It sounds like such a British affair to celebrate a rare Monday off work and school, relaxing in the open air with friends and a picnic; but that’s where the similarity ends! The girls had asked to visit the Deekshabhoomi some time back but owing to the practicalities of arranging travel amongst other things, we’d waited until we had a full day at our disposal to make a real day of it. Though many of the girls had visited the site of Dr Ambedkar’s conversion with their families, none of them had really understood the historical significance of the event and it is only recently that they have been studying in any detail about the impact of his activism on the lives of modern Indians and the wider, international community that is Triratna. So, this was in part an opportunity to spend some time together outside of the classroom but also an ongoing exercise in learning about Ambedkar’s life and the role Buddhism and spiritual practice plays in the daily routine of his followers. I was also keen to return; though it was not long since my last visit, on the 14th October anniversary of Ambedkar’s conversion, such was the significance of this date that it had been too busy to really appreciate the place and rather overwhelming just 24 hours after landing in India! I was looking forward to seeing it in a more peaceful state.

At the end of my last update, I reflected that my experience of study trips in the UK was that if you had private transport booked, this would be a significant stress reducer as an alternative to the trials and tribulations of public transport. I also reflected; however, that I was learning enough about India to suspect that things would not be quite so simple in this case. I wasn’t wrong. To begin with, I was delighted to hear that the coach we’d arranged to carry us from Bhilgaon to meet the young men at the Deekshabhoomi had, wait for it, arrived a few minutes early! India – 1, UK – 0. I’m used to coaches turning up worryingly ‘promptly’-cum-late. Would that I could end the story of the transport there, however, things fell down a little when our driver brightly announced that he could carry a total of four passengers. There are ten women students. There were four teachers expecting to travel with them. Cue a quick ‘phone call to a gentleman who has become one of our favourite go-to rickshaw drivers, mostly because he’s very flexible in allowing us to stop on our way home to buy fruit from the Kamptee Road-side stalls. Thankfully, he was only ‘10’ minutes away (note; 10 minutes in India = 20 /30 minutes in actual time). Still, this did not seem to present a complete solution to my mind; rickshaws can carry maybe four to five people. At least we had already had a call from Mark to let us know that things were equally delayed at his end as the young men had not yet finished eating breakfast or packing their lunch. I decided to disengage from any sense of stress and trust that things would work themselves out, so I sat in the sun and watched a couple of the girls hook (rather unripe) guava fruit from the tree in the front garden and waited to see what would happen. No one else seemed too worried, after all. The solution was five in the van (including myself), four in the rickshaw and the rest in Aryaketu’s car. We finally set off, only about 30 minutes behind schedule, which, I have learned, is practically on time. When we arrived, we found the guys already waiting for us calmly in the shade of the Bodhi Tree’s descendent. All’s well that ends well.

With the spiritual food so expertly served and happily consumed, we finally left the cool of the marble building (where one is requested to observe respect by refraining from photography) and stepped back out into the hot, midday sun to begin our physical feasting! The women had packed us a delicious lunch of chapattis, pilau and subji which they carefully ladled into disposable plates for us from a range of stainless steel ‘tiffin’ boxes that had been meticulously packed that morning. Delightful as this was, I was rather impressed with the simplicity of the men’s approach. They’d cooked a huge quantity of poha, which they’d simply plopped into a big bag! We tried some of that too, which was every bit as tasty! Indians tend to have a rather direct approach to food. Though great care is taken in the preparation, it doesn’t tend to be consumed with much ceremony and most of the picnickers had finished and cleared their plates before I’d got even half way through. I sped up to avoid appearing anymore unusual than, erm, usual, enjoying some guava presented to me by Hema before we all quickly piled back out of the shady spot we’d found to start taking pictures in front of the dome. I have become accustomed to eating lunch at a reasonably leisurely pace before taking things quite slowly, possibly even lying down for twenty minutes or so prior to afternoon activities and unfortunately, at this point, the heat and exertion rather got the better of me and I’m afraid to say I ended our trip feeling rather ropey.

