presents:         

featuring

• Marshall Goodman aka Field Marshall (Sublime, Long Beach Dub All Stars, Dubcat)

[Drums]

• Jack Maness (Sublime, Long Beach Dub All Stars, Dubcat)

[Vocalist - Reggae, Rock, Soul]

• Tim Wu (Sublime, Long Beach Dub All Stars, Dubcat)

[Saxophone, Vocals]

• Jud Nester (Abstract Workshop)

[Vocalist - Funk, Soul, Hip Hop]

• Philieano (Skunk Records)

[Emcee - Hip Hop]

• Mike Long (Capital Eye)

[Bass]

• Jon Tomlinson (Economic food chain music group, LMNO & the Six Foot Trolls)

[Guitar, Keys, Vocals]

• Ed Kampwirth (Suburban Rhythm, Nevelle Staple of the Specials)

[Keys, Bass]

• Toko Tasi (Skunk Records)

[Vocalist - Reggae]

Rickshaw is a collective of musicians that have come together to create a variety of musical stylings. Featuring several different vocalists with several different styles that blend together in a production not to be missed! Put together by Marshall Goodman aka Field Marshall aka Ras MG, who is one of the pioneers in the modern music scene from his contributions and production with the multi-platinum Sublime, Long Beach Dub All Stars and Dubcat. Bringing together some old friends and some new, Marshall has the chemistry right and the music speaks for itself.

Jai Jai Sri Radhe!

On my day off my dear friend Amritasundari and I took a trip to Premsarovar and Sanket.  Getting there took a lot of walking and a lot of tempo-riding.   First we took a tempo from Vrindavan to Chhatikara.  I used to think of Chhatikara as ¨that place with the tempo stand and the railroad tracks, where they sell corn on the cob in the fall.¨  Amrita tells me that after leaving Gokul, Sri Krishna lived in Chhatikara for three years.  ¨Chhatikara¨ means ¨half-moon.¨  It´s called that becuase Nanda Baba and the cowherd men parked their bullock carts in a half-moon shape here, keeping the cows in the center to protect them.  When Krishna lived in Chhatikara, Radharani lived in Ral (about halfway between Chhatikara and Radhakund).

Amrita didi waiting for the tempo to Goverdhan

Morning oblations in chhatikara

Chhatikara Dham, on the Delhi-Agra highway

The road to Goverdhan was closed, so the tempo took us through a winding road full of mustard fields.

The inexpensive way to thresh your grains.

After reaching Goverdhan town we walked across Dan Ghati to the other rickshaw stand, where you can catch tempos going to Barsana.

Dan Ghati

We found a tempo quickly, and were hopeful to make it to Barsana in time for darshan of Sriji.  But the tempo broke down about 3/4 of the way to Barsana.  We walked for about twenty minutes, then caught another tempo at the turn to Visakha Sakhi´s village, Kamai.  By the time we made it to Barsana, it was too late for darshan of Sriji.  We paid our pranams to her from the bottom of the hill and started walking towards Prem Sarovar.

Visvanath Cakravartipad comments on Damodar Lila, that the two inches of rope needed to bind Krishna represent two things; bhakta-nistha and sva-nistha.  Bhakta-nishta is the devoteeś effort and sva-nistha is Krishna´s propensity to give kripa.  When Yashoda Ma tried to bind Krishna, Krishna did not want to be bound.  He wanted to play.  So, his satya-sankalpa shakti and aishvarya shakti entered into his body and fulfilled his desire.  Thus, no matter how she tried, Yashoda Ma could not bind Krishna. She ran back and forth bringing more and more rope and string, but the rope always remaied two inches two short.  Her exertion was such that her breast was heaving and the flowers were falling from her hair. When Krishna saw how much difficulty she was experiencing, he had mercy and desired to be bound.  Then Kripa-Shakti entered Krishna´s body.  When Kripa arrived, aishvarya-shakti and satya-sankalpa shaktis ran away in shame, for Kripa Shakti is the Queen of all shaktis.

We remembered this as we entered Barsana five hours after leaving Vrindavan, and too late to see Radharani.  Although we missed her darshan, we hoped to get some of Srijiś Kripa nonetheless…  (to be continued)

]]> http://alsafh.wordpress.com/2009/11/23/always-speak-the-truth/ Mon, 23 Nov 2009 19:30:16 +0000 skhalid5 http://alsafh.wordpress.com/2009/11/23/always-speak-the-truth/

In the busy, crowded streets of Lahore, look for this rickshaw.
After receiving this picture through email, my chacha spotted it live. Here’s his amused account of the incident:
“On our way back home, when we came from the Campus bridge to Maghle Azam shadi hall and then took a right turn, we overtook this rikhshaw below. While overtaking I was just able to read the top two lines. I told Soofia that this rikhshaw pic was sent by Khalid bhai. Then I stopped the car and let the rikhshaw cross us and we enjoyed this verse. We then turned left to our home and it continued straight towards faisal town. I noticed that it was the same rikhshaw (Sir-e Rah and also the bottom line – Always speak the truth). I also noted its number plate to check here in the computer but now I notice that it is hidden in the picture.
The picture was really enjoyable and we enjoyed it even more when we saw it live……”

We all have different ways of handling the truth. Whether this truth breaks your heart or not, it is upto you. And what you do about it is upto you too. The fact that it is the truth, you can do nothing about. The difference between these, and knowing it, can make a big difference.

Acrobat: One who is skilled in feats of balance and agility in gymnastics.

In India time is very different, on our first day we already felt we had been in India for at least two weeks. The street is faster, your mind doesn’t even have the capacity to process half the things and you have to give up along the way. Imagine yourself being miniature and falling onto an old vinyl record going at 78 r.p.m., as you spin you try to grab onto something only to fall off hopelessly, well thats kinda what India is for a first time westerner like me.

So, day 11 and I feel like i’m living here, i’ve seen so much already. K went to the pharmacy and tried to explain my ailment, he came back with little orange sachets of something called ORS and as he told me his fascinating tale about the inside of the fridge where they store medicine I noticed the ORS expiry date is 2004. The medicine is sealed and in powder form and i’m desperate to get back to normality so who cares. After packing up I frowned and whispered into K’s ear “that is supposed to be for the street children” as he handed the doorman a hefty tip. We got back to Amritsar Junction, and boarded the train, I don’t know the name of it but on the ticket it said PTK DLI EXP.

