The concept of love marriages is a relatively new phenomenon to India – especially southern India. In Chennai, it is still uncommon and frowned\ upon in most cases. What is shown in the Bollywood movies – boy sees girl, chases after her, sings and dances to win her heart, they fall in love and live happily ever after – is not the reality of Indian love. I was told that love grows and that love marriages just might primarily be based on lust.
Class discussions such as these cause me to say in my head “God, give me strength and grace so that I do not come across as a snotty westerner who thinks her norms are superior”. That class (on Monday) my classmate Vijay did presentation on dowry giving and receiving, which is illegal but still practiced. I found the concept of receiving large sums of money or property in exchange for a daughter or paying out large amounts for a man to marry your handicapped or ‘ugly’ daughter is absurd. I deliberately stayed quiet all class and kept my western feelings to my western self. But Ma’am Elizabeth, as the class calls our professor, said “Nisha, what do you think about arranged marriages?” I was honest. I said that the thought of marrying a man, a stranger that my picks without my input sends shivers down my spine”. The class gets eerily quiet. The professor looked to the ground but had a smile on her face. I continued “I cannot imagine such a fate”. Vijay assured me that arranged couples these days are shown pictures of each other before hand. I guess that makes it better?
I reassured the class that I do not think that Indian culture is wrong, but that I do think that arrange marriage robs young people of their fundamental right to choose who they want to spend the rest of their lives with. I really do think that without personal choice an individual is no different from a slave.
During the discussion everybody began to put in their piece of explanation to justify arrange marriage. From the discussion I got their point – they know no other way and they even if they wanted love, the custom of arranged marriages is so embedded in their culture that no one dares to question it or go against it. I was assured that the selection process is not random but well worked out based on birth and all sorts of numerological and astrological facts. Of course, there has to be consideration of the caste. A Brahmin should never marry a Shudra or a Dalit – it is very rare. The marriage of a higher caste and lower caste member is very unlikely because it has been weaved into their socialization since birth that they are “dirty”. Vijay said that he would have to talk to one of his friends from the roadside because the boy’s parents would not let him in because he was “unclean”.
Every culture has their norms and customs and that’s what makes the world no different and beautiful. However, when the customs violate human rights then there is a problem. I am all for freedom to marry whomever you choose, ironically, so is the Indian government. According to the Indian Constitution no person should be force to marry anyone else against their will. The laws say one thing but the prevailing customs say another. If the implementers, the enforcers and the maintainers of the laws all abide by and practice their cultural norms then how can the law be upheld?
Priya’s Story
Priya is a girl from this same class, Indian Social Problems. She is in her second year and is graduating with her master’s in Sociology next May. She told me that she had to fight her father to go to school – with the support of her mother. She lives in an extended family household with her mother, two siblings, father, his siblings and their families. Her aunts also do not support the idea of Priya getting educated. She is the second of four children and her older sister was taken out of school and had an arranged married at the age of 17 (so illegal!) to a guy will into his late 20’s (more illegal!). Need I say that cases of statutory rape here is non-existent?
Unrelated thought: My Criminology professor told me that in cases of sexual abuse, parents of the abused child most commonly opt to settle the matter by accepting a ‘fair’ sum of money from the perp.
Priya is 25 yrs old and the next in line to be married. Her father, she said, continues to ask her “when is graduation, when is graduation??” She has one more year. She talked about how her father oppresses her mother and would not allow her to pursue anything but keeps her in the house. Her mother, she says, wants her to have a career and therefore fought her father to allow Priya to go to school. She said she is okay with being arranged, though said with a wide smile “I think my younger sister is in love, but I will not tell, I will support her”.
So guys, is it a good thing a bad thing or just a thing? I would love to hear your opinions...
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
THINK Global, ACT Local – my conscious journey to becoming Indian- acceptable
Poster on the door of my room
1)The attire – I got myself some Indian clothes because I was told that I’m getting all these stares and attention (from men) because my western clothes shows up all “the areas”…
2)I’ve accepted the fact that I can only sit on the left side of the bus. I shall not break the rules. No exceptions.
3)NO LEFT HAND EATING! The left hand here is perceived as “dirty” because it is the ‘toilet hand’.
4)I’m practicing to lower my eyes when approaching men and hang my head sheepishly when saying hello. It worked for me day before yesterday but yesterday, I failed miserably. This well-dressed man was standing next to me at the traffic light; we were both waiting to cross. Instead of him facing forward to cross he turned toward me and stared without a blink. I found it so rude – yesterday just wasn’t a good day for me. I wasn’t feeling well, the sun was painfully hot, I had just called a rickshaw driver crazy for charging me 90 rupees to take me home and now this clown was in my face staring. So I got all Brooklyn on him (haha). I turned and looked at him as if saying “WHAT!?” Poor guy…though despite my expression his eyes didn’t budge. I have to be a more Indian-acceptable female.
5)I have acknowledged and accepted the “WOWWWW Syndrome” that plaguing Indian men. I am sure I mentioned this before but I see an exposed male on the streets of Chennai almost everyday. I can barely bear it. I see men sleeping exposed in the streets but that’s a little less common that the WOWWW cases. Now “Wowwww” was my initial reaction when I first saw this blatant indecent exposure. The acronym WOWWWW now stands for “Whipping Out Weener Without Warning or Worry” Syndrome. It is a serious matter. The sole indicator a man has the WOWWWW is he would urinate any and everywhere – in open spaces, against a wall but standing far off as if practicing his ‘sprout distance’, and of course he will never go with his back facing the traffic- now that would be absurdly dangerous!
I was walking my merry way today and this WOWWWW stricken man, almost facing me, is doing his do on the pavement and is doing so without a care in the world. He finished up and if he didn’t know what a “cut eye” was, now he knows. I was so pissed off (no pun intended).
Though it may seem funny, this is no laughing matter. It plagues every other Indian man and something needs to be done. Amend the Indian Constitution perhaps?
Sunday, August 23, 2009
S-O-S!! (Friday 22nd Aug)
I just went downstairs to use the pc and the manager adds me as a friend seconds after I log on to facebook. I had just passed him and said hello. He sits in this room in the lobby surrounded by glass and peers at everyone that passes. He has always been very professional with me, despite the random calls to say “we will have wifi for you in 10 days”. Last week he called to say “Are you okay? Sorry I didn’t talk to you today when I saw you, I was busy”. I did find those calls weird but I thought he was just an excellent manager doing his job…UNTIL TODAY! So he’s still in this cubical a little way off so when he added me I felt obligated to accept (stupid me) because I figured he was watching. I was smart enough to block him from seeing certain things on my profile. Anyway, the dirty ole perv then messages me “hi you look super duper fantastic in that red shirt”. Yes he did! I am in shock. First of all, did he say “super duper”?? No one past the age of 10 says that. Secondly, my top is fuchsia…even if he said pink I’ll let that slide, but red? And what made it all the more gross is that he was sitting right beside me…behind his glass but I couldn’t see him because he has stuff stuck on the glass. I was so grossed out I audibly said “oh geeeed”. I never logged off of facebook so fast. The thought of him watching me felt like giant cockroaches were running down my neck and back. Barf!
Friday, August 21, 2009
My purpose for being in India - MY THESIS
So my major reason for coming to India in the first place was research. My intended topic was Caste and Crime but now that is such old news. I took one accidental walk into the slums and I am still a little taken aback by the reality of these children’s lives. I don’t even know how God views these families.
There is a part in Slumdog Millionaire where they show children being made disabled in order to make better, more effective beggars. I was most surprised when I was told by professors that these things are still happening, though less frequently (or so they say). I see so many disabled people, a lot of blind ones. Today I saw a guy with a badly broken/bent right leg and perhaps something was wrong with his hips or he just never walked with a walking-stick. He was walking in a bent over position using one leg and both hands to walk. He was very thin and looked like he’d be a tall fellow when standing upright. He’d stop and balance himself and beg with this right hand. It was a sight. Beggars seek me out because I fit the tourist profile. I often wonder though, how many of these people were born disabled or made disabled. It’s a haunting thought I get every time I see a handicapped person.
My areas of interest are slowly changing as I’m being exposed to more here. I have to swallow hard in a lot of situations. If I don’t come out with a good research and therefore a great thesis, at least I will definitely be changed – stronger perhaps.
There is a part in Slumdog Millionaire where they show children being made disabled in order to make better, more effective beggars. I was most surprised when I was told by professors that these things are still happening, though less frequently (or so they say). I see so many disabled people, a lot of blind ones. Today I saw a guy with a badly broken/bent right leg and perhaps something was wrong with his hips or he just never walked with a walking-stick. He was walking in a bent over position using one leg and both hands to walk. He was very thin and looked like he’d be a tall fellow when standing upright. He’d stop and balance himself and beg with this right hand. It was a sight. Beggars seek me out because I fit the tourist profile. I often wonder though, how many of these people were born disabled or made disabled. It’s a haunting thought I get every time I see a handicapped person.
My areas of interest are slowly changing as I’m being exposed to more here. I have to swallow hard in a lot of situations. If I don’t come out with a good research and therefore a great thesis, at least I will definitely be changed – stronger perhaps.
WEEK 2!
