Today we had the pleasure of meeting Isabel's younger brother Bennett. She forwarded us the address to his apartment and after a fairly stressful auto ride, arrived at his flat. Chennai is a very large sprawling city, and just when you feel as though you've ventured to every corner you discover that you are very very wrong.
We pull up to the building, situated among other flats built in close proximity on this narrow street. Gates and compounds divide the lots from the streets and lead into subfloor parking garages. A quick elevator ride up and we step out in a foyer that signals, We're clearly in a different neighborhood now. Shining reflective tiled floors leading to the front doors surrounding the open breeze way. Plants and ironwork trim the perimeter.
Her brother greets us with big smiles and handshakes, welcoming us with mango juice, Indian snacks, and our first taste of a cool refreshing beer. We sit for a couple hours as we entertain each other with stories of Indian culture versus American and adjusting. He is so youthful, still full of life, that it feels as though we are chatting with one of our peers. Until he asks about Carmen's tattoo. A quote from a poem that to her reminds her to live life and each day to the fullest. We knew hew as Isabel's younger brother, and from the looks and actions we assumed mid to upper 20's. But the moment this man speaks his 41 years of wisdom is evident.
This was the first of many tidbits of wisdom he would drop on our young ears during the course of the evening. Still maintaining a light air to the atmosphere, he shared with us lessons on prayer, religion, society, growing up, working, and finding meaning in it all.
Soon we gathered up and headed out for dinner. As the dean of a school for hospitality and cuisine, he knows of all the finest dining and eating establishments in the city. We piled into his Ford Fiesta and he put on some of his favorite Indian music. The youth came out again as he cranked his custom sound system, allowing the bass to flow, massaging our backs and legs. The flutes, drums, an vocals flooded our ears and bodies with beauty. JB asked if she was singing in Tamil. No, Hindi. Does Bennett understand Hindi? No.
"But when an artist is passionate about the music they are creating, understanding the language is unnecessary. The passion speaks for itself."
Driving to dinner we got a view of a part of Chennai that we had not yet seen. I had wondered where Westerners stayed who vacationed here, because I knew that they would not find my modest neighborhood worth their $2,000 plane ticket. I found it.
This area reminded me of what a LA or Las Vegas strip might look like. Skyscraper hotels, lighting up the night sky, each with its own unique architecture, fountains, door hop, and valet parking. The car's music as a backdrop, I stared in amazement to the stark contrast between this and the Chennai I had come to know. My eyes scanning from one hotel to the next, reading the names of these fancy get-ups on their flashy signs. Sitting just above the window walls of the penthouse suites, fringing the top.
I was just imagining how spectacular the view must be from up there when my gaze dropped. Down at the bottom of these high rises, sitting along the curb just outside the grand entrances was a man, tattered clothes, gathering littered paper that he would be using for a bed that night. A young boy, walking up to those exiting their resorts to chauffeured cars, bringing his pinched fingers to and from his mouth in a motion of "feed me."
And as I looked around at the bottoms of these buildings, I noticed the same poverty, hunger and despair that I have seen all over the city.
Why do they build buildings so high? Why all these bright flashing colored lights only at the top to identify all the "Palaces," "Hiltons," and "Hyatt's"? Why is it the higher you go, the rooms get more and more expensive?
Maybe its because when we pay more and more money, we want a view that only shows the beauty and grandeur, shielding the "filth" below. I bet its pretty hard to see beggars on the street from that penthouse suite. That is, if you even took a moment to look down.
Our whole lives we are taught to work our way up to the top. Success is measured on ranks of a ladder. But I'm judging that it gets pretty lonely up there. Everything points our eyes up, makes us long and wonder at being up there that we completely forget our roots. The people at the bottom, that appear merely as ants, are our roots. They are those that keep our everyday comforts going without the slightest thanks or appreciation in the world. They represent where we came from, free of all materialism and consumerism weight we have accumulated on our climb. For in the beginning we all started just the same, and in the end we'll leave just as we came. Without our body, only our spirit.
Living life to the fullest. Full of what? Full of things of only material and monetary value that will inevitably wreck our body and soul? Or full of passion and meaning that will feed the body and enrich the soul?
Before dinner, Bennett took us up to the roof of his flat. The breeze was cool and refreshing as the sun's heat faded while it set. Turning the sky a gradient from blues to yellows and oranges. The city around me as far as I could see reflected the sky's palette, illuminating pink. I felt like a queen up there, thinking that this is a view I could get used to.
That's probably the same feeling you get viewing a sunset from a penthouse, and at that moment I understood the addicting ecstasy of it all.
I'm not saying its terrible to work and be successful in life. In all honesty, the work I'm doing at MCCSS would not be possible if it wasn't for those financially well off to the point they could be donors and sponsors for all the programs. I am young, and all I can give is my time and heart. But in a capital world, the gracious monetary donations are in the end what keep programs running.
So I leave you with this, if you got the chance to travel to India or any other developing nation, where would you stay? Would you retreat away to the tourist capital and look out your window, through the Western veil your money has paid for? Or would you indulge in the true life of the culture? If you do choose the former because at heart you're a sucker for the comfort of hot water, AC, and panoramic sunsets, I say that's fine. Just don't forget to look down.
