I leave India in less than a month and the realization hasn't seemed to hit me yet. Several fellows in the program have already left yet the reality that I soon will be back home seems just as foreign now as India once was to me. Sometimes I just want time to speed up, but more often than not, I'm wishing it would slow down. It's always funny how quickly time passes, to the extent that I remember saying goodbye to my parents in the airport like it was yesterday. And it is just now that I am really starting to feel the effect India has had on me.
Perhaps the biggest change I have noticed is that to me, India is no longer the foreign or the strange. Sure, we like to make an occasional "oh India" joke but this is out of a fondest for the hectic, pulsating life we lead here. Instead India feels, oddly, like a second home. I say this is odd because India is so different from any place I have known or probably will ever experience again. I have ceased to have those moments where I stand in awe of the fact I am in India because eight months of adjusting have meant everything here now is normal. In fact, I know the bigger adjustment will be going home and not quite being able to articulate this experience to anyone who hasn't lived it.
The funny thing is, if someone asked me if I recommend living in India, I would heistate. I think that no matter where we end up living, even if it is paradise, we never truly value it until we've left. I remember Spain and Mexico with a nostalgia sometimes that I almost feel physically, as if I've lost something. But I also know that while I was there I had plenty of moments where all I wanted to be was back home. And India, for all its intensity and craziness is a place where sometimes one must compartamentalize. I think that I will only really begin to value the experience here in hindsight.
Don't get me wrong, I know this has been the most profound year of my life. But being here, living the day-in and day-out often distracts one from self-reflection. I recently read an article in the New York Times which speaks about "Thin Places," or places where our norm and our equilibrium is shaken to a point where we experience something deeply new and moving. I realize now that Hyderabad and snippets of my experience in India have been exactly that. But I can't appreciate them completely except in retrospect.
But perhaps that's what makes travel and living abroad so powerful. You don't know the effect of it until it's already passed. It's something you want so much to hold on to while you're in the moment but its true value is in what it brings to you after the fact. And this is why once you start, you can't stop. Being abroad is exhausting. It challenges you mentally and physically like little else can and it can test your limits. In the moment, you are so concerned with surviving, with taking it all in, with getting the most of your experience, that you don't realize the most important moment is the one when you get home. The one where you sense a change in perception, in your way of thinking, maybe even in your independence and self-confidence. Yet at the same time, it's addicting.
So this homecoming will most definitely be bittersweet. Full of nostalgia for my two homes. I don't know if I'll return to Hyderabad, but I do know that I will take the relationships, the knowledge, the world view with me wherever I go. It will always be one of my "thin places."
PS- the article link is http://travel.nytimes.com/2012/03/11/travel/thin-places-where-we-are-jolted-out-of-old-ways-of-seeing-the-world.html?pagewanted=all%3Fsrc%3Dtp&smid=fb-share
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Precious Resources
When you live in a developing country, water and electricity tend to be two things that are in short supply. They also happen to be two things that make life much more tolerable. So, as the heat of the summer months in Hyderabad kicks in and temperatures soar well over the 100s, it becomes a bit more than just annoying when our apartment loses power or we have no running water. It is one of those things that makes you want to tear your hair out, jump in a pool, or grab a ticket for next flight out of this place.
To put this in context, I guess I should explain about where I live. Banjara Hills is considered one of the "nicer" areas of town, which means it's more western, rents are higher, and there's a McDonalds within easy reach. But it is also one of the highest consumption areas so we have been the one apartment in all of IDEX who has been having water problems all year. It is to the point where I am happy if we have running water in our taps for more than two hours at a time. In fact, one memorable night, we were without running water from 4PM to 12AM which meant that cooking, showering, washing dishes, or even brushing our teeth was pretty much out. And on Holi, because it was a holiday and water tankers were not delivering, one of our roommates was unable to shower and forced to spend the night still covered in paint. Hyderabad is in a semi-arid region which means water is a precious commodity that must be doled out accordingly. Well that and the city really has no idea how many wells there actually are so they can't access them. And while we have been much more judicious with our usage, we still are parched for water.
