At the end of our stay in Dharamasala, we finally figured out how to access our money! YAY for that!
The drive from Dalhousie to Dharamasala went very well, despite the challenges of mountain driving. Part of this is because we took avormine to prevent motion-sickness, and because a good portion of the drive was in a valley, so our driver speeded along straight-aways more than whirling around hairpin turns. So far, I have felt really, really fortunate with my taxi driver experiences. They really have the power to make their passengers' lives heaven or hell, and ours have been kind, knowledgeable, and safe.
We chose to stay in a government run hotel, The Hotel Bhagsu, which sat in a very nice location in McLeodganj, the seat of the Tibetan government. One thing I am learning about the hotels here is that they have a way of screening their guests. If I try to arrange a stay or reserve rooms beforehand, I have been told that they cannot make reservations before-hand, and that they only have one room available, and only for one day, so when we arrive we can look at the room and see if it will be appropriate. This has happened with every hotel, except for our current residence, Naggar Castle, in Himachal Pradesh. So, we arrive at the hotel, we chat, they get a sense of our plans, who we are, and etc, and then, each time, it turns out that our room is available if we want to stay longer! Nice! Luckily, each time, we passed their 'riff-raff' or 'low-caste' test---I am not sure why they screen ppl like this, but they do, and I haven't asked them why yet, since when I am dealing with them, I still need their 'goodwill.'
Mcleodganj is a hippie-shoppers paradise. Those of you who have seen my crazy silk hat that I bought in the Village in NYC will be pleased to know it has been replaced by another wacky hat that I found here. I bought anklets, shawls, postcards (the first place I have found postcards!!) and a Tibetan painting and a colorful wall-hanging that looks like a tie, which stands for victory. I may bring this uplifting decoration to my v-ball tourneys for that extra edge, haha.
My childhood pal for life, Heather, and another midwestern champ, Cailin, joined Navjot and I, and we had great times laughing it up at meals, and also having great discussions about art, travel, culture,food, beer, bathrooms, etc...those are the travelers' topics in a nutshell. Heather and I also caught up on all kinds of stuff we never get to in USA cause we are always so busy in our own lives....that has been so much fun for me.
Our first morning in Mcleodganj I went for a walk, and I believe this walk took me to the temple that leads to the Dalai Lama...I had planned to actually enter and explore more once I had the rest of the group with me.....but we never got around to it. Another reality of travel. We did visit the Buddhist School of Dialects where the monks sat in pairs--one standing and one on the floor, and debated in Tibetan. Every time the standing monk made a good point, he clapped his hands emphatically. So we watched and heard claps popping all around us. We enjoyed that, and then we wandered to another temple within the complex (I don't have my book...darn) and the big thing we noticed there besides the colorful interior was equal-sized stacks of cookies and crackers around statues of Buddha...the monk said they were offerings. I wish I knew more about the purpose behind that.
The next afternoon we went to another Buddhist Monastery called Dip Tselongking (sp probably wrong). This monastery sat a few hundred feet below the town on a pleasant hillside, so we enjoyed the walk. We walked in on a chanting...ritual or ceremony..I am not sure....the purpose was not described in my guidebook, nor in the brochure about the monastery, nor by any of the monks, but they were a little busy....:) Anyhow, their chants were not monotone, nor were they in harmony. Some spoke the chants in a tenor voice, some baritone, and at least one really low bass, so the overall effect was kind of soothing, even though the composite effect sounded unfamiliar. The monks read the chants in small books laid out in front of them, think small choir music books...and many of the monks also played cymbals, a couple played a gong, and someone was playing perhaps a digeridoo...the gong blocked that instrument from my sight..darn.....but if you have seen the movie Seven Years in Tibet, and you can remember the music Brad Pitt's characters hears when he stumbles into Lhasa, the instrumental accompaniment to these chants sounded just like that. It was quite powerful, and very scripted. After the chanting ceremony...we walked around the temple, inside and out, and took pictures. The monks displayed a row of large butterwax sculptures which depict...guessing here....elements of their mandalas (wheel of spiritual considerations) They destroy the sculptures after a certain amount of time (Tibetan New Year?) because they'd rather not become too attached to their creations.
