BIG THANK YOU TO THE CUNY BA!!

SO this being my last blog about India I have to say a BIGGGGGGGG Thank You to the CUNY BA for everything - for funding my opportunity of a lifetime and just being what it is...the best program in the world!

Thanks!!


PS> I'm doing a video interview for the BMCC's website talking about the greatness of the CUNY BA and my experiences as a student of the program. This is an initiative to encourage students to join and make the unaware aware :) Look out for it!

I AM back in NYC!

So I got back Saturday night (of last week)! I feel a little out of place in the city but I expected worse so hey - it's all good :)

Before I left I drafted a letter and took it to my professors to make them sign to ensure that they send my grades to me on time - ie before the start of the spring semester, my last last semester! Would you believe that none of them would sign it.

Look, I better get my grades on time...OR ELSE! :)

So I'm back out to work (since last Tuesday)...I know...I didn't even let the jet lag run its full course. Oh well.

Clarine called me on my way to the airport crying...and made me start bawling...it was a mess. But hey, I made a lifelong friends - with both she and Jane.

After all my crazy complaining and whining...India was definitely an experience I wouldn't trade for the world!!

Now, back to life as I know it...

It's been a while!

Oh, I havent blogged in forever...for various reasons...internet has been down more frequently these days because of the monsoon rains...and I've just been lazy otherwise. The monotony of life in India has caught up with me.

One great thing did happen - I wore a SARI! Clarine (one of the girls who like here along with myself and Jane) bought it for me as a going away present. It was the best gift ever. Though I was falling out of it halfway though the night. We went to a wedding reception and I looked at Clarine and said "its falling off!" I am clearly not graceful enough for a sari. That thing is held together with ONE pin. Clarine looked at me in horror when I said that and replied "then we must hurry and leave" hehe. T'was hilarious. I felt like Cinderella...we had to run off before my sari spell was undone.

So I'm leaving in 2 days...while I am happy, I am so sad to leave Jane, Clarine and Tessa(a new addition to our clan - Jane's student from New Zealand). She is really innocent and sweet. She grew up in rural NZ and said she had never seen black people. I'm glad to be introducing her to "the life" haha. Last night she touched my hair and yelled "Oh!" followed by hysterical laughter. She said "I didn't expect it to feel like that" and continued cracking up. I am not sure how it felt to her but her reaction made my laugh!!

Anyway! I have a "fake" exam to take now. My professor is so worthless he gave me the exam questions before hand and is making me write it at home. SO, yes a "take-home exam"

:)

*This blog was done especially for Andrew (Leung)

Random Happening of the Week...

I'm resurfacing after an internet lapse (for days)!

The following was written on Wednesday.

Grace (the coordinator’s wife) to say that the international student advisor (ISA) at campus needed to see me ASAP because she got word that I was not handing in any assignments for Sociology neither was I attending any classes. This morning I calmly took myself to my Sociology professor and asked if there was a problem with my attendance or my assignments or exams. She is very fond of me, just last week she sat me down and was telling me about her arranged marriage that she hopes never happens but when it does, she’d have no choice but to oblige. She assured me that there was nothing wrong, and told me I should be studying for my final exam. I told her that my ISA called and said there was a problem but she was clueless as to why there would be an issue. I then went to see the ISA. She was teaching a class but rushed out and called me into her office in an urgent rush. She said that this is a big problem and demanded to know what was going on. She said that the head of the department met her and had “showered” all these things on her about me. He told her that I wasn’t attending the classes, that I wasn’t doing assignments and “that American student…I want her out!” I knew he didn’t like me from day one, I knew he had issues…
Mr. Power - Trip is at it again, I thought. I wondered why he waited so long to wrongfully complain about me though. The ISA called him immediately on the phone and didn’t say to him I was there but said that she had spoken to me and that I said I was performing splendidly in the class. She did all the talking. She holds several posts at the university and many fear her. She said to me after she hung up that I should not let him see me coming from her office. I immediately went back to see my Sociology professor and she looked worried and said “come, come” as I entered her door. She was flipping through the roll book. She said “Sir just called me, he wanted me to tally up your attendance and he asked how you are doing in class. What happened??” She is so terrified of him, it makes me want to slap her back into reality. On another note, I couldn’t believe that he told the ISA such rubbish without even knowing how I was doing in the class in truth. Talk about playing dirty! She had given him a good report, well she told the truth. I do everything I’m supposed to. I was blameless! (grins)

Yesterday he set a new rule that all the girls must wear salwar kameez or tops that cover their bottoms (mid-thigh) and pants that go to their ankles. When my professor told me that, I almost died with shock. Some time back, he made Vasantaraja shave his beard because he said he looked like a thief. It wasn’t even a long beard!


So I started to think, why all of a sudden he is so angry at me? Then I remember I told my criminology professor how rude he was to me. Perhaps he told him and now he was set on destroying me? (hehe I kinda find that funny)

MUMBAI!

(This is a long overdue blog)

I flew into Mumbai for a Congress WBN seminar, spent the weekend there and returned to Chennai on Sunday. The flight was about 1.5 hours long, which feels like nothing when the last time you’ve been on a plane was for 20 hrs.

I stayed at the Salvation Army. They have a female dormitory with the capacity of 16. Most nights there were about 12-14 of us there, all of which were foreigners. That didn’t surprise me much though; I am now used to the idea that Indian girls aren’t free and to be camping out/sleeping in a strange place with strange people for a couple of days is the pinnacle of liberation.

The seminar was exceptional! Mumbai was a shocker to me though. I drove past the slum where they filmed Slum Dog Millionaire, my driver pointed it out to me. It was cleaner than the slums I saw in Chennai, in fact, the standard of living, though still extreme poverty, seemed higher than Chennai’s poor. The children on the sidewalk had on shoes to my surprise, a sight I’d never see in Chennai. In fact, children who can actually afford the opportunity to go to school in Chennai still don’t wear shoes. Oh, and how I enjoyed not feeling grossed out or crying for a shower upon stepping out my door. I spent four days in Mumbai without the sight of a single person urinating in the street. In Chennai, I couldn’t go four minutes without seeing that sort of misconduct in public. Those four days in Mumbai was the longest I have gone without seeing nakedness since I’ve been in India. I get back to Chennai and I see a man pant-less stooping, number two-ing a little off the road where heaps of rubbish meet the road and the river bank. It wasn’t even a gross sight, it was just so sad. To think that poverty can bring people to such animalistic levels but still I could still imagine his human-ness. He wasn’t on the pavement, but a little off the road, perhaps preserving the ounce of dignity he has left.

So yes, everything seemed 100 times cleaner/better in Mumbai. The people – oh the people! I was shocked by the way they dressed. I, without any hesitation, wore my sleeveless clothes with no qualms…every other person did – Indians and all. I went into a store and to my shock, they sold short pants and sun dresses! That Mumbai – a very western one! In Chennai almost everyone wears sarees, all my female teachers wear sarees to teach. The students in my class wear churidas or salwar kameez outfits.

In Mumbai, no one stared. There are so many tourists there! When I see a foreigner in Chennai I almost want to point. In Fort, Mumbai where I stayed, everybody was a tourist. In fact, one man guessed I was from the West Indies after I told him I wasn’t from Africa. The third West Indian country he called was Trinidad and I shouted “YES!” He is an artist and had been to Trinidad, so I had to buy a piece from him.

Shopping there is super cheap, I thought. And the competition is stiff so bargaining is the greatest. You can easily beat a man’s price down by 50%. If you walk off and pretend to be uninterested after being told a price, it always works out in your favour *grins*. Though Jane said she feels bad because they probably have families to feed and 100 extra rupees is nothing for us. I wish I had such a big conscience.


Paranoia in Mumbai

(At the Central Train Station, I wrote this on my blackberry as I waited)

I’m at the train station with Zena, a Kenyan girl I made friends with. She is slowly driving me crazy with her clinginess and I just feel like being alone today. Well, she needed a train to head back home, and she almost coerced me here to come with her (haha). I’m uneasy. I’m just sitting on these terrazzo benches waiting…waiting to be bombed. There are lots of people in here and its divali, what an opportunity for terrorists. It doesn’t help that’s this place looks just like the train station in the BBC report neither does it help that there was another bombing in Delhi just weeks ago. Oh, and the American media’s face of a terrorist is every man in here. I don’t know where Zena went; she is having problems getting her ticket. My senses are peaked, looking for suspicious behaviour. A man just passed. He is dragging a big filled with large pieces of crumpled paper and plastic bags. I think he’s a janitor but he’s moving so hastily. I follow him with my eyes. He passes me and stops at a pile of boxes. He takes the bunch of paper and plastic out of the bin with both hands. He takes up one box that tied together with a string crossed at the top. He places it in the bin. My attention is perked and fixed on him. He takes the paper and the plastic up with both hands once more and places it in the bin, covering the box. What sort of explosive could be in that box, I wonder. It didn’t seem heavy, in fact, he lifted it with ease. He hurried off, in the same haste in which he came. I’m waiting…any second now…to hear the sound of chaos, a bomb! Okay, there is Zena. I’m leaving now…safe, sound.

