American Groovy

American Groovy

Early on in 2005, when I was traveling through Northern India with Stubbs, I unexpectedly found a photograph of myself in a Nepali newspaper in Darjeeling. I can not read Nepali, and, as the article came out when I was leaving the region, I was unable to find out what it said.

Read the full story at:

Can Anyone Read Nepali?

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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Brooklyn, New York City- October 16, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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Finally an anonymous commenter who is in Nepal, wrote to me that the photo caption reads:

"This the way to pierce your ears....an american groovy"

I suppose the search for this translation has finally come to an end.

Thanks to the anonymous Nepal traveler.

Links to previous travelogue entries:

• Photos from New York City
• Ellis Island Immigration
• Mexico City First Stop in the New World
  

American Groovy
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Wisdom of China

Wisdom of China

In my travels I have put in a lot of time studying about China and everything Chinese. I now have the tendency of beginning statements of intentional wisdom with "The Chinese say . . ." or "The ancient Chinese believed . . . "

This is a bad habit, and one that was just imperviously pointed out to me by my sister - the Diamond Cutter of Wisdom.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Upstate New York, USA, September 21. 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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I was drinking a beer and my family was in a discussion about the perceived harm and benefits of alcohol consumption. I had spent two semesters of my university education studying Chinese medicine and I was throwing out an entire wall of "The Chinese say this and that" at my poor family.

Finally, my sister Nicky put an end to this barrage by stating simply:

"If the Chinese are so damn smart then why are they so short and living in their own smog?"

The well traveled Chinese scholar found himself tongue tied.

The Chinese say that it is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.

Links to previous travelogue entries:

• Enlightenment at Ryoanji Rock Garden
• Bicycle Luke in Istanbul Turkey
• Worst Public Transport in the World

Wisdom of China
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Enlightenment at Ryoanji Rock Garden

Enlightenment at Ryoan-ji Rock Garden, Kyoto Japan

Early in the year 2004 I was in Japan with my sister, Nicky. After a little turbulence in Tokyo we decided to pan out a little in the much calmer seas of Kyoto. So we went and settled into an apartment and chilled out in the beautiful old city.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Upstate, New York- September 21, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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I was really devote about my Buddhism in those days, so my sister and I figured that we would go visit to the famous Ryoanji Rock Garden that was just a short walk from where my room was in the Kinka-Ku district of Kyoto. After arriving at the temple we walked right in through the gates and made immediately for the rock garden. I had previously read much about the layout of its stones and how their positioning and shape is a perfect visual manifestation of the enlightening calm of Buddhism. I had seen their photos grace the pages of all the great zen books by Watts, Suzuki, and the rest, and I was excited to sit and ponder upon the mysteries of the stones as I sat before them.



My sister and I walked up through the Ryoanji temple and over to its famous rock garden. There was a crowd of tourist with cameras and little notebooks reverentially studying the forms and spacial dynamics of the stones which some ancient monk had laid out with perfection. The tourist were awed into silence as they looked upon the garden with religious devotion.

I too, was awed as I took my place among the throng.

I looked upon the stones and pondered the emptiness that they were said to represent. I took out my little notebook and began drawing the same semantics as the rest of the khaki-clad herd. I excited began telling my sister all that I knew about the Ryoanji garden and zen Buddhism. She politely listened to me for a few minutes before cutting in:

"I do not know what the hell all of you people are looking at," she roared. "It is just a bunch of f'cking rocks."

She was right.

Ryoanji was seen for what it was by my sister - the diamond cutter of wisdom - and my self-imposed thrill of the rocks was gone. We left Ryoanji as heretics.



Links to previous travelogue entries:

• Bicycle Luke in Istanbul Turkey
• Worst Public Transport in the World
• Baby Bananas and the Beady Eyed Fruit Man

Enlightenment at Ryoan-ji Rock Garden, Kyoto Japan
* Travel Blog Directory * Vagabond Journey.com * Travel Photos * Travel Questions and Answers

Travel Photos from China

Travel Photos from China

Below you will find travel photos from China that are on the photograph pages of Vagabond Journey.com. These photos were taken in 2005, 2006, and 2007 from all over China. I had a think for the Middle Kingdom for a long time and I found myself traveling the length and breathe of that country many times. I also studied Mandarin Chinese at Zhejiang University in Hangzhou in between the traveling times. China is still my favorite country in the world.



Follow the below links to look at these photos:

West Lake Hangzhou China

Grand Canal in Suzhou China

Tiantai Mountains of China

Longjing Dragon Well Tea in China

China Qingdao Beach Suzhou West Lake Hangzhou

Jade Emperor Peak Mount Tai China

Visit to Tai Shan Mountain in China

Tai Shan Mountain China

China photos

China Photos 2- Photographs of tourist sites in China.

China photographs - pictures and images from around China

Photographs from China

Photographs from China

Photos from China page 6

For more travel photos from my journeys around the world please go to Vagabond Journey Travel Photos or Traveler Photographs.com.

Thanks!

Walk Slow,

Wade

Mongolia photos

Mongolia Photos

The following are links to photographs from Mongolia. They are of ranches, Ulaanbaatar, livestock, Mongolian people, and the Golden Gobi Guesthouse. I traveled in Mongolia during the spring of 2007.