At the same time, as temperatures rise, the demand for electricty increases. This also means that different regions of the city have scheduled power cuts each day. For example, we used to have power cuts from 10-11 and 3-4. These aren't so bad when you can plan for them, like downloading what you need on your computer so you aren't left without internet and anything to do. But of course, it sucks when the fans stop running and the heat starts to seep in and you're in the middle of typing an important email. And if we don't have running water on top of that? Well let's just say there's been a few times when I've stood on my balcony and told India I was not impressed with its timing.
Yet this is a reality in the developing world and one that most people have to deal with. Living in India has made me realize just how heremtically sealed the United States is and how damn lucky and pampered we are. Corny I know, but when we are spending our time back home complaining about gas prices that are much less expensive than what the majority of the world pays, think of not having a necessity like water at your disposal. It sucks. There's really no other way to describe it. And then we end up paying out of pocket every few days when a new water tanker does come to fill the apartment complex's tank. So I probably pay as much for water one a semi-daily basis as you do for a gallon of gas. Which if you put that in real terms, would be a huge chunk of most Indians' incomes and is a not-so-minimal part of mine.
One ex-pat once told me Indian behavioral norms can often be attributed to a shortage of resources. For decades, there have been more people here than there have been basic necessities. Which is why people shove there way on and off buses and trains without waiting for others to exit, or why lines are fairly non-existant. And no wonder. I'm fairly certain we would all behave like that too if we didn't always have enough water or room on public transportation.
So please, next time you start to think that you have it bad or that your life sucks, take a moment and ask yourself if it really does. I am willing to bet that most of what you're upset about the majority of people in this world can only dream of having. Like that car payment or having to get your Iphone fixed. At the very least, can you do me a favor and turn off your taps when you're not using them? I appreciate it.
To put this in context, I guess I should explain about where I live. Banjara Hills is considered one of the "nicer" areas of town, which means it's more western, rents are higher, and there's a McDonalds within easy reach. But it is also one of the highest consumption areas so we have been the one apartment in all of IDEX who has been having water problems all year. It is to the point where I am happy if we have running water in our taps for more than two hours at a time. In fact, one memorable night, we were without running water from 4PM to 12AM which meant that cooking, showering, washing dishes, or even brushing our teeth was pretty much out. And on Holi, because it was a holiday and water tankers were not delivering, one of our roommates was unable to shower and forced to spend the night still covered in paint. Hyderabad is in a semi-arid region which means water is a precious commodity that must be doled out accordingly. Well that and the city really has no idea how many wells there actually are so they can't access them. And while we have been much more judicious with our usage, we still are parched for water.
At the same time, as temperatures rise, the demand for electricty increases. This also means that different regions of the city have scheduled power cuts each day. For example, we used to have power cuts from 10-11 and 3-4. These aren't so bad when you can plan for them, like downloading what you need on your computer so you aren't left without internet and anything to do. But of course, it sucks when the fans stop running and the heat starts to seep in and you're in the middle of typing an important email. And if we don't have running water on top of that? Well let's just say there's been a few times when I've stood on my balcony and told India I was not impressed with its timing.
Yet this is a reality in the developing world and one that most people have to deal with. Living in India has made me realize just how heremtically sealed the United States is and how damn lucky and pampered we are. Corny I know, but when we are spending our time back home complaining about gas prices that are much less expensive than what the majority of the world pays, think of not having a necessity like water at your disposal. It sucks. There's really no other way to describe it. And then we end up paying out of pocket every few days when a new water tanker does come to fill the apartment complex's tank. So I probably pay as much for water one a semi-daily basis as you do for a gallon of gas. Which if you put that in real terms, would be a huge chunk of most Indians' incomes and is a not-so-minimal part of mine.
One ex-pat once told me Indian behavioral norms can often be attributed to a shortage of resources. For decades, there have been more people here than there have been basic necessities. Which is why people shove there way on and off buses and trains without waiting for others to exit, or why lines are fairly non-existant. And no wonder. I'm fairly certain we would all behave like that too if we didn't always have enough water or room on public transportation.
