Moscas En Vrindavan

Last week I had the privilege of interviewing a number of widows living in Vrindavan. Much of what I read in articles focused on their struggles but no attention was given to what they were doing to overcome them. This inspired me to develop a research project aimed at uncovering what they did (coping mechanisms) to overcome struggles throughout their lives.

The number of interviews totaled 6 and each ranged from 45 minutes to an hour. The age of the women also ranged from 55 to 96 years of age. With the help of a translator, my dost (friend) Anita, each woman was asked to speak on struggles and coping mechanisms employed during her childhood, adolescence, marriage, and widowhood. Rightfully, they were reticent to share their stories, but I was not discouraged. Instead, their silence pushed me to listen with more than my ears.

Sachi (Truly), a simple blog post could not do justice to their stories; so instead, permit me to share a personal reflection. If would like a copy of the finished report, I will kindly share it with you. The following was taken directly from my journal and has not and will not be edited.

Stand still.
Notice the nuances, las moscas (the flies), the despair.
The eagerness to be heard masked by silence.

She forced me to abandon the plan.
I tried to have my way, but she stood firm.
"Be flexible" she said.
Stand still.
Surrender.
Your fight has not place here.
Disarm yourself.

Stand still.
Listen to the silence.

Thank you to my lovely friend Anita-ji for supporting me through this journey...

Amritsari Whiplash

Amritsar is located in the northern most part of India along the Pakistani border. In total, we spent 21 hours in Amritsar, of which 13 or so were spent awake and exploring.

Upon arrival to the Amritsar Station, we were greeted by Mr. Bubbles --a tall and regal white-haired man-- who happens to be the General’s older brother. He transported us to the Tourist Guest House, where he and his wife live in semi-retirement. There we meet Mrs. Bubbles. Like myself, she is fair-skinned and dark-haired. She noted that many northern Indian women (Punjabi women) look like us. We held a brief conversation over a cup of chai, and then we were escorted to our room. “Okay, see you at 5:30am!” Said Mrs. Bubbles.

As instructed, Meli and I were up and ready to go by 5:30am. Accompanied by the Bubbles and their adopted grandchildren, Arti and Sahrov, we set out to the Golden Temple. While we missed the sunrise ceremony, I was incredibly moved by the beauty of the temple and the fervor with which people prayed. It was a lovely break from the hustle and bustle of the city that at times muffles the sounds of chants and the sense of spirituality that is characteristic of India.



“Amritsari food is unlike any other cuisine in India.” We heard this repeatedly from our coworkers. The Bubbles agreed and promised to give us a Gastronomic Tour of Amritsar during our flash visit. To start, we had a traditional Indian breakfast composed of puris (a puffed-up, fried tortilla of sorts), chaana (chickpeas), mango chutney, sweet lassi, and an Indian pancake... I can happily report that the rumors were true. Much of it was deep fried, but delicious. This meal alone induced a food coma. Contrary to what my physician would suggest, I took a short nap once we returned to the guesthouse.


After awaking from my food coma, Mr. Bubbles helped us organize a cab that would transport us to the India-Pakistani Border where they perform Wagah Border Ceremony. This tradition started in 1959 and consists of a celebration of patriotism and the lowering of the flags. It was unreal to think we were so close to Pakistan. At one point in the ceremony, the gates are opened momentarily; only long enough for a handshake between an Indian and Pakistani solder. In addition to the many thoughts that crossed my mind related to patriotism, gendered segregation (men were seated in one area and women in another), and unequal treatment (tourist were given their own section where we enjoyed of wiggle room), I was captivated by the cheerleader, or the master of ceremonies. With the lift of a finger he would command the attention of the Indian public and inspire them to cheer ever so loudly... our cheerleaders could learn a thing or two from him. lol


The ceremony ended at sundown and we head back to the guest house for dinner. I wish I had photographed my meals, but I was too busy eating them- so I apologize. For dinner I had the most exquisite deep fried fish, with chaana, paneer pakoras, roti, and a mango fruit salad. My chubbies were so happy, but they were feeling sooooo fatty-fat (as Anita says lol).


Our trip concluded with a late night talk with the Bubbles, and an early train ride back the next morning. I am still recovering from the whiplash. Thank you Mr. & Mrs. Bubbles for the hospitality! :)

Happy Birthday Geeta!

