The Flight to D.C for the Inauguration

Tuesday is going to big day – the preamble to a new constitution - an audacious salute to the American Dream that clears away the skeptism that anything is possible. Old thinking will be replaced by a hopeful new era of leadership and I’m en route to be close to the ceremony that will usher in our silver lining. I’m not going to be at the inauguration itself, but I will be among the millions who are making a migration to somehow be a part of something bigger than all of us.

The plane is filled with an anxious enthusiasm that is altogether tactile and intangible – like the simmer of joy before a wedding or the childlike anticipation of Christmas Day. Knowing and waiting and feeling are coming together as we await the exodus of old and the arrival of hope.

It’s an exciting journey so far, which is somehow better on Virgin America (gratuitous plug) if you can’t fly first class. I just finished watching Hancock, ironically about a black superhero saving the world, which wasn’t as bad as the critics reviewed. I actually liked it a lot although I’ve always had a soft spot for Wil Smith.

I admit, I was a bit edgy waiting to board the plane. I could see some people with their ball gowns in garment bags, others who looked like they scraped up just enough savings to get a flight. Most people are in pairs on this trip, although there are a few singles and a smattering of families. Once I boarded and got comfortable in my aisle seat, I took a break from my headphones and engaged in a playful banter with a bespeckled single dude behind me when he was poking the back of my touchscreen TV seat with a little bit to much Bart Simpsonesque zeal (‘poke!’ QUIT IT – ‘poke’ QUIT IT – ‘poke’). I had to put that shit in check, “Try touching the screen with more of an iphone swipe and not a jab”, I suggested with a smile. We went back and forth for a bit with more flirty chitchat before I turned back around replacing my earbuds blasting house music into my head (Oh if only airplanes had gay discos located in the back of the plane *sigh*).

I loaded up on a full breakfast this morning of huevos rancheros and a tall cup of coffee at Los Burritos, savoring the saucy goodness of the runny eggs and caramel-like refried beans. AH, Mexican food. I figured starting out the day with a guilty delight from South of the border was the perfect salute to America and all its culinary diversity.

So here I am now on the flight, somewhere over Missouri, resisting the bountiful cocktail bar on Virgin (plug #2) and passing time till we land – I’ve less than 2 hours before touching down in DC. Oh the anticipation….

Salutation to the Dawn- Kashmir, India

I never got to blog about this while in India, but I wanted to share this with you.

I was in a computer lab, the only one in Kashmir where I went to hike in the Himalayas. Not too far from Dal Lake, the center of the small town on the outskirts of Shrinagar, I was there, not too long ago, checking work emails, personal emails, my blog, and most sadly, my return ticket to New Delhi which would then get me home in a week's time. As I sat there in the small computer lab, with the old dusty PCs, people mainly doing the same, although it was somewhat empty, I looked up and saw the attached poem posted on the wall. I read it and then as I shed a few tears of joy (which I did a lot in India), I shared my gratitude with the computer shop owner as we intellectual and spiritually discussed the small poem on his wall. Here is that poem, and I'd like to share it with you.

The most beautiful part of this story is how I was able to get it to you today. I foolishly did not copy it while India, nor did I snap a photo of it so that I could transcribe it later. It was a friend of mine, who, several months later, was sitting in that same computer lab. When I realized where he was, I asked him to please dictate it to me, and I wrote it down so that I could forever have it as a reminder of the important messages I learned on my trip. And now I share it with you -- a simply stated message that should welcome the dawn of each day...brought to you all the way from Kashmir India. Author unknown.

Salaam Aleikum (God be with you),

Robinne

SALUTATION TO THE DAWN

Look to this day.. for it is life, the very life of life.

In this brief source lies all the varieties and realties of your existence:

the bliss of growth, the glory of action, the splendor of achievement.

For yesterday is but a dream and tomorrow is only a vision..

But today well-lived makes yesterday a dream of happiness,

and every tomorrow a vision of hope.

Look well therefore, to this day.

Such is the salutation to the dawn.

