Tomorrow morning we are taking the train to New Delhi, and from there we are flying to Calcutta/Kolkata, where Navjot will give a short presentation of his work at a Fulbright conference. I am looking forward to seeing the other Fulbright students Navjot and I met in Washington DC last summer.
After about five days in Calcutta, we will take an overnight train with a few of Navjot's fulbright friends and see the holy city of Varanasi/Benares for a day and a half and from there we will fly back to New Delhi, stay overnight there, then take a train back to Jalandhar City on the 9th.
Although I took about 500 pictures, which you see on the 4 slideshows here (I know, it is overkill), the crowd I traveled with were not interested in seeing the places we traveled to. They wanted to see the people in those places only, which was fine, except I felt I missed out on a little history and photos because the Patiala and Karnal were new to me.
On this trip, as my wise friends reminded me, I can be a tourist and see the interesting places of the Calcutta and Varanasi. Don't worry, I won't add 15 slideshows to this blog, I'll just replace some albums with new ones.
Thanks for all of your kind words and well-wishes. They are precious.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
Fourth and Fifth Visit
Fourth Visit: Massaji's daughter, old city section of Patiala:
This home somehow provided a private, quiet sanctuary among the crowded, narrow roads that make up the older section of Patiala. I took pictures of her flowery courtyard, and the open (sewer?) channels that ran between the road and the houses.
Fifth Visit: Lunch with Navjot's grandfather's brother's family in Rajpura.
We were warmly welcomed into this palace of a home forlunch. I think we gave them about 20 min notice before we arrived. Navjot's late grandfather's brother said many things to make us feel at home, most touching was: " You are my children." For dessert, we tried a dish called bauli, which is the first milk from a cow after she has her calf: when the milk is heated, it curdles naturally. It is sweetened with sugarcane. After lunch grandfather's brother and his son gave us a tour of their land: a field of wheat, which they use to make their flour. We also saw a pen with two cows and a calf, a vegetable field, and a courtyard. Some modern luxuries sat among this farmland: an exercise facility, a basketball court, a swimming pool with a fountain designed to look like a waterfall over a mountain. Everyone and the animals seemed content and pleasant....except for the dog. The dog stood in its cage, and growled menacingly at all of us. We were told it was a mix of a St. Bernand and a Siberian Husky. We were invited to return for a wedding in May. I wondered how hot it would be in May. On this day it was sunny, around 75 degrees. Nice weather for the beach.
This home somehow provided a private, quiet sanctuary among the crowded, narrow roads that make up the older section of Patiala. I took pictures of her flowery courtyard, and the open (sewer?) channels that ran between the road and the houses.
Fifth Visit: Lunch with Navjot's grandfather's brother's family in Rajpura.
We were warmly welcomed into this palace of a home forlunch. I think we gave them about 20 min notice before we arrived. Navjot's late grandfather's brother said many things to make us feel at home, most touching was: " You are my children." For dessert, we tried a dish called bauli, which is the first milk from a cow after she has her calf: when the milk is heated, it curdles naturally. It is sweetened with sugarcane. After lunch grandfather's brother and his son gave us a tour of their land: a field of wheat, which they use to make their flour. We also saw a pen with two cows and a calf, a vegetable field, and a courtyard. Some modern luxuries sat among this farmland: an exercise facility, a basketball court, a swimming pool with a fountain designed to look like a waterfall over a mountain. Everyone and the animals seemed content and pleasant....except for the dog. The dog stood in its cage, and growled menacingly at all of us. We were told it was a mix of a St. Bernand and a Siberian Husky. We were invited to return for a wedding in May. I wondered how hot it would be in May. On this day it was sunny, around 75 degrees. Nice weather for the beach.
Second and Third Visit
Second visit: Mom's village
Here, we met friendly, young families here, who were mostly visiting from abroad. The courtyard contained a tree which bloomed gorgeous magenta flowers. Our hosts served a delicious yellow burfi with tea, while we viewed
about two-hundred baby photos. One young woman got engaged, and so we were also entertained by photos of well-dressed, solemn fiancees, playing the roles passed down by their parents and other elders.
Third visit: Patiala:
I behaved so quietly and calmly for all of these drives to these places that if we had invited another family member to accompany us, and that person was getting to know me for the first time, sitting beside me in the car as we asked about 55 people how to reach a certain place, and driving over piles of rocks in the roads, they would never have guessed that some people describe my temperament as that of a ticking time bomb of fury who gets easily frustrated and anxious over the smallest things. I wore my sunglasses and wrapped my indigo chiffon choonee around
my head to darken my visual world, and to dull the sharp, quick flashes of lights and shadows as the car sped by the tall roadside trees and slower vehicles. Sometimes I would doze, other times my mind just hummed in gentle words and pictures. Any inquiries sent my way were answered with a soft murmur.
We met Mom's oldest, and only surviving sister, her relationship to Navjot and I is: Massaji (mother's sister). She lives with her son, his wife, and their son. The family business is dairy farming. The buffalo live in a living space underneath the house, on the ground floor. This visit showed me the depth of compassion and love Mom's family has for one another, through the care they give to Massaji. Massaji somehow perceived that I was older than Navjot, but she gave no explanation for her knowing. She also wondered why my hair wasn't dark.
Here, we met friendly, young families here, who were mostly visiting from abroad. The courtyard contained a tree which bloomed gorgeous magenta flowers. Our hosts served a delicious yellow burfi with tea, while we viewed
about two-hundred baby photos. One young woman got engaged, and so we were also entertained by photos of well-dressed, solemn fiancees, playing the roles passed down by their parents and other elders.