The following day we visited the Kangra Art Museum in Dharamasala, where we enjoyed the miniature paintings depicting human emotional experiences through the Hindu gods. The Kangra School of Miniature Painting...(guessed the title here) continues today, and we chatted with some of the artists and saw some of their work, and I should have bought that painting of the woman going to see her lover....she was wearing an orange dress, and she was stepping on a snake....showing that the snake did not scare her off from where she wanted to do. Then an author of a book of these paintings showed up, invited us upstairs to see his book, and we had a good discussion about the symbolism of the many heads, arms, and legs given to many of the Hindu gods. Basically, the numerous limbs depict possessing a great amount of power to destroy.
After the art museum we went to the Norbulinka Institute for Tibetan Handicrafts. The school is set in nicely designed stone buildings which are nestled in a Japanese-style garden. The ambiance was very peaceful. We saw artists hammering metals to make sculptures of Buddha, and we saw woodcarving work as well. The main temple looked more Japanese in design than what I have seen of Tibetan architecture. Inside sat an enormous Buddha. Heather mentioned that she saw even larger ones in Japan. I wondered just how gigantic these Buddhas can get.
These descriptions are really not adequate to convey the experience of visiting these places, within all the stuff that happens behind the cultural wall, the stuff that is so different from home: the lack of interest in keeping bathrooms clean, seeing taxi drivers and servants socializing while their customers patron the art institutes, haggling and making friends with the store-owners, and later, after telling them the Rohtang Pass was thwarting our plan to visit Leh, listening to them trying to convince us that Srinigar (in Kashmir) was safe to visit, and that they JUST let a german woman stay in one of their boathouses---yep, these store-owners all just HAPPEN to own a boathouse in Srinigar!! At least three shopkeepers gave us this story! "Wow, what a coincidence....the guy at the other shawl store ALSO has a boathouse!! AND, there is a German girl staying there too!!! I guess Kashmir IS safe!!!" Don't worry, the sarcasm was for my amusement, the only Indian to catch my kind of sarcasm worked at the resturaunt we ate at in Manali....more on Manali and Naggar later....
Monday, May 18, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Dalhousie
Nav and I are experiencing the mountains!! YAY! The weather here has been like fall in USA, but the sun is warmer when it shines full strength. Level ground is mainly for our convenience, so there is not much of it, just enough for a road. There are no walking trails, except for the Kalatope Wildlife Sanctuary, where we saw little wildlife, but many beautiful views. Most of the mtns here are covered in pine trees, so those of you who know of my love for pine trees can imagine how pleased I am with the surroundings! There are also many flowers n grass that would be found in Michigan, so this place reminds me a little of being up north.
We got on the 4:45 am sleeper train. The train guy for our car was a sleaze--he was allowing people on who did not have a reservation, so there were people lying in both of our berths! The audacity!! Luckily, a young family of 3 kindly didn't protest as we placed all of our luggage, and a cannon-ball shaped Jamie, onto one of their berths. Navjot was talkative with them, and we all understood that we were victims of a problem we had no hope of solving. Navjot managed to get to one of our berths and move out a mother and her daughter out (sounds heartless, but it wasn't theirs---the audacity!!--) so he could have a place to sit. This allowed me to stretch a little, and take photos of the plains of Punjab thru my little window. Later, another mom and her daughter sat on the original families' berths and just faced me. I felt they were doing this to stare at me, and I got annoyed. However, I cheerily asked to take their photo and doing that allowed me to try to make this interaction more positive. Again, the bulk of my annoyance came from the fact that they didn't have their own spots on this car! RRRRR!
Then, we arrived in Pathankot and met our taxi driver and his...? traveling buddy? The driver was this well-built road warrior with long, greasy hair and bloodshot eyes. I was really worried that he would be more insane than the Haryana bus driver I wrote about when we traveled to Shimla in 04. I tried to get him off his game of total ruthlessness, taking the constant curves at 40 mph, overtaking everyone, by expressing American style road rage at every opportunity. I had thought that maybe he would drive more slowly, carefully, then I would shut up. This approach really got on Nav's nerves, and it proved completely ineffective. The driver was totally crazy, and we really had to lean into every turn to lessen the effects of motionsickness, which we did have, despite taking the meds...they helped, but to ride a rollercoaster for two hours without stopping is a great challenge for our inner ear. And, I hate to admit it, but he was also a very competent driver: he would honk at all the hairpin turns, and we reached Dalhousie in 2 hours--30 min less than the estimates.
