As the sun sets in Varanasi, we (Karen, Mike, and Luigi) collect out thoughts and gather our energy on the rooftop of the Dolphin Hotel, taking in the views of the Ganga river and rooftops of the city. It’s been an amazing and busy day. It began in the morning with chants from the monks in front of the Dhamekh Stupa in Sarnath. We sat with the monks as they chanted facing the Stupa, and later shared the famed Tibetan butter tea with them. Unfortunately, we were later informed, it was not yak butter in the tea, but just plain old buffalo butter. Still, it tasted quite strong, and salty, but not in an unpleasant way. We all agreed, however, that a glass was about all we could drink of it.

Then we decided to head to Varanasi, “just for a few hours”. That turned into a full day of walking around, taking another boat ride, which took us so close to the funerary pyres that we started to feel sweltering from the heat of the burning logs, a visit to a temple dedicated to Hanuman, the monkey god, which is overrun by wild monkeys, and two passes through the main Ghats, the Dasasvamedha Ghats. So we found ourselves to be within a couple of hours of the night puja ceremony, and decided to stick it out, and witness it.

A few minutes before 6pm, the ghats are teeming with people, some already sitting on the raised platforms that serve as bleachers, and some scattered over the steps, on the roofs of nearby building, and, of course, on boats on the river. Loud music is playing over the loudspeakers, and at first I couldn’t identify the source. Eventually I found out that it was a harmonium player and a table player in the front, play and singing. By the river, there are seven smaller raised platforms, each with a small altar in front, with a few items on top of it, waiting for the holy men to take their place on them. Next to each platform, high up on the scaffolding, there are two bells, connected via long strings to someone in the public.

Eventually the time comes for the ceremony to begin. A candle is lit on each of the platforms, and the holy men take their place. The music becomes a devotional chant, slow and mesmerizing. for the entire ritual, each of the seven men will repeat exactly the same motions: the ritual begins with the playing of a conch shell, staccato at first, and ending with a long sustained note. Then the slow repetitive dance begins: first incense sticks are waved, toward the river at first, and then with identical motions in the other three directions.

Then big incense burners are lit, and waved in the same way, its sweet smell filling the entire audience.

One by one, different offerings are presented to the deities, some of them spectacular in their fiery glory, others as simple as marigold petals. The whole puja lasts for an indefinite amount of time, I really can’t tell if it’s been 10 minutes or 3 hours. Eventually the conch shell is sounded again, and most people start to leave.

However, the ceremony is not over yet. An even slower and more mellifluous dance with a feather brush begins, while the audience joins in the chanting and more upbeat singing. Finally, the holy men all gather at the front, facing the river, preparing for their last veneration. A yell goes out, from the singer and the crowd, hands in the air. A final farewell to the holy Ganga.

On the second day of working on their chain reaction machine (and the last day of building workshops!) we switched session, so that instead of the morning, we had the whole afternoon. We could hardly contain our excitement for what was to come, as the room lay all set up and in-progress from the day before, tables waiting to be completed.

It seemed to us (Karen, Mike, and Luigi) that most of the monks had already settled into their ideas, and had a pretty good sense of what they intended to accomplish, and the associated metaphors that we had asked them to think about. Based on the previous days’ tendencies, we had anticipated that most of the metaphors would revolve around three main themes: Buddhism, Tibet, and animals. Surprisingly, this activity brought out a little more variation and zaniness, with sometimes slightly disturbing undertones. For example, one of the elements in a machine consisted of a Tibetan monk slapping a Chinese person (cringe!). Another one involved an autorickshaw (repurposed from an earlier light-reflection prototype) running over a monk, which would then, by falling over, complete a circuit.

Always very inventive, some highlights included:

A soccer match between Tibet and the US, complete with first and second prize cups, and clapping audience.

A brilliant pulley system, with hand-braided rope, that we had never seen before.

A couple of hand-made gears, which after many iterations, prototypes, and a variety of materials, finally worked flawlessly. Perfect pitch!

Tashi’s creation, as always, was unconventional and a little bit crazy. He went through several different ideas, beginning to build, only to abandon them halfway through when he either lost interest in them, or ran into problems that were maybe too complex for him to solve. At one point he had started to build a model of the twin towers, including a way to make the tops collapse when hit by an airplane suspended on a string! Somewhat to our relief, he abandoned that line of thought, but that meant that he started the second day’s with a blank table. Then in a fit of inspiration, he started stringing foam tubes together, eventually fashioning some sort of crazy oversized monk that would shake uncontrollably and make all kinds of scary and “horrible” sounds, including thunder, clanging bells, dogs chasing after cats, and loud and campy music. Through its shaking motions, the monk figure would cause pieces of aluminum foil to hit each other, completing circuits, and setting the next machine in motion.

