Mysore to Bitter-Sweet

It has been an adventure-filled weekend: starting from late last week with our uneasiness about the planned safari; to our adventures yesterday including a zoo visit and experiences with knowledgeable, business-like auto drivers. Everything about the past two and-a-half days has caused me to be happy about our decision to tour around Mysore. I have had many opportunities to reflect on my reluctance to leave India, as well as my thorough enthusiasm over magnificent, fascinating animals (especially elephants and Bengal tigers).

Asiatic elephants = smaller; African elephants = larger

It has been a wonderful to way to end the semester, with only two of us spontaneously touring this down-to-earth, traditional, historical, friendly, small Indian city, Mysore. The leeriness of arriving at an initial invisible hotel quickly passed as we were greeted by friendly hosts and brought to our simple, yet quite acceptable hotel room. It was eight in the morning after our night train arrived in Mysore. Jess and I were quite excited and geared up to start our sightseeing with the magnificent, flashy Mysore Palace. Yes, honestly the palace was quite beautiful; it was a great subject to take pictures of and walk around barefoot, as required. Nonetheless, I must note that this was not what was most memorable to either of us. The first thing we jotted down in our journals that evening was our curious walk around and behind to a quiet and secluded part of the palace – which we quickly realized was private and publicly not allowed. In defense of Jess and I –there were no physical barriers or signs. The sight which attracted us was exciting; it was the five Asiatic, gray, feeding elephants, casually grazing under a tree with only two people looking over them. When they kindly waved us over neither Jess or I had an idea of what was to our immediate future: a policemen and the couple owners’ encouragement of Jess and I to touch and ride the friendly elephant.  Naturally, pictures were part of the process.  Eventually we had to remember: not many situations are ever fallen upon without the simple request for money. It was DEFINITELY worth it.

Our elephant “excursion” was only the first notable experience of many on our two-and-a-half day trip. It was a great change of pace, not having any plans or daily schedule to follow but only a small checklist, a Lonely Planet India guidebook (borrowed from a friend), a couple alarm clocks, and many friendly auto rickshaw drivers eager to take us and inform us of many stores. Those stores consisted of Kashmir, silk, sandalwood, and incense shops. One day specifically involved a “personal” auto driver taking us to hole-in-the-wall, local tobacco rolling establishments as well as incense making factories – each of which the small city is well known for.

Our trip ended quite well with a nice dinner at a fancy hotel, attracting tourists but also being characteristically quite classy. They made delicious Indian food while we sat outside under “candles” with the fantastic breeze of the cool, inland, November weather. Our food was chosen with anxious minds, ready to eat some of the last Indian meals of five months: a couple roti, garlic naan, a couple gravies (or curries) to split – dal (or lentil) butter curry and paneer (Indian cottage cheese) Manchurian, and may have as well consisted of a small quantity of refreshing Kingfisher beer.

Now that we are back on campus, it is time to think more seriously about packing up our loaded closets of the common Indian products: gifts, scarves, jewelry, and spices. I cannot believe that the past four and a half months are already over, with only a one-week relaxing, scenic trip in the future. I am extremely excited to see my family and friends, to get off that plane in the middle of November, no matter how cold or how much snow there is, to see everyone, return to my home in the U.P. woods, and to have a morning cup of hot black coffee. Nonetheless, it is hard to imagine that these are some of my last meetings with friends in the social work department, several of the last open-window train rides into the city, or last traditionally made Indian meals. It’s that bitter-sweet.

Final Adventures

Our final group excursion to “God’s own country” was beautiful. From the time we stepped outside of the small 2 seat-by-2 seat plane it was evident what God’s life is like…in paradise. Although India is a tropical country all over, here in Kerala the green is dispersed much more densely. While driving through the cities, there are many more coconut and palm trees towering above and in-between. The roads were much curvier in and out of the green scenery. Our initial destination was on a houseboat, our own personal houseboat for eight people, own chef, and with four bedrooms. Aside from a few cockroaches, the casual, slow ride for twenty-four hours was extremely relaxing, a true Indian experience, greeted with a coconut and straw for everyone for some refreshing coconut water. It finished with a homemade breakfast meal of omelets and toast as we watched the river banks narrow as more houseboats, trees, and homes came into view underneath the early morning sun.

Kerala is the most developed state in India. It recently ranked as high as developed nations in the Human Development Index in terms of education, income, and health. That is pretty amazing for this country. As I learned in my Social Legislation and Policy class, when it comes to inheritance laws here in India, every state follows the same law except for Kerala. While in the case of a female death: in all of India the successors are her children and husband; in Kerala, as one example, the first in line are her children and her mother. As we learned Kerala had a specific land reform which was the only state to successfully follow this allowing for families to establish little home gardens. These ideas pretty much sum up, in my opinion, a very successful place.