Saturday
I stayed in my room and be antisocial for the first part of the day. I slept long and hard and when I wasn’t sleeping I was making hurried trips to the bathroom. I never learn it seems – eating out is no good for me. At night Evan and I went to another place Krish suggested called “Sparkies” where we could get “good American food”. Evan liked this place because they give you a lot of food. The owner of the restaurant was a fat Caucasian man and all the table mats said “never trust a skinny chef” – I found that to be particularly funny. All in all, the food wasn’t great. I had penne in vodka sauce with shrimp. I was warm against seafood, but I felt notorious tonight.
Sunday
Sure enough, I was strapped to the bowl all Sunday morning. I am sooo used to it now.
One of my fellow house mates said “Shrimp? I am surprised you are on your feet!” Here storing meats in refrigerators is apparently not common, so in the scorching heat meats tend to contract all sorts a bacteria, ones that they locals have long become immune to. I’m getting there by force haha.
Tonight I went to a Greek show done by a theatre group from South Korea called Medea and its Double with Grace, her friend Rita and Evan. The show was not done in English but subtitles were provided. The emotion in this show was intense!
THE PLOT
The main character was so taken by love she kills her own brother to be with the fella and they run away so that they can be together. They had twin boys shortly after. The husband, however, falls in with the princess and leaves his wife and boys and marries her. The wife is furious! To make matters worse, the King comes to let her know that she and the boys are being exiled. She pleads with her (ex) husband to spare the boys and asked if his new wife, the princess will take them. As a proposal to the princess, she sends the toddlers to meet her baring gifts. She gave them poisoned garments to present the princess. She happily accepts them and puts it on and dies. The King, upon trying to save his daughter and remove the garments from her, also dies. The husband is miserable! He could not believe his ex-wife could be so evil – he screamed “such loving hands!” The instruments and live singing made it so emotional! Just when you think the drama is over, the wife kills the boys. It ends with her giving an honorable burial.
All the fancy, professional Indians came out to this show. Again, I could not stop and wonder who they do it – fine dine, talk like English women and there are literally tons of homeless, street families right out the road. Rita is very sweet though. On the way to the restaurant she rolled her glass down and gave a man who was walking in between the traffic 10 rupees. She said “poor old thing, haven’t got but skin on his bones, he better get him something to eat” as she rolls her glass back up. I could tell she did it sincerely too. She and I got along well. We had bonded already earlier in the day when we went to pick her up but had to wait for her to finish dressing. Grace had asked to use the “loo” and I said I better used it too before we head off to the show. After Grace finished, Rita said “oh toilet paper” and gave me a roll that was half finished and looked like it had fell into water and dried and fell into water and dried again. It had dirty water mark running across the bottom of it and a bit of rust from being kept behind a mental pipe that ran against the wall to the ceiling. She said “us Indian much prefer water; its cleaner you know” with a big grin on her face. I took the toilet paper gladly as I was determined not to use the hose. I found her to be very real. So from that moment, we talked about all sorts of things – her trips around the world, her children and her maid (who she jokingly calls her “mother-in-law” because they have become like family). At her age, she still gets excited about little things – a very passionate and humble kind of lady. At the end of the night she invited me to come by her house when I’m free. I’ll definitely do that.
Monday 17th
Monday it rained crazily…allll day long! As you can imagine, the drainage here is poor, and from the looks of the floods I would say it is near nonexistent. I had 3 classes, so I had to leave my bed. I reluctantly did so. By some divine intervention, before leaving New York I thought “I should take my rain boots” – though I would never take it to Trinidad. Bringing my rain boots to India was the best thing I have ever done…ever! I probably saved myself all sorts of diseases, infections, plagues and all sorts of “worms, skirms and germs” (as my baby cousins in Trinidad say).
The water was higher in come places than others, but everywhere it was this brown, thick, garage filled water. Rubbish was just being washed down from every crease, crevice and corner of the alleyways and slums. As I stepped into the lobby everyone, the reception desk clerks, the cleaners, the luggage guys etc. who always say good morning to me were glued to my shoes. This was only the start. I was hopping and skipping like Pepe Longstalkings…I did not care. Most women seemed to have chucked their shoes in their bags (as most wear slippers) and gone barefooted – just dragging their feet through the mucky water. Some men did the same and rolled up their pants. There were very few people who didn’t stare at my shoes. For the first time, no one looked at me as if I were the only black girl in Chennai, today I was the crazy girl in the knee high boots. I had girls elbow nudged each other and chuckle, I had heads turn around and production slow down because of my passing – but with broad shoulders I strutted. In class, the boys had a good old laugh (the girls a little sheepish at times). “Those are nice shoes …” (in an almost sarcastic tone with a puzzled look on his face). He continued, “Good for umm…kicking! Stalin, watch out! She can give u a good whack with those things”. As he did all sorts kicking theatrics, all the boys chimed in and laughed in a chorus. I sooo didn’t care! He had on a sandal with all his toes out and it was dried but very muddy. What I should have said was “hope you enjoy your ring-wormssss!” But thanks to my politeness and big sense of humor, I just laughed him off and looked down at my boots and smiled.
Tuesday and Wednesday
I went to school and came back home both days. Evan left on Monday for another hospital like 3 hours away. He thought he’d be nice and stay to be my chill-out buddy but he would get to sit in heart surgeries and experiences all sorts of things he will never be able to do in the US, so I told him he shouldn’t worry about me.
I saw a funeral! I have never seen such a sight. I was on the bus passing so I didn’t see much, but it was the loud drumming that caught my attention at first, then the sight of a dead body. The body was being carried at the top of this makeshift thing COVERED in flowers. The wife (I assume) with a child was sitting under the body on the second tier of this thing with bamboo stilts – about four to six men were carrying it. They were taking it to the burial ground I was told. The body was there in plain sight in the middle of a VERY crowded, traffic filled street. I found it to be a little eerie.
Friday and a General Overview of the week.
My first week of traveling on the bus alone is over, and my adventure in India has officially begun. I am adjusting well, Jane said. Jane is an older Australian lady working in New Zealand as professor who came to India for 6 months to write a book. She lives in the YWCA’s International Guest House as well, so we meet up in the dining hall everyday for dinner – sometimes for breakfast and lunch. I am yet to get used to the smells as we pass certain areas and the sights as I look through the window of the moving bus. I am getting used to the sight of women on one side of the bus and men on the other, though it still annoys me. It will take me a while to get used to the outright invasion of personal space, though in a weird way it makes me feel welcomed. For example, on the bus today I had a seat and this girl didn’t and the bus was ram-packed and she was standing next to me holding on dearly to my shoulder. At first I was thinking “if this girl doesn’t get her dirty finger off me right now…!” Then I quickly had a change of heart and I was thinking “aww, I am totally support this girl from falling…I am doing my part…I am accepted…I am Indian” *grins* Not to worry, I was reminded shortly after that I was obviously a foreigner when I felt all the stares as I stepped off the bus.
I have seen more nudity here in one week than I’ve seen in my whole life. I’ve never seen a nude woman here though – go figure! The bus passes by a lot of street people and I guess some men sleep naked or with those loin cloths around their waist that undoes itself during a good sleep. It is also not uncommon to see the privates when men are urinating in public. Men here urinate ANYwhere and EVERYwhere and it has become such a norm many don’t bother to turn their backs or find a little discreet corner. I wish I were exaggerating. There is this one guy that lives against the outside wall of the YWCA so I pass him everyday going to and coming from school. Depending on the time of day, he is doing something different – eating, sleeping, staring at me etc. On Wednesday he was sleeping with his knees in the air, stark naked with his loin cloth around his belly area. I was thinking “oh hell no! Don’t look Tonisha, whatever you do, don’t look!!” (haha) To my utter shock, I could not believe that right there, in his sleep, he began to pee on himself. I had no choice but to jump into the road to avoid his trickling frothy urine and almost run to avoid getting hit by a car. I wish I could have a little chat with him about having a little pride and more importantly, the health risks. He barely takes 5 footsteps from where he sleeps to number two. It is gross beyond measure. I will take a pic someday so you all can meet him.
I stayed in my room and be antisocial for the first part of the day. I slept long and hard and when I wasn’t sleeping I was making hurried trips to the bathroom. I never learn it seems – eating out is no good for me. At night Evan and I went to another place Krish suggested called “Sparkies” where we could get “good American food”. Evan liked this place because they give you a lot of food. The owner of the restaurant was a fat Caucasian man and all the table mats said “never trust a skinny chef” – I found that to be particularly funny. All in all, the food wasn’t great. I had penne in vodka sauce with shrimp. I was warm against seafood, but I felt notorious tonight.
Sunday
Sure enough, I was strapped to the bowl all Sunday morning. I am sooo used to it now.
One of my fellow house mates said “Shrimp? I am surprised you are on your feet!” Here storing meats in refrigerators is apparently not common, so in the scorching heat meats tend to contract all sorts a bacteria, ones that they locals have long become immune to. I’m getting there by force haha.
Tonight I went to a Greek show done by a theatre group from South Korea called Medea and its Double with Grace, her friend Rita and Evan. The show was not done in English but subtitles were provided. The emotion in this show was intense!