A rare treat: the translators, who were by the way such an essential part of our experience in Sarnath, in and out of the workshops, got to collaborate on their own table. They made a brilliant “Tibet express” train, complete with conductive rails!

Finally, the time came to set the whole contraption off. In typical fashion, all the monks crowded around the tables, we started a countdown from five (in Tibetan, of course!), and Geshe Thupten Khunkhen set the first block off. Of course, a chain reaction machine never works smoothly! The snags are part of the fun, and the monks enthusiasm was as high as we’ve ever seen: there were shouts of encouragement, teasing of each other, and joyful yelling when things worked. In fact, the whole experience was so delightful, that we had to set it all up and run it one more time!

And to end things on a great note, we set up an outdoor screening of one of our favorites chain reaction videos ever: Pythagora’s Switch!

We (Karen, Mike, and Luigi) explored cause and effect today as we started a two-day build of a metaphorical chain reaction. Using Bruno Munari’s drawings as inspiration (including his drawing of a machine for sniffing artificial flowers), we organized the work tables into a snake-like chain for the group to build their metaphorical machines. Ultimately, these will be linked together and set off as the finale of the workshop.

Getting ideas from past projects, a few new building materials, and a variety of evocative objects that we revealed especially for this activity, the monks jumped right in and started designing and building. There is little hesitation with this group as they each gathered a wide variety of materials and carried out a series of rapid prototypes – making observations, and discussing each of these with their partners.

Ultimately, ideas began to form, and challenges emerged that seemed too compelling to ignore. Each pair of monks made good progress in the short two and a half hour session, and it was difficult to get them to take a tea break (and we were quite late for lunch).

The ownership of ideas seems strong with this group, but, the ownership of the artifacts created during previous activities seems less important. Past project contraptions (like the automata, and Mylar Reflection machines) have been quickly incorporated into this final activity. Often, the machines from past activities are dismantled in order to utilize a cam, linkage, or machine system in their current projects. We were a bit surprised when we learned that they were taking apart machines that were not theirs to begin with, and when we asked the monks if this was OK, they looked at us with a sly smile and said “of course”. There seems to be little need for them to own the artifacts of their learning, and as one mentioned “we carry our thinking and ideas with us much easier than our contraptions”.

 

 

“Failure is the pillar of success”
       - Tibetan proverb

The next day we set the monks onto their next challenge: to construct a machine, or a kinetic contraption of some kind, based on some of the qualities of light that they had noticed the day before. During the previous day’s discussion about the light exploration exercise, we noticed that, while being extremely skilled debaters on a logical and analytical level, the monks had some trouble either noticing or talking about the aesthetic qualities of what they were seeing. This turned one of our preconceptions on its head: before leaving, we had a feeling that the monks might find the cardboard automata activity too mechanistic for their enlightened minds, and that they would be taken in by the inherent beauty of light reflections; the opposite happened. So, being mindful of their attitudes, we tried to emphasize that they should concentrate on the aesthetic (a word that doesn’t exist in Tibetan) qualities of light when thinking about their machines.

Another thing that surprised us is how quickly the monks come up with ideas that are creative, ingenious, and well formed. A few of them started by sketching out design ideas on their notebooks, while some others had an initial concept that they started, we would say, “prototyping”, by either modeling a certain motion or projected image with their hands, or building quick and limited versions of what they intended to ultimately realize.

By now, the monks have become much more comfortable and skilled at building. They approach the materials table with an air of purpose, and quickly scour it for the materials they need. They are also becoming much more comfortable flagging one of us down to ask for help, where to find materials, opinions on how to make something specific happen, and just to share their excitement at some of their discoveries.

At the beginning of the session, Mike made an introduction in which he talked, among other things, about the difference between low-tech, middle-tech, and high-tech, specifying that all three types of technologies are equally important as ways of learning through building, and that they could choose to use any of them in their contraptions. The monks took this to heart, and we had examples of all three:

Lobsang Dhondup made a contraption that is technically very simple, but very beautiful and ripe with meaning. His process was interesting and relatively unusual, in that he spent a very long time just playing with the materials, making observations, letting the quality of the reflections, and the interactions with the material (Mylar, in this case) “speak” to him and dictate what he was going to make. Initially he expressed frustration that he did not know what to do, did not have an idea for a machine. After being encouraged by us that what he was doing was exactly right, he made a number of observations about the way that light reflects, and how minute changes in light source and material positioning result in big changes in the image that it projected. Eventually he stumbled onto a reflected shape that reminded him of a lotus flower, and immediately knew what it was what he was going to do. This is the beautiful result.