It was more than the history and the logistics of the state which I enjoyed. It was my fifteen-foot high jungle journey on top of a cloth and elephant. Additional, was our discovery of many local spices and spiders among the jungle under the rain. I ate numerous “Kerala meals” or “Kerala thali” which consists of a circular tray, rice in the center with a popaddum, a fried crunchy thing, any many curries or gravies surrounding. Coconut is among the most common with vegetable, dal, tomato, and fish curries. We saw many wild elephants in our boat tour of a national forest reserve. Unfortunately among the 900 sq km of the reserve there are only thirty to forty tigers, so there was no sighting. Our adventures continued with monkeys coming to our windows every morning while at the reserve searching and pleading for food. We finished our excursion with an ayurvedic massage, the first massage of my life, a typical Indian one famous for working all senses using a herbal oil with music in the background. It was definitely an experience..... Our last night was spent at a fancy hotel near the airport with buffet dinners and breakfasts, a little bit of consumerism to prepare us for our return home to the U.S. in three weeks.

It was a great final group excursion. Although I still have four weeks left in India, including one safari and a true vacation week to the west coast, it was the final group trip we participated in all together amidst beautiful scenery and delicious food.

Northern Exposure

Constantly I had heard from the MCC students, colleagues from my field placement, and from other encounters, that North India is much different then South India. I remember even before I came to India, when I spoke with people about this adventure and even to Indians in America, and my response to my destination was Chennai, they were sort of taken aback. Most had never been to the south, and explained that they did not really know what to say about the south because the regions are quite different. For the past couple months that I have been here in India, I have been curious to investigate these comments. I was so excited to go to Delhi, for this purpose, along with the monuments and history that the city contained.

I felt that I got a lot out of our excursion to Delhi. For one thing, I loved our visit in Agra to the Taj Mahal and the Agra Fort. I think our tour guide did a wonderful job of giving us the history, keeping it interesting, as well as keeping his patience when our excitement would take over causing our fingers to snap vigorously on our cameras. In and around Delhi, and in Agra as well, there was so much history and culture. Old buildings and facilities towered above the coconut and palm trees as we drove through much of the traffic on the streets. The Taj Mahal was beautiful. It is difficult to describe how magnificent it is. I guess I can say that I was extremely happy and satisfied that we went around sunset to see the Taj, even if there was a large mob trying to break back out of the tomb. Of course, the day we scheduled to see the Taj turned out to be on the national holiday, Gandhi's birthday, the busiest day after Christmas. It made for a great story!

One thing that appealed to me about the Taj, was its history. Although, our guide did a great job of providing us with that information, I still do not feel like an expert by any means. Yet, the idea that one man built a tomb, something so marvelous and enormous, only for his wife, the woman he loved, is pretty amazing. I am not a crazy romantic, and India has made me even less so if anything, but it was very inspiring to see the Taj, all the work, effort, and dedication that went into it. The idea that it was all a promise for someone was quite moving. I felt, “why can’t there be more displays like this in the United States.” In a nation so young, sometimes it seems that similar passions and commitments are not as prevalent, which is sad in many ways.

Hardly Quiet Transition

I understand that its been a little while since I’ve written in this journal. You could look at that from a couple different angles: maybe I have just been completely stressed, putting it off, or maybe, optimistically, it’s because I have been busy having a good, event full past couple weeks. I will let you gather what you want. Regardless, my mind has been busy trying to determine when I would type these words, but more importantly what I thought was the most important theme or event from these two weeks. As it is 8:30 am on a Thursday, and I am waiting to travel to my last day of field placement, because of the pounding rain and sporadic thunder = monsoon-like weather, I have come to the conclusion that these past couple weeks have been too great to only choose a theme of importance. I don’t know where to even start: the wonderful, eye-opening experience with my roommate, Jess, living in a health clinic of a village for five days; the friends and family I have talked to from home; the recent Human Rights Conference; a couple days with the most magnificent neighbors; or a craft show.

When I hear the word, “village” I automatically think of a community with a very small number of homes, a group of people similar to a family, beyond the main roads and highways, away from the factories and universities. I would still consider the word village as such, besides the size I initially imagined. Just like cities there are villages of all different sizes; I don’t know why I had it in my mind that just because we were going to be staying at a health clinic in a “village” it would only be surrounded by a few hundred people. That is why I was surprised to hear the size of this place: nearly 12,000 people! Regardless of the size, the population surrounding the ten or fifteen year old health clinic was still a community, a community like a family. It was evident from the first evening Jess and I arrived there, with the people that picked us up from the train station, the way we could ask anyone on the street where one particular person lived, and the way in which most people seemed to feel comfortable coming to the health clinic on the six days of the week it was open with any health concerns they had. Feeling uncomfortable, worrying about stigma, and the culture impacted by traditions and religion are all reasons which seem to hold people back from receiving health care here in India.