Third visit: Patiala:
I behaved so quietly and calmly for all of these drives to these places that if we had invited another family member to accompany us, and that person was getting to know me for the first time, sitting beside me in the car as we asked about 55 people how to reach a certain place, and driving over piles of rocks in the roads, they would never have guessed that some people describe my temperament as that of a ticking time bomb of fury who gets easily frustrated and anxious over the smallest things. I wore my sunglasses and wrapped my indigo chiffon choonee around
my head to darken my visual world, and to dull the sharp, quick flashes of lights and shadows as the car sped by the tall roadside trees and slower vehicles. Sometimes I would doze, other times my mind just hummed in gentle words and pictures. Any inquiries sent my way were answered with a soft murmur.
We met Mom's oldest, and only surviving sister, her relationship to Navjot and I is: Massaji (mother's sister). She lives with her son, his wife, and their son. The family business is dairy farming. The buffalo live in a living space underneath the house, on the ground floor. This visit showed me the depth of compassion and love Mom's family has for one another, through the care they give to Massaji. Massaji somehow perceived that I was older than Navjot, but she gave no explanation for her knowing. She also wondered why my hair wasn't dark.
First Visit to the Village
Mom's late sister's village
Our first visit of the day began, after numerous stops to ask for directions, at my mother-in-law's (aka Mom)late sister's village. I sat in the sun with the family, silently, trying to get used to the numerous flies and busy activity of the crows. I chatted with an old classmate of Mom's who was visiting on vacation. He could talk to me because he had two things; a reasonable command of English, and liquor for breakfast. He told me everyone else was happy because I could talk to someone here. He lives in Atlantic City, and was visiting for a vacation. He voted for Obama in the election, and felt a skeptical optimism for these coming years.
After a lunch of flavorful, spicy food, We looked at Ginny's (a newlywed relative) wedding albums. They came in their own little pink totes, their thick covers decorated with shiny, silvery lines and simple borders. Each album was 4 inches thick, and my eyes got watery, and my mind lethargic as we clumsily turned the pages half way through the second album. I was so relieved to reach the end. It was just overkill for me. I preferred the album my sister-n-law,Michelle, made for Navjot and I: short and sweet, with just the right pictures and messages to convey the spirit of the events.
The views from the rooftop of this village gave my eyes beautiful scenes of Indian countryside. Flat, green fields of wheat and mustard, dotted with large trees, each of which had its own unique shape. This place may look like a cross between a Michigan farmland and an Illinois farmland....I am remembering my one visit to my great-uncles' farm in Illinois, where there were very few trees, leaving the horizon open for the sun to command the full stage at sunset: enormous, red-orange, melting under the curve of the earth. India countryside houses more trees than the farmland I know of in Illinois, but fewer than Michigan countryside.
The family kindly got together for a photo. I'd really love to post the photo, but blogger doesn't really feel like uploading it, and my yelling at it doesn't have any effect. DARN!
Our first visit of the day began, after numerous stops to ask for directions, at my mother-in-law's (aka Mom)late sister's village. I sat in the sun with the family, silently, trying to get used to the numerous flies and busy activity of the crows. I chatted with an old classmate of Mom's who was visiting on vacation. He could talk to me because he had two things; a reasonable command of English, and liquor for breakfast. He told me everyone else was happy because I could talk to someone here. He lives in Atlantic City, and was visiting for a vacation. He voted for Obama in the election, and felt a skeptical optimism for these coming years.
After a lunch of flavorful, spicy food, We looked at Ginny's (a newlywed relative) wedding albums. They came in their own little pink totes, their thick covers decorated with shiny, silvery lines and simple borders. Each album was 4 inches thick, and my eyes got watery, and my mind lethargic as we clumsily turned the pages half way through the second album. I was so relieved to reach the end. It was just overkill for me. I preferred the album my sister-n-law,Michelle, made for Navjot and I: short and sweet, with just the right pictures and messages to convey the spirit of the events.
The views from the rooftop of this village gave my eyes beautiful scenes of Indian countryside. Flat, green fields of wheat and mustard, dotted with large trees, each of which had its own unique shape. This place may look like a cross between a Michigan farmland and an Illinois farmland....I am remembering my one visit to my great-uncles' farm in Illinois, where there were very few trees, leaving the horizon open for the sun to command the full stage at sunset: enormous, red-orange, melting under the curve of the earth. India countryside houses more trees than the farmland I know of in Illinois, but fewer than Michigan countryside.
The family kindly got together for a photo. I'd really love to post the photo, but blogger doesn't really feel like uploading it, and my yelling at it doesn't have any effect. DARN!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Goings
I have been preparing my posts describing some observations of family traditions in India, and also my descriptions of my travels to visit Navjot's relatives. Efficient people just write them up right here, and voila!! I type them in a notepad file, check for errors, clarity, etc, then post. It takes longer, which is feeling like a drag now.
I have heard today that our close, dear friend, and unofficial life coach, Steve Elliston, passed away on Monday. We are very upset over here. I had known him for 8 years, Navjot 10. I really want to come home....I want to be in Angie's house (Steve's wife) right now! If I could do what Dorothy(Oz) did, and it actually could work, I would do it. It is frustrating to be so far away at this time.
I want to write exactly how important Steve is to Navjot and I. My thoughts come in jumbles on the subject; I could write quite a bit on it, and I want to say it nicely. Steve's unconditional acceptance and positive regard for Navjot and I, his enthusiasm for rational thinking, music, sports, art, and rich, meaningful 'couples' relationships, served as a pair of strong, steadying hands that we held onto as we took our wobbly steps 'up the escalator' (as he liked to call it) into our identity as adults, and as a couple. Without Steve (and Angie) there to support us, the journey would have been much more doubt-filled and difficult. We will miss him so much.