**(Zena is great, it’s me who’s the weirdo. I was just hot and being dramatic when I wrote this)

THE UPPER-CUT

I hastily left the train station with Z in tow. She had no clue the reasons behind my quick steps. I simply did not want to be in a ten mile radius of that place. Outside, lines of taxis waited with its drivers leaning against its doors hollering at potential passengers as they pass by.

The first car in line was my pick. I wanted to go to Fab India, one of the best stores for modern Indian clothes. Fortunately, this driver knew where it was, unfortunately, he wanted 60 rupees, doubled the price. Not a chance! A taxi that was not in line but had just pulled up was my next pick. He came out in car and came towards me and I walked towards him, with the overcharging driver following. The man didn’t speak English well I noticed and wasn’t sure where I wanted to go. The overcharging driver started what seemed to be an argument with him in Hindi, his tone seemed aggressive. I looked back and forth at the men as I was facing them both. The overcharging driver pointed at the man and said to me that he knew little English, but in a mocking manner. The man said “50 rupees madam” forcing the overcharging one to say “40 rupees”. I agreed to the 40 rupees, at least he knew where we wanted to go. As the overcharging driver turned to walk away and I turned to follow him to his car, the other driver reached and hit his successor a hard clout.

Well I almost fainted. I almost held my head with my hands and ducked. In my world, a man hitting another man is a huge deal. As a matter of fact, that meant WAR. I stood there frozen, expecting the worst. The clout was strategically done. It had great impact. The receiver’s buffy hair split right down the middle where the other man’s hand made contact, leaving a path. He spun around in shock with his head lowered and his both hands holding his head. Retaliation is sure, I thought. I got ready to skip, jump and roll. Suddenly, he began to laugh uncomfortably, watching his bully for a second and continued making his way to the car with me and Z in tow. I was confused, what did that mean? Then he said something out loud in Hindi. I was sure that was the “wait dey! Ah comin’ back” - the most obvious response when walking away from a fight you’re unprepared for. In a Trini context that usually translates to “run!” because upon his return…it’s war. As we pulled off he shouted “idiot!!” Was that his response to getting tap up in the head in public? Grown man like him? I caught myself a few minutes later, and I couldn’t breathe, I was laughing uncontrollably all the way to Fab India. The seconds between the clout and his response, I had seen this going down totally different. No wonder India’s crime rate is nothing compared to Trinidad’s…after all, nobody does “keep lash”.

The Pond and my Imagination...

My latest thrill is sitting by the pond at the back of the guest house and reading. Yesterday I sat there in the afternoon, as the sun was shifting in the sky, getting ready to set. I was distracted by the ducks that glided across the water, the hundreds of dragon flies that dipped quickly in the water leaving tiny circular ripples that went out and the little turtles that stuck up their heads. The thousands of giant gold fishes converged crazily whenever they saw a shadow near the water, expecting food. Jane (my Australian friend) said when the monsoon rains come and the pond overflows, fishes are everywhere! If that isn’t the grossest thing ever…

I started to feel like I was in a Jane Austen novel. I looked out at the branches of the trees that surrounding the pond, they were touching the water. There was nothing there to remind me that I was in the 21st century…well, beside my blackberry lying on the bench next to me. The little barefooted girls dressed in their navy blue overalls with their ribbons in their hair were just coming from school. They had seen me before, perhaps. They are from the orphanage I reckoned. They looked at me, giggling and whispering to each other as they walked. One brave girl waved and the others followed suit. I waved back with a huge smile. I was Emma for the moment. The girls who were around my age from the hostel would pass me and look down as if pretending not to notice me. They reinforced my daydream. Like Emma, I am free. The thought of marriage is far from my mind, but that is all they think about. Girls ask me all the time “Are you married? Why are you single?”

I spotted him. “Oh crap!” I thought to myself. I really didn’t want to be sitting by the pond and have him come over to talk to me. He was coming with a skip in his step and a smile on his face. “hello madam” he said, still steps away from my bench. “How is your friend?” The last time he saw me he asked me the same thing and I told him Evan had left and is back in California. Suddenly, there was a female Tamil voice from the back of me and he said “sorry madam, one, one minute” in an awkward tone. I quickly continued to ignore my book and went back into my day dream. Only this time I was Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice…he was so Mr. Knightley! Very awkward, very random. He didn’t come back. I imagined that the woman, whoever she was, told him that he need not be talking to me because that might jeopardize his chances of getting a proposal. The night before, at dinner, Clarin, whose mother just died from cancer a couple weeks ago, told me that she has to wait until she’s married to go get a mammogram because word might get out if she goes now and her potential proposal will be jeopardized. No man wants to marry a potentially cancer stricken woman, unless she ups the dowry of course.

I went back to reading my book, forgetting I was a character in Jane Austen's novels. A long time passed and the sun was right ahead of me, so the tree I sat under no longer provided shade. I heard a voice approaching “madam, did you change your number?” The last time I had seen him he asked for my number and I gave it to him. I was with Jane, who gave me a look and scurried off as if wanting to give me privacy. That same night he had called me to ask me to come to church, I declined. He stood up right in front of me, right next to the blazing sun, so I could not watch him. He claimed that whenever he calls me I never answer. I was Emma now – uninterested and unimpressed. I pointed at my phone on the bench next to me and said “call it”. He did and it rang…that ended his short-lived tantrum. He continued to speak “you call me, rickshaw I drive after…” and I finished “after 5:30, I remember”.

I was looking at the fish in the pond and Mr. Knightley followed my gaze “madam? You want? 150. You get big one” and he held out his hand, gesturing from his wrist to his elbow. I said “for what?!” I knew he was going to say to eat, and he certainly did. I blurted “they are goldfish! They are pets”. He said “No, madam” smiling. Then the thought flew into my head “is this what the international guest house cooks??” At the urging of Jane(my Australian friend), I have had tastes of the fish at dinner before. He wasn’t sure, and asked to describe the fish I ate, prolonging my horror. When I said the fish were small and fried in red chilly powder to perhaps disguise their gold skin, he assured me that this wasn’t the case because they only eat the big gold fish. “Okay, Madam I have to go back to work…” he said reluctantly, as if I was keeping him.

Minutes later, he was at the end of the pond a little way from with a bucket, I saw him smile without looking at me and I had him figured out – he wanted attention. His father is the gardener, so he was fetching water for the plants I realized. Emma wouldn’t care either way...neither did I. I love the pond; I get to feel like I’m in another place in another time…

Zoo Day!

For those who don’t know me very well – I love zoos! The zoo is located about an hour or more outside the city (Chennai) so we took a train and a bus to get there. We had to wait a while for the train so we sat on the platform benches and chatted. Six females foreigners– Cadence, Diana, Yael, Kelly, Sara and I – chit chatting on a crowded train platform can cause quite a disruption in India I have realized. It didn’t help that Kelly’s laugh is high-pitched and loud and Sara’s is thunderous! One time Sara and I was in a store and I said something and there was an attendant helping us and Sara flung her head back and busted a laugh so loud that the startled, tiny-built man jumped. It was horrible.

On the platform this tiny little girl began to beg us and as we boarded the train. She, her mother (who looked about our age and was very beautiful we thought) and her baby sibling followed us onto the train. The begging child looked no more than 5 yrs old. Sara gave her a granola bar, Diana gave her a candy and when she got to Yael and I we said no to her. She stood in front of us with her hand out so I began to take pics and Yael suddenly blurted “Oh! She did the face!” and she dug in her bag and handed the girl 5 rupees. I know the face she was talking about. It’s that face that just breaks your heart to see on a child. It doesn’t help that they are dirty and wearing rags either, that only makes the look on their face all the more heart-breaking.

We had to swap trains and the train was so crowded, a lot like New York’s, only there are no train doors here, falling off on to the train tracks is just a push away. It is so interesting that there are ladies’ cars though. There are only one or two cars on the train for ladies (it seems to always be the cars to the back too). When we initially got into the station the train was already there so we had to run like horses from the front of the train to the back to get on the ladies’ car. Imagine if you’re late and the train is pulling off and you have to go to the back of the train to board…so inconvenient and annoying!

We finally made it to the zoo. We did the lion safari first because the zoo was HUGE and doing it first would mean that we get a ride to the end of the zoo and we could walk back to the front and see everything on our way out. We got into this van that literally had a caged around it, and held 12 people. The lions were in open space as if in the wild and they have concrete “houses” for them to escape the sun, I guess. We drove among them and stopped to take pictures. They seemed bored. Aside from when our driver got too close for comfort. He was doing it for spite. The lion was laying against the wall of his house minding his business and our driver drove right up on him (as if meaning to pin him to the wall). The lion paid us no mind. The driver switched off the engine and began to inch the van closer and closer to the lion. At this point, I was right next to the driver (there was no passenger seat) sitting on the floor of the safari van because I wanted good pics. The lion raised his head and shoulders, becoming aware and getting defensive. He looked the driver dead in his eyes! I was in front saying to the driver in my head “do it! do it!” He must have heard me because he inched the van forward a little again and the lion’s gaze just looked a little more devious and he got up on this front paws, his behind still on the ground as if going to pounce. He stared at the driver dead on through the bars around our windscreen as if saying “move another inch and it’s on…” Our wussy driver put the van in reverse and the lion turned his head and looked away as if saying “…thought so!” Like the lion, I too was disappointed. That would have been some good shots!!

