Auschwitz and Birkenau - A walk through the chambers of horror

Auschwitz I Death Camp, Poland

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Auschwitz II (Birkenau) Death Camp, Poland

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Gorgeous, lush landscape rolled past my window as the tour bus sped through the countryside. I could see my reflection in the glass window as my eyes admired the natural, idyllic beauty of rolling green hills before me. Tall trees in the distance, charming little homes speckled the expanse on either side of the bus. Fragments of unspeakable horror resided in such natural splendor. Our tour guide announced that we had arrived. I stepped off the bus and we made our way to the main reception building where we were handed ear sets and a receiver which enabled us to hear the commentary by our tour guide as we followed her. A few steps later I found myself standing in the shadow of the sign “Arbeit macht frei” (“Work Will Set You Free”) with the rays of the sun streaming through the letters cast in iron above the main gate. The ground under my feet was dusty and unpaved. I looked up. The letters wore a sinister dark shroud against the shining bright sun.

I don’t wish to launch into and describe what I saw there, as it has been documented countless times in languages the world over. I will share with you what I felt. I spent four hours taking a tour of the two camps and as I walked, and with every word that fell upon my ears and registered by sight, I felt numbed with disbelief. At every turn, in every exhibit was a testimony of lowest of the lowest depths man can succumb to alongside the heights of endurance man can scale.

It was a nice sunny day with a slight breeze blowing through as we stepped in and out of barracks and buildings which today are home to material evidence of horror unleashed by man upon man......seven tons of women’s hair shaved off their heads, children’s shoes and clothing strewn around, piles of artificial limbs and reading glasses, fabric made out of women’s hair for the SS soldiers with locks of real hair placed on the yarn in the display window, photographs, paintings, sketches and images of human suffering of the unfathomable kind are enshrined behind glass. We walked past each exhibit, paying a solemn homage to those who perished. Some coughed and cleared their throats, some wiped dry their moistened eyes as tears erupted and some couldn’t hold it in. A lump in my throat lodges itself as I revisit those images. Real people like you and me lived through it and succumbed.

What does a small child of 4 experience when it is stripped naked and suffocated until its innocent flame of life is snuffed out of its un-lived body? What must a young fellow feel when he is ordered to remove the remains of his family buried under a pile of hundreds poisoned by Zyklon B (the gas Nazi’s used to kill)? Human bones crushed and turned into fertilizers? People made to stand naked for hours, sometimes several nights, outside in brutal cold simply for being late for roll call or having taken a few extra moments relieving oneself in the toilet; clothes not washed for 6 to 8 months; women resorting to taking a shower with the tea served to them; sleeping nightly in bunk beds under a shower of human waste; 11 hours of hard physical labor daily on a diet of soup, one piece of dirty bread and water; surrendering to be specimens for experiments by a mad doctor; appearing like a 70-year old at tender age of 13; a horses’ stable fit to house 70 horses, accommodating 400 humans......just a few of the countless unbelievable atrocities.

Imagining the unimaginable which actually happened to real people renders the mind parched. I struggle to react and process and, lend it a perspective but nothing comes of it. Grief renders the brain arid. I salute the generation that lost its own and till today struggles with it. I salute those who perished as they left behind a heroic legacy of human courage and endurance while falling victim to the worst crimes subjected upon mankind.

These sites must be visited, for those who lost their lives there are deserving of our homage. It is a part of history, albeit incredibly wrenching to the mind and soul, that one must acquaint oneself with by being present there, inhale that air, touch those barbed wires, feel those cold muted walls and walk those grounds.

If you listen carefully, you might hear their cries of despair traveling with the winds in the distance;....those tall trees have stories to tell;...the earth below is still redolent with tears and blood spilled many decades ago;...that icy gallery of facial mugshots with hopeless stares and glassy eyes shimmering with fear....

“Man did this to Man”.