I feel, now, that Nav and I are riding on a train with no stops. All of our travel arrangements for Delhi/Calcutta/Varanasi/Delhi/Jalandhar City are already paid for, confirmed, even printed out. We are scheduled to leave Sunday, and return on the 9th. Now we don't want to go, but what else can we do? If I come home, then I can't come back. Nav would only mope here. We have discussed this; and I 'think' we will continue with our original plan; but we 'feel' like coming home. :(
I have heard today that our close, dear friend, and unofficial life coach, Steve Elliston, passed away on Monday. We are very upset over here. I had known him for 8 years, Navjot 10. I really want to come home....I want to be in Angie's house (Steve's wife) right now! If I could do what Dorothy(Oz) did, and it actually could work, I would do it. It is frustrating to be so far away at this time.
I want to write exactly how important Steve is to Navjot and I. My thoughts come in jumbles on the subject; I could write quite a bit on it, and I want to say it nicely. Steve's unconditional acceptance and positive regard for Navjot and I, his enthusiasm for rational thinking, music, sports, art, and rich, meaningful 'couples' relationships, served as a pair of strong, steadying hands that we held onto as we took our wobbly steps 'up the escalator' (as he liked to call it) into our identity as adults, and as a couple. Without Steve (and Angie) there to support us, the journey would have been much more doubt-filled and difficult. We will miss him so much.
I feel, now, that Nav and I are riding on a train with no stops. All of our travel arrangements for Delhi/Calcutta/Varanasi/Delhi/Jalandhar City are already paid for, confirmed, even printed out. We are scheduled to leave Sunday, and return on the 9th. Now we don't want to go, but what else can we do? If I come home, then I can't come back. Nav would only mope here. We have discussed this; and I 'think' we will continue with our original plan; but we 'feel' like coming home. :(
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Doli
We went back to Vicki-auntie's house round 2am for doli. It took place in the courtyard/backyard. People were sitting on rented bed cushions and using rejais (very thick blankets) to keep warm. Nav kept us indoors for a long time, but then we finally went out. I wanted so much to lay down and sleep, but everyone was sitting up, and so we did too. The same pundit continued his singsong chanting. A group of ladies kept giggling and giggling. If I closed my eyes for longer than 10 seconds, the ladies started whispering and giggling at me—just a part of the novelty of being the only white person around. I finally turned completely away from them, resolved to ignore them, and was able to sleep for about 15 min, which helped me a lot.
The doli seemed to take forever. We were not able to go home until after 5am. Picture me grouchy--not hard, I know...and at those times the thing I need most is to be left alone, so I can avoid being rude, etc.....well, I was at that point throughout the doli, but here in India, people are everywhere, so I was feeling very people-claustrophobic. I emerged all-right: I didn't offend anyone, at least to my knowledge, but I did make one or two sarcastic remarks. Nav was very helpful as a sympathetic, understanding listener, and we were so lucky to be able to go to another house and have a quiet sleep!
The next day I seized an opportunity to sit outside by myself in Vicki-auntie’s sun-filled small front garden, and I read an English newspaper that I greedily scrounged from a discarded pile of hindi papers. It was Sunday, and the outdoors only sounded birds and breezes, very unusual, for the blaring horns and bells of traffic usually drown out the gentle sounds of nature. As I realized my great fortune and stretched out on the cot, I briefly felt tears in my eyes; I had so much gratitude for that more familiar environment of repose.
The doli seemed to take forever. We were not able to go home until after 5am. Picture me grouchy--not hard, I know...and at those times the thing I need most is to be left alone, so I can avoid being rude, etc.....well, I was at that point throughout the doli, but here in India, people are everywhere, so I was feeling very people-claustrophobic. I emerged all-right: I didn't offend anyone, at least to my knowledge, but I did make one or two sarcastic remarks. Nav was very helpful as a sympathetic, understanding listener, and we were so lucky to be able to go to another house and have a quiet sleep!
The next day I seized an opportunity to sit outside by myself in Vicki-auntie’s sun-filled small front garden, and I read an English newspaper that I greedily scrounged from a discarded pile of hindi papers. It was Sunday, and the outdoors only sounded birds and breezes, very unusual, for the blaring horns and bells of traffic usually drown out the gentle sounds of nature. As I realized my great fortune and stretched out on the cot, I briefly felt tears in my eyes; I had so much gratitude for that more familiar environment of repose.
Wedding
The wedding took place outdoors that evening. We arrived after 9pm, and the groom's party arrived at 11pm, no joke, apparently because they were in a stalemate with Neha's father, because he had not provided alcohol at the wedding venue. He finally sent along some bottles of scotch. No one seemed very offended or visibly disturbed by this.
However, at the entrance, when the groom was negotiating with the ladies to come in (another tradition), a nearby wedding presented a very good fireworks display, so it seemingly looked like the groom was arriving with every kind of bells and whistles. A wedding band (sounded like the Stanford Marching Band….for real) blared their tunes behind the groom’s party.
That outdoor wedding venue had lavish everything: food stalls--appetizers in one section, dinner selections in another section joined by a walkway, video screens, seats, dancing floor, and marriage platform. But the bathrooms were smelly and dirty; I also had to squat for the first time in India that night, amazingly successful in keeping my nice suit filth-free. When I emerged from the harrowing bathroom experience, I saw the place where they washed and handled dishes: outdoors in the open. The dirty dishes were placed in a huge vat filled a water that looked like prune juice…..which functioned as the DISHWATER. Other people’s food and mess served as the soap. The “clean” dishes were stacked neatly on a blanket rolled out on the dusty ground. I felt dazed and unsettled and as I slowly moved back to the wedding area, I blinked to keep my eyes from bugging out, which helped me to remove the expression of horror from my face. Before midnight, Nav and I prepared to eat dinner, and I was nervous. My first glance at the plates confirmed my fear that they had passed through the vat. Some of the brown residue coated the plate in smears. I improvised a solution: I squirted my purell hand sanitizer in swirls right on our plates, and our spoons, and wiped (and wiped) them clean with a napkin. I felt eternal gratitude for the sanitizer; it allowed us to enjoy some of the food. We left around 1am, after we ushered the bride in among a shower of marigolds and witnessed the brief (wow) ceremony where the couple exchanged white garlands.
