INDIA Vanakkam!

BIG THANK YOU TO THE CUNY BA!!

2009-12-07T12:47:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-12-07T12:37:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-11-24T20:59:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-10-31T12:07:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-10-23T09:02:00.000-07:00

(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...

2009-10-23T08:44:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-10-12T08:44:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-11T11:18:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-10-11T11:01:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-11T10:11:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-01T08:51:00.001-07:00

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

2009-09-29T09:14:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-27T05:43:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-09-22T09:58:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-09-22T09:45:00.000-07:00

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…”

2009-09-22T09:40:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-22T07:11:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-09-18T10:30:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-18T10:04:00.000-07:00

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.

Are we in kindergarten?? 'Cause I thought this was a Master's class....

2009-09-08T08:54:00.000-07:00

Today I just wanted to be back in New York, at my well organized, policy-governed university; a place where students are treated with much more respect than I’ve experienced here. Yesterday (Monday) I skipped school because I wasn’t feeling myself, my stomach was acting a little ‘mysterious’. I called one professor and told him I wasn’t going to make it. My other class, I had no contact for the professor, but I didn’t think she’ll miss me anyway. I did agree to present a paper on child abuse in India that morning but there were tons of other students presenting as well so I really didn’t think it would matter, especially seeing that I had a valid excuse for not making it. When I got to class today our professor came in to say that the head of the sociology department wanted to meet with each of us individually to discuss the extensive amount of absences from class. I didn’t care because I was always there (when I’m well -which is most times), everybody was shaking, saying they were scared. I was confused! These were all master’s students – grown men and women – acting this way? This department chair was bawling up each student and demanding answers for their or other classmates’ one or two absences. I thought the whole this was pointless, a waste of a potentially productive class period. Everybody who went to see him came back with a look of horror on their faces and our professor would ask “how was it?” It then came to my turn to see this Indian on a power trip. I was annoyed because I was thinking that this reminds me of an article I was reading in the Sunday’s paper that discussed how India is big on rank and status. This can determine how you are treated and how you are allowed to treat others. All this comes from the whole caste system too – “some are born serve, some are born to be served” the article said. I have found that most people here over-use their authority. So I entered his office and he is sitting on his throne with another professor there who just stood and looked on as he told off one student after another. I think I went in his office fired up, because I thought it was ridiculous from the start. He started with random small talk “So how are you enjoying this place?” I answered saying that it was very different from what I’m used to and that I was adjusting. He, without warning, flipped the script on me. He went into his power trip mode. He leaned back in his chair and just went from 0 to 10. “Yes, but you just can’t be given an assignment and not do it…your professor told me” he blurted. I was a little confused for a second then I asked, “ are you talking about yesterday? I did the assignment but I missed class because I was sick” He snapped, “everybody who came in here said I’m sick, I’m sick”. I wanted to say “duhh, because this place is so stink! Everybody has one thing or another”.

Segue: One professor has patches of lifted skin that looks like dried fish scales all over his hands and face. Today he accidentally picked up my bottled water thinking it was his – my heart was pounding! With no decency, right then and there, I bathe the bottle with hand sanitizer then wiped it with a kleenex. I know that’s horrible, but I’m really not trying to catch anything here, my mosquito bites look bad enough.

I tried to say to Mr. Power-Trip (and the bubble-head professor who just stood there nodding with his armed folded, egging him on) that I really was sick and I had already apologized to my professor and she gave me her number to call her if a case like this may arise again…but he wouldn’t even let me finish. He blurted “ have some sincerity!” I wasn’t sure whether that meant he thought I was lying or he used the word out of context. I asked ridiculously “sincerity??” I realized that I had to be explicit with this man because he has a thick skull so I continued, “I was sick! You wanted me to come to class? I was in the toilet all day long!” A bit of an exaggeration but I wanted it to hit home. He looked at the other professor and they both start laughing like the idiots they were being. He then caught himself when he saw that I was dead serious and shouted “this is ovad! And have some sincerity” I said “what?” he said “ovad (over)! You’re explanation is accepted” and pointed me to the door. I was so annoyed. I think that he didn’t care that I was sick or that I wasn’t sick, he was just annoyed I didn’t do like the other students and said “yes sir…yes sir” sheepishly. My thing is, if I’m shown respect, I will give all my respect- but I found him rude as hell. When I got back to the classroom, Suriya, who looked like she wanted to cry when she had returned, asked “you got scolded?” I just looked at her and said nothing. Our professor, who I was annoyed at for squealing even when she knew I was sick, asked “how was it?” I said “ridiculous!” She (and the whole class) just looked at my angry face wide-eyed and said nothing.