Dal Lake, Pahalgam and the Himalayas

I was still ancy being so far away from my Uttar Pradesh. But the weather was beautiful and breezy, a zen paradise high above the busy villages below. The greens shimmered through my window as dawn came over my room. The cows were up and I could hear their bells ringing from the north side of the house. I knew Mama, as I called Manzoor's mom, was downstairs baking fresh bread and preparing our tea. I came downstairs and had breakfast with Asif. Manzoor came down soon after and we left for tours of the entire city of Srinagar. I sat in the passenger seat, just simply in awe of everything. I tried to explain to Manzoor that seeing this part of India, the religion, the faith, the kindness, the beauty, all of it inspires such intense gratitude that it made me want to cry each time. India is what I imagine it is like to drive through South Africa and not through the touristy areas, but through the villages where life begins and ends for people of such simple joys and pains, far removed from the material attachments of the Western world.

This was a day filled with rapt spiritual awareness. I wanted to see more, deep into the remote part of the Himalayas, but my time was not long enough. I knew however, that no matter what it took, for my birthday I was to spend it climbing into the Himalayas, at least where I could kneel and give thanks as close to God as possible. Beauty, beauty everywhere, and still none of the words to describe it.

It was in the evening one night, while having dinner with the family, that I mentioned to Mohammed, Manzoor's father, that I wanted him to take me trekking into the mountains of the Himalayas.

"It's going to be my birthday gift to myself," I proudly stated.

His eyes lit with joy, but he warned me that it was a long trip that needed to be seriously coordinated if I were serious. I restated my enthusiasm and we began to plan my day's itinerary. Mohammed is a professional guide into the Himalayas, often a tour leader into the deepest and highest parts of the mountains where he leads hikers on trips. I didn't have the 3 weeks to go to the top of the Himalayas, however, I could go to Pahalgam, where it was considered to be "Paradise on Earth" which is what all the signs were referring to at the airports.



We stopped along the way and took photos of a rushing waterfall, and other unbelievable sights through the countryside.

There's so much more...

A bit of time has passed since my last post, but India is still in my heart, beating like the drums I heard that first night in Agra. Everything is as fresh in my mind as if it happened just yesterday which is a beautiful thing, but it also hurts like heartbreak. I have been reflecting each day, how my life woke up from a dream, into this incredible other-world called India. It touches you at such a powerfully deep level that it is like waking from an induced sleep that I now has me more awake than I have ever been.

I am glad that I have chronicled each day of my trip, and there will be two more, one that sums up my trip to Kashmir, and the other will be the last day in India, which I wrote while there. Future posts will come on how to plan your own itinerary to India, what to avoid, where to shop, what you must see and where to stay. I have so much to tell about my trip, that I feel it will never be fleshed out completely in this blog.

I hope you go back to some of the earlier entries on India and read the evolution of this trip and how it transpired, from start to finish.

Day 10- Srinagar

I am writing these blogs now, post-mortem, having arrived back from India a couple of weeks ago, but the memories are still so fresh in my mind and most I had written by hand when the internet was not available. People have been asking me if I really took all of the photos you see here of India. Of course I did! I didn't invest all that moola in the new Cybershot to google images and then cut and paste onto my blog. I took every photo, even the one-handed shots that are of myself. By the way, I strongly recommend the new 10mega pixel Sony Cybershot with the touchscreen. It is my first digital camera, but I haven't a single complaint. It is the ultimate bad-ass.

So as I sit here, I realize that I still have so much more to tell but I shall pick up where I left off- in Shrinagar, Kashmir, Day 10.

I wake up early to the the song filled pre-dawn of Muslim prayers. Holy chants are ringing throughout the mountains, as the Muslim men of Kashmir do their first of 5 daily prayers. It is the most extraordinary thing one can hear- the sacred song of Muslims, or Salaat or Salah, , which is the fixed ritual of Muslims. The dawn was filled with worship and I smiled dreamily as the spiritual hymns lulled me back to sleep.

Manzoor slept in till noon which gave me plenty of time to sit and chat with his father whom eventually came into the house right around the time I awoke. We sat and he told me of the French woman who lived in his home for a very long time to meditate and do yoga in the Himalayas. We spoke of the rich history of the Kashmiri people and how his life began in the mountains of Shrinagar.