However, at the entrance, when the groom was negotiating with the ladies to come in (another tradition), a nearby wedding presented a very good fireworks display, so it seemingly looked like the groom was arriving with every kind of bells and whistles. A wedding band (sounded like the Stanford Marching Band….for real) blared their tunes behind the groom’s party.
That outdoor wedding venue had lavish everything: food stalls--appetizers in one section, dinner selections in another section joined by a walkway, video screens, seats, dancing floor, and marriage platform. But the bathrooms were smelly and dirty; I also had to squat for the first time in India that night, amazingly successful in keeping my nice suit filth-free. When I emerged from the harrowing bathroom experience, I saw the place where they washed and handled dishes: outdoors in the open. The dirty dishes were placed in a huge vat filled a water that looked like prune juice…..which functioned as the DISHWATER. Other people’s food and mess served as the soap. The “clean” dishes were stacked neatly on a blanket rolled out on the dusty ground. I felt dazed and unsettled and as I slowly moved back to the wedding area, I blinked to keep my eyes from bugging out, which helped me to remove the expression of horror from my face. Before midnight, Nav and I prepared to eat dinner, and I was nervous. My first glance at the plates confirmed my fear that they had passed through the vat. Some of the brown residue coated the plate in smears. I improvised a solution: I squirted my purell hand sanitizer in swirls right on our plates, and our spoons, and wiped (and wiped) them clean with a napkin. I felt eternal gratitude for the sanitizer; it allowed us to enjoy some of the food. We left around 1am, after we ushered the bride in among a shower of marigolds and witnessed the brief (wow) ceremony where the couple exchanged white garlands.
Getting the Bride ready: Mendi, Paste, and Bangles
The next day around 1pm, the bride and all the lady guests who wanted mendi had it applied. Some ladies left the mendi on for several hours. I scraped mine off after two hours and without penalty, because the mendi stained very nicely. After some shopping, which for me was an exercise in daydreaming while dodging traffic, we returned to our sanctuary-house for a nap and fun visiting with our hosts, which was so enjoyable we missed our opportunity to buy bangles in another event at the wedding house.
The next morning we had the vatna ceremony, which was more lively and interesting than the bangles ceremony that followed in the afternoon, which was really long. The ‘vatna’ was conducted by ladies in the family, and all the ladies participated in some way. During the vatna, Neha, the bride, sat on a stool in front of a chalk and marigold design in the courtyard. A few ladies held a blanket over Neha’s head, forming a makeshift tent. First, Neha ties some string with bells onto the wrist of a few ladies. Then several of the ladies reach into a silver vessel filled with paste colored a bright yellow from tumeric powder, take the paste and smear it onto Neha’s face, arms, and legs. Ladies laughed, and the atmosphere felt lighthearted.
The bangles ceremony was conducted by a Hindu priest, called a pundit. Everyone sat somewhat quietly for a long time, not typical of Indian functions, but the gathering eventually tired of quiet watching. At one point the eldest auntie (she had the role of grandma here) started singing a song right in the middle of the pundit's (priest) sanskrit chants. Some other ladies joined in, while others giggled. For a few minutes the courtyard buzzed with a bizarre cacophony. The event ended with Neha receiving about 20 red and gold bangles on each arm, and the photographers took numerous photos of relieved, hungry, exhausted, and happy family.
The next morning we had the vatna ceremony, which was more lively and interesting than the bangles ceremony that followed in the afternoon, which was really long. The ‘vatna’ was conducted by ladies in the family, and all the ladies participated in some way. During the vatna, Neha, the bride, sat on a stool in front of a chalk and marigold design in the courtyard. A few ladies held a blanket over Neha’s head, forming a makeshift tent. First, Neha ties some string with bells onto the wrist of a few ladies. Then several of the ladies reach into a silver vessel filled with paste colored a bright yellow from tumeric powder, take the paste and smear it onto Neha’s face, arms, and legs. Ladies laughed, and the atmosphere felt lighthearted.
The bangles ceremony was conducted by a Hindu priest, called a pundit. Everyone sat somewhat quietly for a long time, not typical of Indian functions, but the gathering eventually tired of quiet watching. At one point the eldest auntie (she had the role of grandma here) started singing a song right in the middle of the pundit's (priest) sanskrit chants. Some other ladies joined in, while others giggled. For a few minutes the courtyard buzzed with a bizarre cacophony. The event ended with Neha receiving about 20 red and gold bangles on each arm, and the photographers took numerous photos of relieved, hungry, exhausted, and happy family.
First Day in Karnal, India
Navjot and I arrived on Thur. the 12th in Karnal, and things were non-stop ever since. Neha's brother took us right to the hotel venue for the ceremony where the parents finalise the marriage arrangement--ring ceremony. Guests mingled about, drank sodas, teas, and coffees, and ate all kinds of appetizers. Unlike my last stay in India, I enjoyed sampling this new food---fried cheese covered in a spicy sauce was my favorite. The first appetizer our hosts recommended was called golgappa, a fried shell of a potato filled with masala (spicy) water. I stared into the tiny murky pool, my nose wrinkled in suspicion, then I popped it in…they are eaten whole. The spicy-sweet water tasted awful to me, and my eyes lost focus as I concentrated on swallowing the water quickly and smoothly. The masala tasted much better within the fried potato shell, which I crunched on after I swallowed the offending water.
