Article for my school... It's all so far away now.

You could see it in their eyes.  This fierce vitality, passion and exuberance to be alive.  Not the aloof and inanimate detachment I have become so accustomed to, as people walk by with their iPhones, alternating between shutting out the bustle of Boston for a quick conversation with someone somewhere far away, bumping to music that nobody can hear, or checking Facebook every ten minutes.   From the slums to the cities nestled in the sides of the Himalayan foothills, to my very campus at the University of Hyderabad, the people of India are truly alive.  The streets are deafening with the honking of melodic horns from vibrantly painted trucks and the shouts of street vendors mingling with Bollywood hits, and the bright, intricate designs of sarees and salwar kameez sprinkle even the dingiest streets with color. It is vibrancy like I’ve never seen. 

Studying and living in India changed me.  It came at a time when I was unsure of what I was doing, and I was afraid.  Afraid to fail, afraid to commit, afraid to let go. I chose India because I needed something different from anything I’ve ever known.  I also needed to escape from the reality of my own life in order to gain true perspective. Frightened but determined after the Mumbai attacks, just weeks before I was scheduled to leave, I pushed myself onto that plane in order to test my own limits in a place where I would have to battle my way through daunting encounter after daunting encounter.

It began in baby steps, immersing one toe at a time into the vast depths of another culture.  First came the stares.  Those curious, lively eyes fixed on me, inquiring, “You are from which country, madam?  Can I take your picture?” (Some had never seen such a fair complexion like mine before.) Then came the rupees.  I very quickly learned that approximately 160rs (~$3) could sufficiently fund a 14-hour train ride across the country, one share of a gloriously sketchy hotel room for three, or a 40 oz. of the Budweiser of India: Kingfisher beer (which has the thrilling tendency to spontaneously burst).   Finally came the learning curve of bargaining tactics, which is an art in itself.  With the autorickshaw drivers, I mastered the “bahut mahanga hain! (too expensive!) and pretend to walk to another driver” technique.

From there it all seems like a messy, colorful, exciting dream -- wandering around the sprawling campus with 8 stray dogs on my heels, discovering the hot spots of Hyderabad experimenting with various terrifying methods of transportation (the autorickshaw, the local bus, the railway, or my favorite, the back of a stranger’s motorbike).  I began learning the beautiful Hindi language, (“Aap kaise hain?” (How are you?)) sampling the different curries and koftas and cardamom-filled delicacies with my ever-eager fingers, and surviving the resultant explosive diarrhea in the Eastern-style toilets.  Every day was a new adventure with different discoveries, realizations, and learning.  For instance, there are no lines in India, and maps don’t work.  And personal space is going to cost you.  India is a country of contrasts, with massive gaps between the upper- and lower-caste living conditions and traditions. Although caste-discrimination has been outlawed, caste continues to play a major role in the lives of the Indian people. I experienced a major caste-related protest on campus, causing the cancellation of classes, and the sealing of the gates by angry students.  Where the country pushes forward in its scientific advances, there are major infrastructural holes holding back its progress.  The roads are terrible, and the common method of trash disposal usually involves lighting the pile of trash (or the mystery snack of a wandering cow) on fire. In Hyderabad especially, the technical hub of the country, it was common to see state-of-the-art computer engineering high rises next to a quarter-acre of slums with no running water, or a multiple amputee begging outside of a shopping mall with an IMAX theater. 

From sunrise at the very tip of India at the holy point where Gandhi’s ashes were cast into the sea, to the calm backwaters in Kerala, to riding camels in the Great Indian Desert, just 40 miles from the Pakistan border, to rafting down the holy Ganges where the Beatles made their visit in Rishikesh, I experienced as much of the beautiful culture and environment as I possibly could.  The diversity and differences across the country rival those differences between New Englanders and deep Southerners, New York City and the Rocky Mountains.  With every adventure I became more confident, less afraid of the unknown, unfamiliar challenges and learned that you must discover your own voice in order to be heard. At the end of every trip, it was wonderful to come home to Hyderabad, to my Indian friends in the art studio, to my tabla guru’s smile, and the home-cooked dishes in the hostel, ready to ride my rickety bike the two miles in 106-degree heat past the manic monkeys to Monday’s morning classes.

It is extremely difficult to sum up or explain the montage of beauty, heartbreak, and unforgettable experience living in a place like India.  And for all of its magnificence and mystique, India definitely has its darker side.  The politicians bribe lower caste voters with color TVs and alcohol, and the Hindu-Muslim tension rears its ugly head at intervals.  But the emphasis on love, mindfulness, and passion for life overpowers those negative aspects at every turn.  In India I was able to accomplish more than I thought I was capable of, and the empowerment that comes along with independent travel is unparalleled. There finally came a point where I felt right, as the time was nearing coming home.  Like I was centered, ready and able to do anything.  And now, I am trying to apply and sustain all of that change to my life back in Boston.  That is the difficult part.  So I am doing everything I can to go back.

This May Be Goodbye, India

I’ve been saying my goodbyes to friends as they trickle out of the hostel, embarking on their post-semester adventures. Mine begins today, and I am sad to depart from this beautiful campus and from so many amazing people. It was hard packing up my art projects and shaking the hands of some of the most talented and inspiring artists I’ve met from my studio. The other day in a fit of pre-reminiscence, I snapped some pictures of my campus to show how full of life it really is. That’s really it- India is just so alive.

It’s been a crazy couple of weeks- wrapping everything up, bargaining for those last gifts for everyone, studying for finals, painting, surviving a huge bar fight, and volunteering at an AIDS orphanage. Plus packing, and mentally preparing to return back to reality, move into my dorm, begin summer classes and interview for a co-op job- all starting the day I get back.

Regardless of my inability to plan a bit of rest, I am super excited for my last trip up to the Himalayas, in a holy town called Rishikesh. It’s been visited by some band called the Beatles- you may have heard of them. The Ganges river (healing powers I hear) will be rafted, and mountains will be hiked. I hope my parents (and mystery roommates) are ready to receive one stinky, deliriously exhausted, crazily-dressed girl on May 5^th! I probably won’t have showered or slept in two days- but at least my hair has finally turned back to normal after being pink from holi.

Being in India has given me such an insight into my life and who I am. My time here has been simultaneously empowering and calming, and I have learned more in these four months than I ever could have imagined. I have realized, to a degree, many of the things that I had been afraid of, and I feel so free. I refuse to let fear of the unknown, fear of judgment, and fear of failure affect me after this. India has taught me intense patience but also has given me the confidence to demand my voice be heard. And I have discovered such an appreciation for everything and everyone that I am so lucky to have in my life. I really want to thank everybody for all of their support and patience and love while I’ve been gone, and I can’t wait to see you all soon!

New Stories, New Photos!

Right now I can hear a fellow soccer enthusiast from across the building shrieking at a assumably exciting Liverpool playoff match.  But an hour ago the real shrieking was coming from my room.  I was about to call my mother, light some incense and prepare for bed, but a large brown blur caught my eye.  It was so big I thought there was an animal in my room.  Reaching for the matches, I laid my eyes on the most gigantic spider I have ever seen.  Its body was about the size of my fingernail, and with its legs stretched out it would have probably been the size of my hand.  Dear lord.  It was hideous.

(looked kinda like this)

Somehow I managed to survive, and with my newfound appreciation for life, I figured I’d reflect on my latest array of experiences.  I am sensing my time here in Hyderabad coming to an end (maybe because of the farewell dinner tonight, with the lecture on how we may have forgotten how to speak English.  Hmmm.  Plus another confused and slightly pathetic tabla/sitar performance.) and have begun to have paranoia dreams about leaving as I sleep through the three-hour scheduled power outage every morning in the fan-less heat. The first dream entailed flying over to Paris and sleeping in a park, and another involved being kidnapped on a ferry. 

