Mitraniketan

There’s a guy working the rubber trees below my third floor balcony this morning.  He has a chisel-like knife which he uses to re-cut a new slice through the bark on the edge of an already existing foot-foot and a half long arc, which releases and directs the flow of sap into a small cone-shaped black bowl hanging below.  I know nothing about how rubber is made (and not planning to go on-line to find out – in this place, I want to go directly to the source). But here is where it starts. The trees are relatively small, 6-10 inches in diameter, leaves with a beech-like shape, some dark green, some browning as if changing season. February starts the move into summer here.  Someone else is carrying 2 water jugs down the path.

Mitraniketan is a thriving community of some 500 people – 300 of them students in the children’s school , 70 or so in the “People’s College” (inspired by the Danish folkhighschool), and various workers and staff/teachers. Started in 1956 by a young man named K. Viswanathan (prounounced Vish’ – wan – a’ – ta). In 1953, he came to the States, starting at the Quaker conference center Pendle Hill (PA), and from there found his way to Arthur Morgan, the influential and inspiring leader of Antioch College in Yellow Spring OH. Yellow Springs and Antioch were in their heyday of forming community cooperatives and the “education for life,” or living-learning that is the Antioch way.  After almost a year in the States, he made his way to England to study community education programs there, and then to Denmark, learning about the folkhighschool.

The educational program of Mitraniketan has 4 main parts: the primary/secondary school, serving the 300 students from low-income, and otherwise struggling families; The “People’s College” (inspired by Grundtvig and the Danish folkhighschool) has about 70 students; then there is an Agricultural Technology Center – kind of like an ag center in the US – where area residents and farmers can get training, learn skills to become more self-reliant with such activities as growing mushrooms, fruits and other vegetables, livestock, and so on.  The Center staff also learn indigenous practices from the residents, and help to keep these alive; Finally the Technology Center supports skills and the business of pottery, iron-work, textiles, batik and other fabric work.

“Viswan” turns 85 today. He and his wife Sethu have welcomed us (seminar folks and the other visiting European volunteers) into his house, 2 round brick rooms (sleeping, kitchen) connected with an open dining area and adjoining round garden, for eating and occasional evening tea/conversation, all covered by coconut palm-thatched roofed. The “yard” is lined by stone walks and walls, and many potted plants. Out back is a small cooking hut.  I met Viswan in Denmark in the early 90s and it is a delight to be in his sweet and gentle presence again. He flatters me, saying how important it is that we are here; he is discouraged with that state of Mitraniketan. I laugh, both of us knowing the incredible impact he has had with 56 years of transforming formerly barren land into this community, teeming with learning, productivity, love, and people power. Of course money has always been and continues to be a problem.  Continuity of staffing is an issue - teachers come and go frequently. That seems to be the nature of “learning for life.”

Birthdays are generally a private family affair, in Kerala, and this morning, Viswan and Sethu visited a small temple about 20 or so kilometers away as they have done every year on his birthday for some time. It is a temple that in Viswan’s youth, ignored the caste system that would otherwise have excluded him, and he often spent time there to take advantage of the quiet for his studies. He joined our seminar group of 10 later in the afternoon. In the evening when we gathered in his house for our evening session, I had the honor, as AWE VP from North America to present him with a scarf, which we followed with a Danish birthday song and tea.  A bit out of Kerala birthday tradition!

A rubber-making update. As we walked back to our “guest house” today from our morning meeting, we encountered about 50 or more quarter to half inch thick, placemat size, translucent rubber mats laid out in the drive in the sun.  So the small “pancakes” that settle into the sap-collecting bowls somehow get melted into these mats. I’ll keep you posted on what I find out that happens next.

Speaking of trees, there seem to be over 20 varieties of bananas around here. We generally eat the small (4 inches or so) very sweet variety, but have also had even sweeter orangy ones. Reghu says he knows at least a dozen varieties by taste/shape. Pineapples, and of course, coconuts are plentiful. My only complaint is that it’s not mango season!!

Will do my best to get some pics loaded!

The Way It Is

There's a thread you follow.
It goes among things that change.
   But it doesn't change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain
   about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can't get lost.
   Tragedies happen
   People get old and die
   and you suffer and get old.

Nothing you do can stop
   time unfolding
You don't ever let go
   of the thread.

-  William Stafford

coming home: Where to Start? a newcomer's story

How amazing the human body and consciousness is. To be one day slopping through snow and bundling against the elements (well, maybe not real artic winter yet), or even drinking beer in a NYC Grand Central Station oyster bar. The next day wandering through a grove of coconut, rubber and banana trees, taking in a curious mix of smells and sounds and sights totally from a different side of the plant. Welcome to Kerala, India.

It was dark at 5 on Wednesday morning as my driver threaded his way away from the Trivandrum airport, gradually rising from the coast into the hills. The little diesel engine car wound along (on the right hand side of) small, windy roads, where despite the hour, people were gathering around small open air store fronts/snack huts, wood fires or stoves, (and oh, yes, there’s someone carrying a vessel on their head) – or motoring by motor scooter, bus, lorry (somehow that seems the better word than “truck” –  after all, this is a former British colony), or the occasional small car. It’s mostly forested, and life sits right there along the road, a lot of concrete walls and houses, from shack to ornate tile-roofed beauties. Wood smoke, damp, a rich mix of earthy smells, and color, even through the dark. Welcome to Kerala India, other side of the planet from my home.