Then we went to Vicki-auntie's (mother of the bride) house--I napped a little--amazingly, since the place was a madhouse, people moving in and out of rooms, going through luggage, changing, greeting new comers, drinking tea, and just general fussing. The lack of quiet and privacy challenged my isolationist tendencies.
But, Vicki-auntie had the wisdom of a guardian angel; she sent us to a friend's house who lived a 5 min walk away. Our hosts were long-time friends and associates of Vicki-Auntie by profession: the mother was a retired doctor, and her daughter was visiting to attend the wedding, but she lives with her family in Bombay. The mother's name was Aruna, the daughter's name was Vidushi.
This place was perfection for me. Navjot and I had a room and a bathroom, so I was allowed to have some quiet time during the few breaks we had. Vidushi spoke really excellent English. She lived and traveled with her husband for years while he was a navy captain for the merchant ships. I got the impression that she was a little more progressive in her thinking (perhaps from Bombay living and strong mother and auntie figure in her life). Aruna built their current house and moved her work to private practice in on the first floor of their home. This was quite an accomplishment for Aruna because she did this alone—she had lost her husband when she was young. I asked a lot of questions, and they shared a lot with me. One quick fact I learned was that electricity always stays on in Bombay area, which shocked me, since everywhere I’ve been in India has daily power outages. Spending time in this home was a very nice part of my stay.
Then we went to Vicki-auntie's (mother of the bride) house--I napped a little--amazingly, since the place was a madhouse, people moving in and out of rooms, going through luggage, changing, greeting new comers, drinking tea, and just general fussing. The lack of quiet and privacy challenged my isolationist tendencies.
But, Vicki-auntie had the wisdom of a guardian angel; she sent us to a friend's house who lived a 5 min walk away. Our hosts were long-time friends and associates of Vicki-Auntie by profession: the mother was a retired doctor, and her daughter was visiting to attend the wedding, but she lives with her family in Bombay. The mother's name was Aruna, the daughter's name was Vidushi.
This place was perfection for me. Navjot and I had a room and a bathroom, so I was allowed to have some quiet time during the few breaks we had. Vidushi spoke really excellent English. She lived and traveled with her husband for years while he was a navy captain for the merchant ships. I got the impression that she was a little more progressive in her thinking (perhaps from Bombay living and strong mother and auntie figure in her life). Aruna built their current house and moved her work to private practice in on the first floor of their home. This was quite an accomplishment for Aruna because she did this alone—she had lost her husband when she was young. I asked a lot of questions, and they shared a lot with me. One quick fact I learned was that electricity always stays on in Bombay area, which shocked me, since everywhere I’ve been in India has daily power outages. Spending time in this home was a very nice part of my stay.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Anecdotes
Here are some little anecdotes on my expat-wannabe life in India.
1. I was missing a bit of American culture, and so I suggested that we get cable so I can see an American movie or show sometimes after dinner only. Apparently our cook, sweeper, and floor-washer, Raju, understood 'cable,' and also began to campaign for cable, and said he knew a guy who could bring it. Navjot was worried because he is such a TV addict. I sat on one end of the table and assured him that if he gave me complete control of the TV (and I would only allow it on at night, after dinner, and Raju could use it only if Navjot was at his lesson), there should be no problem. On the other end of the table, Raju was saying (according to Navjot) he would like to watch it as he made our dinner. Navjot was looking like a hassled manager of a huge fortune, since we were both asking for his cash approval. We got the cable, but all the channels but one are in Hindi. Life 1, Jamie 0, Navjot 1,000,000, for he has enjoyed after-dinner TV, Raju 0 because I have been playing music while he makes dinner.
2. I have been a vegetarian since my arrival in India. We eat paranthas (flat bread fried in oil with various veggies n spices added) with yogurt in the morning, a cooked vegetable with roti (flat bread) for lunch, and perhaps a different vegetable or a lentil dish, also with roti for dinner. For dinner Raju also prepares salad of chopped raw vegetables like carrots, cucumbers, tomatoes, and white radish. Everything tastes delicious to me. However, both of us are on food restriction because Navjot has gained 10 lbs since September!! I can only have 2-3 roti with my lunch and dinner--and Nav can only have 4. I can only have 2 parantha, and Nav 3. No seconds on food. We will see if I can avoid the fate of gaining 10 lbs!
3. I finally gathered the courage to go and chat with our landlady. Her name is Sukhjeet, and she has 3 kids, 2 in college, and she was an elementary teacher for 5 years before she married. She wanted to continue working but her mother-in-law told her to stay home and cook for her and her son. That was the end of Sukhjeet's teaching career.
Since I have arrived I have gotten a bit of acne...more than I've had in over a decade!! For some reason when this happens, there is always someone other than an intimate friend or parents willing to point it out to me and inquire about it. When my grandfather was alive he would do it, and now Sukhjeet is more than happy to fill the empty role. I had great fun discussing my skin problems with my brand-new friend; it was the perfect topic to put me at ease; it was the same as if we sat down and chatted over a couple mugs of beer...:p.
We also discussed my aversion to mango pickle at great length (there was an article in the newspaper about Nav and I and one comment I had made was that I didn't like mango pickle, and many people I have met here have used that as an icebreaker). We concluded that I must not like the combination of the mustard oil preservative and the texture of the mango. I like pickled carrot though, and Sukhjeet gave me a bowl of her homemade batch. Nav and I eat a little of it with our lunch and dinner.