THE PLOT
The main character was so taken by love she kills her own brother to be with the fella and they run away so that they can be together. They had twin boys shortly after. The husband, however, falls in with the princess and leaves his wife and boys and marries her. The wife is furious! To make matters worse, the King comes to let her know that she and the boys are being exiled. She pleads with her (ex) husband to spare the boys and asked if his new wife, the princess will take them. As a proposal to the princess, she sends the toddlers to meet her baring gifts. She gave them poisoned garments to present the princess. She happily accepts them and puts it on and dies. The King, upon trying to save his daughter and remove the garments from her, also dies. The husband is miserable! He could not believe his ex-wife could be so evil – he screamed “such loving hands!” The instruments and live singing made it so emotional! Just when you think the drama is over, the wife kills the boys. It ends with her giving an honorable burial.
All the fancy, professional Indians came out to this show. Again, I could not stop and wonder who they do it – fine dine, talk like English women and there are literally tons of homeless, street families right out the road. Rita is very sweet though. On the way to the restaurant she rolled her glass down and gave a man who was walking in between the traffic 10 rupees. She said “poor old thing, haven’t got but skin on his bones, he better get him something to eat” as she rolls her glass back up. I could tell she did it sincerely too. She and I got along well. We had bonded already earlier in the day when we went to pick her up but had to wait for her to finish dressing. Grace had asked to use the “loo” and I said I better used it too before we head off to the show. After Grace finished, Rita said “oh toilet paper” and gave me a roll that was half finished and looked like it had fell into water and dried and fell into water and dried again. It had dirty water mark running across the bottom of it and a bit of rust from being kept behind a mental pipe that ran against the wall to the ceiling. She said “us Indian much prefer water; its cleaner you know” with a big grin on her face. I took the toilet paper gladly as I was determined not to use the hose. I found her to be very real. So from that moment, we talked about all sorts of things – her trips around the world, her children and her maid (who she jokingly calls her “mother-in-law” because they have become like family). At her age, she still gets excited about little things – a very passionate and humble kind of lady. At the end of the night she invited me to come by her house when I’m free. I’ll definitely do that.
Monday 17th
Monday it rained crazily…allll day long! As you can imagine, the drainage here is poor, and from the looks of the floods I would say it is near nonexistent. I had 3 classes, so I had to leave my bed. I reluctantly did so. By some divine intervention, before leaving New York I thought “I should take my rain boots” – though I would never take it to Trinidad. Bringing my rain boots to India was the best thing I have ever done…ever! I probably saved myself all sorts of diseases, infections, plagues and all sorts of “worms, skirms and germs” (as my baby cousins in Trinidad say).
The water was higher in come places than others, but everywhere it was this brown, thick, garage filled water. Rubbish was just being washed down from every crease, crevice and corner of the alleyways and slums. As I stepped into the lobby everyone, the reception desk clerks, the cleaners, the luggage guys etc. who always say good morning to me were glued to my shoes. This was only the start. I was hopping and skipping like Pepe Longstalkings…I did not care. Most women seemed to have chucked their shoes in their bags (as most wear slippers) and gone barefooted – just dragging their feet through the mucky water. Some men did the same and rolled up their pants. There were very few people who didn’t stare at my shoes. For the first time, no one looked at me as if I were the only black girl in Chennai, today I was the crazy girl in the knee high boots. I had girls elbow nudged each other and chuckle, I had heads turn around and production slow down because of my passing – but with broad shoulders I strutted. In class, the boys had a good old laugh (the girls a little sheepish at times). “Those are nice shoes …” (in an almost sarcastic tone with a puzzled look on his face). He continued, “Good for umm…kicking! Stalin, watch out! She can give u a good whack with those things”. As he did all sorts kicking theatrics, all the boys chimed in and laughed in a chorus. I sooo didn’t care! He had on a sandal with all his toes out and it was dried but very muddy. What I should have said was “hope you enjoy your ring-wormssss!” But thanks to my politeness and big sense of humor, I just laughed him off and looked down at my boots and smiled.
Tuesday and Wednesday
I went to school and came back home both days. Evan left on Monday for another hospital like 3 hours away. He thought he’d be nice and stay to be my chill-out buddy but he would get to sit in heart surgeries and experiences all sorts of things he will never be able to do in the US, so I told him he shouldn’t worry about me.
I saw a funeral! I have never seen such a sight. I was on the bus passing so I didn’t see much, but it was the loud drumming that caught my attention at first, then the sight of a dead body. The body was being carried at the top of this makeshift thing COVERED in flowers. The wife (I assume) with a child was sitting under the body on the second tier of this thing with bamboo stilts – about four to six men were carrying it. They were taking it to the burial ground I was told. The body was there in plain sight in the middle of a VERY crowded, traffic filled street. I found it to be a little eerie.
Friday and a General Overview of the week.
My first week of traveling on the bus alone is over, and my adventure in India has officially begun. I am adjusting well, Jane said. Jane is an older Australian lady working in New Zealand as professor who came to India for 6 months to write a book. She lives in the YWCA’s International Guest House as well, so we meet up in the dining hall everyday for dinner – sometimes for breakfast and lunch. I am yet to get used to the smells as we pass certain areas and the sights as I look through the window of the moving bus. I am getting used to the sight of women on one side of the bus and men on the other, though it still annoys me. It will take me a while to get used to the outright invasion of personal space, though in a weird way it makes me feel welcomed. For example, on the bus today I had a seat and this girl didn’t and the bus was ram-packed and she was standing next to me holding on dearly to my shoulder. At first I was thinking “if this girl doesn’t get her dirty finger off me right now…!” Then I quickly had a change of heart and I was thinking “aww, I am totally support this girl from falling…I am doing my part…I am accepted…I am Indian” *grins* Not to worry, I was reminded shortly after that I was obviously a foreigner when I felt all the stares as I stepped off the bus.
I have seen more nudity here in one week than I’ve seen in my whole life. I’ve never seen a nude woman here though – go figure! The bus passes by a lot of street people and I guess some men sleep naked or with those loin cloths around their waist that undoes itself during a good sleep. It is also not uncommon to see the privates when men are urinating in public. Men here urinate ANYwhere and EVERYwhere and it has become such a norm many don’t bother to turn their backs or find a little discreet corner. I wish I were exaggerating. There is this one guy that lives against the outside wall of the YWCA so I pass him everyday going to and coming from school. Depending on the time of day, he is doing something different – eating, sleeping, staring at me etc. On Wednesday he was sleeping with his knees in the air, stark naked with his loin cloth around his belly area. I was thinking “oh hell no! Don’t look Tonisha, whatever you do, don’t look!!” (haha) To my utter shock, I could not believe that right there, in his sleep, he began to pee on himself. I had no choice but to jump into the road to avoid his trickling frothy urine and almost run to avoid getting hit by a car. I wish I could have a little chat with him about having a little pride and more importantly, the health risks. He barely takes 5 footsteps from where he sleeps to number two. It is gross beyond measure. I will take a pic someday so you all can meet him.
Friday 14th (Night)
Tonight Evan and I were determined not to stay in. Krish recommended this place where he said “all the young people hang out”. It’s called “Mocha” – a coffee shop. My reception guys at the house called an auto rickshaw driver for us. He charged us 100 Rs to get there and stopped at a gas station on the way and demanded 10 rupees. I was thinking “sure, 10 rupees is 20 cents (US)…I don’t care!” Not Evan. He was saying to me “NO, he’s trying to shaft us”…and then I said “let’s just pay him the 100 rupees NOW, so he can buy the gas out of that…” Then Evan said “No, then he’ll want more money when we get there…” All this time, the poor gas boy and our driver stood there looking at us go back and forth, it was obvious they didn’t understand a word of English. In frustration, our driver started beating his head crazily with his hands also as if he was thinking “you two idiots are annoying me”. I looked at Evan with my eyes opened wide and I said “can we just give him the 100 rs.?” So we did. The driver was still upset. He wanted a separate 10 rs. from the 100 rs. Too bad!
It turned out that crazy man didn’t even know where Mocha was. I thought about Jolene’s advice immediately – Indians never say they don’t know. We were driving around in circles for a good while until he stopped twice to ask for directions. When we finally got there, naturally, he wanted more money. Evan handed him 10 rs. He got all theatrical on us and made faces and flung his hand in the air…he was making me nervous. Evan softened up and gave him 40 rs. extra. He then wanted a picture. I took his picture and he stuck his hand out as if trying to touch the camera. So I was a little confused as to what he was trying to do…and he persisted. Evan caught on and was like “ohh no, it’s not Polaroid”. We stood there and took his house address, cell phone number and every other form of contact because he insisted on getting his pic. A group of affluent-looking young onlookers were laughing and shaking their heads as if disgraced.
Status here is a big deal! How much money you have will determine how you are treated. I guess that’s the case everywhere, but the huge gaps between the rich and the poor here makes it more obvious.
We went in to the coffee shop and to our surprise it was largely a hookah bar. At my request, we made our way to the lounge/restaurant area – more my kind of style. I sat down on the couches and observed the people as they came in – all between the ages of 18-25 it seemed. The western culture was more evident in this place than anywhere I had been so far. The way they dressed was still conservative, for example, there definitely were no knees outside but there were exposed shoulders.