By day – today, Friday, being my first trip back to the city – it’s all that and more in the light. My driver, as all drivers, drives with his horn, bumping along at no more than 30 mph, tapping the horn to warn the many pedestrians, or slower 3-wheeled auto rickshaws, or bicycles of his presence, or intention to pass. With all the honking, no one is angry, or offended when being cut off. It’s just the close way of being together, often with little leeway for maneuvering – WATCH OUT for that bus! – and taking advantage of the small space that is there for the maneuvering around. Hot, dusty, loud, crowded. The presence of the communist party (red flags and bamboo, or wood bus stop-like shelters with pictures of politicians) is common – Kerala was the first place in the world, in the late 40s to democratically elect the communists into power. 60 years later, it is the progressive hot spot of India.

The hilltowns (as we call then in Western Mass) here are small villages with tiny open shops that either hold groceries (fronted by bananas, oranges, and now coconuts and melons or sweet-looking cookies, or packaged candies), or “stuff” that you’re not sure what the theme is (and being limited to English): buckets, clothes (well that one’s usually clear), repair shops. Piles of stuff everywhere. No glass (as in windows), including on the buses. As you get closer to the city, more glass, more signs giving you clues to the nature of the vendor, more people, more contrast with money.

I’ve settled in to my new comforts, housed in a small whitewashed brick room with private toilet, in the Guest House of Mitranketan. Mitraniketan is a fascinating community and education center that was in part inspired by Antioch College and its hometown of Yellow Springs Ohio, and prominent President in the mid 20^th century Arthur Morgan. I’ll write more about this later. Basic accommodations, again, no glass, just curtains, a small little balcony looking out through the woods. 80 (27C) degrees by day; down to 75 in the early morning hours. The big red bucket is key, since you fill that with water to flush the toilet or bath yourself. As I and others got coached in preparing for this visit, bottled water only for tooth brushing and drinking – though our hostesses in the Director’s House where we eat, boils water for us to fill our water bottles with.  

At a restaurant lunch in town today today with the the People's College Director Reghu and our driver, I drank bottled water; they drank some local water based drink from a glass. I mostly used a fork to eat with, though gradually involved fingers, watching while my hosts ate artfully and entirely with fingers, very effective for mixing the rice with fish, vegetables, and all kinds of sauces. A “hungry man’s” meal as Reghu tells me. When you pause in your eating, you just rest your gloppy hands on the edge of the table. You wash up at the end of the meal.

I wake up around 4 am, partly because of jet lag (10.5 hours ahead of EST), partly because that’s when the various local churches, synogogues, and not sure who else start their amplified music, chanting, Indian string music (sitar?), filtering through the woods. Since Thursday was a national holiday (Indian constitution day), and then today was a sudden added one (the Governor of Kerala died the night before), there is even more occasion for these morning rituals, as well as some kind of singing this afternoon, and the night before.

I’ve already joined a small community of Europeans at eating times (and sharing rooms in the Guesthouse). A small group from a Swedish folkhighschool including 2 Icelanders and a Dane; several other Danes, a couple of retired German teachers, a traveling Brit/Scot couple. They are all doing a variety of teaching or work volunteering.  My own “comrades” from the Association for World Education are arriving on Sunday – we set to work on Monday for a week. So my orientation is helped along by these conversations, along with a borrowed copy of the infamous “Lonely Planet” guide to India. Learning about all the places I’ll want to visit when our seminar is over. 

And the Indian people. To no surprise, they are friendly, smiley, warm, and … relaxed. I’m already drinking up the slowed down pace (amidst the crowded, noisy, smell-filled stimulating surroundings). How does that work?. Of course I’m not doing much myself just yet. Everyone is comfortable with English, so the learning for me is catching on to the accent.

So now I am plugged in, taking away a bit of the freedom of being totally in India. Deferring to my home habit of minimizing the on-the-go phone, I instead (of a phone) purchased a $30 USB wireless plug in today, which required a side trip to get a photo id made to make the purchase with (along with passport). High security, what with the role of communications in the Arab Spring and beyond. So now I can post on this blog, and do e-mail. When we get our seminar started on Monday, we’ll be posting on facebook as well! Stay tuned!

I’ve promised some, and will at some point, writing about the bigger journey I am on these 6 months –life – ahead. Until then, welcome to India!

stay tuned!

Aided by my tech-saavy daughter Holly, who's off to France, I'm launched to blog! Of course, she's already on her adventure with backdrop of French wine, cheese, fruit and bread. In fact it seems that was her first meal in Paris. For now, I'm packing and plan to post once I head out from Florence: January 19. Flight to India: Jan 23. Arrival in Trivandrum, Kerala, India (west coast near southern tip): Jan. 25.
Stay tuned!
Chris