That was a good way to start off our zoo trip. I loved that the elephants weren’t in cages. They it looked just as if they were in the wild. They had a huge stomping ground. So did the giraffes. Every other animal was pretty standard. The wild cats – jaguars, tigers, etc – were the best I thought. I was disappointed by the lack of gorillas. However, the monkey that escaped made up for all my disappointment. Zoo attendants were climbing trees, struggling not to fall, while others were launching stones, the crowds began to gather while the monkey was just chilling in the topmost part of the tree, swinging to avoid stones and catching as many as he can. It was hilarious. After the men started to feel their ego’s shrinking as the bunch of foreign girls laughed hysterically at the entire situation, they ran us. I pretended to not understand their broken English and obvious hand gestures for a bit so I could get some good pics.

That afternoon everyone came over to my room and chilled out until it was time for dinner. There is this “American” restaurant called “Sparky’s – Never trust a skinny chef” and they wanted to go. I had been there already and thought the food was a pathetic attempt at western food. They even sold Jamaican jerk chicken which I didn’t dare to order.

After dinner, we decided we should go do karaoke or dancing. Yael and Kelly were leaving in the wee hours of the next morning so we thought we should enjoy the night. We got a tourist guide and looked under “night life” – choices were minimal. We went to the “club” in a hotel called Havana. The music was shocking. They played Jay-Z and all sorts of hip-hop. I wasn’t in India anymore. Well, I was reminded when I saw the sign “only married couples on the dance floor”. Despite the loud music and dimmed lights, most of the crowd were watching cricket on a big screen tv! The dance floor became ours. We were wilding out! Kelly was break-dancing to hip hop and she was surprisingly good! We had a ball.

Trip to Mahabalapuram

At dinner the night before the girls, save Cadence, begged me to come to Mahabalapuram with them to see the temples and the so-called center of gravity the following day (Friday). I had my “assignment on anything” due then so I told them I really couldn’t, though I know if I didn’t go I would probably not have the opportunity to do it again. I debated all night whether or not I should skip school and go. School always skips me so why can’t I skip it for once? Well I didn’t, I went to school like I was supposed to and gave up playing tourist, reluctantly. Naturally, just like when I got invited to go to Sri Lanka, I had no class! My morning professor stood me up and the second class the professor didn’t turn up. I was annoyed!! I called the girls and they happily said they were just on their way to the bus and I should hurry. With all my crazy heavy books, I rushed and got a rickshaw to the bus station.

Mahabalapuram is a temple city outside of Chennai, about 2 hours drive away. Honestly, I didn’t care too much about seeing the temples, I think they look all the same – statues of snakes, peacocks, rats, elephant head men, curvy women with multiply arms etc. However, because I appreciate art, I can still enjoy the detailed sculpting of statues from stones and engravings in the surfaces of walls.


HORROR BUS RIDE
We had to wait a while until the bus was ready to pull off. We stood outside for a while and waited until there were a few people were on it before we got into the scorching hot bus. One side of the bus had double seats and the other side had seats for three. We contemplated squeezing us four into a triple seater but opted to pair off in the double seat. There were no more than ten people on the bus at that point. I sat next to Sara and Yael and Kelly sat together right in front of us. A man, who Sara had noted was sitting to the front moved to the back of the bus and sat opposite Sara and I in a triple seater. I didn’t even notice him. There was also another man sitting opposite Yael and Kelly against the window of the triple seater. The man sitting opposite Sara and I pulled down the heavy metal shutters of his window. Again, I didn’t think anything of it, though I should of considering how hot it was in the bus. I was facing Sara, who sat at the window talking my life away. In between conversation, I can see the man staring us dead on, but again, that’s a normal occurrence so I thought nothing of it. Minutes later I looked over at the man who was still gaping and the rapid movement of his hands made my glance drop from his face – his entire privates was out and upright. I was horrified and uncertain. I nudged Sara, who was clueless and I said “Is he…?” I motioned my eyes towards him but I didn’t say what I thought he was doing. She was like “what?? I can’t see…but he knows we are talking about him…” She could see that he was facing us but would have to lean forward over me to see his face. Her hand was on my leg and all of a sudden her fingers squeezed my leg, her posture got upright, her mouth was open, loud gasp flew out and her head was out her window in seconds. Though warranted, she was a little more of a drama queen than I was in this situation. I leaned away too, burying my face in the back of her shoulder. I said “I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry” and she responded “I’m crying”. We composed ourselves. The girls ahead of us were too busy to realize what was going on. By our reactions, he was sure now that he had an audience. Suddenly the man cross from the girls, and ahead of him, turned around and said something to him. I deemed it safe to look now. The pervert quickly pulled his shirt over his exposed self. I gathered that the man asked him if he can open the metal shutter. He opened it and quickly got back to his business. Now, he turned his back to the window so that no one outside would see him. In my peripheral vision I can see that he sat sideways on the triple seaters with his legs open and one knee on the seat almost violently pounding on himself. The bus started to move so I looked around for the conductor. My shock had slowly turned into anger. I said to Sara we have to tell someone because this man is not stopping and I can’t function like this for 2 hours. The conductor was this ‘bookety’ looking old man who was sitting about three rows behind us. I said to Sara that if this were the US I would know that we would be protected but I’m not sure how the males here would respond if we say a man is assaulting us. We are women but our only trump card would be that we are foreigners. As I was having second thoughts about going to get the conductor the bus made its first stop right outside the station and a group of about 10 women hopped on through the back door. I literally heard his zipper go up. He jumped up and stood in the aisle next to me. I thought he was going to touch my face or something. Sara quickly jammed herself to the window and put her hands over my legs and pulled me closer to her. He lingered RIGHT NEXT to me for about 3 seconds then walked to the front of the bus. Sara asked as he walked off “did he touch you??” but his waist-area had only grazed the side of my arm and shoulder. I wasn’t sure if he did it intentionally…but I’m sure he did. I didn’t care too much, once he didn’t touch my face, it was all good.

The rest of the bus ride was surprisingly but thankfully event-free. When we got there we were all hot and hungry and was in no mood to see temples, at least I wasn’t. The guidebook said that the restaurants were on the beach so we asked for directions to the beach and headed off. As we got to the beach, it reminded me too much of Pondicherry and I was waiting for the smell of death to hit me, but it was pleasantly nice. A man told us if we walked along the water we would get to the shore-side restaurants. The beach was beautiful (by Indian standards) and it was refreshing to get our ankles wet. No one was on the beach, well only the vendors selling miscellaneous items that accosted us from time to time. No one went into to water either. Yael shouted “of all the millions in this place…why is no one on the beach?!” There were a few horse-men who offered to ride us along the coast for a price. That was how most tourist (the very few there are) got transported to the restaurants we realized as we couldn’t go any further because of the huge rocks that met the water and blocked the way. We opted to climb! That was fun. There were a lot of local males on top the rocks staring at the foreign girls as we screamed, squatted and slid down the side of the rocks. We went to the best looking restaurant on the beach which wasn't the best by any of our standards. It was comforting when I saw a man walking right off the beach with fish on his head into the restaurant. No two day old, partially decomposing fish for lunch is always a plus. More comforting was the older French couple finishing their meal as we walked in; that, for some reason made the restaurant feel more legit.

The restaurant was on an upstairs balcony and only had about three tables. It overlooked a bunch of fishing boats surrounded by lots of people who came to buy fish as it boats came in. The restaurant seemed to be run by a bunch of young men. Our waiter was especially nice. We were all smiling to one another and accusing the other of “giving him the eyes”. It was hilarious. Anyways, enough about that (haha)…

The food took forever to come! We were relaxing though, still recuperating from the bus ride. That was another comfort; at least I know the food wasn’t being microwaved. Wow, I haven’t seen a microwave in months! Well neither have I seen a stove, but I’m not missing that too much. When the food came though, it was delicious. After our meal, we played Jenga and then we played darts with the boys…to their delight.