India made me smile...

2009-09-08T08:52:00.000-07:00

On my way to campus today I saw a man on a motorbike carrying a small crate stuffed with at least 30 white fowls – big ones. Some were half-dead - perhaps it was the heat that did it- and some were dead-dead, with their necks hanging off the sides of the crate and flapping up and down in the wind as he sped up the road. It was gross but it made me smile.
It made me think of Daddy’s chicken selling stories. This past summer he had me cracking up with his stories of selling chickens as a teenager. He would walk from house to house trying to sell his chickens but heat of Trinidad’s sun would kill them before he got a sale. Of course, nobody would buy a dead chicken especially not from a potentially lying young boy. The concerns of his potential customers were -- How did the chickens die? How long had they been dead? You’re sure they just died as you were walking up here? No one bought dead chickens. I had heard him tell this story many times growing up, but this summer it was the funniest! The poor rickshaw driver must have thought I was mad, cracking up all by myself at the back of his auto. It was a good way to start my morning though.

My first Indian Wedding!

2009-09-06T05:30:00.000-07:00

Today I went to my first ever Indian (Hindu) wedding. It was the wedding of an English professor at my university. I am still confused as to what happened at that wedding – a rope was tied around the legs of the couple, a bunch of random acts involving rice and milk and candles and flowers were performed, the guests were smoked out, rice was thrown on the couples head and they were married. It was weirdly serious though. There were no gasps of excitement when the bride walked out, the bride didn’t even smile when she walked out, everyone just looked on like they were being forced to witness the most atrocious thing. I was the only excited one saying “awww… look at her!” I thought she looked nice in her wedding sari…no one else thought so it seemed. Everything was so colorful and festive looking, but not the bride, and the groom was worse. He looked upset! I saw the bride’s sister gesturing for him to smile, but he just didn’t want to, he gave her an “It’s my wedding and I’ll smile if I want to” kind of look. On the drive there, I was telling Evan that when she invited me I was too embarassed to ask if it was an arranged marriage or a love marriage. We both agreed that we would look at the body language and draw a conclusion.

Well I knew from the start there was no real love because when he came out, he didn’t look at her twice, in fact, he didn't even look at her once. His face looked like he was ticked! It was so weird. Absolutely no eye contact or conversation between the bride and groom – it was strictly business. I was busy nudging Evan who had no time with me because he was annoyed at this bawling child sitting at the back of us – “that kid is crying like it’s his full-time job” he grumbled. He didn’t like the music either. It really did sound like finger nails were being dragged across a chalk board. He made it his duty to point out that there was no consistent rhythm, and that the men were just playing whatever they felt on that flute thingy. He was right. I was thinking about Trinidad Indian weddings and how it’s all about the music, the rhythm of the tassa drums – these men really needed a lesson.

Now Indian weddings are all about the fashion. I thought I was dressed up, but I really was under dressed – I wore a long kurta and a churida. All the blinging saris, in all their vibrant colors come out for these events. At the wedding I sat between Evan and Aruna, a classmate of mine who is doing her master’s in English. We talked throughout the wedding. In very hushed tones she told me she doesn’t like arranged marriages – she could very well be burnt at the stake for saying that AT an arranged marriage. She was curious about me and my take on it. She asked “Will your parents oppose love marriage?” I laughed and whispered “love marriage is the only kind of marriage I know”. She said that she was in love but she wouldn’t tell her parents anything about him because they will opposed. She said “my sister is 26 years old and not married yet…it is very sad; so until she is married, I will tell my parents sometime after”. I asked her how she knows its love and she said because they talk on the phone for hours. I was thinking “Word? The amount of boys I have had lengthy conversations with on the phone in my lifetime…I’d be all out of love”. But I wouldn’t dare burst her bubble, I was just happy that she was taking a step in the right direction and expressing her right to marry/love who she pleases.