4. I went out and bought tomatoes at the vegetable stand outside our house. The men at the stand understood my punjabi, and gave me a good price. A lady came up and stood right next to me. She didn't seem interested in buying anything. Her head and shoulders were wrapped in a plain brown shawl. I suspected that she was a beggar. As I paid for the tomatoes and put the change in my pockets, she caught my eye and only said, "please." By the time she had finished the word I had already moved several steps closer to my house.
5. I had a nice walk and nice conversation with two of Navjot's teacher's daughters. The youngest, a 15 year old girl, described her abdication from all competitive sports. One day while playing, she had a nasty fall and scraped an elbow and her thigh badly. She went to the doctor in the evening. The next day she had a geometry exam and she took second in the class, instead of first. She made great efforts to avoid sports after that. Instead, she walks laps in the park to avoid weight gain. She competes in academics. I was sad that the sporting world lost a feisty girl like her. :(
1. I was missing a bit of American culture, and so I suggested that we get cable so I can see an American movie or show sometimes after dinner only. Apparently our cook, sweeper, and floor-washer, Raju, understood 'cable,' and also began to campaign for cable, and said he knew a guy who could bring it. Navjot was worried because he is such a TV addict. I sat on one end of the table and assured him that if he gave me complete control of the TV (and I would only allow it on at night, after dinner, and Raju could use it only if Navjot was at his lesson), there should be no problem. On the other end of the table, Raju was saying (according to Navjot) he would like to watch it as he made our dinner. Navjot was looking like a hassled manager of a huge fortune, since we were both asking for his cash approval. We got the cable, but all the channels but one are in Hindi. Life 1, Jamie 0, Navjot 1,000,000, for he has enjoyed after-dinner TV, Raju 0 because I have been playing music while he makes dinner.
2. I have been a vegetarian since my arrival in India. We eat paranthas (flat bread fried in oil with various veggies n spices added) with yogurt in the morning, a cooked vegetable with roti (flat bread) for lunch, and perhaps a different vegetable or a lentil dish, also with roti for dinner. For dinner Raju also prepares salad of chopped raw vegetables like carrots, cucumbers, tomatoes, and white radish. Everything tastes delicious to me. However, both of us are on food restriction because Navjot has gained 10 lbs since September!! I can only have 2-3 roti with my lunch and dinner--and Nav can only have 4. I can only have 2 parantha, and Nav 3. No seconds on food. We will see if I can avoid the fate of gaining 10 lbs!
3. I finally gathered the courage to go and chat with our landlady. Her name is Sukhjeet, and she has 3 kids, 2 in college, and she was an elementary teacher for 5 years before she married. She wanted to continue working but her mother-in-law told her to stay home and cook for her and her son. That was the end of Sukhjeet's teaching career.
Since I have arrived I have gotten a bit of acne...more than I've had in over a decade!! For some reason when this happens, there is always someone other than an intimate friend or parents willing to point it out to me and inquire about it. When my grandfather was alive he would do it, and now Sukhjeet is more than happy to fill the empty role. I had great fun discussing my skin problems with my brand-new friend; it was the perfect topic to put me at ease; it was the same as if we sat down and chatted over a couple mugs of beer...:p.
We also discussed my aversion to mango pickle at great length (there was an article in the newspaper about Nav and I and one comment I had made was that I didn't like mango pickle, and many people I have met here have used that as an icebreaker). We concluded that I must not like the combination of the mustard oil preservative and the texture of the mango. I like pickled carrot though, and Sukhjeet gave me a bowl of her homemade batch. Nav and I eat a little of it with our lunch and dinner.
4. I went out and bought tomatoes at the vegetable stand outside our house. The men at the stand understood my punjabi, and gave me a good price. A lady came up and stood right next to me. She didn't seem interested in buying anything. Her head and shoulders were wrapped in a plain brown shawl. I suspected that she was a beggar. As I paid for the tomatoes and put the change in my pockets, she caught my eye and only said, "please." By the time she had finished the word I had already moved several steps closer to my house.
5. I had a nice walk and nice conversation with two of Navjot's teacher's daughters. The youngest, a 15 year old girl, described her abdication from all competitive sports. One day while playing, she had a nasty fall and scraped an elbow and her thigh badly. She went to the doctor in the evening. The next day she had a geometry exam and she took second in the class, instead of first. She made great efforts to avoid sports after that. Instead, she walks laps in the park to avoid weight gain. She competes in academics. I was sad that the sporting world lost a feisty girl like her. :(
Dream Analysis, Anyone?
I was sitting with a little blond girl on a train-like ride....kinda like those mini-roller coasters for young kids they have at the county fair, but the track was on the road. She could have been a little girl of my own. Her hair was very light and straight, but no longer than her ears. She was being disciplined by some older Indian man because she was not sitting down while the 'train' was moving. She was to stay in her seat while the train was moving. I said to her, "If you stand up before the train stops, we will have to ride it again until you can stay seated." I began to feel very very sad for the girl, because she was so innocent to the reasons we were asking her to curb her eagerness and enthusiasm. I continued to encourage her to stay put until the train reached the huge "Stop" sign that I could see ahead of us. I could feel the girl start as if to stand, but she would restrain herself. My hands must have been resting lightly on her shoulders. I did not restrain her, though. As the large stop sign drew nearer, I anticipated the feelings of relief and accomplishment she would have when she could get up and go to where her fancy took her. Those feelings were frustrated when our little train rolled past the stop sign and off a rather sudden end of the road....into the water. As we entered the water my concern was how the external intentions and signs deceived us. The girl could not learn the lesson of self discipline/restraint for safety's sake....she had just plunged into water and she did not know how to swim....she obeyed, but she was no longer safe. The stop sign did not mean that the train would stop. I expected the train to obey the sign, so the girl could learn, and make some sense of why I (or we, as the direction had first come from the older Indian man) wanted her to stay seated. Is the message here to not always trust the good intentions people have for our well-being, for they cannot control all the things that contribute to our well-being??
