A Better Burkha

So when I say "burkha," you all must picture the long black robe-like garment and hijab head covering some women wear which is ubiquitous with much of the Islamic world. And I assume (and excuse me if I'm wrong) that most of you think of it as being an oppressive garment which husbands or fathers force their wives and daughters to wear. Now what would you say if I told you that a young,educated, modern 23 year old American woman living and working in Hyderabad went out one day and bought a burkha and now happily wears it around to run errands and go to work?

Growing up in America and especially after 9/11, the idea of donning a burkha never would have crossed my mind. In fact, I was taught that much more than a garment, it was a symbol of oppression and that any woman wearing it was a victim of her culture. Of course, as I grew up and attended some more liberal-thinking schools, I began to realize that some women do choose to wear the burkha of their own accord and for various reasons. But still, it would never be for me. That was for those other women, who call God by the name of Allah and who are still considered subordinate to men in many ways.

But now listen to this story. Said young American woman works in a majority Muslim school in a majority Muslim area of the city where most women do wear burkhas. She is used to getting stares by men and women alike in the neighborhood but that still doesn't mean it is any less annoying. One day, this girl was in an autorickshaw with her friends, in the early evening, in the "western" area of Hyderabad, going out to dinner. So these girls were dressed up a bit, in jeans and nice t-shirts. Two Indian men on a motorcycle were alternately following alongside of the auto and behind it, hassling the girls a little. Then one of the men reached into the auto and grabbed this woman before speeding off. That was enough for her. The next day on her way home from school she bought the cheapest burkha she could find which just so happened to be blinged out a bit. And she saw the city from a new side.

The first thing she noticed was that it was really hot under there. Although the fabric was light, the black color didn't exactly deflect the sunlight. Also, her peripheral vision had all but disappeared with the head covering. Yet at the same time, no one stared at her and in fact, for the first time since coming to India, she was basically ignored. Luckily she has brown eyes and so is indistinguishable as a foreigner. She also got auto drivers to agree to take her anywhere in the city at the price of a meter which doesn't usually happen to any of us. And most importantly she felt more secure and comfortable throughout the day and even at night where she could travel alone well past the time when most of us can. She's even received numerous compliments from Indians, both Muslim and non-Muslim, for her new covering.

So, before you judge, consider. Unfortunately, I know that most of you, dear readers, are worldly and well aware of the complexity of the issue surrounding such a simple garment. The people who really should read this won't. In my friend's case (and no I wasn't talking about me), wearing the burkha is definitely a personal choice and one that has made her life easier and more comfortable. Exactly the opposite of what most of us would expect. If it wasn't for my low heat tolerance I definitely would have worn the burkha by now and it's still on my to-do-before-I-leave-India list. With that I leave you with a hope, a hope that we just start treating the burkha as what it is - an item of clothing. This is not to say there are not instances where it is misused as a tool for oppression and I do think a woman should have a choice if she wears it or not. But let's not demonize those who do. Who knows, she may even be someone you know.

The Road More Traveled Part 2

When I last left you, we were on our way to Varkala, along the Arabian Sea , for some serious beach time. I had been recommended to visit the place by a friend but I had no idea what was in store for me. Varkala Beach at least, where all the tourists go and you’d be hard pressed to spot any Indians, is a beautiful clifftop town, with restaurants, shops and cafes lining a paved walkway along the deep drop to the sandy beach and ocean below.

Of course, I felt scandalized as soon as we arrived to the town, feeling like a young girl as I gawked at all the foreigners. I mean, women were walking around in their swimsuits and wearing revealing dresses and skirts I hadn’t seen since college. And they were in INDIA and doing so! Geez, have some respect, I thought. Once I got over my initial shock and we had settled into our “bamboo hut” lodgings, I did my own bit of rebelling by changing into shorts and a tank top, things I didn’t think I would be able to wear until next July.

My friend and I walked along in the sun, happy to feel the ocean breezes buffeting us on the cliff and being able to stretch our legs after so much driving in the last few days. We stopped at a restaurant almost completely packed with Caucasians, most of whom I discovered were Russian, German or Scandanavian, and were drinking beers with their lunch. I had another “where am I?” moment before settling in to order a sandwich that had real, honest to goodness, avocado in it. Delicious. Before dinner we went down to the beach and walked some more. As we got further from the town along the water, we finally started seeing large groups of Indians on holiday themselves. I had wondered where they all were. Then it was time for a seafood dinner with prawns, calamari and white fish. I felt like I was in paradise and continued to feel that way after waking up to the roar of the ocean water.

