To Thambi

To Thambi, who is also "Name" (of course I track ISPs), and who has now adopted two different identities (with the same hidden Blogger profile) to leave me notes on the blog:

Thanks for the link. I remember reading that article two years ago, but it was nice to be reminded of it again.

I wanted to respond to your comment because I respect where you are coming from, and although I don't think I'm doing what you are accusing me of doing, it's clear that we are misreading each other, which I think is unfortunate.

So. (Enters storytelling mode.)

I have worn a bindi. Twice.

The first was the night Tempest opened, in Hyderabad. My students insisted I wear one.

"I'm not Hindu," I said. "And I'm not married. I don't think it's appropriate for me to borrow a symbol like that."

They disagreed, explaining that "you can't wear a sari without a bindi!"

So I let them put one on my forehead.

The other time I wore a bindi was in Bangalore, and as before it was suggested and offered by my host, before going to visit nearby families and their Kolu.

Although I have received a few colorful, glittery bindi packets as gifts when making clothing purchases, I don't wear them. I certainly wouldn't wear them on my navel. I've always recognized the bindi as a religious signifier, even as its meaning has altered.

But the salwar is different. It isn't a religious symbol, as far as I understand. It's a form of clothing that has, in fact, already passed through the hands of a few different cultural groups before it ended up on a hanger in my closet.

I know that people think I don't have a right to be interested in India, or in Indian culture; that I am "Bollywoodizing" India (to which I respond "no, I'm Bollywoodizing Bollywood, which -- you have to admit -- encourages that kind of behavior"), or that I am operating from a colonial mindset.

The first part I disagree with, the middle part I know isn't true (India isn't all Bollywood and yoga, and I didn't think it was before the trip, either), and the last part is something that I have consciously tried to address and avoid.

What I don't understand is why you tell me I am presenting myself as an "expert" or "ambassador" of Indian culture. This blog was started in a spirit of questioning, which has continued throughout my travelogue.

It was started -- if you go back to my very first posts -- because I didn't feel comfortable cluttering up the SepiaMutiny comment boards with my questions (and... um... whiteness), and so I started a blog of my own where I could try to puzzle through what I didn't understand.

(Now, interestingly, my blog has in fact been cited on SepiaMutiny, as well as Ultrabrown, and no fewer than six times on DesiPundit.)

I never meant to present India to anyone else, or to (re)define it by my standards. All I tried to do with this blog was to tell stories about my experiences, and to ask questions to help me understand what I was experiencing.

Now that I am no longer traveling, I'm not quite sure what to do with the blog. ^__^ Now is the time where writing "about India" seems presumptuous, and although there is a place for a post about Saawariya because it has to do with something that was recently posted on Ultrabrown, I feel like I ought to redefine my writing focus so that this blog becomes... about a job search? about my personal musings? about OMG-they're-adapting-Ballet-Shoes?!

Anyway. Thambi, I'm sorry that you are offended by what I am writing. I'm not going to stop blogging, though. I make mistakes sometimes, and make stupid assumptions sometimes, and correct them when they are pointed out to me. But I have never presented myself as an expert or ambassador. This blog is always, and has always been, about promoting understanding through question and discussion -- not only understanding of a semester in India, but also of theatre, education, economics, literature, etc.

And that's all I'm going to write about that.

Soft

I spent most of yesterday sitting on the couch, catching up on all the episodes of The Simpsons that I had missed while in India, reconnecting with my cat, and eating apples.

Today I woke up feeling better than I had in weeks. Better than I had since Delhi.

I'm not exactly "re-culture-shocked," but I find myself amazed at the softness of everything around me. Yes, you can play with the double entendre if you want, but these past two nights I have tucked myself into a bed of unparalleled comfort. Fresh crisp sheets, two soft pillows, one lovely comforter, plenty of extra blankets inbetween.

Everything feels soft. The carpet under my feet, the pajamas my mother bought for me (having read this blog post about the prior state of my nighties), the bed, the pillows, the kitty, the sleep itself.