Speaking of ferries…  after traveling to the very southernmost tip of India and hopping onto a tiny fishing boat with two old men chewing pan, grinning with stained, red teeth, then touring the backwaters of Kerala on a canoe and houseboat, I took a local ferry on my way to the tea hills of Munnar.  The ferry was packed with mostly older men, with a few women aboard.  The wooden ferry, painted yellow and green, actually had lifesavers on the ceiling (which was surprising).  Small trails of ants made their way up and down the posts by the open-air windows.  We passed cormorants in palm trees on the channel banks, deafened by the motor of the vessel.  I wrote in my diary with a young girl who I later discovered was named Shrilakshmi, reading over my shoulder.  Everyone was so fascinated by us; my friend Keiko and I were playing cards, and six old men gathered behind us to watch, cheering when I threw down a good hand.  Small, but beautifully humble homes lined the waterway, and I’ve learned only about five of the million uses of palm trees to locals.  Two men, uniformed in blue, pushed us off from the ferry stop after a family embarked from the platform outside of their bright purple and white-striped cottage. Clothes hung on lines outside of every home, colors blowing in the warm, moist wind, and I picked up the scent of jasmine from the flowers in the little girl’s hair.  Following the scariest bus ride of my life and a frustratingly unbargainable taxi drive up the winding roads of the tea mountains, we arrived in Munnar, set to trek through the thousands of hectors of tea plantations. 

While we sang the Sound of Music in the hills, our guide explained to us about the politics and religion of the state, and of course about the tea.  Kerala is the only state in India that has an alternating 5 years of Congress, then 5 years of Communism.  It also has a huge Christian population as a result of their British, Portuguese, and Dutch heritage.  It was neat to see churches in full swing on Palm Sunday, and to meet a Hindu man who casually mentioned that he “also worshipped Jesus.”  Our guide described Munnar’s traditions on Good Friday, which would entail fasting then climbing one of the many cross-topped mountains.  It sounded like a bit of a health risk to me, but very devotional nonetheless.

Back in Hyderabad, I decided it would only be appropriate to visit the nearest Catholic church in Lingampally on Easter Sunday.  It was quite an experience.  Leaving a bit late so the kids from Miami University Ohio could watch their hockey team tragically fall to Boston University, we grabbed a rickshaw to the English service in our best salwars.  Upon arrival, certain differences immediately struck me, beginning with the removal of the shoes at the door.  There were a few pews at the back, but most people sat on the floor, facing a garish, blue, heavenly mural with the crucifix at the center.  I was greeted by synthesizer drum beats and loud piano.  Women in sarees covered their heads, except for one woman in a turquoise Easter dress, which was just kind of weird.  Like all lines in India, the line for the host was more like a scramble to the front of the church.  The priest was very good, and the entire experience made me miss the religious excuse to gather with my amazing family. 

I’ve had a few interesting occurrences back on campus lately, including my friend Thomas’s attempt to hail a tractor for a ride with an almost deadly result, and a huge caste-related protest causing the cancellation of classes.

What I’ve learned: 

            -Don’t stick your arm out in front of a speeding tractor late at night, because they may not see you.  The walk up to our dorm is a long one, but not worth almost bleeding to death to avoid.

            -The caste system lives on and causes conflict even within the walls of a liberal college setting.  A Dalit medical professional in the campus health center, known to steal supplies, practice unsafely, and lead to the death of more than one student, was suspended after the poor treatment of a burned cafeteria worker (which led to the strike of the mess workers).  He has pulled the caste card, and the Dalit student union protested for an entire day, cutting off transportation in or out of the campus.  Despite his history of unethical and illegal practices, the students support him because he is of the backward caste.  The protest made it to the newspapers. 

The most recent newspapers, however, have been loaded with election coverage.  Politics in this country are fascinating.  The papers proclaim the corruption as if it’s no big thing, and it makes me wonder how much worse it is here or if we are just better at hiding it.  Politicians drive around in cars with gigantic speakers strapped to the roof, either bumping music or giving enthralling speeches in the local language.  People along the Andhra Pradesh coast and I’m sure in many other areas of India are placing their bets on the winners of the election.  And the sale of alcohol for the next three days is prohibited to prevent bribery and rioting.  Showing election coverage on TV is not allowed anymore before the polling, and with no alcohol to give to crowds, campaigning politicians are giving away millions of rupees in bribes (as well as the occasional color tv).  The money has been found stashed in ambulances and other hiding places to secretly distribute to hopeful voters.  I wonder if any bollywood stars are running.  Prime Minister Singh better watch out if Amir Kahn gets any big ideas.       

Anyways, I’ve got one more adventure planned before I book it home to America in May:

Ze great HIMALAYAS!

Discovering Rajasthan

Jodhpur

Once again, only the best highlights:

We took a half-day tour of the Bishnoi villages outside of Jodphur, where the original “Tree Huggers” once lived. Bishnoi translates to “Twenty-niners,” for the 29 rules to be followed by the people according to lord Vishnu. They highly value nature, especially animals and the local trees. When the 1730 Jodhpur Maharaja decided he needed to fell their trees to construct a new palace, a massacre of 363 Bishnois occurred, as they hugged the trees and accepted beheading as a sacrifice for the sacred wildlife.

Jodhpur Fort, overlooking the beautiful Blue City (homes painted in indigo to protect from the heat and the insects) introduced us to the beauty of Rajasthani architecture. Swooping window awnings and carved latticed walls to allow windflow, and to “allow women to look outside without the lusty stares of men.” Hmm. Gorgeous nonetheless.

A young boy approached us while we visited the blue city, and told us all about how Obama is good and Bush was very bad. His name was Viky and he took us to into his home up on a hill, and introduced us to every cousin and brother and sister. His mother made us chai, and his sisters complemented just about every piece of jewelry I was wearing.

As Rebecca and I wandered around the clock tower bazaar, we had the chance to glimpse three men playing trumpets late at night in their tiny music shop, and old women singing religious songs in their small temple. It was great to explore Jodhpur at night, to see all of its hidden surprises.

Recycled textiles are a wonderful invention by handicraftsmen all over Jodhpur and Jaipur. I found a small shop in the bazaar that featured hundreds of different cloths made from parts of women’s salwars and sarees from the villages. The village women cut up their old clothing, match the colors, and patch them together. The colors and designs are amazing, and it is so cool to imagine that all different people wore bits of a single textile for years of their life.

Bikaner

We took a two-day camel trek out of Bikaner. Laura had the funniest camel, who either farted or made a mating call every 30 seconds. The mating call consisted of blowing the inside of its throat out its mouth like a second tongue, and gurgling. Very attractive.

It was wonderful to be away from all people for a couple of days, in a country where solitude is rare. The stars were glorious at night, and I loved following tiny animal tracks in the sand. I saw giant lizards, antelopes, foxes, and vultures, and as we made our way through a small village on the way to the desert, all of the children chased our camel caravan shouting “Ta Ta!”

Jaipur

Lassiwala had the absolute hands down best lassies I have ever had. They were served in honey-comb shaped pottery, and tasted like heaven.

The pink city itself was beautiful. By law, every shop must be painted pink. It’s great.

We made good friends with an autorickshaw driver, who at one point took us to his friend’s Italian restaurant, where we were served beer from a teapot (unlicensed to serve alchy) and he told us about his life as an autodriver. His parents couldn’t afford to send him to school, as he was the youngest of 9 children. He can’t read or write, which impedes him from becoming a guide (his aspiration). He doesn’t want to get married, because he commiserates with Bob Marley by saying “No woman no cry.”

He let Laura drive the rickshaw past the lake palace. I considered trying, but I thought I would kill us all.

I later met a girl on the street in Jaipur who designs jewelry in her father’s store. She took me into her local temple on her way to work.

At one point, nearing the end of our journey, we laid down in the hotel bed to rest, and turned on the TV. On came the Amazing Race, and the contestants were headed straight to Jaipur! Go figure! It was hilarious to watch them muddle their way through Indian transportation to all of the sites we had just visited that day, and to see a newcomer's reaction to India compared to our accustomed view.