So please, next time you start to think that you have it bad or that your life sucks, take a moment and ask yourself if it really does. I am willing to bet that most of what you're upset about the majority of people in this world can only dream of having. Like that car payment or having to get your Iphone fixed. At the very least, can you do me a favor and turn off your taps when you're not using them? I appreciate it.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Watching the Watchman
What to say? Well for starters that I have been horrible at continuing up this blog the last few weeks. Part of the reason for this is an inability to come up with topics that I think will interest you all. Life has reached a point here where everything seems normal and those “oh India” moments have faded into the recent past. This is apropos, seeing that I will be leaving here in less than 2 months. But this is also reminiscent of the fact that Hyderabad is now completely a second home for us. And there is probably nothing that drives that fact home more than the story of our evolving relationship with the watchman of our building and his family.
When we first moved in, Mr. Tiwali (or Tiwari – we’re still not sure) was an unknown entity. He was amiable enough, with a wife who was always to be found sitting in the parking area of our building, overseeing all, and two daughters who could speak English better than most kids their age, and a son who I have yet to hear speak. However we always felt awkward around him, feeling bad when we would come home after the gate was locked at 12PM and we tried our best to quietly open the latch, which inevitably squeaked and groaned and moaned with each pull. And as much as we would try to silently sneak past the platform where he slept, he would almost always wake up with a start before recognizing us in the dark. We started to think he resented us and our late nights.
Even worse was when we would have friends over. He seemed willing to let our American eccentricities extend to our foreign friends but it was a different story when it came to Indians. Once, when my boyfriend came over early in the evening for dinner, Mr. T (as we now call him), came storming upstairs, informing us that as we live in an all-girls flat, there would be no boys allowed. Of course, this made all of us girls angry, as we had never been told what to do in this manner. We cursed the traditional Indian sentiments surrounding gender roles; we reflected on the irony that the American boys who lived in the flat below us would walk in at any time of day or night to borrow a spatula or milk and that this wasn’t a problem yet with an Indian it was. Most of all, I went downstairs and gave Mr. T a piece of my mind, saying that this was our home, we paid to live here and we also paid for him as our watchman, and that I would invite anyone over I damn well pleased. Of course, with his limited English skills and the fact that his daughters were not around to translate, I’m not sure how much he understood, but at least I felt better about the whole ordeal.
After tip-toeing around for several weeks, things started to settle into normal and somehow, though I can’t quite pinpoint where the change occurred, Mr. T’s family started to warm up to us. His wife cooked a chicken curry and brought it up to our flat, which I reciprocated by baking them brownies on my birthday (apparently here, you give people things on your birthday and not the other way around). Mr. T started to give us rides on his motorbike if he spotted us trudging up the hill on our way home, and he always jovially came to fix our broken light switches. His daughters also took to watching movies with one of our flatmates and finding reasons to linger in our apartment whenever they needed to deliver a message to us. It has gotten to the point that we refer to Mr. T’s wife as “mommy” (partly because we don’t know her actually name and that’s what everyone else calls her, and partly because she forever endeared herself to us when she asked us for a beer one day).
It is funny how quickly relationships change and grow here. At first, the watchman’s family was as suspicious of us as we were of them – an unknown entity, foreign, and with cultural values and traditions different from each other. But over time, perhaps just through the closeness of living in the same place, that all changed and our difference became a point of hilarity and humanity between us.
So here’s to home sweet Hyderabad. My approaching departure leaves me with mixed feelings that I will be sorting with for months to come. But for now, I’m just going to appreciate this life as is.
When we first moved in, Mr. Tiwali (or Tiwari – we’re still not sure) was an unknown entity. He was amiable enough, with a wife who was always to be found sitting in the parking area of our building, overseeing all, and two daughters who could speak English better than most kids their age, and a son who I have yet to hear speak. However we always felt awkward around him, feeling bad when we would come home after the gate was locked at 12PM and we tried our best to quietly open the latch, which inevitably squeaked and groaned and moaned with each pull. And as much as we would try to silently sneak past the platform where he slept, he would almost always wake up with a start before recognizing us in the dark. We started to think he resented us and our late nights.
