Surprisingly enough, or perhaps not that surprising at all, there are quite a few temples and mosques (though distinctly more of the former) here in India. They range from being some of the most ostentatious to the more simple. Either way, visiting these places of worship has left a certain kind of impression upon us. Although there are moments where I have trouble remembering the names and characteristics of all, they all have some intrinsic religiosity about them, making it seem inherently holy. Maybe it was the peacefulness. Maybe it was the quiet reverence people had towards the space. But there always seemed to be something.

They also function as a major part of the economy. Obviously tourists are going to want to go to the temples that show up on the “Top Ten” lists and “Must See” documentaries on National Geographic. There are street vendors lined up outside the temples, selling portraits of the gods and small tchotchkeys people really don’t need.

There does come a moment when the line is crossed though. The line from organized commerce turns into a chaotic mass of humans pushing their wares.

When first coming into this final blog from New Delhi, I planned on writing about how much I disagreed with the startling amount of consumerism in a supposedly supremely holy temple, Akshardham. I prepared myself to write a scathingly sarcastic report dealing with how kitschy and un-holy I saw the whole endeavor.

The problem, for me at least, was simple. The temple seemed more like an attraction at Disneyland. Or perhaps even worse. Signs hung everywhere, reminding people that there were very few things actually allowed on the campus of Akshardham, but money certainly was one that passed through security. The signs about money floated through the air, really showing that only the temple was a holy, free space. Compared to some European cathedrals I had visited, the Akshardham temple seemed more overt about their donations and spending. Cathedrals had a bit more calmness about them, where the spending was very similar in what the end accomplishment was to be, but not in the same way.

However, if there was any desire to learn more about this young yogi who devoted his life to this simple philosophy, one had to pay. And then give. Although it certainly wasn’t necessary to throw a few rupees to the animatronic beings, more than a few people did.

I originally planned for this to be a blog about how much consumerism and capitalism has destroyed even holy places like Akshardham. The thought had been fully formed in my head and I felt comfortable with the ideas I formulated.

Then, just yesterday afternoon, we had the chance to visit the mosque and tomb of Selim Chisti. For a supposed ruin, Fatephur Sikri was in great shape. The palace itself held a very grand and imposing sensibility, making people feel very small in its presence. There was a unanimous decision to go ahead and see the mosque as well since it was built by Mughal Emporer Akbar.

The only word to describe what followed is chaos. Absolute chaos.

As soon as we walked out of the campus of the palace, we were accosted by people trying to sell postcards, bangles, necklaces, and god knows what else. Now, I will admit that this part didn’t surprise me. We had been warned that such things would happen and, by this point of the trip, we got used to being sold things like this.

What we weren’t accustomed to was that these people followed us into the area with the mosque and sarcophagus. Normally, once we entered a more religious space, they would leave us alone and wait until we walked back out. Now we were just being yelled at to buy things and painfully tripping over hot stones in our rush to get away from these people.

No words, no angry face, no disgust or disdain seemed to penetrate through their pushy selling tactics. All of us, except perhaps the menfolk, were getting extremely uncomfortable with how close everyone was. We were followed to the burial place, had new people trying to sell things in their pushy way inside of the burial site, and were followed the whole way back to the waiting area.

I originally planned to write this blog to be a cynical look at Akshardham temple and the way capitalism has almost taken over this sacred space. But after visiting the mosque and honestly being unable to really learn anything about it because of how many people were pushing things in my face, I realized Akshardham was much better.

In Akshardham, there was some semblance of organization and respect for the space itself. The mosque at Fatephur Sikri just seemed like a torrential tempest of people and wares. Begging, pleading, tugging, shoving, pushing, throwing, touching in rapid, quick succession with no rhyme or reason. Nothing made sense.

There is a distinct difference in the classes of people who were working and selling things at both places. In Akshardham, it would be more of an obvious business class, people who are used to working in their shops or setting up smaller stands in places that allow it. Fatephur Sikri allowed more lower class and caste people (a mixture of adults, teenagers, and children) to try and make some money. However, with the pushiness and lack of respect for the space, the sellers were more likely to annoy the people they were trying to sell to. (At least that is how it worked for our group.)

What is still absolutely astounding to me is the completely welcoming hospitality of the Indian people. Although people in the United States are helpful and friendly enough, there are definitely things to be learned from the Indian people about what it means to truly welcome someone to a home and country.

But the culmination of this kindness had to be when we ate lunch at the house of a professor at Holy Cross College in Agartala, Umesh Khatri. First, we were more than pleased to hear that Umesh wanted us at his house. I’m not sure about anyone else on the trip, but I had begun to get inklings that we were a bother to people.

For the past few days, we had been stealing these people from their families and their lives, asking them to take us to these places they have probably seen more times than they wanted to disclose. We then proceed to boggle them with constant questions asking about obscure facts about these places.

So I was ridiculously happy one of the professors decided to open their doors to us. After trekking through conversation and seminar discussions, it was time to go have lunch with Umesh and his family. I became nervous the closer we got to the house. My biggest fear was insulting Umesh or his family after they graciously opened their doors to us. I did not want to live up to the negative expectations foreigners tend to have of Americans.