Overall, my trip put my faith in people on a bit of a roller coaster ride. Sometimes I felt like all friendship here comes with a price. Other times, I truly believed in the genuine friendliness of the people I was with. It all comes down to taking every new interaction as a fresh start, and seeing what happens. Not everyone is out to get paid, although it so often feels that way.

You know, Agra!

Watching the sun set from the beach, on the river behind the Taj Mahal, was the best and cheapest way to experience the breathtaking wonder of the world.   My friends and I sat in the cool sand and attempted broken Hindi with locals.  And wore the occasional beard.

In the late evening, it was wild to observe men on the Agra rooftops conducting a well-choreographed routine with their squads of trained pigeons.  With a series of whistles, they control a group of about 30 birds swooping through the air.  I got it on video, don’t worry.

Paneer butter masala and malai kofta.  Yum.  Cheesy, buttery goodness. 

I woke up for the sunrise back on the roof of our hotel, and loved seeing the warm light spill across the city.  Big monkeys popped out of the shadows onto the rooftops to begin their day, and about six local mosques commenced their morning call to prayer, only with a pleasantly un-synchronized two-minute delay between all of them.  

PS:

(There have been clouds in Hyderabad this week, and there have been absolutely beautiful skies.  I missed clouds!  But the heat is getting a bit outrageous, and my farmer's tan is becoming comical.)

 

A Moment in Delhi

Only days before leaving for my big trip up north, I resigned to visit the health center on campus, despite my bad habit of ignoring my parents’ good advice.  I had made a decent recovery from that special time in the library, but I wasn’t able to fully shake the mystery sickness.  I tried eating Sunday night Chinese, and relapsed.  Laying awake late at night after finishing a paper, running to the bathroom every 3 minutes, I started feeling short of breath and a bit dizzy.  I hit up the infirmary instead of giving a presentation the next day, was admitted, and laid down next to a student with hideous burns all over his arm.  The health center was quite the contrast to the medical care I’m used to.  I staggered around for a while looking for a receptionist or something, and was eventually pointed into a curtained room where a woman recorded my woes and sent me into the emergency unit.  Picture a nurse in a white saree sticking an IV into you without gloves or handwashing, then being given pretty pills in the hand that you just had to make real use of in the Indian bathroom with no toilet paper or soap with the other hand out the door connected to the IV.  This is all a bit graphic, but trust me when I say I am omitting the worst of it. 

Arriving in Delhi, I hoped it wasn’t a poor life decision to be traveling for 9 days after the whole ordeal.  Luckily I started feeling much better after a day or two.  My friends and I had a real whirlwind tour of the major northern cities, and got a great taste of north Indian culture.  Instead of listing everything we did and saw, I’ll just give a description of a few of the most memorable moments from each place, starting with Delhi.

Delhi

After watching a huge parade travel down the main street, we lost ourselves in an amazing bazaar down an alleyway, which sold everything from beads to saree borders to festival decorations to felt jewelry displays.  There were fabrics upon fabrics, kitchen supplies, spices and perfumes.  Amid the bustle of the narrow alleys, bicycle rickshaws with large loads of goods were constantly yelling at us to get out of their way.  They really sneak up on you compared to the putting, beeping autorickshaws, known as “tuk-tuks” in some places because of these characteristic noises.  In the bazaar we happened upon the most beautiful street of tiny, stacked homes I have ever seen.  Like a solace in the center of a never-ending market of shouting and selling and squeezing past strangers, the street had three people walking down it.  Lined with pink and yellow and turquoise apartments with intricately carved and painted doorways and potted flowers and plants on every doorstep, the street gave us a chance to catch our breath and see the understated beauty that could be hidden anywhere here in India.

I ate at my first Indian McDonalds in Delhi.  It smelled exactly the same.  (Beefless, of course)

A pigeon found its way into the huge, silent Lotus temple, where everybody was meditating in the quiet cool.  The marble temple is shaped like a giant lotus flower, with high ceilings, large windows, and rafters curving down to the floor.  The pigeon had no place to land, and I followed it with my eyes as it flew in circles around and around, confused.  The temple workers were so strict about peacefulness, that they even asked parents with crying children to leave.  Their silence was disrupted, however, with the loud smack of the pigeon on one of the large glass windows.  The thud echoed throughout the airy temple, and I had to stifle a laugh.  The bird was okay, don’t worry.

I also bought a beard in Delhi, which would come in handy in making our Taj Mahal pictures a bit different from everyone else’s.

Our 6-hour bus from Delhi to Agra made a stop in the middle of the countryside at a small collection of food stands.  I needed to use the bathroom, and it took me a while to realize that the pink, roofless, concrete box was the ladies’ lav.  There were two-foot high partitions between the “stalls,” and everything just drained out a hole in the wall at the back, but the floor was basically flat.  An old woman came in with me, and chattered to me in Hindi while I tried to figure out how to not pee on my feet.  After all this time she made me wonder if I’ve been using Indian toilets backwards.  Maybe that’s what she was trying to tell me.  Unfortunately my Hindi’s not THAT good yet.

I’ve digressed again, however- Sorry!   Delhi was a neat old city, more metropolitan and complete than Hyderabad with its half-finished buildings.  

HOLI.

There's so much I'd like to say about Holi.  It's a fantastic Hindu holiday celebrating the coming of spring and referring back to a Religious story about the burning of the demon Holika by a devotee of the god Vishnu.  The holiday celebrates colors, and people used to throw handfuls of crushed-flower powder at their friends in order to protect them from summer sicknesses like chicken pox, but now most of the powders have slightly harmful chemicals in them, which is a bit ironic.  Potential health risks aside, Holi transcends caste, skin color and gender -related social constraints.  The village people were some of the first to attack us Americans, and boys and girls attacked each other brutally.  I got egged.  

I wish I could say more but I just threw up all over the library bathroom.  I put up tons of photos, though, so you should get a great depiction of the holiday. Ugh. Bed.

Life At Your Own Risk, and ... Recycling?

I do my painting in the fine arts studio, next to the talented graduate students perfecting their impressive portfolios.  The building is old, with blue shutters on its barred windows, peeking out from a curtain of vines dangling lazily from the roof.  It is a beautiful place to create, despite the fecal stench of the septic system located next door.  I have discovered a large exposed pipe with a gaping crack next to the entrance to my studio, from which I suspect some of the stink is escaping.  Usually lots of loud shouting in Hindi provides background noise as I paint, probably due to the fact that the Health Inspector’s office is adjacent to the studio.  He must have a lot on his plate. 

The concepts of Health and Safety are certainly very different.  Some regulations exist, but few are enforced.  This definitely has its positives and negatives:  Positives being time and cost efficiency, negatives being the potential for nasty accidents.  The fear of the lawsuit, of course, is barely present.  Seat belts are suggested but rarely seen, helmets are only expected in major cities for motorcyclists.  Autorickshaws quote a 4-person maximum on their yellow sides, but I’ve managed to fit 10.  Today as I rode my bike to the library, it was comical watching one school bus regurgitate about one hundred fifty uniformed children, running excitedly towards the “Save the Tigers” photography exhibition in our campus auditorium.  They were squashed in that bus like peeled, stubby crayons stuffed into a fraying Crayola box, bulging at the edges.  Aside from the precarious yet functional transportation, people aren’t generally kept in or outside barriers.  There aren’t safety railings up the sides of the touristy temple trails on the mountains in Hampi, or guards to yell at you for just hopping across the train tracks at a station to get to the other platform.  Nowhere seems really “off limits,” whether you’re sitting on roofs or exploring sites.  The exceptions are my hostel, which is like a fortress with bodyguards, or major public attractions like shopping malls, or movie theaters where you must walk through metal detectors and get patted down upon entry. 

