Navjot walked me to the Jalandhar Railway Station. We left at 5:15am. We walked at a brisk pace for about 45 minutes to reach the station at 6am. The train left at 6:15am. Although I rode this route a few times before either on rickshaw or autorickshaw, walking here provided the time to experience the route differently.
5:15-6am is a major transition time in India: everyone begins waking up. At 5:15 the dark sky and silent streets suggest a slumbering population. At this time I walked along the middle of the narrow roads, foggy-minded at the early hour, and thus strangely confident that these roads only belonged to Navjot and I. Twice Navjot asked me to come to the side and be aware of my surroundings: the first time I turned to see a noisy, nasty three-wheeler autorickshaw wheeling towards us. I rubbed my eyes, feeling a little worried because I didn't hear it. We continued on, and something stirred near me on a pile of sand on my left. A dog. I jumped a little. The dogs here seemed harmless, rarely did we find one with a leash, but still I did not want to appear threatening. The dog I had disturbed rested only a couple of feet away and I didn't even see it. Silence and stillness dulled my mind, it wanted a predictable environment.
After 20 minutes of walking, dawn awoke the birds, and scooters and motorcycles began using the roads. The environment stimulated my mind to a more alert state. But even then Navjot and I responded differently to our surroundings. Recent rains formed puddles and muddy footpaths along the roadsides, so Navjot and I continued
walking in the street. Although it is common for people here to walk in the street, as soon as I heard the engine of a motorcycle nearing us from behind, I would turn and check to make sure it would avoid us. Traffic became plentiful enough to keep my head turning regularly. Navjot kept his head forward, looking ahead the entire time.
"You sure trust the drivers here."
"Yeah, if we stay to the side of the road, the drivers will avoid us. We all (Indians) know this. We just don't walk in the middle of the street like you were doing earlier. I don't know why you do that."
"Yeah, I don't know either. I don't think people back in Michigan do that either. I must like the space."
A clanging bell announced our close proximity to the railway station. I had been listening for it, it had cued our arrival to the station on previous trips. This time, walking, I realized the bell ringing sounded much closer to me than the station, which was still a little ways ahead, though we could easily see the block letters, in English: Jalandhar Railway Station. I turned to my left and saw the ringing bell within the cleanest, most decorated building in the area: a Hindu temple. The rest of the buildings looked drab, old, decrepit. The surprising part to me was that since I had associated the bell sound with the station, I assumed the bell came from the station. I enjoyed the discovery; adjusting my truth with that of reality.
One more interesting sight caught my attention on the left, just as we crossed the last intersection, a few feet before the station entrance. A tall, narrow gateway. It looked more like a tiny bridge where people cross under the bridge, but never over it, for it was so tall and narrow. It also looked very ancient, older than the neglected slabs of concrete on the streetsides. Then I remembered reading that Jalandhar was one of the oldest cities in Punjab, and that it had 12 gateways to the city. This antique construction must have been one of them.
Business proceeded normally at the station. The previous day, the Shtabadi, the fast train I was taking, was held up for four hours by Sikhs protesting the candidacy of Jagdish Tytler, a politician who, (since the riots occured),
has been suspected of leading murderous riots against Sikhs in New Delhi after the assassination of Indira Ghandi in 1984, for the Lok Sabha, India's version of Parliament. Tytler had also been recently given a 'clean chit,' which means a clean bill of health, by India's Central Bureau of Investigation (like FBI). Navjot and his family was one of the Sikh families living in New Delhi when the assassination and riots occurred. They had to leave. Didi had to leave her nice school. Dad had to leave his business. Today, none of Navjot's family express interest in these events. Perhaps they have long given up on justice for Indians; they rarely discuss Indian politics at all; but all of them have made comments about how the American government does a much better job in serving its people: tax money is visibly used to improve the life of regular people, and money doesn't automatically buy you
out of every problem. I like knowing that this positive perspective exists after the Americans foolishly chose to endure at least four of the eight rock-bottom years of our previous administration.
Navjot and I sat on a bench on the train platform, and two child beggars approached. I tried not to make eye contact; that seems to make them more aggressive. Since I am white, beggars already tend to flock to me at train stations, busy chowks (roundabouts), and the Model Town shopping area. The beggars in India speak in a creepy, raspy-sounding, zombiesque monotone: "Give me money for food. I need to eat," etc. This morning the little child stood face-level from Navjot, just mere inches in front of him. He wheezed these requests to Navjot, who merely rested his chin on his hand in a classic "Thinking Man" pose, and serenely gazed across the tracks to a further platform. Knowing the child wouldn't understand me, I still neurotically protested: "Whoa! Personal space issues!" Even Navjot ignored that. The child gave up and moved to an Indian family; he got lucky, a middle-class looking lady handed him some change. As long as they keep getting money, people are going to continue to beg. It is one of the oldest human professions, along with prostitution.
The train ride passed pleasantly. I enjoyed a good breakfast of an aloo parantha, bread, and jam, and two cups of tea. I read the Hindustan Times. I talked to Navjot and Didi almost hourly; they were concerned as this was my first train trip alone in India. When I arrived in New Delhi, Didi, Vinay and I struggled to locate each other, and I finally chose to do the unthinkable: make my presence conspicuous. I stood on a raised curb in front of the noisy, busy, crowded station, tried to look calm, failed, instead I drummed my thighs nervously, and waited for
taxi-drivers and beggars to surround me. To my relief I remained undisturbed until I saw Didi a couple of minutes later. Meeting loved ones in unfamiliar places makes the discomforts and anxieties of travel worthwhile; the hugs and relieved smiles give me a great reward.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Cultural Education and Experience in India
I had promised myself I would make use of some of my readings in intercultural communication with my own experience here in India. So, here it is.
My approaches to adjusting to India was informed by an article penned by Gary Weaver, a professor in the field of intercultural communications, called, "Understanding and Coping with Cross Cultural Adjustment Stress."
Weaver gives three explanations for the occurrence of culture shock:
1) the loss of familiar cues
2) the breakdown of interpersonal communication
3) an identity crisis
I experienced stress more from explanations 1 and 2, with 3 being a distant third which may become more of a factor as I continue adapting to India.
The Loss of Familiar Cues
"Cues," Weaver writes, "are signposts which guide us through our daily activities in an acceptable fashion which is consistent with the total social environment." p.178
"They may be words, gestures, facial expressions, postures, or customs.......they tell us when or how to give gifts or tips, when to be serious or humorous, how to speak to leaders and subordinates, who has status, what to say when we meet people, when and how to shake hands, how to eat......they make us feel comfortable because they seem so automatic and natural." p. 178
The social cues in India are different from the cues in Michigan, and I had some experience with this through the time spent with Navjot's family, before I even came to India. One 'crossed cue' which was too uncomfortable for me to alter in the States was my habit of saying a gracious thank-you to either Mom or Grandma after eating one of their fantastic meals. To me, their cooking is an investment of their time which they could use to do other things. For them, spending two to four hours dong cooking and cooking related work is what they do. It is the expected, (unpaid), work of a wife and mother, but even more than that, their mastery and consistency in this work seems to be a strong part of their identity as good wives and mothers in a family. Therefore, hearing my thank-you actually gives them a little discomfort, because to hear it may suggest (to others) that they are motivated by recognition, instead of the purer value of being a very good wife, mother, and member of the Indian family/extended family. After some explanations by me, and just to be nice, Mom says, "Your welcome," instead of giving a slightly reproachful look couched within a bewildered expression, sharply exclaiming: "Why thank-you? You're family!"