It was about 5 o’clock by then and we hadn’t seen a single cave or temple. On our way we were accosted by these three girls selling beaded necklaces who would not give up even though we told them we didn't want anything. They spoke English a bit. I stopped to talk with them, to ask them about themselves. The first things I always ask is “are you in school?” or “how old are you?” They certainly were not sure of their ages, or perhaps they didn’t know how to say it in English. They were arguing with each other about the age they said they were. One girl said she was 11 and the other girls said she wasn’t. One girl said she was 12 and I blurted “you are not 12!” She looked like 7 or 8 to me. Kelly, who was the only one with me as the other two had gone on a momentary shopping spree inside of a street-side stall, looked at me and said “you can never tell in India”. However, I think they were all under 12. So I asked they were they lived but they were gypsies. Two of them had really golden hair that was obviously a result of being in the sun extensively. The third girl had a shaved head. I asked them what they did with the money they got from selling because after all, I have seen Slumdog Millionaire! They said they bought rice. So Kelly and I said to each other that we would get them some rice. So they took us to the store. I asked the woman how much for a kilogram of rice and she said 32 rupees – I thought that was so expensive! No wonder they so thin! So little miss shaved head who I could not stand because of her extreme aggression said to the vendor “5 kilos, 5 kilos, 5 kilos” pointing at her self and each of the girls. I said “no, no…” and she spun around with an angry face, wide eyes and leaned towards me (she was as tall as my waist) saying “madam, madam, big family!” Before she continued I said “1 kilo for you, 1 kilo for you, 1 kilo for you” pointing at each of them. The others, who were quiet all along chimed in about their big families. The shaved head girl started arguing, her general tone and temperament was as if she wanted to fight. I looked down at this little girl and I wanted to box her square – so rude and ungrateful! All this time Kelly is saying “no you get one, and you get one and you get one”. It didn’t surprised me that little miss aggressive was fatter than the others, she had cheeks, she looked well-fed though dirty. As she carried on with her “madam, ok 3 kilos” I was thinking about the study on the child soldiers we did in International Criminology a semester ago and how these children are socialized this way, and know nothing else. She was taught to be aggressive and get mad, but still, she was annoying me. Like a true Caribbean woman I bent towards her with my index finger waving sternly and asked “are you hungry??” She quickly answered with this look of death on her face (she had to practice that in the mirror) “yes, madam, hungry” and rubbed he stomach profusely. I said “then you take what you get…” (I sounded like my mother haha). That hushed her for no more than a second. She turned and said “oil madam?” Kelly stood leaning over the counter ensuring that the woman was weighing out the bags of rice correctly. As she handed them their rice and I paid, aggressive little missy was still trying... “biscuits madam?” I really liked the two other girls – one of them really looked like 6. They took their rice stuck it in their bags and went on their way. I asked them to pose for a pic before they leave and they did but miss shaved head was growling and grimacing. Reflecting on it, I feel so sad for her, but in the moment it took a lot not to say “gimme back meh rice!”

Sara and Yael were done shopping and met us. This dirty woman with a baby comes out of no where when she saw that we bought the girls rice. Lord knows, she really looked hungry. She had a husband, who also had a child strapped to him with cloth. She followed us around saying “rice madam” sticking particularly close to me. She had obviously seen me pay for rice for the girls. Yael asked if we had change and Sara gave her 5 rupees but she took it and said still held her hand out. Yael said “you don’t want it? We’ll take it back you know?” Yael is from the heart of NYC, she is not easy. The woman came by me “madam rice?” looking down at the money. I was thinking that if I could feed all of India I would, but I can’t! I knew very well that 5 rupees couldn’t feed her and her family or even get her a kilo of rice. So I gave her 10 rupees to make 15 and I said “that will get you a half a kilo of rice”. She walked as if going to the shop but when I turned around I wasn’t sure that she went in. Though I rather buy people food than money, I knew she wasn’t going to buy drugs (because drugs is not a problem here, its just poverty).

I had no idea where the other girls went but one girl stayed with us and I asked her about her family. I think she said she was 11 and had 3 other siblings, older and younger. She was really nice. She said she didn’t selling anything that day. I asked her how she would pay for the bus to get to were her family was and she said “5 rupees”…I figured she thought I asked how much…I have a feeling she didn’t pay to be on the bus. It is easy to get away with that here, especially children. She asked me to buy her a soda when we passed this shop and I said happily “I have apple fanta!” The bottle was warm but almost full and she took it without hesitation and stuck it under her arm on top her bag. She said she will take it home. As she walked with me another beggar man stopped her and she held up the fanta bottle and said something to him. I was hoping he didn’t try to take it away, though I felt she could handle herself. He didn’t take it and she kept walking. She talked to me for a little as we continued to walk. She pointed and said she had to go the opposite way for the bus. Kelly and I stopped a little to say bye to her as Yael and Sara walked ahead. She then pointed at my earrings and showed me her ears. She had a piece of stick in either ear. I realized she wanted them but I wasn’t sure so I asked “you want them?” and she nodding very sheepishly. It was weird and I laughed uncomfortably to Kelly and said to the girl “sure”. I couldn’t even remember what earrings I had on that day until I touched them. They were silver studs I got from H&M on a card with like 2 other pairs of earrings for like $5.90. She was happy for them and we said bye to her. Kelly asked “you gave her your earrings?” even though she saw me take them off and hand them to her. I too was surprised that I handed them over without hesitation. I wouldn’t be able to like those earrings the same if I didn’t give them to her. I couldn’t deny her a little femininity. At that age, I liked things like that too.
By the time we got to the temples it was dark and the caves were closed. However, I didn’t care that we drove two hours and didn’t see any of the things we had intended to see. Temples bore me, and the weirdness is extensive. This tour guide came up to us as he was coming out the entrance and said he could get us in and give us a brief tour for 100 rupees and a tip for the security to open the gates. I wanted to see the 2000 year old rock that is believe to be the center of gravity because it’s on a steep slope but never moves and the girls wanted to see the caves. So we paid up and went in (in the dark). I couldn’t concentrate on nothing because the mosquitoes bit like lions in those caves. The tour guide bawl me up “madam are you listening or not?” I really wasn't.

At the rock, the tour guide said that 700 men tried to push this rock off and weren’t successful. I wanted to know how 700 pairs of hands got on that, but I didn’t want to aggravate him again. But it’s a very amazing sight. On the bus ride back we tried to rationalize how it was possible for a rock to stay on a steep slope like that without moving, but we came up with no definite answer. An absolute defiance of gravity!

It took us about an hour to find the bus because there was a huge communist rally and they had to relocate the bus stop. We asked directions all the way, as we walked along this sketchy road. Thankfully, there were a lot of people also going to the bus stop. No one knew what bus would take us back to Chennai. We took a bus that took us ¾ of the way then we took a rickshaw to Chennai and got there at after 10.


That night we went to Mocha Café for dinner. The food was great and the dessert was better! I got home at midnight, the latest I had ever stayed out. We all dreaded getting up the next morning to go to the zoo at 10 am.

My week without internet...

On Monday I went to school as usual. I had an exam in the morning but typically, my afternoon class was canceled. I decided to drop in the mall because I wanted to print some pictures and visit the bookstore. I texted Sara just to say hello when I was there and coincidentally she was at the same mall too! We are always excited to have each other’s company because we are both here alone. She ended up coming over to my guest house and having dinner.

This week went by very quickly. I had 2 exams this week, like midterms but not quite. I feel like professors only give tests because they have to show grades. One professor, who never gave me any assignment suddenly, realized he had to give me a grade and said “do assignment…on anything”. While one would think that that’s great, it is in fact very frustrating. Another professor, I feel like I’m harassing him for an exam, and he said laughing “not to worry ma’am exam will come…India university is very free”. So it came as no surprise that when I did get an exam for one of my other classes on Tuesday I had NO clue what the questions were. I think they were simple questions that all the students knew because they were born and raised in India as the questions asked about the political history of India (ie the Muhgal era etc.). I couldn’t even bluff it.

I had been generally annoyed at school recently – the lack of structure is overwhelming. Again I will say, it reminds me of primary school in Trinidad as a child.

Wednesday Sara came over for dinner again. She loves my guest house’s food. Everybody loves it. Its eat all you can eat, buffet style. I’m so over Indian food!
She spent the evening by me because she had to pick up her friends who were coming in from another state in India at the central railway station, which is close to me.

On Thursday (my day off) night Sara, her two friends (Yael and Kelly), Cadence and I went to a Korean restaurant that Diana (Cadence’s coworker who I had met last Saturday night at a women’s monologue reading) had recommended to us. She said “it’s Korean-Korean not Indian-Korean” and that was all I needed to know. Dinner was great there. We all felt like we weren’t in India, which seems to be the case whenever we’re in a fancy place.

Cadence is from Calvary Canada and here in India with ELI as a journalism intern. Yael is from Chelsea, New York and she and Sara went to boarding school together. Yael and Kelly (from Seattle) met at their internship (they work for some NGO that protects indigenous Indian groups) in the northern part of India.

INTERNET, OH INTERNET

This has been quite a week so far. It has been days since the internet has been working (hence my lack of blogging) and this cannot continue. I made such a big fuss about it to the manager of the guest house until he said “please, ma’am…” with a face that didn’t hide his frustration with me. But he must know – I MUST HAVE INTERNET! So he quickly told one of the receptionist guys to figure out what’s up. It turns out that their internet company has been having “technical difficulties” for over 3 days. I’m not even sure how that’s possible. Anyways, I’m not trying to make too much of fuss (to the powers that be) because I already got one person fired. Poor man is probably out of food and shivering in the monsoon rains because of me. Recently I was thinking to myself that I must have been really tired the night I first landed in India because I cannot remember the man at the reception desk who signed me into my room. I remember thinking he was a little special because he recorded me as being Spanish (from Spain) in the hotel’s log book. Of course, I quickly corrected his error, thinking that he must of saw “Port of Spain” in my passport and figured I was from the land of Christopher Columbus. Only on Sunday on of the guys said something to the effect of I get people fired. They explained to me that Dominic got fired because he gave me the wrong room. Well that would explain why they all treat me so well. I was supposed to have a AC room originally but the night I came in I was placed in a room with no AC. I noticed but didn’t care at that point and thought I would sort it out in the morning. Morning came and I was too tired to move. When I did get up, I hung my Trini flag in position and ‘homified’ my room with pictures and so on. Krish (my coordinator) didn’t want anyone to wake me or disturb me. When I finally left my room and entered the lobby I was rushed by men who all were saying I have to change ASAP. I didn’t want to at that point because I was comfortable already but I still went to see the AC room to ensure that I wasn’t turning down a fabulous room. I didn’t like it at all when I saw it so I insisted that AC wasn’t necessary, even though it was initially what I had requested and paid for. They insisted that I would have to tell Krish myself that I refused to change (it appeared they were too scared to tell him themselves). Krish was upset at the mistake to the extent where all the men were shaking. They say he “started fire”. I guess both figurative and literal as poor Dominic got fired. I feel horrible about it. But is it my fault they treat foreigners like gods?