I had missed so much, Amritsar was two visits to the Golden Temple, peering into the Martyr’s well at Jallianwalla Bagh (the site of the 1919 massacre) and paying 500 rupee for 2 Snapples in a western style cafe. (Tip: If something isn’t on the menu and is displayed in a place your eye is bound to wander then beware, they’ll rip you off bigtime). Oh well, I did have the Punjabi countryside as a consolation as we headed through, and on our way, to Delhi. Every now and then I noticed little blue war planes had landed on the roofs of houses only to realise they were water storage units. I did see people and tractors and the flat landscapes, everything I had imagined. Sitting across from us was an older, fed up looking man in disheveled clothes, a teenager in a light blue turban( who made sure we noticed his mobile telephone), and a moody looking man in khaki who was clutching onto his briefcase and looking down at people through his thick lensed glasses. As the train raced along K asked:

“So, which religion are you all?”

I just wanted to be swallowed up right there and then. I don’t know if this is an insulting question in India, the disheveled man turned out to be Hindu, the teenager Sikh and old Mr Grumpy Hindu. After answering . . . . . silence returned. We decided to play cards and some people giggled when they noticed I was cheating. Old Mr Grumpy got off somewhere near Ludhiana and I just thought “Thank You Lord!” We travelled on through the afternoon and then something truly astonishing happened. We could hear drums, the people sitting near us seemed to roll up their eyes thinking “Oh no, not this” but we turned into two little meerkats, our heads popping up over the chairs and scanning the carriage trying to see who was making the commotion. It was on my wishlist, The Nats!!! The little girl was fabulous, about four years old, she danced along the aisle of the carriage, her face painted red, clownlike. She was doing a little dance, putting one hand on her hip, the other behind her head and all I could think of was Betty Boop and the caricature of Mae West “Come up and see me sometime”. She tried to do an acrobatic stunt only get stuck in a metal hoop, and then she danced along the carriage. I think everyone had noticed our enthusiasm as they all began to laugh too and enjoy the moment. We took some photos of her and as she moved on I thought about her, wishing that one day she will find some sort of happiness in this super country.

We pulled into Old Delhi train station. I’m aware that I’m feeling better but don’t want to push my health to the limit. We walked towards the prepaid rickshaws, a tout told us the booth where you pay for the rickshaw was closed but we could already see the man who works there writing out the “paid” vouchers for the people in line. We handed our voucher to one of the traffic police and he told us to follow. We followed him onto Mukherjee Marg where he waved down an empty rickshaw. The driver obviously didn’t want to take us if it was prepaid but the traffic officer told him he had no choice. So, we stepped into the rickshaw-from-hell. I could see him fuming in the mirror as he drove in his rage, like a mad man, at one point we hit the back of a bus, I was waving my finger in the air and yelling to him:

“Slow down!! You know what you are? You know? You are an an idiot, an I.D.I.O.T, thats what you are!”.

This made him laugh and he slowed down. We got back to Pahar Ganj and headed to the hotel in the alley. The men working reception look pleased to see us and asked where we had been this time. They’ve gave us an upgrade, same price but with a view onto Main Bazaar. I feel really glad to be back in Delhi. It’s as hectic as London and New York, hmmm, thinking about it I would say that Delhi is WAY MORE HECTIC than London and New York COMBINED, the energy is out-of-this-world and I feel at home.

We’ve just chilled out on the roof top restaurant all evening, the Delhi skyline, the night every now and then lit up by a firework signalling that Diwali is imminent. Evenings in Delhi are the best, just when the city and people have cooled down but still as manic as the afternoons. We have decided to stay here for the remainer of our vacation and explore everything this city has to offer.

I’m figuring out that what makes India so unique and memorable are the people, sure the monuments are impressive in their own super-iconic ways but they are just a backdrop to what is really going on.

When visiting Delhi, be sure and take a walkabout in old Delhi near Jama Masjid, the huge historical mosque that is the cornerstone of this district.  The small alleys and streets are teeming with people, animals and every means of transportation one can imagine.  It exudes atmosphere and is chockful of opportunities to practice your documentary photography.  Remember, it is difficult to perfectly compose every shot as life in this neighborhood is dynamic, so focus on capturing life on the streets, imperfections and all.

Although you may feel uncomfortable on some of these streets due to the lack of tourists, the streets are safe and the people open to having their photographs taken.  If you feel some discomfort, move on.  There’s always someone else to shoot.  Also remember, approaching people with a smile and openness goes a long way.

Photos taken with a Nikon D700 and Nikkor 24-70mm f/2.8 zoom lens.

Congested streets

A frown here but really friendly later.

Hidden by merchandise.

Old Delhi restaurant.

Since arriving in Delhi Brian and I have been living in the suburb of Noida, about 30 minutes east of the city.  We’re staying here because it’s a $0.50 cycle rickshaw ride from the office and it’s run by Drishtee and free for us to stay in.  The downside of living in Noida is the fact that it is extremely boring.  There are no people to hang out with and nothing to do but go to work and sleep and it’s getting to be downright depressing.

The first thing we did when we got to Noida was post want ads online seeking apartments in South Delhi which we’ve been told is a really fun area with plenty of expats, bars, restaurants, and clubs.   So yesterday, being a Friday, we made out first venture out of Noida to explore the city of Delhi.

Defence Colony market at night

We bummed a ride from a co-worker after work and arrived in the Defence Colony neighborhood (where we want to live) at 6 P.M.  The central market, a two block square, was a happening place with swanky restaurants and bars and many young Indians.  At this time the bars were running happy hours with buy one get one deals and happy happy hours with buy one get two.  One place even had an all you can drink for 750 Rs ($15 USD).  We had no problem finding a place to sit down and have a good time.

What really struck me about the Indian bar scene was how friendly everyone is.  Within our first few minutes at the bar we’d exchanged cards with five people and infiltrated a sizeable group of regulars.  It was a lot of fun and made me want to move out of Noida as soon as possible.

The real adventure began when it was time to head back home.  Two buddies from the bar helped us get an auto rickshaw and negotiate the price in Hindi.  We used Shipra Mall, a major landmark in Noida, as our destination and we were on our way.   However, after 40 minutes of driving it became apparent that our driver was very lost.