The most obvious western norm was the couples. Within my week of being on campus and in Chennai in general I have never seen any couples showing affection. Furthermore, “love marriages” are not the norm. So, to see young people cuddling was a shock to both Evan and I. He said “they must be sneaking around”. I remembered my conversation I had with Viji earlier that day about Indian girls not dating – but the behaviour we saw at Mocha was contradicting her views. She would have a fit.
It turned out that crazy man didn’t even know where Mocha was. I thought about Jolene’s advice immediately – Indians never say they don’t know. We were driving around in circles for a good while until he stopped twice to ask for directions. When we finally got there, naturally, he wanted more money. Evan handed him 10 rs. He got all theatrical on us and made faces and flung his hand in the air…he was making me nervous. Evan softened up and gave him 40 rs. extra. He then wanted a picture. I took his picture and he stuck his hand out as if trying to touch the camera. So I was a little confused as to what he was trying to do…and he persisted. Evan caught on and was like “ohh no, it’s not Polaroid”. We stood there and took his house address, cell phone number and every other form of contact because he insisted on getting his pic. A group of affluent-looking young onlookers were laughing and shaking their heads as if disgraced.
Status here is a big deal! How much money you have will determine how you are treated. I guess that’s the case everywhere, but the huge gaps between the rich and the poor here makes it more obvious.
We went in to the coffee shop and to our surprise it was largely a hookah bar. At my request, we made our way to the lounge/restaurant area – more my kind of style. I sat down on the couches and observed the people as they came in – all between the ages of 18-25 it seemed. The western culture was more evident in this place than anywhere I had been so far. The way they dressed was still conservative, for example, there definitely were no knees outside but there were exposed shoulders.
The most obvious western norm was the couples. Within my week of being on campus and in Chennai in general I have never seen any couples showing affection. Furthermore, “love marriages” are not the norm. So, to see young people cuddling was a shock to both Evan and I. He said “they must be sneaking around”. I remembered my conversation I had with Viji earlier that day about Indian girls not dating – but the behaviour we saw at Mocha was contradicting her views. She would have a fit.
Friday, August 14, 2009
I fell in love with the "Mad Scientist"...well his class! (Day 7 - Friday Aug 14th)
That bus ride did not shock me any less today. Viji came with me again today. Yay…until next Monday when I am all on my own.
My class today is called Dalit Studies. The class has no one professor…it seems as if whoever shows up teaches the class. Hmm! So today an old man, who clearly studied in England, taught the class. He is a very skinny, old man that is bald to the front of his head but had clammy, stringy long white hair at the back of his head that touched his shoulders – very ‘mad scientist’ looking. I loved that he knew English very well though...I can't wait for his next class!
He said he is not prepared to teach Dalit Studies so today we would do Indian poetry. He seemed strangely fond of me. He is a very serious person. He didn’t crack a smile all class and has a hearing problem perhaps – because he kept screaming at students all class “SPEAK UP!” He often told students “You’re mumbling!” or “Not clear!”
He had me read out a poem for the class then asked me what I thought of it. Every answer I gave he said “YES!” but then to other students he’d not give a hearty response. At one point this girl was saying something and I thought she was done so I butted in and she was still talking and she totally got the “talk to the hand” from him. He stuck his open palm out at her and nodded for me to continue talking. It was sooo weird! I chuckled nervously and continued speaking. Throughout the class he asked “So Nisha, what do you think?” I think perhaps he was glad I am an English speaker or that I was from America (they still don't get I am Trini) – I don’t know why the obvious favoritism.
After class, I had a nice long talk with Vigi, about her rights etc. and the western customs. I know she thinks I’m crazy haha. She just looks at me wide-eyed. She is very very sheltered and don’t know a lot about the world outside Chennai. She has not even been to Mumbai or New Delhi. She said her parents will marry her off in about 2 years and they are not fond of her getting her master’s. (In other words, she just killing time before her parents gets her hitch – I find that sooo ridiculous!)
So what if your parents marries you off to this guy and he is abusive?
She replies “You have to try at your maximum to change him. If he is a drunkard or he scolds you, you have to change him. You cannot go back to your parents now. You can maybe blame your parents for the first 2 or 3 days…but you have to stay with your husband. You can divorce nowadays but the judge will have you live with him for one year so you can work it out…if no, you will divorce”
Yeah, these gender issues are driving me crazy!
My class today is called Dalit Studies. The class has no one professor…it seems as if whoever shows up teaches the class. Hmm! So today an old man, who clearly studied in England, taught the class. He is a very skinny, old man that is bald to the front of his head but had clammy, stringy long white hair at the back of his head that touched his shoulders – very ‘mad scientist’ looking. I loved that he knew English very well though...I can't wait for his next class!
He said he is not prepared to teach Dalit Studies so today we would do Indian poetry. He seemed strangely fond of me. He is a very serious person. He didn’t crack a smile all class and has a hearing problem perhaps – because he kept screaming at students all class “SPEAK UP!” He often told students “You’re mumbling!” or “Not clear!”
He had me read out a poem for the class then asked me what I thought of it. Every answer I gave he said “YES!” but then to other students he’d not give a hearty response. At one point this girl was saying something and I thought she was done so I butted in and she was still talking and she totally got the “talk to the hand” from him. He stuck his open palm out at her and nodded for me to continue talking. It was sooo weird! I chuckled nervously and continued speaking. Throughout the class he asked “So Nisha, what do you think?” I think perhaps he was glad I am an English speaker or that I was from America (they still don't get I am Trini) – I don’t know why the obvious favoritism.
After class, I had a nice long talk with Vigi, about her rights etc. and the western customs. I know she thinks I’m crazy haha. She just looks at me wide-eyed. She is very very sheltered and don’t know a lot about the world outside Chennai. She has not even been to Mumbai or New Delhi. She said her parents will marry her off in about 2 years and they are not fond of her getting her master’s. (In other words, she just killing time before her parents gets her hitch – I find that sooo ridiculous!)
So what if your parents marries you off to this guy and he is abusive?
She replies “You have to try at your maximum to change him. If he is a drunkard or he scolds you, you have to change him. You cannot go back to your parents now. You can maybe blame your parents for the first 2 or 3 days…but you have to stay with your husband. You can divorce nowadays but the judge will have you live with him for one year so you can work it out…if no, you will divorce”
Yeah, these gender issues are driving me crazy!
Involuntary Sick Day (Day 6 - Thursday Aug 13th)
Today is holiday – lord Krishna’s birthday. I did not leave my room all day. I was so sick. I took a drowsy panadol (for diarrhea), slept, hugged the toilet bowl and swam in sweat all day long.
Off to class I go! (Day 5 -Wednesday 12th)
Today was my first formal class, and one of the hottest days I have experienced since in Chennai. Everything becomes irritating when it’s that hot. I had no tolerance for people who stared without blinking; I wanted to strangle Viji for talking without stop – telling me the name of every place we passed in the bus. I just saw her mouth moving after a while. It was my first time taking public transport and I was very overwhelmed with the heat, the over packed buses, the filthy slums we stopped in and the SMELLS. Words cannot describe the smell of this one slum we passed. It was like the smell of basins of fish, packs of rotting animals and god knows what other decomposing thing all mixed together to make one concoction -- it was awful! I held my breath then figured that I don’t want to trap any of it in my nostrils so I kept breathing out. Viji managed to stop yapping and looked over at me and saw that I looked like I was dying and nervously laughed and said “fish smell”. That was not no fish smell! At that point I was thinking “God, whatever you have sent me to India to learn…I GOT IT! Can I go home now?”
I have to take that bus to and from school alone everyday; Viji was only sent to escort me for my first time. The left side of the bus only women can sit and the right side is for men. A woman can sit on the right side if she is with her husband, father or any other male companion. I told Viji “If I’m really tired, I’m sitting wherever there is a free seat!” She said “nooo, they will throw you off the bus!” Imagine that on the trains women are only allowed to ride in 2 or 3 cars for women and the rest are for men. It’s ridiculous that they have several train cars to sprawl out in and women have to pack up in 2 of them.
My bus to school
Viji has a lot of respect for men. We were walking on the sidewalk (one of the few sidewalks) later that day and a group of men, maybe about 6 of them, were coming towards me, the sidewalk was two narrow for me and them to pass at once. I paid them no mind. She suddenly grabbed me by the arm to one side so that they can pass. I was so annoyed. Why should I have to run, jump and skip if the males are in my way? I have rights, equal rights! Right?
( I don’t blame Hilary Clinton for fixing that Congolese kid! )
My first class was Indian Social Problems. I am taking master’s level courses (I have no clue why they place me there). As I entered this girl named Suriya ran up to the door happily and shook my hand and welcomed me. She introduced me the class, who was sitting in a circle with their bare feet folded on the wooden chairs eating lunch. I sat down. They all told me their names and this one girl said “here, have my food!” and handed me this little silver metal bowl of soggy looking rice. I shiver at the thought of food outside of my guest house as it is all a sure laxative for me but I smiled and said “no thanks, had lunch already”. I didn’t lie – the guest house cooks prepare a sandwich for me everyday and send me off like a little school girl.
