Long Train to Goa

Part II: Arrival/Reflections

Alarms ring out into the eerie black-green world of hanging curtains.

all over the train there are people comfortably sitting in near pitch black darkness a man checks his phone. As he does it phantasmally illuminates his now floating face in a soft blue. All of these points of light are similar floating islands, free of the usual references. He tucks in into his breast pocket giving the illusion that his heart is on fire with a blue flame. Glowing a strange glow this heart back lights moving shadows around him. I have just sat upright and my eyes were a little blury, my head was a little foggy, and my glasses were still in the cup holder.

Perhaps this gave rise to my somewhat mystical first view of the train this morning, But perhaps instead it was that India has gotten in my system a little bit. I mean the part about the blue flaming heart? Could it be the giardia talking? I find myself in one of the most mystical, polytheistic, pantheistic, multicultural, hesitantly westernizing countries in the world...diverse doesn't cut it. The spirituality here has caused a little bit of me to come back alive. The tug of war in me between rational and spiritual is at stand still, and both are worn down horribly because of it. Are creationism and darwinism mutually exclusive? Can I ever possibly believe in the book of Genesis a little bit more loosely and still balance the rest of the bible on such an untested foundation? These questions are not new but have been plaguing me for some time, but are resurfacing in this blog because as you know (from last post) I am reading The Greatest show On Earth by Richard Dawkins, and it is a fine specimen of biological writing.

Now say what you want about his book The God Delusion because I have not read it to defend it, but then again, neither have the most opinionated critics of it. Dawkins is still a phenominal author with an eye for illustrative analogies. I think Dawkins could be to biology what Stephen Hawking has been to physics: a sort of demystifying arbiter bringing the frontier of the field to the public in very delightful ways. This book serves as a delightful overview of the reasoning behind Evolution by Natural Selection, complete with an intimate knowledge of the people who helped shape it. To those who are interested in understanding what evolution and natural selection are all about this book could easily smote even the most fierce misunderstanding of the subject. I should not really presume to speak about my views of evolution being still a humble student of it, but I will say that I find it all too muddled in political and spiritual skews to be talked about without offending someone. I have spent a large amount of money to cross the world and study this very theory, whether very intentionally in a classroom or casually, as I observe all the unique niches which life inhabits. One cannot study biology without starting with evolution and marvel to see it explain vast phenomena.

I first state as I'm sure at least a couple of you must take for granted, I am a believer in Darwin's theory (theory used in the scientific sense, not in a casual sense, see OED), as it is continuously being hammered out by rigorous testing by contemporary scientists. As well, the Earth is not less than 10,000 years old but millions. However, these two statements and theism are not mutually exclusive to me. Whatever you believe spiritually where things remain unprovable scientifically (but not beyond the grasp of reason as I will discuss in a moment) the material world is bound by laws. Things like gravity. That particular constant (consider the meaning of this word) will always be = 6.6726 x 10^-11N-m²/kg² (at least in this universe but it seems physics scholars are thumping their heads about the possibility of more, one will do for this train of thought). And I have to say knowing I will step on toes that I think in 2011, over 150 years after the publishing of On the Origin of Species, I think it is time that the FACT of evolution must be accepted as it is very firmly supported by an irrefutable mass of evidence when taken together or, at the very least, we should be able to teach such a fundamental theory without diversion. Again I cannot argue the subject with the duty it is owed so again I defer to Dr. Dawkins. But where does this tie back to the rational/spiritual tug of war? How does one balance what he knows rationally with what he knows spiritualy?

As my good friends know I have been in a period of extreme and somewhat maddening doubt. The more I doubt God the more manic and somewhat insane I become. This trend is generally given by the function I(B)=B^1. You will notice that even if I have a functional level of belief being mostly doubtful, this greatly reduces my insanity. Somewhat scientifically, I have been examining this relationship over the last couple of years, and to the best of my observation this trend remains true. I have unfortunately tested it again and again knowing intuitively where it will lead. I can therefore reasonably (as I mentioned previously) decide to be a believer in Jesus if I value my mental health. [edit] But I think the goal of faith resides somewhere beyond the reasonable, perhaps even past the intuitive. That a reasonable belief leaves a rather large void between the superficial and what could be called the real value of believing in Christ. My ultimate goal is not sanity (it's a bit unattainable anyway) but my apostasy has definite and observable effects (insanity is only one). And to cut through the dry scientific 'mumbo-jumbo' I have come to miss what I used to see in the person of Christ. I used to read St. Matthew and feel perfection radiating from the page. Whatever the causes I'm ready for this exile to end, and I'm ready to take steps to ensure that it does.