So here we were at 1 A.M. in the back of a rickshaw on unfamiliar roads and unable to communicate with the driver.  At night the ban on trucks in Delhi is lifted so the roads become filled with big and colorfully decorated trucks like the one below.  Our little rickshaw with one headlight and no tail lamps wove in and out of the trucks and made frantic U-turns as he tried to find his way to the mall.

An Indian truck

Once off the highway we made progress as he stopped and asked for directions from at least 10 people.  The reality of our situation really hit us when we passed a body laying in the middle of the street.  Our driver slowed down and took a good look but did not stop.  No one was attending to him.  It looked to me like he had been recently hit by a car and judging by way he was positioned on the pavement, face first, I think he had died.

We finally made it back to our apartment at 2 A.M., two hours after we boarded the rickshaw, and went straight to bed.  It was a rough end to an otherwise good night.  Hopefully we’ll find a place in the city soon so we don’t have to deal with a ride like that again.

Over the years I’ve traveled (and lived for a year) to Delhi, some of the best places to attempt photographs are in the market areas that are teeming with people, rickshaws, auto-rickshaws and other contributors to congestion.  Sometimes it is difficult to shoot from street level for the very reason you visit there, the mass of humanity.  Early on, I decided that one of the best vantage points is the human-powered rickshaw.  Not only do you rise above the commotion, you also have an unimpeded view of the street life.  This becomes even more important if you find yourself in a narrow alley.  If you attempt to walk the alley, you have to worry about being run over by every means of transportation.  The rickshaw changes all that.

This series of photos was taken near the Jama Masjid mosque in old Delhi.

Photos taken with a Nikon D700 and Nikkor 24-70mm f/2.8 zoom lens.

Le quotidien.

Si vous voulez voir fondre de cuteness votre conducteur de rickshaw, laissez-lui entendre par de subtiles allusions que vous partagez son pain quotidien*. Exemple (pour ceux qui suivent) :

« Are bhaiyya ! 50 roupies ? 50 roupies c’est un bon thali dans la dhaba à côté de chez moi !

-…………30…. **

-30 roupies ?? Mais mon frère, avec ça je pourrai m’acheter des pétards pour Diwali… Are, pense à tes enfants, ils adorent les pétards? J’adore les pétards aussi. Chalo, 20.

-…..25 ?….. . .

-5 roup’s de différence ?! Mais 5 roup’s c’est un chai. Mon chai, tu vas pas me priver d’mon chai ? »

C’est un peu comme si vous expliquiez à un taxi que vous avez droit à une réduction parce que vous achetez vous aussi du pain tous les matins. Who knows why it works…

Location: Calcutta, India

We were very, but very excited about going to India, we even couldn’t sleep properly. We were constantly talking about it. We heard lots of stories about India from different people and we always had wanted to go there. And there we where on the straight line to India, not needing to just dream about it, but experience it ourselves. We couldn’t believe it, that this is going happen for real, it just couldn’t enter our level of  understanding. We didn’t know what to expect, just maybe this deep Hindu culture with lots of colours, flowers, scents, gods, yoga, meditation,  ashrams and lots of people. But behind it, there was still a closed door for which we had to enter the plane from Bangkok to Calcutta to open it.

But before entering this door, I would like to close one before. So what I would like to say is to  summarise my and Arne’s experiences in Thailand   We had a really great time in Thailand despite being mugged and failed expectations about the beaches. The beaches were nice, but I think we expected much more from it and maybe something, which doesn’t even exist. Something like a lost paradise, but these days this is difficult to find. We loved the food, especially Arne. I think I have got a Thai cook book, so it should be ok. We admire the temples and architecture and completely love Bangkok, with lots of life and beautiful quirky streets. It is a very gentle country and pleasant for tourists. And mostly for 60  years old white men having 18 year old girlfriends or one night pleasure. Yeah, we had seen hundreds of them, it is always in your face. But we must say that Thai girls can be very attractive. We also had seen quite a lot of same age couples consisting of a white man and a Thai girl. It must be this delicious Thai foods they cook like a love elixir.  Or is it the age or availability? I really don’t know, but I never seen anything like that before on such a huge scale. So doors are closed and we can move on.

We took the plane at 3 pm and arrived to Calcutta around 6 pm. From the plane we saw the big river deltas of Bangladesh and the huge agricultural fields of India. We couldn’t wait to exit the airport.

  And we exited the airport and what was the first impression?  Lots of yellow taxis looking from 1950, men shouting and buildings rotting. That what I first saw. Everything looked surreal like when I watched old communist Czechoslovakian movies from 1950. Everything was very old including the airport and men wore old fashion clothes. We finally agreed upon a taxi, which drove us to Dum Dum underground station, from where we had to take the underground to Park Street station. The ride to the station made me  wonder which century we arrived to today. It seemed that this doesn’t match ours. This time it felt like I  just walked through London in 1880 or the time of the Oliver Twist novel. Everything was dark and gloomy with lots of  mist from burning coal on the streets. The streets were dirty, many people were dirty and  buildings were rotting and dirty. There was so much poverty going on, I just kept having my mouth open until I realised it is time to shut it.  Around Dum Dum station there was a local market with crowds of people buying, selling, begging and sleeping on the street. Aaaah this noise, this amount of people, traffic and cars honking.  I didn’t know what is happening and I didn’t know if I am not still asleep on the plane and all of this is just one crazy surreal dream.

  We took the underground to Park Street station, from where we had to walk for 15 minutes to our hotel. But my dream still continued with the same surreal world moving around me, like a dark ghost. The way to the hotel was cramped with little dirty streets with weird people,  dark gloomy and misty surroundings. That was crazy, where the hell I was? Seeing those skinny undernourished guys pulling Rickshaws (something like a coach pulled by a horse, but there was no horse only this skinny undernourished man) with two fat Hindu high cast women. Can I understand it?  Nope!!..  Can Arne then? Nope!!.. Where are we for the God sake?  We finally found our hotel and walked away from this new unknown world. In the hotel room we just looked at each other and didn’t need to say anything. Everything was too clear -what the hell was that? We just couldn’t comprehend it with our European minds. This was way too far away from everything we ever knew.