Even worse was when we would have friends over. He seemed willing to let our American eccentricities extend to our foreign friends but it was a different story when it came to Indians. Once, when my boyfriend came over early in the evening for dinner, Mr. T (as we now call him), came storming upstairs, informing us that as we live in an all-girls flat, there would be no boys allowed. Of course, this made all of us girls angry, as we had never been told what to do in this manner. We cursed the traditional Indian sentiments surrounding gender roles; we reflected on the irony that the American boys who lived in the flat below us would walk in at any time of day or night to borrow a spatula or milk and that this wasn’t a problem yet with an Indian it was. Most of all, I went downstairs and gave Mr. T a piece of my mind, saying that this was our home, we paid to live here and we also paid for him as our watchman, and that I would invite anyone over I damn well pleased. Of course, with his limited English skills and the fact that his daughters were not around to translate, I’m not sure how much he understood, but at least I felt better about the whole ordeal.
After tip-toeing around for several weeks, things started to settle into normal and somehow, though I can’t quite pinpoint where the change occurred, Mr. T’s family started to warm up to us. His wife cooked a chicken curry and brought it up to our flat, which I reciprocated by baking them brownies on my birthday (apparently here, you give people things on your birthday and not the other way around). Mr. T started to give us rides on his motorbike if he spotted us trudging up the hill on our way home, and he always jovially came to fix our broken light switches. His daughters also took to watching movies with one of our flatmates and finding reasons to linger in our apartment whenever they needed to deliver a message to us. It has gotten to the point that we refer to Mr. T’s wife as “mommy” (partly because we don’t know her actually name and that’s what everyone else calls her, and partly because she forever endeared herself to us when she asked us for a beer one day).
It is funny how quickly relationships change and grow here. At first, the watchman’s family was as suspicious of us as we were of them – an unknown entity, foreign, and with cultural values and traditions different from each other. But over time, perhaps just through the closeness of living in the same place, that all changed and our difference became a point of hilarity and humanity between us.
So here’s to home sweet Hyderabad. My approaching departure leaves me with mixed feelings that I will be sorting with for months to come. But for now, I’m just going to appreciate this life as is.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
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…
Thursday, January 26, 2012
A Road Much More Traveled Part 1
I know it's been a while since I've posted, but for good reason. While you all were wondering why I wasn't writing in my blog, I was off galivanting around the country yet again. One of my good friends came to visit for two weeks and we decided it was time to go and check out Kerala, one of the most scenic states in India, before heading back up to Delhi and Agra so she could see the Taj. As always, traveling here is anything but simple and I've come to be in awe of the people I meet who backpack around the country for months at a time.
First we spent a few days in Hyderabad which meant that I finally got to see all of the sights that the city has to offer. Who knew the massive Golconda Fort or the famous white marble Birla Mandir Hindu temple could be so beautiful. Unfortunately, I was a bit under the weather and concerned I wouldn't be in traveling shape but trying to keep to early nights seemed to do the trick and by Sunday, I was ready to fly off to Kochi, in the heart of what Indians call "God's Own Country" in Kerala. (A note here: this has to be one of the most ironic names ever because the local state government in Kerala is and has been communist for many years).
Kochi is along the Arabian Sea and is famous for its fishing community, in particular, the Chinese fishing nets that many locals use not only to catch fish but also to generate some side income from letting tourists take pictures with them. It was a bit shocking to see so many foreigners on the narrow, brightly colored streets of downtown Kochi and in our hostel. I mean, Hyderabad hardly has any tourists in comparison to many other places in India, so it was a big surprise. But it was also a bit fun to haggle with the touts trying to sell me things and see how taken aback they were by my bargaining and Hinglish, realizing I wasn't just a tourist. Although that didn't mean we weren't hassled plenty.
Our one night in Kochi was spent eating delicious Keralan seafood curry and planning the rest of our trip details in a funky art cafe. I felt worlds away from Hyderabad and the stress involved in living there, although the stress of setting off into the unknown was definitely still present. In fact, the next morning we were supposed to be picked up by a taxi driver to take us to the hill town of Munnar and for some reason, I had a bad feeling something would go wrong.