The Alps Resort seemed dumpy at first....but it has a fair amount of land landscaped with roses and other pretty flowers, a ping pong table and a pool table (which we haven't used) and the surroundings are very quiet and peaceful. I had some laundry done for a little over 2$.
Day 1: Walked around Bakrota Hill: GREAT MTN VIEWS....mostly pine trees and terraced farming (for potatoes!) and in the distance were snowcapped mts on one side. The other had glacial lakes.
Day 2: We walked to Panchpula, where there was a rock garden and a couple of waterfalls. Here we met our first in a long series of saffron sellers. These guys appear out of virtually nowhere, selling strands of red saffron in small steel containers.
Day 3: Khajjiar: Touristy place. A bunch of clueless people taking people parasailing. We saw a lot of crashlandings. The best part: it was for kids only. GREAT. However, it has a long, flat-ish park, surrounded by pine trees. People strolled, and cows grazed.
Kalatope Wildlife Sanctuary: A great walk, except when lazy people passed us in cars, or made a bunch of racket at the rest stop, and I even think my guidebook warned me about the loudmouths!! The final climb, to about 8200 ft, about killed me, despite my exercise n training at the gym.
Daikund Peak: This is straight above Kalatope, higher on the mtn. From the top, the snow-capped mts looked almost eye-level. Khajjiar sat way below us, a little green bowl of land admist the steep tree filled mtn sides. I preferred this look at Khajjiar to my actual visit there.
Can it get any better? No. We brought enough $ to get us started. Now, we thought a tourist town like Dalhousie would have ATMs....that work. NOPE. Dalhousie has one ATM, and it is not working for us. So, our new problem is to find a way to access our $ so we can pay our hotel and get over to Dharamasala and meet up with our other players: Cailin and Heather. Wish us luck!
We got on the 4:45 am sleeper train. The train guy for our car was a sleaze--he was allowing people on who did not have a reservation, so there were people lying in both of our berths! The audacity!! Luckily, a young family of 3 kindly didn't protest as we placed all of our luggage, and a cannon-ball shaped Jamie, onto one of their berths. Navjot was talkative with them, and we all understood that we were victims of a problem we had no hope of solving. Navjot managed to get to one of our berths and move out a mother and her daughter out (sounds heartless, but it wasn't theirs---the audacity!!--) so he could have a place to sit. This allowed me to stretch a little, and take photos of the plains of Punjab thru my little window. Later, another mom and her daughter sat on the original families' berths and just faced me. I felt they were doing this to stare at me, and I got annoyed. However, I cheerily asked to take their photo and doing that allowed me to try to make this interaction more positive. Again, the bulk of my annoyance came from the fact that they didn't have their own spots on this car! RRRRR!
Then, we arrived in Pathankot and met our taxi driver and his...? traveling buddy? The driver was this well-built road warrior with long, greasy hair and bloodshot eyes. I was really worried that he would be more insane than the Haryana bus driver I wrote about when we traveled to Shimla in 04. I tried to get him off his game of total ruthlessness, taking the constant curves at 40 mph, overtaking everyone, by expressing American style road rage at every opportunity. I had thought that maybe he would drive more slowly, carefully, then I would shut up. This approach really got on Nav's nerves, and it proved completely ineffective. The driver was totally crazy, and we really had to lean into every turn to lessen the effects of motionsickness, which we did have, despite taking the meds...they helped, but to ride a rollercoaster for two hours without stopping is a great challenge for our inner ear. And, I hate to admit it, but he was also a very competent driver: he would honk at all the hairpin turns, and we reached Dalhousie in 2 hours--30 min less than the estimates.
The Alps Resort seemed dumpy at first....but it has a fair amount of land landscaped with roses and other pretty flowers, a ping pong table and a pool table (which we haven't used) and the surroundings are very quiet and peaceful. I had some laundry done for a little over 2$.
Day 1: Walked around Bakrota Hill: GREAT MTN VIEWS....mostly pine trees and terraced farming (for potatoes!) and in the distance were snowcapped mts on one side. The other had glacial lakes.