We had the pleasure of attending Geeta's 7th birthday celebration (Laxmi's daughter).

This is the lovely and curious Geeta. She periodically accompanies Laxmi during the evenings while she prepares dinner. Our apartment then becomes her hunting ground. She likes to inspect the rooms, play with our computers, draw and take pictures, get into Meli's pencil box and my make-up bag, and she loves to speak to us in Hindi as if we understood.

Auntie picked us up around 8:30pm and walked us over to Laxmi's home. Before then, we had no idea where or how close Laxmi lived to us. We soon found out that she lives in a slum neighborhood tucked behind some apartments just across the street. It was dark outside, but we managed to slither through some narrow/unpaved pathway without harm. Laxmi, her husband, two children and sister in law share a room the size of a standard US laundry room. They didn't have much, but Laxmi said they are "very happy" as she proudly noted that her union was a "love marriage." We were humbled to take part in the celebration. <3

I will spare you the details on the celebration, and let the pictures do the talking.

Eva's Journey to Speaking Hindi PART II

Good morning/good evening class! lol

I am happy to announce that I have moved from single words to small phrases... On the flip side, I am embarrassed to share that my Hindi is still BROKEN and in dire need of a linguistic mechanic. Here is what I have learned since my last post:

• dadaji- paternal grandfather
• dadiji- paternal grandmother
• naniji- maternal grandmother
  
• nanaji- maternal grandfather
• chalo!- You go!
• ou!- Come!
• kripya- please
• ghitdi (jeetdee)- demanding... this is often how Laxmi refers to her daughter Geeta lol
• me apse pyiar bohot car du- I love you very much
• tom paghal ho- you are mad/crazy!
• apkaise pasan karte ho _____?- do you like _____?
• paghal- crazy
• gussa- angry
• agla- next
• mera favorite - my favorite
• apka favorite _____ kya he?- What is your favorite _______?
• tora, tora- little little (I say "tora tora Hindi. English me")
• mera nehi- not me
• chaldhi, chaldhi- hurry, hurry!
• mujhe nehi patah- I don't know
• mujhe bhook lag rahi hai- I am hungry!
  

For the next phrases and words I need to give you some context. Today during class, Poonam and Varsha insisted that I take pictures. My first response was:

• last me- at the end (of class)

Then, they began to pout, slid their thumb forward from their chin, and said:

• katti- I am 'breaking friendship with you'
  

I immediately cracked up remembering the Mexican cortala ritual. For those of you unfamiliar with the tradition, it's a 'breaking friendship' ritual wherein your index fingers face each other and the person who is being 'cut', proceeds to sever the connecting fingers with her index finger, and thereby agrees to end the friendship. This is very common among children, although I have known some adults to engage in such behavior. haha

Lastly, they said:

• baat nehi carengue- I am not speaking to you!

After some tickling and cheek pinching, this is how the argument ended...

by giving in and taking pictures. lol


That concludes today's lesson... Sorry that my progress has been as slow as atole.

Rishikesh Day 3 & 4: Have we forgotten our Mother?

The most impressive part of DAY 3 was the Arti Ceremony. Arti, often called "the ceremony of lights," is the most popular Hindu ceremony involving gurus, holy people, and other divine representations (like Shiva, Lord of Mercy and Compassion). The ceremony lasted about 45 minutes and consisted of chanting, the passing of a five-wick lamp and other items. During the ceremony, members of the congregation pass their fingers over the flame and touch their foreheads. They also sprinkle water from the Ganga River (per Indian name) over their heads. It was a wonderful ceremony to witness. In concert with the sunset and the sounds of the swollen river, the chants and lights offered a space for reflection and prayer. The stillness of the wind, allowed me to bask in the prayers lifted by my sisters/brothers; to feel their most intimate of desires and needs. Without any promise of delivery, they chanted, clapped, and prayed faithfully. I wondered if Abuelita Lupe was there and followed by lifting a prayer for my loved ones. My prayer included YOU. <3





Keeping with the theme of enlightenment and awareness, we actively searched for a Yoga class on DAY 4-- after all, Rishikesh is the 'Yoga Capital of the World.' After visiting several Yoga Studios, we were fortunately referred to an ashram where we received FREE personalized instruction, tea, watermelon, and had the privilege of meeting Guruji, the founder of the ashram and most revered man by his followers. Having taken a break from Yoga, it was a challenging yet invigorating experience.