All of my fears were calmed as soon as we walked into the house. There were only smiles and warm welcomes to us. At first, conversation seemed to be a bit awkward and forced. No one really knew what to say outside of an academic setting, but that was a topic no one really wanted to start upon.

And then the feast began.

After rearranging the house so we could all sit, Dipti (Umesh’s new wife) and his mother began to bring out the food. Each plate had three mini-dishes, a kind of quintessential smattering from North and South India as well as Bengali cuisine. Words cannot describe how delicious each of those dishes were. The idlies hailed from South India, so they were light and perfectly steamed. The saabji, a kind of stewy sauce, delightfully burned its way into my heart. Even the vegetables, which were simply cut and arranged on a plate, looked like jewels from a dragon’s cave.

But what was even better than the food (and that is saying something since this had to have been the best meal in India) was the conversation and the look on Umesh’s face as he saw we enjoyed the food. I felt a bit odd eating when the host family was not, but I learned that it was normal for the hosts to wait until the guests left.

After all of the plates were cleared and the final refreshing lassi enjoyed, it hit me that we would need to leave. The whole afternoon reminded me so much of any family occasion I am accustomed to that I did not want to go. These people had beyond welcomed us into their home; they allowed us an intimate look into their family. They wanted us to feel like we were a part of it as well. Umesh’s father even joked that I looked like a part of his family and must have been hiding some Indian blood.

So this has become a new highlight to this trip. Being acclimated into someone else’s family trumps any beautiful building or sight that has yet to be seen. There is something distinctly wonderful about the Indian people. And this is only the beginning.

While here in Agartala, the architecture is worth noting. On the trip, I have dubbed it as “Indian art deco” since it is so closely related to the movement that hit California in the 1930’s. It is beautiful. The mixing of classic ostentatious Indian style with the clean lines of art deco make for a beautiful collection of historical buildings. While the effect is somewhat lost upon me, the mixture of simple and ornate is simply astounding. It is imposing in all of the ways the temples weren’t. Temples became imposing with how much stuff just happened to be on them. The Water Palace imposed by sprawling over the marshland and rising out of the water like an impenetrable fortress.

While at the Maharaja’s Water Palace, the architecture followed the same basic principle. I loved every minute inch of the place, from the stone that looked like wrought iron to the small details in all of the archways. Everything fit with the vision that pushed the palace architecturally. It all worked.

And then I saw it.

At first, I thought I was hallucinating. I distinctly remember doing a neck-snappingdouble-take at the sight of this hideous archway. This can’t be right… There has to be a mistake here. Who in their right mind would design that?

Leading from the audience arena to the kitchen was a giant red circle arch, one that followed the later art deco movement in Los Angeles and other cities. From the circle, it connected to a half-moon kitchen and a linear preparation area. Had that building and arch been transposed onto any block in America that emulated art deco, it would have worked beautifully.

No one else seemed offended by the arch. They were more than willing to accept the stonework without any issue besides a tilt of the head. The problem for me was that it didn’t match the rest of the building. Throughout the first week and a half, I had picked up on a general style that permeated most Indian architecture from that time period. This did not fit into that generalized list I made in my head. It just didn’t quite fit for me, leaving me with a sour taste towards that archway.

Completely different story at the Maharaja’s palace.

Because there did not seem to be enough of the art deco, the red painted brick arch became more of a puzzle than anything else. To me, it became a complete nuisance. I’m sure the Indian tourists had no problem with it. After studying their reactions to the arch, I knew it meant nothing more than another place to walk through. The rest of the Water Palace was so beautiful that it actually lost some of its luster once I saw that thing simply because it did not fit.

Obviously, I am no expert in classical Indian architecture. I base my observations on aesthetics alone. So perhaps my perception of the ridiculous (and frankly unpleasant) arch is completely off target. Maybe it was the easiest way to denote the servant area. Maybe the circle held ironwork that has now been lost. Maybe the Maharaja really liked circles while the palace was being built.

Maybe I’m just looking too much into this.

What I do know is that the circle does not fit. It would look more at home with actual art deco pieces. The plump red circle brings too much attention to itself compared to the precedent set by the other arches. Although I do understand I must keep in mind my own Western view to the palace, I just cannot fathom why such a piece would be positioned there. And I am very adept at percolating on reasons why. Even after writing this blog and trying to figure out why, I have not come up with a good explanation. I have asked the other people on the trip with me, but they tend to give me an odd look as to why this is causing such angst for me. Or perhaps they will give a shrug and shake their heads, the lack of answer hanging stale in the air.

What does the arch mean? Why is it there? What could the Maharaja or the architect been thinking when they put that arch there? Is there some sort of symbolic significance I’m not aware of? Or is the whole thing closer related with power relations and keeping people in their place, a sort of reminder of the karmic circle if servants disobey?