Sure enough, as the scheduled time to be picked up loomed, I hadn't heard anything from the driver. I finally called him and he politely informed me that he was waiting for us. I said there was no way he could be waiting for us as I was standing in the street outside of our hostel and there was literally no traffic around. "Yes Madam, I am waiting. What time was your flight?" Suddenly, I realized he was at the arrivals gate at the airport, a full hour away from our hostel where I had told the taxi company to send the driver. So, like all good Indian businesses, the taxi company just sent us another driver who was nearby and had no idea he would be our driver for the next five days as the company apparently didn't give him ANY details as to our itinerary. Luckily for us, although Bose lacked many English skills beyond "Madam" and "thank you," he turned out to be a gem of a driver, but more on that later.
We finally set off for Munnar, a former hill station of the British Raj and the seat of tea production in Kerala. We left the lush tropical lowlands of the state and climbed a winding mountain road through beautiful green hills and small, bright villages. As we drove up the Western Ghats and the fresh air streamed into the window, I was reminded again of how much I missed being outdoors in nature. As an Oregonian, being surrounded by green is basically a prerequisite for living and Hyderabad is definitely not green.
Four hours later, we reached Munnar and our hotel which had stunning views over the neatly rowed, bright green tea fields and into the valley below. Plus, we even had a real shower (and by real I mean the shower head was physically separate from the rest of the bathroom) with hot water, a necessity as the temperature at that elevation dropped into the 40s. We spent our day in Munnar touring a tea factory and of course sampling said tea, wandering around the small town that reminded me of a trekking outpost, buying tea, and driving up to "Top Station," the highest point of the area with stunning views of impossibly green and steep mountains dropping into the fog below. And for once, my sweating was at a minimal due to the perfect temperature. Too much information I'm sure but when you live in India, a day without breaking a sweat is special indeed.
The true highlight though had to be the "bonfire" our hotel hosted on the rooftop. And by highlight, I mean funniest and strangely cute thing I'd seen in a while. First off, our bonfire was a small fire surrounded by stobe lights and rejected 90s music that reminded me of childhood Friday nights spent at the roller skating rink. But the true icing on the cake was the older man who was convulsing around, in some imitation of a dance, to the song "Barbie Girl." I had to admire his self-confidence as he imitated a penguin and I can only hope I will do the same when I am in my late 60s.
Unfortunately, it was also at this bonfire that my friend and I discovered we had a problem. Again, in typical Indian fashion, we were informed, quite matter-of-factly and almost cheerfully, that there was a strike in Kerala tomorrow, protesting a dam on the border with Tamil Nadu, and that there would be roadblocks set up on highways from 6AM-6PM and that it may be quite unsafe to travel at that time as people were liable to throw rocks and stop any vehicle trying to pass through. Awesome. Especially seeing as we had to continue on to the mountain animal reserve of Thekkady which was three hours away the next day. And then from Thekkady we had a houseboat we scheduled in the lowlands again, meaning that we really couldn't afford another night in Munnar. So our options were leave the hotel at 3AM that morning to reach Thekkady before sunrise or wait until 6PM and basically not have any time to spend in the area. After consulting our driver who had waited outside of the hotel for us to offer to drive us at 3, we decided to go for it. Of course, we spent three harrowing hours in the early morning, peering around every mountaineous curve, afraid we would be confronted with an angry mob, but we reached our hotel in Thekkady in one piece, shivering the cold but glad to be there.
Of course, that wasn't the end of our dilemma. You see, the draw of Thekkady is that it is the home of the Periyar animal reserve and one of the most popular activities is to take a boat out onto its lake and see wild elephants bathing and all sorts of other wildlife. But, our hotel was unfortunately several kilometers outside of town and as Thekkady just so happened to be on the border of Kerala and Tamil Nadu, it was at the center of the dam conflict. So we were advised not to even try travelling to the lake as there was definitely agitation and it might be closed anyway. We were really disappointed. Granted, the hotel we were marooned at was really a resort on 50 acres which included a pool, a walking path and a massage center but we hadn't really come to the area just to stay there. But it honestly wasn't that hard for me to settle into the rythmn of doing nothing for the day and by the end, I felt reenergized and ready to tackle the rest of Kerala, and, unfortunately, the chaos of New Delhi and Agra the next week...