We couldn't leave without visiting her... the Ganga River. She was swollen and cold after the showers from days before. She flowed steady raising the dirt which tinted her with the color brown. Excited to make her acquaintance, I removed my shoes and held the chain attached to a cemented pole as I descended into her womb. Her initial coldness was shocking. It was as if the coldness acted as a defense mechanism alerting her visitors to her strength and value. She felt me and I felt her. Soon, the coldness disappeared and with it went my hesitation to submerge myself in her. "Ram, ram, 1; ram, ram , 2..." I chanted while holding hands with some beautiful young women from Rajasthan, India. With each submersion, she enveloped me with her warmth and energy. I realized that more than washing my body, she had given me a portal into her hurt. Her exasperation became mine. Together we pained over the harm woman/man had violently inflicted upon her, her mother, and her father. Ashamed of my neglect (our neglect) I apologized.... "Forgive us sister, for we have wronged you!"

Have we forgotten our mother?

**You can find a video of the arti ceremony on the side bar.

Rishikest Day 2: You know you're a tourist when...

The second day was characterized by two things: 1) lots of pictures, and 2) classical tourist mistakes. After having breakfast, Meli and I walked along the river bank. In route to Laxman Julha, the neighboring city, we met
Lashi Baba (in the red), who accurately guessed Meli's Iranian background and invited us to have some chai. Typically we would refuse, but we gladly accepted the offer because: a) it was in an open space, b) we were in dire need of fuel, and c) tea was being prepared by a lovely boy, aged 12, whose name escapes me (in the white and brown shirt). Btw-the little girl is in the photo Sona, the boy's niece.

Here is where the photo extravaganza began. Left and right people greeted us, inquired about our country of origin, and requested pictures (if you recall a previous post, I mentioned that Indians are fascinated by tourist, especially "White" tourist). Some went as far as asking "Can we take a picture shaking hands?" (This one make me feel as though I was an ambassador to the US lol- which technically I am, but you get what I mean). At first I didn't know how to feel about it, but considering that I, and every other national geographic photographer, takes pictures of Indian people without consent, their request seemed like a courteous and fair exchange (ha ha). In fact, it became fun once I started asking to take pictures with them, in return.

Following tea, we proceeded onto Laxman Julha. This was not intended to be a hike, but it turned into one. Lashi Baba had mentioned that the Full Chooti (small waterfall) was about 3km up- which didn't seem like a long distance- so we decided to give it a gander in our chanclas/shoes --which we ruined. We hiked for about an hour to the small waterfall, instead of hiring a taxi; this was tourist mistake number 1. Minus the heat, humidity, ever-present threat of an attack by a monkey, and the lack of appropriate shoes, it was worth it.

So onto mistake number 2... as we were descending from the hike to the first waterfall, we met four men who kindly offered to drive us up to the "big" waterfall, which was located 2 km up the mountain. Considering that we were without a taxi and energy, we accepted their offer. The waterfall was breathtaking.

I call getting in a car with four men a mistake, not because they were bad people, but because it probably violates some "tourist rules of engagement" as they pertain to women. But what were we to do? Meli's chancla ripped, we were 6 kms away from our guesthouse, no taxis were in sight, and night was falling upon us-- we needed a ride. What sucked was that, the guys, who had promised to return us to the city by 6:30pm for the Arti ceremony, were so involved in their personal fun that they neglected to follow through on their promise on top of dropping us off a ways out of the town we were staying in.

Lastly, I think mother nature scolded us with her heavy rain... lol As we were walking to the guesthouse, it began to pour. We had to run home in about 3 inches of water- at this point my chanclas didn't mind it because they were already ruined. I should have paid attention to the signs (i.e. we were eaten by mosquitoes, it was humid, etc.), but instead, Meli and I decided to hike in non-hiking sandals, to forgo the taxi, and to get in the car with perfect strangers. All and all, we are glad that beside their Justin Bieber and Akon loving ways, they were respectful and gracious enough to give us a ride; even if it was hours after.