The obvious point to be made by skeptics is that 'religion makes you feel good, true or not.' To this I give a resounding yes. In my periods of deepest doubt I have felt, pardon my harsh terms, like shit; and whether I am right about there being a God or not? I still doubt. I still doubt mostly even. While I admit that these times of doubt are necessary for any believer to experience, I choose actively now to swim in the stream of this belief as opposed to being continually swept under. [end edit]

Some skeptics might call me a coward but I respond to them thus: In my days of severest doubt I drifted from “faith to faith;” some of you can remember my attempt at Orthodoxy. While impassioned about what I had found in this faith, I used it as a shield, even as wedge between those me and those who loved me. When who loved me enough to overlook this wedge, to refuse it it's 'wedginess,' to chase after a fleeing Grant that they both knew and loved, moved to something more extreme. I became quite interested in Sufi Islam even uttering to some of you that conversion had crossed my mind I continued this pattern whit several other somewhat spiritual separatist beliefs afraid to believe anything for too long, afraid that I might actually have to act upon these beliefs. Now I pose the question, who is the coward? The man running from his loved ones too afraid that he cannot fulfill his side of the arrangement, or the man who knowingly admits that he cannot fulfill these commitments but would like to try hoping that God will “forgive him his debts, as he forgives his debtors.” But resting somewhat certainly in the unending mercies of a loving God spends the majority of his life begging forgiveness from those who love him for the many ways he might have hurt them.

Therefore forgive me all you who I have neglected in the recent years, months, weeks, or days.

Leave a name, because I miss you all and I wish to be with you when I come back to Tulsa this summer.

Long Train to Goa

Part I: Transit

I crunch and munch on my masala dinner, a strange mixture of puffed serials and dried vegetables. Squeezed, all five feet & eleven inches of me into a bed which can barely accommodate five feet and six. I didn't expect anymore that's for sure. I am beginning to feel at home in a bed that might see me as a challenge. This particular bed is headed northwest at a rapid rate. I'm on a train for Bangalore, the capital of Karnataka. I'm in the “A/C Sleeper,” a car which I foresee will be too much of the first and not enough of the second. Like most places in South India the attitude towards air-conditioning seems to be to get it while the getting is good, and get as much as possible. Walking into an A/C dining room at a fancy restaurant you will notice goosebumps on everyone's arms as their body temperature drops dangerously low. Blue lips are soon to come, followed by numbness in their extremities. The train is quite like The Dharjeeling Limited complete with subtle snips at co-passengers. Thankfully, no cobra has been purchased, though we haven't had the oppurtunity.

All my old standards of cleanlinees have changed. Things like wearing the same shirt five times doesn't bother me as long as it has had a day of rest, or a few hours in the sun. I still brush my teeth every morning. I wash my hands before meals, actually with more attention to detail than before, but that's because I use the left hand and a mug of water to finish off the less sanitary of human duties. The towel I brought from home, once somewhat white is now a faint orange, but the red dirt is impossible to be rid of.

I eat with my hands (just the right one). In fact Indian meals seem to have been designed for the express purpose of not needing utensils. The best way to explain a normal South Indian is that you get rice, something to soggy that rice, and something to scoop that soggy rice with. Normally the rice is spiced with clove and bay leaves, the soggy stuff is dahl and curd, and the scooping item is a few freshly cooked chappathi. The meals we have eaten never stray from this regimen far. At breakfast often you will get dosa--which is much like a very thin crispy pancake--which mostly scoops Sambar—a soupy yellow substance which to me is indistinguishable from dahl. Of course there are many other types of breakfast foods, but they all must scoop Sambar in the end. Lunch is the biggest meal of the day, and on Pulicat Lake almost always included very freshly caught crab, or prawn. Which makes more sense to me than the Big American Dinner because I assume it doesn't take that much food just to sleep until breakfast. Tonight my dinner on the train to Goa was vegetable biryani which, not surprisingly, is mostly just rice, as well as a small package of rice soaked with curd. Both contain “pickle” which is not pickled cucumber. This pickle still contains vinegar but the object of this pickling is usually a piece of lime or mango and a bunch of chili pepper.