Click on the below links to view the photos:

Mongolia Travel Photos

Ulaanbaatar Mongolia Temple Photos

Ranches, Cows, and the Countryside of Mongolia

Golden Gobi Guesthouse and Train from Mongolia

Vagabond Journey Travel Photographs





Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
Santiago Atitlan, Guatemala
April 10, 2008

Fishermen of Halong Bay Vietnam

Fishermen of Halong Bay Vietnam

The following links lead to photos of the fishermen of Halong Bay Vietnam. There are also photographs of Hanoi, Vietnamese beaches, and the boats of Halong Bay. Click on the below links to go to the photos.

Hanoi and Halong Bay Vietnam

Halong Bay Vietnam

Fishermen of Halong Bay Vietnam

Vagabond Journey Travel Photographs

Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
Antigua, Guatemala
April 8, 2008

Tibetan Refugees in India Photos

Tibetan Refugees in India Photos

The following links lead to photographs of Tibetan refugees in the Bylakuppe camp in southern India. I took these pictures in the autumn of 2006 when I was doing research for an article on exile Tibetans called Seekers of Refuge in a Land of No Return that was published in Abroad View Magazine. Click on the links below to go to the photos of Tibetan refugees in India.

Tibetan Refugees in India

Tibetan Buddhist Monks and Nuns

Vagabond Journey Travel Photos

Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
Antigua, Guatemala
April 8, 2008

Rajasthan- Houses and Men Book Review

Rajasthan: Houses and Men

By: Tito Dalmau

“Man builds houses not only for shelter,but also to define and show himself to others. In this sense, the architecture he produces is the best indicator of how he perceives his world. Architecture which is a measure of the complexity, the maturity, and the health of a given society; architecture which serves to interpret the nature of the relationships established between the inhabitants of a specific environment; architecture which remains frozen in time, a visible object after other cultural phenomena have either become extinct or else evolved into other unrecognizable forms. Architecture which allows us to directly observe the difference as well as the lasting relation between what there was and what there is at present.”
-Maka Abraham, from the introduction

I love picture books. I love picture books that take as their theme photographs from various places, landscapes, and people from the far corners of this planet. I dream into such photograph books, and easily find myself floating in the sea of imaginary travel. The romance of travel is never so poingent than while dreaming about it.

Eternal Rest- from Rajasthan: Houses and Men

The book Rajasthan: Houses and Men is the photographic outpouring of a journey through the Rajasthan by the architect, Tito Dalmau. He takes as his theme the ways that people interact with their environment through architecture and demonstrates this with his camera. Dalmau’s mission was to show, in photographs, the Rajasthan, its ancient buidings, and its modern people moving together as a unified whole that defeats the bounds of linear time. Past and present collide smoothly in this book of photographs that you really can dream into.

The Rajasthan, or Rajaputna, is in the large state in the north western corner of India. It takes up an area from the edge of Uttar Pradesh in the east, to the Pakistani border in the west, all the way to the Punjab in the north. This is an area of the world full of ancient Maharaja palaces and palisades, castles and fortresses; this was the region through which the old Silk Road passed into India, and where nomads still walk the stark, naked desert.

In the introduction to this book, Maka Abraham writes that, “From ancient times until the beginning of the nineteenth century it was the natural route traversed by all migratory peoples, invading armies and trade caravans bearing silk and spices that penetrated the Indian subcontinent . . .Within the vast expanse of this arid landscape, periodically swept by terrible sandstorms, a rich mixture of stratified, overlapping or even rival subcultures- nomads, semi-nomads, farmers, urban dwellers- coexist and interact, woven into the beauty of a gigantic and wonderful tapestry.” It is this wonderful tapestry of landscape, architecture, and culture that Tito Dalmau sought to capture within his camera lens.

The Temple of Ranakpur- from Rajasthan: Houses and Men

I feel that it is a touch difficult to anaylize the skill of a photographer base on their photographs of India. In point, almost any where you snap your camera shutter in this extremely beautiful country will present an interesting photo. India is a photographer’s dream, as it is a splendor of color, ruins, texture, and excitement. A person can literally look at a random photo of India for hours, and still not be able to grasp its full depth. In regard to this fact, I feel that Tito Dalmau’s Rajasthan photographs do go beyond the ordinary pale of India photography.

While it is my impression that it is not very difficult to take an interesting photograph in India, I do feel that it is a little challenging to know what to keep in, and what to cut out, of the picture. It seems as if Dalmau’s view finder was laced with razor edges as he cut and sliced through ancient buildings in order to show the basic building blocks of the architecture he wished to put on display. It is my impression that his intention was not only to capture interesting images, but to show the casual relationship between humans, their environment, and the structures they build to live in. After looking closely through Rajasthan: Houses and Men, I feel as if Tito Dalmau accomplished this objective.

Rajasthan: Houses and Men is a good book to dream into.

Photographs from India

The only draw back to this book is that it costs $50, and if I did not get a promotional copy I would not ever have been able to afford it. So, if you have a few extra dollars laying around, and want a nice looking book to put on your coffee table to show your guests in an effort to make conversation at your dinner dates, then this is a good book for you. I sat around with my family for a couple hours the other night just talking about the photographs. Photographs from India inherently provoke conversation.

Photograph from Rajasthan: Houses and Men

For ordering information go to Consortium Book Sales and Distribution or write to sales@cbsd.com

Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
Traveler Photographs.com
Vagabond Fieldnotes
Cheap Eating Traveler

Can Anyone Read Nepali

Can Anyone Read Nepali?

So I was traveling in the north east of India with Stubbs back in 2005, and I was just standing around in the market watching some ladies buy oranges when a guy with a big old camera came up to me and asked if he could take my picture. I obliged him and he took a couple snapshots. I thought nothing of it.