It's absolutely luxurious.

A 24-Hour Train, and a Surprising Arrival

Greetings from Delhi!

I boarded the AP Express at 6 a.m., in the palatial luxury of an AC 2-tier compartment. The majority of my carriage -- in fact, the majority of the train -- was filled by an extended family of Hyderabadis traveling to Agra to see the Taj. They all had an orange handkerchief pinned to their sleeve so that they could recognize each other, and the entire train was filled with chat and rice and dal and chapatis and lots of shuffling around and greeting one another.

The unexpected bonus of traveling AC-2 is that it has attached electrical ports for laptops. Thus my compartment became the hot favorite as I plugged in and kept the crowd entertained with Bollywood films I had stored on my computer. (Yes, I know. I'm ready for someone to tell me that the worst thing I can do on a train is advertise that I have a laptop. The reason I did it was because everyone else on the train already knew each other, and they all already trusted each other, so I thought I would trust them by association. And no one stole my laptop. ^__^)

My train was scheduled to arrive in Delhi at 9 a.m. Perfect, I thought. I'll get plenty of sleep in my comfortable bunk and arrive refreshed and ready.

Except that everyone else on the train was getting off at Agra.

And they all woke up at 4 a.m.

The worst was hearing the chubby bespectacled kid in the bunk below me grumble at his father "But it's four in the morning! The train doesn't get to Agra until SIX!"

So for two hours, until the train hit Agra... oh, I'll spare you.

I arrived in Delhi still exhausted and wanting a nice hot bath. But when I reached my hotel, it was clear that "nice" was not going to be the case. The Hotel Star Palace is tucked into Main Bazaar along with about twenty-five other hotels of similar nature. It's... oh, I'll borrow from the Brits and use "grotty." Probably worse than that. The bathroom is tiny and insect-ridden (I bought spray and hosed it down), the bedroom is equally tiny and has no bedding (luckily I had packed blanket, etc. for the train).

When I saw it, my first thought was New. Hotel room. Now. But then I noticed the other guests in the corridor and in the reception area lounge. All young European backpackers. And I thought "okay, I am not going to be the spoiled American over this. If all these twenty-something European kids can handle it, then so can I."

(I had been meaning to write a post on the subject of "endurance," in which I explained how I felt guilty about upgrading from Sleeper II -- which smelled like a toilet -- to AC 2-tier, because it meant that I was another one of these American children of privilege who didn't want to endure anything that wasn't perfectly comfortable. Now... well, I think that enduring this hotel will assuage my conscience, and I'm not going to worry a bit more about the trains.)

The surprise that I refer to in the post title is how... um... white this section of Delhi is. The bazaar outside the hotel caters entirely to the young, poor tourist, and all of the stalls are full of cheap Indian exotica (look! elephants and that aum thingy!"). Right now I am in an internet cafe surrounded by white people, and I ate both lunch and dinner in cheap restaurants surrounded by white people. It's a cheap, young, tourist rathole. (It will be interesting to see if Red Fort and the other tourist hotspots feel the same way.)

Anyway. I'll post more when I have more news to tell. Say a "don't let the bedbugs bite" for me, 'kay?

Things I Wish The U.S. Would Steal From India

-- Controlled flush systems. That is, with Indian toilets (and with Indian "western" toilets) you get to choose how long the toilet flush takes. Push the handle down to start the flush, lift the handle to stop the flush. Not only do you get to ensure that everything that needs to disappear disappears, I would assume that (when one considers all of the smaller flushes) this system also saves water. At least, it seems as if it ought to.

-- Electrical outlets that can be turned on and off. In India, each outlet has a corresponding switch. When there's no cord plugged into an outlet, the switch is turned off and the outlet is completely disabled. Again, this seems environmentally sound, although I really have no idea how much electricity is saved.

And one thing I wish India would steal from the U.S.????

Doors that can be locked from both sides. With the bolt-and-padlock system, locking the door means either the people on the inside are locked out or the people on the outside are locked in.