As the wedding proceeded I was thinking about how different it was to all the Bollywood movies I have seen – not just the wedding but the romance/relationship norms of India in general. I realize that the movies are quite the opposite of reality. There were no parents sobbing with tears of joy, there was no emotion felt, I certainly would quicker cry for an Indian movie’s wedding than I would for the one I was witnessing at that moment. Then I thought about our Hollywood romances and they are exactly the opposite of what really happens too – but that’s what makes it entertaining. We all want it, but it will most likely never happen the “movie perfect” way. That’s exactly what the Bollywood movies are – pure fiction that portrays an ideal for girls (and boys) to dream over – it’s a temporary escape from their reality…just entertainment.

The ceremony was over and they had to change for the gift giving. This was longer than the ceremony itself. In fact, we left them receiving gifts, ate at the reception, took a series of photos, came back to the ceremony hall and they were still there, hungry I’m sure, and receiving gifts – one by one. Then they finally smiled, when people either of them knew greeted them. Finally, some happiness, I thought.

At the reception hall and had breakfast (the wedding started at 7:45 am and ended around 8:45). They have rice and dhal for breakfast too so it was just like lunch to me. I dread eating out because no one ever has cutlery! One of the Mongolian girls was nice enough to bring me an ice cream spoon from the dessert table. It was super weird eating and standing in a circle at a wedding…but there were really no tables or chairs other than those that were used to serve food on. All of a sudden, while standing in a circle of about 6 classmates, my classmate Shobana, who has been super nice to me, shoves her hand in my face with fingers clasping some rice, noodles and dhal. She was pretty much sticking her fingers in my mouth and I was thinking and it showed on my face, “what the hell is going on here??” because I clearly had a big plate of food in my hand. She repeated, “Eat! Take! Take!” I said no like two times and I know how offended Indians get with things concerning food and her face started to look a little shocked by my resistance. I simply bit off a little off the top to avoid touching her fingers – I really wasn’t trying to have no girl hand up in my mouth. But they all do it! I had seen them feed each other in class before and thought it was the weirdest thing. Poor girl probably still felt bad because I barely ate anything off her fingers.

Shobana and Nisha

So Nisha, another classmate, clearly took note of my resistance to the whole feeding thing and made it her business to torture me some more. I had some ice cream and a galub jamon on a plate and she comes with her face a little close asking for some. I made a face that said “There are giant pots of ice-cream right there! Go get your own!” but I smiled and said “Sureee” and handed her the plate. She didn’t take it. Instead she said “Feed me” and I looked at her wide-eyed and she said “I can tell you’re not used to feeding” with a smile on her face. I quickly said “No, I’m not”. She explained, with the others chiming in, that it is a way to show affection among friends and it is their expression of sharing and caring etc. So I was like “Oh ok. That’s very nice.” I really did think that was nice, though my evil side thought “yeah, sharing finger germs isn’t my idea of friendship;” and the corrupt western side of me thought it was a little lesbian.
Anyways - would you believe that she still wouldn’t get her own…she wanted to be fed! I was like “Oh crap!” in my head and I stuck the spoon in her mouth that had been open and waiting. Then they all went to get their own desserts and I felt it coming – I knew they wanted to feed me, I saw it on their faces as they were coming towards me - so I ran to the garbage bin, stood there extra long hoping that when I got back they would have forgotten the thought of feeding me. As soon as I walked back to the circle, Nisha, with a big grin on her face, stuck a spoon in my mouth and the others lined up like kids playing “pin the tail on the donkey”, only this game was called “stick the spoon in the donkey’s mouth”. As fast as I swallowed another one came – this meant we were friends now and they were showing affection. I saw Evan look over at me with his “what the hell?!” look, but I was just relieved they had spoons this time (haha). On our way home I said to him “I saw you looking at me being fed” and he was like “YEAH, what was THAT about??”