A few days later Stubbs and I made our way back down to Siliguri and went to the train station and bought a couple of tickets to Bodhgaya or somewhere holy. As we were standing on the platform a local guy comes up to me and begins shoving a newspaper in my face. I tried to pushed him away, but he kept trying to stick the newspaper right in front of my face. Right at the point when I was beginning to get a little annoyed he suddenly yelled, "You," while excitedly pointing to a picture in the paper.

He was right. It was me.

My photo in the Nepali newspaper

There my face was sitting as a decoration in a feature article in the local Nepali newspaper. I looked around the platform. There must have been thirty people reading the paper. Everybody began looking at me and hitting there friends to induce them to do the same. I rode an uncomfortable ride on the train with everyone looking up from the paper to me and then back to the paper. I was a star.

But I did not know if I was famous or infamous. I had no idea what the article said. I brought this matter to the attention to a Nepali kid who I befriended. I pointed to the picture and asked him what it said. He translated the photo caption something like:

"This is a photo of a uniquely handsome American."

What it really said, I have not yet discovered. It has been almost three years now since this article was published and my parents are still really curious about what it says. So if anyone out there can read a little Nepali and wants to help solve this little mystery, get in touch and I will email you some better copies of these photos. Thanks!

Article that accompanied the photo

Wade from:
Vagabond Journey.com
Traveler Photographs.com
Vagabond Fieldnotes
Cheap Eating Traveler

Essay on Mandarin Chinese Language

The Dispersal of Language in China and the Creation of Standard Mandarin

The story of the Chinese language stretches far back into the annals of prehistory and is, therefore, deeply shrouded in the opaqueness of antiquity. Simply put, any attempt at understanding the Chinese language from a historical perspective is tantamount to entering into a vast museum at night with only a small flashlight to guide your way: only a slight portion of the riches are viewable and to proceed necessitates a large amount of guesswork and speculation. The modern dispersal of, and the variations within, the many forms and dialects of spoken Chinese is an equally complicated tale to tell, and is the result of over five thousand years of political maneuvering, migration, and geographical restraints. This investigation is but a meager attempt at shedding some light on the hidden riches behind the modern Chinese language.

All variants of Chinese are categorized into the Sino-Tibetan language family which, itself, is also lock within the deep vaults of antiquity. Modern linguist are confident that all Sino-Tibetan languages steam from a single common root language referred to as proto-Sino-Tibetan. This claim is made based upon the similarities between various aspects of all of the modern languages and dialects of the family as well as through the analysis of remnant bits and pieces of historic evidence of earlier Sino-Tibetan languages. “The relations between Chinese and other Sino-Tibetan languages are an area of active research, as is the attempt to reconstruct Sino-Tibetan.” The convergent point of Chinese from its Sino-Tibetan root is also being actively pursued by linguist. Although there is no written evidence to assist them in their research and every possible road currently is blocked by insufficient documentation or understanding exploration continues unabated. The modern languages of the Sino-Tibetan (and Tibeto-Burman, which falls under the same moniker) language family consist of all variants of Chinese, Kamarupan, Himalayish, Qiangic, Jingpho-Nungish-Luish, Lolo-Burmese-Naxi, Karenic, and Baic.

To continue reading this article please go to: Dispersal of Language in China

Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
Anduze, France
December 21, 2007

Retirement Homes in India

The New World Looks Ahead, Not Back
The elderly left behind with their times in the new India

We piled into a mini-bus and took off through the traffic wretched, exhaust poisoned streets of Bangalore. It took us over an hour to get to the outskirts of the city where we came upon the retirement home. We pulled into a long driveway and rode passed a cluster of workers assembling a new complex of buildings. An elderly man, who was the manager of the retirement home, came up to me and offered a greeting that sounded something like, “Welcome to Shanty-town!” I just laughed and looked forward to a rather humorous time talking to India’s dispossessed elderly.

In India, it is traditionally an abomination to disassociate oneself from family obligation, and the young, with scarce exceptions, take care of their parents when they reach old age. This is the grand model of family reciprocity that once was prevalent throughout the world- parents take care of their kids when they are young and, in turn, they are taken care of by them when they become elderly. It is a relatively simple system that makes complete sense; but, somewhere in the great influx of everything western and the burying of everything that is Indian, segments of the Indian population has begun bypassing this time-honored kin arrangement. Too many work obligations and a way of living that the elderly oftentimes seem to find despicable has cause many of India’s old to seek refuge in retirement homes, such as the one that we were visiting.

We tentatively entered the main courtyard of the complex and in the center of which was a large octagonal pavilion, beneath which was plastic lawn chairs arranged in ‘panelist’ formation (there were a small number of chairs set up in a line in front of a whole bunch of seats in multiple rows facing them). We did not know what we were in for and it made us giggle profusely. We sat down in the front row of chairs and waited for something to happen; luckily for us, nothing did. So we just sat there, and, eventually, our self-parodying jokes even dried up. Soon it began to rain and we got the impression that we weren’t so special after all. Really, who wants to speak with a bunch of white kids from the U.S.A. anyway? I don’t.

But soon our uncomfortable wondering was terminated by Manager-man, and he told us to follow him over to an area on the edge of the courtyard; which we did. We took refuge from the rain under the eave of one of the rooms. The rain continued falling real hard; Manager-man told us that the old folks though that we brought it with us. I could only wish; as any way out of this encounter would have been welcomed at this point. But nope, we were just beginning our visit. Manager-man soon turned on a small transistor radio which bellowed forth an amazingly loud sound. He put it on an Indian rap station, of course. So we were ten university kids from America standing in an Indian old folk’s home listening to rap music, which was turned up loud enough for the entire complex to hear. So we danced (a little).