By the time Manzoor was up and about, I had already eaten breakfast with his family and was fully prepared to start the day. Manzoor took me high to the gardens overlooking Srinagar. It was a breaktaking sight. As wonderful as the Cybershot is, I knew it could not capture the splendor of this paradise. It is me and Manzoor and his friend whom we picked up along the way. I am trying to grab photos as fast as I can, but my trigger finger is a bit slow and I am always a few seconds too slow to capture the wildlife in the trees or the animals that dart behind rocks as we fly past. But to give you an idea of what it is like to be driving in the backseat of a car in India, here is a quick video as we ascend into the hills towards the first spot that Manzoor wants to show me. Pari Mahal. Its a lovely day today in Srinagar and the air is incredibly clean and refreshing. The climate is so crisp that you can almost slice a cube of the air like glacier ice and admire it's purity as if it were art.

Srinagar, Kashmir India

"I don't do parents very well", I said, fibbing nervously to Manzoor while shifting my weight from foot to foot.

Manzoor looks at me exasperated, not really understanding what he was hearing. He was suggesting that I stay with his family who owns a bed and breakfast in Shrinagar. But it was my birthday week and I was tired of the ordinary hotels I had been staying at in Delhi and parts of Rajasthan. I was ready to splurge on myself, take in a room at a five star hotel and enjoy lakeside peace and tranquility,

"You can stay at my parents bed and breakfast one day and then change to a hotel in the morning if you like". When Manzoor put it that way, it didn't feel right to protest. We drive up a long winding hill into the Himalayas, and I am still in awe of the city that is unlike any place I have yet to have seen in India. The roads are narrow and people are walking in pairs -- men in long Kashmiri ponchos, the women in Muslim dresses, hair and face covered.

We arrive at the Asif Bed and Breakfast, a quaint two storey home, set high in the foothills of Shrinagar. The weather is brisk, and the soft colors dreamily paint the canvas of the small town. Cows are mooing loudly, their bells clanging to their song as they walk up the roads alongside out car. White and yellow and blue butterflies were everywhere, as if a butterfly explosion had just happened, and they fluttered and danced around me, as if welcoming me to Kashmir. Endless green pastures stretched into the infinite mountains of the Himalayas and I couldn't help but to hold my breath, afraid to exhale and everything might disappear. We stop at the top of the long road and the car door opens as Manzoor grabbed my bags from the backseat. Hearing the car pull up, Asif, Manzoor's brother comes out, helping us with our luggage. He is good looking, but a bit too young for me - he is 18 years old. But incredibly sweet (Pictured right-below).

His father comes out first to greet us. Another strikingly handsome man, who looked as if he found the fountain of youth. His jawline is beautifully defined with smooth dark skin, and it was clear where Manzoor inherited his enchanting good looks. His father's English was perfect, "Welcome to Kashmir! I am Mohammed." He was warm and with a large smile, full of bright teeth. His hair was shiny and jet black, curly and cut short.

I was introduced to his mother as well, a sweet obliging woman who waited on us hand and foot. She prepared us Kashmiri sweet breads and saffron tea. We sat out in the garden and ate as we talked about his family and Shrinagar and all the things to do in Kashmir. I felt as if I were on a studio backlot, and a director was going to yell cut any minute. Manzoor's mom would take off her Muslim headwrap and introduce herself as Shirley and ask for a soy latte. But this was realer than real, kinder than kind and I was overwhelmed with the warmth of Manzoor's family. I felt safe, comfortable, and at peace.

I went upstairs and Manzoor showed me to my room and bathroom. It was very cozy and I suddenly felt ashamed for saying the thing about not doing well with parents. It's just that at the time I said that, I just wanted to be in a nice hotel and full of free will to come and go, not shuck and jive with parents. But I was wrong to think that way.

I realized something about myself on this trip. I don't know everything and I am not always right, and it was a beautiful wake up call. Because I listened to the advice of others, I was exposed to such magnificent experiences in India. Had I not taken the road less traveled by going with Manzoor to Kashmir, I would not be experiencing this spiritual mecca. Had Manzoor let me stay in a 5 star hotel, I would never have formed the great relationship I did with his family. India humbled me from the minute I got off the plane with Rajiv in New Delhi when I had to use the restroom by squatting into a pit at the airport. I was continuously humbled and this moment was one of them as I looked at the surrounding beauty of Manzoor's home and the mountains that protect it. Sometimes I think that I know so much and that my way is the right way, but it is such a fantastic feeling to be wrong and have things turn out for the better, because then life becomes a wonderful surprise.

