By Jacob Matilsky - Purple & Gray

12.15.2009

The Salvation Army runs a hostel in Mumbai India.  14 beds to a dorm,

and at Rs 225 per night (aprox. 5 dollars) the price is hard to beat.

So-what that bedbugs frequent the dorms.  So-what that a drunk

Hungarian snores all night as a compliment to the crescendo of

tootling of horns below.  The Hungarian arrived on a bicycle and I

found out after he left that the bike was just a cover.  According to

one of our roommates, he plans to use the bike as cover while

conducting not-so-profitable sounding black-market escapades along

South East Asian borders.  Each morning new people amble into the

crowded dorms and set up shop.  At 6AM the man who runs the hostel

leads a prayer session and I did not see an employee (all men) miss a

prayer session.  One attendant said that every Sunday they all go five

kilometers to church services across town.   The same employee told me

that all the workers are Christian.  A few years ago, the Salvation Army in

the United States came under fire for under-paying their employees.  I

have often heard hobos complain about the conditionality placed on

shelters and food provided, not just by the Salvation Army, but

organizations in general that provide aid to the poor with the

stipulation that they first pray for their meal.  Faith can be a

powerful tool to help heal the world, but no one should have to pray

to a specific god in order to eat.  Just as almost no paying travelers

(drunk, smuggling Hungarians for example) are turned away from their

doors, I surely hope that those seeking employment and aid from

Mumbai's Salvation Army are not required to be of a specific faith.

Our world is too dynamic to set ANY sort of requirements before

providing food to those who most need it.

By Jacob Matilsky - Purple & Gray

12.15.2009

We live in an age of terror.  Messages all over the world indicate

that we should be afraid of human violence. In NYC, the subway

automated voice says "if you see something, say something."  In

Mumbai, the same type of voice says "If you see a strange package,

don't touch it, it might be an explosive."  Terrorism really is scary.

Feeling as though there are people out there trying to get us, trying

to kill us, trying to cause us harm, leaves people feeling raw and

frightened.  In 2001, NYC suffered a major terrorist attack.  Just

over a year ago, Mumbai also lost lives at the hands of terrorists who

attacked the Taj Hotel.  Terrorism is something we can see and

understand.  Guns kill us.  Bombs kill us.  But what is the greater

threat to our lives?  The possibility that we will be effected by a

terrorist attack, or the possibility that we will develop an illness

related to toxins in the air, ground, and water? Do terrorists kill

more people than poverty?  Governments are correct in looking after

their people's security.  Yet, shouldn't we focus most of our world’s

resources on the problems that harm most of the world?  In Mumbai,

like New York, I see remnants of the 26-11 attacks on the psyche of

the city.  But the current threat does not seem to come from strange

boxes "that might be explosives."  The threats that I see are brought

on by poverty and the wanton abuse of our world’s natural resources.

By Jacob Matilsky - Purple & Gray

12.15.2009

With one of the largest slums in the world, Mumbai highlights the need

for a new globalism.   The choice is ours.  Should we let the 21st century be the century of an ever widening gap between rich and poor?  or should we learn to clean up after ourselves, share

our toys, wash our hands, and as humanity, pass the grade of kindergarten?  Let's mature as a people so that there will be something left for our children to share.  Let us make this century one in which we continue to move beyond the nationalist framework not solely for the purpose of increasing global wealth, but also for increasing in intolerance to the "collateral damage" wrought by unchecked growth.  History can serve as our impetus for action, but there is no guidebook to the future.  Let us tackle global problems with a global perspective.

Welcome to Mumbai

The Salvation Army

The Taj Hotel

Welcome to Mumbai; Post Script

Issue #3

TOURISM ON THE PAKISTANI BORDER   

On the Indian side of the border, tourism thrives in the wintertime as vacationing Indians and Europeans enjoy the refreshing cool of the Thar Desert. If one so chooses, the lively fort at Jaisalmer that turns golden at sunset is only a camel ride away and  is surrounded by the walking sand dunes and scrappy sage brush. Or, if one’s traveling companion chooses, one can also have said experience.

The dunesune where we spent the night (it is indeed a singular dune) lies 45 kilometers away from the Pakistani border. Our Hindi guide told us that things have been better since the border closed with Pakistan. He felt that despite the reduction in commerce, the area was more secure with a closed border. My traveling companion felt secure - secure enough to drag me, against my will, along on a camel tour. A brief warning to all men on the subject of camel tours: Do not, ever ever, get conned into taking a ride on these animals. You will NOT walk for three days! I did, however, enjoy the dunes. Next time I will drive a jeep.

The border between Pakistan and India is a more serious topic than my inability to gracefully cantor on a camel. Currently, the only open land crossing between the two states is north in the Punjab. While our guide seemed pleased that officials closed the border between the two states near Jaisalmer, he bemoaned an economy where he makes only 1000 rupees (about 22 dollars) per month leading camel trips. When the heat comes in the summer months, he works in the rock quarries cutting rocks because no tourists come. The tension between Pakistan and India is costly for people living in places like Jaisalmer. Instead of being a hub for commerce between neighboring states, Jaisalmer is the end of the line in Rajasthan. Tourism draws much needed currency into the local economy, but the tourism alone does not appear to be enough. Tensions have existed since partition, occasionally erupting into violent conflict. While the political line exists and has been tempered over time, the environment draws little distinction between states. The desert extends over the border. The Indus River Basin lies on both sides of the border. The economic and environmental realities of the Subcontinent require a unified political body. hopefully someday soon, people and leadership will agree.