I learned a great amount about the health care system in India within these past couple weeks. I thank that to the fact that Jess and I have an assignment which we must present next week about this topic, I thank the staff, volunteers, and cleaning ladies of the health clinic, and all the citizens that we got to know and interact with who only had positive things to say about this clinic that provides free to minimal cost health care. Additional to the interactive education I felt I received while there, I just loved the social visits we could have, the children that flocked to us, the only white people around after school, the hospitable food and drinks we were sometimes given in homes, the afternoons we would spend learning how to tie sarees with the cleaning ladies, the food that we were cooked by the friendliest “grandmother” of the clinic. Finally, I loved the last evening there, before our 1:00 am train ride, when several staff, neighbors and children took turns tying Jess and I up in sarees, decorating us in gold jewelry and adjusting our expressions and body-language for poses of pictures.

It was a sad train ride back home, but I think this paper will now be easy to write, only when we have more time of course.

It was not a quiet adjustment back in Chennai this past weekend, when we immediately started a three-day long Human Rights Conference: an event the Social Work Department hosts annually with representatives and participants coming from around the world, NGO’s coming from around the city, with information and selling hand-made crafts, all to raise awareness of human rights issues, and the Millennium Development Goals (which if you aren’t much aware of, should just do a quick google search!). This was only after I was able to make several phone calls back home: with my mom’s birthday; my dad’s sincere curiosity to hear about my excursion and about my aunt and uncle visiting the beautiful autumn in the Upper Peninsula;  Ethan’s and mine concurrence about certain topics; and talks with my amazing friends Sarah (as I listen to “Dirt Road Anthem” by the way) and Nancy.

The conference was quite informational and made things a reality to me, coming from a developed country to a country in which these eight goals are only that: goals, not realities. Ideas like working to reduce in half the number in poverty and starving by 2015, along with significantly decreasing the number of infant mortalities, focusing on better maternal health, and giving universal education to all boys and girls. HIV/AIDS is a large concern here, as well as gender equality. These were all topics discussed by professionals, teachers, reporters, and students during the past three days, with yummy meals and tea for breaks. Wedged in between these nights was the wonderful social life Jess and I had with our temporary dorm-room neighbors. It started with a very pleasant surprise Sunday evening with my two fellow, wonderful field placement interns when they knocked on our door hoping to sleep in the room next door. Thank goodness it was not a problem, and we were all able to share the next few days with each other. After a long day of conference it was nice to come back with the girls, conversing about the day, share meals, popcorn, and mac and cheese, having a girls’ night with bright blue, thick white (like The Joker…), and clear pealing face masks, a movie, and Oreos.

The past two weeks finished with a train ride and rickshaw ride (we may have thought we were going to die within the traffic) into the city center to an open-aired arena area, where there was an arts and craft show. I don’t think I would be exaggerating when I say that it was one of the most amazing places I have been to in this city. It was an afternoon of buying handmade Indian gifts among the probably fifty or so booths, having conversations with friendly sellers who in many instances were working with NGO’s selling handmade scarves, shoes, jewelry, and figurines made by victims or many times women in distress. Then, what better thing to do after a couple appetite building hours but to get dinner at the nearby American restaurant where we did our show and tell of souvenirs and drank homemade lemonade and Arnold Palmers.

Like the four of us have constantly said the last couple days, “why didn’t we think of getting together like this earlier?” Hailey and Rachel, I am sad that it is my last day of field placement. I wish we had more time there together with more girls’ nights and special chocolate drinks with discussion of the field days. Someday we will visit you in Australia!

This week is ending, but will only begin the next week in a few days with our next excursion. Life seems really good here in India. I am so thankful to be having these experiences and to be able to travel north and south observing the different cultures.

Contrasts and Connections

A country of tropical palm trees, elephants, skyscraping Hindu temples, colorful fabric, and spices galore – to a country of mushroom picking, European old towns, infamous wodka, pubs, and cobblestone streets – a nation with exploration links to America, olives, Angolan and Cape Verdean descendants, superior wine, and melodious, nostalgic, evening music. It has taken me some time to soak in all the connections and similarities one can notice from around the world. Through just being in one location and having the necessary amount of concentration, one can imagine he were in a different world, in a country he already explored, or a country he can only dream of: maybe a city across the ocean, or a desert of another continent. In recent times, I have been jotting down notes while in an auto, train, or car, which remind me of the past, of other places in the world. I never thought that I would be able to vividly visit my home, half way across the earth while in India. I cannot count on two hands the amount of times something in this Southeast Asian nation has reminded me of my exchange year in Poland, or of the short study time spent in Portugal.