Other familiar social exchanges, such as: "Hey, how're ya doin?" and "Good afternoon" and "Good morning" which are some of my favorite greetings, are absent in India (except as a joke from Vinay, "Yo, Whatssssssssup, Grandma....Whatsssssssup?" (which I quietly find hilarious). Here, religious affiliation dictates the greeting you give to adults. For Hindus, you put your hands together and say, "Namaste," or "Namaskaar," depending on the dialect or region....you can kick it up a notch with adding a further respectful designation, "ji"....which becomes: "Namaste-ji" and "Namaskaarji". For Sikhs, the greeting is "Susrikall...or Susrikallji" I have adapted the 'ji' version because as a foreigner who does not have, and never will attain, all the social cues, I need to pursue maximum amounts of social points whenever possible.
Being non-religious (a secular humanist) at best I feel uncomfortable, at worst, I resent, pandering to religious sentiment to begin my interactions with people here.
"Cues also serve as reinforces of behavior because they signal if things are being done appropriately."-p 179.
Many articles in this collection on Intercultural Relations reiterate that American, Swiss, and German cultures have a low-context, heterogeneous nature, meaning we want explicit rules of behavior so our interactions have a high amount of predictability. Non-western cultures, like India, have a high-context, homogeneous orientation, meaning the rules of conduct are learned implicitly, any request for specific guides are met with vague replies, since the info was never directly taught to anyone (the rules were inferred).
In Michigan, when I invited Navjot's sister to my school to do henna tattoos, I tried to prepare her for the experience: the typical behavior of the children and why, the typical behavior of the teachers in the classroom and in the lunchroom, and why. Didi is intelligent, personable, and outgoing, who could put herself at ease anyway, but I like to think that the cultural preparation helped Didi to quickly make herself 'at home' those days in our little community.
In India, Navjot, Mom, and Didi, they try, they really do try to prep me for the unknown. But there are some things that are so automatic, that it doesn't 'pop up' in their consciousness that I won't know how to act in a certain way until a few seconds before the opportunity comes for me to act. These minefields within India's cultural landscape have become rather treacherous for me at an unlikely time: when we entertain Punjab/Indian company in our apartment.
Before guests arrive, Navjot doesn't say, "Jamie, it is better if we behave like Indians even if we don't usually do it. This means only you will prepare anything that will be served, you will serve the items in this particular order: water/juices/sodas, then teas with snacks. 15 min after you offer the water set, offer tea, if they say no, offer 10 min later and make it regardless. Bring the tea, and set the tray on the table. If they don't reach for it, set a cup in front of the eldest person. Continue setting cups until everyone has a cup in front of them. Then provide a plate of cookies/snacks. Again, circulate this plate to each person. Repeat the cookie tray act at least once more. When the last person finishes, collect the cups and wash them. Although I would usually help with dishes at home, when company is here, you will do all of this kitchen work, because that is how Indians do it."
You may think, "Whoa, she says they have a cook! The cook does the dishes! Why is she whining about doing tea dishes? Geez! Talk about high maintenance! Poor Nav. He probably has to hear a lot of nagging."
Maybe Navjot thought the above too.
My best explanation is that the event above demonstrates a time when Nav 'shifts' from our own 'Jamie-Nav' culture, to "Indian" culture. I feel 'demoted' in some odd sense, like my power standing in the household went from co-CEO to a servant, or a child. The experiences of these feelings disturb me, because I do not mind making people comfortable in our home. Perhaps the difference lies in the intensity of the sentiments. I 'do not mind' making people comfortable. Indians take the comfort of their guests very seriously. My intensity does not match theirs, therefore, when placed in the role of providing, 'serious comfort', I feel out of my element, yet, later I will endure little aftershocks of guilt, since I so often enjoy the hospitality bestowed upon me by Indians, yet I inherently lack their zeal to master their moves myself and return the favor. It has the same smell as a statement I made, to my own surprise, to my sister-in-law, Michelle, on Christmas Day: "I think I like receiving more than giving (presents)."
I have felt strangely while performing these duties each time. Isolation and anxiety pervades the kitchen, or, if Nav is absent from the home at this time, the entire house. Perhaps this feeling of isolation comes from experiencing a role that is mutually exclusive...a role shared by no-one else. Only I tend the kitchen and serving. Or I could be feeling the rigidity of the role.
Yep, having a job myself is looking pretty good from where I'm standing...rigid roles seem to lose a bit of their grip when a woman has a career too.
Instead, before guests arrive, there were no pre-play strategies. Navjot said, "You'll be fine." But, soon into the gathering, I started receiving instructions, when Navjot noticed that I haven't done items on the implicit guest itinerary at a 'certain' time. I received the instruction after the fact, but I responded, internally, as if I were directly taught the material, but I had not performed it correctly, and so I was receiving public chastisement. I became anxious, and watched Navjot and the guests, hoping for a clue that will help me avoid another inadvertent chastising. If I were to explicitly ask questions about best procedures, then the gathering could become a garish mass of confusions: some wanting to help me with these basics, others preferring that I don't take the trouble. The latter see themselves as 'hosts of India' and I am a guest...even though we are all in my apartment. Plug this formula into several other social scenarios: visiting a gurudwara, visiting Guruji's family, visiting Navjot's family, and you have my social experience in India.
Or, for longer-stay guests: "Jamie, you will be seeing to the guests. I will continue my regular routine even more strictly than I would if there were no guests. We don't do it this way at 1430 New York Ave, but it is permissible in India, so therefore, this is the way I will conduct myself when we have guests." Nope. I never heard those words. But this was exactly how our guests experienced our recent stint as hosts. My subsequent anxiousness and periods of silence created a strained atmosphere, and I bewildered Navjot with my frustrations with his absences. At the time neither of us really understood my un-Zen-like demeanor. But hey, I like predictability, and these scenarios have not unfolded in any predictable way.
To add on to what felt like a mountain of failure with our recent guests, I still was not able to navigate the Indian way of handling someone's personal upset.
My way: Create a safe haven where I am alone, it is quiet, I make the boundaries, and from there, I can reset myself and put my rational mind in charge of the situation. Then, I feel 'safer' with my senses and my behavior, I venture back out, ready to give the world what I would prefer them to see.
Indian way: Talk to me and problem-solve until I am happy again.
See 'problem-solve' has sinister connotations for me regarding loved ones wanting to 'get to the bottom' of what is bothering me. Nine times out of ten, what the loved ones end up doing is trying to convince me to understand why such and such has to be this way (the way I don't like), and, since they have rationalized the issue for me, I can see it their way, accept it and 'be happy!' HA!
Maybe I can participate in such an exchange, but if I feel that burning need to isolate myself, then my rational mind is not in charge, and so I would not be interested in knowing why something needs to be the way I don't want it. So why force it? Perhaps when Indians become emotional, they find it easier to plug back into the rational mindset in the presence of loved ones. I don't. I have learned to be AWAY from loved ones to re-set. That lesson was essential to my survival as a child...and my transition to an adult. I don't think I can change that approach.
But my withdrawal at best confuses, at worst hurts, the loved ones (particularly the Indian side) around me, perhaps because they believe if I won't have them near to help me to feel better, then I do not love them. I do love them, but I do not like arguments, and I don't like telling people things that will hurt them just because it bothers me. My way of interacting is indeed still a work in progress.
Also, my rational mind may believe that I still think X is a bunch of baloney, but I can't change people, so I just have to regain the perspective that I am playing a role, but I am not the role, so, I will adjust according to my preferences when I can do so. Obviously a discussion with people who believe the opposite will likely result in an argument, and perhaps rifts will be formed with people I'd rather be close to. Nowadays my approach to conflict in the family is: If you can do it delicately, and if it is very important, do it. If not, avoid it. I have engaged in enough arguments and rifts within my own family to last me 1000 lifetimes!
You would think that entertaining guests with tea, and overnight stays comprise only simple sets of easy rules. They are!! But, I naturally do not adhere to strict 'host rules.' Growing up, gatherings were informal, buffet-style affairs. Today, people who come to my house at 1430 tend to feel pretty comfortable, and sometimes I offer water/tea, sometimes we are chatting and I don't think of it, but if they are thirsty, they will ask for water, or they will just help themselves (Amy does this and I love it!) So, will I adapt to a more formal way of hosting while I am in India, and thus be more comfortable with it? We'll see!