Konchok Choephel and Tenzin Choegyal made an example of what we called “middle tech”: their contraption projects beautiful and multi-colored light by using a simple slow-moving motor to rotate a disc. Interestingly, this was a direct off-shoot of their previous explorations with Mylar in a cardboard tube. They also first built a prototype, using just two tubes and turning the disc with their hands to see if their concept would work. The final piece projected a dazzling light show on a surface, which they further modified by reflecting that off a piece of crumpled Mylar.

Finally, Tashi’s machine made use of a PicoCricket computer. We introduced these as a possible tool for the monks to use, but left it entirely up to them as to whether they wanted to incorporate them into a machine. We noticed before that Tashi’s creations are very much rooted in Buddhist philosophy, and this one was no different. He fashioned a selector, which would rotate between three possible choices: buddhist, scientist, or neutral. We then helped him program a cricket computer so that when a button was pressed the motor that spins the selector would start running, and when it was pressed again it would stop. The idea was that of a game, in which a person could close their eyes, press the button, and after a while press it again, and the machine would tell them which of the three they were! Of course, to keep with the “assignment”, he had to enclose it in a Mylar box, so that, when a light was shined on it, it would also project beautiful reflections on the ceiling.

Some of the monks’ choices surprised us for their creativity and playful spirit. Two monks decided to create a Mylar dish that could project beautiful reflections on the wall, and also double as a water boiler (for tea, maybe?). Others made a “peeking box”, lined with Mylar and filled with balls, the object of which was to trick observers so that they would not know how many balls were inside. Finally, Geshe Niyma made a machine that could be activated by either the wind, a motor and a switch, or a cricket, therefore combining low-, middle- and high-tech in the same machine.

Once again, these inspiring individuals surprised us with the insights they brought to the activity, their engagement, and humor!

Yesterday we started our exploration of light, reflection, and caustics, looking through an “aesthetic” lens. We started by asking the monks to place a small mirror on the wall, and stand to one side (away from the wall) with a flashlight. They made predictions about where the reflection would fall on the other side, then explained their reasoning before turning on the flashlight and testing their theories.

All developed initial theories, a few created crude measuring devices, and others made guesses. All were engaged in lively debate (as is natural for this group) before testing their theories.

Following the initial activity we handed each of them small sheets of Mylar (a highly reflective, flexible material), and rolled Mylar in a cardboard tube. They proceeded to explore the reflections generated by these materials when lit by their flashlight, and outdoors in the sunlight. Observations were made, new theories generated, and the session ended with a shared discussion about the highly complex, and beautiful reflections.

We had been wanting to see Varanasi since our brief transit through its outskirts on the way to the Institute from the airport. One afternoon, finding ourselves free, we decided to take the plunge and go into town. Asking someone how to do something or go somewhere in India often means that they will show you, or take you there themselves, and so while we were just trying to gather information by asking Lakdhor how to get to Varanasi, what ended up happening was that Neema, one of our translators, “volunteered” to accompany us.

What made us a little concerned is that two of the translators, Neema included, seemed to feel that Varanasi was “crazy”, and told us they didn’t really like going there because it was too chaotic. This, coming from a guy who lives in India, and lived four years in Chennai (Mumbai), a much bigger town, was disconcerting. No less, we decided to go.

As always, the sights and sounds begin with the ride there. The way to go is by auto-rickshaw: they sit three Westerners in the back (Indians manage to squeeze in unbelievable numbers of people, however), and so Neema shared the front seat with the driver. It’s very difficult to give a sense of what traffic is like: a series of close shaves with other vehicles, bicycles, pedestrians, and cows, a constant honking of the horn to alert other travelers of your presence, a racing spirit that compels drivers to try to pass the rickshaw in front of them, and thousands upon thousands of people, all going somewhere to do something.

After a harrowing and fun 30 minutes, we had to get off the rickshaw: traffic became so intense that motorized vehicles didn’t have a chance anymore. We switched to a human-powered rickshaw, which took us a little further, and then we started walking. As soon as we turned into one of the labyrinthine side streets, the feeling changed drastically. Most of the traffic was on foot, and the houses are small and crowded against each other, and open to the street, whether it was to sell something or just offer a window onto the world.

We had to ask for directions a few times, receiving contradictory information, and took a couple of wrong turns (remember, this is with a Hindi-speaking guide!), but eventually we found our destination: the burning ghats.