It is strange how one event or one person can come around in your life and trigger a memory, create an image, or an attachment, even if it may initially seem quite strange. I think about the international bestseller book, Shantaram. (Those pages are turning quickly!) The main character goes through his time in India, Bombay specifically, after escaping prison in Australia, having a New Zealand fake passport, becoming friends with a German woman and a Spanish woman, hearing stories about saunas in Norway, eating delicious Indian food, and then to only live in an Indian slum and be reminded of his friends and family back in Australia. I would never have expected to be reminded of so many previous places here in India. It is funny how even though I am living in this tropical place, little things can still remind me of the most meaningful places in the world for me.

As a group of Americans, with our supervisor we had a planned, educational excursion to Hyderabad, a city northwest of Chennai, a cooler and dryer city! It was an excellent four days sandwiched between two overnight train rides. While here, there was some time to think, like in my last entry, the train ride in particular. The city has so much history, but unlike in Tamil Nadu, the land of many temples, the history here started with a famous fort reminding me of a place right outside of Lisbon. There was much Muslim influence, drinking of popular Irani tea and eating delicious Pakistani chicken curry, a symbol of the diversity and cultural influences immigrants and history can have in India -- similar to the Angolans and Cape Verdeans comprising much of the population of Lisbon, or the “Indian-Italian” restaurants interestingly spaced throughout the city. It is strange sometimes how two different places can be linked in memory and be extremely similar, even when in half a sentence back it was noted they were quite different.

Contrasts and connections.

I have been going to my field placement every Tuesday and Thursday outside of the city. It is a wonderful place, and I have constantly been considering how I will write one entry about this, but I have not yet come up with the right idea. Nonetheless, at this small, local organization, I have come to meet an extreme amount of hospitality, something Indians are known for. As soon as I reach my destination someone is there to pull out a chair, turn the overhead fan on, and serve me for the Tamil Nadu tea time, 10 to 11 am. The organization is run by a middle-aged couple, two extremely nice people. Throughout my time there, I have gotten to know them very well. While appreciating them very much, I cannot help but be reminded of my two wonderful host families in Poland. Maybe it is the college study-abroad experience that cannot help but relate to a year as a high school exchange student; maybe it is the relation of hospitality, or the importance and centralization of food of which is not seen in America. Every time I get off the yellow, three-wheeled share-auto, walk past the small village, and women cooking, to the brightly colored center building, rolling green hills, and palm trees in the background, and see my two Indian supervisors, I cannot help but think of my families back in Poland -- the people who hosted me for seven and then four months, who treated me so well, taught me so much about the language, shared their family with me, and fed me huge amounts of delicious food (it was inevitable to gain a few pounds). Although here in India, there are many differences: I do not live with three cats and a dog that loves to fart; I don’t get to go mushroom picking or visit the rural, countryside house; I don’t have a host mom to laugh with while drinking some wine, eating homemade bread, or “trying” to bake a cake; I have not been able to prepare Thanksgiving dinner, or help with a birthday dinner; there has been no reason to walk half a mile to the nearby Rotary club for the weekly meetings; and there is no one to take me skiing for winter break or to discuss the amazing places to travel to. India has its own experiences and great benefits which I will surely remember. Yet, it is impossible to go one place in this country without being reminded of something else.

Sometimes those inevitable connections in life, subconsciously making those comparisons of distant memories with people half way across the world, can be difficult. However, it is a claim to the amount of experience and knowledge you can have by traveling and opening up your thoughts and views. I sometimes have that bitter-sweet feeling of being reminded of my quiet, green, secluded home in the Upper Peninsula when I walk through the campus here. While in Hyderabad, the finally visible stars in the sky reminded me of lying out on our trampoline at night, or having bonfires below the sky. The pictures one Indian woman showed me of her life cleared a path for my mind to wonder: to family back home. The students on campus getting together for lunch, skipping class, gossiping, or going out for an afternoon on the town are reminders of random outings and random car rides with friends in my home and college. India is a place so different than anything I have personally experienced. It is a wonderful place, full of culture, learning opportunities, and diversity; with that, there are many aspects of its culture which can be compared to places half way across the globe.

Perfect Place for Reflection

Sitting on the long-distance train right now, is a perfect time to reflect on the world and what I am witnessing. For months previous to my departure to India, I could not even imagine what things would be like. I kept telling people that I had no idea what to expect. It is one thing to read as many books as possible, to hear what people have to say who traveled there personally, to read articles from the internet, and to learn about the culture, etiquette, and language. It is something completely different to be in the nation, to be part of the culture and traditions, the smell and colors, and to be just one person of the many people.