This rant about my cultural and personal struggles strayed a tad from the original "Loss of Familiar Cues." But maybe not. Weaver says we experience pain and frustration when we do not receive reinforcements from our behavior. I can safely say that my behavior has elicited few reinforcements. Instead, I am offered confused looks, and reprogramming. Hence, perhaps, the anxiety, the silence, and a stronger need for Navjot's presence during these social settings.
My ego needs to see and hear, "Oh my, but isn't she socially astute?" In Navjot n Jamie's culture, I hear that a lot. In Indian culture, I hear crickets; albeit friendly crickets. Well, I would if there weren't so many drivers beeping their horns.
My approaches to adjusting to India was informed by an article penned by Gary Weaver, a professor in the field of intercultural communications, called, "Understanding and Coping with Cross Cultural Adjustment Stress."
Weaver gives three explanations for the occurrence of culture shock:
1) the loss of familiar cues
2) the breakdown of interpersonal communication
3) an identity crisis
I experienced stress more from explanations 1 and 2, with 3 being a distant third which may become more of a factor as I continue adapting to India.
The Loss of Familiar Cues
"Cues," Weaver writes, "are signposts which guide us through our daily activities in an acceptable fashion which is consistent with the total social environment." p.178
"They may be words, gestures, facial expressions, postures, or customs.......they tell us when or how to give gifts or tips, when to be serious or humorous, how to speak to leaders and subordinates, who has status, what to say when we meet people, when and how to shake hands, how to eat......they make us feel comfortable because they seem so automatic and natural." p. 178
The social cues in India are different from the cues in Michigan, and I had some experience with this through the time spent with Navjot's family, before I even came to India. One 'crossed cue' which was too uncomfortable for me to alter in the States was my habit of saying a gracious thank-you to either Mom or Grandma after eating one of their fantastic meals. To me, their cooking is an investment of their time which they could use to do other things. For them, spending two to four hours dong cooking and cooking related work is what they do. It is the expected, (unpaid), work of a wife and mother, but even more than that, their mastery and consistency in this work seems to be a strong part of their identity as good wives and mothers in a family. Therefore, hearing my thank-you actually gives them a little discomfort, because to hear it may suggest (to others) that they are motivated by recognition, instead of the purer value of being a very good wife, mother, and member of the Indian family/extended family. After some explanations by me, and just to be nice, Mom says, "Your welcome," instead of giving a slightly reproachful look couched within a bewildered expression, sharply exclaiming: "Why thank-you? You're family!"
Other familiar social exchanges, such as: "Hey, how're ya doin?" and "Good afternoon" and "Good morning" which are some of my favorite greetings, are absent in India (except as a joke from Vinay, "Yo, Whatssssssssup, Grandma....Whatsssssssup?" (which I quietly find hilarious). Here, religious affiliation dictates the greeting you give to adults. For Hindus, you put your hands together and say, "Namaste," or "Namaskaar," depending on the dialect or region....you can kick it up a notch with adding a further respectful designation, "ji"....which becomes: "Namaste-ji" and "Namaskaarji". For Sikhs, the greeting is "Susrikall...or Susrikallji" I have adapted the 'ji' version because as a foreigner who does not have, and never will attain, all the social cues, I need to pursue maximum amounts of social points whenever possible.
Being non-religious (a secular humanist) at best I feel uncomfortable, at worst, I resent, pandering to religious sentiment to begin my interactions with people here.
"Cues also serve as reinforces of behavior because they signal if things are being done appropriately."-p 179.
Many articles in this collection on Intercultural Relations reiterate that American, Swiss, and German cultures have a low-context, heterogeneous nature, meaning we want explicit rules of behavior so our interactions have a high amount of predictability. Non-western cultures, like India, have a high-context, homogeneous orientation, meaning the rules of conduct are learned implicitly, any request for specific guides are met with vague replies, since the info was never directly taught to anyone (the rules were inferred).
In Michigan, when I invited Navjot's sister to my school to do henna tattoos, I tried to prepare her for the experience: the typical behavior of the children and why, the typical behavior of the teachers in the classroom and in the lunchroom, and why. Didi is intelligent, personable, and outgoing, who could put herself at ease anyway, but I like to think that the cultural preparation helped Didi to quickly make herself 'at home' those days in our little community.
In India, Navjot, Mom, and Didi, they try, they really do try to prep me for the unknown. But there are some things that are so automatic, that it doesn't 'pop up' in their consciousness that I won't know how to act in a certain way until a few seconds before the opportunity comes for me to act. These minefields within India's cultural landscape have become rather treacherous for me at an unlikely time: when we entertain Punjab/Indian company in our apartment.
Before guests arrive, Navjot doesn't say, "Jamie, it is better if we behave like Indians even if we don't usually do it. This means only you will prepare anything that will be served, you will serve the items in this particular order: water/juices/sodas, then teas with snacks. 15 min after you offer the water set, offer tea, if they say no, offer 10 min later and make it regardless. Bring the tea, and set the tray on the table. If they don't reach for it, set a cup in front of the eldest person. Continue setting cups until everyone has a cup in front of them. Then provide a plate of cookies/snacks. Again, circulate this plate to each person. Repeat the cookie tray act at least once more. When the last person finishes, collect the cups and wash them. Although I would usually help with dishes at home, when company is here, you will do all of this kitchen work, because that is how Indians do it."
You may think, "Whoa, she says they have a cook! The cook does the dishes! Why is she whining about doing tea dishes? Geez! Talk about high maintenance! Poor Nav. He probably has to hear a lot of nagging."
Maybe Navjot thought the above too.
My best explanation is that the event above demonstrates a time when Nav 'shifts' from our own 'Jamie-Nav' culture, to "Indian" culture. I feel 'demoted' in some odd sense, like my power standing in the household went from co-CEO to a servant, or a child. The experiences of these feelings disturb me, because I do not mind making people comfortable in our home. Perhaps the difference lies in the intensity of the sentiments. I 'do not mind' making people comfortable. Indians take the comfort of their guests very seriously. My intensity does not match theirs, therefore, when placed in the role of providing, 'serious comfort', I feel out of my element, yet, later I will endure little aftershocks of guilt, since I so often enjoy the hospitality bestowed upon me by Indians, yet I inherently lack their zeal to master their moves myself and return the favor. It has the same smell as a statement I made, to my own surprise, to my sister-in-law, Michelle, on Christmas Day: "I think I like receiving more than giving (presents)."
I have felt strangely while performing these duties each time. Isolation and anxiety pervades the kitchen, or, if Nav is absent from the home at this time, the entire house. Perhaps this feeling of isolation comes from experiencing a role that is mutually exclusive...a role shared by no-one else. Only I tend the kitchen and serving. Or I could be feeling the rigidity of the role.
Yep, having a job myself is looking pretty good from where I'm standing...rigid roles seem to lose a bit of their grip when a woman has a career too.
Instead, before guests arrive, there were no pre-play strategies. Navjot said, "You'll be fine." But, soon into the gathering, I started receiving instructions, when Navjot noticed that I haven't done items on the implicit guest itinerary at a 'certain' time. I received the instruction after the fact, but I responded, internally, as if I were directly taught the material, but I had not performed it correctly, and so I was receiving public chastisement. I became anxious, and watched Navjot and the guests, hoping for a clue that will help me avoid another inadvertent chastising. If I were to explicitly ask questions about best procedures, then the gathering could become a garish mass of confusions: some wanting to help me with these basics, others preferring that I don't take the trouble. The latter see themselves as 'hosts of India' and I am a guest...even though we are all in my apartment. Plug this formula into several other social scenarios: visiting a gurudwara, visiting Guruji's family, visiting Navjot's family, and you have my social experience in India.