On the dietary front, I usually find a few hairs in the occasional meal and we eat with our hands.  And that’s the pampered life of the guest house.  Recently my friends had a meal cooked on a fire fed with camel dung out in the Rajasthani desert- and they liked it!  I haven’t seen the preparation of meals in the average Indian restaurant, but I’d say that most would fail American health inspections in a heartbeat.  Nevertheless, the food is fantastic!  Street food, however, is delicious, but often is accompanied by an abdominal attack.  All water we drink should be bottled, but most lower-caste locals drink from the tap.   Warm showers are a luxury, and so are washing machines.  But being sweaty is totally legitimate in this heat, it’s been up to 106° recently.  As for the loo, it seems more sanitary to me, minus the lack of toilet paper.  No sharing a dirty seat!  Even medicines, cheaper equivalents to those in the US, are readily available at numerous pharmacies, but many people would rather use homeopathic remedies.  The other day Tabbu was telling me that she was using a unani medicine for her skin, and at Charminar I passed men sitting on the ground selling homeopathic medicines (involving porcupine quills and other intriguing objects).  We have been discussing this topic in my Sociology of Health, Sickness, and Healing Class- it’s very interesting.  All I mean to say is that there is less anxiety about germs and accidents and life here is very much “at your own risk.”  I find that kind of liberating in a way.  

Despite the fact that there is trash littered about almost everywhere, and no real recycling programs, Indian people will manage to re-use just about anything.  Cars that look like they were made in the 70s will be repaired and repaired until they won’t run any longer, and their parts will go back into circulation for years.  And when those parts no longer work for a car, they’ll be used in some other appliance.  The Mazaa drink (yummy mango juice) sold at any shop comes in a glass bottle, which when you have finished, you give back to the shop and they will ship it back to be refilled.  I watched the refill truck leaving campus last week, empty Mazaa, Thumbs Up, and Almond Milk bottles rattling on the back.  A couple of weeks ago, the sole fell off of my best pair of sandals.  Instead of throwing them away, I took them to the cobbler on campus yesterday and paid the equivalent of 12 cents to have new soles put on.  There’s a cobbler on campus!  And a tailor!  The cobbler is down this alley at “shopcom” (the main shopping center on campus with a bookstore and convenience store with the same meditation mantra playing in the background every day all day and a guy who owns the shop who generally has answer to my every problem) and it is literally a room full of shoes.  It’s GREAT!  I have even seen restaurant bills written on the backs of old receipts, and paper plates made out of old cereal boxes. That’s what I’d call recycling.   People go through trash, too, and take what they will find useful later. The organized response to the litter is quite funny actually.  Everywhere you’ll find these trash cans shaped like big bunnies or penguins that say “Use Me,” over a big hole on the animal’s stomach. 

Overall, things are going well over here at the University of Hyderabad.  If I could vote for the next student body president, I’d probably lean towards the student named Nelson Mandela.  He seems like a good guy.  It’s funny to see his campaign signs all over.  This weekend our program is taking us all to Mysore, which will be interesting with 30 people on the train- we’ll take up a whole car.  I pity the poor people who’ll be stuck listening to our banter.  And then I’ve got a few big trips coming up after that up North and then way down south to Kerala.  I’ll also be performing tabla on Monday for National Women’s day at my school, which should be entertaining after a weekend of no practice.  I hope everyone is surviving the snow back at home, I miss and love you all!  

Slumdog, Hampi and Hippies

After winning a bunch of Oscars and putting the world spotlight on India, I figured I should mention the blockbuster film.  I didn't get a chance to see it yet, so I don't really have an opinion on the movie.  My friend Brenda, however, saw it in the US and in India, and has written a very good article about it for a travel website.  Check it out here.  From what I have seen and heard, it has not been a big hit here in Hyderabad, and nobody seems to really be talking about it.  I do think there is a little pride in its latest awards, however.  

I am beginning to feel an oh so unpleasant feeling in my abdomen, (maybe it was that gulab jamen at lunch) so I will probably keep this short before my Hindi class.  Hampi was a great place to experience, full of beautiful sights and temples and hidden treasures.. and European Hippies.  I have never seen so many dreadlocks!  It just so happens that Goa and Hampi are popular vacation destinations, only a cheap flight over from Europe.  But the tourism was easily surpassed by the overwhelmingly gorgeous scenery.  The mountains surrounding Hampi look like a bunch of giants spent hours piling up massive boulders into hills of crumbling rock.  In between the mountains are lush valleys of palm and banana groves, and rice patty fields, with a clean river flowing through.  There were endless ruins to explore, over 500 years old.  Most were Shiva, Krishna, and monkey temples.  There was also a big Ganesh, and Monolithic Bull statue, among so many other old stone structures.  I can't even imagine an ancient civilization large enough to fill all of those places of worship!  Overall, the views were breathtaking from various mountaintop temples, and Rebecca, Veena and I had lots of adventures climbing and wandering and taking rides in coracle boats. (see the latest photos!!)

It was also funny to realize how modest I have become after a few months here in India.  The European tourists did not consider the kinds of dress expected in India, and wore outfits that shocked and scandalized me-  Shorts! Tank tops! Miniskirts! AHH!  I try to dress very respectfully of the culture, especially in a place of such religious significance.  Hampi has grown to expect the raunchy dress of Western tourists, because it has been such a popular spot for so long.  Had the same people shown up in Hyderabad, it would be a different story.  Hyderabad is much more conservative, and not at all touristy.  Once, a girl I was sitting next to on the 216 bus told me that my friend, whose middrift was showing occasionally, was the talk of the bus for being inappropriately dressed.  Hence, the German girl in the booty-shorts and halter top, wrapping her leg around her boyfriend to pose for a photo next to a temple, was quite a shock.   

So that's a bit of Hampi, and I also wanted to brag and say that you'd all be proud of me for not taking sass from some jerks on the train and in Hampi.  I can be kind of shy, so it took a lot for me to tell a very rude young man that he was not a nice person and that we would rather swim across the river than pay double the price to ride in his coracle.  That was fun actually.  And we did end up finding a nice paddler, for the decent price.  I am now going to be late for Hindi.  

Enjoy the new photos! Miss and love you all!!

Daily Life

For some reason, this website began showing up in Dutch or something, so I hope I can click the right buttons to post correctly. I am at the library, and one never knows what to expect from these old computers.

I figured I'd give a quick description of what daily life is like here. First of all, it's HOT! To be honest, I haven't actually ever seen a thermometer here, but if I had to guess I'd say it was about 70-80 Degrees out most days- and this is only the winter! In the coming months it should get up to over a hundred on an average day. The heat, combined with my hostel's location up a bumpy dirt road two miles from the main campus, makes for a very sweaty lifestyle. And unfortunately, I am cultivating a fantastic farmer's tan.

I start off each day with some morning meditation, which we have been learning about from Dr. Vasudeva Rao. Then I head downstairs for a breakfast of toast, curd (yogurt.. possibly from a water buffalo?), banana, fresh fruit juice, and tea from 8-9am. The mess hall has us on a strict meal schedule, and I find my mouth watering by 1pm for lunch. Lunch is usually some sort of fresh vegis, roti (flat bread), rice, curried potatoes and vegis, and dal (lentils). Dinner is from 7-8pm, and is usually a different version of similar ingredients to lunch. We get very excited for dosa nights, as dosas are delicious wraps similar to crepes with cheese, masala, gobi (cauliflower) and whatever else you want inside them. Lussies are also one of my favorites, and they are like a sweet yogurty milkshake. The kitchen staff is a bunch of characters also, so meals are always interesting.