After an extended time of jiving in this spectacle, we were lead over to the main dining area of the complex. Manager-man was at the lead carrying the still loudly rapping radio, and we follow along after him rather meagerly. We soon set up shop in the dining area and sat down to wait for whatever would come our way. And who would have guessed? Old-people began to slowly filter in to find out what the hell were doing in their little community.

I tried at first to abscond into the small sea of friends who were sitting at a table all together. Then, I got the feeling that I should probably make use of this opportunity and find out something about this big old India; so I tried to say “hello” to an old woman who was walking near me. She walked right on by without even noticing me or my friendly advance. I laughed, said, “fuck it,” grabbed some tea, and went over to sit by a couple old ladies who were huddled in a corner. They were an interesting looking couple and the elder had a beard that was comparable to my own. I began talking to them and found out that they were mother and daughter and neither had anybody in the world except each other. I did not know if I should have been touched or empathetic. Anyway, all personal confusion aside, I had a bit of small talk with them prior to turning around and finding a solo old chap in the corner of the dining area.

Figuring that I may have a more involved conversation with a fellow of my own gender, I began talking to him. He seemed to be pleased to speak with me and told me a little about his life and present situation. He lived out his younger days in Mysore and was an accountant. He seemed to have a good deal of civic pride for his city and told be about its’ artisan tradition and urged me to visit. I then began asking him about his family and inquiring about the circumstances that lead him to the old-folks home. He told me that his wife had died but he still had one son. His son was in the military and was stationed in the north of India and, henceforth, could not care for him. He was also all alone in the world, and did not mention any other deep family or friend ties. The old-folk’s home seemed the best option to him; at least he could shoot the sit with people of his own generation, relax a little, and have his meals prepared for him. He did not seem too upset about his situation but, from the engaging way that he spoke to me, I could tell that he really missed the company of others and, probably, his family. I soon said a temporary good-bye to him and went over to a table of elderly Indian women and few of my female friends.

I sat down, helloed everyone, and introduced myself. After this initial introduction the conversation seemed to wan a little; so I took the lead as asked one of the women to tell me a story. “The story of your life,” is what I asked for. This got things going, and after a few moments of thinking the woman launched into a tale. She said that she grew up during the time that England occupied India and that she could remember all of the vestiges of their occupation. During this time, she said that there were not many opportunities for women but, at her grandmother’s prompting, she entered into the schooling system. This was a very rare action for a woman to take, and she was evidently very much ahead of her time. After completing secondary school, she entered into nursing school and graduated with the proper credentials to pursue this profession. She did this for an extended period of time before she took a job as a teacher in an all-girls high school in Bangalore. She became the principal of this school and still participates in its administration.

I then began questioning her as to why and how she ended up in the old-folks home, as well as her feelings on the ‘westernizing’ India. Her mood became a drear, and she went on to tell us that she ended up in the nursing home because her son was a ‘modern’ man and did not respect the time-honed ways of her Indian traditions. She said that when she lived with his family they quarreled continuously, and that their mind-sets were not of the same times. I then asked her about what she thought of call-center employees and especially women in the industry. She seemed to try to hold back her true feelings on this but she expressed enough to indicate that she thought that these new industries were having a disastrous effect upon Indian culture. She spoke with distain when she said that, “People today make more money but they also spend more. They do not save. They do not listen to the lessons of the old. They have nothing.” This seemed to sum up the feelings of all of the residence in the old-folks home about the new generation of Indians.

But the old woman’s reactions to the India’s ‘westernizing’ movement did not fully sit well with me. She, herself, was a progressive woman of her times; she sought education, employment, and a higher social status in a society where women traditionally did not undertake such ventures. I wondered where she drew the line between what she did and what young men and women are doing today in India’s IT industry. But as I thought about this it became apparent that, while the old woman sought the surface vestiges of an unconventional role, she still kept the traditions of her culture close to her heart. She physically filled positions in society that were uncommon for a woman, but she did so in a manner that would not greatly disrupt her culture- she made sure that the substance of traditional India was passed down to her kids and, thereby, ensured that she did her part in the preservation of her culture.
This is not so today, as was obvious from her description of her son’s household. When I asked her if her son would pass on the same Indian traditions as she did to him, all she could do was toss her hands up in the air in defeat. She knew that the generational chain of cultural transmission would end at her son. It was all over, her heartfelt traditions were gone in the wind.

To lighten the mood I asked if any of the residents could sing any old-time folk songs. One woman, who remained quietly attentive throughout the conversation as she did not speak English, eagerly began singing a Mirabai song. She sang passionately and was nearly crying; we all were. She sang for us an ancient song that she learned from her fore-bearers, as they did from their fore-bearers, as they did from their fore-bearers into infinitum. I sat and though about ancient folk-knowledge and how it is dying the world over. This woman sat before me and provided a link into the past- to another world where people learned their livelihood from their parents, folk-tales from grandparents, and measured their world by journeys on foot. This is a world that is fast disappearing, and I felt blessed to be in the presence of one of its’ last cries, lasts songs, last dying appeals. Where are we going? Why?

