Indian Snapshots

My first day or two in South Africa all I wanted to do was shower, walk down the street with no one looking at me, see the ocean, go to a grocery store, have fixed prices, and eat a hamburger. What I wasn’t anticipating was the reverse culture shock. I’m honestly a little embarrassed how long it has taken me to readjust.

Some has been positive:

“How marvelous to have this steel box clean my clothes FOR me.”

Or

“Hot water is falling from the sky on command!”

Some has been less so:

“It's how much?”

I was ready to leave India, I was. But, of course there are some things I miss terribly. Animals, sites and people

The happiest looking animals ever everywhere:

Sharing the road with cows:

Cow In Jaipur
(Alana's Photo)

Seeing elephant rides and camel carts:

Stumbling on sites like this:

Royal Gator, Jaipur

Royal Gator, Jaipur

Royal Gator, Jaipur

Views like these:

Amer Fort, Outside Jaipur

Amer Fort, Outside Jaipur

Amer Fort, Outside Jaipur

Red Fort, Agra

Pink City, Jaipur
(Alana's Photo)

View from our hotel's roof, Udaipur
(Alana's Photo)

City of Udaipur

City Palace, Udaipur
Alana

Temple, Udaipur
Alana's

Lake Pichola, Udaipur

Temple, Udaipur
Alana's

Temple, Udaipur

Temple, Bhangarh
(Vijay's Photo)

Local Women Carrying Sticks, Bhangarh

Bhangarh
(Vijay's Photo)

Hawa Mahal, Jaipur

City Palace, Udaipur

Bhangarh
(Vijay's Photo)

But of course, above all I'll miss the people.
My two closest friends I met here:

Paulette and me at Amer Fort

Vijay and me in Bhangarh

And those that came for a visit:

The last visit was especially special--Alana came to see me for the last time we’ll see each other in 2 ½ years. My incredible best friend is off to a small island off the coast of Madagascar for the Peace Corps. I’m so incredibly proud of her.

Every morning I awoke to the sounds of cows, hindi, bells and the vegetable sellers. One of the vegetable sellers sold potatoes and onions. He would shout, "aloo, aloo, alooooooo, pyaaz!" By the end of my stay, as he could come down the street he'd switch shouting, "potato, potato, potatooooo, onion!"

It's weird things like that that I'll probably miss the most. Oh, and the food.

I miss the food.

Wedding Bells

Weddings conjure up images of long white dresses, happy couples, the kiss, and the first dance.

Not so much in India.

I had the pleasure to go to the first and third day of a wedding of my friend’s cousin. I got invited to five weddings in total, and this was by far the closest “relation” I had to any of them. Compared to the rest, I was basically a cousin too.

To prepare, Paulette and I went to the clothing shops to get proper attire. I planned to just wear one of my nice new outfits but Paulette wanted to get all decked out. She finally decided on a lehenga choli (a traditional top, long skirt and wrap.) The next day she picked it up and we went home to get dressed. Vijay (our friend), his sister and their little cousin came to get us. We got there quickly-- (it was right around the corner.) Before we got out of the car Vijay turned to us and casually told us we couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t even know him at the wedding. We were to be his sister’s friend. Paulette asked what our connection to her was suppose to be and Vijay assured us it wouldn’t come up (guess what was one of the most popular questions for all three of us that night.) True to his word, we talked to him once, to be introduced. Since he’s in his late 20s and unmarried it would have created quite the stir if he’d been seen talking to us. These types of “rules” still strike me as bizarre.

The Venue

Weddings are held at large “yards” where there’s an incredible amount of food, and standing around. The first day of the wedding is technically the engagement. It delivered in terms of attired-- a whirlwind of color, and sparkles for the women, and informal attire for the men. I delivered by continuing my status quo of being watched and messing up.

A Terrible Picture Showing the Yard

My first mistake was my attire. My American mindset had me thinking that it would be wrong, almost insulting, if I dressed in a traditional fashion. I knew that dressing in an American fashion would be incorrect as well, so I chose a middle ground. “You don’t like Indian clothing?” was the most frequent English in my direction. A disgruntled look with hand waving and Hindi was considerably more popular.

My biggest mistake though was dancing. Dancing was a catch-22. I’m not a good Indian dancer (shocking, I know.) I now feel the pain of dancers on So You Think You Can Dance. My guest begged (demanded) Paulette and I to dance. I finally relented and so did Paulette. One of the guests enthusiastically started to show us the moves. Paulette (who I should note has lived here for 3 years and was a professional dance teacher) “picked it up” quite well. I did not. In fact I messed up so horribly that my “teacher” smacked me in the arm and then pushed me with both hands off the dance floor. Remember that post where I said living in India is like living in a teenager’s nightmare? There’s the middle school dance.