I remember being nervous that I would not be able to handle the heat because all I ever heard about India was the extent of the high temperatures. Nonetheless, it is fun to look back on those feelings now, and to know that I am here. Sometimes it is necessary to remind myself of that when I am stressed or overwhelmed. For a student moving from a small town, a twenty-minute drive on a tree covered road and seemingly traffic-less downtown to a city of nearly ten million people, the most densely populated city of India, I admit, it is easy to become overwhelmed and feel helpless at times.

However, at the moment, as the train speeds on the tracks, views of huts, car lights, and numerous people in and around rickshaws, hotels, and streets merge together, as the breeze of the cool evening air takes hold of my face. It may be too loud to converse at some points, but the noise of the vendors walking in and out, through the aisles is too evident to be missed. As of now, I have already seen water bottles, “cold drinks,” flashing, colorful postcards, samosas, coffee and tea, veg puffs, and baskets of numerous chips and biscuits. I will never go hungry on this train ride. The women in our compartment are as friendly as anyone, explaining with hand motions and few words of English the beds in which us three girls are to take. They talk in Tamil and smile at us as we have our own conversations.
Another man with “cold drinks” just walked by.

Along with the food and the veg puff I ate in the train station, there are those few things that I am still not able to get used to. It is only the mid-evening, a half-hour into our trip, and there has already been one polio-victim with a crutch making his way down the aisle several times. It is heart wrenching to think what his life is like, what his day to day routines are. I consider the fact that I am on my laptop right now, updating my blog; I feel a little sick. I think about how stressed and overwhelmed, how much I dwell on things, and realize that I am such a lucky person. I don’t want to write like I’m trying to be inspirational or extremely deep;  yet, I am processing the fact that I am in such a wonderful place to reflect on the extremes of my experience. Along with the stress and worry come these amazing adventures. I am on a train as I type up this blog, or maybe it’s more like a journal entry, traveling to another city, and will be for the next fourteen hours. Yet, I have been looking forward to this moment, to the breeze in my face, and the time to only reflect and observe. I will be eating more great food and learning about a completely different place, in a different state, with a different language, and different traditions in a short period of time.

A couple days ago in class, with the many absent students including the scheduled project presenter, my professor had to do a “crisis intervention” as he called it. He had to improvise a lecture, to come up with one on the spot. What did he talk about? He talked about Mahatma Gandhi. While learning quite a bit about him, his leadership, as the “father of the nation,” preaching non-violence, vegetarianism, Bramacharya or self-discipline, and faith, my favorite part of the presentation was a quote by Gandhi which we ended on.

“There is nothing that wastes the body like worry, and one who has faith in God should be ashamed to worry about anything whatsoever.”

I liked this because I think it shows the somewhat silly concerns and apprehensions we may have. I am religious and do believe this; however, I believe what Gandhi was trying to get across was more than that. It could be having faith in God, many gods, no gods, faith in luck, faith in your hard work, or faith in the weather and Mother Nature. Whatever it is, there is a point in which you must stop worrying and dwelling on the past/future and let luck, God, or your hard work take control and allow your feelings to relax. I have always known that I dwell on things too much: constantly thinking about the next day, or the next stressful event. India has been a wonderful place to work on this; along with this train ride, Gandhi has put this in perspective for me.

I will end now before I eat my dinner, which is just coming by in crates, paratha with veg curry!! I can smell the curry and spices in the air. So much flavor in this delicious food! Yum!!

An Real Live Experiment to Being a Foodie

The streets were full of clothes vendors, dogs, chai stands, an elephant, and women wrapped in saris as usual. However, the unfamiliar to us seven white Americans in India, was the prevalence of westernized cafes, tourists in shorts and sleeveless, the aroma of homemade Italian spaghetti, as well as the constant, accented, flowing French words on street signs, books, and clothing. Walking through the streets of the city no matter what time of day was extremely quiet. French Town was streaming with Indians, French, and tourists on bicycles. A very large statue of Gandhi taking an infamous step forward was staged above the waters of the Bay of Bengal crashing into the rocks on shore.

We had our second trip to Pondicherry a couple hours’ drive south. It is quite famous for its French influence. Within this state of India, Tamil Nadu, there were three main colonists up until the 1940s and 1950s: Chennai with much Portuguese, a majority of the state of English, Dutch in several places, and finally the French in Pondicherry. It is a small beach city attracting tourists and families with links back in France. From the first tour we took with our wonderful supervisor, Pondicherry felt much more relaxed and casual. It was a few days in which we were able to stress less about our clothing. We were not the only white people around and therefore less of a godlike presence.