First we spent a few days in Hyderabad which meant that I finally got to see all of the sights that the city has to offer. Who knew the massive Golconda Fort or the famous white marble Birla Mandir Hindu temple could be so beautiful. Unfortunately, I was a bit under the weather and concerned I wouldn't be in traveling shape but trying to keep to early nights seemed to do the trick and by Sunday, I was ready to fly off to Kochi, in the heart of what Indians call "God's Own Country" in Kerala. (A note here: this has to be one of the most ironic names ever because the local state government in Kerala is and has been communist for many years).
Kochi is along the Arabian Sea and is famous for its fishing community, in particular, the Chinese fishing nets that many locals use not only to catch fish but also to generate some side income from letting tourists take pictures with them. It was a bit shocking to see so many foreigners on the narrow, brightly colored streets of downtown Kochi and in our hostel. I mean, Hyderabad hardly has any tourists in comparison to many other places in India, so it was a big surprise. But it was also a bit fun to haggle with the touts trying to sell me things and see how taken aback they were by my bargaining and Hinglish, realizing I wasn't just a tourist. Although that didn't mean we weren't hassled plenty.
Our one night in Kochi was spent eating delicious Keralan seafood curry and planning the rest of our trip details in a funky art cafe. I felt worlds away from Hyderabad and the stress involved in living there, although the stress of setting off into the unknown was definitely still present. In fact, the next morning we were supposed to be picked up by a taxi driver to take us to the hill town of Munnar and for some reason, I had a bad feeling something would go wrong.
Sure enough, as the scheduled time to be picked up loomed, I hadn't heard anything from the driver. I finally called him and he politely informed me that he was waiting for us. I said there was no way he could be waiting for us as I was standing in the street outside of our hostel and there was literally no traffic around. "Yes Madam, I am waiting. What time was your flight?" Suddenly, I realized he was at the arrivals gate at the airport, a full hour away from our hostel where I had told the taxi company to send the driver. So, like all good Indian businesses, the taxi company just sent us another driver who was nearby and had no idea he would be our driver for the next five days as the company apparently didn't give him ANY details as to our itinerary. Luckily for us, although Bose lacked many English skills beyond "Madam" and "thank you," he turned out to be a gem of a driver, but more on that later.
We finally set off for Munnar, a former hill station of the British Raj and the seat of tea production in Kerala. We left the lush tropical lowlands of the state and climbed a winding mountain road through beautiful green hills and small, bright villages. As we drove up the Western Ghats and the fresh air streamed into the window, I was reminded again of how much I missed being outdoors in nature. As an Oregonian, being surrounded by green is basically a prerequisite for living and Hyderabad is definitely not green.
Four hours later, we reached Munnar and our hotel which had stunning views over the neatly rowed, bright green tea fields and into the valley below. Plus, we even had a real shower (and by real I mean the shower head was physically separate from the rest of the bathroom) with hot water, a necessity as the temperature at that elevation dropped into the 40s. We spent our day in Munnar touring a tea factory and of course sampling said tea, wandering around the small town that reminded me of a trekking outpost, buying tea, and driving up to "Top Station," the highest point of the area with stunning views of impossibly green and steep mountains dropping into the fog below. And for once, my sweating was at a minimal due to the perfect temperature. Too much information I'm sure but when you live in India, a day without breaking a sweat is special indeed.
The true highlight though had to be the "bonfire" our hotel hosted on the rooftop. And by highlight, I mean funniest and strangely cute thing I'd seen in a while. First off, our bonfire was a small fire surrounded by stobe lights and rejected 90s music that reminded me of childhood Friday nights spent at the roller skating rink. But the true icing on the cake was the older man who was convulsing around, in some imitation of a dance, to the song "Barbie Girl." I had to admire his self-confidence as he imitated a penguin and I can only hope I will do the same when I am in my late 60s.