As I write this I am listening to fireworks that are exploding outside my Bangalore flat. With well trod expectations, they burst forth beautiful colors with a boom; but they only last for a brief moment, and then they are gone. As such will be the accumulation of India’s great leap forward. I guarantee you India; putting all of your long tried family traditions into the firework rocket to explode will leave you with nothing. Take warning, is all I have to say to you, take warning, there is nothing behind the facades of the west. This I know, as do the people of the old-folks home. “This will not last,” they told me, “This cannot last.”

*Written in the autumn of 2006 in Bangalore, India

Wade from www.VagabondJourney.com
Anduze, France
December 21, 2007

Technology in Southern India

“Smoke is an indication of work . . . therefore, we are proud of our smoke.”
Reactions to the thoughtless acquisition and utilization of introduced technology in Southern India.

“Developing countries must not and will not allow themselves to be distracted from the imperatives of economic development and growth by the illusory dream of an atmosphere free from smoke or a landscape innocent of chimney stacks.”
-A.K.N. Reddy

In A.K.N. Reddy’s essay, “Technology, Development, and the Environment: An Analytical Framework,” he asserted that modern societies are developing and utilizing technologies that are perilous to their environmental and social ecosystems without recognition of the inherent risks. He also addresses how the technologies of the developed world are, “. . . in the process of massive transfer to the developing world,” and the increased degradation that these societies have undergone as a result. In response, I intend to address the essay’s major points, as well as apply them to my surface observations of the impact that such technologies have had on Southern India.

Reddy began his essay with a synopsis of the major criticism against modern technology. He first divided these criticisms into three categories- environmental, economic, and social- and then applied them separately to fit the particular contexts of developed and the developing countries. In my use of Reddy’s framework in application to my observations of Southern India, I have allowed the initial three criticism classes to stand, but I have omitted the later distinction; as I believe that, in the intervening years since Reddy’s article was written (1979), the impacts of modern technology have had similar impacts (on a varying scale) on both sets of societies.

The first of Reddy’s criticisms focused on the environmental impacts of modern technology. He wrote that the influx of such technology has had a horrendous impact on the natural world and this, in turn, has not, “. . . resulted in an environment more conducive to the physical and mental well-being of man.” Reddy goes on to say that the modern technologies which humans have created and are currently implementing on a mass scale are threatening us in all aspects of our lives. He states that, “. . . with the increasing deployment of modern technology, man’s welfare has been threatened by the escalating levels of pollution- pollution of the air that he breathes, the water that he drinks, the food that he eats, the quietness that he needs, and the beauty of nature that he enjoys.”

The above statements in regard to the subsequent environmental impact of modern technology are readily apparent to anyone who has ever tried to venture down Bangalore’s traffic packed streets. The shear amount of automobiles, rickshaws, and busses have long ago exceeded the city’s carrying capacity, and it regularly takes over an hour to travel what would otherwise be a short journey. I would speculate that it would be much quicker to walk within the city rather than use public transport if it were not for the fact that it regularly takes over ten minutes to simply cross a street. Another effect of this traffic influx is that the air is completely choked with automobile exhaust. During rush hour the exhaust cloud is so thick that it often times becomes difficult to see through it to the other side of the street.

Bangalore’s exhaust forms a thick blanket over the entire city and its presence is ever-present- its smell, taste, and grit constantly barrage one’s sensory faculties. These emissions cause lungs to ache and many of the city’s residents often wake at night gasping for breath. The effects of long-term exposure to this pollution can scarcely be fathomed.

The next criticism that Reddy acknowledges has to do with the fact that new technologies cause economic disparities which impact all spheres of industrializing society. In a culture that is centered upon modern technology, the ability to access it is absolutely necessary for an individual to be able to participate in the macro-economy. In order for one to be able to access the new technologies they must be a member of the particular wealthy and comfortable classes who, essentially, control it. This in turn causes major divisions between the haves- who use new technologies to their ever increasing advantage- and the have nots- who are outside of the technological pail. Reddy wrote, “and thus, one comes to the next turn of the spiral . . . the increased inequality resulting from the initial unequal access to the new technologies stimulates the development of further advances in technology which will then accentuate the inequality even more. This intensity of class divisions also manifests itself in the dispersal of resources. In a society that has profit as its primary aim, far more emphasis is placed upon the moneyed (technological) minority at the exclusion of the poorer (technology deficient) majority. This grossly unequal dichotomy causes, “. . . technology to respond more avidly to the needs of the rich while assigning lower priority to the needs of those who exert weaker demand.” Henceforth, the wealthy are now able to maintain their historic dominance over the resources of the world through their access to technology.

In Bangalore, the unequal distribution of technological access and the resulting class disparities is demonstrated with exceeding bluntness. The purveyor of wealth in this city is the information technology industry, and access to technological knowledge is necessary to reap the benefits of this economic sector. Throughout Bangalore, huge IT skyscrapers rise out of stick and stone slums, the doors of business that cater to the technological classes are guarded against the intrusion of outsiders, and the complexes of the technological elite are walled off so that they cannot even be viewed, let alone accessed, by the commoner in the streets. The trickle-down effect does not seem to operate here, as money seems to stay within class sanctioned cyclic rounds; upper-class shops and restaurants for upper-class individuals, lower-class ones for the lower-class. In India, more than most other countries, it is access to technology that allows one to obtain and maintain affluence; class is now not only maintained my social lines but by technological ones as well. This dichotomy between the upper and lower classes seems to have created two completely separate spheres of Indian society which are developing away from each other at an ever increasing pace. The culture, beliefs, and, most pertinently, experiences of the technology class are quickly becoming so radically different from that of traditional, rural India that social upheaval is eminent.