Now I didn't think it would bother me, but here I sit a little disgusted and hesitant to swallow. I have found myself chewing mushy rice, in no dire need for any mastication whatsoever, for minutes at a time always hoping that it might turn into something more nutritious through some unseen magic between my molars. Then the substance which you worked so hard to eat until you were satiated, despite all the protest of the smooth muscle in your esophagous, seems to evaporate out of your stomach in a matter of minutes like you had actually just been eating the dreams of a steak dinner. However to complain about rice in Southeast Asia is as futile as counting grains of sand. Most cultures here have a whole deity appointed to rice, and apparently the prayers to them are very fruitful. One particular goddess, whose name and origin escapes me, was said in times of deep famine to squeeze her breast to feed mankind, the white rain filled up rice grains, even showing the passion to squeeze until she bled accounting for red and brown rice. Rice is quite a precious thing over here, and I'm sure has been welcome food for starving poor more times than a corn/wheat eater like myself could understand.

Without the satiation of divine lactate only an hour after eating dinner I am hungry again. But the only food I have is Richard Dawkins most recent book The Greatest Show On Earth. While about as nutritious as the rice-cake I snacked on earlier, it is a bit more expensive and more valuable to me still bound and legible. I find it quite enjoyable. And I read it far too long tonight because I must wake up at 5:15 to get off the train in Goa.

"Home" again.

Our trip to the Andamans has expired and tired and longing for solitude I returned to FERAL this week. The students who were staying at a separate campus have moved in here with us. This was a very good pragmatic decision, but unfortunately not all was so rosy. Upon return to what had been my home for a week already I discovered I had been exiled. One of the new additions had acquired my chambers by means of early slumber, and on the understanding that arrangements were not final I squeezed reluctantly into a tiny shared room. Now if you'll recall the size of what was formerly my room from the first post's photograph, and consider that I had already moved into it completely and made it my own space, and also consider that this was a newcomer to FERAL of a group who had bemoaned their circumstances until pacified. I make my point: why was I displaced with seniority on my side? In retrospect it could be cause I am not narcoleptic enough to go to bed at eight o'clock, but also because I don't feel I know this person enough to confront them about it. So the next morning I excused myself and removed all my possessions from my former home and felt just the slightest bit lost in this expedition.

I didn't come, obviously, to feel at home but abroad, but I think I have learned about my own need for a personal space through the loss of it. This loss has been temporary as I have dealt with it by getting extremely compulsive with my suitcases and organizing them. You might laugh but it worked surprisingly well. As well I have about three square meters of space in my shared room which is distinctly mine. This week has been otherwise uneventful. We have lectures in between tea times which seem to be the linchpins of this entire society and about five hours of free time every night depending on how much of a night owl you are. I have spent most of my free time studying entomolgy for my research project, which for those who don't know, is an enormous subject due to the diversity of insects and a bit daunting.

On my project, I think I have finally settled. For background there is a family of flies called Agromyzidae that make what are called leaf mines. In other words their larvae live inside a host leaf under the cuticle and eat their way through it until they have acquired enough energy to metamorphose into a full grown fly. These tunnels or mines usually widen as the larvae grow and undergo ecdysis (the process of shedding the outer layer to allow growth). The ones I am concerning myself with are those, probably few, genera which predate on mangroves. I will be collecting these parasitized leaves and identifying them to the most specific phylogenetic level, then measuring the length versus width throughout the leaves to find a rate of growth, then estimate leaf area needed to metamorphose The end game is to answer questions such as: Are certain species of fly showing host preference? Does the substrate affect the growth rate or amount of leaf needed to metamorphose? Plus it just sounded interesting to me. It's a new subject, I get the chance to test a hypothesis, I get to use a little statistics and maybe a little calculus. And I'm really impatient to get started.