As I reflected in the closing thoughts of my last update, I feel as if I am settling in here very quickly and it is the home and family environment in to which I have been so unconditionally welcomed that has been central to my experience of India so far. I have no doubt that the physical and social comfort of this environment is the foundation that has determined the speed of this for both myself and the other new guests here; the community of young women who live on the top floor of the same family home. This has not always been the experience of many of the family members though, and I have recently learnt the extent to which this safety and abundance has been very carefully and deliberately cultivated from a great deal of misery and want. I have expressed before that my aim for this blog is in part to share the stories I discover here, to celebrate the people and their achievements, and so it seems appropriate to start near that core of the family from which everything else is supported. The trunk from which the branches of the tree may safely grow and be nourished.

Saccadhamma was born on the 22nd of July, 1946, into a family of 15 brothers and sisters, though only 4 brothers remain alive today as childhood illness, disease and malnutrition was rife. His father could not earn; as a member of the community who fell outside the Orthodox Hindu caste system, he was very limited in the roles he was permitted to perform (‘Dalits’ were only allowed to carry out jobs considered impure or polluting to the individual) and so he acted as a spiritual man whose time was spent mainly in prayer and was frequently away on pilgrimages. Saccadhamma’s mother carried out labouring work to generate some income but this was minimal and she often went hungry to provide for the homeless family who really survived only on support and charity from others. They relied on these donations for their accommodation, clothes and food. Saccadhamma was clever though, often coming top of every class, and thanks to this he attracted the additional support of his teacher, who helped him with clothes, books and sometimes food. Despite his academic success; however, he related how he often felt sad as a child, seeing that his family could not enjoy life because they were in such poverty.

Such were the hardships of his first decade until his father converted to Buddhism at the Deekshabhoomi, following the leadership of Dr Ambedkar at the original mass conversion of October 14th 1956. Saccadhamma remembers being there too but, he says that as a ten year old boy, though he could enjoy the atmosphere he did not understand the significance of the event. Though the conversion marked a momentous shift in the Indian society and for the individual, it was not a religious awakening and his relationship with Buddhism did not really begin here. His father’s decision was a practical one; to convert to Buddhism and renounce the Hindu religion was a way of achieving liberation from oppression, not pursuing a spiritual life. This is perhaps best exemplified in the 19th of Ambedkar’s 22 vows; ‘I renounce Hinduism, which is harmful for humanity, and which impedes the advancement and development of humanity, because it is based on inequality, and adopt Buddhism as my religion.’ For these reasons, the act of conversion was a formative one for the family, but still life was tough and even as a boy he always understood the need to work hard and support the poor. As an intellectually gifted young man, he was able to attend college but needed to carry out labouring work at the same time. A usual day would involve hard labouring work from seven in the morning until eleven, then starting college from one until four, with his hands still chapped and sore from the morning work. He was unhappy at this time, but knew he must help feed his family as well as work to pursue his education, which would eventually be the key to further liberation from poverty and oppression.

This steadfast determination eventually paid off when he secured employment in a government telecommunications department in Bombay (now Mumbai) where he lived in a small house with his wife Jija, (married in 1971, they entered a love marriage that was not approved of parentally), three sons (Aryaketu was the eldest, born in 1972) and two daughters, as well as his mother and father. In 1977, the family relocated for work purposes to Nagpur, where they lived in a ten foot square residence, with a thin tin roof that leaked in monsoon season. He had just one shirt and one pair of trousers that Jija would wash when he got home from the office, drying them overnight for him to wear again the next day. Aryaketu and his siblings walked 6 kilometres to school and back every day. In 1988, his father died and his mother moved to live with a younger brother in the village.