Anyways, so I said all that to say, internet being down and me being upset about it has caused distressed for many, as lots of staff didn’t want me to make a big deal out of it – and I didn’t (to some extent) – for their sakes.

Indra and I book shopping and slum visit

Thursdays I never have class so I told Indra I would come book shopping with her then we will visit some slums so we could give away the bags of baby clothes she had been longing to denote. She didn’t want to give it to an organization as majority of them already have funding from the government, but she wanted to give it to individual families living on the street.

Indra is of East Indian decent, born in Suriname (South America) and raised in Holland. She speaks several languages – two Indian languages (Hindi and another one), German, English – but Dutch is her first language. She came to Indian to find her purpose in life and to help those in need. Her project right now is to build a library in a rural village about 1.5 hours outside of the city. We spent the day buying children’s books, which is more fun than I thought it would be. I left the store tired and wanting to have children just so I can read all these create books for them. I read so many ladybird books today, ones that I had read as a child. It was so funny to remember! Books like “The Little Red Hen” where the cat, the fox and the dog didn’t want to help Hen with the planting or the harvest of the wheat but when the bread made they wanted and “Three Billy Goats Gruff” and the troll who wanted to eat them for crossing his bridge, all had me laughing as I remembered loving these stories many many moons ago. These ladybird books have really good morals too. I choose about 10 of those of the library. Indra’s aim was to make it to 500 books. We spent all day and I don’t think we even crossed 100. It’s a long process! I managed to pick up “Twilight” from the teen’s section. I thought it would be good book to read for entertainment, especially considering that tomorrow is another holiday (Mahatma Gandi’s Birthday) and I have no class.

Indra and I then called Goven to pick us up from the bookstore to take us to a slum, we didn’t care which one. In fact, there are so many he couldn’t make up his mind. We went to a ‘government housing slum’ where people live in around, in between, behind these buildings. It was very interesting to see. I was also able to draw comparisons from the first slum I visited with Evan. Indra said as we were there “we live in a different world, yea?” And I thought we really do. I am living large here compared to how they live but I think they are happy. One of the women asked Indra if we have come to give them money because they are very poor. I am not even sure they have plumbing. There is this place they have gated off in between two buildings that reeked of every possible bad smell you can think about (but it mostly spelt like human waste). Just our luck, as we walked by it, a young girl opened the gate, tossed a bag in and a whiff of it hit us right in the face. I got a glimpse and it looked like it was a giant latrine (I wish I were exaggerating). The people there were very friendly. When they discovered Indra spoke a little of their language, I was ignored. There was no need for the adults to fumble in English. They all asked Indra about me. I can hear her saying key terms like “New York” and “university” as they all stared at my face in awe. The children though, loved me because I played cricket with them and let them take pics with my camera. One kid called me “aunty”…I felt so special! I often can’t write about these experiences because I never feel I can do it any justice. Not even the pictures can tell the story.
Our purpose for going was to find mothers with babies who needed clothing for them. However we don’t have a lot of clothes. On our way back home I asked Indra if she saw anyone she could give the clothes to and she said “No, how can you give one and not give all…”

For pics check link (its easier to upload to facebook):http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=317718&id=862470045&saved#/photo.php?pid=9063549&id=862470045

My "two months left!" Day

Today I thought I’d make my 100th public holiday worthwhile so I’d run some errands – print pictures, make some photocopies, do some print out – at the mall. I got into a rickshaw and realized I had forgotten my USB drive so I asked him to turn around. I was walking distance away from my guest house; we weren’t even driving for 3 minutes yet. He took me back but wanted the entire fare we had initially agreed upon to take me to the mall. Well I thought he must have lost his mind. I shouted “NO WAY!” I was geared to give him 20 rupees for his gas and time. He said 25rs. to take me down the block and 25 to bring me back up. I said “No sir! No fair”. Two men on the sidewalk who spoke better English intervened, but I always know that no Indian ever takes the foreigner’s side. They went jabbering off in their language and the man told me to pay the driver 30rs. I said NO WAY! I thought if its 50 rupees to take me all the way to the mall then why should he get more the half the price to take me down the block – “20 rupees sir”, I said repeated. The driver said something and the man translated “25rs is his final” and I repeated “20rs sir”. Just my luck he had no change for 100 rupee bill and neither did I. One of the translators who came over had change and as he handed it to me I gave the man 20 rupees and they all just watched me walk off. I was annoyed for no reason – then I was just annoyed at myself. Then I was sad. I thought his poor children must be eating less tonight because I wanted to be pigheaded.

I started off my journey to the mall again. This time the rickshaw driver, upon getting to my destination, wanted more money. I handed him 50rs and he said “70 madam”. Well if he didn’t know what a “bad eye” was, now he knows. I handed him 10rs and walked away. At the mall I got my usual stares – people on the escalator who can’t face forward because I’m either standing behind them or walking beneath, children who tap their parents as I walk by and of course the stares of my fellow foreigners. Today was exceptionally different though! I was standing in the very busy mall, possibly blocking traffic, digging in my bag for something and these tall black men came out and no where and startled me. One was bent over, almost in my face and blurted in his deep voice and thick accent “where are you from??” He had on his “museum” face, staring at me as if I was a sight to see. I said “USA?” with an uncertain, “if you touch me I’ll scream” expression on my face. He said “Where??”, shouting as if we were in a circus. I shouted back “US, US!” (This was CERTAINLY NOT a time to say ‘I am from Trinidad and Tobago, the best island in the Caribbean!’) His friend repeated “Where?!” and be barked “amerdika, amerdika!” They seemed very disappointed by this for some reason hahaha.
Then I had to hear about all the friends they know in Boston in New York. They were Nigerian. Then as I expected, one asked “so can I have your number?” Now I had my blackberry in my hand because I had my shopping list on it but thankfully I was digging in my bag when they approached me and I had dropped it in there. I quickly said “sorry, I don’t have a phone here” (blatant lie!) Naturally, like they all say, he said “so how am I going to see you again then?” in a very concerned manner. I started making steps backwards to go my way and he started to make steps as if to follow me but his friend placed his hand across his chest to stop him – quite a dramatic scene I must say. I responded “Chennai’s a small place!” (another blatant lie!). At that point I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry because I could not believe I was being tracked (hitted on) by a strapped, tall black man in an undersized T-shirt with texturized hair (that was heavily gelled and stood upright) in India!

Just when I thought I was clear of them, as I was standing in the beauty supplies store’s cashier I heard “still shopping?” but before I could answer he was yelling at the cashier. He had wanted some kind of facial soap but clearly didn’t understand how things work. I was thinking he has clearly never been to a store before where you walk through every aisle, pick up what you want, asks the sales-people if you need help, then join the cashier’s line. I looked around at the long cashier’s line and everyone was just staring at him, including me! Then I thought, “OMG, I hope he’s not showing off for me!” and he started snapping his fingers in the man’s face shouting the name of some product he wanted in his thick Nigerian accent. He started snapping and pointing to the back of the store as if telling the cashier to go get his product. The cashier was fumbling to get me my change so I could run out of there. I was shoulder to shoulder with the girl next to me because I wanted to make it clear that I did not know this man. My cashier managed to give me my change (one rupee short, but I didn’t care). I ran up out of there so fast, and sure enough, he ran out after me. He was clearly putting on a show for me, which was so retarded! As I was trying to make my way out of the crowd outside the store he said something to me and touched my camera. Well he had the nerve to ask me to take his pic. Well he is probably the first person in all of Chennai I said no to. I said “sorry no” and walked off. In retrospect, his texturized head would be a hilarious picture to blog, but his behaviour was too deplorable for a pic.

On my way home, sure enough, some rickshaw driver saw me and saw a jackpot. I said “I’m going to Poonamalee High Road” he said “200 rupees!” His audacity and his assertive facial expression caused my head to rock back and a crazy laugh to escape. I repeated without composing myself “200 rupees??!” He looked at me like I was the crazy one for laughing at his bold attempt at robbing me. He quadrupled the regular rate! But poor guy, I had had a long day, and I needed that laugh!