Day 2: We walked to Panchpula, where there was a rock garden and a couple of waterfalls. Here we met our first in a long series of saffron sellers. These guys appear out of virtually nowhere, selling strands of red saffron in small steel containers.
Day 3: Khajjiar: Touristy place. A bunch of clueless people taking people parasailing. We saw a lot of crashlandings. The best part: it was for kids only. GREAT. However, it has a long, flat-ish park, surrounded by pine trees. People strolled, and cows grazed.
Kalatope Wildlife Sanctuary: A great walk, except when lazy people passed us in cars, or made a bunch of racket at the rest stop, and I even think my guidebook warned me about the loudmouths!! The final climb, to about 8200 ft, about killed me, despite my exercise n training at the gym.
Daikund Peak: This is straight above Kalatope, higher on the mtn. From the top, the snow-capped mts looked almost eye-level. Khajjiar sat way below us, a little green bowl of land admist the steep tree filled mtn sides. I preferred this look at Khajjiar to my actual visit there.
Can it get any better? No. We brought enough $ to get us started. Now, we thought a tourist town like Dalhousie would have ATMs....that work. NOPE. Dalhousie has one ATM, and it is not working for us. So, our new problem is to find a way to access our $ so we can pay our hotel and get over to Dharamasala and meet up with our other players: Cailin and Heather. Wish us luck!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Moving on to HP
Delhi Part II is coming, I hope, but tomorrow, at 3:30am, we will wake up, go to the train station, and begin our journey to Dalhousie, a hill station town in Himachal Pradesh...it is supposed to have lots of nice English style cottages and architecture due to British presence during the Raj. My landlady, and Navjot's Guru keep steering us off to the smaller surrounding towns, claiming that Dalhousie, and Dharamasala are too busy and uninteresting...and I've been taking their suggestions, so we will see how our first stops play out.
I am very excited, but I was a little sad telling the people at the gym that I will be gone for a few weeks, and telling my landlady, etc. People here give me a little bit of a hard time if I go away...it is kind of similar to what my parents would do! It is very sweet, and I feel a little sad to leave, especially since I will be returning to USA shortly after...I fly back June 4th, and I will be back in Lansing June 7th to settle in before summer school at MSU...
OK, Gotta go!
I am very excited, but I was a little sad telling the people at the gym that I will be gone for a few weeks, and telling my landlady, etc. People here give me a little bit of a hard time if I go away...it is kind of similar to what my parents would do! It is very sweet, and I feel a little sad to leave, especially since I will be returning to USA shortly after...I fly back June 4th, and I will be back in Lansing June 7th to settle in before summer school at MSU...
OK, Gotta go!
New Delhi, Part One
Soon after my arrival in New Delhi, I met the entire cast of characters with whom I would be engaging with in these next days: Massiji, Vinay's aunt, who kindly showed me her bengali cotton saris, and her daughters, Minima (to
represent the minimum number of children to have) and Maxima (to represent the maximum number to children to have). Minima I met later, she brought her children to stay for a few days. She talked with me about her beliefs in child rearing: she believes (as do many Indian women I've spoken to) that parents place too much pressure on their children to succeed academically. Because of that, she is not forcing English instruction upon her daughter, who is around 3. She will allow her daughter to receive the instruction at school. Not that her sentiments matched
her actions: if the three of us were interacting, Mom began speaking to her in English and asking that she try to use English. One morning the I took the daughter to the playground: we communicated with my elementary Punjabi/Hindi, and her elementary English. At the end of the play date, I had valuable practice with my vocabulary, but the girl had learned and used many more English words. Maxima is the independent high-achiever of the family, somehow striking a balance between functioning within the tightly-knit, interdependent Indian family, and leading
an separate life with her husband, her friends, and her work, in Mumbai. She speaks genuinely, without formal airs, so I felt more sure-footed in conversation with her, her meanings were not tied up in too many of the silent Indian cultural codes. Didi and Vinay considered her a life-boat, especially in the early days, when they did have to navigate all of those rules, dishonesties, religious encroachments, and more traditional ways of thinking with the rest of Vinay's, then later, with Didi's family. Minku, Vinay's brother, and a student in accounting, met us at the Baha'i Temple and remained with us until the following evening.