Mondays and Wednesdays are my easy days, where I spend as much time in the painting studio as I can, and only have one real class from 4-5pm (Hindi). Then I have tabla lessons at 6. The tabla is an instrument similar to the bongos, and it usually accompanies the sitar or kathak dancers. Tuesdays and Thursdays are pretty exhausting, beginning with the race down from breakfast to class at 9, for Sociology of Health, Sickness and Healing. It is a very interesting topic, but a pretty dry class. We have a two hour lecture that could probably be condensed into about 20 minutes. Before that class is over at 11, I have to get up and leave quietly so I can make it to my next class back on my hostel's side of campus which starts at 11 (hmmm?). That is my Cognitive Psychology class, which I arrive to panting and sweating profusely. I have class with younger students, about my brother's age, (UOH is a graduate university, except for this integrated studies program which is a 5 year program for undergraduates, and this major will be the first group of Psychology students to graduate in India) who are often moved by the professor because they talk in class. I enjoy the course, and it is very great to be able to study Psychology here, but the 2 hour classes really do take a toll on my attention span. So Psych goes from 11-1, and I am starving for lunch. Then it's Hindi at 4 again with the lovely Bhavani, then Hindi tutoring with Tabussom (Super awesome Muslim graduate student, studying for her PhD in Deccan Hindi) at 5. If it's Tuesday, Meditation class at 6.

Sometimes my constant bike rides up and down these bumpy roads reminds me of when Helen and I were younger, biking around Quonnie in the summer on Nana's red bike. The temperature is right, the speedbumps are right, and there are rocks protruding from the ground everywhere. People sit on the back racks of the bikes just like we used to. And it still REALLY hurts to go over the bumps if you're on the back. If I close my eyes (quickly!), and listen to a plane going overhead, and notice the hot sun on my face, it's great to feel that sense of a home from my youth.

Evenings are usually spent reading, practicing tabla, hanging out with friends on the balconies of our hostel, planning our next trips, exploring the city, or, every once in a while, studying. As time goes on, and I get to know the students in my classes even better, I hope to hang out more with them too! I have a few good friends in my Psych class, as well as my Painting class. However it is much more difficult here than I had expected to make Indian friends. The concept of arranged marriages in this country adds an interesting dynamic to the situation. The boys make it too easy, as they would LOVE to have an American girl friend. (The other day I found a note on my bicycle that read "Dope iz Kool, <3 S.A."). The day before that, I took a ride on the back of a guy's motorbike, because my tire was flat, and it takes 45 minutes to walk to the other side of campus. After I thanked him, he immediately asked for my phone number. (I declined). I do not really trust these boys' intentions, although I am sure most of them are perfectly harmless and wonderful people. The girls, on the other hand, do not like the attention we receive, and are not as quick to approach us. But I have been working my way through these barriers, and will miss the great Indian students I have met as much as the great American students in my program.

So that's a taste of my routine here. It can be frustrating at times, and amazing at other times. Every day I learn something new about this place. This afternoon, I am off to the state of Karnataka for the weekend, to visit the ruins at Hampii with a couple of friends. I hear there are lots of monkeys. Woo!

Chennai to Mamallapuram to Pondicherry, Addressing the Caste

Here is a modified diary entry from my trip this weekend:  I haven’t really read it over, but it’s lunch time and I don’t know when I’ll be back on the internet.. so here it is!

 

Back on the train, probably for about 14 hours, but hopefully less, traveling from Chennai  back to Hyderabad.  It’s been a great trip, albeit a bit more lavish than I prefer to be in India.  Partially because circumstances prevented certain cost-savings, and also because I was in a small group of two other girls and myself.  We departed from Hyderabad on Thursday, separate from the rest of the group going off the night before, because we had tests and presentations to take care of.  (We are supposedly “studying” here too).  Before we had left, there were some warnings floating around Chennai because of some unrest in Sri Lanka, just next door, causing a “Bundt,” or strike.  Despite the warnings, we decided to go on ahead with our plans, of course with “constant vigilance.”  During our short stay in Chennai, followed by Mamallapuram and Pondicherry, I felt not one bit unsafe.  My time here in India in general has led me to stop allowing the media to induce a fear of foreign people and places. 

 

We arrived in Chennai, and headed to our hotel in the district of Triplicane, a predominantly Muslim neighborhood.  I had made a reservation at a place called “Broadlands,” which was described in Veena’s guidebook as a place to either love or hate.  We certainly loved it (and its cheap prices), with its whitewashed stucco walls, stained glass, green courtyards and funky pink rooms with blue shutters as doors.  It had so much character and history, with bats hanging in the hallways.  It was a bit of a gem, hidden down a side street with a great view from the roof of the mosque next door.  It is amazing what beauty India has concealed behind crumbling exteriors and just steps off of the main road.  These outer appearances are very deceiving, and you never know what you are going to stumble upon.  I find it interesting, in contrast, what they do not hide here- which we in the US go to great lengths to.  I am referring to the trash and litter, the poverty, and faults in their patchy infrastructure.  I sometimes worry that I am becoming just a little too accustomed to seeing children, dirty and alone, begging for money that they will never even be able to use because their parents or the people that they “work for,” will see any benefit of their begging.  People with the worst of disabilities, deformities, and disfigurement wander the trains to get by, as there is no truly functioning system to care for them.  This just illustrates why I am a very hesitant about any sort of extravagance. 

 

The best parts of the trip included our stay in Chennai, seeing the sights, and meeting some fascinating British travelers, who had purchased huge motorcycles and were spending six months driving around India.  We met up with them later in Pondicherry, too, and had a lot of fun exploring together.  The bus rides from city to city were quite the thrill- involving delivering huge sacks of rice and sticks and hay to just about every village between Chennai and Mamallapuram, and trying not to fall out of the open bus door while standing for two and a half hours on the ride from Mamallapuram to Pondicherry.  I also insisted in jumping into the Bay of Bengal, which was great in retrospect, but I did smell like ass for a day or two afterwards.  Also in Mamallapuram, we met some young Yemeni and Iraqi travelers, one who had studied in Roger Williams and at Harvard.  It was very cool to hear their perspective on the Iraq war, and it was nice to hear that they too were excited about President Obama.  Pondicherry, with its French charm and beautiful sights, was a bit more frustrating than I expected.  Hotels would promise us rooms, then turn us away upon arrival.  After the fourth place the rickshaw took us to, we were at our wits end and had to settle for an overpriced business hotel with a silly glass elevator that sang as you went up, and a characterless, sterile feel.  Starving after the long day of travel, we raced around looking for some food as it was already 10PM.  Everything in Pondicherry closes early, because it is monopolized by a very popular Asharam, inflicting strict drinking and bedtime policies… not what I expected from a French enclave!  We found a cute place to grab dinner, with mean waiters who gave us a downright “NO.” when we ordered crepes for desert.  It was nonetheless a lovely place to wander around, with lovely Hindu temples and Christian churches, weddings galore, and a great view of the coast.  We definitely also lucked out with our train back, because it left an hour earlier than our friends’, and theirs was derailed for about 4 hours.

 

I lastly want to add something else that I actually wasn’t here to experience.  While we were off for the weekend, there was a tragic occurrence back here on campus.  The details are a little fuzzy of course, based in rumors only, but from what I can gather, a graduate student on campus committed suicide.  People are claiming that it was caste-related, as he was a lower caste person studying under an upper caste mentor who did not treat him kindly.  So says word of mouth.  My Hindi tutor told me that this boy was the second suicide from his particular department in two months.  It’s hard to tell if it was caste-related or studies-related, or because of an infinite amount of other reasons.  Nonetheless, there have been large protests on campus, and some classes were cancelled Monday as a result.  It is very different to experience the remains of the caste system here.  The gap between the upper and backward caste (Brahmins and Dalits respectively), is so dauntingly vast, and very much more intense than the class divisions in the US.  And unlike our system, it is near impossible for a Dalit to “work their way up” in society.  In India, you are born into a caste, and there you will remain no matter how hard you work or how much acclaim or money or talent you acquire.  The system is perpetuated by child labor, and even arranged marriages by caste hold people in one place, as well as their families.  The Dalit and Backward class people are given some chances for further education, with an Affirmative Action-type program.  This has similar complications and controversies as it does in the US.  However, most lower caste people were raised doing arduous manual labor or servantile work for bare minimum wages, and will continue to do so for the rest of their lives.  As I previously mentioned, anyone with physical disabilities or mental problems is generally found on the streets- old or young, unless they are lucky.  Overall, it is very difficult to reconcile seeing major computer engineering companies with no limit to their corporate spending, next to the slum village with the sewage stream running through it, children bathing in the muck. I will certainly remember what I have learned and seen and experienced here in India. 