Unfortunately, it was also at this bonfire that my friend and I discovered we had a problem. Again, in typical Indian fashion, we were informed, quite matter-of-factly and almost cheerfully, that there was a strike in Kerala tomorrow, protesting a dam on the border with Tamil Nadu, and that there would be roadblocks set up on highways from 6AM-6PM and that it may be quite unsafe to travel at that time as people were liable to throw rocks and stop any vehicle trying to pass through. Awesome. Especially seeing as we had to continue on to the mountain animal reserve of Thekkady which was three hours away the next day. And then from Thekkady we had a houseboat we scheduled in the lowlands again, meaning that we really couldn't afford another night in Munnar. So our options were leave the hotel at 3AM that morning to reach Thekkady before sunrise or wait until 6PM and basically not have any time to spend in the area. After consulting our driver who had waited outside of the hotel for us to offer to drive us at 3, we decided to go for it. Of course, we spent three harrowing hours in the early morning, peering around every mountaineous curve, afraid we would be confronted with an angry mob, but we reached our hotel in Thekkady in one piece, shivering the cold but glad to be there.
Of course, that wasn't the end of our dilemma. You see, the draw of Thekkady is that it is the home of the Periyar animal reserve and one of the most popular activities is to take a boat out onto its lake and see wild elephants bathing and all sorts of other wildlife. But, our hotel was unfortunately several kilometers outside of town and as Thekkady just so happened to be on the border of Kerala and Tamil Nadu, it was at the center of the dam conflict. So we were advised not to even try travelling to the lake as there was definitely agitation and it might be closed anyway. We were really disappointed. Granted, the hotel we were marooned at was really a resort on 50 acres which included a pool, a walking path and a massage center but we hadn't really come to the area just to stay there. But it honestly wasn't that hard for me to settle into the rythmn of doing nothing for the day and by the end, I felt reenergized and ready to tackle the rest of Kerala, and, unfortunately, the chaos of New Delhi and Agra the next week...
Monday, January 9, 2012
Brotherly Love
Now that my self-imposed holiday from blog writing is over, it is time to get back into the swing of things, at least briefly. I will avoid all the of New Years clichés of writing about my resolutions (of which I don’t have any) or reflecting on the past year because, well, I think pretty much all I do in this blog is reflect so I’ll spare you the worst of it. However, I will discuss one of the biggest events in the month of January for me which will be the arrival of one of my best friends from home and our subsequent trip down to Kerala and to see the Taj Mahal in Agra. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of stories for you in a few weeks time so just sit tight. However, the prospect of someone from the US who has never been to India arriving has given me new perspective on this country I have called my home for six months.
For one, I am disappointed that my friend will not be able to see my school. It is midterm exams now, which means that my effectiveness at school has decreased exponentially and that my students and teachers will be on holiday for the majority of the month of January. It is nice that my holiday will coincide so well with that of my school but this also means that February is completely full. I will be running the spelling bee at my school then, working on constructing our library and raising books for it, trying to start a reading program at my school, and basically sprinting around all month since it is perhaps the last chance for me to make any impact in my school.
So school aside, another thing I am curious to see is my friend’s reaction to the Indian psyche. By now, ambiguous head wobbles, yes’s when people really mean no, staring and interrogation about your life to the point of rudeness and interference are all an accepted part of my reality. I have to say I hold a sort morbid curiosity to see how my friend will confront the challenges of being in India. But at the same time I also feel a bit of protectiveness. Yes, I can complain as much as possible but I’m a “foreign resident.” I live here. Only I can make fun of India.
All that being said though, I do really look forward to the next few weeks. I remember when I was studying abroad in Spain and one of my friends came to visit. At that point, I was fed up with Spanish lateness, their piropos or catcalls in the streets, the way nobody was rushed to do anything, or the way no one was ever concerned. But seeing Spain in the eyes of someone who hadn’t lived there for a few months and who was new to the place made me see it in a new light and really fall in love with the country all over again, the way I had when I first came there. I wonder if the same thing will happen in India.