I was first introduced to Vinay's parents, his sister-n-law, Poonam, her daughter, Sonu, a shy, sweet 10 year old, and Sona, Vinay's sister, who had a little more pluck to her personality, an artist's temperament, and a good sense of humor. We had a very tasty lunch. Most of the conversation occured between Didi, Vinay, Sona, and I, with some warmth from Vinay's mother, who continued to bring in tasty dishes, especially fried eggplant, or brinjal, which tasted somewhat of a cross between a french fry and a seasoned potato chip, but they were a lighter snack, being less starchy than potatoes.
I had expected to eat a very bland diet of bread and jam to avoid the dreaded Delhi-belly. But, after seeing and smelling the delicious Bengali food Vinay's family prepared, I chucked that plan. Well, I revised it: I ate the bland stuff if we ate out: I ate noodles and french fries at an outdoor Japanese steakhouse called Bonsai. But if the food was cooked in the home, I ate it. Rice, fried eggplant, fish, dal, aloo, flavored with the usual Indian spices, but also with kalonji, and mustard oil. Coconut ladoos (we usually eat lentil-made ladoos) were my favorite dessert.
Formality and politeness characterized the social exchanges at Vinay's parents' house. After lunch, Didi and I walked along a road of tall, block-long concrete condos/flats, turned at the corner, walked in the street under trees which were crawling with white tree bugs which fascinated me in a repulsive sense, like when I watch moving snakes. Didi urged me to keep moving, all the while filling me in on the rich history of Vinay's family, the history that takes years of learn.....I had to take it all in as rapidly as possible before we reached Vinay's aunt's house, for while the topics were not taboo in the family, the history is taken seriously; it is very personal, delicate, therefore, fairly, the members should feel comfortable enough with me to share it on their own...but that was impossible with the few days I was to spend with them. Instead, Didi helped me to 'cheat', something she has done many times before, allowing me to circumnavigate all the visits, the imprecision due to the language barrier, and stumbling over social rules that I know little of. Without slowing our pace, we ended my history lesson as we entered Massiji's house. Here, Didi and Vinay talked more freely with Massiji. Vinay encouraged us to sit in his favorite room as a child: a small, square,screened in porch just off one of the living rooms. Sitting there, we felt mild breezes
from outside, in addition to air from the ceiling fan. It did have that cozy feel, perfect for spending time chatting with good friends, and a long seat which bordered one side made a comfy nook for reading. Plus, since the room sat at the edge of the house, far away from the kitchen, TV room, and washing machine, it seemed very peaceful and quiet, the kind of room teachers try to get their students to create so they can study without distractions.
We were sitting here when I met Maxima, rushing back from a visit with her in-laws, a little flustered from living her ambitions: to be a host of New Delhi to Vinay and Didi, a doting daughter-in-law to her husband's parents, reconnecting with her New Delhi friends, and being present as an aunt, sister, and a daughter at home. Still, her voice carried a warmth, and a confidence, perhaps, that although so many events are taking place, things will fall together. This assuredness made the anxiety in her voice just a tiny layer which came through sometimes when she gently asked for a little time to collect herself. While she took a shower, I took a nap, my mind grateful for a little rest from going within a new family.
Our first excursion: the Baha'i Temple. I sat in the front seat for the first time, and Maxima drove. Didi and Vinay sat in the back.
Didi said, "Maxima is such a fantastic driver in Indian traffic. She is amazing!"
Indeed, Maxima handled New Delhi driving the with the deftness I hope I have driving at home. However, Maxima truly impressed me with her driving prowess at the
very end of the evening, when she backed her car into the parking spot, within in an inch of the concrete wall, without needing any assistance from us.
Maxima knew where the Baha'i Temple was, but the lack of signs, the one-way roads, and the roundabouts kept us driving in circles and asking directions until we eventually pulled up next to a large green lawn with symmetrical landscaping, small trees, green shrubs clipped to a rounded shape, and rectangular plots of colorful flowers, all forming a straight-edge border to the brick footpaths. From here, I could look over a long distance of greenery, something I can only do during train rides, otherwise the rest of the landscape is urbanized. The Lotus Temple sat, enormous against the horizon, like a huge white, blooming lily pad on a natural section of flat, light green, arid land.