Rishikesh Day 1: Help a Confused Tourist Day

Rishikesh, 'the yoga capital of the world,' is located along the holy Ganga River just a few hours north of New Delhi in the State of Uttarakhand. Ever since the Beatles stayed at the ashram of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in the late ’60s, Rishikesh has caught the attention of spiritual seekers from around the world.

Our journey began around 6am when Ajay & Vickram-peya picked us up from the apartment and drove us to the New Delhi Railway Station...in the race car lol. Upon arrival to the station, we bid farewell to the peyas who warned us about 'bad people', and booked it to the entry gate. As we prepared to walk through the "checkpoint" (meaning a broken metal detector, and a baggage x-ray lacking in operating personnel), we were stopped by an agent who must have noticed the "TOURIST" sign on our forehead. He requested to see our tickets and noted that we had been "wait-listed." Quickly he directed us to the International Tourist Bureau (ITB), where the ITB agent redirected us, to another office located through the crowds, around the gate, parallel to traffic, and in behind a hotel. After noticing our confused look, the ITB agent kindly offered to walk us there.

"But I thought our tickets were confirmed" I said to the man behind the desk. Unfortunately I couldn't understand what he said, but I was encouraged by his efficiency and calm demeanor. Soon after he reviewed our passports, he placed check marks on our tickets and we quick-stepped back to the station in search of platform 15, Car 3. Following the announcement board, we jumped onto Car 3, only to find that one of our seats was being occupied by an elderly woman who nonchalantly reclined her chair and ignored us despite the questioning looks we gave her. "What should we do?" I said to Meli. We stood there a couple of minutes hoping to locate an attendant, but he/she was nowhere to be found. Instead we were helped by a woman sitting on the row behind, "What seats do you have?" she asked. I showed her our tickets and she said "You are in Car 1, you need Car 3!" Of course it would be too efficient and too easy for the cars to coincide with the announcement board. So we hurried over to Car 3 (after asking for confirmation), hoping to find some empty seats-- wishful thinking. Making our way through the narrow path, we found two gringitos occupying our seats. They quickly explained that they had been given separate seats and suggested we take the seats in the adjacent row. Meli and I weren't feeling argumentative, so we followed their lead by taking the two available seats hoping not to be removed and embarrassed later by the proper passengers.

Soon the train was in motion and we took it as our cue to relax and enjoy the 4.5 hour ride. It was a delightful ride; we had a working A/C, tea, breakfast, and rode next to a viejito from Kashmir, who was curious about my book (Trickster City: Writings from the Belly of the Metropolis) and our origins. Along the way we stopped at Saharanpur, a city known for it's craft work. El viejito encouraged us to explore the station and shared that he had lived in New Jersey, but didn't like it much. He expressed a dislike for our "lack of spirituality" noting that he is much happier in India. A train ride is no place for debate, especially with an elder, so I nodded, reflected on his words, and continued reading my book.

Upon arrival to the Haridwar Railway Station, Meli and I ventured out --more like wandered -- to find the bus station. Denying a number of offers from rickshaw and taxi drivers, we eventually stumbled upon the station (if you call stumbling the act of noticing buses drive in and out of a lot). It was mad busy! As logical foreigners, we sought the "Enquiry" office (per British spelling) to solicit more information. "Rishikesh? Gate 2 and 3!" The man exclaimed, then moved along to the next client. "Ok" we thought, "how hard can it be? We go to gate 2 and 3, wait for a bus that says Rishikesh, pay Rs.22, and we are set." NOT! We walked over and quickly learned that order is not the preferred method of operation for neither buses nor people. People everywhere ran towards and boarded the buses long before they parked at the gate. We kept asking people "Rishikesh?" "Nehi, nehi" They would reply. Misguided, we chased after a few buses, boarded the wrong one (which we figured out thanks to a young man selling fruit on the bus), and then waited some more for the appropriate bus. We must have looked broken, not to mention sweaty and muddy, because moments later, another young man selling fruit approached us asking "Rishikesh?" "YES!" We exclaimed desperately. Then, he kindly pointed to the bus (which mind you was already full and didn't even make it to the gate), walked us over and then confirmed with the ticket taker "Rishikesh?" "Hanji!" said the man. So on the bus we went, which delivered us to Rishikesh an hour and a half later.