Additional to the relaxation and casual feeling of Pondicherry was the familiar western/European culture of cafes’ and restaurants along with the delicious variations of ethnic cuisines. From day one we started with the popular (returned to many times) French café (open twenty-four hours!) and iced coffee drink, walked around the French city, and finished with a delicious, little Italian restaurant situated on the sixth floor of a hotel, overlooking the entire city, with a breeze flowing through the open aired rooftop and the spotting of lights surrounding. Don Giovanni’s was not a one-time visit deal; it was inevitable that we would return to the aroma of homemade Italian pasta, freshly baked focaccia bread of garlic a

nd olive oil, and the beautiful art of tiramisu for a second time only to try something different. Italian food with an extremely friendly Italian owner was only a taste for what was yet to come of the four-and-a-half days we were in Pondy (its nickname).

Day two was all about food. It was maybe my first experience of really being a “foodie” and I truly believe that it could be my lifestyle. What a better way to spend your life, travel the world and eat food; only several times did Anthony Bourdain and Andrew Zimmerman come up while we sought out hole-in-the wall cafes, local restaurants, and ethnic cuisine. Other than walking along the beach, going to a bookstore of novels in English, Hindi, and French, walking slowly through the nearby Catholic cathedral, and getting dressed up for an evening out, food (and some beverages) made up the majority of the day. After an early morning walk along the ocean, a café Americano, my breakfast was a cheese croissant and an espresso from the bakery near to our guest house. Second breakfast was a homemade apple juice on another rooftop café. Lunch was scrambled eggs with a tomato, mozzarella salad. We had to take a break from the heat with a chocolate ice cream and then later an Australian imported beer. Without these things our bodies would have fallen apart from the heat and stress of the trip…. We only had to take another break before heading back to the room to clean up and dress up for dinner. Our destination was the popular twenty-four hour coffee house for my favorite of the day, a chocolate croissant. Dinner was pizza from a fired-oven stove. My mouth may have opened slightly when I saw my simple yet mouthwatering margarita pizza with big, bright green basil leaves placed on top.

Coffee, cappuccinos, Americanos, mochas, croissants, Italian pasta, and scrambled eggs, whether it be plain, in a French baguette, or in a homemade croissant, spinach tart, guava juice, eggplant masala, paratha…

I had such a wonderful time in Pondicherry. It was difficult, just like any vacation, to return to reality and day-to-day procedures. However, after only being back to the urban, metropolitan life for one night now, I am still consumed by the town. I still think about the delicious Italian and French food we ate, but also about our last meal at our supervisor’s house in the countryside, with homemade Indian food. It was the first time I have finally been able to witness and participate in the making of this beautiful and delicious cuisine. We learned to make stuffed parathas, pooris, several curries, and ate popcorn and a variety of spiced, roasted chicken. Even though the family of four informed us of the most venomous snake in India being spotted the previous evening, we were able to forget about it and relax and socialize in the coastal breeze and stuff ourselves with more amazing food. After being away from the chaotic and somewhat stressful city, , walking along the beach, witnessing a community full of zen and meditation, and being immersed in the culture of food, I would never be opposed to becoming a foodie.

One Memorable Walk at Exactly Two Months Time

I never believed I would be this excited to make a twenty minute walk outside the gates for something so materialistic. Not a very materialistic person in general, a huge grin took over my face as I received that phone call from our on-site supervisor this morning. The minute I hung up the phone I threw on a cardigan to cover my shoulders and walked out of my room. It was the late morning and I already had my one class for the day. I decided to preoccupy some time by reading the newspaper and cutting out a couple pages to mail to family.

When I walked out of my girls’ hall, the security guard happily greeted me like every morning. I passed the gravel/dirt pathway onto the cement road, passing the other girls’ hostel. The road is surrounded by many different green trees, rising high above and gently falling over the people returning from class, passing through, riding bikes, and the occasional rickshaws that pass by. As I turned right, many more Indian students came into view as I passed the outside “common area” of campus. While still much green around, palm and coconut trees, there is a very large courtyard of orange dirt, with benches, and a couple food stands. Students, men and women, mingle in groups, couples and individually in-between classes. Being the only white person around, I stuck out.

The walk for about fifteen minutes is very peaceful in comparison to the center of Chennai, or even the outskirts. Campus is quite green and quiet. I passed a couple deer hiding in the trees. There was the occasional man or woman on a motorbike or bicycle that passed me by. Other than that, only slowly did the noise of horns come to my ears. As I walked out the gate and turned left the brick wall surrounding campus was seen on the road. I walked a fast walk, keeping a pace, and only thinking about what was now quite near to me. There were the usual cows and stray dogs feeding in the garbage or palm trimmings. Along with, there were many beautiful women wrapped in saris and the smell of chai tea slowly consuming those senses. It was about time to climb up those few stairs. I did not care about the heat in the usual nineties or the humidity. I rounded the corner to go inside only to wait in line. Compared to some instances, the line was relatively short and quite fast. Thank goodness, because once I saw the package of about half a square foot, I smiled. I patiently showed the employee my parcel pick-up slip I was given this morning after the phone call. Packages, envelopes, people, desks, paperwork, and little cubicles to store information surrounded me everywhere. No matter how busy it was, people were friendly, able to speak English or not; a woman showed me in the right direction and a man who took my package slip right away.