My professor’s name is Elizabeth. She didn’t seem confident in her English at all. I think I made it worst for her. She kept looking at me awkwardly. The class was soooo elementary. I could not believe I was in a master’s level course. The topic of discussion was child abuse. On the sub-topic of physical abuse she listed all the indicators and first on the list was bruising. She said in her thick Indian accent “class, do you know what it is to bruise?” No one answered. I didn’t say anything because I was a little taken aback and I had said the word “vulnerability” in a comment earlier in the class and she had no clue what I meant, so I figured I’d hush until I get a sense of their vocab. Suriya sort of laughed shying next to me as the professor said “bruising is pressure on the skin”. Then I realized I was in for a long ride *smiles*. I found that Suriya was very bright though. She knows English very well. She has her bachelor’s in Sociology and is now doing her master’s. She is very interesting looking as well. She is the only Indian I have seen so far who is albino and her eyes don’t focus – I thought she was blind at first. I promise I am not saying this jokingly or insulting but she has a striking resemblance to Fiona from Shrek. She has been really nice to me…very warm.
At the end of the class, the professor asked me about myself, why I was in India and most importantly what I thought about her English and accent. “It is pretty good”, I said. She then announced with a huge grin “Class, you see, it has to come all the way from America that I have a good accent!”
I am such a ‘brown-noser’ haha.
Random sighting of the day
On the bus, I saw a boy, about 14 or 15 years old going to school, neatly dressed in all white with a backpack but had no shoes! It was very interesting to see this skinny boy with a big old wide foot and fat heels that had huge cracks filled with black dirt. I wanted to take a picture so badly! But I don’t have the guts to in some cases.
You would think that shoes are more of a priority than a book-bag…
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
"That was amazing!" - Day 5 (Wednesday Aug 12th)
Okay so today I went to class for the first time...that's a kicksy story by itself. Will tell that story tomorrow. I just came in from chilling with Evan and had to blog asap. Now, Evan likes to get out so he decided that tonight we should meet up and just walk and take pics. I was cool with that because I loveee me some picture taking and until this morning I had not been out on the streets. Though I thought it was kinda late, we still went. We both said to each other on the way "I would neverrr walk here if it weren't for you". I think he was more freaked out than I was because we got soooo many stares, like unwavering stares. It can be very intimidating sometimes. He kept reassuring me "I got a quick fist, don't worry" haha. So we walked 5 kilometers (I think) in total before we saw this alley way with lights. We were really looking for something to do...anything adventurous. So everyoneee was just looking at us as we walked down this well lit alley. It started to get real sketchy until he said "you wanna keep going?" but I know what he really wanted to say was "let's get the hell up out of here". So this man said something to us...so I asked "what's down there" and replied "what number?". I still down know what that meant...all I took it to mean was - he aint know a lick of English. And we kept walking with no clue what was at the end of the alley way. All this time we are passing men sitting talking, gambling and all sorts of random activities. Then this man shouted out "werd u going?!" We looked around at hima and kept going.And then Evan said I think we're in the slums. He was like "this is your thing - human rights - take pics!" I quickly said "no". The alley started getting more narrow and more populated. Then I realized we were definitely in the slums - women cooking on the side walk, you could almost tell that there were different families there, mothers and children laying on the sides...I was stunned. So I said to Evan "you take the camera", because I figured people will hesitate to attack a man for taking pics than a woman. You could imagine this Asian boy and this black girl walking through the slums...we literally stopped all production. Evan bravely snapped one pics and that was it! Children started running from every crease, corner and crevice. And to my utmost surprise some knew a little English. (Slum children don't go to school...so yeh, I expected them to be dunce). They were rellllllll excited.
They were acting crazy!
The group just started to get bigger and bigger. They were climbing on things and screaming, pushing us (not violently but just so that we don't stop taking pics). Both Evan and I looked and each other wide-eyed and he just kept snapping.
Everybody wanted to be in their own picture so they would run up to Evan, 100 of them at once, screaming "Take me!" or "picture" or "me! me!" or "one more!" I was holding on my bag so tightly because there must have been like 15-20 of them around us. Even Evan wore his backpack to the front of him after having it yanked repeatedly.
One kid came up to me saying "tv?" and pointing at the camera. He wanted to see the pics. So once the others caught on to that...they started trying to grab the camera from Evan's neck so they could see themselves. I stood to the side watching the flock of them attack Evan. Another group of kids walked up to me and one boy said "Hi how are you?" I could tell immediately that's all he knew to say in English. He was adorable. So I said "what's your name?" and another one who understood answered me and then another one said "what's your name?" and I said "Nisha" and they all repeated it. It was funny...but so cute! Then one, who obviously knows western culture stuck his hand out to shake mine and now everyone wanted to shake my hand. I couldn't say no. All I was thinking was Jolene said "don't shake hands!" and lord knows these kids must have all forms of germs. Adults just stood up from their sitting or laying positions and was looking at us and smiling or laughing. Evan managed to get the camera to me.
Then I became their best friend - they loved whoever had the camera at that point. I snapped a lot of pics but kept seeing one finger in the air and hearing "picture" and I would say "only one more" and then I'd hear "picture" and see the little finger and I'd give in and take another.
It started to get overwhelming so I said to Evan "let's go!!" But they were like a barricade, we could barely walk. I was walking and taking pics. Grow men were stopping us and asking me to take their pics. The children still in tow. They followed us all the way out to the main road. Evan kept turning around saying "y'all should go back...y'all should go back" over and over. I think he forgot they were street kids.
We said bye and made our way back to the house -- all we could say coming back was "that was amazing!"
The girls
They were acting crazy!
The group just started to get bigger and bigger. They were climbing on things and screaming, pushing us (not violently but just so that we don't stop taking pics). Both Evan and I looked and each other wide-eyed and he just kept snapping.
Everybody wanted to be in their own picture so they would run up to Evan, 100 of them at once, screaming "Take me!" or "picture" or "me! me!" or "one more!" I was holding on my bag so tightly because there must have been like 15-20 of them around us. Even Evan wore his backpack to the front of him after having it yanked repeatedly.
One kid came up to me saying "tv?" and pointing at the camera. He wanted to see the pics. So once the others caught on to that...they started trying to grab the camera from Evan's neck so they could see themselves. I stood to the side watching the flock of them attack Evan. Another group of kids walked up to me and one boy said "Hi how are you?" I could tell immediately that's all he knew to say in English. He was adorable. So I said "what's your name?" and another one who understood answered me and then another one said "what's your name?" and I said "Nisha" and they all repeated it. It was funny...but so cute! Then one, who obviously knows western culture stuck his hand out to shake mine and now everyone wanted to shake my hand. I couldn't say no. All I was thinking was Jolene said "don't shake hands!" and lord knows these kids must have all forms of germs. Adults just stood up from their sitting or laying positions and was looking at us and smiling or laughing. Evan managed to get the camera to me.
Then I became their best friend - they loved whoever had the camera at that point. I snapped a lot of pics but kept seeing one finger in the air and hearing "picture" and I would say "only one more" and then I'd hear "picture" and see the little finger and I'd give in and take another.
It started to get overwhelming so I said to Evan "let's go!!" But they were like a barricade, we could barely walk. I was walking and taking pics. Grow men were stopping us and asking me to take their pics. The children still in tow. They followed us all the way out to the main road. Evan kept turning around saying "y'all should go back...y'all should go back" over and over. I think he forgot they were street kids.
We said bye and made our way back to the house -- all we could say coming back was "that was amazing!"
The girls
East meets West (Day 4 - Tues Aug 11th)
Was a hottt day! I actually want to forget about it. I was running around campus all day trying to meet with professors. In this situation it is better to say “im from New York”, you can almost see their eyes light up…possibly thinking: “ooh an American…let me get her in my class quick!” It was an annoying day.
I know I was joking and saying I have a dinner date that night…it wasn’t that. Krish thought it would be great if I could have dinner this kid from some South Asian country that was doing an internship here in India. Being the social butterfly that I am, I didn’t mind. The guy came to meet me in the lobby of my guest house and it turns out that he was not from any South Asian country but he was American. Just as everyone thinks I’m African, they all think he is Korean. I was kinda delighted to meet a fellow Westerner and he ecstatic!! He had been here in India almost 2 weeks now. His name is Evan Wu. He is an all-American ¾ Japanese ¼ Chinese kid from San Jose, California. He is a pre-med student at one of the UCLAs in Cali and interning at a hospital in Chennai.
We had some hearty laughs about our experiences here so far and surprisingly we felt the exact same way about a lot of things. He had stayed where I am staying for his first 3 nights in India and was also freaked out the night he first arrived. Now I just felt like I was in a horror movie, he took is to another level. He thought he was going to be killed and his organs sold off on the black market. He said he knew it was over when he saw the huge gates at the entrance of the compound – “If I try to run, they would close those gates on me – I’m dead!!” He then dramatically displayed how he was looking around for the surgery room. He is hilarious!
I explained to him that while driving I would continuously shout out things like “Ooh!”, “My gosh!”, “Watch it!” from the backseat. At every second there is always a potentially fatal accident waiting to happen. We both agreed that we are never at peace in a moving car. It is utter madness. I have to videotape this!
He brought some pictures for me to see that he took at the hospital earlier that day of a leprosy patient they were working with. He warmed me before looking but still, they were some of the goriest pictures I have ever seen. I still don’t know how they allowed him to take those pics. He said initially he just stood there gritting his teeth with his hands over his mouth because he had never seen raw, rotting flesh like that before – neither have I.