The final criticism which Reddy makes is that introduced modern technologies carry with them major social consequences for developing nations. Again, the primary focus of his argument was on the class aspects of this issue and how access to technology is a major point of contention between various levels of social strata. He pointed out that, even though the benefits of technology are out of reach for the poor, they still have, “to live cheek by jowl with its unpleasant features such as pollution.” Reddy expands his criticism by stating that modern technology changes the face of labor by introducing mechanistic means of mass-production which cause the depreciation of traditional craftsmanship. Inherent to the introduction of new technologies, employees who manufacture goods no longer need to possess any strong base of knowledge or skill; as their role is reduced to that of machine.

Under this new system of industrial production, “only a few [workers] are required to possess a high degree of intellectual capability and/or manual skills, while the barest minimum of intelligence and dexterity is expected from the vast majority of the working force. To this majority, ‘soul destroying, meaningless, mechanical, monotonous, moronic work is an insult to human nature . . .’” The extended result of this is employment that is neither particularly difficult nor desirable and the creation of a sharp division between work and leisure time. This division of time is in direct contrast to the traditional manner of production, in which work was also a livelihood.

This degradation of work is also clearly evident in Bangalore. Many of the top jobs in this city are in the IT sector and, while they necessitate advanced degrees and evidence of learning, they are incredibly basic. In fact, in western countries, these jobs are only occupied by people who have the barest minimum of education and skills. It is India’s finest, most educated, youth who are engaging upon IT careers that can neither stimulate nor educate them any further. The social impacts of having such large numbers of highly educated people engaged in the most base of professions can only be speculated. But I feel that these effects can potentially seep deep down into the educational institutions of India. For where exactly is the impetus to educate people in preparation for moronic employment? I do not know.

A.K.N. Reddy’s essay very keenly strikes the criticisms of modern technology right on the head. Although he authored it nearly thirty years ago, his warnings remain as pertinent today as they ever did; especially for developing nations such as India. As I have attempted to demonstrate, many of his speculations about how industrializing countries would absorb modern technology have actually occurred, and India is quickly becoming the wasteland that Reddy prophesized. Most importantly, Reddy’s writings force us to take a proverbial step back to take a look at where our society is going; they make us to realize that we do not haveto destroy our ecosystem to survive, that we do not have to work menial jobs, that we canquestion the broader impacts of our collective actions. Who wants to wait ten minutes just to cross the street? Who wants to be constantly poisoned by exhaust fumes? Who wants to live in a deeply bi-furcated society? Who wants to live in a world without forests, pure water, and fresh air? Really, who? Then I must ask, in the spirit of R.K.N. Reddy, why are we doing this to ourselves?

*Written in the Autumn of 2006

Wade from www.VagabondJourney.com
Anduze, France
December 21, 2007

Tribals of Arunachal Pradesh

A Respectable Development?
The Tribals of Arunachal Pradesh: Then and Now

“. . . we are faced with the phenomenon of a rapid material, social, and educational development of a tribal society which has found a place in the modern world without so far losing its identity as a distinct ethnic entity.”
-Christoph Von Furer-Haimendorf (approx. 1980)

From time immemorial the until the later half of the twentieth century the people of the highlands of Arunachal Pradesh have lived in almost complete isolation and autonomy from the main body of Indian culture, economics, and civilization. But in 1944 and 1945 the Indian government began a policy of establishing contact with and administration of the tribes that lived in the Kameng and Subansiri districts of the region. At initial inception, the new government policies were very pro-tribal and by the mid 1980's the communities of the region were flourishing by the standards of the dominant global paradigm. My interest in writing this paper is to discover how this initial blooming has held up in the face of the globalization policies of the twenty first century, as well as to analyze how traditional tribal culture and values have been altered through increased contact with outside peoples, ideas, and systems.
Throughout this research I have taken liberty to clump all of the cultural groups of Arunachal Pradesh into one broad group vaguely labeled as “tribal” (I will provide a definition of this term subsequently). I have done this for the reason of clarity; as repeated cross references between group labels would invariably lead to confusion and the ultimate dilution of the point of this enquiry: which is not necessarily the specifics of any particular tribe, but a general synopsis of the changes that traditional tribal communities have undergone as a result of contact with industrialized society. Where it had become a necessity to distinguish one community from another I have done so but, again, my main focus is on the region as a whole.

I have chosen the tribals of the mountains of Arunchal Pradesh as my research subjects due to the fact that they have remained obscure and autonomous from dominant world systems until relatively recently. Therefore, an ideally concentrated lens has been created from which to view the effects that contact with modern civilization has on ancient ways of life.

To read the rest of this article please go to:Tribals of Arunachal Pradesh

Thanks,

Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
Anduze, France
December 21, 2007

Indian Notebook

Anecdotes from the Indian Notebook

Gave Mira a nose piercing
Traditional Indian way just meant dirty
We found out though
Went to an old time jeweler and she said she wanted
A traditional nose piercing done in the traditional way
“You know, where the piercing is put through the acupuncture point”
Indian piercing man made a special trip
To jewelry shop to pierce foreigner’s something
He tried to stick a dirty needle hole through her ear
Mira screeches
“No! I want a nose piercing in my nose, not my ear”
So dirty piercing man fumbled about
With his dirty Indian hands
All over the dirty needle that would be stuck through
Poor Dirty Mira’s nose
(now this needle was just a regular old wire that had one end
cut at an angle to make it “sharp”)
He manipulated this home made needle
With his poop hand and rusty pliers til’
Mira said, “No way!”
And I got to pierce her nose for her
(at least Wade washes his hands she said)


Goopymop is having a ball of a day with the maid next door. It began to rain, so they both called for Mira (my lovely lady) to come out and take in the clothing that were hanging out to dry in the rain. When I showed up outside the door to help them instead of Mira, they just laughed at me and told me to go back inside. I suppose that they figured the clothes were better off wet than having a dude touch them in dude ways.