You see, a person’s feelings towards a country or a culture are like those of one person towards another person. I have come to realize I foster a living, breathing relationship with India as I have with the United States, Ecuador, Spain and Mexico. This relationship changes and matures with time but it is still there. For instance, I picture the United States as I picture my relationship with my family - stable, understanding, always there for me, but I don’t have to physically be around them to know it is there. Ecuador was like my first crush – the first foray into the unknown, feeling acutely the anxiety and the giddiness and immaturity that comes with it. Spain was my first love and one I will always hold dear to my heart. Mexico was a short acquaintance; a friendship with a gregarious person that you just met, at times beautiful and fun, and at others awkward and a bit lonely. Yet finally there is India. My relationship with this country continues to grow and evolve on a daily basis but I have to say it is like an antagonistic brother. You love it because well, you have to. But it can drive you crazy and sometimes you just need space from it or to complain to Mom about it. Yet it will all of the sudden surprise you and remind you why that love is there in the first place. Once you have been here, India is a part of you forever, and not by choice. It just is.
But of course, who better to judge your current relationship situation than the friends who know you best? I can’t wait to see how my own perspective changes over these next few weeks with the benefit of an outsider’s viewpoint. So here’s to a few weeks of adventure, newness, and hopefully, rejuvenation. Stay tuned for the real story.
For one, I am disappointed that my friend will not be able to see my school. It is midterm exams now, which means that my effectiveness at school has decreased exponentially and that my students and teachers will be on holiday for the majority of the month of January. It is nice that my holiday will coincide so well with that of my school but this also means that February is completely full. I will be running the spelling bee at my school then, working on constructing our library and raising books for it, trying to start a reading program at my school, and basically sprinting around all month since it is perhaps the last chance for me to make any impact in my school.
So school aside, another thing I am curious to see is my friend’s reaction to the Indian psyche. By now, ambiguous head wobbles, yes’s when people really mean no, staring and interrogation about your life to the point of rudeness and interference are all an accepted part of my reality. I have to say I hold a sort morbid curiosity to see how my friend will confront the challenges of being in India. But at the same time I also feel a bit of protectiveness. Yes, I can complain as much as possible but I’m a “foreign resident.” I live here. Only I can make fun of India.
All that being said though, I do really look forward to the next few weeks. I remember when I was studying abroad in Spain and one of my friends came to visit. At that point, I was fed up with Spanish lateness, their piropos or catcalls in the streets, the way nobody was rushed to do anything, or the way no one was ever concerned. But seeing Spain in the eyes of someone who hadn’t lived there for a few months and who was new to the place made me see it in a new light and really fall in love with the country all over again, the way I had when I first came there. I wonder if the same thing will happen in India.
You see, a person’s feelings towards a country or a culture are like those of one person towards another person. I have come to realize I foster a living, breathing relationship with India as I have with the United States, Ecuador, Spain and Mexico. This relationship changes and matures with time but it is still there. For instance, I picture the United States as I picture my relationship with my family - stable, understanding, always there for me, but I don’t have to physically be around them to know it is there. Ecuador was like my first crush – the first foray into the unknown, feeling acutely the anxiety and the giddiness and immaturity that comes with it. Spain was my first love and one I will always hold dear to my heart. Mexico was a short acquaintance; a friendship with a gregarious person that you just met, at times beautiful and fun, and at others awkward and a bit lonely. Yet finally there is India. My relationship with this country continues to grow and evolve on a daily basis but I have to say it is like an antagonistic brother. You love it because well, you have to. But it can drive you crazy and sometimes you just need space from it or to complain to Mom about it. Yet it will all of the sudden surprise you and remind you why that love is there in the first place. Once you have been here, India is a part of you forever, and not by choice. It just is.
But of course, who better to judge your current relationship situation than the friends who know you best? I can’t wait to see how my own perspective changes over these next few weeks with the benefit of an outsider’s viewpoint. So here’s to a few weeks of adventure, newness, and hopefully, rejuvenation. Stay tuned for the real story.
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