It was refreshing to meet someone who knew I didn’t have an American accent and that I was not from Africa (though he still didn’t know where Trinidad is).
BUT! I did meet a man and his wife from Guyana earlier that morning…that was cool. They are missionaries who only came for a couple days to preach and left that same night. It was nice for the 10 minutes that we did talk. I’m waiting to meet a Trini now…ooh wee! The admission lady from the university said “this is the first student we have had from Trinidad and Tobago, I have never seen this before”
I know I was joking and saying I have a dinner date that night…it wasn’t that. Krish thought it would be great if I could have dinner this kid from some South Asian country that was doing an internship here in India. Being the social butterfly that I am, I didn’t mind. The guy came to meet me in the lobby of my guest house and it turns out that he was not from any South Asian country but he was American. Just as everyone thinks I’m African, they all think he is Korean. I was kinda delighted to meet a fellow Westerner and he ecstatic!! He had been here in India almost 2 weeks now. His name is Evan Wu. He is an all-American ¾ Japanese ¼ Chinese kid from San Jose, California. He is a pre-med student at one of the UCLAs in Cali and interning at a hospital in Chennai.
We had some hearty laughs about our experiences here so far and surprisingly we felt the exact same way about a lot of things. He had stayed where I am staying for his first 3 nights in India and was also freaked out the night he first arrived. Now I just felt like I was in a horror movie, he took is to another level. He thought he was going to be killed and his organs sold off on the black market. He said he knew it was over when he saw the huge gates at the entrance of the compound – “If I try to run, they would close those gates on me – I’m dead!!” He then dramatically displayed how he was looking around for the surgery room. He is hilarious!
I explained to him that while driving I would continuously shout out things like “Ooh!”, “My gosh!”, “Watch it!” from the backseat. At every second there is always a potentially fatal accident waiting to happen. We both agreed that we are never at peace in a moving car. It is utter madness. I have to videotape this!
He brought some pictures for me to see that he took at the hospital earlier that day of a leprosy patient they were working with. He warmed me before looking but still, they were some of the goriest pictures I have ever seen. I still don’t know how they allowed him to take those pics. He said initially he just stood there gritting his teeth with his hands over his mouth because he had never seen raw, rotting flesh like that before – neither have I.
It was refreshing to meet someone who knew I didn’t have an American accent and that I was not from Africa (though he still didn’t know where Trinidad is).
BUT! I did meet a man and his wife from Guyana earlier that morning…that was cool. They are missionaries who only came for a couple days to preach and left that same night. It was nice for the 10 minutes that we did talk. I’m waiting to meet a Trini now…ooh wee! The admission lady from the university said “this is the first student we have had from Trinidad and Tobago, I have never seen this before”
EARTHQUAKE (Day 3 - Aug 10)
That night there was an earthquake measuring about 7.8. I woke up (which is rare during earthquakes), wondered what the heck was going on and went right back to sleep. People here are terrified by earthquakes because we are situated along the coast where the tsunami struck. So for that reason, any earthquake is a potential disaster.
Devil Wears Prada and Saris...(Day 3 - Mon Aug 10th)
Today I went to school to do all the paper work and register for classes etc. The school is across the street from Marina beach (the entire coast that suffered from the Tsunami). It’s quite different. It is just as chaotic as the streets. Still, pedestrians have no rights. You have to look out for the vehicles because they will NOT be looking out for you. It is most ridiculous that they will accelerate even harder and hold down their horns just to see you run perhaps.
The administrative section of the school is so 1950’s. I ain’t never seen no cob webbed type writer of that size in my whole life (haha). Some did have computers though. I can tell immediately that paper work gets lost in the rubble every day.
I went with Krish’s wife, Grace (which is not her real name but it was given to her when she studied in London because no one could pronounce her name) and her assistant Viji (Vee-Gee). Grace, also co-directing the study abroad program with her husband, works for the British Council in the cultural sector and also did work for the UN. She has a thick British accent and walks as if tip toeing with her chin out and her wrist bent over – she is quite entertaining to watch. She scoffs and says things like “Oh, these floors would be so beautiful, if only polished!” She cracked me up all day with her nonsense. To further entertain myself, I asked “have you ever ridden on one of those motorbikes like most women here do?” She quickly responded “Oh no!” as if I asked a most ridiculous thing. I did it for spite. She then said “I have seen five people on one of those things at once…the worst is when they carry their chickens and ducks on it too!” She is stoosh beyond measure.
When I first met she asked me how my first 2 days were and what I thought about the tour guides. I told her thanks for sending them and that I really liked them both, especially Uma. Before I could continue she said “Oh, that Dhanalakshmi…she such a dull girl, Uma is a little brighter but talks too much. She just talks and talks and talks. Did she offer to be you Indian mother?” I wanted to laugh, more out of shock though. I simply said “no, she didn’t offer to be my Indian mother”, and that was that.
Grace has a very commanding sort of personality so everyone, especially Viji is always like “ma’am? Yes ma’am…ok ma’am”. At one point she told Viji to do something but Viji said “it is not needed ma’am”, she replied in her British tongue “it is better to be safe than sorry, isn’t it Viji?” Viji replies “Yes ma’am”. Grace then turns to me “Wouldn’t you say Tonisha?” For fear of busting out laughing I simply nodded and said “agreed”. I felt like I was in a movie for the first half of the morning – Devil Wears Prada to be exact.
She is sooo Meryl Streep in Devil Wears Prada. Just like Meryl Streep, Grace is about 60 years old with no kids and Viji is Anne Hathaway – 21 yrs old and only doing the job because it is a good experience and she would get to practice her English.
Anyways, Grace took us to lunch at a British country club (with a French name) that was located on military ground, so I couldn’t take any pics! It was quite fancy and naturally, I had a severe belly-ache and was bound to the toilet all night *sad face*. Once I eat outside the YWCA this tends to happen. My best friends are now Andrews, Whole Wheat Crix and mineral water – the recipe to lose 50 lbs in 2 weeks haha.
Over lunch I learned all about Grace and Viji. Grace talked about her personal cook and her maid—conclusion: she has a boring life. But I do have to say that she is helping her country in her own little way. Her work with different study abroad program is excellent. (I giving her a blye…despite how ridiculous I think she acts)
She didn’t have an arranged marriage and she never grew up practicing any religion which is very rare for an Indian woman of her time (though she is Brahmin). Because of how westernized she grew up, she must have always been wealthy.
Viji is also a Brahmin (the highest caste). She went to an English Chartered school so her English is very good. She is sheltered beyond belief, but I respected that. Not Grace. Grace put her on the spot a lot during lunch, asking her about boys and relationships. Vigi, like Uma thinks dating is not good and will wait for her parents to find her a husband. She said she had never liked a boy in that way in all her 21 yrs (yeah, kinda far-fetched for a 21 yr old, but hey…). While talking, Viji was picking all the garlic out of her food. I thought nothing of it. Grace, being as cantankerous as she is made it her business to point it out to me. She said that orthodox Brahmins don’t eat garlic or onions because it intensifies sexual feelings so they avoid it in order to live an upright life, free of sexual sin. Viji looked like she wanted to evaporate. In her own defense she said “no ma’am, I thought we only avoided them because of the smell”. I simply said nothing and listened.
The administrative section of the school is so 1950’s. I ain’t never seen no cob webbed type writer of that size in my whole life (haha). Some did have computers though. I can tell immediately that paper work gets lost in the rubble every day.
I went with Krish’s wife, Grace (which is not her real name but it was given to her when she studied in London because no one could pronounce her name) and her assistant Viji (Vee-Gee). Grace, also co-directing the study abroad program with her husband, works for the British Council in the cultural sector and also did work for the UN. She has a thick British accent and walks as if tip toeing with her chin out and her wrist bent over – she is quite entertaining to watch. She scoffs and says things like “Oh, these floors would be so beautiful, if only polished!” She cracked me up all day with her nonsense. To further entertain myself, I asked “have you ever ridden on one of those motorbikes like most women here do?” She quickly responded “Oh no!” as if I asked a most ridiculous thing. I did it for spite. She then said “I have seen five people on one of those things at once…the worst is when they carry their chickens and ducks on it too!” She is stoosh beyond measure.
When I first met she asked me how my first 2 days were and what I thought about the tour guides. I told her thanks for sending them and that I really liked them both, especially Uma. Before I could continue she said “Oh, that Dhanalakshmi…she such a dull girl, Uma is a little brighter but talks too much. She just talks and talks and talks. Did she offer to be you Indian mother?” I wanted to laugh, more out of shock though. I simply said “no, she didn’t offer to be my Indian mother”, and that was that.
Grace has a very commanding sort of personality so everyone, especially Viji is always like “ma’am? Yes ma’am…ok ma’am”. At one point she told Viji to do something but Viji said “it is not needed ma’am”, she replied in her British tongue “it is better to be safe than sorry, isn’t it Viji?” Viji replies “Yes ma’am”. Grace then turns to me “Wouldn’t you say Tonisha?” For fear of busting out laughing I simply nodded and said “agreed”. I felt like I was in a movie for the first half of the morning – Devil Wears Prada to be exact.
