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!
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