In 1989, Aryaketu told his father about a talk being given by Dhammachari (Order Member) Padmavajra who had come from England to give lectures and seminars about Dr Ambedkar. This simultaneously piqued his interest and caused some outrage as he asked ‘I’m an Indian, a follower of Ambedkar, so how can an English man tell me anything about him!?’ Nevertheless, he went to a talk and was won over by a lecture Padmavajra delivered on habits. He told the story of a woman whose trade was selling fish at the market. Every day, she undertook a long journey from her home by the sea to the marketplace to sell her catch. One night, she was held up securing her last sales and so darkness fell before she had returned home. As she lived far away and there was no moon to see by, she decided to stay the night with a relative living nearby who was also a trader at the market; a florist, a purveyor of fresh flowers. As she settled down that night, she was troubled by the unfamiliar smell of the sweet blooms and could not drift off to sleep. At last she realised the strange odour was keeping her awake, so she fetched an empty fish box from her cart and again lay down to rest. With the familiar scent of fish, she was able to fall into a peaceful sleep. This story is designed to encourage reflection on our habitual patterns of behaviour and how we can become unaware of even those which may be quite damaging as we mechanically normalise them into our daily routines. Saccadhamma relates that he was moved to tears by the talk. “I also had bad smells” he explains, “I realised I must break my bad habits” and from this day onwards he attended every talk that Padmavajra gave. Saccadhamma is quite clear and precise about his gratitude to Aryaketu for this introduction to the Dhamma. “For this reason, I say that Aryaketu is my Kalyanamitra” (Kalyanamitra is Sanskrit for ‘Spiritual Friend’, a term for a teacher or guide) he states slowly and deliberately.

There were no tiles in the ground floor rooms until two years ago. The outhouse needs repair. The garden walls are also crumbling. The house has never had any external painting and is still imposing in its original grey concrete. “But I cannot do this work.” He states. I ask why; “How much it would cost to paint the house?” The answer is in excess of 150,000 rupees; money, he explains, that is better spent on supporting his family; and the students of Aryaloka. Between 700 and 800 students so far have been able to benefit from the education offered at Aryaloka, subsequently securing employment that in turn enables them to support their poor families, just as the young Saccadhamma felt himself compelled to do. This is work he is clearly fully committed to despite his own needs. He still struggles to support his family; his health is suffering from early malnutrition and years of hard labouring in poor conditions but his only aim is to take on more students, which he sees as a far more important use of the precious resource of pension money than a lick of paint on the walls. He hopes to repair the outhouse first he explains because this could accommodate up to six more students, lives improved and empowered to in turn go on and ease the suffering of many more.

The experiences are coming in so thick and fast here at Aryaloka that it seems hard to keep on top of the priorities in so far as my aims for this blog. I set it up primarily to record, but then also communicate my time exploring the unfamiliar geographical and psychological landscape of my new position as a volunteer teacher in a foreign social project. This is because I could see before I even applied for the visa that the new perspectives I was bound to encounter could be of value to many people, if only I could articulate them. I hope my western friends and contacts may be able to understand their privileges and challenges with more clarity in a global context and believe the work being undertaken by my Indian colleagues to be anyway so very deserving of recognition, broadcast and celebration. It can be a complex operation to separate this genuine desire to broaden horizons from the almost voyeuristic impulses of the travelling photographer; look at this photo of a funny crisp packet, this description of a strange social norm, this ‘tragic’ symptom of disadvantage and poverty. I shall be clear; however, that whilst none of my observations are intended to judge, condemn or laud either my own or another’s culture, I am aware there will be times when I shall find it difficult to avoid some apparent poignancy.