Nobody likes the teacher’s pet

Finally my English Dalit Studies class decides to follow the schedule…well only because I forced them. I went to class and the students told me “no one has come, today no class” because of some freshman welcoming party. Well I went berserk. I went to the secretary of the English department and told her how ridiculous this is and how I spend 100 rupees (a bit of an exaggeration) to get there everyday and they never have class. On Wednesday the chairman of the department told me he himself will conduct class, but he was no where to be found at that moment. I called his cell phone but my call went unanswered. So I left. Not long after, my phone was ringing, it was the secretary sounding a little hysterical asking me who told me there was no class because there was in fact class. She herself had told me to ask the students, they will know whether there was class. Only when my phone rang seconds (literally) after she hung up and the chairman (lord of the English department) was on the other end, I realized what must have happened. The chairperson, when he finally got to the office that morning, was told that the girl from the US was told there was no class today and sent away (for the 100th time) he was not pleased. I had went to the international office and complained about the inconsistency of classes and the head of that office said she would deal with the matter so I have a feeling she gave him a buffing and he in turn gave his secretary a buffing for telling there was no class once again. When I got back upstairs to the office, a swarm of them – secretary, typist, professor etc – was standing in the corridor waiting on me. At once, they all asked “who told you there was no class?” I told them the students did. They told me to go sit in the class but I proceeded to go see Lord ED (English Department) and I explained that he called me. The secretary said “no, no, I called you!” I explained as I walked that he called me right after she did. They all were following me to his office. As I got there, they rushed to explain to him that I was misinformed and that I did not understand what the students told me. I said to him the students explicitly said there was no class today. I was annoyed because they were acting like I’m some kind of a retard, talking as if I weren’t there and insisting that I misunderstood what my classmates said. I quickly realized that my silence would save their butts from the wrath of His Highness, so I said nothing. He barked “don’t listen to students, call me from now on!”

My classmates, I felt were a little upset with me because they wanted to plan for their party that was starting in a couple hours (which is obviously why they told me there was no class initially) and I forced the hand of the department to stick to the schedule. Lord ED decided today he would conduct class (as several professors teach this ONE class). He is a crazy boring rambler! However, I have to say he is ten times more entertaining than my Public Administration professor. The PA professor, wow… I have never come across anything as boring in my lifelong academic journey. And to makes things worse, he likes teaching so there is no stopping him!
Anyway, Lord ED walks into the class and though my back was facing the door I knew immediately because all talking stopped, food bowls were quickly covered and shoved into bags and there was a crazy scampering to seats like cockroaches at the flick of a light-switch. I was eating a sandwich and was on my last bite and as he got to his table at the front of the class everybody stood up (to pay reverence to him of course) besides me. I took my final piece of bread out the foil and crumpled the foil. His Highness looked at me, and did what looked like a ‘come’ gesture and everyone in the class looked around at me. So I asked “what?” and he said “please, you don’t have to stop eating, you can eat…” I held my final piece of bread up and smiled. Well he had some nerve thinking that I was going to throw away my last piece of bread because he walked into the class. Then he continued “…but the rest of you can’t [eat]”.

He then said to me I will need to get a copy of a book he was circulating to the students. He asked if anyone had an extra copy and no one did so he asked (though it seemed to be a question that no one would dare say no to) “will someone give Tonisha their copy?” And then there was a copy passing down to me almost immediately. I paid for an extra copy to be made though.

He announced that before we begin the class we should organize the examination week schedule. To my surprise, he said “Tonisha, you get to choose what day you want the Dalit Studies exam on”. I felt at this point that the favoritism was so obvious that it annoyed everyone in the class – they all hated me.

He began to teach – so slow- the broken English, the thick accent, the boring content would send me in a deep day dream but it was the taunting of his bad spelling that kept my attention sharp. He spelt triple like “traple”, not once but twice on the blackboard. Now for those of you who know me very well, you know that obvious misspellings and bad grammar are my biggest pet peeves. There would be no harm in lifting my hand and saying “its t-r-i-p-l-e” I thought, but then his royal feelings might be hurt in front of the class. Though when he does comparisons about American writings he would look at me as if he is waiting for me to disagree or at several points he would ask “Am I right, Tonisha?” and though most times I have no clue who or what he is talking about, I just nod and smile. I could feel the class hating me more. He asked me at one point if he had spelt a word correct and I said yes but I really wanted to say “yes, but triple is t-r-i-p-l-e” but again, I refrained.

The class had 2 more minutes before ending and he asked “anyone has questions?” and I did. Little did I know that he would start a whole new lecture and steal out of the students’ breaks! They were all looking around at the clock and then looking at me, perhaps thinking evil thoughts.

My Food Fantasies - One fulfilled!

I'm not even halfway through my trip here and I'm having dreams about food!

French Toast with maple syrup and cream cheese - that was the highlight of my weekend.

I have been eating all Indian, all spicy food for the past month and a half. Jane took Sara and I to her sweet escape – the restaurant of a 5 star hotel called the Taj something. The place was simply beautiful! So quiet and clean, with a fragrance of heaven. I was sure I had entered another world. We all just floated down the hallway in silence, taking it all in. The doorman opened the door with such elegance and grace. I couldn’t help but notice that the Indians sitting in there were all 10 tones lighter than the ones you’d see on the street. I sat down and cracked open the menu and heard heaven’s harps. To my surprise they had an all day breakfast menu and I almost screamed when I saw they had French toast. I have been eating all forms of curry for all 3 meals of my day. Then I asked for cream cheese and they had PHILIDELPHIA cream cheese! That was the BEST breakfast at dinner-time ever!

MY HAIR - a topic for discussion?

My father’s brother is a die-hard Rastafarian and to him Tori is the “empress” and I’m just the niece with the identity crisis (haha) because I want/like straight hair. I am somewhat used to the heckling side of it but in India I’m just weird. My international coordinator said I would fit in because of my skin color and my Indian features (I don’t know where on me she sees Indian features, but she claims she sees it) but it is my hair that makes me standout.

Before Pierre left he and I had lunch together at our hotel before he packed. We had talked about our families a whole lot and I was telling him about my darling sister Tori and I showed him a picture – she would die if she knew I was showing everyone I met that particular picture of her with an uncombed fro. He was like “wow, her hair”, which is all everyone says when they see that picture. He looked at me curiously “how your hair is diff…” he stops then pulls the front of his own hair and continues “is it real?” I sort of laughed shyly and tugged my hair and said “it IS real, but I’ve straightened it” almost defensively. I felt like Sanaa Lathan in “Something New” when the guy asked her if her weave was real and she went berserk. He realized I felt a little weird I guess and he said “no no, I like your hair and I like your sister’s hair too” (haha poor guy).

I was asked “do you have the really tight springy curls?” by the same international student coordinator. Catharine, one of the girls from my program from upstate New York, asked me how I got it straight and why I have to cut it off if I want my natural hair back. The Northeastern Indian girls from class said “we love your sister’s hair” and wanted to know how she got it like that. When I told them it was natural they look shocked. They thought afros where fibers stitched in (or something random like that one of the girls said) but they had only seen it on tv. Then one girl got up in my face and asked how I got my eyelashes to curl upward, which I thought was hilarious. I said it was natural because my hair is “curly”.

When questions of that nature are posed I feel so uncomfortable for some reason. I don’t know why I even care. It really makes me feel a little like a circus clown. Everyone looks at me wide-eyed and intrigued, it’s too weird.

Recently, Irwin sent me the link to the screener of Chris Rock’s new flick about “good hair”….now we’re going to be exposed to the world as the posers that we are – thanks to Chris Rock! (hahaha)

“I’m not a baby, but I’ll complain, ‘cause I’m not happy about this…”

That’s what Evan said whenever he didn’t get AC. Now, we all say it when we’re not happy about one thing or another.

So, yet another class canceled!I am about to protest, placards and all, about this inconsistency of classes. I know I blogged about this already, but it needs to be reiterated! I just realized how much I love structure. Why bother to make a time table, stress that I must get it ASAP, if we aren’t going to stick to it? Today the excuse is: we are presenting our internships in seminar so no ISP class all WEEK. Well my literature class didn’t meet all of last week too. Yesterday was a government holiday, I’m sure next Monday will be another government holiday as well. That’s another thing, every week there is some kind of holiday – Lord Kristina’s birth, baptism, barmitzvah – all reasons to cancel class. I could really be doing things with my time if they give me advance notice – like go to Sri Lanka, see the Taj Mahal, spend some days in Bombay – but no, I have to wait until they’re good and ready to actually have class. Oh! I better get five A’s at the end of all this or else y’all will have to read about me on BBC.com. Let me stop being a baby about this for a second and say that I am learning more outside the classroom. Experiential learning is incomparable to that of a book or a classroom. Okay, that thought made me much happier about not having class. *Smiles*

NEELA

This is one of the ladies who clean my room – Neela. She is hilarious! To take this picture, she stripped off her sari and re-wrapped it and struck her pose. I’m almost never home when she comes in to clean so she probably always sees these black box-looking things and wonder what they are. After I took her picture, she felt comfortable enough to ask. Her English is pretty much non-existent so she just pointed and them and I said “Oh, they are speakers” and she smiled and repeated “speakers”. I know she had no clue what that meant, so I was listening to “Just like a Star” by Corrine Bailey Rae and I plugged them in and her face looked like she saw fireworks. She was grinning hard. I was a little taken aback by that because I surprised at her innocence/ignorance. How someone could not know what speakers are? But anyways, now she knows.

My week - School driving me nuts, Evan leaving, Meeting Pierre...

School has been really driving me crazy with its inconsistencies. There is always a meeting, a conference, a sickness, a holiday, an absence – any reason not to have class. I feel like this should just be independent study – just give me the syllabus, the books, the exams and I’ll take it from here. I hit the height of my frustration when I get to class and it is canceled and I could have been in bed, under my fan, listening to Adele (thanks to Sean and Sasha I’m now hooked on her) and just chilling. For example, Rob asked me to come to Sri Lanka with them for a couple days and I said no because I have school and it’s my reason for being here, I don’t want to lose focus. He left on that Wednesday night. Thursdays I have no classes, that Friday my classes were canceled, Saturday and Sunday I was free and the following Monday I had one class. I had 5 whole days to be in Sri Lanka…I could have gone!