After that we went to eat some curry, still walking with open mouths and staring at everything ar0und and not understanding anything at all. I felt like Alice in Wonderland entering a world away from everything I ever knew, away from everything I ever seen, felt or experienced. Welcome to India!!! Welcome to the country of wonders and mysteries!!! Our expectations were very high for India even before we came here. We also were worried, if the reality will meet our expectations, because we travelled a couple of countries and we had lots of disappointments.  But this time the reality reached far beyond our expectations making our expectation completely insignificant to this hard reality. We were very glad we didn’t go to Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos and had decided to go to India. We don’t know how the rest of India is, but this is already enough for us and also sensing there are more secrets and mysteries waiting to be uncovered.

This is one interesting encounter with a rickshaw-waala(henceforth mentioned as RW). It’s long so read at peace, it is long but nice!

Near vikhroli station: Like always no rickshaw agreed for a ride to IITB. It was almost 15 minutes and I was tired of stopping them and seeing their face turn into some weird shape and without even uttering a word keep moving as if I was asking for a free ride. Then from nowhere a rickshaw arrives and he agrees. I was delighted, relaxed and titillated. Moments after settling in, I asked him -

ZM: Aap iit ke andar tak chaloge naa?
RW: IIT??!! (confused) mujhe lagaa yahan vikhroli mein kahin!
ZM: (WTF!)
RW: mera kya. ek aur bhaada mil gaya hai, chal lete hai warna mujhe yeh saamaan kahin pahoochaana tha, lekin ab yahaan rakhna pad raha hai.. khair abhi 8 hee bajey hai, baad mein chala jaaunga
ZM: (normal human courtesy dikhaate hue) arey toh saamaan yahaan peeche rakh do, koi dikkat nahi..
RW: nahi nahi – yeh bahut zaroori hai! koie leke chala gaya toh – maa ke haath ka khaana hai – UP se aaya hai – kandivli jaake laana padaa – Kandivli tak jaana pada 250 types ka bhaada laga aur aate waqt ek ko kam paiso mein vikhroli lete aaya – kya karoon jaana toh tha hee – maa ke haath khaana jo hai – ab jo yahaan milta hai woh wahaan nahi milta and jo wahaan milta hai woh yahaan kabhi nahi mil sakta..!!
ZM: haan itna toh banta hai (Initially, I was like why is he talking to me…I never asked him anything but then the heaviness and sincerity with which he said made a difference. It got me into thinking! Taking a right turn heading towards HN. There I had it, the road was filled with insane numbers, there I was all-alone, amidst the traffic or not?! Somewhere, I knew this journey wont be boring :p
RW: I prefer staying behind a BEST bus in such a traffic – it’s spacious you see :p
ZW: hmmm…
(He said some more things about day-to-day traffic, blah blah..)
(By now, I was sure that this RW was a loquacious guy with an opinion on almost all things around, mostly logical!)

[I had nothing to say or do so casually peeped out and I saw 2 girls 1 boy (:p) seated in the adjacent rick, one of the two was talking on phone and the other two I think was the couple(yes it is not what you are thinking :p). The two started making out mildly :p and I accidentally saw them, not like i wanted to see what was going. It was stupidly weird. Realising I saw them, they started staring at me and hugged each other, still looking at me. I immediately shifted to the other side of the rick and said...]

ZM: yaar yeh rickshaw waaleaate kyun nahi IIT – bhaada toh milta hai traffic hua toh bhi (just to forget what just happened)
RW: Arey mazaa nahi aata yaar chalaane mein–lagta hai galaa ghot ke chala rahey hai, gaadi ki ********* jaati hai — haath dard karne lag jaate hai and stuff (He kept on blabbering).
(Then he said something I will never forget–)
RW: Apne haath hee dekh lo, kitne tight banaye hai -
ZM: kya??
RW: arey apne haath, fir aankh lelo, peecha ka ang lelo, naak, kaan, dimaag – sab tight rehta hai….infact kamar ke neeche ka bhi dekh lo sab tight rehta hai (I was not sure, where he was going and what he wanted to say!!!) Kuch bhi lelo, sab tight banaya hai – bas yeh kamar ke upar ka 6×6 inch ka area loose banaya hai uparwaale ne. Yeh tight karte karte zindagi bitaa dete hai hum. Subah tight karo – shaam ko fir loose and shaam ko tight karo, subah fir loose – chalte rehta hai and ek din hum mar jaate hai wahin jo loose pet leke aaye the wahin leke chale jaate hai baaki sab yahin reh jaata hai!

ZM: (Arrived at the IIT main gate, I said…) “Student”
RW: kya bola aapne?
ZM: “student”
RW: accha “student” bolo toh kisi ko bhi andar aane de dete hai kya?
ZM: haan aisa hee samjho..(mild laughter)
RW: aapko yahaan admission kaise mila? merit list mein aaye honge!
ZM: nahi ek entrance exam hota hai, usme select hoke (and stuff..!)
RW: toh job toh lag hee jaati hogi??
ZM: nahi aaj kal market down hai thoda…(and uttered something disinterestedly)
RW: (Then he saw a girl and suddenly interrupted me) yahaan bhi reservation hota hai?
ZM: nahi nahi, hota hai lekin ladkiyon ke liye nahi hota (kaash hota :p)
RW: aapki shaadi ho gayi kya?
ZM: arey nahi yaar…abhi toh padh raha hoon..abhi kahaan.

I reached Hostel 3 gate. The meter read 50Rs. which was slightly higher than the normal but that was because of the traffic mainly but overall I was glad and refreshed by this discussion. I thought I will definitely blog about this guy.

So I ran back after entering the hostel to maybe ask him his name for the title of this post, but the rick had left and all i could see was MH03-AA-1447. So be it.

HURRICANE LAMP UNDER RICKSHAW in Joypara for night- time travel!  This reminds me of the lanterns used for the horse-drawn carriages by my Amish relatives.

Photos from within an auto rickshaw this afternoon:

The bugger was full of character. He could be in the movies.

In New Delhi, India, me and my boyfriend went on a rickshaw ride… were on our way to Connaught Place from Paharganj. Take a look!

Rickshaw Art of Bangladesh | Photo: Maciej Dakowicz

Street art as a genre has a number of enthusiastic artists and patrons. However, Rickshaw Art, which is yet another popular art form that finds its expression on the streets, is not that well known. This unique form of art is what could be called “peoples’ art” and it combines within itself a number of elements including folklore, movie, political and commercial imagery and techniques.