The bus dropped us off at some random place, a psudo-bus stop of sorts that looked like someone's driveway. From there we took a rickshaw to Ram Jhula Bridge, the bridge leading to the northern side of Rishikesh where out guest house is located. Suddenly, the man stopped, signaled for us to get off, and pointed straight and said "up!" His directions were vague, but we eventually saw the bridge and headed in that direction. At this point, we were feeling weathered and our luggage felt 50 lbs heavier. We asked 5-6 shopkeepers if they knew where Vashishth Guest House was located, no one could give us exact directions. After 7.5 hours of traveling by train, bus, rickshaw, and by foot, we arrived at our destination! We were exhausted so decided to take it easy by having dinner at the Green Hotel Restaurant and then walking to the Ganga River to enjoy the view.
Thank you to all of the people who had mercy on our souls and helped us get to Rishikesh... <3

Eva's Journey to Speaking Hinglish...

Many have wondered how I get around without speaking Hindi... well, fortunately many of the people we interact with on a transactional basis do speak some English. Such people include business owners/shopkeepers, some rickshaw drivers, and service attendants. In fact, most people here speak Hinglish (Hindi+ English= Hinglish). Below is a list of words I have learned through conversations with people and from lectures offered by Poonam, Mahima, and Varsha. Please note that I have written down their phonetic spelling (meaning, this is what it sounds like to me when I hear the word) so I apologize for not providing the accurate spelling:

• mother- mami
• father- paapa
• brother- peya
• sister- didi
• food- khana
• shoes- utah
• slippers- chappal
• head- sar
• shoulders- kandha
• knees- ghutana
• toes- anghuta
• hands- unghuli
• nose- nak
• ears- kan
• mouth- hot
• small- chooti
• big- budi
• monkey- bandhal
• teeth- dhat
• cheeks- ghal
• beautiful- sundar
• good- accha
• finishes- katab
• thank you- dhanevad
• please- muje carne do cam
• sorry- muje maf cardo
• eyes- ahk
• tongue- geebe
• book- kitav
• water- pani
• dog- ghutta
• cat- bili
• car- ghadi
• "no fighting!"- Lahrai mat caro (I say this constantly to Mahima and Poonam lol)
• "see you tomorrow"- cal milengue
• ready- tayar he
• "what's your name?"- apka nam kya ha?
• "see you Monday!"- som var co milengue
• flower- fuhl
• home- ghar
• tree- per
• kilo- kiji
• spinach- palak
• "how much?"- kitna?
• yes- hanji or ji
  
• no- nehi
  
• grandfather- dadaji
• grandmother- dadiji
• aunt- auntie
• pudina- mint
• straight- sida
• twelve- bhara (this comes in handy when directing the rickshaw driver to "Sector bhara"; where we live)
• holiday- chuti (anytime one is not working is considered a holiday/holiday time)
  

That concludes today's Hindi lesson. Stay tuned from more on Eva's Journey to Speaking Hinglish...

Ps. We are traveling to Rishikesh this weekend and will be blogging about it shorty after our return. :)

Pss. The two children in the first picture are (L-R) Prachi and Varsha; they are sisters. Even though Prachi is not old enough to join the tutorial group (aged 4), she attends daily and perpetually asks homework. Homework for Prachi involves writing the alphabet and numbers, up to 20 to be exact. While it may seem disorderly, her constant interruptions bring a smile to my face. "Ma'am! Ma'am!" Says Prachi as she points to her work and quizzically nods for approval. "Accha! Accha, Prachi!" We celebrate in reply. Then she contently returns to her writing exercise, only to request our attention moments later. It's endearing.

Pss. The second picture is of (L-R) Manglam and Nishu; they are also siblings and belong to the "second batch" (the second group which attends from 4pm to 5pm, aged 8-12). They are very advanced in their English speaking ability and generally serve as translators for Meli and I. :)

A taste of Bollywood...

These are the most popular songs of the moment. I am going to assume so because they come on the radio all the time... Enjoy!

We’ve been adopted, had a date with Gandhi, experienced segregation, and partied all Sunday long...