The Baha'i religion is fairly new, and my first impression, upon hearing the speech the temple guides gave us in very polite, smooth English, was that this was a progressive religion, one that welcomes all faiths, to meditate in their temple. Inside the silent temple, surrounded by ivory marble, I indeed felt very calm and peaceful. Didi was more restless, taking me to see inscriptions tucked away in the many corner nooks. One of the inscriptions emphasized the importance of believing in God. Many others made little sense to me. I began to get the sense that there was more to the Baha'i faith than a secular practicality for a peaceful community.
This message communications this combination of secular values with supernatural acknowledgment: "The religion of God is for love and unity, make it not the cause of enmity and dissension."
I found a strong inital statement of dedication to the secular on their website (www.bahaindia.org)
The Baha'i believe in the removal of prejudice by caste, creed, religion, sex, color, race, and language via universal education and the use of the scientific method in our thinking. A true religion conforms to reason, not to the old
standards of superstition, rituals, and dogmas.
To a secular humanist like me, this sounds almost too good to be true!
And it is.
Another piece of Holy writing, found further in the website:
The divine prophets came to establish the unity of the kingdom in their hearts. All of them proclaimed the glad tidings of the divine bestowals to the world of mankind.
Divine. Not of this world. Supernatural. The word divine contradicts the positive secular focus of the religion. Why do we have such a hard time trusting someone here on this imperfect world to have a good idea without divine intervention?? Is our world really so deceitful that we must ascribe altruistic, pure intents to something that could never exist on this planet?
Sure enough, The Baha'i was conceived by a young Persian man, called, "The Bab,
meaning, "gate." He announced the appearance of the Messenger of God. After this hallmark event, add a lot of persecution by the Muslims, a wealthy guy who cheered for the underdog, and voila: The Baha'i faith is born.
It gets even better: The Baha'i are a subversive bunch: Change the system from within, brothers and sisters! Read on..
God educated humanity through Divine Manisfestations, named as: Krishna, Buddha, Abraham, Moses, Zoroaster, Jesus, and Muhammad.
These guys were the nice guys in their respective religions, though I already know Muhammad made an expanding empire with his new religion and his posse. The most recent Divine Manifestation is (that good ol' wealthy guy who rooted for the small fry who received flak for his audacity in seeing a messenger from God): Baha'u'llah.
The Divine Manisfestations had the right idea, they were trying to unite humanity, and make it one soul. Therefore, Manisfestations were good, altruistic, and thus deserving of the name, divine. HA!
I believe having supernatural origins ultimately dooms the Baha'i to the same religious baggage it seeks to eliminate; what a shame. I will credit the originality of promoting secular practices as a means for creating world peace. It almost reminds me a little of the message of the Sikh religion, that sense of: lose the baggage and get practical! Both are newer religions, which gives me a little hope we may eventually lose all the religious baggage that keeps us from absolute focus on our lives and the earth.
After spending time in the temple, we walked around the gardens, which Maxima explained were Mughal in design, and we played with the camera, taking nice pictures and silly pictures. Dusk had settled in by the time we reached Maxima's SUV. Minku and Vinay smiled a lot and both seemed peaceful and happy in each other's presence, and I continued to see this the next day too. Perhaps it was due to the relief and joy that can be experienced after renewing what was once a strong family tie, and then, almost luckily, actually experiencing the fun times similar to those of childhood. Thus, one can rediscover that one doesn't have distance themselves from most aspects of childhood experience due to disappointments or struggles; sometimes one can savour the laughter and the innocent blissful moments once more...
More to come...
represent the minimum number of children to have) and Maxima (to represent the maximum number to children to have). Minima I met later, she brought her children to stay for a few days. She talked with me about her beliefs in child rearing: she believes (as do many Indian women I've spoken to) that parents place too much pressure on their children to succeed academically. Because of that, she is not forcing English instruction upon her daughter, who is around 3. She will allow her daughter to receive the instruction at school. Not that her sentiments matched
her actions: if the three of us were interacting, Mom began speaking to her in English and asking that she try to use English. One morning the I took the daughter to the playground: we communicated with my elementary Punjabi/Hindi, and her elementary English. At the end of the play date, I had valuable practice with my vocabulary, but the girl had learned and used many more English words. Maxima is the independent high-achiever of the family, somehow striking a balance between functioning within the tightly-knit, interdependent Indian family, and leading
an separate life with her husband, her friends, and her work, in Mumbai. She speaks genuinely, without formal airs, so I felt more sure-footed in conversation with her, her meanings were not tied up in too many of the silent Indian cultural codes. Didi and Vinay considered her a life-boat, especially in the early days, when they did have to navigate all of those rules, dishonesties, religious encroachments, and more traditional ways of thinking with the rest of Vinay's, then later, with Didi's family. Minku, Vinay's brother, and a student in accounting, met us at the Baha'i Temple and remained with us until the following evening.