We ended up taking a cooking class at our hotel where I have to say, we made some pretty delicious Aloo Gobi, Chicken Tikka, Eggplant Bajii, Biryani and Chappathi. The thing about cooking here though and trying to write down the recipes was that there really aren’t exact measurements and fresh spices of all kinds are way easier and cheaper to find here than at home. I do have to admit that I committed a cardinal post-lunch sin by immediately going down to the ocean to swim but the water was calling to me. There is nothing like warm, salty waves to make a person forget the stresses of life. And some after dinner shopping and early morning yoga before leaving Varkala definitely didn’t hurt any.

This particular morning, I had decided to go swimming again before having to catch a ride to Trivandrum. While I was at the beach, I was constantly disturbed by the whistles of lifeguards any time an Indian man approached the sunbathing foreigners with his mobile phone camera out. “Good,” I thought. But then it started to seem they were blowing their whistles at all Indians who were on the beach, or, God forbid, swimming in the water. After this happened a few times, I marched up to a lifeguard. There was no way I was swimming at a segregated beach. “Oh no Madam, Indians are allowed but it is only a family beach, no bachelors.” To be fair I had seen them only turn away single Indian men or groups who were swimming and I saw a woman and her child walk by undisturbed. But then why were bachelor foreigner men allowed on the beach as well? Needless to say, I didn’t quite appreciate his explanation.

Our final Keralan afternoon was in Trivandrum, almost on the southern most tip of the subcontinent as we awaited our flight to Delhi. Trivandrum was pleasant, with actual sidewalks, palm trees and old British colonial buildings everywhere. We visited a royal museum and a beautiful temple before crashing early an the hotel to prepare our 6 AM flight. I was definitely getting tired of those early mornings and little did I know that the majority of the next day would be spent travelling as our flight to Delhi via Bangalore was diverted to Chennai due to fog in Bangalore. Landing and departing 3 times on the same plane is no fun and for perhaps the first and last time, I was relieved to have reached Delhi by the afternoon.

In an earlier blog, I spoke of my dislike for Delhi and I must admit, not much has changed, not even in this trip. My memories of Delhi will always be filled with brown, derelict-looking buildings, trash, crowds, and an awful smell that I can’t put my finger on but would make me nauseous every time we walked around. I know this may make me sound like a snob but I can’t help it. Anyway, both of us being crammed into a metro on our way to visit the Red Fort and Old Delhi and having our butts groped at least 2-3 times didn’t make me feel any better about the city. I think the biggest thing about Delhi is that as foreigners, everyone hassles us in the crowded areas. And since English is more widely spoken here, you can’t really escape. Delhi just doesn’t feel safe to me in the same way that most everywhere else I’ve visited here does.

We were disappointed to discover many of the monuments closed in preparation for big Republic Day celebrations which our flights to our respective homes ensured we just barely missed. Whoops. But we still got to see some really cool things like Hanuman’s Tomb which the Taj Mahal was based on and houses the grave of a Mughal Emperor. And on the plus side, our hotel was really nice and a cozy shelter from the freezing cold outside as temperatures dropped into the 40s at night. A big change from Hyderabad, that’s for sure.

Luckily we only had about 24 hours in Delhi before catching our train to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. At this point, I realized I should stop hating Delhi and being up north again because I would be one of the lucky few people who would get to see the Taj Mahal not once, but twice. And it definitely didn’t disappoint. While it was a lot colder at this sunrise, the dappled winter sunlight also gave it a more monumental feel and we spent several hours wandering amongst the garden and the Taj itself. It really is a convergence place of sorts, with Tibetan monks, Japanese tourists, western Europeans and every Indian imagineable all coming to marvel at what I still consider the most beautiful building in the world.

All too soon, it was time to head back to Delhi to fly home. I couldn’t believe how quickly the time had passed and I was sad to say goodbye to my friend. In all honesty, travelling here is what keeps me sane because it reminds me how absolutely incredible and diverse this country is and how lucky I am to be here. At the same time, I am always a bit bothered by my inability to appreciate these amazing places at the time I am there- instead I tend to realize only after the fact what I have been privileged enough to see. But being with my friend also reminded me that I am leaving in three short months. And while I do feel ready to leave and I do think it is time, I am starting to get those pangs of nostalgia already for my experiences here, both the good and the bad, and I am sure they will just continue to get worse. So here’s to the next few months, the next trip and all upcoming adventures! I hope you’ll keep reading about them…