She is sooo Meryl Streep in Devil Wears Prada. Just like Meryl Streep, Grace is about 60 years old with no kids and Viji is Anne Hathaway – 21 yrs old and only doing the job because it is a good experience and she would get to practice her English.
Anyways, Grace took us to lunch at a British country club (with a French name) that was located on military ground, so I couldn’t take any pics! It was quite fancy and naturally, I had a severe belly-ache and was bound to the toilet all night *sad face*. Once I eat outside the YWCA this tends to happen. My best friends are now Andrews, Whole Wheat Crix and mineral water – the recipe to lose 50 lbs in 2 weeks haha.
Over lunch I learned all about Grace and Viji. Grace talked about her personal cook and her maid—conclusion: she has a boring life. But I do have to say that she is helping her country in her own little way. Her work with different study abroad program is excellent. (I giving her a blye…despite how ridiculous I think she acts)
She didn’t have an arranged marriage and she never grew up practicing any religion which is very rare for an Indian woman of her time (though she is Brahmin). Because of how westernized she grew up, she must have always been wealthy.
Viji is also a Brahmin (the highest caste). She went to an English Chartered school so her English is very good. She is sheltered beyond belief, but I respected that. Not Grace. Grace put her on the spot a lot during lunch, asking her about boys and relationships. Vigi, like Uma thinks dating is not good and will wait for her parents to find her a husband. She said she had never liked a boy in that way in all her 21 yrs (yeah, kinda far-fetched for a 21 yr old, but hey…). While talking, Viji was picking all the garlic out of her food. I thought nothing of it. Grace, being as cantankerous as she is made it her business to point it out to me. She said that orthodox Brahmins don’t eat garlic or onions because it intensifies sexual feelings so they avoid it in order to live an upright life, free of sexual sin. Viji looked like she wanted to evaporate. In her own defense she said “no ma’am, I thought we only avoided them because of the smell”. I simply said nothing and listened.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
How I'm Livin'
I must say though, which I didn't mention before, that though the place I'm staying freaked me out at first, it was 100 times better in the morning. In fact, its NICE in comparison to other places in Chennai. I get treated very well here. Whoever this Krish man is, everyone respects/fears him. All I know is that he does this program with US students as "volunteer work" and he's "a finance man", according to his wife. The real manager (not the one from the night I arrived) came up to me and had already known my name and said Krish said to take care of me and anything I need just say the word. Is internet in my room too much to ask for? Well I asked, he said "in 10 to 20 days".
There is the "IT movement" as they call it here in Chennai that started about 5 years ago. So now more people are coming into Chennai because of the computer boom and more money of course... and my room can't even have a little internet?
Anyways...check out the pics of my crib...*grins*
The entrance to the compound
The building from the outside
Three stories up, the long corridor that leads to my room (right door)
The hot spot(literally! thank God for fans!)
Windows - my friends and my enemies - they welcome all the malaria carrying mosquitoes but sends some well needed breeze my way...
Now where is the shower curtain you might wonder? I still wondering...
(Sparing yall the sight of the toilet, it's too gross for public consumption)
There is the "IT movement" as they call it here in Chennai that started about 5 years ago. So now more people are coming into Chennai because of the computer boom and more money of course... and my room can't even have a little internet?
Anyways...check out the pics of my crib...*grins*
The entrance to the compound
The building from the outside
Three stories up, the long corridor that leads to my room (right door)
The hot spot(literally! thank God for fans!)
Windows - my friends and my enemies - they welcome all the malaria carrying mosquitoes but sends some well needed breeze my way...
Now where is the shower curtain you might wonder? I still wondering...
(Sparing yall the sight of the toilet, it's too gross for public consumption)
Monday, August 10, 2009
Day 2 - Sunday 9th August, 2009
Day #2
I went to the Dakshina Chitra. It is a heritage center that shows all the arts and craft of India. It was sooo nice. I did a lot cheap shopping there! There was the pottery area, the silk making, jewelry making huts and a cultural dance show. I actually got up and dance. Yes, I embarrassed my self.
My tour guide for the day was Uma and she THE BEST. She is not a professional but just did it as a favor to Krish. She loves to talk and is very open about herself.
She told me all about the horrors (well, she doesn’t see it as horrors but reality) of her arranged marriage some 30 yrs ago. Can you imagine his parents interviewed her, made her sing a song to determine if she would make a good wife for their son?? They might as well make her open wide to check her teeth and tongue. However, I guess she sang well so they chose her. Wouldn’t life be great if our parents chose our spouses? Her stories were very fascinating though, she is a remarkable woman.
Uma at lunch
Her English is very good and she likes asking random questions which is very entertaining to me. She asked “so what do you think about love and romance?” when she heard I wanted to visit the Taj Mahal. Now that’s a rell random question and it deserved a random answer. She expressed that she didn’t think dating was right and found it fascinating that people date and break up. That was a conversation where I had to make a clear distinction about what I believe dating should be and what the rest of the world thinks it is. She was pleased that my beliefs were closer to hers than the rest of the world’s, even though her father chose her husband.
Random happenings of the day:
At the heritage centre, there was this Indian lady that was taking around a girl from France who, like me, was going to be in India until December or so. The lady could hardly speak English but was fascinated by me for whatever reason. When we first met she asked me my name so I said Nisha (once I say Tonisha people get confused and I have to repeat myself 100 times and then they ask what it means then I have to say my parents were young, in love and creative – so I stick with Nisha). So, we bounced at different locations of the center and every time she sees me she would smile and say “Neeeeshaa” and I’d just smile back. So around the 4th time we bounce up she was asked me something random and didn’t understand a lick of English so I was pretty was answering her in vain. I then went my way and she went to sit and talk with Uma as I talked to the French girl. I later walked over to them and she says something in Tamil to Uma and she (Uma) looks at me and gives a half of smile. I being the fast person that I am asked, “what did she say?” Uma reluctantly said “She said your hair is very coarse”. Uma, realizing the awkwardness says to the potentially racial lady “but she (referring to me) is a very soft person” and she got up to leave. I had no clue what to say so I was like “ Haha.Coarse? This is my hair on a good day”. I know she aint had a clue what I said. We walked off.
Honestly, I don’t this she was being racial I simply think that she didn’t think Uma would have told me what she said. You know how you see someone who is really fat and you say something like “Ooohh she’s a big, fat girl” but you won’t say it for them to hear and if they do hear you would feel horrible? I think it was a situation like that.
I went to the Dakshina Chitra. It is a heritage center that shows all the arts and craft of India. It was sooo nice. I did a lot cheap shopping there! There was the pottery area, the silk making, jewelry making huts and a cultural dance show. I actually got up and dance. Yes, I embarrassed my self.
My tour guide for the day was Uma and she THE BEST. She is not a professional but just did it as a favor to Krish. She loves to talk and is very open about herself.
She told me all about the horrors (well, she doesn’t see it as horrors but reality) of her arranged marriage some 30 yrs ago. Can you imagine his parents interviewed her, made her sing a song to determine if she would make a good wife for their son?? They might as well make her open wide to check her teeth and tongue. However, I guess she sang well so they chose her. Wouldn’t life be great if our parents chose our spouses? Her stories were very fascinating though, she is a remarkable woman.
Uma at lunch
Her English is very good and she likes asking random questions which is very entertaining to me. She asked “so what do you think about love and romance?” when she heard I wanted to visit the Taj Mahal. Now that’s a rell random question and it deserved a random answer. She expressed that she didn’t think dating was right and found it fascinating that people date and break up. That was a conversation where I had to make a clear distinction about what I believe dating should be and what the rest of the world thinks it is. She was pleased that my beliefs were closer to hers than the rest of the world’s, even though her father chose her husband.
Random happenings of the day:
At the heritage centre, there was this Indian lady that was taking around a girl from France who, like me, was going to be in India until December or so. The lady could hardly speak English but was fascinated by me for whatever reason. When we first met she asked me my name so I said Nisha (once I say Tonisha people get confused and I have to repeat myself 100 times and then they ask what it means then I have to say my parents were young, in love and creative – so I stick with Nisha). So, we bounced at different locations of the center and every time she sees me she would smile and say “Neeeeshaa” and I’d just smile back. So around the 4th time we bounce up she was asked me something random and didn’t understand a lick of English so I was pretty was answering her in vain. I then went my way and she went to sit and talk with Uma as I talked to the French girl. I later walked over to them and she says something in Tamil to Uma and she (Uma) looks at me and gives a half of smile. I being the fast person that I am asked, “what did she say?” Uma reluctantly said “She said your hair is very coarse”. Uma, realizing the awkwardness says to the potentially racial lady “but she (referring to me) is a very soft person” and she got up to leave. I had no clue what to say so I was like “ Haha.Coarse? This is my hair on a good day”. I know she aint had a clue what I said. We walked off.
Honestly, I don’t this she was being racial I simply think that she didn’t think Uma would have told me what she said. You know how you see someone who is really fat and you say something like “Ooohh she’s a big, fat girl” but you won’t say it for them to hear and if they do hear you would feel horrible? I think it was a situation like that.
Best advice since "look both ways before crossing"!
1) Do not consume any water from the taps. They are contaminated
2) Do not consume food from the roadside. You could end up with a horrible sickness
3) Do not shake hands. If you do, disinfect or cleanse with soap immediately.