“But quirky fieldworkers- how can we ever evaluate the balance or fairness of their insights?”
-Bruce Jackson, Fieldwork


All those years I thought that I was rejecting American culture and society, I was, in actuality, playing the part of the ideal American youth. To look back at ones self from afar is the impetuous of travel.


“I wish that it had a personality; so I could make it feel bad about itself.”
-Kayla Chin, to the computer


“It takes five men to package one bag of tea,” spoke the disgusted tea-shop owner; who then jumped in to make it six.


For many years, scientist thought that the forest people of India did not eat monkeys due to their ‘humanistic’ qualities. Actually, it was because they taste bad.


“Learn the lesson of Love, ‘O cock!
-From Bankey Behari’s book Sufis, Mystics, and Yogis of India


“We are looking for India,” said the pilgrim. “Where is that?” said the Indian.


Few things in the world are as honest as a craftsman’s hands. With this day of sitting in the home of Shyam Singh I feel as if I need to learn a trade.


Dear Donald,

In Rajastan now. Desert, forts, warrior lineage, blue skies. No walks though. My lady hit me in the eye with a wrist full of bangles whilst in bed one night, and it got infected. Nursing myself in Jaisalmer. Lady is out riding camels. I am finding gladness in these solitary days. Almost feel blessed that she socked me.

Overlooking a courtyard now from a balcony of a Tibetan restauand. India men, Mussel men, and rickshaw men. Pushkarts of fruit and vendors selling silly looking clothes to silly looking tourists. Everything here is made to look real old- and much of it is. But anyways. . .

I am just keeping on. Digging up some substance out of delusion and realizing that I really do not want it any way. What would I do with substance even if I had any? Anyway, so I am just going through some motions, trying not to care about too much but keep getting a little tied up. Companions make you think, you know?

Wondering why it takes an hour to make fried rice? Oh well. . .

Your fellow Fellow,
Wade


A fevered conversation:

MIRA: One day I will be a Buddha, and only my nose ring will touch the ground.

WADE: Now you are a Buddha.


Had fever night with Mira. Both hallucinated as if on drugs. Thought that I was a prince. Kept saying, “I am the prince,” in a weird voice. Tried moving bed that Mira was sleeping on across the room. Bed has piss stains all over it. We don’t care. We played, danced in front of the window for all of India. Bedded down to meet with fever. Mira as well. Spent night attacking hard pillow and holding my head. Got bit by a floor monster (rat? cockroach?). Talked absolute nonsense with total conviction. “I am the prince.” Then Mira finally asked annoyed, “Why are you the prince?” I had no answer. I guess I was not really the prince. Snuggling with Mira and waiting for the call of morning.
Smile and giggle with Mira.


MIRA: There is poop all over everything in India (it is true).


Jodhpur:

Walking streets of old city. ”Wow, all of these buildings are blue! Maybe we are in that blue city?” Walked up a large hill, looked out, it was all blue. “Funny, I had always wanted to come here.” Sometimes stumbling onto dots on maps gets you places.
Made friends on top of the hill. More friends just kept coming from all directions. Soon, we had a gaggle of peers. They all grew up together and were like brothers. Short kid asked me if I knew anything about guns. I said that I did. So we talked of pistols and how the police in India will beat you if you get caught with one. Same story everywhere, no? He is still looking for one though. Me too. Watched sunset and full moon shine over blue city. Talked of religion, wrestling, tattoos, and movies. They invited us to eat but Mira did not want to want to. So we said goodbye.

Got lost in a maze of streets. Nighttime. Alley streets rickshaw crowded and moter bikes everywhere. All of everything pushing streets carrying capacity. We nearly get crushed between a motorcycle, a ply-board rummage stand, and a concrete pole. We made it. “Close one, no?”


“Where have all the travelers gone?”

“Away.”


"Then she [chubby naked hippy girl on dorm room bed in Mumbai] said, "Namaste,” and I wanted to punch her. What’s wrong with her?"

*Written in the Autumn of 2006

Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
Anduze, France
December 17, 2007

Wood Carvers in India

Sitting with the Masters

A Day with a Family of Master Indian Wood Carvers

I was picked up in the morning by the master wood carver, Umesh Singh, and we rode off on his motorcycle through the busy Jaipur streets to his home in a little neighborhood near the public commodities market. Umesh is a traditional Indian wood carver and makes his living from carving and selling little statuettes and motifs of idealized Asian spiritual figures as well as the animals that once roamed the region freely. He is a very stoic, proud man and he carries himself with that particular authority of a man who has perfected his craft. I had met him the day before at his little stand of sandalwood carvings in the art district of the city palace and he invited me to come to his home so that I could watch him as he went about his work. I was very curious to learn if the contemporary Indian craftsman continues to utilize the riches of ancient tradition and folk-knowledge or if his art has also been gentrified by the impervious weight of “modernization.” I hoped that this meeting with Umesh would resolve some of my questions.