Some More Hard Times

Waking up in a sweat is not a good start to a day, and usually unmistakable; however when it's 90 degrees and 100% relative humidity, you might pause for a second. This time I didn't pause long, and in fact, sprang with surprising swiftness to the toilet where the taste of liquid, masticated, par-digested olive pizza filled the back of my throat. The inside of my mouth sweated its own salty sweat, and my throat relaxed like one lies down to sleep. Unbeknownst to it, something fowl was already brewing. In a blur I ejected the pieces of my dinner that had not escaped to my small intestine, and I continued until my depths were sufficiently bailed, and the normal gastric processes quit. I learned after this bout that an even more unspeakable evil had awaited the food which had passed on into my intestines. They were alchemized into something, well, unspeakable... which also passed with surprising swiftness. I then went back to my bed to lay in a daze of David Bazan infused delirium and think about what mistake I had made in this heavenly place to heap on myself such wrath, and realized two possibilities.
The shrimp I had as an appetizer the night before, it tasted a bit like low-tide... perhaps it's strange taste wasn't the only payload it was carrying. Second, I have been on an antibiotic for 5 days for giardia of which I took the final one the morning before at six o'clock sharp. Bradley, my roomie, is on the same antibiotic. Now to the point: it is contraindicated with alcohol. But I wanted a beer with my dinner. The medicine causes projectile vomiting in 50% of cases and death in <1% of those cases. So being me, I quickly did the math. I couldn't have had more than half of the medication still in my system, so the equation would be (.5)*(.5V + .01D) where V stands for vomiting and D stands for death) leaving a 25% chance of projectile vomiting and <.25% chance of death. Now liking those odds I ordered one 10oz beer with my pizza, again staying well on the safe side. So taking my life and my beer in my hands I decided to celebrate not having giardia. And while statistically unlikely, my hubris could have lead me to a disgusting after party, one that my roommate was lucky enough to miss. But that being said, I woke up with a fever,which makes me think neither of those theories are true, as in science a theory must explain all phenomena. So I reject them like the young earth theory and take action like washing my hands more often.
Another incident transpired the last day of our stay on Havelock island. I'll take my time to tell about it. We decided to adventure out to Ingles Island. It's very remote, about an hour and forty five on the tiny boats. We snorkeled over a pretty awesome reef. I got the oppurtunity to see several banded reef kraits foraging for little fish in the corals as well as huge humphead parrot fish which I'm sure are the most unfortunate looking creatures god has decided to create upon the earth. I suggest you look them up. Then we took a mile hike through the jungle to arrive at an even more exclusive beach. One without a single footprint in the sand until we arrived. I spotted a rock outcrop just to the west with lots of amazing tide-pools under it. I investigated and noticed a little hole in the rock about ten feet up that looked like the perfect seat. So I climbed. And took a few pictures therefrom. Eleanor yelled out jokingly, “I'm done over here, I'm leaving you for dead!” and as I started to climb down I exclaimed “Don't leave me for [rock breaking] 'OH SHIT!!!” and proceeded to fall about six feet smashing my left ankle, right knee, and the left side of my rib cage on a piece of somewhat jagged rock. “OH GOD, GRANT!” I heard as I continued to do a barrel roll off another rock and finally land at the base of the outcrop. The hike back through the forest was long scenic and painful. My ankle is still visibly swollen and there are still other vestiges of my little tumble but after two days at least I don't walk so gimp-like anymore.
Havelock was getting a little suffocating anyway, but where we were staying on Havelock had a water heater. We just moved to a place outside of Port Blair called the Andaman and Nicobar Environmental Team and all we have to shower with is buckets of 70 degree filtered pond water. Gecko's have become a welcome visitor. Which is good because they would visit whether welcomed or not – there must be thousands in ANET alone, I don't mind them sneaking a peak in the shower as long as they keep eating mosquito's. That's a species which isn't going extinct anytime soon.
Apart from this incident my stay in the Andamans has been pretty good. I've got some really nice people surrounding me. Eleanor was bringing me The Life Aquatic to watch between bouts of expulsion, and all the "Peace Kids," a second group from Juniata that left the day of my plague, all dropped in to say goodbye. As well this is by far the most scenic place I have found myself so far. The sun sets over crystal waters every night at 4:30 and rises every morning around 5. They apparently don't correct for time differences, but my circadian rhythm beats on unaffected. Most mornings we rise at six to be served nutella and banana stuffed crepes by the waiters in the dining hall. They don't speak much English, so it's always fun to try and mix up some order and see what comes out. At least they got the fish sandwich right. Usually after breakfast we have a little tea. Then we kit up, donning wet suits and boots to ride a boat to some unbelievably even more scenic beach and dive into an alien world. It's not so bad a life really, puking aside. We alternate dive days with lecture days where we discuss the effects of coral on carbon production and sea grasses on species diversity etc. etc.
All this mayhem aside. I really miss a lot of you and really-really miss a couple of you...don't be jealous. It sounds a little un-bro to say the first two but when I'm sick I want my mom to go get me some lemon gatorade. I don't think there's gatorade in this whole country, just electral, an electrolite solution that tastes like salty sugar for 3 seconds and cheese for 4 hours. It's aftertaste is nigh immortal. Secondly when I’m in a place that's so different i wish that my girlfriend didn't cost so much to call. Miss you babe. (P.S. the hand soap here smells like you, hope that's not creepy.) Secondly I'm rooming with a really nice gay guy, a somewhat geeky fishing freak, and a quiet Pennsylvanian TSAS kid. The point is that those guys aren't Tyler and Seth... you complete me.