Visit to Prema Vasam

2009-09-04T02:04:00.000-07:00

This past Sunday we (Evan, Rob, Sara and I)went to an orphanage called Prema Vasam (a place of love) about an hour and a half from where I am staying. It is situated in somewhat of a rural area – dirt roads etc. Frankly, I was getting a little worried when we were driving on humpy dirt and surrounding by all variations of animals.

Then we came up to a huge gate that a really old man slowly opened and the place certainly didn’t look like an orphanage, there wasn’t a child in sight. The building was big and had two stories with a balcony wrapping around the entire top floor. We were greeted by a lady in the reception room and children started pouring in one by one. There were about 70 children living there altogether – it seemed like more. Children were everywhere after a while. Then they all started clapping and singing some song and at that point I had no clue what was happening. Then I felt the ring of flowers being place around my neck and a girl came and placed the “dots” in the middle of our foreheads.

Such a dramatic but warm welcome was a pleasant surprise. We greeted all the children around us then, with the children in toe, we went to meet the handicapped ones. I am not sure why, but in the West we don’t see this extreme physical disabilities. Honestly, I wanted to run up out of there. It was very awkward for me because I’m standing in a room full of children with physical disabilities and looking at then laying in cradle-like beds with a smile on my face. We all were smiling I guess, but I really was faking it. If I didn’t smile my face would have shown my horror. I could hardly even take photos.

I have never seen physical disabilities like this. I saw one boy who looked like maybe 17 years old with the head of a 4 year old – a very small head for his body. There was also this little girl about 7 years old maybe, who seemed to be the ‘normal’ kids’ favorite, who was mentally okay but had feet that grew inside out and had no ankles. I think with a few correctional surgeries she will be good.

Some kids I just had no clue what was wrong with them – limbs grow all wrong. I just couldn’t take it. I tried to follow Rob’s lead after a while – he was so good with them. Rob would stoop at every bed and with his beautiful English accent ask them how they were doing; no matter how coherent they were he would at least acknowledge them.

Rob has a gift from God. I just waved and smile as I passed the beds – I really wish I could have been a little better at coping with them. There was this one child though who was interesting to me and I asked what was up with him. I was corrected – she was a girl. She had a shaven head and was very frail looking, very tiny and thin, perhaps 8 or 9 yrs old I thought. She didn’t have functioning legs it seemed, they seemed very short. She was sitting on them and was coiled into a ball with her head in her lap. They say she is not very responsive. She would sometimes smile or if you say her name she would look at you but she is very shy. I called her name (I don’t remember what it is now) a couple times and she looked up very slowly and went back down. She did this a couple times until she was tired of me harassing her. When I saw her eyes I could tell she was definitely a girl and that she wasn’t a child. I asked her age and they said she was 21 years old – a little younger than I am. I was very saddened. I was so overwhelmed the entire time.

The cause of all these disabilities comes from the unhealthy practices of mothers and the inter-marrying. A kid in my class said, in an almost disappointed tone that he will not be marrying family but a girl from the rural area. So I, being as innocent to Indian norms as I am, said “family??” and he replied “Yes yes, uncle’s daughters”. I was like “1st cousins you mean??” But he was too busy telling why a rural wife was better (in a nutshell: she will be easily controlled-he’ll dominate) that he just nodded and ignored my question. I met an old woman the other night who said she married her grandfather’s son, I paused to think then with my head pulled back and with a face of horror I said “your uncle??!” she smiled and looked at me and I rephrased (in a more held-together tone) “like your mother’s brother?” She said “yes my mother’s youngest brother…but child, it is only in India we can do these things” with a grin. I left it alone because her poor husband died and she was telling me how hard it was to cope. Her children were born healthy though, surprisingly.