Decorated Rikshaw | Photo: doc18

For those who are not aware, Rickshaws are traditional, non-motorized, eco-friendly vehicles that ply the roads in many parts of South-East Asia, especially India, China and Bangladesh. These rickshaws are used for traveling short distances. At the beginning, rickshaws were used only by the elite class of society. However, now it has become a common mode of transportation for the middle class.

In Bangladesh, the rickshaw pullers have to face stiff competition, as there are more than 600,000 rickshaws in Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh alone. This means that the rickshaw drivers need to try their best to attract their customers, which they do with the help of the artwork on their rickshaws. If you like the art on the rickshaw, there is a very good chance that you will board it.

Since this kind of art needs to be extremely eye-catching, Rickshaw artists aim to decorate the vehicles with as much drama and color as they can put. The images that are painted on the rickshaws are both simple, as well as memorable. The images reflect the interests and the desires of the man or woman in the streets. For instance, religious themes, folk themes, wealth and power are common motifs of rickshaw art.

The rickshaw art is not a fine art form and cannot really be classified into a specific genre – it is a dynamic form, which reflects not only the interests of the common person, but also the entire process of globalization. For instance, you will find images on the rickshaws that show the fascination of people with Film stars, sports cars and foreign locations.

Artists decorating a rickshaw and a freshly decorated rickshaw with film motifs | Courtesy: www.artsricksha.com

Every inch of the rickshaw, especially the rickshaws of Bangladesh, is decorated with paintings, tassels, colorful plastic flowers sprouting from various corners, decorated handlebars and hood works. You will find signs

Decorated Rickshaw Head Cover | Photo: Jonathan Munshi

of the rickshaw artwork even on the footholds, seats and in the chassis. The backboard of the rickshaw is the largest blank canvas available on the rickshaw to the artist, and he expresses himself to his heart’s content on the backboard.

Compared to the colorful rickshaws of Bangladesh and India, the rickshaws of USA (also known as Pedicabs) are much mundane. They usually sport the carnival looks in their canopies and seldom carries any artwork.

Rickshaw art in Eastern India and Bangladesh is a unique manifestation of a long tradition of art and craft, which is a coalition of the old tradition of this part of India, as well as the contemporary life of the city. If you look carefully, the art will help you to get a deep insight into the present beliefs and desires of the masses. The best time to enjoy this art is during the rush hours in Dhaka, when a number of rickshaws play around.

A Pedicab (Rickshaw) in USA | Courtesy: bikeportland.org

Just enjoy the spectacular art form that will help you to gain a multi-faceted perspective into the society that the rickshaw art reflects.

August 13 cont.

Dasaswamedh Ghat, Varanasi

Our lively bicycle rickshaw ride came to an end at the Dasaswamedh Ghat, the grandest steps down to the Ganges; “Ganga” as it’s called in India. The ghat was occupied by sadhus (holy men) in various stages of undress, body paint and emaciation; little girls charming visitors into purchasing their little hand-formed butter candles adorned with bright orange marigolds; freshly-shaved pilgrims; sellers of Hindu religious trinkets; cows and tourists.  Lots and lots of tourists.  To paraphrase a quote from the October 2008 Departures Magazine, Varanasi swarms with tourists more than it does with actual pilgrims and citizens.

Our guide, Devesh, pointed out the water line demarcating the extent to which the Ganga normally swells during the monsoon.  In a normal season we should have been standing under water; businesses along the river are used to moving out while the Ganges moves in for a few weeks. But given that the Ganga records human fecal counts 3000 times the safe limit not to mention harbours countless other unsanitary nasties, I was quite happy to be on dry land.

Devesh explained to Josh, Aaron and me that people travel from all over India to Varanasi for yatra, a Ganges pilgrimage. These pilgrims believe that the river is the incarnation of the Goddes Ganga who flows down from its Himalayan source on the strands of Shiva’s hair. By bathing in the Ganga, or Ganges (the “eez” comes from a suffix given in Hindu as a sign of respect – Devesh hence forward became “Devesh-ji”), Hindus believe they are cleansed of Karma – the measurement of deeds of previous and present lives – and prepared for death.  This in turn leads to rebirth and hopefully a better life.

I asked Devesh-ji if he had bathed in the Ganga.  “Once,” he said, “and I got sick.” I didn’t probe the nature of his ailments, but I sensed he was unhappy by it and perhaps a bit envious of those who ingested and bathed in its waters with impunity… if you disregard the infinite parasites and other ills they no doubt suffer on a constant basis, Ganges or not.

There are many old people in Varanasi who carefully navigate the steep and treacherously slippery back alleyways barefoot. They believe that anyone who dies on the banks of the Ganga achieves moksha, deliverance from the cycle of reincarnation.  This explains why dead bodies receive one final dip before cremation.

I asked Devesh when Hinduism began.  He answers that no one really knows.

We each bought a butter candle from a girl who flirted persistently with Josh and Aaron and walked down to our boat. Our boatman’s oars peacefully swept through the obliging river as we glided slowly toward the Manikarnika cremation ghat. Devesh-ji asked us to lower our cameras, out of respect for the mourners.

The orange flames of the pyres stood out starkly from the concrete steps. The heat of the crematorium pressed against my face, but I was amazed that there was no noticeable smell. Stacks of wood towered over the throngs of workers, mourners, cows and dogs who moved deliberately among blackened ashes strewn with the tattered yellow and orange remains of discarded shrouds. On the steps bodies wrapped in saffron patiently waited for family members to carry them down to the river for one final immersion.  Devesh pointed out an older man with a shaved head who had a white scarf wrapped around his privates – the eldest son of the deceased. He explained that the two main crematoria run 24 hours a day, every day of the year, and that the caste who manages this operation has become quite wealthy selling wood, sandalwood dusts, shrouds and other cremation accoutrements. We sat in quiet contemplation as the sky turned indigo with dusk.

On our return to the main ghat we lit our marigold butter candles and released them into the Ganga. Aaron’s fell apart as soon as it hit the water, a sign that he should stick to Buddhism.

