India - humanity, reality, religious freedom

INDIA. LET FREEDOM RING.
I Saw Humanity,
I Saw Reality,
I Saw Another Way.
By Shashoua

Traveling on a coach through South India, most of the images I hold in my mind are from visions of everyday life. Yes, there were ornate temples. There were incredible stories of incredible gurus who meditated for ten or more years. Yes, there was poverty and dirty overcrowded villages. With a superficial glance, one could describe the scene as chaotic, deprived, primitive and uncivilized. Some would describe the people as happy in their ignorance, or by the most egotistical as stupid and docile. But actually what I noticed was the dignity and joy that prevailed. The calm sense of life. The acceptance of nature. The acceptance of today, whatever it is like. I saw humanity. I saw reality. I saw another way.

"We all love the word diversity" and modern Western countries pride themselves on diversity and tolerance of other cultures and beliefs. However, except for small pockets of aberrations (Hasidic Jewry, Amish people), assimilation prevails most of the time and diasporic cultures and religions are consumed by the dominant culture. The constant mantra of the media and the drive of capitalism combined with more and more technology means there is little room to preserve traditions and languages from other cultures. Within two generations at the most, cultures in the West are often compromised and diversity in religion and language are diminished.

On the contrary, India embraces diversity absolutely. I don't think I understood true democracy before I took a three-week tour there two years ago. India, with a population of nearly one billion people, heralds 750 million Hindus (by far the dominant religious group), 125 million Muslims, 25 million Christians, 20 million Sikhs, seven million Buddhists, five million Jains, one hundred thousand Zoroastrians and a few thousand Jews. Freedom of thought has never been more honored and reflected in everyday life. As we traveled through bumpy roads, proof of true freedom flaunted itself in banners that celebrated Communism; and on bronze plaques and statues that affirmed, "God is dead." Unhidden, unashamed and unstoppable, these rebellious plaques and flags would display themselves opposite a much cherished Temple. And they caused not a stir. Except, of course, from passing American tourists.

The first half of our trip was scheduled with temple tours. And there are temples on every corner. There is such lived religiosity that it is at once beautiful and perplexing. Small town Hindu temples are entwined with life, and life is entwined with the temples. There is no division between the sacred and the secular, at least not in the poorer towns. The first temple we visited was the lustrous Tirumala Balaji Temple. Constructed in 500 AD, Tirumala attracted hoards of hungry-for-truth pilgrims who would relentlessly walk up the sacred Tirumala Hills reciting a mantra: OmShri Vanti Krishna Na Maha. Intricate carvings on gold and silver sparkled in the early morning sunrise from the dome-shaped roofs. However, the beautiful constructions and carvings; the lavish gold and silver and the overall breadth of the place - none of these impressed us quite as much as an invisible power that was very evident at 4 a.m. on a morning that was washed with the last of the monsoon rains. Trust. Faith. Acceptance. It drives this country. As we trudged up the Tirumala Hills in a taxi, we passed at least 400 sopping wet pilgrims. Families of 8 or 10 people, their faces painted with white stripes and colorful dots, shuffled along barefoot, happy to stand in this seemingly horrendous line, their clothes drenched, their feet squelching in mud, sand and other substances.

All the temples, both large and extravagant or small and humble, are like snapshots of pre-industrial life. The villages were built around the temple. People entrenched in life and those nearing death flocked to her gates. The grounds were open and courtyard-like with cows roaming freely and safely in a sacred haven where they are still revered as holy. Women with brightly colored saris, children playing, men with shaved heads, beggars sleeping or dying by the entrance - feces and flies - all of this depicts the essence of the temple. At once it was beautiful and ugly, like a snapshot of humanity - a microcosm of the macrocosm - revealing both dignity and indignity in the same picture.

The open-mindedness is most apparent as you see people flocking around a newly declared "Enlightened one." Bipolar in America. Guru in India. We saw a very skinny man with long gray unwashed dreadlocks. He had a parrot on his shoulder and a flock of people around him kissing his feet and touching his skin. He was, by Indian standards, an enlightened one. And perhaps he was. But if he lived in America, he would be prescribed medication.