p.s. pictures later. Internet cafe connection is pretty slow.

Rice Fish and Humidity.

When leaving the states my mother exclaimed "I think you'll have better care than you do here!" Referring to the fact that here I don't wash my own clothes, I get three meals a day cooked for me, a doctor visits once a week, and my sheets get changed. Well while this is true, there are a few more problems too. Your clothes are soggy with sweat after 8 hours of wearing them, and while in Oklahoma these clothes dry in a few minutes, here there is not much hope. There is always more sun to make you sweat, more rain to drench you, and the combination there of, leaves a humidity that must be well over 100%. While I understand that it is a logistical impossibility, the water in the air sticks to you like a car windshield, so thick you can write messages in it for everyone to see.

Now the food is phenominal let's not get me wrong, usually starting with an orange or banana and some fruit juice for a snack before breakfast, dhosas and chapatthi with an arrange of chutneys and potato masala, then a vegetarian lunch that is mostly rice and curried red beans some bread (again chapatti) and mango juice, then a dinner. Now dinner is the time which is most likely for you to get some meat. I say it like this because it is not a certainty. Now Americans, I'm beginning to notice, eat a lot of meat comparitively. This meat laden diet keeps a certain flora of bacteria in your gut, which vegetables will not sustain. This means an upset in your little gastronomic ecosystem, meaning the bad bacteria that are there get to take up the slack caused by your new diet. The result is IBS, which I am becoming familiar with. I'm here waiting on the system to equilibriate. The waiting isn't really fun, so I take probiotics, but I still haven't noticed much of a difference. I have also recently developed some body aches. If it doesn't clear up, it may be caused by a little protist called Giardia lamblia. Some of you might know it. It's a fancy term for "I drank the water," or in my case I brushed my teeth with the water before I knew which water was ok. Another more interesting diagnosis I received for my body aches is called rice flu. It's when you have eaten so much rice that your pancreas is overworked from the sugar giving you aches and making you really tired. And on water: if you don't drink about 2 or more litres per day you will get a splitting, nauseating headache behind your eyeballs. So you see, that doctor that visits once a week? Dr. Pani is just sheer necessity until everybody settles.

