clouds in my coffee

On my morning walk I usually see a fit woman in her fifties dressed in casual salwar kameez sitting on the low wall of the jogging path surrounded by five street children. She usually has book in her lap and the kids sit on worn oriental throw rugs she has laid out for them. They scribble/doodle on pieces of papers they hold against the wall or the ground, tongues hooked over their upper lips, eyebrows furrowed, furiously writing something. The little crowd is usually packing up by the time I see them on most mornings.

This morning the woman was standing on the rugs and many kids were sitting on the wall. They were having a ‘school day’. The kids were taking turns reading aloud their English compositions. The only adults in the crowd, besides the teacher, were her sometimes assistant, and a grandfather. The kids were cheering each other on and, as I walked by, I overheard a young boy. His chest puffed out, his head held high, “I am ten year old. I live Bandra….” I was tempted to sit and listen to them, but I kept going. On my way back they had all finished their speeches and the teacher was serving them home-cooked treats for their little school day celebration.

Today was especially lovely weather. I love to watch storms roll in from the sea. The storm isn’t quite upon us yet, but it’s so close.

Many people have told me that monsoon is dreadful. People have monsoon clothes- clothes you can throw away at the end of the season. The rats and every other creature, normally hidden, come out. Cars roll in huge puddles and splash you with watery sewage. I have been told to buy some plastic shoes to wear for the season. That I should wear open shoes otherwise when my feet get wet inside of you shoes, they won’t dry adequately in an ac office and I’ll end up with foot fungus or worse.

Part of me wants to think, “They’re exaggerating. They’re still reeling from last year’s floods.” But, even those who are more prone to understatement have said to me, “Are you sure u don’t want to go home or to you granny’s for the season? Monsoon will make you cry.”

I prefer cold to hot and snow to rain. I got through the hot, so let’s see how I get through the rain.

Oh Henry!

Well, ladies and gentlemen, forgive me for my prolonged absence. I’ve needed the computer breaks a bit more often lately. I was also absorbed by one of the worst books I’ve read in the recent past- Holy Cow by Sarah MacDonald. I have had nightmares reading this book. I have been trying to maintain an academic frame of mind and trying to see what’s good in this narrative. Too often my reaction to the main character and author was “well, duh, lady.” The string that we are supposed to follow is her path to faith in something bigger and better than humanity. She claims to have started her journey as an atheist, but I didn’t get the sense that she really understood what that meant. She takes us through trippy Hare Krishna life, the “white Sikhs” who practice kundalini yoga, flirts with Islam, and somehow “India” spits her out. Brand new, germ-tolerating, and believing- yes, she’s a believer ladies and gentlemen- hallelujah, in’shallah, jai ram ji ki…

Okay, what she does well is break down concepts that are completely foreign to someone who does not have one iota of exposure to anything “India”. She makes some sense of Hinduism- the triumvirate, the many incarnations of each, the stories associated with all. “India” is the other character in her book. This is what I cannot stand. It’s the sign of a categorical, linear thinker- label it, put it in a box, put the box on a shelf, color coded, and alphabetize.

I am most likely being unfair. If one never visits, she gives a damn good description and initial reaction. Most people experience some level of culture shock, gross miscommunication, and distance between you, the visitor, and those who really live in this nation. The histories of the regions are in their bones the language, the walk, the talk. Gazes mean different things. I also feel tortured and competitive about the fact that she picked up Hindi and I have yet to comprehend much and not sound like I have a mouth full of marbles while speaking. Where’s my Henry Higgins?

Let’s talk about something else….

Lately I have found myself saying to people, with regard to communication-confusion, that I am having trouble understanding when it is appropriate to be honest. Often I seem to come off as being honest to the point of being confrontational. It shocks me.

A couple of weeks old, you may have already heard:

A 78-year-old man says the key to keeping his 30 wives happy has been the use of a gentle voice and sweet words. Overhearing this, a woman in her mid-forties scoffs, laughs, and says in babbling-brook voice, “sexist little wretch.” He says he never keeps more than three wives at a time, “when one space opens up, I get a new wife.” Apparently in Malaysia one is allowed to legally have four wives at a time only. His longest marriage lasted for 20 years. The shortest marriage lasted for ONE day (Britney’s not alone).

Da Vinci Code release was held b/c the IB ministry and censor board are concerned about hurting the sensitivities of Christians. The country held it’s breath regarding its release, because the decision laid solely on one man’s opinion- the IB minister. If he thought it was okay, then the censor board would have to do little to cut it. If he had thought it was too offensive, then India wouldn’t see the Da Vinci Code (well we would’ve had pirated copies, which had already started to circulate). The movie was released here on Friday. The released version is supposed to have an extra “this is purely fiction” disclaimer. At first Ron Howard was upset and didn’t want to add the extra disclaimer, but he finally consented. So I’ll see it in the theatres. I don’t watch most movies in the theatre, like Brokeback Mountain, b/c I hate knowing that it was censored. You can tell with weird cuts. In Brokeback the scenes that were censored here were the hetero sex scenes. When I say “here” I mean Mumbai unless otherwise specified. Ha!

I went to my cousin’s daughter’s wedding in b’lore (Bangalore) on Sunday. There were many elements of lights, flowers, and water from the point of entry and then all through the hall. Outside was especially lovely. There was a bartender who only served cocktails and mocktails. I was happy to be home and to see a lot of my relatives. I was especially happy that life felt more familiar. Not so many people were sleeping on the streets. The air felt cooler and I loved being able to roam around my cousin’s place as I would my own.

Can you tell that I am in a ‘weirdo’ mood lately? The stability of my current life is making me a bit loopy. Sometimes I feel like there isn’t much to think about – no boy problems, no work problems, no family problems, no money problems, no health problems, minor social problems, but no major problems. I guess I also don’t feel engaged in my environment lately. Too much in the observational position, I think I need to volunteer somewhere. I think it’s time to do that. I’ll keep you posted.

neglected

ai, sorry this space has been neglected for so long. i have only been writing in snatches of time. I'm a little preoccupied with wedding planning. also too much time on the computer has been making me tired and nauseous most days. sorry, to those who have contacted me and have been wondering where i have been. i'm here- just a bit tired and anxious lately. but i'm back andi 'll be updating you as the week progresses. mwah!

"all lines to the country you are calling are busy"

this is what i heard for about an hour today. i went to the international calling booth and dialled friends and family in the us, japan, tanzania, and russia. i didnt get through to anyone except my own home. The person on the other end was my dear aunt who lives in india and happens to be visiting my parents right now. my parents had already left work. oh, well. what's life without a few charlie brown moments?

it's in your hands

Value is attached to each hand. Your left hand is for the ‘dirty work’ and your right hand is for all things good. Your left hand is for washing yourself and you use your right hand to feed yourself. So if you are handing someone food or money you always give and receive these things with your right hand. This rule is not a stickler, but to hand someone something they ask for with your right hand is considered polite, good manners.
My gran sends me lovely packages periodically. Sometimes she sends spicy treats and sometimes sweet ones. Usually it’s too much for just me so I take some to work and basically hand it out to anyone who does or does not get home food.
Recently I mentioned to a colleague that another package is on the way and he said, “More power to your grandmother’s right hand!”