asked her what had been the process for submitting an article. She was not forthright with information until I explained this author was my great great grandfather. Then suddenly her face was transformed by joy and she responded with maternal care.

    At the turn of the last century a Dr. Greirson (may have written name incorrectly) conducted a language survey of India. When he came to the Jharkhand region he met Ferdinand Hahn who was studying the language of the people's that he lived and worked among, the Oraon and Asur tribal people. He suggested that Hahn write his findings to the Asiatic Society. The librarian said that submissions get paid something today, but she wasn't sure if there was anything paid in those early years. My guess is that  would have been one reason why Hahn submitted the articles, some supplemental income for their meager income. I wasn't prepared to do any deeper research this time, but I thought I'd look up some other German missionaries who had worked on other languages, notably Alfred Nottrott there was nothing.

    This suggests to me that Nottrott, who wrote about the Mundari language and people, was submitting papers only to German Orientalist journals, not British. I understand that Nottrott was from a better situated family and had higher education then his peer, Ferdinand Hahn, who came from a shoemaker family and was not as well supported financially. The Nottrott family had close associations with scholars in Halle and Berlin in German. Nottrott's work in Mundari eventually earned him a Doctorate degree in Germany. Not that Ferdinand Hahn was overlooked for his contibution to tribal studies, his scholarship, along with his community work in health and education earned him the Kaiser-E-Hind award in British India.

    The librarian called over another woman who was the Anthropologist of the Asiatic Society. I was surprised to understand most of what they were discussing in Bengali. I asked, in English, if I had heard correctly that she knows of Ferdinand Hahn.

    "Oh yes, I'm knowing. No, I have not read his books, but I am knowing the name."

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    I was asked what field of study I was in. After a feable attempt to explain they told me what the right answer is. I am coming from the literary field. As we talked I confessed that my original idea was, and still remains, to write a novel based on my great great grandmother. However all I have found so far is about Ferdinand Hahn, For this reason I recognise the need to write a biography of him first, then write about her in historical fiction. For it still remains shrouded in mystery about the life of women in that era. My motherly librarians both shook their heads in contented agreement and requested I send them a copy.

    I end with a lone song of the Asur people's that Ferdinand recorded in one of the articles I saw today

              Bir do ranjolena
              Bir geter geter
              Tanka bir ranjilena
               Barea buggire

               The grass is burning
                Grass knack! crack!
                Well is the grass burning
                In splendid beauty

    I don't know the significance of burning grass to the culture of the small, now extinct, tribe of Asurs. They were iron workers. Ancient people working in iron. Fire was the life blood of their craft. The embers of my craft as a writer are being fanned by this trip to India, through encounters like this one today. Oh can you see the splendid beauty?

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    Day 29?: 4 Weeks In India

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    We've been in Kolkata for about 24 hours and have been enjoying how unique it is. Many streets are wider, traffic more organized, greener, and, yes, much hotter. The modern next to the ancient is present here. Just as poverty lies sprawled next to opulence. This is true everywhere in India.

    It seems there is less smog in Kolkata; though in Jharkhand it is both smog and dust. One becomes more aware of how much cars polute the air when you are in India's cities, where mass of humanity congregates. In addition street-side coal-burning stoves and distant industry spew their constant offerings. The trees of a city grace its survival by  replenishing oxygen, adding life to the eyes of a wearied soul. Evening breezes also refresh and blow clear the dusty skies.

    We are pacing ourselves well on this trip. Travelers at ripe ages of 57, 67, 79, and 91 have to remember to take it easy. Since it is quite a bit hotter here, then in Ranchi, we are taking our afternoon rest before joining many dear friends at a Hindu wedding tonight.

    It may go without saying, but my heart overflows and I have no adequate words to describe how much I love being in India again. My father also is comfortable and at home here. My sister-in-law simply walked off the plane and also got right into step, having returned after 40 years. My cousin, who visits India for the first time, is learning so much and provides a fresh new perspective for all of us.