4) Be prepared to pay too much for everything. Bargain for anything without a price tag.
5) Do not consume any seafood during the monsoon.
6) If you must dine out, always choose the vegetarian option. At least until your stomach can handle the bugs here.
7) Always have a roll of toilet paper handy, just in case you find yourself with severe food poisoning and you are out.
8) Never assume anything is clean
9) When you buy beverages out, never request ice. Always make sure the bottle/can is opened infront of you.
10) Only consume bottled water from the following safe brands: Aquafina, Biserli, Himalaya, Evian. Other brands tend to have very high chemical contents
11) Always mention that you are from the West Indies and the same country as Brian Lara. He is well respected here.
12) DO NOT under any circumstances, try to convert anyone to your religion if you are not hindu. People have been killed here for that
13) Everyone stares. Get used to it
14) Don't show too much skin as this will get you unwanted (i mean seriously) attention. The men here do not understand limits and there are many cases of chicks being raped due to what they were wearing (go figure...)
15) Be assertive and prepared to push. People will only spring into action if there is some sort of threat.
16) Queues are unheard of...
17) Locals are helpful but will never tell you they don't know. You'll get an answer anyway. Wrong or right.
18) Be careful in the street. Cars will run you over for fun.
19) Chennai is one of the filthiest cities I have ever been in. You'll notice it in the air and the rubbish heaps everywhere.
and finally....
20) HAVE FUN! Forget everthing you know about how the western world works. This is India and it dances to the strains of the sitar. A melody you will have to learn by force!
By Jolene (Irwin's cousin living in Bombay,India)
2) Do not consume food from the roadside. You could end up with a horrible sickness
3) Do not shake hands. If you do, disinfect or cleanse with soap immediately.
4) Be prepared to pay too much for everything. Bargain for anything without a price tag.
5) Do not consume any seafood during the monsoon.
6) If you must dine out, always choose the vegetarian option. At least until your stomach can handle the bugs here.
7) Always have a roll of toilet paper handy, just in case you find yourself with severe food poisoning and you are out.
8) Never assume anything is clean
9) When you buy beverages out, never request ice. Always make sure the bottle/can is opened infront of you.
10) Only consume bottled water from the following safe brands: Aquafina, Biserli, Himalaya, Evian. Other brands tend to have very high chemical contents
11) Always mention that you are from the West Indies and the same country as Brian Lara. He is well respected here.
12) DO NOT under any circumstances, try to convert anyone to your religion if you are not hindu. People have been killed here for that
13) Everyone stares. Get used to it
14) Don't show too much skin as this will get you unwanted (i mean seriously) attention. The men here do not understand limits and there are many cases of chicks being raped due to what they were wearing (go figure...)
15) Be assertive and prepared to push. People will only spring into action if there is some sort of threat.
16) Queues are unheard of...
17) Locals are helpful but will never tell you they don't know. You'll get an answer anyway. Wrong or right.
18) Be careful in the street. Cars will run you over for fun.
19) Chennai is one of the filthiest cities I have ever been in. You'll notice it in the air and the rubbish heaps everywhere.
and finally....
20) HAVE FUN! Forget everthing you know about how the western world works. This is India and it dances to the strains of the sitar. A melody you will have to learn by force!
By Jolene (Irwin's cousin living in Bombay,India)
Day 1 - Saturday 8th August
After one night of deep thought, My room totally grew on me – also after hearing daddy’s voice was playing over and over in my head “Haywoods could survive anywhere!” Wait ‘til I marry out of this name hehe. (Daddy if you reading this, ah sorry) India is also growing on me though.
The study abroad program provides tour guides. The head of the program here in India is a husband and wife, Krish and Grace. Krish brought Dhanalakshmi to meet me that morning. She is a professional tourguide and would be my company for the entire day. We went to religious historical sights – 2 churches and a temple. It was very interesting but a little boring. She was a little too professional for my bubbly, chatty personality, though she was nice. I did learn though that some Christians here worship St. Thomas (Jesus’ disciple).
So I went to a mas where they were praying before the tomb that is believed to have St. Thomas’ bones. He was killed in India when he came to preach in India. No shoes could be worn in there – image my horror walking around barefooted.
The real horror came when we went to the temple square. This is a public Hindu temple in the streets. I was tip-toeing like a fool trying to dodge wet or gross-looking areas on the ground. Outside the temple one eyed and disabled beggars rushed me and would not take no for an answer. It was very weird in there – that’s all I’ll say about that *smiles*.
But I do have to say that when I saw the huge statues of rats and people bowing and so on I had to contain myself and stifle my feelings.
I pulled myself together and asked Dhanalakshmi (who is a Hindu) “what in the world??” – kidding. I didn’t say that, though I wanted to, I simply said in a neutral tone, “so you don’t kill rats?” She said “nooooooooooooo”, as if I had just asked the most absurd thing, “…that’s Lord Ganesh”. I said “OKAY”. These NYC subway rats are really being mistreated; they could live like lords in India, literally.
But I have to say thanks to Justin (Gittens) for making me paranoid about the Tamil Tigers. He has me walking zig-zag in the over-crowded streets of Chennai and looking over my shoulder. Tsk tsk. Justin, I was reassured that they were apprehended…
I also have to say a special thanks to whoever said to me “you know, just as we have stray cats, they have stray monkeys”. I got up at 4 am to peep through the creases of my window curtains because I swore I heard something go “ooh oooh – ahh ahh”. I am not even joking. So I asked the guide in the morning and she after she had a good old laugh she managed to compose herself long enough to say “no monkeys here”.
The study abroad program provides tour guides. The head of the program here in India is a husband and wife, Krish and Grace. Krish brought Dhanalakshmi to meet me that morning. She is a professional tourguide and would be my company for the entire day. We went to religious historical sights – 2 churches and a temple. It was very interesting but a little boring. She was a little too professional for my bubbly, chatty personality, though she was nice. I did learn though that some Christians here worship St. Thomas (Jesus’ disciple).
So I went to a mas where they were praying before the tomb that is believed to have St. Thomas’ bones. He was killed in India when he came to preach in India. No shoes could be worn in there – image my horror walking around barefooted.
The real horror came when we went to the temple square. This is a public Hindu temple in the streets. I was tip-toeing like a fool trying to dodge wet or gross-looking areas on the ground. Outside the temple one eyed and disabled beggars rushed me and would not take no for an answer. It was very weird in there – that’s all I’ll say about that *smiles*.
But I do have to say that when I saw the huge statues of rats and people bowing and so on I had to contain myself and stifle my feelings.
I pulled myself together and asked Dhanalakshmi (who is a Hindu) “what in the world??” – kidding. I didn’t say that, though I wanted to, I simply said in a neutral tone, “so you don’t kill rats?” She said “nooooooooooooo”, as if I had just asked the most absurd thing, “…that’s Lord Ganesh”. I said “OKAY”. These NYC subway rats are really being mistreated; they could live like lords in India, literally.
But I have to say thanks to Justin (Gittens) for making me paranoid about the Tamil Tigers. He has me walking zig-zag in the over-crowded streets of Chennai and looking over my shoulder. Tsk tsk. Justin, I was reassured that they were apprehended…
I also have to say a special thanks to whoever said to me “you know, just as we have stray cats, they have stray monkeys”. I got up at 4 am to peep through the creases of my window curtains because I swore I heard something go “ooh oooh – ahh ahh”. I am not even joking. So I asked the guide in the morning and she after she had a good old laugh she managed to compose herself long enough to say “no monkeys here”.
Torture in Transit and the Arrival
I arrived in
I listened to him ramble about all sorts of things before I made it clear that my intention was to sleep. I occasionally had to wake up to shake his head off my shoulders or his finger tips from grasping my “smooth” arm during his sleep. Thank god I have a sense of humor.
The flight connected in
I quickly got over that. The last 10 hrs from Belguim to Chennai was tortureeeeeeee. I cannot imagine how the guys at MSP (Maximum Security Prison) feel. But it did help that each passenger had their own Tvs and could watch anything from Bollywood and
Landing in
The drive to the hostel, though we didn’t speak, was far from quiet. Drivers literally drive with their horns. My first impression of Indian drivers summed up in one word is reckless! Along the way, a lot of the sights reminded me of Slum Dog Millionaire – the young children and youths out in that streets that wee hour of the morning, the heaps and heaps of rubbish on all of the streets, the over bearing noise pollution and the women sleeping in dirty saris on the road ways. As we passed through the slums the slight mash of brakes made me shiver. I was praying in my head “Please Lord, let this not be it”. I would have died if I had to live in a shanty town’s hut for the next 4 months.
When we did get to the guest house I was thinking that the place looks old and creaky. The yard of the compound was all dirt. Then the driver dropped my bags in the lobby and JETTED. In the dim lobby there was one old Indian man, no one in sight and utter silence. I was thinking “this is the start of every good horror movie”. There was only the dust from the tires of my driver’s van left…he sped off into the night. And to make things worst, out of no where comes a man out of a door that marked “manager” with big wide eyes that looked pleased – he could have either been thinking “Welcome to India!” or “Supper!”. The old man behind the dusty-looking wooden counter knew who I was before I said and looked at my passport and wrote I was Spanish (I guess he saw
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