Hindus believe Varanasi to be a holy city, and if one dies here, is burned on the banks of the Ganges, and has their ashes thrown in the river, they will escape samsara, the cycle of rebirth and worldly suffering, to go directly to Nirvana. The burning ghats (steps) are were the cremation ceremonies take place. Between 200 and 300 people are cremated daily here in Varanasi.

This was also the only place in Varanasi where we saw other westerners.

We decided to take a boat ride along the Ganga (this is what the Ganges is called here), and we were told a few instructional tales by our colorful guide.

There are five types of people who are not cremated, but are thrown directly into the river: pregnant women; children under 10; holy men; in all three cases it’s because the children, or holy men, are already almost pure. Also, people who die of cobra snake bite, as the cobra is associated with Lord Shiva, and to die of its bite is considered a blessing from the god. Finally, people who die of small pox, for reasons that escape me.

The ride along the river was lovely, and the sights unforgettable.

Back on solid ground, our guide took us to his favorite temple, which is underground, three stories deep. Visitors can look down into a well and see the statue of a bull, next to the symbol for Mother Parvati. On the way back to the auto-rickshaw, he helpfully led us to his relative’s silk shop (located inside his house, of course), just in case we hadn’t realized that we might want to take a look at some fabrics, maybe a pashmina or two. He was very dismayed at the possibility that we were not interested, but we eventually managed to extricate ourselves from there and make our way back to Sarnath.

One of our goals for presenting the automata activity was to encourage the workshop participants to construct their own understanding about mechanisms by first observing motion machine models, then discussing their ideas about the ways they worked, and ultimately, building their own automata in their unique way. Although the group was eager to discuss (and argue) their ideas about the inner workings of the mechanisms, they were a bit tentative when they started to construct. Their ideas and initial thoughts were challenged, and ultimately strengthened as they completed their models.

Many commented on this activity during the discussion session (roughly translated):

“What I thought of in my mind and in reality were two different things [when making their own mechanisms]. What I imagined worked perfectly, but was harder to build things perfectly.”
        – Ngawang Lobsang

“I was reminded of the inner workings of a water pump from when I was younger in Tibet.”
        – several participants mentioned this

“When we started, the mechanisms looked strange, but opening them up made us focus on how they worked even more.”
        – Kalsang Gyatsen

“One thing influenced another thing’s movement, and so on. I did not realize this fully until I tried it.”
        – Geshe Nyima

“In Buddhism we say that the creativity in each person is different because of the experiences from a previous life.”
        – Geshe Yeshi

“This workshop is very different from the others, because in this one the responsibility [for the learning] is on us. This is very good.”
        – Geshe Nyima

We started the first workshop by giving the monks a challenge: we divided them into groups of 6, and gave them an example of cardboard automata movement, but we covered up the mechanism that made that movement possible. We instructed the monks to observe and notice as many things as possible about the movement, and then try to figure out what could be going on inside the box. We encouraged them to draw or write down their ideas, and share and discuss with each other.

We were definitely surprised by the gusto with which the monks took to the challenge. Their observation were methodical, precise, and varied, even creative (for example, it was not uncommon for them to hold up the box to their ear to try and determine, from the sound of the mechanism, whether there were gears involved or not). They made very well-thought-out drawings and schematics of possible mechanisms, and then defended their ideas with each other with great vigor.

Then it was time for them to come up to the front of the room, if they thought they had a good idea about a specific mechanism, and tell everybody what they thought. This almost invariably caused a smattering of responses from the other monks, and often one of them would immediately jump up to the from, snatch the example out of the first monk’s hands, and proceed to provide evidence that disproved his theory.

In general, the monks found up-and-down movements much easier to conceptualize than rotational movements, and in particular example number 4, in which the cam follower moved back and forth in alternating clockwise and counterclockwise direction, while also bopping up and down, gave them major headaches. No matter, they made valiant efforts by hypothesizing cone-shaped gears, as well as rubber band mechanisms.

Finally, we let them open up the boxes to find out how we had actually constructed the mechanisms. One of our favorite moments do far was this, because the joy and marvel of seeing inside the boxes was so apparent. A certain indication of the level of investment that the activity had generated with them: we saw some of them take photos of the actual mechanism for their own records!

Eventually, we moved on to the next phase, which we were both eagerly anticipating, and were uncertain about at the same time: we told the monks that they would have to start building their own cardboard automata. This took us all of yesterday and today, and we will complete construction tomorrow.