In the water, I felt quite calm. I felt safe. I held the little girl above the water and I sank underneath the surface. The older Indian man appeared and took the girl to safety. I do not think I remained underneath the water after the man took the girl. However, the purpose of the dream must have been served because the story and the scene dissolved away...
In the water, I felt quite calm. I felt safe. I held the little girl above the water and I sank underneath the surface. The older Indian man appeared and took the girl to safety. I do not think I remained underneath the water after the man took the girl. However, the purpose of the dream must have been served because the story and the scene dissolved away...
Monday, February 2, 2009
Settling in.
In India, Model is pronounced Modal, but either way it is where Navjot finally found a place to live while he studies. Our house is a part of a large complex of homes. There is a two story home under us and there are at least 3 other homes around us which form the complex. Our façade, stairs, and the most of the balcony are all marble, along with floors, counters, and bathrooms. Marble is very cool to the touch and helps keep the heat out. Our ceilings are about 15 feet high, and I think, though I don’t know for sure, that helps keep the house cool too. During the day, when the sun is broiling hot (in early Feb- wow) the temperature indoors is at least 15 degrees cooler.
We also have a rooftop made of marble, and on the rooftop sits a small living place designed as servant’s quarters. Two enormous, aluminum-shiny water tanks mark the highest point of the house. The rooftop is bare except for the laundry line Nav hung up, a small wall faucet, and a bucket. Our rooftop is a little higher that the surrounding rooftops, so I get prime spying rights into the events and intrigues going on with our neighbors. So far, my reconnaissance has turned up lines of drying laundry and men working on building projects on two of the rooftops. When those projects are complete their rooftops will be higher, and my reign as spy-queen will be over. The expression, “All good things must come to an end,” certainly rings true here! (hahaha)
It was on the rooftop where I began my cleaning spree with buckets of water and a squeegee. It took about an hour to squeegee all the water over to a corner drain. I enjoyed the physical work. If a shirt falls off the line, it won’t have to be washed again.
My indoor work has included scrubbing down the kitchen counters, which were a little neglected, storing my things in our two large storage—units—(I am not aware of the names this furniture would have,) and re-organizing Nav’s closets. I also dusted all the furniture in the house, and all of the woodwork inside and out.
My current project is learning to become faster at ironing. Today it took me an hour to iron 2 shirts and an Indian suit, and the suit is still not done—yikes!
On the academic/leisure end, I finally finished reading The Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follet. It was around 970 pages, and it took longer than I thought it would to read!
Early yesterday morning I went running for the first time at a nearby park. Parks and the houses of the extremely wealthy are the only areas of beauty in this city. Old, dirty buildings surround the few tall, modern shopping buildings in our neighborhood. When Navjot and I walk, sometimes I am able to steal a few glances towards the buildings and shops lining the streets; they look filthy, disorderly, ancient, neglected and decrepit. I will try to post a photo, but I will have to be brave enough to stand still for a minute to take the photo. Walking people, bikes, rickshaws, motorcycles, cars, and pony-driven carts are always coming at me!
This park also has a volleyball net with a dirt court. All I need is to get a ball, draw some lines, and find some people to play with….wish me luck there, especially with finding people!
If you click on “0 comments” at the bottom, you will be able to post a comment as anonymous—just sign your name in your comments…..this blog is kind of a pain to post on, but you can do it! I know you can!
Till next time….
We also have a rooftop made of marble, and on the rooftop sits a small living place designed as servant’s quarters. Two enormous, aluminum-shiny water tanks mark the highest point of the house. The rooftop is bare except for the laundry line Nav hung up, a small wall faucet, and a bucket. Our rooftop is a little higher that the surrounding rooftops, so I get prime spying rights into the events and intrigues going on with our neighbors. So far, my reconnaissance has turned up lines of drying laundry and men working on building projects on two of the rooftops. When those projects are complete their rooftops will be higher, and my reign as spy-queen will be over. The expression, “All good things must come to an end,” certainly rings true here! (hahaha)
It was on the rooftop where I began my cleaning spree with buckets of water and a squeegee. It took about an hour to squeegee all the water over to a corner drain. I enjoyed the physical work. If a shirt falls off the line, it won’t have to be washed again.
My indoor work has included scrubbing down the kitchen counters, which were a little neglected, storing my things in our two large storage—units—(I am not aware of the names this furniture would have,) and re-organizing Nav’s closets. I also dusted all the furniture in the house, and all of the woodwork inside and out.
My current project is learning to become faster at ironing. Today it took me an hour to iron 2 shirts and an Indian suit, and the suit is still not done—yikes!
On the academic/leisure end, I finally finished reading The Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follet. It was around 970 pages, and it took longer than I thought it would to read!
Early yesterday morning I went running for the first time at a nearby park. Parks and the houses of the extremely wealthy are the only areas of beauty in this city. Old, dirty buildings surround the few tall, modern shopping buildings in our neighborhood. When Navjot and I walk, sometimes I am able to steal a few glances towards the buildings and shops lining the streets; they look filthy, disorderly, ancient, neglected and decrepit. I will try to post a photo, but I will have to be brave enough to stand still for a minute to take the photo. Walking people, bikes, rickshaws, motorcycles, cars, and pony-driven carts are always coming at me!
This park also has a volleyball net with a dirt court. All I need is to get a ball, draw some lines, and find some people to play with….wish me luck there, especially with finding people!