On our ride out of the desert, Indian fighter jets began doing drills flying directly overhead toward the borders. The thundering of the planes lasted well into the night.

BIKANER CAMEL FESTIVAL

Rajasthani pride is apparent at this terrific festival held in the town of Bikaner and the surrendering dunes.  Both tourists and locals enjoyed the camel dancing competition, the camel race, and a Miss and Mr. Bikaner beauty contests.

SITAPURA INDUSTRIAL

AREA, RAJASTHAN

Eleven Kilometers outside of Jaipur, Sitapura exhibits both growth and poverty in India. Near the airport, the construction of buildings and a new elevated road is well under way. Tractors line up waiting to sell loads of sand to nearby construction projects. According to Anuch Kumar, a chemical engineering student in Jaipur who is in the area to gamble, the loads of sand sell for 1200 rupees a load (about 13 dollars). While I photograph the men hauling the sand, Anuch encourages me to "invest" 10 rupees in the game. I politely decline and continue on to the tent cities that ring the area. Mothers and children stand outside their tents begging. These are the faces of globalization. Another system may also fail the poorest of the poor, but we live under a system of global capital and it is of that system that we must demand answers.

More Columns

Columns

Laila Clare-Simon boldering at sundown, Yinon Stromza sporting a climbing hat, Jason Allshorn boldering, Rice paddies in hampi

Beginning top middle:

Ruins at hampi, Guesthouse,  Playing music, One of the many ruins strewn throughout the Hampi area, Rolling hash-like substance, Relaxing at Gopi

Top Row:

A group of Israelis wait for Didi's Thalis to be ready, Unwinding after a hard day of relaxing

Kishan Rathod's nephew and brother

Below: Didi preparing legendary 50 cent Thalis in her roadside stand, Preparing a communal stew pot, Rocks behind Goan Corner Guesthouse

The following four entries are accompanied by an essay which you can read by clicking here.

If strangers were to come to earth for the first time, they would find huge concrete buildings in our valleys and will be convinced that they were temples of some kind and that we were worshippers of rivers. The truth is that taming a river is the cruelest shackle on nature capable by the human hand.

We call it hydro- "power" but power for whom?  When India completes their massive hydro-electric projects, someone will control not only a large quantity of electricity, but the flow of water to farmers and industries throughout the Indus and Ganges river basins. In a country where corruption runs rampant in even basic government affairs, is it a fair question to ask "who will have this power?"

"No photo" signs are posted all through the dam areas in

northern India.  I wonder what they have to hide.  In truth, I am fascinated by the construction as much as it horrifies me.  For it is not just an Indian problem, but a problem with the modern world that we think nature will give us "free" and "clean" energy at no cost to us or to our world.  It is human arrogance at its height to think that we can harness the powers of nature for "free," that we can simply

build our way out of an energy sinkhole into which we are rapidly falling.

I left my motorbike behind one day and hiked above the city to the snow-line to find trees.  The smell of pine brought back images of the American West in April.

Above Manali in the wintertime the road ends.  The end of the road always feels sad.  Sometimes I can delay this end by taking long-cuts.  But other times the road just ends and there is nothing to be done but turn around and ride back down to town, eat a curry, and look another day for that perfect road.

On the way back down the Manali, between the flowers and the apple blossoms, drums of tar are stored for the summer paving

operation.  Even enjoying a good road has its costs I suppose.

Heading toward the Indo-Tibetan Hwy and the Spiti Valley, I

paired up with two other couples on Enfields, and we took on a

mountain pass together.  This is the scene approaching the top.  I had

plenty of time to take pictures since they each had two people per

bike and thus kept overheating.

Taking a rest at the top of the pass.  My bike, “Rough Rosy the

Jewish Grandmother,” is on the right side with the tan seat.  We had

dal and rice and then had to use the brake all the way down the other

side.

Approaching the monastery where we would spend that night.  The

Kunnar Valley spread out below and the sun ducking around clouds.

Biking is fun!

In Kalpa, above the last main town before the Spiti Valley, a

boy waits for school to begin.

On the path leading up from town to the guesthouse where

my biker friends and I camped out.

Keep going up the path and you come to this cottage.  All the

roofing material here is slate.  In the afternoon, old women come to

the rooftops to take a nap and sun themselves.

The full moon rising over the Kunnar Valley.  Picture taken from

my guesthouse balcony.

Did I mention I’m afraid of heights?

Above the village of Mandi on the way toward the resort town of

Manali, the world famous Hash producing Pravati Valley.  This

particular village requires a basket ride to enter.  Such arrangements

are sprinkled all through the Himalaya.

An abandoned house in the Pravati Valley. The road goes for

another two or three bumpy kilometers before coming to a rocky end in

a tiny hilltop village full of apple blossoms and wood houses

A tiny hilltop village full of apple blossoms and wood houses, I

walked to an overlook and smoked a Bidi while I waited for the sun to

come out from behind a cloud.

Drive slowly if you are afraid of heights.

Did I mention I'm REALLY afraid of heights?