Off Again!

Well I've managed to reclaim my computer from this sketchy technology center down an alley near Hyderabad Central in Panjagutta, run by a nice man with a limp and a woman with an extra toe.  Unfortunately, my hostel's internet is out again due to some fire somewhere important.  Anyways, I have just uploaded a TON of photos from my trip to Aurangabad, but I can't write much because I have to go study for my Hindi test and Cognitive Psych Internal before I leave for my next endeavor.  Tomorrow we depart for Chennai, then Pondicherry, where we will stay until Sunday night.  The cities are located on the southeast coast of India, and Chennai is known for its beaches and Pondicherry its French influence.  A few things I've learned lately.. "Maps don't work in India," and "There are no lines in India," are two very true phrases.  When I get back, I will spend some time discussing the caste system, arranged marriages, "man love," and a few things that I will never get accustomed to such as seeing the swastika symbol everywhere (a hindi sign for health and prosperity).  Love you all, hope everyone is well! 

A big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Joey, whom I miss very much!! Have a great one!! :)

Aurangabad, Maharashtra

Myself and 7 friends arrived in Aurangabad, in the western state of Maharashtra, at 5am by sleeper train out of Secunderabad. The trip took 11 hours. On the car ride to the train station, my friend Katie was very ill. I, in turn, began to feel more and more iffy every time we pulled over for her. By the time our big blue and yellow train was pulling away from the station, I was extremely nauseous. I tried convincing myself that it was all in my head, but I was already beyond the point of no return. Within 20 minutes my head was out of the emergency window, and I was spewing lunch all over the side of the train (and my arm, incidentally). The rest of the ride was a nightmare- between a huge seat exchange mixup, vomiting violently into a plastic bag in my lap, hyperventilating, as my friends scrambled to find the conductor to get us our seats back, and squatting over a hole releasing the demons within my gastrointestinal tract all over the Indian countryside. Everyone else managed to sleep soundly, while I watched the hours crawl by, curled up in a ball on the top bunk shivering feverishly with stabbing pains in my abdomen, getting up every 20 minutes to run to the little girls room. Unfortunately, my first train ride was not quite the re-creation of the Darjeeling Limited.

After sleeping for about four hours in our room at the Hotel Shree Maya, only minutes from Aurangabad station, we got up and hired a driver to take us to see the amazing Ellora caves. The caves are former monasteries and temples from Hindu, Jain, and Buddhist religions, carved at different intervals between 500-1000 AD. We spent most of the morning wandering around the rock caves, until we (they) had worked up quite an appetite and asked our driver to find us a neat local place. I was able to keep some paneer mutter down, and of course a bar of ice cream. Following lunch, our driver insisted we visit Daulatabad fort- a 12th century fortress with awesome ramparts, spiked wooden doors, and dark passageways where intruders would be trapped, led towards an open window, then whisked down a chute into the moat to be munched on by alligators. There were thousands of bats over our heads as we weaved up 500 steps, winding inside and out of the fort. It was exhausting being so dehydrated, but I am so glad Veena and I made our way to the top. The view was spectacular, and we could see the hills, farms and villages for miles. Even though it was a tourist spot, we were still basically the only white people there- which almost creates this celebrity status. Indians want photos of us, whether or not we are willing to pose for them. The teenage boys are the worst (they have no problem holding their camera phones in your face as you walk by, or hounding you relentlessly until you get up and leave). At the top of the fort, as I took in the view, a schoolteacher and his stuents approached me and asked to take a photo with me. I obliged, feeling like I didn't really earn the awe emanating from their stares, because the kids were adorable. Some of them hadn't seen an American before. It is an interesting feeling to be the minority.

We came back and ate at the hotel for dinner, which I couldn't stomach, and hit the hay hard and early. Getting up at a decent hour was a difficult but good idea, and we got a head start to the Ajanta caves. Our same driver, a lover of bumpin' good bollywood music from Gajhini and other recent films we'd seen, took us there in style. And I must once again reiterate that driving in India is like a constant game of chicken. I have gotten used to barreling down on oncoming traffic on the opposite side of the road, imminent death, etc. I was hoping to feel better on this day, but I think that the hike the day before set me back in my dehydration. I was still very weak and nauseous for most of the outing, and felt like a pathetic zombie dragging my dried, hunched body up and down stairs into 30 different Buddhist caves from the 2nd century BC. The caves had paintings, sculptures and pillars depicting Buddha's life. The entire area was cut into the sides of this C-shaped valley in the Sahyadri hills, and if it had been monsoon season, there would have been waterfalls cascading around us. It was a beautiful place.

The next day we decided to play by ear and explored Aurangabad city for a while. It is mostly a tourist town, with its close proximity to the famous caves. The city itself was very nice, with a slower, calmer pace than Hyderabad. We settled on first visiting Bibi Ka Maqbara, the burial place of this man Aurangzeb's wife. It is an imitation of the Taj Mahal in Agra, and due to its similar design, it is popularly known as the "Mini Taj." It was pretty neat, with the intricately carved marble designs, domes, and long reflecting pool. The stone felt great under our bare feet as we entered the tomb. Next, we proceeded to a shopping area, which we had hoped was an open market but what turned out to be western stores, and milled around. Settling on a place for lunch called "Smile," we enjoyed dosas and lussies (similar to crepes and yogurty milkshakes). Yum! I was actually alive finally, and could enjoy my meal! We made our way back by autorickshaw, and found a beauty parlor advertising Mehendi, the local version of henna. We thought it would be a quick stop, but with 8 people and one artist, it turned into hours at this woman's home. She sat us down in her living room after shooing her husband off his couch, and served us chai and snacks and put on bootlegged bollywood for us. Her daughter, about 7, flipped through photo albums of the family with us as the woman ran to fetch reinforcements. The whole ordeal took hours, but we didn't once feel uncomfortable or unwanted. As the mehendi caked of of our skin and left detailed designs weaving down our arms, we thanked the family for sharing their beautiful home with us strangers for hours.

We enjoyed our last dinner on a porch at the hotel that we didn't know existed- it was always full of surprises! Even when the final bill came, and it cost me less than 20$ for the 3 night stay with meals included. What a country! Leaving the hotel was no fun at 3AM, but I enjoyed walking down the dark, deserted street to the train station in the cool night air. There was a stillness in the streets that I had yet to experience in India- it seemed like the bustling never stopped! We boarded our train at 4:10 AM, and I knew that this ride could not possibly be any worse than the first. In fact, it turned out to be quite enjoyable. I slept for the first few hours, until I realized that there was a man on my bed. We were all separated this ride, and I was on a bottom bunk, seat 64. I looked at my watch and the man made sense. The time was 9AM, and and he was an older gentleman, probably too stiff to lay down anymore. He just wanted to eat his breakfast. Since I was occupying the bottom bunk, I was the person deciding when the other bunks could sit like normal people, opposed to hunchbacks. I groaned, wanting to keep sleeping, but I got up instead because it was awkward to have some man sitting on my bed and I felt bad making him hunch at his old age. I know he felt bad for waking me, but was relieved to fold up his middle bunk and stretch out his back. I spent the train ride reading, observing the older couple across from me (as the old woman stitched a saree blouse and her husband gazed at the rolling countryside rushing past), and fraternizing with a group of young yuppie men that my friends had met in their compartment. They made for an interesting ride between their "how do you perceive me" game, and discussing our differing views on relationships and marriages. Either way, the train ride went much quicker and we got a free cab ride home out of making their acquaintances. Albeit the cab driver did hit a motorcycle on our way home with two young boys on it (they were ok) and then run back yelling for his hubcap. All in all, it was an excellent first independent excursion! I was very happy to arrive home, wish my mom a happy birthday ;) and throw my pukey clothes in the wash. My computer is down for a while, so no pictures yet.. but stand by until next week or so!