By now the Dasaswamedh Ghat was buzzing with people preparing for the daily aarti ritual where Hindu priests pay homage to the Ganga in an elaborately-choreographed ceremony [Mariellen Ward wrote an excellent article on the Varanasi experience.] Devesh ensconced us on stairs above a raised platform next to a cow pen. We were soon surrounded by a group of chattering young Japanese ladies who jockeyed with us for precious bum space. I drank in the scene of hundreds of people and many cows milling about, extended families wedging themselves into narrow seated groups, the loudspeakers broadcasting tabla drums and monotone singing.  The tension and emotion palpably mounted as boats filled with tourists and pilgrims crowded into each other at the base of the landing, forming a nautical chain 12 boats deep in places. At the centre of the crowd were seven priest stands – one for each day of the week – and while the organizer fretted with the priests’ diyas (large brass candlesticks), tourists peppered the night with camera flashes. The sense of festivity and anticipation increased as more people streamed into the crowd, Westerners in their sober tech-wear colours amidst the rainbow of Indian saris. The slight breeze did nothing to stem the sweat trickling down my brow.

The priests ascended their posts.  The air filled with the sounds of accordion, tabla and chanting. The priests were quite young and a couple of them, with their short hair, glasses and seeming uncertainty with the lyrics, looked like they were better suited for a university campus than leading a Hindu service. I was captivated by one priest with long hair and incredible bone structure and watched intently as he swung his diya with purpose, spelling “Om” with his arms and chanting the prayers majestically. I decided to get closer.

Josh and I descended in the crowd and sat amongst the pilgrims.  The older gentleman next to me was very friendly and encouraged us to take lots of photos.  I was surprised at the ceremony’s informality – it was perfectly acceptable to move around, chat with your neighbour, take photos – and how little the congregation was directly involved in the ritual. Suddenly, the crowd burst into a flury of hand flourishes. They clapped, namaste’ed and raised their arms.  For a fleeting moment it was pure electricity. The priests gathered at the central platform to sing the Broadway finale, then distributed blessed flowers to their devotees like celebrities dispensing autographs.

We ascended the steps – tourists, locals and pilgrims criss-crossing each others’ paths. I was surprised to discover that our bicycle rickshaw drivers had been waiting patiently for us.  We had a marvelous ride back to the Surya hotel.  The crowd was happy and energized. Because of a power outage, many of the shops were lit by candles, making the experience dream-like.  Figures glided in and out of the shadows in a cacophony of bells, horns, motors, voices and rattling metal. An auto rickshaw behind us honked passionately. I looked over my shoulder and gave him a “what can we do?” smile.  He shrugged and smiled: honking is in the Indian’s DNA. We passed the ox. Given that it was after 8 pm, he was now outside the shop.

When we arrive at the Surya hotel, Josh and I decide to give the rickshaw drivers 200 rupees instead of the negotiated 150.  We pay Josh and Aaron’s driver first, and just as we’re sorting out the second driver’s payment by some perplexing motive Aaron runs over and gives the first driver another 100. Josh and I stare dumbfounded and the driver solemnly holds the money to his head in an extreme gesture of danyavad. The other driver waited expectantly. So we gave him 300 rupees too.  More head pressing.  Felt good to be generous.

We bid Devesh goodnight, arranging a 4:45 am pick up. To our surprise the Surya at night looked like a wedding reception, with candlelit tables distributed across a perfectly-manicured lawn. Because all the tables were full we tried to persuade the waiter to let us site on the grass, picnic style, to which he disdainfully replied, “No. We treat our guests with respect.” We eventually crashed a table with two very blond English gals from Bath who extolled the virtues of Indian goat and mutton meat but who couldn’t wrap their heads around “cheese curry” (paneer).  Listening to carnivore culinary stories challenged Josh and Aaron’s commitment to their vegetarian diet, notwithstanding Aaron’s dreadful spring roll experience in Rajasthan. To drink I ordered a “sahlab”, described as “warm, thick milk with cinnamon, coconut and raisins”. The table made fun of my selection until they tried it – hot, creamy, sweet and textured (thanks to cashews), it was like pudding in a glass.

At midnight we closed down the joint. I went to bed and Josh and Aaron tried to walk back to their hotel. As Josh told me the next morning, they were stalked by a persistent bicycle rickshaw who wouldn’t go away.  They got lost and ended up on the main road. Who should find them but their bicycle rickshaw walla from earlier in the evening, pissed out of his mind.  Whether it was alcohol or drugs wasn’t clear, but he was speaking Hindi to them in dramatic, unbalanced sweeping arm gestures.  Yet again Aaron showed wacky judgement and hopped on the rickshaw before Josh could stop him.  A terrifying 50 rupee ride later (during which said walla careened blindly into oncoming traffic), they made it home.

Related articles by Zemanta

• Will Varanasi and Sarnath join the World Heritage list? (gadling.com)
• The world’s oldest cities (telegraph.co.uk)
• India plans £2bn cleanup of the Ganges (telegraph.co.uk)

November 20th, 2009

As quickly as the first year of Sadiedom passed, the second year fell into full swing.  The changes seemed to accelerate . . . something I thought impossible.  One of the most enjoyable changes had less to do with Sadie’s age and more to do with the acquisition of a new toy . . . a toy for me.  Some friends in our neighborhood had a job change and were in the process of moving out of state.  In their packing process, they needed to get rid of a few items that were no longer of use to them.  In the mix was a very nice jogging stroller.  Needless to say, I jumped on the opportunity.

Now if you’re not well-versed in items related to babies and small children, then you might make the mistake of thinking that a jogging stroller is somewhat like a regular stroller.  They are cousins in the sense that they both have wheels and allow you to cart munchkins from point A to point B.  However, the jogging stroller seems to emerge from the professional biking family.  Two large back wheels with actual bicycle-like tires offset a single front wheel.  When you position yourself behind the beauty of this contraption, you begin to realize that the stroller almost pushes itself.  Made to move and maintain momentum, the jogging stroller was just the addition I needed to take the adventure of Sadie to the next level.  I became like a western rickshaw puller . . . or pusher in this case.  See the resemblance?

The day came when we decided to try it out . . . notice I said “we.”  That’s right, my lovely wife, Laura, set out in the neighborhood with Sadie and me.  Now I have to tell you, this was a dream come true.  It may seem silly or trite to you, but running with my whole family was nothing less than a picturesque moment of bliss.  Laura and I occasionally run together, but usually one of us has to stay back and watch Sadie.  This time, we could all set out as a family.