Or, for longer-stay guests: "Jamie, you will be seeing to the guests. I will continue my regular routine even more strictly than I would if there were no guests. We don't do it this way at 1430 New York Ave, but it is permissible in India, so therefore, this is the way I will conduct myself when we have guests." Nope. I never heard those words. But this was exactly how our guests experienced our recent stint as hosts. My subsequent anxiousness and periods of silence created a strained atmosphere, and I bewildered Navjot with my frustrations with his absences. At the time neither of us really understood my un-Zen-like demeanor. But hey, I like predictability, and these scenarios have not unfolded in any predictable way.
To add on to what felt like a mountain of failure with our recent guests, I still was not able to navigate the Indian way of handling someone's personal upset.
My way: Create a safe haven where I am alone, it is quiet, I make the boundaries, and from there, I can reset myself and put my rational mind in charge of the situation. Then, I feel 'safer' with my senses and my behavior, I venture back out, ready to give the world what I would prefer them to see.
Indian way: Talk to me and problem-solve until I am happy again.
See 'problem-solve' has sinister connotations for me regarding loved ones wanting to 'get to the bottom' of what is bothering me. Nine times out of ten, what the loved ones end up doing is trying to convince me to understand why such and such has to be this way (the way I don't like), and, since they have rationalized the issue for me, I can see it their way, accept it and 'be happy!' HA!
Maybe I can participate in such an exchange, but if I feel that burning need to isolate myself, then my rational mind is not in charge, and so I would not be interested in knowing why something needs to be the way I don't want it. So why force it? Perhaps when Indians become emotional, they find it easier to plug back into the rational mindset in the presence of loved ones. I don't. I have learned to be AWAY from loved ones to re-set. That lesson was essential to my survival as a child...and my transition to an adult. I don't think I can change that approach.
But my withdrawal at best confuses, at worst hurts, the loved ones (particularly the Indian side) around me, perhaps because they believe if I won't have them near to help me to feel better, then I do not love them. I do love them, but I do not like arguments, and I don't like telling people things that will hurt them just because it bothers me. My way of interacting is indeed still a work in progress.
Also, my rational mind may believe that I still think X is a bunch of baloney, but I can't change people, so I just have to regain the perspective that I am playing a role, but I am not the role, so, I will adjust according to my preferences when I can do so. Obviously a discussion with people who believe the opposite will likely result in an argument, and perhaps rifts will be formed with people I'd rather be close to. Nowadays my approach to conflict in the family is: If you can do it delicately, and if it is very important, do it. If not, avoid it. I have engaged in enough arguments and rifts within my own family to last me 1000 lifetimes!
You would think that entertaining guests with tea, and overnight stays comprise only simple sets of easy rules. They are!! But, I naturally do not adhere to strict 'host rules.' Growing up, gatherings were informal, buffet-style affairs. Today, people who come to my house at 1430 tend to feel pretty comfortable, and sometimes I offer water/tea, sometimes we are chatting and I don't think of it, but if they are thirsty, they will ask for water, or they will just help themselves (Amy does this and I love it!) So, will I adapt to a more formal way of hosting while I am in India, and thus be more comfortable with it? We'll see!
This rant about my cultural and personal struggles strayed a tad from the original "Loss of Familiar Cues." But maybe not. Weaver says we experience pain and frustration when we do not receive reinforcements from our behavior. I can safely say that my behavior has elicited few reinforcements. Instead, I am offered confused looks, and reprogramming. Hence, perhaps, the anxiety, the silence, and a stronger need for Navjot's presence during these social settings.
My ego needs to see and hear, "Oh my, but isn't she socially astute?" In Navjot n Jamie's culture, I hear that a lot. In Indian culture, I hear crickets; albeit friendly crickets. Well, I would if there weren't so many drivers beeping their horns.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Thoughts on the Punjabi language
I have been, in a puttering manner, learning to speak, read, and understand Punjabi, and, to a lesser degree, Hindi. Currently I can read punjabi in a decoding way, perhaps as a struggling 1st or 2nd grader would read. I am still learning hindi letters, which seem to have more twists and funny loops.
Anyways, there are many businesses which offer to teach English here, but no one offers classes in Punjabi. However, no native speakers I know has the pedigogical know-how or the patience to build my skills. I have one teacher who promises that I can visit her school, where I planned to explore the option of attending their punjabi classes, but I have been put off twice since her principal's approval. I have some sympathy for them, because the few times I walked by a nearby school as the students were leaving, I received gawking, giggles, stares, and 'hellos.' A visit from me may put a strain on the 'classroom management' aspect of the school day. I will try Monday to just walk in to a few nearby schools, and see if I have any luck..
So far, my materials have been an Activity Book, and Navjot, who has been essential in providing a broken record for Punjabi sounds, letters and words, chunked together gradually.
In the past, I have made some general statement like: There are 5 ways to sound t in Punjabi! Therefore it is hard for me to learn! This is true, but here I will list the different ways. In the punjabi alphabet these letters are parsed out into two sounds, but when you sound it, it is the combination of the two sounds, heard together.
Sorry, I don't know how to put punjabi symbols here.
Ts: tainka, t(h)at(h)ta (hard t sound), tudha, tata (this t is the end of Navjot's name, a 'soft t') thatha (lispy), and thudha (lispy form of tudha).
Ds: dhadha, dudha, (hard and soft, different tongue placements)
CH: chicha, chhuchha (strong ch sound, as in much), and chaja
Ks: kaka, khakha (hard k), khuga
Ps: papa and puba
S, H, N, F. G, L, B, Y and M sounds are the same as english, they serve as lifeboats. E, A, and O are quite similar but their sounds are fixed, they do not vary the way they do in English, so sometimes I find myself 'modifying' unnecessarily.
And if that weren't enough, the language has modifiers which allow even more vowel and nasal variety to nuance and color the language. The vowel combinations sound more familiar than the nasal sounds: ung and ng.
One of the most challenging sounds for me is the last 'letter' of the alphabet, 'erdhara'. I have to flip my tongue forward from the roof of my mouth, which I can do, but I have been practicing making that sound within a word, like the word for horse, kgoherda (hahahahaha, I know Indians would not translate the word to these letters).
Practicing speaking sentences in gradually larger chunks with Nav helps me to understand each word as it occurs in 'regular speech time' I have also been writing sentences to help me learn the different ways to say 'you'...one for elders, one for younger people, one that relates directly to you, such as, "you are nice' and one that is possessive, like, 'your hair.' Verbs also change according to the male and female designation of the object, which I've tackled by writing sentences. However, I find my mind is not ready to commit these sentences to speaking memory, so, in the most useful way, my sentences are mostly unavailable. Fortunately, I brought the notebook to the old neighborhood I lived in briefly in 2004, and I read questions to right out my notebook tothe people who wanted to chat with me. They have been so kind, and so helpful to me, only they make my written practice more meaningful.
The construction of the spoken Punjabi language also does not translate well. Here are a set of directions from my kid-level activity book, directly translated to English in order:
Every one line in one fruit and one animal of name hidden is. Find.
I already know translating everything to English is NOT learning the language, but this translation makes it very clear that along with learning how the male/female/class and age distinctions are built into even the simplest aspects of the language, I have to learn these cultural codes within a different language construct.
My brain still needs to perceive the activity directions above as:
One fruit name and one animal name is hidden in every line. Find the names.