So the title may be a little controversial, but it really captures the nature of the past week... btw- I apologize for including so much in ONE post. Our persistent internet problems have really put me behind.
Last Saturday, Meli and I visited Rajghat (the final resting place of Gandhi), the Gandhi National Museum, and Lodi Garden (a garden that houses the tombs of past rulers). At Rajghat, the experience was surreal. It’s hard to explain what I felt in standing in front of Gandhi’s resting place. It was overwhelming feeling of melancholy mixed with inspiration. In silence, everyone bowed...it was as if our collective prayers fueled the flame that kindled over his remains and provided a portal for his energy and spirit to be timeless. I lifted a silent prayer in his name and bowed as I stepped away. This reflection process continued through our visit to the we Gandhi National Museum. It was not fancy by any definition, but it was filled with posters that highlighted his speeches, artifacts that he owned, and the clothing he wore on the day of his assassination. As P. Diddy put it, “what a life to take... but I know he’s still living his life, after death” (“I’ll be missing you” by P.Diddy). His energy and passion were felt at Rajghat and throughout the museum- there is no doubt his spirit remains.

This was followed by a visit to Lodi Garden. In brief, we saw couples sitting on benches, underneath trees, next to ponds, on the stairs... PDA everywhere! (for those who don’t know, PDA means public display of affection). The masjid (mosque) and tombs where gorgeous and I was amazed at how preserved they were despite the fact that people visit on a daily basis.

Fast forwarding through the week, items of note: we were without internet (allegedly someone stole a cable-I didn't buy the story lol), we finally figured out that the yellow and gray box that looks like a radio from the 70s is a generator, Laxmi’s cooking saved our lives, and I heard the familiar sounds of reggueton and hiphop coming from an adjacent neighborhood (perhaps a wedding or street party that, of course, we were not invited to).

Oh yes! So Meli and I were adopted by Dadaji (grandpa) and Dadiji (grandma)! Considering that our internet was out, we visited the local cafe which we expected to open at 10am (as advertised)... this wasn’t the case. While we waited for the shopkeeper, we were approached by an elderly man, Joe Dadaji, who said that we reminded him of his grandchildren. In conversation we explained that we were without internet and that we are in India working with Maitri. He immediately celebrated our volunteerism and offered his wi-fi. “You can use the internet and meet granny- I am sure she would love to meet you” he said. I looked to Melissa getting ready to accept the offer and then the shopkeeper arrived. We thanked Dadaji for his offer and promised to visit him later. After using the internet for an hour (charge is 60 rupees per hour or USD $1.30), we had some time to spare before we met the internet technician so we decided to visit the grandparents. :) Our visit was delightful. Dadaji was very curious about our origins, the nature of work, and he was amazed that two “little women” (he meant it in a loving way) would be so entrepreneurial. We got to know each other, exchanged contact information, and got our palms read over tea. Meli said I was glowing after this experience... I love viejitos (the elderly) and feeling like I have a little family away from home.

On Saturday, we visited the Red Fort in Chandhni Chowk (Old Delhi). Well, only the exterior. We would have entered the fort to get the full experience, but like most places here, there are two quotas: one for Indian Citizens and another for Foreigners (usually 200 or 300 rupees more than the rate for nationals). Considering that Meli and I didn’t want to pay 250 a pop, we decided to forgo this experience and visit the Red Fort again later with an Indian friend. :) The most exciting thing about this trip was the metro-- I have to say that it was better than the DC metro. They have a “women’s only” section which at first I was leery about, but then understood the value of it when I noticed that women were much more sociable and relaxed when in the company of other women. During our ride we met two lovely young women who insisted that we squish and make room for everyone, a PhD student/university Professor examining feminism in India, and laughed coyly at a couple of men who after standing awkwardly in the women's car decided to walk to the back where the rest of the men gathered.

Last but not least, on Sunday we returned to Aashriwad to celebrate the General’s birthday... without him! lol (That's how they do here... you ain't gotta be present to have your birthday celebrated) It was great! We socialized with the elderly, meet cute-little-miss Punam (Resham’s daughter), ate some cake, had a traditional south Indian lunch, and then rode home in a race car (it’s not really a race car, but every time the peyas drive, it feels as though we are in a fierce competition).

I have officially surrendered to India...

Namaste!

ps. our internet was finally fixed! :)

India in focus...