Dzien Dobry (Good Morning) from Krakow, Poland

This is Monday morning here in sunny Krakow. It rains here a lot but I am lucky to enjoy sunny days here during my visit. I ran the Krakow marathon yesterday (finisher's medal attached). 4 hours and 59 minutes. So glad it was under 5 hours (by a few seconds!). Ha! I didn't tell people that I was running this race. I prefer not to talk about my travels and races before they happen.

The weather was perfect for a marathon and none of my injuries bothered me during the race, unlike the Rome marathon last month where I endured some "memorable moments of discomfort" (the Rome race will go down in history as quite unforgettable!). The pain and discomfort I endured yesterday was the usual that we runners encounter while running a marathon - pain in ankles, knees and hips, as if they are dislocating and falling apart. Ha!! I know what you are thinking - CRAZY!! I was thinking the same while I was running - why do I do this to myself? Honestly, because it feels good AFTER it is over. A sense of accomplishment of covering 26.2 miles in another city of the world with runners from all corners of the world running next to you. The race route becomes a melting pot, but I have to admit that in this race, in the "general runners' category" of 3000-plus runners, I was the only person of color, however, the "elite runners' category was all color (Kenyans, Ethiopians,.....)!!!

Although running is an individual sport, on the race route we all come together as one, and often feed off the energy of the others around us. We see each other struggling at times and often, help and encourage the other to keep going, keep running, keep placing one foot in front of the other. I do it a lot on the course because, quite frankly, on some levels it helps me too. When I feel like giving up, encouraging someone else to keep going lends me bolt of energy. A single touch of a hand or even a smile from a fellow runner can transfer remarkable strength and the will to go on - it is quite amazing, really. It is also so heartening to have complete strangers cheer you in an unfamiliar language, beaming smiles, their words and body language conveying to keep going, "you can do it!", "bravo!"...... There are challenges of course, of running in an unfamiliar city the next day one lands there. I arrived on Saturday afternoon and immediately had to secure my race packet and also get something to eat, which in a land of meat and sausages, can be tough for a vegan. The day before running a marathon, we are required to "carbo load" and here I am munching steamed veggies, rice and creamed spinach at 6pm on Saturday! My first and only meal of Saturday! Ha! But it is all part of the fun. I found some great vegan places to dine here in Krakow and I intend to savor their offerings today and tomorrow.

I must get ready and head out to explore this beautiful, charming, historically and culturally rich city of Krakow, Poland (the Polish President - Lech Kaczynski - who recently perished in a plane crash in Russia, was buried here in Krakow two weeks ago in the Wawel Cathedral).

April 26, 2010

Kamal's Karela: The Last Goodbye....

(Kamal is my friend Cherryl's chef in Delhi, India. He had cooked and packed his most fabulous stuffed "karelas" (bitter melons; I LOVE bitter melon!!! - yumm!) for me to bring to NYC in January. There were 5 of them which I have consumed over the past 4 months, the last one this past weekend.)

The last of Kamal's karelas was consumed this past weekend.

The moment was poignant and passionate.

As I pulled it out of the freezer, I stared at its frozen form.

It sat there in the container, hard and lifeless, trapping the pungent aroma it was soon to release.

I held its hardened, gnarled, crusty, expectant 6.5 inches in my hand, gingerly.

The warmth of my hand moistened its frozen skin.

A wave of anticipation swept my senses and a sigh escaped my quivering lips.

My (gastric) juices gushed.

It was gastronomical lust. My mouth watered.

My eyes sparkled through the haze of desire.

The heart ached at the thought of the inevitable last kiss.

I consigned it to the microwave.

Within seconds it was alive and breathing again.

The thin string that bound it, strained as its body swelled.

It was hot. Oil oozed from the corners.

There was that intoxicating aroma.

I took it in my hands and slowly placed it in my mouth.

Melting on my tongue as the teeth sank in.

The palate caved as it swirled in a pool of raging saliva.

And then,.....it disappeared down the esophagus.

It was over.

It was gone.

Will we ever meet again?

The heartache lingers.....