Navjot and I stumbled onto a little game which is helping me to become more familiar with the language construct. We were playing around a little with Punjabi during lunch a few days ago, and Navjot started asking me to move items around on the table. Very simple directions, such as: Put the spoon on the plate. Put the glass on the plate. Put the cucumber on my plate. Put the spoon in the glass. Another exercise: I had to move either my right arm or my left arm above, below, front, behind. Or he moved, and I had to name the direction in Punjabi. This kinesthetic learning is much more fun for me, so I am hoping to create similar language activities. Again, since I know nearly all of the words already in these very simple directions, the purpose here is that I have to comprehend the ORDER in which the information is presented, then act, not speak! The sentences are short enough that I don't reach out for English or for translation help. I have to wait for the verb! I have to keep track of all the things that are involved in the action, and their relationships, until I learn the action....at the end.
All right, that's all from here today. I am going to turn on the AC and go to sleep.
Anyways, there are many businesses which offer to teach English here, but no one offers classes in Punjabi. However, no native speakers I know has the pedigogical know-how or the patience to build my skills. I have one teacher who promises that I can visit her school, where I planned to explore the option of attending their punjabi classes, but I have been put off twice since her principal's approval. I have some sympathy for them, because the few times I walked by a nearby school as the students were leaving, I received gawking, giggles, stares, and 'hellos.' A visit from me may put a strain on the 'classroom management' aspect of the school day. I will try Monday to just walk in to a few nearby schools, and see if I have any luck..
So far, my materials have been an Activity Book, and Navjot, who has been essential in providing a broken record for Punjabi sounds, letters and words, chunked together gradually.
In the past, I have made some general statement like: There are 5 ways to sound t in Punjabi! Therefore it is hard for me to learn! This is true, but here I will list the different ways. In the punjabi alphabet these letters are parsed out into two sounds, but when you sound it, it is the combination of the two sounds, heard together.
Sorry, I don't know how to put punjabi symbols here.
Ts: tainka, t(h)at(h)ta (hard t sound), tudha, tata (this t is the end of Navjot's name, a 'soft t') thatha (lispy), and thudha (lispy form of tudha).
Ds: dhadha, dudha, (hard and soft, different tongue placements)
CH: chicha, chhuchha (strong ch sound, as in much), and chaja
Ks: kaka, khakha (hard k), khuga
Ps: papa and puba
S, H, N, F. G, L, B, Y and M sounds are the same as english, they serve as lifeboats. E, A, and O are quite similar but their sounds are fixed, they do not vary the way they do in English, so sometimes I find myself 'modifying' unnecessarily.
And if that weren't enough, the language has modifiers which allow even more vowel and nasal variety to nuance and color the language. The vowel combinations sound more familiar than the nasal sounds: ung and ng.
One of the most challenging sounds for me is the last 'letter' of the alphabet, 'erdhara'. I have to flip my tongue forward from the roof of my mouth, which I can do, but I have been practicing making that sound within a word, like the word for horse, kgoherda (hahahahaha, I know Indians would not translate the word to these letters).
Practicing speaking sentences in gradually larger chunks with Nav helps me to understand each word as it occurs in 'regular speech time' I have also been writing sentences to help me learn the different ways to say 'you'...one for elders, one for younger people, one that relates directly to you, such as, "you are nice' and one that is possessive, like, 'your hair.' Verbs also change according to the male and female designation of the object, which I've tackled by writing sentences. However, I find my mind is not ready to commit these sentences to speaking memory, so, in the most useful way, my sentences are mostly unavailable. Fortunately, I brought the notebook to the old neighborhood I lived in briefly in 2004, and I read questions to right out my notebook tothe people who wanted to chat with me. They have been so kind, and so helpful to me, only they make my written practice more meaningful.
The construction of the spoken Punjabi language also does not translate well. Here are a set of directions from my kid-level activity book, directly translated to English in order:
Every one line in one fruit and one animal of name hidden is. Find.
I already know translating everything to English is NOT learning the language, but this translation makes it very clear that along with learning how the male/female/class and age distinctions are built into even the simplest aspects of the language, I have to learn these cultural codes within a different language construct.
My brain still needs to perceive the activity directions above as:
One fruit name and one animal name is hidden in every line. Find the names.
Navjot and I stumbled onto a little game which is helping me to become more familiar with the language construct. We were playing around a little with Punjabi during lunch a few days ago, and Navjot started asking me to move items around on the table. Very simple directions, such as: Put the spoon on the plate. Put the glass on the plate. Put the cucumber on my plate. Put the spoon in the glass. Another exercise: I had to move either my right arm or my left arm above, below, front, behind. Or he moved, and I had to name the direction in Punjabi. This kinesthetic learning is much more fun for me, so I am hoping to create similar language activities. Again, since I know nearly all of the words already in these very simple directions, the purpose here is that I have to comprehend the ORDER in which the information is presented, then act, not speak! The sentences are short enough that I don't reach out for English or for translation help. I have to wait for the verb! I have to keep track of all the things that are involved in the action, and their relationships, until I learn the action....at the end.
All right, that's all from here today. I am going to turn on the AC and go to sleep.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Finally...Adjusting to India
The day we arrived home from our trip, Navjot and I both fell ill....me with the Delhi-belly, which still allowed me to eat, but I had a fever and endured quite a bit of lower abdominal pain for well over a week. Navjot had a nasty cold, with a short fever. I also got the cold, so I was still sick when I joined the gym two weeks later, but I was determined to find a place with equipment I could use to help me heal my runners knee.
I had been reading articles of out a collection on the subject of intercultural communications, and this collection had a few informative pieces on culture shock. One article described about 10 'symptoms' of culture shock, and to my surprise, I had every one of them. One of them was excessive cleanliness.....and I did a lot of cleaning during my first week in Jalandhar City, and I still dust more consistently here than I have ever done at 1430! During my first month here, Navjot and I actually had an ARGUMENT about my excessive interest in cleaning the rooftop......this would never happen in USA. Never.
The article suggested the obvious: learn the language and make friends. I took up the language workbooks again, and allowed anyone who was interested (Navjot, and his guru's daughters) to help me pronounce words and speak sentences. I visited my landlady more, and allowed her to help me navigate Indian shopping. She inspired me to design my own cotton shirts for the summer...because her tailor can make my designs if I provide the cloth and any decorative accessories. In order to do this, I had to try to communicate what I want to the people in the shops the best I can with my language limitations.
The first day, I just went out in the afternoon, by myself, to see if I could deal with the busy streets and the staring people. I wanted to just walk down a new street to see something new. That's where I found an affordable, good gym. I was able to, on my own, find the price of joining for three months, and make them understand that I would return the next day. True, the lady who helped me could speak English fairly well, (which does not mean we will understand each other--India English is not American English at all)..but this experience felt like such a victory for me. It spurred me to visit the chemist's shop to get throat lozenges for the nasty cold that was settling in. I knew some words for this exchange, but 'throat' wasn't one of them, so some gestures and guessing were necessary, but I left with not only lozenges, but with some other symptom relievers (which worked great!!!!...it ended up being the easiest cold I ever had).
Since that day, I have been going out almost every day to the gym...this has added routine to my life, and I 'deal' with India every day: communicating at stores, avoiding or ignoring beggars, securing a rickshaw for a reasonable price, and being able to direct him, and practicing (Navjot taught me) the self-absorbed look I have to have on my face when I am out (or staring men will think I am interested in them). I have been taking on most of the grocery shopping, and I have been dealing with some of the tenant/landlord issues, like paying rent and getting receipts.
Overall, I feel better because I can be a little more helpful to Navjot, so he is not completely running the house and performing his studies. Getting back into shape and healing my knee is keeping me physically active, which is important to my well-being. The language is still very difficult. I am making slow progress in both Punjabi and Hindi. I can pronounce letters and words better, but, as my Italian friend Paolo feels about learning German, I feel it would take a century to be able to communicate well in these languages. I keep practicing patience....that things so simple, like making a dental th and a 'roof-of-the-mouth' th sound, will take practice and patience, and time, just time. The individual letter sounds are so simple, but put within the context of a word...it becomes difficult, and then putting that word in a sentence with other unfamiliar sounds... makes the speaking almost impossible until my multiple, ridiculous sounding imitations begin to so slowly coalesce into the correct sounds...