I never thought I would be that determined to get back to my room only to open that package. Mom and dad, thank you so much! In many ways, I do not like to admit it, but I think it is only natural to miss certain things from home, certain comforts of home. I walked back to my Indian home with so much determination I don’t remember half the things I saw or the people that passed by me. I only tried to hold back my excitement as I walked back onto the green campus, under the trees, pass the students in the common area ordering fresh grape, mango, or pineapple juice, and back pass my security guard into the girls’ hostel.

I never thought I would be this happy to see freshly ground coffee beans and mini coffee filters. Most of all was the scent; as soon as I opened the package, the scent of coffee absorbed the room. As much as I love the tradition and culture of milky tea and coffee here, sometimes I have that craving for something a bit less milky and sweet. Everything in the package was excellent. It was a bit of home for me to have while here in India. Tomorrow morning before I put on my kurta and scarf, leave for my field placement, walk to the train station, and sit with many Indian women, I will make myself some coffee.

From Chai, Horns, and Cows, to Price Negotiations and a Popped Tire

How can I explain to everyone the excitement that appears when using transportation in India? Every trip is an adventure; it may be an eight hour, overnight train ride to a Hindu temple city or an hour long bus ride standing, holding on to the medal bars as you brace yourself feet spread apart. The adventure wouldn’t fall short of the quick train ride to the city center. Even in the women’s compartment, vendors hop on and off as they please, awakening everyone as they shout out the samosas, bananas, or guavas that they are selling. If I am looking for something to do, an exciting day would be right around the corner, simply by taking the fifteen minute walk to the nearest train or bus station. But most exciting of all are the rickshaw rides.

This could be either the individual auto-rickshaws located right outside of our campus gates or it could be the share-auto which I find in the outskirts of the city on the route to my field placement. The adventure could start anywhere from meeting people happily smiling at you as many, many are shoved into the vehicle to having a newly made friend follow you off to your internship because of language miscommunication. It could be the popped tire on the rickshaw after only one-hundred feet. Most of all, the adventure and excitement comes from gazing out the window, or rather the open side of the three-wheeled vehicle. All senses are appealed to after the price is bargained with the driver and the engine is started relatively loudly.

Today Jess and I decided to go for a little brewed coffee. Café Coffee Day was the destination for this Sunday afternoon. The driver of the rickshaw which pulled over for us was quite happy to take us, although as we soon discovered, his understanding of where we were going did not match up with ours’. Nonetheless time was preoccupied by the smell of a mixture of diesel, rain, garbage, and chai. As we picked up speed garbage on the side of the road started to zoom by quicker and quicker with people coming in and out, along with stray dogs and cows. We could hear the chanting or recording of the nearby temple we were about to pass. My eyes fell upon the diverse arrangements of roadside shops, all connected, yet customized. Refreshing juice stands stood next to sweet shops. The smell of chai came as traffic slowed because of the traffic light. Cars, motorbikes, and city buses rode up next to and behind us. As we waited pedestrians faces were draw to us, the only white women sitting in any rickshaw probably within miles.
Once again, horns started blowing as the light turned green and there was a mad rush to weave in and out of each other like the game “Frogger.” If passing any car on the right or left, the driver of the rickshaw beeps his horn. If turning in any direction he will beep his horn. It is the way of notifying all other fellow drivers what and who is surrounding them. Many people passed us as we tried to explain to the driver without any communication that what we thought we bargained for was a little further. It was the first time I saw a family of five on a motorbike. They slowly zoomed by as many other motorbikes did; yet, this was the only one with what I guessed was a mother, father, teenage daughter, and two younger children all squeezed on as he controlled the handle bars and she took up the rear riding the common side-saddle technique because of her sari.

We sped pass the little gas station, through some road puddles; passed several little restaurant/bars serving curry and paratha cooked right on the spot. Numerous colors, including orange, green, yellow, and red filled our sight as we passed a man sitting patiently near the fruit stand. Men were sitting and conversing as motorbikes pulled off the side of the road for a quick snack at the snack bar.