Stepping out for a bit!

It has been a busy couple of weeks getting settled into classes and going on a few local excursions.  Highlights include the MVF School for children who have been taken out of labor and placed into school, and the Inaugural Ball in the city.  A friend also had a run-in with the Consulate when her parents received a phone call claiming to have kidnapped her and demanded millions of dollars ransom.  She was out at a bar, so I'm not quite sure what her assailants were talking about. Visiting the school was a great experience, and the children were absolutely amazing.  They went nuts with our cameras, and we played volleyball with them for hours.  As for the Inaugural ball, it was a bunch of old ex-pats getting drunk at the open bar and shmoozing hardcore.  Always interesting.  My friends and I got all dressed up in sarees, and the boys wore nice kurtas- dressing was quite the process.  Luckily we had no wardrobe malfunctions, and all of the safety pins held.  Even through the eight-minute techno dance party (which we dominated).   It was great watching the inauguration on the big screen, and I felt very proud to be an American after listening to Obama's speech.  

A group of friends and I have put together a trip to Aurangabad, to see some magnificent,  ancient caves and temples at Ajanta and Ellora, and a random replica of the Taj Mahal.    We will be living a scene out of the Darjeeling Limited, on our sleeper train in our bunk beds.  I hope to re-enact the movie during the 11 hour ride.  Since Monday is Republic day (and my mother's birthday!!), we will have a long weekend adventure!  Until Tuesday!

The Bus.

To actually find a seat would be a miracle.  Imagine the Green Line during a Sox/Yankees World Series home game.  Then multiply that crowd by ten, but replace the drunken sox fans with Indian people staring directly at you.  Occasionally, some sympathetic soul will pull you onto their lap, to both make room for more people to pile on, and to get your elbow out of their face.  By the third stop, there are usually about 60 people on the bus, with eight men dangling precariously out the back entrance.  All I have to say is thank God the front area is designated for women, considering the amount of physical contact.  There is no such thing as personal space in India.  There really can’t be with a population of a billion people.  I was graced with a seat the other day, on my way to Abids, and immediately had a large woman rest her gut on my shoulder.  Sweat is no longer something to be bothered by.  As the ticket man pushed and squeezes his way past, collecting rupees for tickets, the mass of people sways and lurches back and forth- into me, into each other, into the seats, onto the floor, until your stop finally comes. 

Finding that stop is another challenge, especially when you are pinned up against the wall of the bus with about 30 people between you and the door.  There are no maps or announcements for the stops, and rarely can you actually contort to the awkward angle to see out of the dirty windows to get your bearings.  It’s even harder when you’re with a group of girls and boys.  The boys stand in the back, and the girls in the front- so you have to arrange a series of hand signals or just shout across the bus when you think your stop may possibly be coming up.  Usually the best bet is to find the closest English-speaking Indian and ask them to tell you when you are about to reach your stop.

When the time has come to disembark, and your lungs cannot inhale one more breath of exhaust fumes, and the bus has almost come to a complete stop, and you have signaled the boys at the back of the bus that this might be “go time,” all you have to do is push past those 30 people between you and the door.  I’d imagine it’s something like squeezing your way into the sliding glass doors of Walmart at opening time on Black Friday to get an Xbox 360 or something.  But honestly, for 10 rupees, (~20cents) it’s not so bad.

Happy Makara Sankranthi! And the Search for Sarees

The saree is one of the most elegant and graceful garments made for the female figure.  The ~six-yard long fabric wraps and drapes in just the right places to compliment a woman’s curves and contours.  Every saree looks unique and is intricately crafted. The women of India emerge from the dusty brown and red rubble background in such bright colors and delicate stitching, complimented with bangles upon bangles on their arms, clinking as they walk.  The sarees flow smoothly around their forms as they walk.  A woman from one caste looks just as beautiful as a woman from another.  There does not seem to be the pressure to have an idealistic thin figure, and every woman looks equally gorgeous and comfortable in her saree. 

My roommate Veena and I had a mission yesterday:  Find sarees to wear to the inaugural ball.  Help was needed from her extended family, living in the city.  Her “uncle,” actually her cousin’s husband’s father, picked us up and drove us to their home in Hyderabad for a home-cooked traditional South Indian meal.  We were filled to the brim and then some, guiltily turning away the third and fourth helpings out of fear of bursting.  All the while we watched videos of her cousin’s wedding and looked through the three photo albums chronicling the event.  Indian hospitality is unparalleled.  And they sure do love their weddings.

Her aunt and uncle then took us to a saree shop after lunch, where hundreds of the garments were thrown at us by men standing on a bed.  It was all very overwhelming, but I tried to be a bit decisive, and settled on a green saree with purple borders and a loopy gold pattern woven into it.  Hopefully Veena can help me wrap it and pin it so it doesn’t fall off halfway through the night.  After our purchase, we made our way to this very smelly lake of what I think is sewage/runoff water and not actual lake water on the other side of Banjara Hills. 

Since yesterday was a Hindu holiday celebrating the harvest, known as Makara Sankranthi, we knew there would be some sort of festival there.  If you have read the book the Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini, you will know about the kite-flying festivals that take place on Indian holidays.  Veena’s uncle drove us to the lake where the huge stone statue of Buddha stands in the middle (fun fact- it’s one of the largest Buddha statues in the world, and when they were transporting it to the middle of the lake the boat sank to the bottom and it stayed there for like 2 years), and we watched the mayhem of the kite competitions. The sky was littered with kites, some lazily floating from side to side, others ready to strike at any moment.  A young boy next to us tugged and pulled and managed to easily loop his kite around the string of an older man’s kite, and dragged it right into his hands.  The older man was not very happy, and quickly went to reclaim his fallen kite from the boy. Children were running around excitedly, with brightly colored kites in their hands, and I was tempted to go for a camel ride.  After experiencing the kite festival, her family took us back to their home for tea.  On our way, Veena’s aunt got out of the car to go speak with one of their neighbors.  Minutes later, she returns to the house with the neighborhood tailor, to take our measurements for the saree blouses!  Once again, I must say that Indian hospitality just blows me away.  

Some Good Days

1/9

Today just about everything seemed to work in my favor, with the only exception of my gastrointestinal tract’s recent failure to cope with a certain special something in my diet.  I started the day off with some lovely yoga as the sun came up, instructed by two funny older gentlemen who contradict each other constantly and cause us much confusion.  I do need some good pants for yoga, however, because the ones I’ve been wearing have an ever-growing hole in the crotch.  And that’s not okay. 

After yoga I stopped at the library to see if the Internet was actually working, and it was! I then biked back to the guest house for breakfast, and made it just in time.  A few friends and I went back to the functioning library to plan our upcoming excursion to the Ajunta and Ellora caves in a couple of weeks.   After biking back (I probably bike about 6 miles a day getting around campus), and handing in our forms, I had my first WARM shower!  I removed the band aids from my poor toes, a wound from when I swerved stupidly into the curb, and I don’t seem to be getting disgustingly infected or anything, so that’s good. 

After a glorious nap, my friends and I headed to Banjara Hills for this advertised French jazz quartet, which turned out to be FREE with an open bar.  The show was fantastic, featuring an excellent accordion player and French lyrics.  While waiting for the show to begin, some of my other friends met a woman who offered us tickets to Hyderabad’s Obama Inauguration Ball on the 20^th.  We get to dress up in saris and celebrate a moment to be described to our children... in India!