Overall, the Water Palace was beautiful. I know I continue to make a rather large stink about the circle, but the whole palace is absolutely stunning. However, in my own head, I have erased the circle and kept the odd half-moon building. I considered which would be the lesser of two evils and decided I can handle the kitchen house. The circle I cannot.

Coming to such a different place culturally and socially, India has been somewhat difficult to get used to. The heinous, insane traffic mixed with surprise lizard roommates make great stories, but still kept me feeling like I was a complete outsider. Everything seemed to be the opposite of what I knew.

This changed when we entered the dance village of Nrityagram. As soon as we stepped off the bus, the atmosphere changed dramatically. All was calm. It honestly seemed like a desert oasis on the outskirts of Bangalore. The people were more than accommodating to our inexperience, equally willing to help us find the rehearsal studio.

When we started watching them dance, I was instantly mesmerized. The dancers honestly portrayed the story they were trying to tell. Some were easily understood whereas others had to be pieced together a bit more, but still on a level far beyond anything I had ever experienced before.

As a dancer myself, I understand how much these women pushed themselves to perform in the open air and heat. The sweat darkened their clothes with each passing moment, but the energy never decreased. I could see the control in each move. Nothing was superfluous.

From their eyes to their hands to their feet, everything had its place. I noticed where Martha Graham, an American dancer who created her own style of modern, borrowed inspiration from temple dances since it worked with the body rather than against it. Nothing the dancers did seemed unnatural, as is common in ballet and some forms of jazz.

Watching them dance and rehearse made me realize that things were not so different after all. I could learn about their culture and my own through this beautiful art. I wanted nothing more than to stay with them and become a part of that family they created. It was so different from what I knew growing up in a dance world. They were not six foot and only ninety pounds. They were women, real women. There was a distinct lack of catty drama within the campus, a blessed relief from almost any other dance school.

That stood out to me the most. They made everyone feel like they were a part of the new family they created from grassland. I wanted to dance again, something that has not happened in a very long time.

The dancer we spoke to put it the best: “Dance is the most exhilarating, but cruel form of art. You can never see what you have worked so hard to create.” This group of women appeared to sacrifice everything for what they absolutely loved. But they also understood what it meant to create a family and a home out of the place where that love can be cultivated. Their welcoming personalities and humble natures really made me feel less of an “Other.”

Despite the differences in what seemed like everything, I felt like I can identify with India more through dance. I have never performed anything like that, but I can still learn more than simple routines and steps. Visiting Niratygram snapped me out of the daze I had been walking in since first coming to India, something I am more than thankful for.

Michael Deegan – Northern Ireland

My time in Northern Ireland has been an experience that I will never forget. I studied at the University of Ulster, Coleraine where I took classes for my International Studies Minor. The classes are definitely different from King’s, but it made me appreciate what I have back at home, as well as learn in new and different ways. Being in Northern Ireland, I met students my age from all over the world-France, Spain, Hong Kong, Greece, Bulgaria, Germany, the Netherlands and many from the United States. I made some very good friends, and spent much time listening to them and learning from them. I applied their perspectives to my own and learned so much about the world. In particular, I was able to learn much about the History of Ireland and listen to it told from people who were directly affected by the violence of the troubles.

All of this, while being in the beautiful landscapes of Northern Ireland. Coleraine was a great small town just a short walk from the University. It was only ten minutes from the two summer-towns of Port Stewart and Port Rush where many tourists come from all over to see the beautiful North Coast. Also, a short bus ride away was the iconic Giant’s Causeway. The Causeway was so beautiful, I walked upon it several times, and I never really understood the causeway until I went. It truly is a world-wonder.

I learned so much this semester, including many unexpected things. For instance, in order to save money-I cooked more than I did in the last few years with my meal plan. My friends and I got to the point where we took turns cooking for each other every evening. It brought us all together-and made it a little easier for all of us. Never being on a train before, I had to become very good at using public transportation. In a short time, I found myself planning whole days-balancing timetables and estimating times. I learned so much and I was instilled with the confidence to continue to travel and see more of the world.

—-

Currently, I find myself backpacking through Europe–and seeing parts of the world that I had never imagined being able to see. On a very tight budget–utilizing services such as “couch-surfing” and free museums/ tours, staying in hostels, and reaching all destinations by train–I have already been able to see so much. I purchased a discount EUrail pass and began my journey 20 days ago in Berlin Germany. Since, I have
been to Hamburg, Cologne, Amsterdam, Brugge, Paris, Rome, Pisa, Florence and Athens.

It is amazing how cheap it is for me to travel–and I feel so blessed to have this opportunity and these friends to help me along the way. I have met some truly incredible people on the road–as well as seen places pouring with history and culture.

I will continue to travel until the date of my return flight in June.

I guess I just wanted you all to know that I am alive and well–and learning–always learning so much. I feel so prepared for the experiences that I have had, and the experiences that still lie ahead and that is mostly as a result of my time at King’s.

I hope all is well as you prepare for the end of the year there–and I look forward to returning this Fall!

Cheers!

-Michael Deegan