robbinsville’s two temples | princeton info€™s-two... · sightseeing seem to joat between...

RRoobbbbiinnssvviillllee’’ss TTwwoo TTeemmpplleessBy Pia de Jong - February 13, 2019

Illustration by Eliane Gerrits

I am driving through the tranquil New Jersey countryside nearRobbinsville when a mirage suddenly rises out of the mists infront of me. It is the gigantic Hindu temple BAPS ShriSwaminarayan Mandir. This fairytale building, the largest Hindutemple in the world, is breathtaking in its splendor: sculptedItalian marble, Turkish limestone, almost Gve million man-hoursof carved Indian sculptures. This improbable exotic sight is only afew miles away from the bare and austere Protestant church inthe nearby town.

I take off my shoes and walk inside in my socks. Peoplesightseeing seem to Joat between marble pillars embellishedwith carved elephants. Worshippers exuberantly pour water overthe head of a sculpted child in an idyllic garden. The mood of thewhole temple is festive. The elephants are happy, the dancers inthe murals are smiling, the golden images of the gods arefestooned with Jowers. Outside this morning there was frost onthe grass. But here the monks, with only saffron robes covering

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their bony bodies, seem to radiate heat.

“Is anyone ever depressed here?” I ask the man in the gift shopwho sells me a book. He looks at me in amazement. No, he hasnever heard of that. Life is beautiful. What else could be desired?Every morning he renews the red dot on his forehead thatprotects him from evil. Their spiritual leader, who speaks here onSundays, shows people the way. Why would not you be happy?There are encouraging texts on the wall and beauty everywhereto contemplate.

I get back into my car and, after just a few miles, turn into a vastparking lot. There I see a woman about 30 years old, runningbreathlessly on foot. When she sticks out her thumb, I open thedoor and she Jops into the seat next to me. “I am a picker,” sheexplains. “I Gll orders in the warehouse, along with the robots.”With her hand she discreetly tries to hide her bad teeth.

When we arrive, she takes me inside into another enormousediGce that is even bigger than the St. Peter’s of the Hindus. Thisis the Amazon FulGllment Center, once the largest building inNew Jersey. FulGllment here is not of the soul, but of boxes andboxes. From this giant warehouse the goods that are boughtonline are distributed, on peak days almost a thousand persecond. There are three thousand full-time workers, a thousandpart-time workers, and many robots.

“Do you like your work?” I ask, pretty much the only question I canthink of. “It’s boring,” she says. “And I get very tired of it.” For amoment I consider taking her home. But then she hastily goesthrough a heavily barred door. Through thick, reinforced windowsI see her walking past a phalanx of security oZcers with orangevests. She takes off her coat and puts her bag on a belt. A littlewhile later I see the contents of her bag projected on a screen infront of her. Three men with vests are staring at them.

And there she goes. On her way back to work. Before I leave, Ilook up and see the mantra of Amazon written on the wall with

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large bold letters: “Work hard. Have fun. Make history.”

Pia de Jong is a Dutch writer who lives in Princeton. Her memoir,“Saving Charlotte,” was published by W.W. Norton in 2017. Shecan be contacted at pdejong@ias.edu. She is Hlling in for RichardK. Rein, who is on assignment.

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