Then we had to visit the mentally disabled section which was a little easier to cope with – they were great! Very innocent and very happy! Evan was a hot number for all the girls. There was this one girl, who would not let go of his hand, about 17 yrs old that had a beautiful smile and a gut-wrenching story. The details I don’t know but one of the attendants told us that they got her after her father had stabbed her repeatedly in the stomach, almost cutting her open (scars she still has) but her screams were heard by a neighbor – that saved her life. I am not sure why he was trying to kill her – perhaps he thought he was ending her misery or some think that the mentally challenged have demons. Who knows what he was thinking. She is such a great girl I thought!
There was this little down syndrome boy there who was full of personality, he came up to all of us and shook our hands and was just the happiest thing ever. Jane told me before I left that after this experience I would want 7 children – well at that point I wanted none. I know, I’m just horrible but that’s really how I felt until I met the baby of the orphanage. If you’re paying close attention you’d notice that no one has names. Most people have 8 syllable names, sometimes I can barely repeat it when they say it, let alone remember it. I do remember this one kid’s name from my class – Vasantaraja – I only remember it because I especially like him (hehe). Anyway, so the baby of the orphanage is about 9 months old and the cutest little thing in the world. I wish I could bring him home! He has one attendant who is his “mother”. I thought that was a really good idea so that he does get the brunt of the orphan life. His biological mother had come to the home pregnant and threatening to take her life. The administrator of the orphanage told her that she can do as she pleases with herself but there is a baby involved and he offered to have her live in the home. She was in quite a dilemma. Her husband had died 10 years ago so she certainly wasn’t pregnant for him. Suicide was better that facing the repercussions of her actions it seems. I am not sure what would happen to a woman who fornicates or is adulterous in India today but I wouldn’t rule stoning out. Perhaps the mildest consequence would be being outcaste. She stayed at the orphanage but as soon as she had the baby she left the orphanage, leaving him behind. I guess there was no way for her to take him with her and conceal the fact that she was a pregnant fornicator.

“13 people die every hour from vehicular accidents in India”

2009-09-04T01:22:00.000-07:00

Those statistics were all I could think of as I held on to the back of his motor cycle, as we sped through the lanes of traffic, swerved around round-abouts and dodged oncoming buses.
I had been on campus all day and wanted to do some shopping at the mall before I went back to the guest house. I just really wanted to find a pharmacy to get ANYTHING that would make these Indian mosquitoes leave me alone. The Off Bug Spray seems to be doing quite the opposite.
I ran into a group of guys from my Indian Social Problems class chilling out in the car park. I told then that I was heading over to Spencer Plaza, a somewhat shabby kind of mall that most tourists seem to know about. The boys made weird faces and suggested that I got to Citi Center instead because it was nicer and nearby so I can get a ride. I jokingly said “Oh, you have a car? I don’t do two-wheelers”. They all laughed and looked at me as if I were crazy. Most young people here start riding at a very young age, even though the legal age is 17 years old. They all assured me that I would be fine. I thought about it for a second and asked “Helmet?” There was a second of silence followed by bursts of laughs. “It is illegal to wear helmets here”, Artic said and they all laughed harder. Artic, the rider, then said “you want the ride or not?” in his very think Indian accent which still cracks me up. I reluctantly said “sureeee” with obvious uncertainty. He said “it is better if you sit like me” (with my leg on either side of the bike –jockey style). Now most women here never sit that way, most do the side-saddle thing – I was very cool with breaking some norms in this instance. The sideways sitting with your legs together on a speeding bike is hardly a pleasant situation – that is a tragedy waiting to happen and these women do it in slippery silk saris. I got on the back of the bike and all the boys were jokingly saying “bye Nisha, it was nice meeting you, this is the last time we see you”.

Having second thoughts

Artic then said very nicely as we pulled off “you don’t have to hold on”. Well I was thinking...he must have lost his dam mind. He wanted me to free hand…like play “no hands!” on the back of a speeding bike?! I just laughed. I held on to the back brake light but it was slippery because of my sweaty palms.

It would have been ideal support if I could hold on to his shoulders but I wouldn’t dare and holding on to his waist would have been murderous! Either one would have been more reassuring than that rickety back light though. If I had laid a finger on him we would have stopped traffic – it would have been some “Mississippi Masala” madness. Anyway, I was terrified all the way but I did manage to snap some really quick shots when I deemed it safe to do so. The buses are relentless here! They drive like they have the same size and speed of motorcyclists.