This evening I returned to the neighborhood I lived in briefly in 2004. People there remembered me, particularly for the volleyball. They seemed quite happy to see me, the ladies laughing as they remembered the volleyball games (as told to me by the young sign painter), and the young adults trying their hardest to communicate meaningfully with me, both of us mixing our limited English and Punjabi. Young girls crowded around me and stared at me until I asked them to tell me their names in Punjabi. My visit became a little party of sorts. I really wanted to find those children who loyally visited me every day in 2004, Preinka and Saahil. Saahil did appear this evening, he must be a young teenager now, he looks much older! He still presents a shy, sweet demeanor, but he is no longer an innocent child who would show me all the happiness he had through his eyes when we played volleyball or walked in the park with Preinka. Preinka did not appear, so I will return another time to find her. We exchanged letters during my absence; I would feel terrible if I didn't see her while I was here!!
Well, it is getting late, I hope Michigan State wins the basketball game, for the safety of East Lansing, and for the fact it would make so many of my friends and family joyous!!
I had been reading articles of out a collection on the subject of intercultural communications, and this collection had a few informative pieces on culture shock. One article described about 10 'symptoms' of culture shock, and to my surprise, I had every one of them. One of them was excessive cleanliness.....and I did a lot of cleaning during my first week in Jalandhar City, and I still dust more consistently here than I have ever done at 1430! During my first month here, Navjot and I actually had an ARGUMENT about my excessive interest in cleaning the rooftop......this would never happen in USA. Never.
The article suggested the obvious: learn the language and make friends. I took up the language workbooks again, and allowed anyone who was interested (Navjot, and his guru's daughters) to help me pronounce words and speak sentences. I visited my landlady more, and allowed her to help me navigate Indian shopping. She inspired me to design my own cotton shirts for the summer...because her tailor can make my designs if I provide the cloth and any decorative accessories. In order to do this, I had to try to communicate what I want to the people in the shops the best I can with my language limitations.
The first day, I just went out in the afternoon, by myself, to see if I could deal with the busy streets and the staring people. I wanted to just walk down a new street to see something new. That's where I found an affordable, good gym. I was able to, on my own, find the price of joining for three months, and make them understand that I would return the next day. True, the lady who helped me could speak English fairly well, (which does not mean we will understand each other--India English is not American English at all)..but this experience felt like such a victory for me. It spurred me to visit the chemist's shop to get throat lozenges for the nasty cold that was settling in. I knew some words for this exchange, but 'throat' wasn't one of them, so some gestures and guessing were necessary, but I left with not only lozenges, but with some other symptom relievers (which worked great!!!!...it ended up being the easiest cold I ever had).
Since that day, I have been going out almost every day to the gym...this has added routine to my life, and I 'deal' with India every day: communicating at stores, avoiding or ignoring beggars, securing a rickshaw for a reasonable price, and being able to direct him, and practicing (Navjot taught me) the self-absorbed look I have to have on my face when I am out (or staring men will think I am interested in them). I have been taking on most of the grocery shopping, and I have been dealing with some of the tenant/landlord issues, like paying rent and getting receipts.
Overall, I feel better because I can be a little more helpful to Navjot, so he is not completely running the house and performing his studies. Getting back into shape and healing my knee is keeping me physically active, which is important to my well-being. The language is still very difficult. I am making slow progress in both Punjabi and Hindi. I can pronounce letters and words better, but, as my Italian friend Paolo feels about learning German, I feel it would take a century to be able to communicate well in these languages. I keep practicing patience....that things so simple, like making a dental th and a 'roof-of-the-mouth' th sound, will take practice and patience, and time, just time. The individual letter sounds are so simple, but put within the context of a word...it becomes difficult, and then putting that word in a sentence with other unfamiliar sounds... makes the speaking almost impossible until my multiple, ridiculous sounding imitations begin to so slowly coalesce into the correct sounds...
This evening I returned to the neighborhood I lived in briefly in 2004. People there remembered me, particularly for the volleyball. They seemed quite happy to see me, the ladies laughing as they remembered the volleyball games (as told to me by the young sign painter), and the young adults trying their hardest to communicate meaningfully with me, both of us mixing our limited English and Punjabi. Young girls crowded around me and stared at me until I asked them to tell me their names in Punjabi. My visit became a little party of sorts. I really wanted to find those children who loyally visited me every day in 2004, Preinka and Saahil. Saahil did appear this evening, he must be a young teenager now, he looks much older! He still presents a shy, sweet demeanor, but he is no longer an innocent child who would show me all the happiness he had through his eyes when we played volleyball or walked in the park with Preinka. Preinka did not appear, so I will return another time to find her. We exchanged letters during my absence; I would feel terrible if I didn't see her while I was here!!
Well, it is getting late, I hope Michigan State wins the basketball game, for the safety of East Lansing, and for the fact it would make so many of my friends and family joyous!!
Varanasi
We took a boat ride at 6am, and saw people beginning their morning routine on the Ganges. Ghats, which means steps to the river, lined the banks of the river all along the city. Most of the ghats had a different look, depending on who built them and when. Tourists like ourselves were drifting around in other boats; we were all watching the locals on the shore. I found this disturbing, but I was still dealing with the culture shock, so I accepted my place firmly behind the 'glass.'
The river was nasty. At 6-ish am, some Indians bathed, some still wearing their bright cloth wrapped around their hips, like a large diaper, some men didn't wear anything. All women bathed clothed. Others began their laundry by beating their cloth on flat slabs of stone placed in knee deep water. The stones must have been propped up with something. Further up, loud laughter echoed over the river from a group of people practicing laughter yoga. I took a picture of them as they performed a string of synchronized movements.
The main ghat, the Dasashwamedha Ghat, was filled with people so early in the morning. Bright boats bordered the busy steps. The Priyang ghat, next to Dasashwamedha, was populated with as many large, colorful umbrellas as Dasashwamedha had people. Just before our turning point, we came upon an area with wide piles of white and black ashes which were surrounded by stacks of logs about 3 feet high. Behind these piles sat two or three large, soot stained concrete temples. The ghats themselves were covered in a dark ash. Smoke billowed out from the ash. I didn't see a name, but I believe this was the Manikarnika ghat, (or the ghat NEXT to Manikarnika) where the cremations took place. It is believed that this area has been burning for centuries continuously. This place held my attention. However, the book Michelle, a Fulbrighter friend, gave to me did not hold my attention. In explaining the origins and functions of this cremation ground, the author told about 10 myths and legends all in a row, inserting a phrase here or there about how this place actually functions. Sifting through all the stories does help me to understand how tied up this place is in hindu...mythology. Knowing the myths/stories will probably be the only way I will understand why these people want to bathe in a filthy river, and why they are so convinced they will receive the holy benefits promised in bathing, cremating, and performing rituals (yagnis).
Although I enjoyed the boat ride, the rest of the time I felt exhausted from travel. I didn't even want to venture out to see the temples! Lame! We only had about an hour or two to do so anyway, and I spent that time taking a nap. Navjot was more enterprising: he bought 2 tabla drums, which thankfully, our "Big Red" suitcase made room for them, with some help and pleading from me. I love you Big Red!
I did receive continual amusement from one of our traveling companions, Paul. We were three days early for the big Hindu holiday/festival of colors called Holi. Well, a refreshment enjoyed on and around Holi is a yogurt drink called Bhang Lassi. Bhaang is...marijuana. It is pureed and blended with yogurt and water. On our first day, our friend persistently asked locals where he could get this drink. Finally, he got one, on a rooftop restaurant. His persistence, and the word Bhaang, kept me giggling at just about any time I happened to think of it.
We only had a day and a half here....I think if I were a little less tired and cultured shocked, and had a another day, I would have experienced more of this city.