 it did at least provide an excuse to decline without appearing unfriendly. Unfortunately; however, using this rule as protection from the lens did not prevent an awareness of the crowd building outside, eagerly awaiting our exit from the stupa with camera phones at the ready for ‘just one selfie with my kids!” As a result, it was hard to focus or really develop a sense of appreciation for the purpose of the reliquary; the ashes of Dr Ambedkar himself, in a grand cask, under a glass dome and set on a highly decorated platform at the centre of the marble hall. Still, we managed a brief moment taking this in before the encroaching tide of devotees washed us back out into the night. We had hoped to conduct a short puja in the hall, and there were indeed a few people resolutely chanting in small groups or pairs, at the side of the walkway, but we were causing enough of a distraction as it was, so Shakyajata wisely guided us to a spot outside where we perched on a wall as she bravely lead our group in chanting the refuges and precepts in Hindi and English. This at least provided an opportunity for people to come and have a good stare and snap away to their hearts content, which made me feel far less impolite for having refused earlier requests while taking shots of my own. It occurred to me as we took a short meditative pause following the chant, that less than a year ago I was still privately struggling to come to terms with my own spiritual identity and yet now, here I was, practicing more publically then I could ever have anticipated, in the land of the origination of my faith. Never say never. After this, we took a stroll around the bustling complex, taking in the Bodhi tree, part of an intricate web of stories regarding the generations grown from seeds of the original tree under which Siddhartha Gautama, the historical Buddha, is said to have achieved Enlightenment.

Upon our safe arrival back at Aryaloka, it seemed at least ungrateful, if not quite disrespectful to pay this man for both our journeys with the equivalent of about £7.50, however I was assured this was quite generous and he certainly seemed surprised when we refused any change. We left him also with the remains of our snacks; he had a long night of work ahead of him and it was unlikely that he would have had any meal break in what had already been a hard shift.
The commitment of our hosts to our wellbeing did not stop at the means to travel, against all odds, to and from the Deekshabhoomi though, and as soon as we were through the door, Sheetal began cooking for us, despite the late hour. She did at least allow us to help chop the vegetables for a delicious pilau, which we ate with gratitude after a tiring trip. After this dinner, Shakyajata retired, and I was considering a similar course of action when Sheetal sat down with a pile of papers and turned on her laptop. She explained that she had not found time during the day to enter the data from the student’s application forms onto the system operated by the government agency who certify the qualifications, and that the deadline for doing so without incurring a fine was the next day. Though the specifics of the context may be alien to me, the situation itself was almost comfortingly familiar and I was glad she was receptive to my further offer of help. I don’t think it took too long for her to show me how to use the software to infill the necessary information for upload and I consider myself to be quite a fast learner as well as a reasonably speedy typist, but still the job took until nearly midnight. I was glad to do this though, as Sheetal then had time to rub some Ralgex-like smelling ayurvedic ointment on to sore legs to ease her arthritis, which she explained without a trace of self-pity, was the result of a dietary calcium deficiency.

After such a successful class, the first time I have stood in front of a whiteboard for 15 months, I felt relieved and energised, as I think did Shakyajata, so we made the most of the cool evening air to stroll through the village to Nagaloka before dinner. After so many days of relative physical inactivity, it felt good to gently stretch the legs in the gathering dusk. As well as our group chat with the girls tomorrow, we hope to run similar session with the boys group on Monday, when we hope to have a bit more energy to tackle the bus into town, where they are resident. I can’t say the prospect of traveling there is stimulating my appetite for exploration as much as I’d have expected but I think this is largely to do with the only physical ill affect I’m currently aware of; a rather sore throat! I think a combination of dry air, dust and smog is responsible for the mild cold-like symptoms, but I’m confident that these will settle in time, when I’ve had a week or two to acclimatise. There’s plenty to distract me from it in any case and I’ve been very comfortable so far with no sign yet of the apparently inevitable ‘Delhi Belly’, though since I have been lucky so far to enjoy only good, home cooking, I’m far from complacent about that!

Following a delicious lunch, at which I gratefully discovered that Indian food does not have to be heavy or bloating as I have sometimes found UK Indian meals to be, I have the luxury of a few hours rest to myself. Later, I shall travel with Shakyajata, and Sheetal (one of the directors at Aryaloka and my very generous and talented hostess) to the Deekshabhoomi, to celebrate the 60th anniversary of the mass conversion to Buddhism of Dr Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar with his about 600,000 followers on 14 October 1956. I know this is likely to be an evening full of experiences I shall very much want to share and so I’m going to take the opportunity for my first update before there’s too much more to say. I am unable to resist a desire to start at the very beginning, but in the interests of making this post manageable to read, I shall, really truly try to keep things succinct!