Now on to a less uncomfortable note, on Tuesday we went to the largest fishing operation in Puducherry, it was 40 boats. About half fall more into the category of rafts being just large shaped logs lashed together. Other half are FRP's (fibre reinforced plastics) which are a larger composite that is more adept at clearing the breaking waves, but they are so expensive that usually 3 or more people invest in them together. That day the catches were small. The gill nets hung deep in the water but the water was rough and the fish must have been elsewhere. Each boat only yielded a small pile of assorted lizard fish, a parrot fish or two, some sardines, and a couple baskets of crab. These baskets get dragged up the beach about thirty yards or so and auctioned to women who tote them all the way to the fish market. The whole process is captivating considering I have no idea where the last piece of fish I ate in america came from.

Despite being sick, this trip has been very rewarding so far, and we haven't even left for the islands yet, where we will get to do an in depth study of trigger fish behavior. Everyone is great, me and Dale have been commiserating because we're both sick. Eleanor is great to bounce ideas off and have a reasonable and funny conversation with. Neil is one of the most knowledgable professors I have had, both about India and about his field. Tarra and Anu can get anything done that needs done, and Dipani is both a genius and a good friend to have. I just love it here!

Humble Home for a Weary Wanderer.

First off thank you so much for being a great girlfriend of one year Ashtin. I wish my flight did not have to depart on our anniversary, and thank you for being so understanding. Love you.

But now, after hours of flying and longer hours of waiting in Airport purgatory:

Day 1

Here i sit. Blowing smoke rings in the middle of the jungle listening to birds sing songs i've never heard from trees i've never seen. The word alien falls face down in attempting to describe it.

The smells change by the minute; from burning trash to spicy smells from out of nowhere to sweat to wild flowers and all of these are peculiar enough not to be off-putting. Everything is so pungeant and strange that my pipe tobacco seems bland for the first time ever.

My hut looks looks like this: Granite stilts hold up a canopy of woven monocot leaves shingled and lashed to long wooden supports about 6 centimeters in diameter. The whole chaotic mass constitutes an A frame that gives me doubts about it rain resistance. My pink mosquito net hovers like a pragmatic bed canopy over a twin sized mattress on a bamboo frame. A coarse red yellow and green rug covers the wooden slats of my 3 by 5 meter chamber. The only embellishments are a large steel box, a small flourescent lantern and an electric fan from the 80's or earlier, i can't tell but they seem more than enough, maybe because of the limited space.

the terms meagre and humble come to mind but in the most endearing sense. At this point it strikes a chord with the adventurous and childlike side of me. I love it. Its the tree house i never had as a kid. All mine complete with a trap door and a window operated by a pulley. My room mate is a virginian and his accent is subtle and warm. He's a fish enthusiast who thought ahead enough to pack a fly-rod and close to a hundred flies. Bradley is his name. And he looks like one, with broad shoulders and a very strong looking chin and brow. He could have played football, i don't know, but i suspect he wouldn't want to subject his mind to such a battery. He and I spent the morning exploring some of the campus and photographing interesting flora and fauna.

We made our way to Anupama's house where her adorable daughter showed us around. She showed us the well where fire ants patrolled, the garden where the chickens were not allowed, the pots in which guppies were abiding, and the highlight: a baby pineapple. All the while we were being followed by the resident dogs. Then Anu's husband came out, offered us coffee and casual conversation. I accepted both. I lit my pipe and enjoyed the simple day layed out before me... excluding the immigration papers.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/57815477@N08/

The Closing Chapter

Monday December Thirteenth was a day filled with a sublime feeling of completion. Finals are finished after the long semester. I brought conclusion to a tumultuous, tormenting and misunderstood relationship over a cup of coffee from my favorite coffee house. And a big thanks must be given to all my great friends who showed up to make my going away party just as sublime; especially Jacqui B, Anastasia, and Kristen for letting my friends hang out in their home welcoming them like family. I will miss all of you and you all have come to mean more to me than I realize. The tug on my heart when I hugged each one of you, potentially for the last time till April was very therapeutic for me. All said I'm ridiculously excited about the cruise which I packed for today, and four long months in south India. While I'm abroad I will have pretty regular internet and I would appreciate your skype calls. My name will be posted at the bottom of this entry. Thank you all for making Tulsa, my home and yours, such a lovely place. There's no place like home.

Grobison8246