DISCLAIMER: I would like to preface that these are my PERSONAL observations

1. PDA is most common between males who are close friends or family (it is common to see men holding hands/pinkies or with an arm around each other’s shoulder)
2. Homosexuality was punishable by law until 2009 (Section 337, a British inheritance dating back to the 1800s)
3. Bartering is the only way to survive markets
4. According to Mr. Jolly-Sir the 3 Indian pass times are: cricket, Bollywood, and marriage
5. Car owners, mainly men, wake up early to clean their cars
6. Indian food is fantastic! Paneer is my favorite.
7. Parks are common place for courtship among young couples
8. McDonalds, Pizza Hut, KFC, Dominoes Pizza, Subway, and Taco Bell have a presence in India 9. Produce is mad cheap
10. India produces 52 varieties of mango
11. 50% of the world’s mangoes come from India
12. Toe rings symbolize marriage. Some women wear as many toe rigs as they have children
13. Vegetarianism is the norm (I very much enjoy it)
14. It is common for movie starts to be elected into office- people strongly attach to their acting roles as "saviors", so they take a leap of faith by voting for them
15. According to Mr. Jolly-Sir the 3 issues facing India are: overpopulation, corruption, and poverty
16. Smiling in pictures is not a common practice (I tried the straight face in one of my pictures, you know, to fit in, and I looked like I was going to murder someone. I will leave this practice to the people of India and those with softer, natural facial expressions)
17. Rickshaw drivers are notorious for: 1) refusing to use the meter, 2) smoking while driving, 3) suggesting or driving you to businesses that pay them a commission in exchange for new customers, 4) taking naps in their autos, and 5) being incredibly reliable
18. Honking is a sign of courtesy to pedestrians and other drivers (one day a car passed me without honking and I was personally offended. Doesn’t he care about my safety? lol)
19. The people have mixed reviews on my ability to pass as an Indian woman
20. The people are beautiful
21. A normal work day starts at 10am and ends at 5ish
22. There is a general belief that Americans are too neurotic about time
23. I have not spotted any clocks around the office
24. Milk is sold in sealed, plastic bags
25. White people are considered a spectacle; Indians enjoy taking pictures of them
26. Verbal “thank yous” are an anomaly
27. Curd is eaten after every meal (helps cut down the oil and the spices- very good for the digestive system)
28. Homemade chai tea is amazing!
29. People are very giving and caring (every time the Maitri children are given a snack, they insist that Meli and I take one. THE ROUTINE: Someone offers a banana we say “no thank you!” The children say “Ma’am please!”
30. Sunday is a casual day (everything is OPEN!)
31. I have only seen a handful of women driving cars, small motorcycles, and riding bikes
32. I have yet to see a snake charmer
33. Head-bobbing is an important non-verbal cue (a single bob to the right means yes or understood)
34. The caste system is outlawed, but its influence remains
35. Advertisement is fraught with images of White men and women OR Indian men and women of light complexion
36. I have not seen anyone with braces
37. Meli is the best roommate and the most appropriate person to share this experience with
38. Coffeehouse does not equal wi-fi
39. Coffee does not equal US idea of coffee (here, coffee is regularly served with milk and is blended)
40. Unless you’re at a market or a bus stop around the time school is out, women are a rare sight
41. Birds are held in the utmost regard by Hindus
42. Cold showers during the summer are the BEST
43. People are baffled by the fact that we don't have rice for lunch and dinner on a daily basis
44. People sweep constantly
45. Flatulence is nothing to be embarrassed about
46. People advise against eating mango until after June 1st
47. The metro has a "women's only" section- the only time I have favored segregation lol ... the metro gets packed
48. I rarely know what time it is
49. Drinking age is 25
50. Driving age is 18
51. Anu & Baby are the coolest little people I've met (they are the two students I tutor/mentor at the Maitri Tutorial Center). It is difficult to communicate due to the language barrier, but I do my best to illustrate ideas with pictures and using non-verbal communication. Usually they try to teach me Hindi. :) In fact, yesterday they set aside the "English book", picked up a "Hindi book", read me a story, and had me repeat every word they said. A beautiful role reversal. All I could gather about the story was that Abu and Laxmi were going to school on a rickshaw. hehe

My chubbies never felt so humbled...