This freedom of thought, including freedom of religion, is granted to all. In Mumbai, the Zoroastrian Temple of Silence stands proud. There are approximately 100,000 Zoroastrian living in India. This ancient religion that has been around since before Christ has kept its religion by the grace of an Indian government which has not tried to convert or deny them their religion. Zoroastrians, following their ancient tradition, believe that a body cannot be buried in the earth, as this will pollute the land. They believe that the body must be left for scavengers, like vultures. So, lurking in nearby trees are government-imported vultures awaiting the ring of the temple bell, their sign that it is time to do their job and complete the death ceremony by consuming the body. The nature of the vulture, for the Zoroastrian, is divine; it is a sacred bird to be revered, not feared.

We visited many Ashrams but the most diverse was that of Mata Amritanandamayi Math, also known as the "hugging mother" in a fishing village in Kerala. Amma, as this divine goddess is known, was recognized as having spiritual powers at a very early age. Slowly the word spread that a divinely inspired young girl could help to heal the sick. Now, at the age of 48 Amma has a huge Ashram that caters to 3000 people, from all walks of life, every day. Some were obviously very spiritual, while others less so. Aryuvedic healing, scripture study, yoga classes and meditation are all available. There are modesty rules, and men and women cannot share rooms, even if married. Everyone staying at the Ashram is expected to be chaste during his or her stay. Some of the people we met had been there for years and were ascetics, while others would come for spiritual renewal every year for a few weeks.

We arrived in time for a dharshan (blessing) with the divine mother. Each of us was instructed to meditate on an issue, or something we wanted. We stood in a long line. A dharshan with the divine mother is very interesting. She hugs each and every person in line and whispers something - perhaps a blessing or a prayer - to each individual. I was told to get on my knees, which I did and Amma hugged me tightly. It was a warm motherly embrace that felt wonderful. She then pushed me away and spoke softly in Malayalam. She had an entourage of helpers, most of which were white-skinned women clad in white saris. I was directed to sit and just "be" for the moment. It was a funky experience. Surreal, because there were hundreds and hundreds of people, waiting to hug "Amma."

However, all the Ashrams, temples and tourist delights are made dull by everyday life. As we continued on our journey, we inevitably drove through the lush Indian countryside, where much of the farming is done, just as it was thousands of years before. Women in brightly colored saris would bend down from the waist, their legs straight, and plant rice in paddy fields. The men, more often than not, were ploughing the fields with oxen. The countryside is full of space and seemed very clean in comparison to the villages. Many farmers in these parts still take their cow door to door and deliver fresh milk upon request. What impressed me most here is the concept of equality. Man, animal and earth seem to dance together in a perfect give-and-take relationship. You can feel the rhythm of nature dance here. There is still an understanding of interconnectedness between every life form. Humankind needs animals to help with daily work. Without the animals, this work could not be performed. Man also relies on the earth to produce good, healthy crops. This simple truth seems to have created a humble and respectful relationship between man and his surroundings. This is apparent every year when a one-day celebration for the oxen takes place. Farmers paint the horns of the oxen in bright colors and the oxen are paraded through the streets and applauded, in effect, thanked for their hard work.

When I think of my constant identity crisis and the questions I have of my own purpose and my own sense of self, I realize how egotistical I have become and how stupid these questions are. There is no doubt about it; the people in the small villages and agrarian areas are materially impoverished by American standards. Most of them are day laborers, meaning that every day they are paid enough to live for that day. And yet, somehow, contentment seems to radiate from their young faces (young, because in these conditions no one gets very old). They smile huge fat smiles over their skinny faces. The children I saw were completely uninhibited, laughing with snot running down their noses. Their clothes, if they had any on, were dirty and torn. But the contentment, it shone. It shone through the dust, dirt and trash. It shone through the shacks and the mundane fact of life. It shone for all of us hungry tourists who yearned for that peace, but who would not even recognize it if it punched us in the stomach. In the poorer parts, mountains of trash sometimes reach as high as the houses, while pigs rummaged through it. It offers a snapshot of the darker side of industry. Plastics, alloys and other manmade materials that will never degrade naturally are just left in piles as if to mock the purpose of industry, which was to make life simpler, safer and easier. Villages, for practical reasons, are generally built around a large body of water. The river is used to bathe, to defecate and to wash clothes and animals. Women generally bathe very early in the day, and men bathe later on. And yet however simple these people are in their way of life, most of them do have televisions (which seemed absurd to me considering most of their homes were shacks), exposing them to the bourgeoisie urbanites who are growing in numbers in major Indian cities.

Life is raw and rampant in India. Every anomaly under the sun; every aberration; every deviant; they all have their place. She is the preserver of originality and is perhaps the truest form of democracy alive today.