On Monday night we had planned to meet up with Evan because he was leaving the following day. Last minute he canceled because he had to pack and do “last minute errands” he said so Sara came over to watch the movies I had bought for crazy cheap – bootleg movies are like 75 cents US here! So at dinner this young, cool-looking guy comes in and I thought “he must be new”. I introduce myself to almost everyone because I live here and I feel like they are my visitors and also, it’s just fun to meet new people. So the guy went and sat to the other side of the room so I didn’t care busy talking to Sara and Bec, an Irish girl who was just staying for 3 days. The following day I was really late for lunch because my evening class got canceled and I rushed back home to make it in time for lunch, to save myself the pain of eating the same sandwich they prepare for me everyday. When I got there there was no one in the dining area so I popped in my headphones and was listening to some music to avoid having a convo with the new kitchen manage who thinks we’re friends and loves to just stand there and watch me eat. Now men and women here are never friends. They might be coworkers, classmates etc. but not friends – women are only for marrying (and so on…), not befriending. He stood there, I watch him, he watches back, I look away, he doesn’t budge, I watch him again, and he fidgets and looks away. He then blatantly ignores my “do-not-disturb-headphones-on” conversation deterrence tactic and steps to my table – I could see his mouth moving and his usual grin plastered across his face. I reluctantly removed my headphones to hear him ask the same questions he asks whenever he sees me – no university today? You like Chennai? Or any question he could find about New York – random small-talk. I was very abrupt with him.

Minor segue:
Apart from the fact that I think he has intentions, I don’t like him because I don’t like how he treats the kitchen staff. He has power issues so when he’s around they will not speak to me freely or act as they do when he is not there. Most Indians here seem to have that issue though. The manager of the hotel (who by the way no longer speaks to me since I told him I think he was out of place to tell me how I look in my tops) was yelling at the front desk lady sometime last week. He was loud enough for the entire lobby to hear - “Do you want to be manager?? Uh?? Do you want to be manager?” He was letting her know “I run this!” I felt so embarrassed for her. This kitchen manager has the same attitude.

I popped my headphones back in after my punishing small talk session and then the cool kid comes in. Oh joy! Then I found him a little rude. He got his food and he went and sat across the room, as if we weren’t the only two in there. So I went over with my dessert and asked if he would mind if I sat down… and he didn’t. We started off with the two standard questions – where are you from and what are you doing in India? His English wasn’t the best, but thanks to my experience as an ESL (English as a Second Language) tutor, I have lots of patience in that area. He was from the south of France at the border of Spain and spoke both French and Spanish. He was traveling all of India alone, just for the experience. He said “it’s very spiritual to travel alone”. Surprisingly he asked about the consistency of classes at my university and I had a whole lot to say about that. He had done a semester in Peru and had the same frustration. At the end of his lunch he said he was going to the museum now and in his think French accent asked “zu you wanz zu join me?” The sun was really hot and I had just got back from class so I said “umm, can I let you know in a bit?” Then I thought about how unadventurous I would to stay in my room like I always do and not go with this gorgeous potential axe murderer to some random museum. I said “you know what? Sure, give me 10 minutes and I’ll meet you in the lobby”. He said sure “I’ll just be outside having a cigarette”. I was bummed – why did he have to be a smoker?! There went all hope of us being of like-mind. That was his first of many cigarettes. He smoked four of them in the three hours we spent together that afternoon. He was great though, very funny guy. I think we were both equally as glad for the company. The museum was sooo boring but he seemed interested so I played along. “Woww, coins”, I said with amazed expressions. After the museum he wanted to check out the beach, but I am not in the least impressed with beaches here, plus I had on good shoes that I would dread getting sandy, so we opted for the mall. He was as shocked at the mall as I was when I first saw it. It is extremely fancy by Indian standards. It’s hard to walk past the homeless and walk into this mall; you literally feel the massive gap between the rich and the poor. This one family of perhaps three generations crowded in front the escalator as we tried to make our way to the second floor. Most of them had obviously never been on an escalator. They were holding on to each other’s arms, afraid to step onto those moving stairs. Our presence made them a bit self conscious as they encourage it other – “just step on it, you’ll be fine”. The girl hopped on like a crazy-person, it was hilarious but I didn’t laugh. We just stepped on behind her. To the top of the stairs were another contingent of relatives waiting for her arrival and directing her how to step off. As we stepped off I look at Pierre and he’s having a good old laugh. He asked “zu think iz was ze first zime on ze escalator?” (haha I love doing his accent…so funny!) I said it was obviously so. He gets very dramatic when he can’t think of how to say something in English so at some point he had an entire conversation in French and had a good laugh because he knew I didn’t understand a word and he didn’t know how to translate. We took turns chooses stores to go into – it clear, he chose all the book and music stores and I chose all the clothes stores. Back at the hotel, we had dinner and watched a movie – Twilight! I love Twilight. He said when it was done “zis waz not for ze guy, zis for ze young girls”. I thought that was hilarious.

The next day we planned to go to the snake park after my classes ended at 3 pm. Naturally, my classes were canceled. Thankfully I got smart and started calling and texting professors before I leave the hotel. But Pierre had no idea I was home so he went out and came knocking at my door at 3. The rickshaw driver who drove us there hated me. He had been driving Pierre all day but for this trip he wanted 500 rupees. I said “oh hell no!” Pierre didn’t care. In fact, he enjoys watching me argue with rickshaw drivers. He said to me later that evening “you are a very good negotiator”. I had said to him before we got out of the hotel that the trip will be about 200 rs. but this man saw tourist and saw dollar signs. And he had a short temper and I’m a natural drama-queen - bad combination. I said “500???” He said “ma’am please, it is very far, and I wait for you…500”. When I said 200 rs he went crazy, saying I do not understand and how he was born in Chennai and he knows. So Pierre suggested we find another rickshaw, so we got out. The driver gets out too and follows us as we walk away saying “450 rupees, final!” So I turned around telling him that it is still doubled what it should be. He looks at Pierre and said “please sir…” and pointing at me with an open palm as if saying “ please control this woman…shut her up!” All Pierre said was “man, 200 rupees”. Every step we made he went down by 50 rs. Pierre whispered that he didn’t care and 300 rs. was fine. When the driver said “300 final!” we said okay and I whispered to Pierre I was only backing down because of him. On the drive there the man was scoffing and looking at me in the mirror, I didn’t care. Then he said “Where you from? Nigeria? Kenya?” Pierre, cigarette in hand, was grinning beside me because I had told him everyone thinks I’m African, and he said I could be French (most people did think I was French in Pondichery). I said to the driver “no, the US” he blurted “US??” as if I had a horn growing from my forehead and people with horns don’t come from the US. Well at least Pierre was entertained. When we got there and we got out the rickshaw the man said to Pierre “this woman…” and shook his head and made a face of disgust. Pierre said “no, I don’t think so…” I asked Pierre what he said about me but Pierre said he didn’t finish his sentence.


The park wasn’t as interesting as I thought but I love zoos so it was nice in that regard. Pierre was being a nuisance, tapping the glass and irritating the snakes, pebbling the crocs to get a reaction and any other mischievous thing he could find to do. There was this tree caged around with 5 chameleons in it and a sign that said “Can you find them?” I found all 5 and Pierre was still on 2. I just ended up showing them to him. It pays to grow up in the bushes of Santa Cruz!


There are so many poisonous snakes in India; there are poisonous sea snakes, not that I had any plans to go into that sewage filled sea. There are a lot of vipers and cobras – all different kinds of species of them. I just read in the paper that this woman got bitten by a viper in her bedroom and was discharged from the hospital but later died because the venom was still in her. So her niece and her niece’s little 4 yr old daughter came down from her funeral and stayed in her dead aunt’s house. In the middle of the night, they heard the little girl scream out and saw that a snake had bitten her – a viper, perhaps the same one – and killed it. The poor little girl also died from the venomous bite.

We decided that dinner outside of the hotel would be more fun. So we went back to the hotel to get off all the grime from a long evening at the snake park and then headed off to dinner. Before that, we had to argue with the driver again, who claimed that though he agreed to 300rs. the traffic was heavy so he should be paid 400rs. Well I dealt with him – he called me “dangerous” and I just said thank you for the service and we walked off with him wailing the money in the air screaming “this is no thank you!”

The restaurant was totally my choice. I had been there twice before and I really like it. It’s a vegetarian place called “Cream Centre” – great food, nice ambiance, perfect!

Today (Thursday) was Pierre’s last day here in Chennai and my day off so he asked if I would join him shopping. We “shopped”…all he bought was two random cds. We didn’t stay out too long because he had a bus to catch and I had some sleep to catch up on. It was sad, because he knocked on my room door with a bit of paper in his hand and said “I’m leaving now”. He wanted to get my contact information so we could stay in touch. He gave me a little speech that seemed rehearsed about if I want to go anywhere in India and I want company, give him a call. Awww…

But prefer the “icebox” reaction in times like these so I said “yeh, sure thing...bye now” (waved) as he took backward footsteps out my door. I did like Evan did when he said goodbye on Tuesday. He said “later, gotta run, enjoy the rest of your trip” and walked off as if we hadn’t spent the last month together. I shouted “ok talk to u on facebook!” he responded without even looking at me for more than a second “yea, bye”.