As you know, eating is a personal pastime that I do exceptionally well, if I do say so myself. Typically I eat every two hours, almost on the dot. I am notorious for lugging around snacks and "everything a person could possibly need." Since my arrival to India, I have discontinued this eating pattern. On one hand because there is a limited selection of trusted, healthy foods (besides fruits and veggies) and on the other because it can be expensive to sustain such a diet. During my shift today, around 3:30pm, I began to feel very weak and dizzy. My first hypothesis was "I must be dehydrated"... but after some thought, I realized that I have been drinking a good amount of water (which is awesome considering that I am not very good at it). My second hypothesis was "it must be the temperature of the room"... but then I felt the gust of the spinning fan (btw- spinning fans kinda freak me out. Idk why I often imagine them coming unhinged and slicing my pinky off... dorky, I know). Then, aided by my chubbies and a growling tummy, I came up with what seemed to be the most accurate hypothesis "I must be hungry." I was indeed hungry. I started thinking about what I had eaten since waking up at 6:30am.

• 7am Breakfast: one banana, 4 scoops of plain yogurt, and 1 slice of multigrain toast with peanut butter and mango jam (7am)

• 10am Homemade Chai Tea courtesy of Jagir-peya (peya means brother)

• 1pm Lunch: approximately four spoons of white rice, three spoons of beans, and a few potato slices
  

As I began thinking about the rumble in my tummy, I remembered an experience I had yesterday while visiting Maitrigram (a center that offers vocational training and empowerment programs to women living in the slums). In route to the center, we passed Som Vihar. “Hey, there’s our place!” I exclaimed. We didn't travel much further before I realized that a slum was located a few blocks from the apartment. With poverty and struggle as my neighbors, I couldn't help but feel undeserving of my unearned privilege. I eat at the table, and my neighbors, well, if they eat at all, they do so on the dusty floor.

My thought was interrupted as I felt a jerk from turning right into the neighborhood. Immediately, my eyes were overwhelmed by he sight of people who lined both sides of the street-- as people would at a wedding expecting the bride and groom to come out of the church, except here, the people, would expect nothing but traffic. Women, men, and children crowded underneath the shading of trees and under tarps to soften the rigidity of the sun. Many used newspaper as mats and beds. A few feet from an abandoned security post, we pulled onto the unpaved walkway which at that moment became our parking lot. Exiting the car, I saw a little boy, around age 5, who was running up and down a narrow walkway between slum homes holding a short stick to which he had attached a small, white plastic bag. As he picked up speed, the bag would inflate the way an air balloon would in preparation for flight... this was his toy. We walked straight onto the walkway where the boy was. We were surrounded by homes as tall as myself with tarps and metal sheets as roofing and curtains as doors. Some were painted blue and others were the color of cement. Down an intersecting walkway came an 8 year old boy who was riding an old tricycle with flat tires. Moments later he was joined by a shoeless little girl, of age 3 or 4, who came out from behind a curtain in an off-pink dress. Despite her "boy cut" hair, she had enough hair to wear a little pony tail that spread like a palm tree over her head. I followed her with my eyes as she traversed a puddle of dirty water with her bare feet. A wave of curious children fell upon us wondering what we were doing.

“Let’s go!” Said Mr. Jolly-Sir. “We are having problems with the lock, but we will come again, soon!” We didn't get a chance to see Maitrigram or to play with the children, but I hope we will on our next trip.

In walking back to the car, I witnessed of a group of people filling buckets and bottles with water of the color green that was emerging from a street well (for lack of better terms- it was just a hole in the street). I wondered “Is that for drinking?”

Recalling this experience, made my hunger feel so trivial considering that it was not related to food insecurity (lack of access), as many experience in India and around the globe. All of a sudden eating every two hours as I accustomed felt snobby and inappropriate. It struck me that for some of us thinness and weigh loss are a conscious choice or genetic trait, while for others it’s an imposed and undesired state. In counting my blessings, my Abuelita Lupe’s voice replays in my head reminding me to be grateful for everything I have, for the meals that I have not deserved or needed, and to remember the hungry when I am being wasteful.

It was humbling to feel hungry. I am blessed to have the income to purchase the food that I need and it was so painful to think that others cannot do the same when their tummies start to rumble.

I apologize for the disorganized writing. As of now, my chubbies, heart, and mind are having a conference on hunger.... more to come.