We were greeted at the airport yesterday morning by Aryaketu, Triratna order member and Director at Aryaloka, who is also husband to Sheetal and whose home I shall be living for the coming months. It was wonderful to see his familiar smiling face again (we met at London Buddhist Centre a couple of months ago) and after giving us each a beautiful posy, we were driven straight to the family home. We were welcomed by what felt like a huge crowd of family members as well as the girls on the residential course, each of whom greeted us personally in an informal procession, presenting us each individually with a flower. We shared some tea and chatted a little before I was shown to my room. I was very grateful to unpack my heavy bag and wash before taking lunch! The afternoon was spent resting and recharging the batteries with 40 winks. In the evening, I met and chatted (as much as language barriers allowed; I have my work cut out!) with the 8 girls who are living here. We established a few basic facts, though I have no hope of remembering how many brothers and sisters each have! At 18:30, Aryaketu’s mum led the girls in puja (Buddhist devotional ritual) and meditation, which I attended. Though much of the Triratna chants are in Pali or Sanskrit wherever you are in the world, still there are differences, and much of the actual lesson or direction is delivered in the native language, so I was not able to participate as fully as I liked. I did enjoy watching though and felt like an honoured guest when I was presented with yet more flowers by each girl after she had made her offering to the shrine. I was then able to make my own. Meditation was Metta Bhavana, which I managed to understand, but I felt uncomfortable in my body, hot, sticky, tired and not very able to focus. Having participated however, I felt refreshed and was glad to walk into a living room of English speaking visiting order members who had been attending a local Triratna conference titled Social Engagement and Liberation. We had dinner together (I am finding the dining customs easier than I feared but still it is a skill yet to master to eat rice and very runny dhal with the fingers of only my right hand!) and then some of us walked to the nearby Nagaloka Centre, for an open air concert of Indian classical music in front of the famous 36 foot high walking Buddha. That was really quite enough for one day, in which I’d done little more than snooze since leaving the UK at 05:30 the following morning and so it was to bed! Negotiating the new challenges of sleeping with a mosquito net wasn’t too awkward until I forgot it was there during the inevitable midnight toilet trip and ended up looking something like a spider’s breakfast. Still, I appear to have only one bite this morning so it must have done the trick!

Despite my instinctive urge to get out and start seeing this new world around me, I have tried to be very inactive today. I didn’t get up early for morning puja and meditation with the girls as I had half planned, opting to get another hour in bed instead! Shakyajata did the same, so we meditated together after breakfast and I was actually quite relieved to chant the refuges and precepts in our accustomed style as part of a Threefold Puja in English. I shall attempt to learn the appropriate customs here but one step at a time! My meditation was much more enjoyable than last night and I had a sense that I was floating in a river of my experience, with a myriad of thoughts present but simply bumping off me gently before floating off their own way, like only so much flotsam and jetsam. Shakyajata and I then did a little ‘checking in’ with each other, discussing our feelings about the trip so far as well as our expectations. After lunch, I managed to find out how to access clothes washing facilities and gave my travel clothes a good scrub! That they can only be air dried should not be an issue in this heat, but I think I shall need to learn that less is more when tucking into the washing powder; it is harder to rinse by hand and I think I shall find they are rather streaky when I take them off the line! We leave for the Deekshabhoomi by auto rickshaw in a little under 90 minutes, leaving me just enough time to post this (washing facilities may seem primitive by Western standards but we’re not wanting for Wi Fi!) before changing into appropriate attire for what will be a joyful but serious celebration. Goodness only knows what I shall encounter; I can only guess with excited anticipation!

So, on the 60th anniversary of a very important event, I am eager now to really get stuck in with our work here. May we all be well, may it make many beings happy and may all be free from suffering as we grow and develop. Jai Bhim!