I was first introduced to Vinay's parents, his sister-n-law, Poonam, her daughter, Sonu, a shy, sweet 10 year old, and Sona, Vinay's sister, who had a little more pluck to her personality, an artist's temperament, and a good sense of humor. We had a very tasty lunch. Most of the conversation occured between Didi, Vinay, Sona, and I, with some warmth from Vinay's mother, who continued to bring in tasty dishes, especially fried eggplant, or brinjal, which tasted somewhat of a cross between a french fry and a seasoned potato chip, but they were a lighter snack, being less starchy than potatoes.
I had expected to eat a very bland diet of bread and jam to avoid the dreaded Delhi-belly. But, after seeing and smelling the delicious Bengali food Vinay's family prepared, I chucked that plan. Well, I revised it: I ate the bland stuff if we ate out: I ate noodles and french fries at an outdoor Japanese steakhouse called Bonsai. But if the food was cooked in the home, I ate it. Rice, fried eggplant, fish, dal, aloo, flavored with the usual Indian spices, but also with kalonji, and mustard oil. Coconut ladoos (we usually eat lentil-made ladoos) were my favorite dessert.
Formality and politeness characterized the social exchanges at Vinay's parents' house. After lunch, Didi and I walked along a road of tall, block-long concrete condos/flats, turned at the corner, walked in the street under trees which were crawling with white tree bugs which fascinated me in a repulsive sense, like when I watch moving snakes. Didi urged me to keep moving, all the while filling me in on the rich history of Vinay's family, the history that takes years of learn.....I had to take it all in as rapidly as possible before we reached Vinay's aunt's house, for while the topics were not taboo in the family, the history is taken seriously; it is very personal, delicate, therefore, fairly, the members should feel comfortable enough with me to share it on their own...but that was impossible with the few days I was to spend with them. Instead, Didi helped me to 'cheat', something she has done many times before, allowing me to circumnavigate all the visits, the imprecision due to the language barrier, and stumbling over social rules that I know little of. Without slowing our pace, we ended my history lesson as we entered Massiji's house. Here, Didi and Vinay talked more freely with Massiji. Vinay encouraged us to sit in his favorite room as a child: a small, square,screened in porch just off one of the living rooms. Sitting there, we felt mild breezes
from outside, in addition to air from the ceiling fan. It did have that cozy feel, perfect for spending time chatting with good friends, and a long seat which bordered one side made a comfy nook for reading. Plus, since the room sat at the edge of the house, far away from the kitchen, TV room, and washing machine, it seemed very peaceful and quiet, the kind of room teachers try to get their students to create so they can study without distractions.
We were sitting here when I met Maxima, rushing back from a visit with her in-laws, a little flustered from living her ambitions: to be a host of New Delhi to Vinay and Didi, a doting daughter-in-law to her husband's parents, reconnecting with her New Delhi friends, and being present as an aunt, sister, and a daughter at home. Still, her voice carried a warmth, and a confidence, perhaps, that although so many events are taking place, things will fall together. This assuredness made the anxiety in her voice just a tiny layer which came through sometimes when she gently asked for a little time to collect herself. While she took a shower, I took a nap, my mind grateful for a little rest from going within a new family.
Our first excursion: the Baha'i Temple. I sat in the front seat for the first time, and Maxima drove. Didi and Vinay sat in the back.
Didi said, "Maxima is such a fantastic driver in Indian traffic. She is amazing!"
Indeed, Maxima handled New Delhi driving the with the deftness I hope I have driving at home. However, Maxima truly impressed me with her driving prowess at the
very end of the evening, when she backed her car into the parking spot, within in an inch of the concrete wall, without needing any assistance from us.