Sadie loved it!  The wind blowing in her face.  The passing sights and sounds.  The constant motion.  The ability to look up through the little plastic window on the stroller cover and see Daddy huffing away. Strapped in without a care in the world, she was able to see everything that Daddy could see.

For the rest of that summer and into the fall, Sadie went “running” with Daddy almost every time he ran.  Sometimes Mommy would come along and sometimes she wouldn’t.  I eventually built up to my normal run pushing the stroller . . . three miles, three times a week.

One day while running near dusk in a secluded neighborhood near ours, we passed several deer feeding and watching the no doubt curious sight of this crazy human pushing this equally crazy-looking smaller human.  I tried to point them out to Sadie, but she was still just a little too small to take interest in them.  Nevertheless, events like this made our runs into therapeutic moments for both of us.  As the teething battle continued and another four or five teeth, like a dental armada, were laying siege to her little delicate gums, the run was sometimes just the medicine she needed to soothe and settle . . . which made us all feel better.

Eventually, the weather began to morph into cooler days.  I put a hooded jacket on my little running buddy and wrapped her in a blanket to keep the cold out.  All bundled up and strapped in, all she was lacking was hot chocolate and marshmallows to complete the experience.  Note: at this point, hot chocolate doesn’t do real well in sippy cups. At one point, she was so comfy and cozy under the layers that she dozed right off to sleep.  As the now familiar scenery of her father’s running course zoomed past (I use the term “zoom” loosely . . . I’m no sprinter), she slumbered away in total serenity and security.  She slept so soundly that when we arrived back at the house, she didn’t want to wake up.  I picked up her stroller and rolled her into the living room so she could finish out her nap.

I mourned the fact that eventually it became too cold to take Sadie Bell out on the road.  I love running in cold weather; she’s not quite ready.  Warm weather will come again and then we will continue our running adventures together.

It all reminds me of this run I’m on with my Father.  He straps me into a place where I stay in His sight.  Sure, I have to move in this race . . . but in all honesty, my Father does so much more of the work than I do.  Scripture says that ” . . . in him we live and move and exist. As some of your own poets have said, ‘We are his offspring.’”  (Acts 17:28). Notice that we still move, but we move “in Him.” Like my own little offspring, the heavenly Father wants to take us on His masterfully-planned journey.

Sadie moves, but under my power.  Sadie sees the sights, but through my vantage point.  And here’s the real kicker: no matter how much Sadie may enjoy the experience, it simply cannot compare with the joy I experience from having her with me out on the road.  Just imagine the fact that the Father delights in having you strapped into His will as you experience the ride together.

In the end, it’s nice to know that if I run out of juice, God’s legs are plenty strong to keep us going.  Yeah, now that’s what I call resting in God . . . we don’t stop moving and we don’t cease to put forth the effort; we simply rest in the truth that His efforts are what put us in this race and His efforts will win it in the end.  Happy running!

After a couple of days of roaming Inner Mongolia it was back to Beijing and 16 million people.  Cars, motor scooters, bicycles and people – we were caught in an ocean of human movement.  Our first night back in Beijing we went to the Peking Opera and saw a couple of performances.  These were traditional productions where musicians played simple stringed instruments and cymbals while singers gave us harsh, screechy songs of old.  Clearly, this kind of music was not too catchy… no one goes around singing this stuff, not even in China.  All the costumes were bright and I enjoyed the The Monkey King the most.

Monkey King

The next day, our tour got off to a good start – we went to the zoo and the Panda House.  They were VERY CUTE.  After that, we went through some of the old areas of Beijing.  We visited the huge Lama Temple, a complex of many separate temple buildings.  There were thousands of people passing through the maze of this Buddhist temple and the smell of burning incense was everywhere.  Next we went to a Confucian temple and then to lunch.  The food was terrific!  After lunch we had a rickshaw ride through Yandai Xiejie, an 800 year old hutong (old neighborhood).  We visited Prince Gong’s mansion.  Later, we climbed up the Drum Tower (built in 1420), a tall building that used drum to signal the hours of the day and travelled down 700 year old Nanluoguxiang Alley.

One of the buildings of the Lama Temple

The following day we went to Baoquo Temple Antique Market and Liulichang Antique Street.  Some of you will get gifts from these places.  Later in the day, we worked our way up the hill in Jingshan Park.  The hill was made from soil dug to build the huge moat around the Forbidden City.  The hill offered us a great view of the Forbidden City.  It allowed the old Emperor to look out his window and see a pretty hill.  We ended the day by going to an action packed Kung Fu Show… this was a very athletic performance! 

The Great Wall of China

The next day we took the 50 mile journey to the Great Wall of China.  On our way, we passed by the Bird’s Nest and the Water Cube, two new structures that were part of the Beijing Olympics of 2008.  Construction on the Great Wall started around 600 BC and accelerate around 220 BC when Emperor Qin wanted to keep the Mongols out.  The 4,000 mile long structure took over a million people to build and is truly impressive as it winds over mountains and across valleys.  We hiked on the Wall for a little over 2 hours… it was 90 degrees and humid.  We had our liquids in our back pack, our toilet paper and our hand cleaner.  In case you are wondering, there are the hole-in-the-floor toilets at the guard towers.  Our trip to the Wall also included a stop at the Changling tomb and museum from the 1400s.  This was part of the Ming Dynasty tomb complex, a series of Emperor tombs scattered along the side of a small mountain.  The site was chosen and developed according to Feng Shuui (geomancy) principles.   The trip finished at a Jade factor, claimed to be the largest in China.  While there, we watched artisans carve intricate ball-within-a-ball-within-a-ball pieces.  Some of you may have received gifts from this stop.

Entrance to the Forbidden City

Our Beijing tour included many other interesting visits:  a traditional Peking Duck dinner (originally, a meal served to emperor); Tiananmen Square; the Summer Palace, the Temple of Heaven and the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong.  We also hiked through a small part of the Forbidden City, the 9,999 room residence of the Emperor built-in the 1400’s.  It was called the Forbidden City because one needed the permission from the Emperor to enter through the gate.  This is the world’s largest palace building complex (over ½ mile long) and it is made up of walled court-yards, each court yard being a residence with several rooms.  Each of the 100s of concubines had their own courtyard.  These all connected and there were walls around clusters of walled complexes.  Eventually, the whole city was surrounded by a 26 feet high outer wall.  The photo above shows the southern entrance, the Wumen (Meridian) Gate.  This is located on the North/South axis for the city.