The river was nasty. At 6-ish am, some Indians bathed, some still wearing their bright cloth wrapped around their hips, like a large diaper, some men didn't wear anything. All women bathed clothed. Others began their laundry by beating their cloth on flat slabs of stone placed in knee deep water. The stones must have been propped up with something. Further up, loud laughter echoed over the river from a group of people practicing laughter yoga. I took a picture of them as they performed a string of synchronized movements.
The main ghat, the Dasashwamedha Ghat, was filled with people so early in the morning. Bright boats bordered the busy steps. The Priyang ghat, next to Dasashwamedha, was populated with as many large, colorful umbrellas as Dasashwamedha had people. Just before our turning point, we came upon an area with wide piles of white and black ashes which were surrounded by stacks of logs about 3 feet high. Behind these piles sat two or three large, soot stained concrete temples. The ghats themselves were covered in a dark ash. Smoke billowed out from the ash. I didn't see a name, but I believe this was the Manikarnika ghat, (or the ghat NEXT to Manikarnika) where the cremations took place. It is believed that this area has been burning for centuries continuously. This place held my attention. However, the book Michelle, a Fulbrighter friend, gave to me did not hold my attention. In explaining the origins and functions of this cremation ground, the author told about 10 myths and legends all in a row, inserting a phrase here or there about how this place actually functions. Sifting through all the stories does help me to understand how tied up this place is in hindu...mythology. Knowing the myths/stories will probably be the only way I will understand why these people want to bathe in a filthy river, and why they are so convinced they will receive the holy benefits promised in bathing, cremating, and performing rituals (yagnis).
Although I enjoyed the boat ride, the rest of the time I felt exhausted from travel. I didn't even want to venture out to see the temples! Lame! We only had about an hour or two to do so anyway, and I spent that time taking a nap. Navjot was more enterprising: he bought 2 tabla drums, which thankfully, our "Big Red" suitcase made room for them, with some help and pleading from me. I love you Big Red!
I did receive continual amusement from one of our traveling companions, Paul. We were three days early for the big Hindu holiday/festival of colors called Holi. Well, a refreshment enjoyed on and around Holi is a yogurt drink called Bhang Lassi. Bhaang is...marijuana. It is pureed and blended with yogurt and water. On our first day, our friend persistently asked locals where he could get this drink. Finally, he got one, on a rooftop restaurant. His persistence, and the word Bhaang, kept me giggling at just about any time I happened to think of it.
We only had a day and a half here....I think if I were a little less tired and cultured shocked, and had a another day, I would have experienced more of this city.
Friday, April 3, 2009
The Doon Express: Overnight Train
"Yeah, I looked up the Doon Express on the internet, and the first sites said, "Horror stories on the Doon Express." I didn't want to scare anyone, so I didn't say anything."
He didn't read anything, either; he had closed the browser window, choosing the bliss of ignorance. In the autorickshaw, heading to our hotel in Varanasi, Navjot looked and sounded a little remorseful, unusual of his stoic demeanor. Here's the story of why.
Navjot and I sat in the 3rd AC sleeper, meaning our train car had AC and fans, and the beds are stacked 3 high in the compartments, and 2 high in the aisle. My slightly paranoid disposition led me to secure the highest bunk almost as soon as the train began moving. I returned to the open ground seat and had dinner; a vegetarian dinner plate prepared and sealed at the train station restaurant, which looked impressively clean, and the food appeared well-prepared. I did notice a few bugs crawling around our seats and the walls; Navjot said they were cockroaches, but they looked a little darker than the roaches I've seen in many houses and apartments here (but, thankfully, not at 602a Model Town!)
We went to our bunks around 10 pm. The train provides 1 sheet, 1 woolen blanket, and 1 pillow. Since I've noticed Indians sometimes staring at my feet on previous train rides, I took care to make sure that my toes (which faced the aisle) were completely covered by the blanket. I popped a sleeping aid, and slept fairly well, allowing for the occasional rolling bumps.
Yelling voices disturbed my sleep early the next morning. People spoke in Hindi, so I understood...nothing, especially when listening with drowsy ears. The train seemed still for longer periods than I'd expect from routine stops. At 6am, I was content to continue snoozing, and allowed these puzzles to remain unsolved.
Until I heard the yelling people dashing up and down our aisles.
Whooshing sounds, then cries and whimpers; I even heard a couple of screams.
These people are afraid, I thought. I inched myself back slowly against the back wall, and curled my legs.
All sleepiness disappeared. Are people trying to rob the train? Do these people have GUNS??
"Hide yourself. Don't move. Do not show yourself. Do not say anything." Navjot's quiet voice sounded steady and grave near my ear.
The aisle seemed to experience a brief calm.
"What is happening?" I whispered.
Navjot listened to the quiet car and relaxed slightly. "Students are rioting. They keep stopping the train, coming on board and harassing people. They do not want to take their 10th standard exams." (very important exams in India--these tests help determine their career path).
"Why would they do this?"
"I don't know, Bihar sucks (the state we were traveling though). They are just teenagers, but there are many of them, and these people won't stand up to them. If I had one other person, like Sonu (his cousin) here, we could shut off this car. But for now I've been guarding the compartment. Keep yourself hidden. Do not attract their attention."
My cubby near the ceiling made this an easy task. I remained practically invisible: something lumpy covered with a gray wool blanket. After two hours, we were moving without further delays.
Our traveling friends encountered a few more problems. One of them got smacked for his efforts to shut the kids up. The other was just harassed, the students pulled at her compartment curtains, and she had already been disturbed the previous evening, when she saw a mouse casually crouched next to her on the seat, as if they were buddies...
Somehow, upon our arrival in Varanasi, the sensationalist news crew found our traveling friends and Navjot. One interviewed Navjot as we hauled our heavy luggage down the stairs onto the train platform. There, the reporter included our traveling friends. I tried to avoid the camera lens, and noticed something creeping towards us from behind the stairs. A puddle of water. Was this sewage??
I began moving our luggage, our friends' luggage out of the way as best I could, hoping this interview would end quickly. The water reached our toes. At this point the group noticed the water, and we moved away.
The two ladies, Cailin and I, still ended up in front of a camera lens for a minute while we waited for the guys to finish talking to the reporter.
Soon we were headed for our hotel. I saw road rage for the first time, when a rickshaw driver got off his bike, walked to a guy sitting on a cart behind him, and started beating him on the back and arms. What a wonderful introduction to a holy city!!
He didn't read anything, either; he had closed the browser window, choosing the bliss of ignorance. In the autorickshaw, heading to our hotel in Varanasi, Navjot looked and sounded a little remorseful, unusual of his stoic demeanor. Here's the story of why.
Navjot and I sat in the 3rd AC sleeper, meaning our train car had AC and fans, and the beds are stacked 3 high in the compartments, and 2 high in the aisle. My slightly paranoid disposition led me to secure the highest bunk almost as soon as the train began moving. I returned to the open ground seat and had dinner; a vegetarian dinner plate prepared and sealed at the train station restaurant, which looked impressively clean, and the food appeared well-prepared. I did notice a few bugs crawling around our seats and the walls; Navjot said they were cockroaches, but they looked a little darker than the roaches I've seen in many houses and apartments here (but, thankfully, not at 602a Model Town!)
We went to our bunks around 10 pm. The train provides 1 sheet, 1 woolen blanket, and 1 pillow. Since I've noticed Indians sometimes staring at my feet on previous train rides, I took care to make sure that my toes (which faced the aisle) were completely covered by the blanket. I popped a sleeping aid, and slept fairly well, allowing for the occasional rolling bumps.
Yelling voices disturbed my sleep early the next morning. People spoke in Hindi, so I understood...nothing, especially when listening with drowsy ears. The train seemed still for longer periods than I'd expect from routine stops. At 6am, I was content to continue snoozing, and allowed these puzzles to remain unsolved.