 

1/10

After all of the excitement of yesterday, I took it pretty easy today and slept in, and did a lot of reading.  We did decide to see another Bollywood movie, though this one wasn’t as good- it was more of a chick-flick.  The best part was getting Dominos beforehand, to give ourselves a greasy bit of home.  After getting our hands on some American food, we sat down to enjoy our meal when a small boy began blowing large birthday horn- one of those that unrolls as you blow into it, only his had three rolls and was a bit loud and obnoxious, but nothing that we couldn’t handle after coming in from the street.   As we gazed at him, kind of wishing that he would stop, the ceiling tiles above his head gave way and a scrambling monkey clung to dear life and managed to squirm back into the ceiling.  As it ran across the other tiles, they sagged under its weight.  The fallen tiles missed the boy and the other people standing in line by inches.  The workers cleared the mess quickly, and one of them took a photo with his cameraphone.  Otherwise, nobody seemed too disturbed by the occurrence.  Only in India can a monkey fall through the ceiling and not one person screams.

After classes start and I get into an actual routine, I will be writing more themed posts instead of updates/run-throughs of what I did on a particular day.  Check out the photos to the right, also!  I hope everyone is well! :)

Final Catch-up

Entry from 1/5, hopefully my last out-of-date and incoherent post:

One of my favorite parts of the guest house is that we have full reign of the entire building.  I have been in the habit of going up to the roof to reflect and watch the sun slowly disappear in to the smog below it, burning a hot tangerine edge to all of its surrounding clouds.  The chemicals and toxins make sunsets just a little bit more interesting.  I like sitting up here and absorbing all of the foreign smells, sounds, and sights.  There is constant banging and truck engines growling and people shouting from the perpetual construction going on a hundred feet to my left.  The scaffolding is made of sticks and large metal wires shoot into the sky instead of iron support beams.  There is ongoing construction EVERYWHERE- in the slums, in the city, on our campus, everywhere.  There is usually a smell of burning, as people seem to just light fires wherever they want.  Occasionally I think it might be a tactic to cleaning up trash when enough of it piles up in a given area.  Then there's the occasional whiff of sewage, or the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen.  From the roof I can look around and see rocks, power lines, and rolling hills for miles.  Our campus is a good 15 miles out of the City, and it feels much more rural.  Hyderabad is known for its "mushroom rocks," which are large round-ish boulders, often placed in such a way that they look like giants picked them up and balanced them on their edges on larger rocks.  They pile up precariously and get in the way of the various construction sites, resulting in large dynamite blasts to break them apart.  At least that's what I think those noises are.. 

Yesterday we met with our language tutors and they taught us how to navigate the bus routes- which was very intimidating considering none of the stops have signs or are announced, and depending on how crowded the bus is, you may not even be able to see out of the windows to get your bearing.  But they cost about 2 cents…  I think the 216/217 go from our campus to Koti, and the 8’s go to Charminar.  Beyond that, I don’t remember much.  We made stops in Medhiputnam, Abids, and Koti, followed by viewing a wild Indian Bollywood film, Gaghini.  It was basically a remake of the American film, memento, only in mostly chronological order and with a happy ending.  The acting was good, but there were definitely a few things I missed because it was in Hindi.  (The dance sequences are easy to understand.. they are ridiculously over-the-top and hilarious.)  The best part of the movie was listening to the crowd cheer and whistle when the main character, played by the famous Amir Kahn, took off his shirt to reveal his 8-pack abs and stab his enemies in the gut.  The crowd also went wild when he kissed his lover on the cheek- very scandalous for Bollywood standards!

It was interesting to see the westernization of the dress and even the movie themes and special effects- but most of all how “white” all of the major movie stars look and dress in comparison to the average Indian person.  This phenomenon is seen across cultures, and I would assume affects the body-image of the youth of a given people.  

Today was the first day of shopping for classes, and it is causing me much anxiety.  There is not much of a system here- at all.  Course times change constantly, and professors don’t show up to class.  Apparently the classes won’t really start for a couple of weeks because the students take time at the end of their break to celebrate a few more holidays before returning to school.  I had to fight my way into an art class, and I am losing hope that I’ll be able to obtain any of the credits I was hoping for.  The experience alone is fascinating, and I plan to visit the Psychology center, the first one established in the country, to see if there is anything I can do or learn there.

Beginnings of a Birthday and New Year's Day

(Notes from previously recorded entries, prior to internet access)

Jan 2

 

Today is my 21s birthday!  India is a great place to be- regardless of the birthday’s cultural significance.  The past few days have been surreal.  We have been on so many amazing adventures without even leaving Hyderabad.  Our orientation has included a wonderful dinner in the city at Southern Spice with authentic Andhra style in Banjara Hills for New Years, followed by cheering on the roof of our house watching the fireworks.  The people in the slum behind our house were cheering with us, and it was a very unifying and special way to enter the new year.  We experienced our first blackout at exactly midnight. 

On New Year’s Day, we took a bus tour past monuments in the “old city” of Hyderabad like the state legislature, police headquarters, museums, and other important structures.  We made a stop in the old city to see a famous mosque, MeccaMasjid, Chowmohalla Palace, Charminar, and 500-year-old Mughal tombs, followed by a trip to the top of Golconda fort.  At the mosque I was wacked multiple times by a man with peacock feathers and then expected to pay for the experience.  Charminar was neat, but we basically ran past it swept up in the crowds of people rushing around.  My favorite part was the tombs- they are comparable to the pyramids as far as cultural significance and grandeur.  Kings built the tombs for themselves, their wives, and their doctors.  The tombs themselves look like huge domes with pointy tops and the acoustics inside were planned for chanting within.  We wandered inside one, and as we stood listening in awe to the man chanting in the corner, someone stole our friend Keiko’s shoes from outside where we were supposed to have removed them out of respect.  She was a little disappointed, but wandered in socks for most of the time after that until sandals could be found.  My camera batteries died as soon as I stepped into the park, so I decided to sketch what I saw instead- a very good idea!  I remember things so much better if I draw them, and I was really able to examine the architecture better, and feel like I got to know the shapes and curves of the structures more intimately.  I am looking forward to examining this new world through an artistic and psychological lens, and portraying it in my impending painting class!

Accomodations, Orientations

Notes from previously recorded entries, prior to internet access:

From Dec 31:

There is so much room and open space in the new building that has been built for us international students in the Study in India Program (SIP).  We moved in recently, to this palace tucked about 2km from central campus.  There is still a bit of a sterile feeling to the building, even as pieces of furniture trickle in.  The last guest house was very homey, so hopefully we can break this new place in well during our stay here.  Overall, our accommodations and privileges which we receive as foreign students are overwhelming and do register a certain amount of guilt.  The other university students must harbor some at least some animosity towards our royal treatment.  However, it is very nice to be settled in and unpacked finally.  I am sharing a room with a wonderful girl from southern California who is actually of Indian descent and has family in other areas of India, particularly Chennai.  Her name is Veena, and she is sweet- I know we will get along just fine.  

 

Out of our window you can see the decrepit, temporary homes of the workers who are building the surrounding structures and who probably built our new guest house in their bare feet with their bare hands.  Their houses are constructed with tarps and branches and other found materials, and I presume that they are migrant workers, men and women, taking their families from one construction site to another.  Above their small, temporary neighborhood stands a large pink paper lantern in the shape of a star- probably about five feet wide.  I do not know its significance, but it lights their area at night, and I can only guess that they feel warmer when they look up at it, as I see it as something special. 

This morning we attended a fantastic lecture about womens’ movements from one of the activists herself- Dr. Rama Melkote.  She was fascinating to listen to, and she spoke of how women in India have come so far from the beginnings of their movement in the 60s and many strides have been made in the areas of dowry-related deaths/suicides, rape, and Parliamentary representation (still being debated).

Oh! And it’s New Years Eve today!  I do not think we will be able to celebrate much, especially since I am sure everyone is on high alert following the recent events in Mumbai, but I think we’ll still have fun.