Poor kid had to endure my shrieks of terror in his ears all the way. I know he wanted to laugh. After a while I asked “how far again?” (aka “are we there yet??”) He shouted “ten minutes at this speed, at my normal speed I make it in five”

Arranged Marriage – a good thing, a bad thing or just a thing?

2009-08-26T11:17:00.001-07:00

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...

THINK Global, ACT Local – my conscious journey to becoming Indian- acceptable

2009-08-26T10:46:00.000-07:00

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?

S-O-S!! (Friday 22nd Aug)

2009-08-23T08:13:00.000-07:00

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!

My purpose for being in India - MY THESIS

2009-08-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

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.

WEEK 2!

2009-08-21T11:33:00.000-07:00

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.

Friday 14th (Night)

2009-08-21T10:06:00.000-07:00

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.

I fell in love with the "Mad Scientist"...well his class! (Day 7 - Friday Aug 14th)

2009-08-14T06:27:00.000-07:00

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!

Involuntary Sick Day (Day 6 - Thursday Aug 13th)

2009-08-14T06:23:00.000-07:00

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)

2009-08-14T06:19:00.000-07:00

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…

"That was amazing!" - Day 5 (Wednesday Aug 12th)

2009-08-12T10:13:00.000-07:00

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

East meets West (Day 4 - Tues Aug 11th)

2009-08-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

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”

EARTHQUAKE (Day 3 - Aug 10)

2009-08-12T06:59:00.001-07:00

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)

2009-08-12T06:48:00.000-07:00

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.

How I'm Livin'

2009-08-11T06:15:00.000-07:00

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)

Henna!

2009-08-10T10:21:00.001-07:00

Day 2 - Sunday 9th August, 2009

2009-08-10T09:37:00.000-07:00

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.

If you think Trinis live on the edge when it comes to driving....think again!

2009-08-10T09:20:00.001-07:00

It gets worse:

Best advice since "look both ways before crossing"!

2009-08-10T09:10:00.000-07:00

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)

Day 1 - Saturday 8th August

2009-08-10T08:31:00.000-07:00

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”.

Torture in Transit and the Arrival

2009-08-10T08:26:00.000-07:00

I arrived in India last Friday night at after 11. For the entire 20 hrs I sat next to this Indian kid (23 yrs old) who just loved to talk. He thought that black girls are “ott” and that their skin was so smooth. Hmm. He came in handy for translation purposes though, but his accent was crazy thick. He said “I saw that new movie “ang ovad”…” I asked him to repeat himself about 3 times before I realize that he was saying “Hang Over”.

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 Brussels, Belgium but I was annoyed my entire wait there because I was rubbed down when no one else was!! I was pulled out of the line and was made spin around and spread all because my bracelet (I assume) made the detector go off. I told the lady it’s my bracelet and that she should allow me to walk through without it but she was determined to take me separately, barefooted and all, to a side corner for the unnecessary pat down. I was annoyed! The stares only intensified. I was already one of the only black people, now I was black and a potential bomb carrier. I was annoyed!

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 Hollywood movies to music videos and documentaries.

Landing in India was the best thing ever – I never wanted to be on land more. The immigration officer stared at my passport and read out loud and slowly “Tree-nee-dadd and Toe-bay-goo” as if he has never seen this passport before. As I walked out of customs into the pick-up area there was like 400 pairs of eyes looking at me. I was cracking up so hard in my head but reading signs looking for my name. Then I saw my name big and bold on a placard. I just nodded and smiled at him and he rushed and grabbed my trolley carrying my bags. A whole series of questions and small talk later I realize he didn’t speak a lick of English. That was weird.

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 Port of Spain and assumed). He then handed me these huge old time rusty keys for my room and the “manager” grabbed my bags and took this rickety elevator to the 3^rd floor (the top floor). Then there was a long corridor and I was thinking “oh my word!” by this time. My room was all the way to the end of the corridor and as we entered he started saying “it is verdy safe here, verdy”. Like in every good horror movie, reassurance is the prep’s pleasure. (I need to watch less TV haha). I entered, latched the door and stood there for a minute to compose myself. I sleep about 3 hours that night, despite being jet lagged.