If you click on “0 comments” at the bottom, you will be able to post a comment as anonymous—just sign your name in your comments…..this blog is kind of a pain to post on, but you can do it! I know you can!
Till next time….
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Traveling to Jalandhar City
Hi All!!
Last Wednesday, Navjot hired a driver to take us from Chandigarh to Jalandhar City. I tried to look at the passing scenery, but I soon began to feel queasy. (Don't worry, not every topic of this blog will be about tummy problems.) We had only been on the road for about 20 minutes, and the trip would take at least 3 hours!! I was worried.
This driver seemed to be more daring than the driver who took us to Chandigarh. The driver and Navjot were engaged in cheerful conversation as the driver beeped his horn and weaved in and out of constant traffic, most of it oncoming. I found Navjot's comfort a little odd, since he can become slightly motion sick riding with me in Lansing, which is so tame compared to India roads! I reached for my purse to find Dramamine, or anything to put me out. All I found was my water bottle, Charmin sani-cloths and hand sanitizer, and then I realized that I had put my meds in my suitcase in the backseat. I pushed my water bottle in my purse, and zipped it with an angry tug, bitterly disappointed at my failed search; for I knew I couldn’t risk reaching behind my seat and pulling a suitcase onto the seat next to me, for my queasiness would probably spiral into a terribly uncomfortable motion sickness.
Navjot looked back and asked, “ Are you okay?”
“No,” I grumbled, “I need to be unconscious.” I laid my head facedown onto the wool blankets stacked beside me, provided by our generous Bhuji (aunt), and covered my head with my sweater. Navjot showed his approval of this new tactic by quietly returning his attention to the cars, busses, and scooters that maneuvered around each other. The traffic, against straight lines of the two-lane road, seemed to move like pack of wild, racing balloons, floating aggressively towards the finish line.
The darkness and the smell of the wool quickly cleared my head and settled my stomach. About 45 min later we pulled off the road so the driver could go to the bathroom.
“Nav,” I asked wonderingly, “isn’t this driver kind of crazy?”
Nav giggled and said, “ Actually, he is driving pretty safe. He followed a bus for a long time, and did all the things the bus did, and …then he passed the bus. The road is much better now.”
“Noooo……are you kidding?” I felt a smile growing on my face, because I knew he was not kidding, and despite my earlier discomfort, I was actually enjoying this experience of bewilderment by this completely different perspective of safe travel.
“Nope, and like I said, the road is better the rest of the way. It is not as busy.”
The only other memorable moment on this trip, besides the near constant games of chicken with oncoming traffic, was spotting someone riding a motorcycle standing up, positioned above the back section of the seat, hands at his sides. He must have been using his weight to influence the straight path of the cycle, since he was nowhere near the handlebars.
When I expressed bafflement, Nav said, “He is just riding the bike by standing up,” as if doing that was an everyday activity in India. It is at these times that I wonder if it will ever be possible for me to understand even some the thinking of Indian people!
Last Wednesday, Navjot hired a driver to take us from Chandigarh to Jalandhar City. I tried to look at the passing scenery, but I soon began to feel queasy. (Don't worry, not every topic of this blog will be about tummy problems.) We had only been on the road for about 20 minutes, and the trip would take at least 3 hours!! I was worried.
This driver seemed to be more daring than the driver who took us to Chandigarh. The driver and Navjot were engaged in cheerful conversation as the driver beeped his horn and weaved in and out of constant traffic, most of it oncoming. I found Navjot's comfort a little odd, since he can become slightly motion sick riding with me in Lansing, which is so tame compared to India roads! I reached for my purse to find Dramamine, or anything to put me out. All I found was my water bottle, Charmin sani-cloths and hand sanitizer, and then I realized that I had put my meds in my suitcase in the backseat. I pushed my water bottle in my purse, and zipped it with an angry tug, bitterly disappointed at my failed search; for I knew I couldn’t risk reaching behind my seat and pulling a suitcase onto the seat next to me, for my queasiness would probably spiral into a terribly uncomfortable motion sickness.
Navjot looked back and asked, “ Are you okay?”
“No,” I grumbled, “I need to be unconscious.” I laid my head facedown onto the wool blankets stacked beside me, provided by our generous Bhuji (aunt), and covered my head with my sweater. Navjot showed his approval of this new tactic by quietly returning his attention to the cars, busses, and scooters that maneuvered around each other. The traffic, against straight lines of the two-lane road, seemed to move like pack of wild, racing balloons, floating aggressively towards the finish line.
The darkness and the smell of the wool quickly cleared my head and settled my stomach. About 45 min later we pulled off the road so the driver could go to the bathroom.
“Nav,” I asked wonderingly, “isn’t this driver kind of crazy?”
Nav giggled and said, “ Actually, he is driving pretty safe. He followed a bus for a long time, and did all the things the bus did, and …then he passed the bus. The road is much better now.”
“Noooo……are you kidding?” I felt a smile growing on my face, because I knew he was not kidding, and despite my earlier discomfort, I was actually enjoying this experience of bewilderment by this completely different perspective of safe travel.
“Nope, and like I said, the road is better the rest of the way. It is not as busy.”
The only other memorable moment on this trip, besides the near constant games of chicken with oncoming traffic, was spotting someone riding a motorcycle standing up, positioned above the back section of the seat, hands at his sides. He must have been using his weight to influence the straight path of the cycle, since he was nowhere near the handlebars.
When I expressed bafflement, Nav said, “He is just riding the bike by standing up,” as if doing that was an everyday activity in India. It is at these times that I wonder if it will ever be possible for me to understand even some the thinking of Indian people!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