However, I did shine in one part of Day One—eating. I ate everything with great enthusiasm. The buffet was also the only place I could maintain a conversation, since I can have a toddler’s conversation about food in Hindi. In exchange, I was the only one with waiter service. Once I figured out that I could just be parked in a chair and the men who worked at the wedding would literally come over to me and give me food, my night significantly improved. There were only a few goings-on that had me leave my perch—the bride and pictures.

The bride arrived to a fanfare of drums, dancing and people waving money. She looked like a true Indian bride—absolutely miserable. I should explain. Indian brides are expected to look shy, nervous and frankly, unenthused. The first two were easy to accomplish as she had met and talked to her “fiancée” once, for about five minutes. Given these things, and the fact that she was about to be moved to the home of her parents-in-law, her expression was understandable (and was expected.)

The Bride’s Entrance

Unenthused

She walked through the yard, up to her fiancée and then they stood next to each other, before sitting next to each other. They did not say a word as far as I could tell (and I got a front row seat as I was pushed into as many wedding photos as possible.) They sat there for the better part of an hour and only rose for their first dance. The dance involved her dancing for about 5 minutes with him looking at her, and her looking as if she wished she could melt through the floor.

I also got to meet one of my good friends again. Quite literally the only time I talked to Vijay, the guy who invited us, was when he introduced himself to me for a few minutes. We then had to sneak back into his car for our ride.

Day Three was better in every way. In order to not be fooled twice, I bought a traditional outfit. We went across the street and my lovely neighbor and her daughter pinned and wrapped us up. They even put jewelry on us to make us “full Indian.” Paulette and I “arrived too late” for the dancing. It was perfect. Even the woman who hit me two days before, talked to me and took a picture with me.

The bride and groom spent a majority of time sitting on a stage in ornate chairs, looking passive. Her sari was incredible. It was amazing she could even move given the amount of gold she was wearing. I imagine King Midas was actually an Indian queen, Maharaja Mena. Fun fact—Indian housewives own 11% of the gold in the world.

Around their stage were various items of furniture—a bed, a desk, a few cabinets ect. This was her dowry. Oh yeah, that exists. In fact, I caused an incredible amount of confusion one night when I casually mentioned that I didn’t have a dowry. It’s conversations like that that I never thought I’d have.

Paulette, Vijay and me (in front of the dowry)

The wedding culminated in the bride circling her husband (I somehow missed this part… I was probably at the food, getting great service, as usual) and the exchanging of flower wreaths. The bride and groom stood on this tall tower that rose up and descended. Incredibly loud bells clanged and large confetti cannons exploded. I took pictures and grabbed my favorite shot that I was able to give to the new couple. Quite the “blushing bride.”

"Cobra, Madam?"

-Mom's favorite quote in India 

Guest Blog: "Door Mattie No More"

As a special treat, my mom agreed to "guest blog" this week and share some of her experiences in India.

Here are my impressions of my two week visit to India.  Let me start by stating my admiration for these "Fellows" who launch themselves into world exploration alone with no help with travel, accommodations or budgeting.  That things go as well as they do is remarkable and I loved seeing how she has been living for the past few months.

“Door Mattie” no more.  In her freshman year a friend gave her a doormat that read Door Mattie in reference to her tendency to let people walk all over her. There was no evidence of this that I saw. She bargained like a fishwife for every purchase and battled with” tuk tuk” drivers for every ride.. Not because she enjoyed it, as some might, but because she hates being cheated even more...she is determined to be a good steward of the Bristol gift, but the constant vigilance takes a toll and can be very stressful. We were walking back to our hotel from the train station one night in Jaipur, a city Mattie knows well.  We were met with the usual aggressive drivers but kept walking—one driver followed us and things degenerated into hostility and name calling.  It is a particularly difficult place to be a young woman and have to put up with truly insulting behavior from mostly young Indian men.  Too many men with not enough to do and a belief that western women are fair game.  I almost pushed one off his bike I was so furious.
We went to three new cities by train, through some scary train stations (note: signage would be greatly appreciated...in any language!) One is left to rely on the kindness of strangers (usually well-dressed Indian women who invariably reply in perfect English.)  I have become a connoisseur of forts and to a lesser degree temples.  Usually the price of admission if there is one) includes a headset. I would highly recommend this as it affords some protection from "Included" guides and impoverished priests who want you to contribute.  

My favorite fort

My favorite city, Udaipur

Maybe this is the place to comment on traffic.  There seems to be no discernible driving rules, just stay pretty much to the left, but if there appears to be room, go for it, even if it is in the opposite direction--cows move, motorcycles, some with whole families on them, don't require much room and tuk tuk drivers are pretty skilled--I was surprised how much I enjoyed riding in these motorized rickshaws!