Once again, our expectations were met and surpassed by these amazing individuals, who started building wonderful and delightful contraptions, depicting everything from prayer wheels wishing perpetual peace on earth, monkeys holding a “save animals” sign, to bucking bulls, helicopters, and birds of prey attacking a snake. The imagination and resourcefulness of the groups really shined, but in the decorations they chose to depict, and in the variety and creativity of mechanisms they designed. Some had to change their goals, and modify either their initial mechanism design, or the narrative they were trying to build on top of that, but did so without outwardly signs of frustration. In fact, the monks seem so impervious to becoming frustrated that it became something of a facilitation challenge for us, because we are so used to being able to detect when participants are becoming frustrated beyond a “healthy” point, so that we can intervene.

It’s hard to describe the joy and wholeheartedness the monks immersed themselves in what must have been a strange and unfamiliar activity (and things are only going to get weirder!), so I hope that a few photographs will do a better job of communicating that.

Having survived our first night in India outside of the safe and familiar confines of a western-style hotel, yesterday marked the official beginning of the workshops. After the communal breakfast (and all meals are, indeed, communal) Geshe Lhakdor lead the monks in what he told us would be “a few auspicious prayers”.

We were a bit unprepared for the official tone of the proceedings, and found ourselves sitting at the front of the room we’ll be using, together with Geshe Lhakdor, Mark St. John, Bryce Johnson, and the vice-chancellor of the Institute, facing a room full of monks. After a few short words, they launched into a long and beautiful chant, and if everything else hadn’t already convinced us, we knew we weren’t in Kansas anymore right then!

After the chants, Geshe Lhakdor spoke for a while. We didn’t understand what was being said, as it was in Tibetan, but when later asked, the Geshe told us that his message essentially boiled down to this: you (the monks) have to find the confidence to take what you learn in these workshops, and go back to your monasteries and become teachers and leaders for other monks. Monks teaching monks is the future he envisions.

The task of introducing the workshops and the significance of what we are going to do fell on Mark’s shoulders. He did an amazing job, framing the proceedings within the concept of what he called the “three legs of the stool” of science.

One leg is the content of science, the knowledge we acquire that help us decipher and understand the world around us better.

Another leg is the process of science, the method and practices by which we come to gain the knowledge. This is, at its core, a process of inquiry.

Finally, there is the empowerment that comes from science, both on a personal level, and when it comes to benefiting society and humanity at large.

These three legs are equally important, and just like in a stool, they have to be approximately of the same length, or the whole construction is unstable.

Geshe Lhakdor concluded the proceedings by recalling that, when the monks did a lengthy workshop about color investigation, they started calling themselves the “color monks”. Therefore, he said, they should now call themselves the “tripod monks”!

The ceremony was lovely, but it also made us a little uneasy, as it seemed very formal, and the monks very serious. A big component of our work is playfulness, and a sense of fun, and we were a little concerned that this audience would not take to that aspect of the activities we have planned.

We had some time after tea break (which happen frequently; the monks appear to be addicted to tea!) and before lunch, so we took a rickshaw ride (after dutifully suppressing our western reservations about being driven around by another human being) to the old Stupa. Some photos will give a better description of the place than many words would.

In the afternoon, it was time for us to give an introduction about the Exploratorium, and ourselves. This was our first time having to navigate the sometimes difficult task of communicating in a way that is simple enough to be unambiguously translated, yet not “dumbed down”. This meant that we had to plan what we were going to say much more carefully than we normally would under such circumstances, and hopefully we didn’t come off as being too formal. Then we opened up to questions from the monks.

We had been warned about this: nobody seemed to be willing to be the first to ask a question. After a lengthy pause, the most senior geshe (teacher) asked the first question. Surprisingly, it was a question about neuroscience. Many others followed after the ice had been broken, and we found that the monks are supremely interested in the subject: do we have exhibit to investigate the brain? How about imaging? How can one understand the workings of the brain by dissecting a dead sheep’s brain? Can we learn things while asleep or under anesthesia? And so forth…

After an initial barrage about the brain, the questions started shifting toward the museum, and the monks were very curious and thoughtful in their questions: where does our money come from? How many visitors do we get? What ages? How do we deal with kids running around, don’t our exhibit break? Do we make scientific discoveries? Do we present scientific discoveries?

Most of all they had very pointed questions about our philosophy of not giving the visitor very detailed and in-depth explanations of the phenomena that are being presented, but rather letting them find a path of discovery of their own. It seems that many of the monks are not yet sold on the idea that doing inquiry is a good way of finding things out about the world, rather than being told what is true and what is not.

Of course we hope to give them some evidence that inquiry is valuable by doing lots of it today and in the days to follow. After having had real interactions with the monks, albeit in the still rather formal format of a question and answer session, we realize that they are not as serious as they had seemed that morning. They respond to humor, laugh at themselves and the world around them, and have a lively and shrewd curiosity about the world. I think they will be very fun to work with!