We pull up to the building, situated among other flats built in close proximity on this narrow street. Gates and compounds divide the lots from the streets and lead into subfloor parking garages. A quick elevator ride up and we step out in a foyer that signals, We're clearly in a different neighborhood now. Shining reflective tiled floors leading to the front doors surrounding the open breeze way. Plants and ironwork trim the perimeter.
Her brother greets us with big smiles and handshakes, welcoming us with mango juice, Indian snacks, and our first taste of a cool refreshing beer. We sit for a couple hours as we entertain each other with stories of Indian culture versus American and adjusting. He is so youthful, still full of life, that it feels as though we are chatting with one of our peers. Until he asks about Carmen's tattoo. A quote from a poem that to her reminds her to live life and each day to the fullest. We knew hew as Isabel's younger brother, and from the looks and actions we assumed mid to upper 20's. But the moment this man speaks his 41 years of wisdom is evident.
"How can you live life to the fullest? Your soul is boundless, but your body is bound. If you try to live it to the extent of your soul, you'll wreck."
This was the first of many tidbits of wisdom he would drop on our young ears during the course of the evening. Still maintaining a light air to the atmosphere, he shared with us lessons on prayer, religion, society, growing up, working, and finding meaning in it all.
Soon we gathered up and headed out for dinner. As the dean of a school for hospitality and cuisine, he knows of all the finest dining and eating establishments in the city. We piled into his Ford Fiesta and he put on some of his favorite Indian music. The youth came out again as he cranked his custom sound system, allowing the bass to flow, massaging our backs and legs. The flutes, drums, an vocals flooded our ears and bodies with beauty. JB asked if she was singing in Tamil. No, Hindi. Does Bennett understand Hindi? No.
"But when an artist is passionate about the music they are creating, understanding the language is unnecessary. The passion speaks for itself."
Driving to dinner we got a view of a part of Chennai that we had not yet seen. I had wondered where Westerners stayed who vacationed here, because I knew that they would not find my modest neighborhood worth their $2,000 plane ticket. I found it.
This area reminded me of what a LA or Las Vegas strip might look like. Skyscraper hotels, lighting up the night sky, each with its own unique architecture, fountains, door hop, and valet parking. The car's music as a backdrop, I stared in amazement to the stark contrast between this and the Chennai I had come to know. My eyes scanning from one hotel to the next, reading the names of these fancy get-ups on their flashy signs. Sitting just above the window walls of the penthouse suites, fringing the top.
I was just imagining how spectacular the view must be from up there when my gaze dropped. Down at the bottom of these high rises, sitting along the curb just outside the grand entrances was a man, tattered clothes, gathering littered paper that he would be using for a bed that night. A young boy, walking up to those exiting their resorts to chauffeured cars, bringing his pinched fingers to and from his mouth in a motion of "feed me."
And as I looked around at the bottoms of these buildings, I noticed the same poverty, hunger and despair that I have seen all over the city.
Why do they build buildings so high? Why all these bright flashing colored lights only at the top to identify all the "Palaces," "Hiltons," and "Hyatt's"? Why is it the higher you go, the rooms get more and more expensive?
Maybe its because when we pay more and more money, we want a view that only shows the beauty and grandeur, shielding the "filth" below. I bet its pretty hard to see beggars on the street from that penthouse suite. That is, if you even took a moment to look down.
Our whole lives we are taught to work our way up to the top. Success is measured on ranks of a ladder. But I'm judging that it gets pretty lonely up there. Everything points our eyes up, makes us long and wonder at being up there that we completely forget our roots. The people at the bottom, that appear merely as ants, are our roots. They are those that keep our everyday comforts going without the slightest thanks or appreciation in the world. They represent where we came from, free of all materialism and consumerism weight we have accumulated on our climb. For in the beginning we all started just the same, and in the end we'll leave just as we came. Without our body, only our spirit.
Living life to the fullest. Full of what? Full of things of only material and monetary value that will inevitably wreck our body and soul? Or full of passion and meaning that will feed the body and enrich the soul?
Before dinner, Bennett took us up to the roof of his flat. The breeze was cool and refreshing as the sun's heat faded while it set. Turning the sky a gradient from blues to yellows and oranges. The city around me as far as I could see reflected the sky's palette, illuminating pink. I felt like a queen up there, thinking that this is a view I could get used to.
That's probably the same feeling you get viewing a sunset from a penthouse, and at that moment I understood the addicting ecstasy of it all.
I'm not saying its terrible to work and be successful in life. In all honesty, the work I'm doing at MCCSS would not be possible if it wasn't for those financially well off to the point they could be donors and sponsors for all the programs. I am young, and all I can give is my time and heart. But in a capital world, the gracious monetary donations are in the end what keep programs running.
So I leave you with this, if you got the chance to travel to India or any other developing nation, where would you stay? Would you retreat away to the tourist capital and look out your window, through the Western veil your money has paid for? Or would you indulge in the true life of the culture? If you do choose the former because at heart you're a sucker for the comfort of hot water, AC, and panoramic sunsets, I say that's fine. Just don't forget to look down.
2 comments:
Love the absolutely honest point of view! I've passed these along to Gran, and she is LOVING keeping up with you! I have to be honest, I check your site daily, hoping there's something new from you. Keep it coming!
Following your adventures Jessi. This will change your life. So proud of you!
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