So I’m currently in India, where for the last couple of days I’ve been immersed in the world of garment manufacture, and trying to solve a nagging production issue, which has now been resolved – hurrah!

However, the world of business means that I’ve been living a very ‘unreal’ Indian existance, being picked up from one air-conditioned location and carried in an air-con car to another similar place. Even the factories are clean and well presented, with air-con meeting rooms and bottled drinks for ‘important’ western buyers like me.

It all feels really weird living like this, even the way I dress is required to demonstrate my separation from the poor and lowest parts of society, I must appear smart and well groomed in order that the factory bosses take me and my business seriously. I must deliberately differentiate myself from the urban poor, demonstrating my ability to be ‘worth something’ to them.

This afternoon I had a rare, and far too short opportunity to escape the clutches of business colleagues and anxious hotel staff and to get out for a change amongst the smells and dust of Mumbai.

One of the great joys for me in this kind of place is to travel by rickshaw, something I’m not often able to do as a business traveller, so I grabbed the chance this afternoon, and without realising it, scored a double whammy.

Not only did I get the rickshaw ride I wanted, but I got a driver with attitude and humour, not only was his ride ‘pimped’ with a large pop culture sticker which almost completely obscured the windscreen, but he also had a large brass hooter for a horn, something which is rather impractical but a lot of fun.

As if this wasn’t quite enough, he turned to me as we got in and said: ‘Magic?’

‘Magic??’ I replied, wondering what he was on about.

‘Magic!!’ he declared, before putting on the loudest music in the road, so off we went in his pimped out rickshaw, music blasting. Highly entertaining.

However, the reality of the separation between me and the people around me is not altered by one short rickshaw ride. From the fourth floor window of my hotel room, I look down on a collection of slum dwellings, where people are living in circumstances which for me are unimaginable. Kids walk blithely along huge concrete pipes, between which a stagnant sewer steeps.

Ragged homes are built of reclaimed junk, and men sit for hours sorting through piles of plastic litter, presumably looking for items which are worth reclaiming or have some other resale value.

This is India in the 21st century, beautiful hotels in which the priveliged can dwell in air-conditioned luxury, right next to abject poverty. Apparently I’m stuck in one camp, wanting to make a difference to the other, unsure as to how well I am managing it.

(Audrey) As a Westerner, an American, and a human being, I have certain ethics. Particular beliefs about the way the world ought to be that are near and dear to my heart and that I try not to violate under any circumstances. As usual, South Asia complicates these. Many aspects of how I live my life here make me a participant in systems of exploitation, often better known as the Indian economy, that I’m not fully comfortable with. A few examples…

(1) I believe that employees ought to be given minimal levels of protection at their jobs in order to avoid unnecessary accidents. Why have machines cutting off people’s arms and construction projects that are measured in body counts when simple safeguards can prevent such things? But then you think about the coconuts. Coconut are a big business here, and no tourist trip to India is complete without drinking one (there’s delicious nectar inside)

… not to mention the coconut oil and plain coconut in various foods. As a recent NYT article points out, however, coconut picking is so dangerous that Indians are beginning to refuse to do it. You can see why—

So should I drink the coconuts or not? Should I participate in a trade so dangerous that even Indians, some of the world’s cheapest labor, are opting out, or condemn those that remain picking to poverty by withdrawing my business? I realize that in the grand scheme of the coconut industry, my personal decision matters little on this point, but it matters greatly to me.

(2) Child labor. I’m opposed, wholeheartedly. But you can hardly avoid it for some things… I’m reminded of going into the northern mountain regions of Pakistan (think: where Osama bin Laden probably is) in 2007. Ironically, we were in Pakistan at all because my husband was studying child labor. Up north we bought a bunch of hats from this kid…

Does the “when in Rome” mentality get us off the hook for supporting child labor here? I’m not so sure. But if we hadn’t bought the hats from him, what would have happened? Would he have seen the light and chosen to go back to school? Probably not; he probably just would’ve gone hungry that night.

(3) Back-breaking human labor is something I like to alleviate. If there’s an easier way that doesn’t seriously shorten people’s lifespans, I’m all for it. So what do you do about the infamous hand-pulled rickshaws of Kolkata? Is this good business, culture, or just barbaric?

I’ve written elsewhere on this blog about cycle rickshaws and my general support of them (although I confess that due to a series of disagreements over price between me and the cycle-wallahs, plus the weather improving, I’m currently on a one person strike from all cycles in my neighborhood). But why support cycles and not hand-pulled? When do the arbitrary lines become too hard to justify?

In closing let me point out that this question—how do we deal with being part of systems of exploitation—is not unique to India. We should probably all struggle with it in the West a well. How many items of clothing in the average American’s home were sewn by children’s hands? We’ll probably never know for sure, but any number other than zero is too high. Unfortunately, it’s easy, at least for me, not to think about such things when it’s so far away and part of a global system. But getting up close and dirty with exploitation it’s hard not to be more deeply troubled, even if I have no solutions.

This article is about one of the best things in Pune. The rickshaw service here. If you have ever been to Pune, the first and the best thing you see here are the Yellow and Black rickshaws waiting in queue to welcome you to the city. Well now the rickshawwallas in Pune are completely mood oriented. Mostly they take you through the proper meter charges. But sometimes, they make you regret the journey in the rickshaw.

Well two things to be known before you actually travel in a rickshaw. Your destination and the most important, Marathi. Well if you don’t know about your destination, you can still pretend. But Marathi is a must. That guy should at least feel that you are from somewhere nearby and know what happens. So even if he plans to loot you, He’ll think before that. Otherwise if they know that you are an outsider, your case will be taken royally.

The rickshawwallas also have their union, and believe me…in Pune, they are pretty united. They can screw a guy’s case if he tries to act smart with one of the rickshaw drivers…well that is when they think that he is being smart. And that’s when you start oozing out words of English or Hindi from your mouth. That’s being smart out here. Well but overall I guess the rickshaw network in Pune, is great. It can sometimes get costly depending upon your destination and the luck, but otherwise…you can reach any part of the city with it. Its like blood cells of the city. They transmit the power into the whole system. They help Pune move…faster!

As a conclusion, hats off to the rickshawwallas of Pune, and salutes to the work they perform of keeping Pune moving at a faster pace.