Pierre said something in French as I was closing my door, something that meant goodbye (I guess) and he smiled…

(Pics coming soon...they are not uploading for some reason!!)

MY WEEKEND IN PONIDCHERRY

Pondichery is a French influenced state within India, that’s about 4 hours drive south of Chennai. It’s on the south-eastern coast of India so Evan wanted to go there for his last weekend in India because he thought it would be perfect – beach, alcohol, French women... HMM. let’s just say, at the end of it all, he wasn’t happy.

The bus ride to get to Pondi was interesting. It was the oldest bus ever, filled to the maximum with men, women, children and 3 tourists – Evan, Sara and I. Like most buses, I thought the seats were for two people, but they were for three. I got the best of it though. I was caked against the window (with no glass) with my bags on my lap and I got all the sea breeze! The bus shot down the road at an incredible speed, along the coast of the Bay of Bengal, blasting the loudest, most annoying high-pitched Indian music ever and honking crazily on occasions for cars, cows, goats etc. to move out of its way.

When we got there we took a rickshaw from the bus station. The driver took us to the main tourist area, where all the French live. The streets were nice and paved. It was so CLEAN, I swore I was in another country. I said “this feels like SOHO”. This cleanliness only existed in those few blocks though. Outside of that neighborhood was the regular rubbish-filled, gross, chaotic India I’m used to. Our rickshaw driver was a real trip. I am used to being tricked and cheated now; I almost expect it every time. But this guy took it to new heights. We agreed to $40 rupees (which is really cheap compared to Chennai’s prices) but when we finally got there, the cheat wanted doubled that. He did do a little extra driving so I said to Evan and Sara that we should give him 60 rs. He wasn’t happy with that, and I’m like “how much do you want?” and he said to me “you love money uh?” with his bad English. So I thought that was so rude, though I wasn’t sure what that meant. So I responded “you clearly love money more than I do!” At this point, Evan walked off cussing out loud – he doesn’t think it makes sense to argue with them because 1) they never back down and 2) their English is limited. We didn’t pay him what he wanted but did give him 60 rupees, he wasn’t happy but that was still a very generous of us. He was only the start of our rickshaw worries.

At this point it was night, around 7:30 and we were looking for a place to sleep for the weekend. This woman saw us on the street and asked “rooms?” and we found our place. It was perfect for what we wanted! Three beds, a functioning toilet and right in the heart of the French. In fact, the owners were a French man and his Indian wife and they cute half-half children. Evan was ecstatic because the room had a refrigerator. Then he went into the toilet and he shouted out “AND they have toilet paper! This is legit!!” I laugh every time I feel myself getting excited about toilet paper but the joy of not having to rinse-and-go is overwhelming!

We went to a really nice restaurant that night and had really bad food. The menu was in French so I ordered some fancy-sounding main course that I could not pronounce. I just pointed to it on the menu – I know the waiter couldn’t pronounce it either, he was Indian. My meal pretty much translated to watery, salt-less mashed potatoes served with boiled, unseasoned chicken in a white sauce.

That night we went for a stroll along the beach to walk off our unsatisfying dinner then back to our room. We stayed up until the wee hours of the morning talking/arguing (I was talking, Evan was arguing) about religion. Evan recently turned agnostic after growing up in Church of Christ. He literally questions everything about God which led us no where because he wanted logic – facts and figures that there was in fact a God – faith was too much of a stretch for him.

Anyways, we barely got up the following morning. We had brunch at another beautiful restaurant with horrible food.

Top on our agenda for that day was to find a beach. Now this coast was hit by the tsunami and from the looks of the footage I have seen – resorts, palm trees etc - I thought the beaches would have been great! Our hotel was right by a beach called Rocky Beach but it was exactly that, a rocky beach, not for bathing.

We caught a rickshaw who over charged us but promised to take us to “the best beach, best for bathe”. So we took a good 20 minute drive along the coast, I was looking at the water and thinking “I need some Tobago waters, that’s the only way I’m going in!” It was sooooo hot though, it felt about 39 degrees (celsius), a painful kind of heat. This man took us to the back of two hotels, both were walled and there was an alley way between two walls that led to the beach. I thought this was very suspect but we were too geared up to get wet. It was a long path and along the way there was a huge frog-looking creature rotting with swarms of flies everywhere. As we walked through this gross alley we began to get a minor smell of fish and we began to hear the sound of the water but a there was a more dominating sound – vultures overhead, big, noisy ones. I thought nothing of it. Evan was leading the way; he was psyched to see the water. The alley then made a turn, we got beyond the walls and there was a huge opening to the beach. We made about 10 steps and the blast of what must have been loads and loads of rotting fish and other miscellaneous animals – actually, I have no idea what that smell was. I just couldn’t breathe and I started coughing. Sara just looked at me with her hands over her face. Evan just started cussing and ranting – hands in the air and all. I started ruffling through my bag to get my towel, I couldn’t stomach the air I was breathing in and I bent over and everything inside my stomach wanted to jump out and I started gagging. I quickly wrapped my head in my towel and ran back to the start of the alley-way. Evan passed me, still cussing to himself, and marching like a buffalo soldier back to meet the man who brought us there. Poor Sara, all she said was “that's GROSS!” My nose and eyes were running – that was by far the worse smell I have ever come across in my 20+ years. Evan argued with this man and like 5 other rickshaw drivers who suggested every beach in all of southern India that was better than this one. I didn’t care too much at that point, the heat didn’t ease up and I felt like there was still a rotten fish sitting to the top of my nose. After a bit I said to Evan that the man initially said this was the best beach, so his judgment on beaches in general needs to be questioned. We opted to be taken back and he had the nerve to charge us more money to take us back than he did to bring us there. I have learnt that if you want to see Evan act like a madman, just turn up the heat. He acts very annoyed and very annoying. He blurted that he doesn’t care and he just wants to be back! He then proceeded to take of his clothes, “I hope y’all don’t mind…” he said. He went barebacked all the way, so unacceptable in India. We checked out a few hotels in our desperate search for any kind of body of water, but all pools were under construction that weekend it seemed.

Our trot to find a hotel

One hotel had a really nice lounge/bar so we just chilled on their sofas and made friends with two American guys from California. We had given up on beaches or pools at that point. We just went back home, sweaty like pigs and fell asleep until dinner. For dinner we had the ever-notorious curry! We realized that even in Pondichery, the Indians really only know how to perfect curry dishes. After dinner Sara and I opted to stay home while Evan went clubbing with his new friends from Cali. Pondichery was very laid back, so us girls wanted to enjoy that a bit, plus the sun was so hot we were always tired.

The next morning we did a little shopping, had lunch and started to head back to Chennai in the afternoon. The ride back was sooo gross and dirty for no reason. Sara and I sit in the very back corner of the bus where someone had brought up food perhaps months prior and it had dried up. I was upset for a little then just grossed out for a large part of the 4 hours. And it was so hot at the back of the bus and I sat between Sara and this lady and another man sat next to the lady. That man and I almost had it out because he stared me non-stop for about an hour. I started to try to dose off a little to make the time pass quicker. So I’m getting in the zone – head back, eyes closed, etc. I can feel the burn from the heat rising in the overcrowded bus, but I’m thinking happy thoughts. Then I felt the burning rays of a stare and when I open my eyes I see this man leaned forward watching me dead in my face with an intense “examinating” expression. So now I was totally uncomfortable, and he wouldn’t look away for more than a couple seconds. At some points I would look over and look at him for two seconds, dead on, then look away with my “beast face” on. He didn’t seem intimidated. Like Evan would say “he was staring like it’s his full-time job!

A lot of people can’t take the suspense and if they can speak English they’d come up to me and ask where I’m from. I never say Trinidad unless I want a conversation because most don’t know where it is. I simply say New York or US and they look wide-eyed. I had at least 3 people say to me “OBAMA?!”

So after the long, excruciating bus ride, we had to take a local bus to get to our hostels. Sara took a separate bus and Evan and I took the same bus. He is such a wuss. He didn’t want to sit with me because “I don’t wanna get thrown off”. So I played nice and sat on the women’s side. Our bus was over crowded at this point, there was a woman sitting next to me and several other standing over us, holding on. So as I was looking through the window (it was night at this point) and I saw the weirdest thing. Our bus stopped in traffic and there was this loud drumming and a crowd. Then there was this girl/woman (definitely in her 20’s) who was being pushed forcefully to the center of what seemed to be a circle around the drummers. Her hands were clasped (as if praying) at her chin and she stood upright but stumbled as she was being pushed. I was confused at this point and looked at the women surrounding me and the ones standing were all bent over looking through the window as well. The woman next to me was leaned forward and peering as intensely as I was. I looked back and a man was aggressively started unloosing her hair and she jus stood there with her hands clasped as the drums rang out and our bus pulled off. I immediately turned to the woman next to me and asked with a face of horror “what are they doing to her?” But she looked and me and said something that sounded like “I didn’t see” and she made a random hand gesture. I had no clue what her story was but I felt like she didn’t want to tell me, because I knew she saw. So, when I got no response from her I looked at the ladies that were standing and they just smiled. Now, it’s still a mystery.