We arrived at his home after about fifteen minutes of holding on tight to the back of his motorcycle. Umesh lived in a rather modest, sort of run down building that was directly connected to a plethora of other organically stuck together households. The neighborhood was traditionally Indian and seemed to be as old as time itself. Upon entering his home, he sat me in a little reception room in the front of the house and served me a little cup of chai tea. I sipped it gratefully, as it provided me with an object to which I could direct my wavering attention, and just looked around at the carvings that lined the walls. I was soon introduced to his brother, who was a carver that gave up the family trade to become a computer consultant, and we had the initial small talk that comes with entering someone’s home for the first time. I found out who is married to whom, who lives in the house, and a little about their family’s carving history.

I was then taken into the house proper and walked into a small courtyard that opened up to the sky. The walls would have been real grateful to take on a fresh coat of paint and the entire place was in a state of satisfied, comfortable neglect. I sat in a chair that was placed in a kind of hallway area that adjoined the courtyard. On the floor next to me were a few toolboxes, an unidentifiable home-rigged machine, and a square blanket that distinguished the workspace from the rest of the courtyard.

Umesh soon entered the hallway area that I was in and sat cross-legged upon the blanket. He was ready to begin the lesson and opened the tool boxes, removed a handful of elongated metal tools, and inspected each of them intensely. He handed the tools to me; which consisted of steel rods with sharpened blades shaped out of each opposing end. He also showed me chisels of various sizes, files, drills, and the collection of sandpaper that he uses to scrape and carve the negative spaces away from the blocks of wood that he transforms into beautiful statuettes.

He then gave me a lesson on the types of woods that the carver shapes his wares from. Umesh placed specimens of teak and ebony into my hand, but it was sandalwood that was the prize material of his trade. He pulled out a half finished tiger figure from a bag and instructed me to smell it. I did; it smelled like fresh sandalwood. I stroked and rubbed its smooth, woody sides and I could feel the superiority of the sandalwood as compared with that of teak. Umesh was very fond of sandalwood and it was obvious that this type of wood served to define his role in the world.

Umesh then began working and I sat and just watched him scrap away at a chunk of sandalwood. He shaved off pieces here, pieces there, with controlled and precise strokes of a file. His movements were exact and done with complete confidence. He had been carving since he was a small child and it was beyond evident that he knew each move that he made from deep down in his being. He had probably carved the same piece that he was making hundreds of times before and its blueprints seemed to be indelibly etched into his psyche.

Carving was Umesh’s family trade and his father was a carver as was his father before him. He told me a story of how, when his father was a young carving man, he would walk down the street covered in sandalwood dust and everyone would be able to smell him coming from far away. Umesh then pushed together a little pile of sandalwood dust and put it in my hand. “Smell, smell,” he said. I did so. “Good smell,” he spoke with a smile. “It smells like incense,” I commented. “Yes, like incense,” he said, relishing in his story and the pure joy of his craft. Umesh was certainly a proud craftsman from time’s past, a relic of what humans were once capable of.

We made small talk during this time and he would occasionally look up from his work with the curious smile of a child and ask me a question. “Are you married?” he asked. “No, I’m not.” “You should be married,” he stated. “Do you have a girlfriend?” he continued.

“Yes, I do,” I told him, and then went on to describe her a little. “Will you marry her?” he questioned. “I don’t know,” I said, a little taken aback. “I think that you should marry her,” Umesh said with a slightly sly, mischievous grin.

Umesh continued working on the figure that he was shaping into a tiger until his father walked into the house. I was promptly introduced to him and we shook hands. Umesh then had to go to the palace to attend to the family carving stand and I was left in the charge of his father, who was the master carver of the family. His name was Shyam Singh and, like his son, he was also taught the carving trade from his father and had been making sandalwood handicrafts since he was a small child.

Shyam then took his son’s place on the work blanket and promptly began carving out little animal decorations on a pre-sculpted figure. I, again, just sat silently and watched. I was transfixed by the ancient movements of his hands as he scraped and cut the wood with the steel blade. He worked with as much precision as his son but he also held an incredibly high degree of absolute sureness about him that was obvious in each of his blade strokes. He seemed to be a part of the woodblock that he was carving and he worked with meditative concentration for a couple of hours. He would occasionally show me his progress and I would touch the figure and wipe the fresh dust from it, nod, smile, and then hand it back to him to carve a little more. The carving process was almost unbelievably time-consuming and two hours of solid work left one with a piece that was scarcely any nearer to completion as when one began.

Curiosity soon struck me and I picked up a piece of sandalwood scrap and a blade and tried to carve something into it. It took a good degree of strength to even get the blade to bite into the wood and I could not make any cuts with the slightest degree of precision. I laughed at myself and Shyam also giggled at my feeble attempt. I knew then that this art takes years upon years of constant practice to get a handle on, and a lifetime to perfect.

I knew that I was in the presence of ancient tradition while I was with these master craftsmen. I truly felt in those hours of silent carving that there was nothing in the world more honest than a craftsman’s working hands. I now know that some degree of traditional artistic spirit has so far survived the influx of modern brevity and triviality. But it will probably not endure. In the presence of Umesh and Shayam Singh I sadly know that I felt the last residual breaths of the ancient Indian artistic tradition. Umesh’s children will not carry on the family trade and he knows that the generational chain of folk knowledge will end with him. “There is not enough money in wood carving,” he told me sadly. This is the story of our monetarily driven times; there is no longer any room for tradition, patience, and heartfelt handiwork. We now live in a world where price-tags determine value and money directs the course of our attention. No longer will we know the mastery of Umesh and Shayam Singh; goodbye ancient craftsmen, goodbye.

*Written in the Autumn of 2006 in Southern India

Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
Anduze, France
December 17, 2007