Day 9 - On my way to Kashmir, India

Kashir India.... hmmm... I know I know this place. Why can't I remember the history?! As we checked in at the airport, I realized where we were going exactly when I looked down at our boarding passes "Destination Srinagar- Kashmir India". Kashmir, I repeated in my head, knowing it was a historically significant location, and with a sad history. I was annoyed with myself for not having a better grasp on history and world conflict, because my historical instincts told me that where we were going, was not your typical destination.



I didn't remember the details of Kashmir and wouldn't find out until later. I won't go into the details of Kashmir until a future blog, because I don't want to spoil what became the most special part of the trip for me. If you are a better historian than I, then you will remember the history of Kashmir, if you don't know, leave it be for a moment, and read about the wonderful wonderfulness of Kashmir before researching its political history.

I woke up early that morning, realizing that I had fallen asleep at Manzoor's. I didn't know where I was at first, a symptom of jumping from city to city and not remembering which destination I was in today. The day before seemed surreal and it took me a moment as my eyes came in to focus to realize I was in Manzoor's apartment. It was tremendously hot in his room and it was only 8am. It was easily 95 degrees at 8am and I figured out his shower so I hopped in to cool off and get ready for my trip. After a nice air-dry and rearranging my luggage, I left the bedroom to see where Manzoor might be. He was in the living room asleep along with his cousin, who was also on the floor asleep. The village was quiet, and I wondered how anyone could sleep after the sun rises in Delhi. It was extremely hot and to sleep past dawn was to sleep in your own sweat.

I rocked Manzoor awake around 9, reminding him that we had to leave soon in order to make it to the airport in time.

After hot chai, a glass of steamed milk and eggs with toast, we loaded our bags into the back of a taxi and headed for the airport.

Passing easily through security, we plopped down with our bags at the airport waiting area for ticket holding passengers. Before getting comfortable, Manzoor went to get me something cold to drink. When he came back, he handed me a strawberry milkshake and the local newspaper. He watched my face as he handed me the Special Interest section side up: The headline read, "Indians Rank as Having the Fastest Sex in the World" and the article spoke on how Indian men spend the least amount of time in bed with women, German men being the longest...it went on with comparisons of men in other countries and their stamina for sex. It was ironic that he found this article since while we were talking the other night, we had a similar yet more subtle conversation about male/female relations in India. I found the article's research altogether silly and fascinating, and continued reading the rest of the entertainment rag.

In the book section, it has India's top selling non fiction books. I squealed with delight to see that the top selling book in India was "The Secret". I was overjoyed with glee. "I can't wait to get back and tell my 'Secret friends'," I thought. This is awesome!

We had to be shuttled out to the tarmac in order to

board our plane. The flight was only an hour and a half to Kashmir.

It was a good opportunity to get to know Manzoor a little bit better. We laughed and chatted during the whole flight, making fun of the poor service on SpiceJet, the small jet we were taking to Srinagar. An hour into the flight, he pointed over my shoulder and out the airplane window. "Look", he says, "The Himalayas. We are here." My lips parted in awe. I snapped several pictures through the window of the airplane.

When we got to Kashmir, I rode in the backseat of the cab to my hotel as Manzoor spoke to the driver who had been there waiting for us when we arrived. Manzoor seemed to know everyone and everyone knew Manzoor. His Hindi had changed -- now his Hindi was now Kashmiri, the local dialect. This was where Manzoor was born and raised, in the Muslim state of Kashmir. I sat in the back seat of the SUV, taking in all of the sights of Kashmir. At first I was afraid, seeing the Indian army, so many of them, armed and everywhere. What have I gotten myself in to, I thought?

I struggled again to remember the history of Kashmir...why were there so many soldiers here? Damn my memory!

But as we drove further into the city of Srinagar, I realized that this was indeed a peaceful place. Signs read "Welcome to Paradise on Earth" and other spiritual billboards that reminded Kashmir of why the Muhgul King Nuruddin Jahangir beautifully quoted "If heaven be on earth then it is here, it is here, it is here in Kashmir." A place rich with humility, spirituality, tradition, and love for the country. This, I thought, is the foreign land we envision when we think of India. This, I knew, pressed up to the glass of the backseat window, is why I have come to India....

Click here to view the slideshow of Kashmir from the first couple of days there.

Read upcoming blogs and photo blogs for more on why Kashmir changed my entire visit to India.