After fifteen minutes time we arrived to our endpoint. We were able to figure out a price and thanked the driver very much for driving us. It is one of my favorite forms of transportation here. You can learn a great amount about the culture and city by just observing who and what you pass by as the driver tries to speak English with you and happily takes you to your bargained destination. While today our destination was a relaxing Café Coffee Day, last weekend it was to the famous St. Thomas Mount, with much Portuguese influence, and then to Marina Beach, one of the longest beaches in Asia and in the world. Our rickshaw rides have been back to college from the vegetable market and out to a restaurant for lunch or dinner. The possibilities are endless. No matter where you want to go in the city, it seems a knowledgeable driver will know where you would like to go, and if you’re lucky he will give you a little tour of the city as you pass landmarks and notable, historical buildings!

Devotional Coal Walking

I do not intend to analyze or act as an expert on the Hindu religion or any religion in India. While saying that, I also do believe that I have witnessed and learned a great amount about religion in India. Originally, I wanted to save this topic for a later time in India, learning and absorbing as much as possible. However, after the effects of last night I thought it would be quite all right to write a bit now about the devotion, no matter what religion, I have noticed in many citizens of India.

The night was a perfect declaration to the Indian pace of life and relaxation that is evident. The past week our social work professors have been encouraging us to observe a Hindu ritual/ceremony on the full moon. It so happened that the full moon was last night. As we slowly walked around away from the city concrete buildings slowly dispersed to be replaced by palm trees one by one as green consumed a larger amount of the hills appearing in the distance. Little huts popped up on either side of the narrow tar road when we slowly walked and listened to our professor explain to us the history of the village. One family, with the traditional Indian hospitality quickly came out of their house with several chairs for us Americans as we guiltily and unexpectantly waited for them to return from their neighbors of fifteen feet with more chairs. There we were given a tour of their home. The homes in this village, a rickshaw drive away from the college, had foundations of concrete with a rooftop made of coconut leaves. Quite cool inside under the fan, there were only two rooms, one with cooking utensils and the other with a bed, tv, and some cabinet, housing a couple with maybe two children. We were served hot chai and biscuits while we waited for the hot coal burning ceremony to start.

The ceremony is very important for these people. Of the couple we met and talked with through translations, they were extremely proud to know someone participating in the ceremony. It is an honor. At six pm we were started making our way to were many people of the community were gathering. The decorations put on all the participants were beautiful. It was relatively easy to pick out who would be walking across hot coals by the yellow that they were wearing and the paint on the faces and body. It was easy for us foreigners to react with concern when we saw several young children decorated for later that evening.

Little did we know that seeing children participating in the ceremony would eventually consume the least of our thoughts. As cool and calm as the night started out, it felt as if the temperature soared as we patiently awaited the activities among a large crowd surrounding a mound of fire and hot coals. Within this waiting period, we made conversation with people, but more importantly simply observed everyone. It was not a laughing, happy manner, but more within the realm of a devotional service. It was apparent that people were anticipating and focused on their neighbors, husbands, wives, friends, and fathers to take this initiative, to become a god for that moment. As we learned there, it was not just a one night deal. These people had fasted in one way or another for forty days prior to this night. Now it was their time; after walking through the coals, they were to become a god for that moment. That is what they believe. Those who were able to walk through the hot coals without a significant amount of physical harm were seen to have the god within them. Once the participants started lining up, the atmosphere and air seemed to become more serious, as if a priest just announced the opening hymn in a Catholic mass. One by one men, women, young, and old walked slowly, quickly, step-by-step, some carrying children, walked through the path of hot coals and into a step of water. There was no clapping; only drumming, shouting, and yells of approval. Although not a Hindu, the devotion and passion everyone had here for their gods, for their religion, for something powerful to them was quite contagious. I have never seen so much dedication and belief in a group of people. This has been a quite consistent observation of mine through my time so far in India.

The most extreme part came, as I turned around to see who else was in line. My eyes immediately were caught by a thin metal rod, horizontal to the ground of about five feet. It was not miraculously suspended through the air; instead it was pierced through the cheeks of a middle-aged man. It went in one cheek, through his mouth and out the opposite cheek as if his skin were paper with a whole made simply by a pair of scissors. This was not just one extremely brave soul; it was the beginning of a trend of that evening. Many walked through those coals with a similar piercing. What was more: he danced, a devotional dance before slowly walking on the coals.

It was a silent walk home around 9:00 that night. Many thoughts were streaming through my brain. As foreign and crazy as it may seem as you read about this, it was extremely real and inspiring. Yes, it was a bit scary to see children walk through coals and to know that humans were destroying parts of their body. Regardless of the lack of knowledge I have of the religion (even after living here for a month) and the spirituality I have of my own, I was in awe at how spiritual these people were. I thought when able to soak it all in, would I be that devoted to someone, to my religion, to participate in a ceremony like that?

I must say, I am content just watching J