It's been a calm few weeks, and I apologize for my lacking blog updates. I've been busy. I went down to Delhi to meet Richard Zernickow - a friend of a friend for a wedding. He was new to India, as were the 2 other American's he brought with them. It was a little overwhelming for them, and more so for their digestive systems. Delhi is a crazy place, dust, soot, pollution, noise, and unequivocal peacefullness from person to person dominate the landscape. A city packed of people, toxins, traffic, and litter - and within the people mostly you can only find kindness, and a pleasure to interact with one another. It is, in general, a phenomenon of India to me- the constant, wriggling existance of so many people, shuffling in and out of vacant spaces - but with grace and comfort. In crowd, especially in America (where everyone is taller), I remember the feeling of suffocation, trampeling of people, a desire of space and privacy. Mostly, those "luxuries" are not available here - and especially in Delhi. But there also seems to be little craving for them... the nestling of 45 close relatives in 2 houses next to each other is a comfort, not a burden. It's not even questioned.

Richard and I were permitted to join the family for most of the family events. We went to the celebration night for the Groom, the celebration dinner for the bride (where I received Mahendi (or Henna)), the night-before festivities at the family's house, and the 2 wedding ceremonies and receptions on the wedding day.

One of the most beautiful wedding ceremonies was when the Groom's aunts, mother, sisters, and female cousins did a ritual where they sang a song and put different combonations of spices with Yogurt on his body. They then rubbed a Tumeric paste all over his skin, and rinsed him with Milk. The Tumeric is supposed to be a anti-toxin, while the milk is supposed to smooth and make the skin radiant. The voices and dancing of the women were lovely, soulful, and wonderful. It reminded me of my own lovely aunties and uncles singing at christmas, weddings, or whenever the mood strikes them (brown eyed girl @ sara's wedding, for instance; or christmas songs at grandma hoovlers with Janette on the Piano).

The bride's family was Sikh, and the groom's was Hindu. This often causes some tensions amongst the families, but the entire week of events was amiable and lovely (of course, I don't speak perfect Hindi, so there was much I did not understand..).

After 6 long, polluted days in Delhi, and Richard having lost some 10 pounds from a stomach bug, I dragged him up to Manali & my new village, Vashist.

After a nice thankgiving dinner, 4 days after his arrival, Richard left, back to California to produce face creams for Johnson and Johnson... and I stayed, here in Vashist.

I've started giving English lessons to a friend of mine, in return his family provides me food and a comfortable room overlooking the river and the Himalayas. It's quieter in my new place, save for the sounds that come from the cows and the subtle background of the River.

A good friend of mine, Nishant, who owns a great Guesthouse & Restaurant in Old Manali - wants a new garden cafe. I've signed up to help him design it, plans are being made now - construction to begin in March.

I was at the site of the cafe last week, when the familiar bongo and horn sounds that announce a wedding parade started booming down the lane. I walked over the the edge of the terrace, to notice that instead of a wedding parade, it was one of the funeral marches. I was struck by how similar they were in the musical announcement. Funeral parades, similar to weddings, involve a large amount of people from the community. However, in contrast, rather than a mixed bag of women and men - the funeral march is all men. And instead of dancing and jerking their hands about in the air, in a flair of decadence and celebration; the men carry a log, one each, from each of their households along the corridor. Not in silence, but not in jubulation, either. Every once and awhile, as I stood and watched the parade, not my first that I've witnessed, I noticed the nuances. Occasionally, an elderly man, bearing his one log on his shoulder, would weaken - and a more young, lithe man would offer to bear his log on his other shoulder, or stacked two high on the shoulder he was already carrying his log upon. I like Indian funerals. I like how public they are, how visual. The coffin is covered in large, brightly colored shawls and fabrics. The men, each bring their one log, and they take the body to the river. They build a pyre, together, and burn the body. In the open, everyone sees it, everyone knows it. Later that day, or sometimes earlier, there is a meal, or two: for all the locals. Eating, drinking, chai-sipping, talking and being together... not just one family or another, but the entire town. Deaths are felt and honored across the entire village. No celebrations (even private ones) are held on days of deaths. Any festival, prayer session, sacrifices, or jubulation will be post-poned, until the day or two after the rites. I guess I just remember how strange it was, to me, when my Dad died, how the whole world seemed to keep functioning - as if it hadn't happened. How surreal it was, that cars drove by, and people shopped in the market, and didn't realize the massive love and lovliness that had passed from the world. To go to the drugstore was bizzare, they had no awareness of the burden of greif that sat upon any of us. Here, it is not the same. Here, it is clear, obvious, and fiercely observed. There are many things I still do not understand about these funeral rites, but the little I do: the public and communal nature of them - I respect a great deal. It somehow gives me some sort of warmth to see these parades, rather than a sadness. Death is a natural part of living, I suppose it is a warmth gained from knowing these people never suffer that death in isolation.

Otherwise, not much else happening. Lots of reading, hiking, and meeting people. Enjoying the process of desiging a cookbook as well. Small things, and naunced discoveries mostly capture my attention.

Dear love to all of you,
Zoe