It also means that if there's no padlock on the door, it's obvious to everyone that you're home. (This was rather disadvantageous when I was staying in the university guest house.)

A Gallery, and a Gallery of Sweets

After I met my friend, we went to an art gallery to see a new showing by one of his friends, Poosapati Parameshwar Raju.

Since they were trying to save electricity, the gallery itself was completely dark when we went inside. Then the artist-friend turned on the lights. I gasped aloud. We were surrounded by larger-than-life calligraphic drawings, each one arresting in its sense of balance and grace, evoking Ganesh or Hanuman or Surya in simple, nearly-abstract strokes.

Raju drew a series of 250 aums, each one varying the lettering slightly so it became like that game of telephone, where the characters took on new meanings as they metamorphosed. One aum became a praying figure. One became a dancer. One became a diya.

Afterwards, my friend told me that it was his birthday today. I told him that I would have to buy him some sweets. Mostly, of course, I wanted an excuse to eat sweets. He took me to a sweetshop, and when I made some joke about not yet being able to name everything that was behind the counter, he started at one end and pointed at each row of sweets in turn and bought one of everything that I could not identify properly. Including this thing that looked like a jalebi but was actually... something else, like a super jalebi, and when I bit into it I started laughing aloud because eating it was just so fantastic. (Yes, I still don't remember its name. Which means I'll probably have to eat another one.)

And yes, despite it being his birthday, he ended up buying all of the sweets and refused to let me pay. On the other hand, he's currently playing a hero in a Telugu serial and is making more money daily than I did while I was temping. So I don't feel too bad, except that it was his birthday. ^__^

Golconda Fort Makes My Nerd Heart Happy

Of all the places I visited in Hyderabad this weekend, Golconda Fort was the favorite.

Don't get me wrong -- I loved the pearl markets and the shops outside Charminar, the musical clock at the Salar Jung Museum, the brilliantly lit spectacle of Lakshmi Bazaar at night, and the lassi stand where I tasted... oh, I won't bother, it' s indescribable. ^__^

But I think I loved Golconda Fort the best.

At Golconda Fort, I got to go exploring. Ignoring the advances of the men at the entrance calling out "Madam, guide?" I took off up the path myself. (In case you haven't been there, this is perfectly safe. The fort is completely walled, etc. The only danger might be tripping and falling down the 380 steps to the top.)

What I loved about the fort was its complexity. Paths branching and curving, maze-like, leading to lakes or gardens or ice-cream-wallahs; rooms opening into other rooms which opened into courtyards. From the outside, the fort looks imposing but monolithic; only when entering did I realize how vast and concentric it was.

There was no one path to the top. I had to make choices and evaluate possibilities. Each level contained innumerable nooks and crannies to peek into. Every time I turned a corner, I saw something unexpected.

And then, halfway up, I thought "this is like being inside a video game." Exploring, negotiating pathways, discovering secret rooms. All I needed was a sword and a fire-resistant amulet.

When I finally got to the summit, I looked down -- and realized that the fort layout was identical to the overworld map in The Legend of Zelda: A Link To The Past.

The fort is set up the same way. Buildings set within a sandy area in the southwest section, green meadows in the southeast section, the town proper at mid-level with the sultan's home directly above, watery areas in the northeast area, and rocks at top leading to a summit.


It made my nerd heart happy.

Editor's Note: Sorry the map is not in color. She tried to get a color one to load, but it was taking much much much too long, and she's got a class to prep for. Um... she means "a class for which to prep." Nerd, remember. ^__^

Thoughts on Salwars, Part Two

Here's a quiz.

The extra material around the waist of a salwar pant was originally included because:

A. It helps the woman to look "prosperous" and thus improves her status.
B. It allows for expansion/contraction as a woman's figure changes, e.g. pregnancy.
C. It has some other cultural significance that I haven't yet thought of (or read).
D. It's just the quickest way to sew up a pair of pants.

Survey says?