India is a constant assault on the senses.  Wildly colorful dresses and piles of garbage everywhere...if there is one pace plastic should be banned it is here, as there doesn't seem to be even a rudimentary plan to deal with trash!  And sanitation is awful. How can a country with a functioning space program not have sanitation infrastructure?  As far as I can tell, there seems to be more animals in the city than the country.  Cows, of course, but an unbelievable number of stray dogs.  There are donkeys and camels on the streets as well as pigs, goats and monkeys. (Note: don't show your teeth to the monkeys as this is a sign of aggression) There are also rats, but not as many as I’d feared. Colorful but odiferous.  The slums are heartbreaking—rather like living in refugee camps.  I can’t imagine the misery in monsoon season.
Someone with light skin still draws a significant amount of attention. Mattie attracted the young men of course, but I seemed to attract the children.  I had my picture taken countless times, once with a baby thrust into my arms.  On the train platform it was not unusual to have a family stand a foot away and simply stare. I had an old woman touch my face and a boy touch my shoe.  When we were traveling Mattie would grab my hand, move fast and chant her mantra "don't make friends". If you ride with a car and driver and stay in the best hotels it is one thing, but the real India is battling things out on its streets!

Agra-vation and Awe

They say opposites attract— the most beautiful building I have ever seen happens to also be in the worst city I have ever seen. I’ll spare you the details of mom, Paulette and I walking through the wet, dirty and miserable streets, mom almost punching a few men (that’s not an exaggeration) and me losing it at two different rickshaw drivers. Let’s just say that I was annoyed enough that when we were given a complementary governmental tour guide for the Taj, I told the man, “Please let us just have an hour where an Indian man doesn’t follow us.”

The Taj Mahal is all it’s said to be. It’s astoundingly beautiful, and even though it was a gloomy day in a horrid city, it made Agra almost worth it. Seeing it was only topped by seeing mom see it.

Santa ji Brings Mama ji

Santa was a little late to India (without road signs it's confusing), but he brought the best gift ever. When I thought I had lost her at the airport at 4 am I got a taste of my own medicine—how did I let my mom come alone to India?

I'll Be Home For Christmas (If Only In My Dreams)

I’ll Be Home For Christmas (But Only In My Dreams)

In recent days Bing has really been speaking (or rather singing) to me. That man has a voice like chocolate or a hug. However, we’ve reached an impasse. He tells me to “please have snow and mistletoe and presents under the tree.” Since I’m in the desert, and haven’t seen a cloud in over 40 days, I’m going to let him down in the snow department. I also have no clue what mistletoe even looks like, so that leaves the tree.

I have fond memories of going to the Christmas tree farm growing up. We had a pole that was used only once a year that was the exact height of our ceiling. After wandering around the farm and finding the perfect tree with proper density (full), width (very wide), and height (stick height) we’d drink hot chocolate while we drove home.

That’s not quite how it worked here. The one Christian we knew here kept promising to take us, yet in true form canceled about 5 or 6 times. So we took matters into our own hands... one night at about 6 pm. Pulling up to the tree nursery on the outside of the city, it looked a bit as if we were going to an abandoned haunted house. We saw the tiny trees behind a chain linked fence but couldn’t find the door until embarrassingly we were shown by a man wondering why the two of us were there at 7 pm at night. The man seemed hell bent on selling us a small bush instead of a tree. Maybe he was listening to Bing too, and that plant was mistletoe... but I doubt it. We were hoping for a reasonably sized tree, but they just don’t grow them like that here. The weirdest part was that all of the trees only had branches at the top—the rest had been pulled off. As we watched the worker do this to a tree we tried to explain to him we wanted a full tree. He told us they would grow back next year. We were about to be just disappointed when I spotted a tree in the very back. After climbing through the branches, I found our tree. He told me 700, I gave him 500 and was handed the tree. We put our earrings on it and bought the dangles women wear on their fancy dresses. I even found lights (they only work if one plug is in and the other is half out… but at least I figured that out.)

And so, I present to you- our tree.

Though it took a long time, we finally transplanted him. Yet another random life skill my parents taught me that has come in handy.

I have used my bedtime to make a few more decorations. This is what I made with fabric, a glue stick, scissors and string.

There's a few more of the ones you see on the upmost left corner, and a "Merry Christmas" behind me.

I lived a rather magical childhood, and some things I’m just not willing to give up. I still firmly believe in Santa... even though he’ll need a bit of help this year. (Rajasthani reindeer are in short supply.) My friends here now know about the “magical man who comes on a 'dear ride' into the house via a hole in the roof with gifts he puts in socks by a fire." I used a sewing kit my brilliant sister gave me and shopping bags to make the stockings. I was told that I “must have been a tailor in my past life” which I take as an utmost compliment.

I might not be here this Christmas...

But in my own way, I'll still be "home."