Saturday morning Nelson’s brother Johnson arrived shortly before Claire and I left on the train to return to Bangalore. Here is a picture of most everyone. From left to right: a couple who were old friends and dropped by to see Nelson; Nelson; Claire; Carolyn; Alphonse; Lydia; Johnson; and Titu.
The scenery from the train from Coimbatore north to Bangalore was some of the most beautiful we had seen the entire journey: mountains, little farms, tree plantations. We didn’t get pictures, though, because the train was moving fast and someone was sitting between us and the window. First class “AC” was sold out when Nelson got our tickets, but second class was fine, especially when we heard that the 7-hour trip would cost a grand total of $5 for both of us together. The other four women in our section, each traveling alone, were friendly and curious about us, the only white folk in the car. We ate the bananas Carolyn had packed and wondered whether it was ok to throw the peels out the window—but only till we watched others, even a nun dressed like Mother Teresa, throwing napkins, plates, plastic bottles, and everything else imaginable out the train windows. I tried to remember whether the U.S. was as littered as India when Ladybird Johnson started her “Keep America Beautiful” campaign in the 1960s. I don’t think it was. It’s a shame, because without the litter India would be so beautiful.
Prem, the friend who had taken me on his motorcycle to the store the first day I arrived, met us at the train station in Bangalore, and we took a taxi to the Jeevadhama Passionist Seminary to stay overnight. We all got up at 3:30 to take Claire to the airport, then slept some more. I had breakfast with one of the students, a young man who was extremely interested in all things academic, who had decided in 10th grade to go into the priesthood. We talked for awhile about the interplay between Christianity and Hinduism in India, and he told me that the religious, that is, nuns and priests, were much more interested in incorporating elements of Hindu ritual into Catholic worship than the laity was.
Prem and I later took a walk to the nearby church which, like the one in Coimbatore, was also St. Anthony’s. Next to it was an entire garden dedicated to St. Anthony, which was punctuated with little jailcell-like structures with figures inside illustrating some aspect of St. Anthony’s story. I came to like the guy: he was always finding rings, reattaching legs, preaching to fish, preaching to people against social injustice, and using miraculous means (such as talking infants) to defend the innocent against false charges. He must have been my protector all the way home from Bangalore, because though it was a long journey, it went as smoothly as international travel possibly can, with no sidetrips to unexpected countries and all luggage intact.
Nelson and I had had a conversation about the Hindu ashrams and temples we had visited. He too was fairly dubious about the yogis and gurus, especially Sri Ramana, the one with the huge ashram that attracted so many westerners. The whole experience left me with the impression that in most every religion very similar human impulses can be located: credulity among the faithful that is sometimes exploited by less-than-saintly leaders; rituals that both communicate and obscure divine presence; sectarianism and narrowness; mysticism, worship, and deeds of devotion that transcend baser elements of religion and reach deep into faith and human value. Hinduism, like India itself, is not easy to romanticize. But it does, like all travel experiences, teach us a little more about what of our own cultural assumptions are particular to us and what transcends boundaries of identity.
During this trip I often felt like a bucket of water was being poured, and my capacity to take it in was only thimble-sized. As someone said, “traveling in India is a lot of things, but never boring.” So much was happening that I could not quickly enough process for myself, much less put down on paper. If it were possible to replay the entire three weeks again the way a movie can be replayed, I think I would learn just as much again. I know from my dreams since returning home that India is still working my mind and will be for a good long time. I am so grateful to Father Joe and Father Nelson, and to all the many friends we met along the way, for so hospitably opening this unique experience to all of us.
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