Maxima knew where the Baha'i Temple was, but the lack of signs, the one-way roads, and the roundabouts kept us driving in circles and asking directions until we eventually pulled up next to a large green lawn with symmetrical landscaping, small trees, green shrubs clipped to a rounded shape, and rectangular plots of colorful flowers, all forming a straight-edge border to the brick footpaths. From here, I could look over a long distance of greenery, something I can only do during train rides, otherwise the rest of the landscape is urbanized. The Lotus Temple sat, enormous against the horizon, like a huge white, blooming lily pad on a natural section of flat, light green, arid land.
The Baha'i religion is fairly new, and my first impression, upon hearing the speech the temple guides gave us in very polite, smooth English, was that this was a progressive religion, one that welcomes all faiths, to meditate in their temple. Inside the silent temple, surrounded by ivory marble, I indeed felt very calm and peaceful. Didi was more restless, taking me to see inscriptions tucked away in the many corner nooks. One of the inscriptions emphasized the importance of believing in God. Many others made little sense to me. I began to get the sense that there was more to the Baha'i faith than a secular practicality for a peaceful community.
This message communications this combination of secular values with supernatural acknowledgment: "The religion of God is for love and unity, make it not the cause of enmity and dissension."
I found a strong inital statement of dedication to the secular on their website (www.bahaindia.org)
The Baha'i believe in the removal of prejudice by caste, creed, religion, sex, color, race, and language via universal education and the use of the scientific method in our thinking. A true religion conforms to reason, not to the old
standards of superstition, rituals, and dogmas.
To a secular humanist like me, this sounds almost too good to be true!
And it is.
Another piece of Holy writing, found further in the website:
The divine prophets came to establish the unity of the kingdom in their hearts. All of them proclaimed the glad tidings of the divine bestowals to the world of mankind.
Divine. Not of this world. Supernatural. The word divine contradicts the positive secular focus of the religion. Why do we have such a hard time trusting someone here on this imperfect world to have a good idea without divine intervention?? Is our world really so deceitful that we must ascribe altruistic, pure intents to something that could never exist on this planet?
Sure enough, The Baha'i was conceived by a young Persian man, called, "The Bab,
meaning, "gate." He announced the appearance of the Messenger of God. After this hallmark event, add a lot of persecution by the Muslims, a wealthy guy who cheered for the underdog, and voila: The Baha'i faith is born.
It gets even better: The Baha'i are a subversive bunch: Change the system from within, brothers and sisters! Read on..
God educated humanity through Divine Manisfestations, named as: Krishna, Buddha, Abraham, Moses, Zoroaster, Jesus, and Muhammad.
These guys were the nice guys in their respective religions, though I already know Muhammad made an expanding empire with his new religion and his posse. The most recent Divine Manifestation is (that good ol' wealthy guy who rooted for the small fry who received flak for his audacity in seeing a messenger from God): Baha'u'llah.
The Divine Manisfestations had the right idea, they were trying to unite humanity, and make it one soul. Therefore, Manisfestations were good, altruistic, and thus deserving of the name, divine. HA!
I believe having supernatural origins ultimately dooms the Baha'i to the same religious baggage it seeks to eliminate; what a shame. I will credit the originality of promoting secular practices as a means for creating world peace. It almost reminds me a little of the message of the Sikh religion, that sense of: lose the baggage and get practical! Both are newer religions, which gives me a little hope we may eventually lose all the religious baggage that keeps us from absolute focus on our lives and the earth.
After spending time in the temple, we walked around the gardens, which Maxima explained were Mughal in design, and we played with the camera, taking nice pictures and silly pictures. Dusk had settled in by the time we reached Maxima's SUV. Minku and Vinay smiled a lot and both seemed peaceful and happy in each other's presence, and I continued to see this the next day too. Perhaps it was due to the relief and joy that can be experienced after renewing what was once a strong family tie, and then, almost luckily, actually experiencing the fun times similar to those of childhood. Thus, one can rediscover that one doesn't have distance themselves from most aspects of childhood experience due to disappointments or struggles; sometimes one can savour the laughter and the innocent blissful moments once more...
More to come...
Monday, April 27, 2009
Walking to Jalandhar Train Station
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.
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.
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.
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