Until I heard the yelling people dashing up and down our aisles.
Whooshing sounds, then cries and whimpers; I even heard a couple of screams.
These people are afraid, I thought. I inched myself back slowly against the back wall, and curled my legs.
All sleepiness disappeared. Are people trying to rob the train? Do these people have GUNS??
"Hide yourself. Don't move. Do not show yourself. Do not say anything." Navjot's quiet voice sounded steady and grave near my ear.
The aisle seemed to experience a brief calm.
"What is happening?" I whispered.
Navjot listened to the quiet car and relaxed slightly. "Students are rioting. They keep stopping the train, coming on board and harassing people. They do not want to take their 10th standard exams." (very important exams in India--these tests help determine their career path).
"Why would they do this?"
"I don't know, Bihar sucks (the state we were traveling though). They are just teenagers, but there are many of them, and these people won't stand up to them. If I had one other person, like Sonu (his cousin) here, we could shut off this car. But for now I've been guarding the compartment. Keep yourself hidden. Do not attract their attention."
My cubby near the ceiling made this an easy task. I remained practically invisible: something lumpy covered with a gray wool blanket. After two hours, we were moving without further delays.
Our traveling friends encountered a few more problems. One of them got smacked for his efforts to shut the kids up. The other was just harassed, the students pulled at her compartment curtains, and she had already been disturbed the previous evening, when she saw a mouse casually crouched next to her on the seat, as if they were buddies...
Somehow, upon our arrival in Varanasi, the sensationalist news crew found our traveling friends and Navjot. One interviewed Navjot as we hauled our heavy luggage down the stairs onto the train platform. There, the reporter included our traveling friends. I tried to avoid the camera lens, and noticed something creeping towards us from behind the stairs. A puddle of water. Was this sewage??
I began moving our luggage, our friends' luggage out of the way as best I could, hoping this interview would end quickly. The water reached our toes. At this point the group noticed the water, and we moved away.
The two ladies, Cailin and I, still ended up in front of a camera lens for a minute while we waited for the guys to finish talking to the reporter.
Soon we were headed for our hotel. I saw road rage for the first time, when a rickshaw driver got off his bike, walked to a guy sitting on a cart behind him, and started beating him on the back and arms. What a wonderful introduction to a holy city!!
Calcutta Wrap Up
I have been so lazy about writing the blogs!! Yikes! But I have to catch up, so I can move on with other things, like planning for the Himachal Pradesh trip, which I am getting very excited about. More about that later.
Back to Calcutta: we next visited the Kali Temple, which I enjoyed less than the Taj or The Golden Temple due to the uncleanliness. From there we took a ferry boat ride down the Hoogly (Ganges) river which allowed us to see more of Calcutta in a breezier place, and we caught the sunset, and a bather..
After the ferry boat ride, we went to a famous sweet shop, KC's and sampled their rasgulla, which are basically cheese-balls soaked in syrup. Rasgulla is known as a Bengali sweet (and Calcutta lies in the Bengali district). It is not easy to find these places in an unfamiliar city in another country. However, a friendly local led us right to KCs.....he and Navjot got to know one another, using Hindi, while the rest of us followed. Others in the group could converse while being led through traffic, but I am quiet when walking about...just something I noticed about myself.
Next, we visited Birla Planetarium, supposedly the largest planetarium in Asia. The exterior looks impressive, but the interior is third world....even LCC's planetarium is nicer! I was exhausted from the heat and moving so when the lights dimmed I took a nap. After the show, Navjot and the others said the announcer yelled at people: one to turn off the cell phone, and another to remove their crying child. I felt fortunate to have had a useful nap for this destination (...but I do love astronomy, but these circumstances were not encouraging the love..)
We regrouped at a fellow Fulbrighter, Versha's, family home. Versha, her aunt, and uncle were very kind to let us stay for the evening.
The next day we visited the Missionaries of Charity, where Mother Theresa lies in a marble tomb. The work of the charity continues, but there is a timeline describing Mother Theresa's life. This timeline was challenging to navigate, but it presented the information thoroughly. Theresa's experience of faith intrigued me. After she began her work at the Missionaries of Charity, she felt a real 'absence' of God, where before her MOC work, she was certain of his closeness. There is a good article about it:
http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1655415-1,00.html
From there we found the Indian Museum, which was supposedly the largest in India and the oldest in Asia. For such a large museum, the bathroom facilities were quite third world, and I behaved in a rather infantile way, making a comment about this in their suggestion book, and uncomfortably viewing the displays, pouting, by myself. Navjot, though surely a little disappointed in my behavior, linked up with me later on and brought me back to the original bathroom, and 'stood guard' which I really appreciated. The Museum had a very impressive collection of rocks, a geologist would have enjoyed these rooms. I liked the textile room where they showcased the weaves from different regions of India. One weave featured was Benarsi (of Varanasi) and the suit (gold thread weaved into silk) I wore to my reception has the same weave. Some wood-carved furniture also helped to cheer me up.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully, we had to board our train at 8pm. We were taking the overnight train to Varanasi. I had never taken a 'sleeper' train so I was a little excited to experience travel on The Doon Express.
Back to Calcutta: we next visited the Kali Temple, which I enjoyed less than the Taj or The Golden Temple due to the uncleanliness. From there we took a ferry boat ride down the Hoogly (Ganges) river which allowed us to see more of Calcutta in a breezier place, and we caught the sunset, and a bather..
After the ferry boat ride, we went to a famous sweet shop, KC's and sampled their rasgulla, which are basically cheese-balls soaked in syrup. Rasgulla is known as a Bengali sweet (and Calcutta lies in the Bengali district). It is not easy to find these places in an unfamiliar city in another country. However, a friendly local led us right to KCs.....he and Navjot got to know one another, using Hindi, while the rest of us followed. Others in the group could converse while being led through traffic, but I am quiet when walking about...just something I noticed about myself.
Next, we visited Birla Planetarium, supposedly the largest planetarium in Asia. The exterior looks impressive, but the interior is third world....even LCC's planetarium is nicer! I was exhausted from the heat and moving so when the lights dimmed I took a nap. After the show, Navjot and the others said the announcer yelled at people: one to turn off the cell phone, and another to remove their crying child. I felt fortunate to have had a useful nap for this destination (...but I do love astronomy, but these circumstances were not encouraging the love..)
We regrouped at a fellow Fulbrighter, Versha's, family home. Versha, her aunt, and uncle were very kind to let us stay for the evening.
The next day we visited the Missionaries of Charity, where Mother Theresa lies in a marble tomb. The work of the charity continues, but there is a timeline describing Mother Theresa's life. This timeline was challenging to navigate, but it presented the information thoroughly. Theresa's experience of faith intrigued me. After she began her work at the Missionaries of Charity, she felt a real 'absence' of God, where before her MOC work, she was certain of his closeness. There is a good article about it:
http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1655415-1,00.html
From there we found the Indian Museum, which was supposedly the largest in India and the oldest in Asia. For such a large museum, the bathroom facilities were quite third world, and I behaved in a rather infantile way, making a comment about this in their suggestion book, and uncomfortably viewing the displays, pouting, by myself. Navjot, though surely a little disappointed in my behavior, linked up with me later on and brought me back to the original bathroom, and 'stood guard' which I really appreciated. The Museum had a very impressive collection of rocks, a geologist would have enjoyed these rooms. I liked the textile room where they showcased the weaves from different regions of India. One weave featured was Benarsi (of Varanasi) and the suit (gold thread weaved into silk) I wore to my reception has the same weave. Some wood-carved furniture also helped to cheer me up.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully, we had to board our train at 8pm. We were taking the overnight train to Varanasi. I had never taken a 'sleeper' train so I was a little excited to experience travel on The Doon Express.
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