My Secret Goal Reached! (October 8, 2014 - Evening)

Before I came to India, I decided there were two things I wanted to do here, but I never told anyone what they were.  I figured no one I knew would have the power to make them happen.  That, or the events would be forced and wouldn’t be the experiences I wanted.  The first was to attend an Indian wedding.  I didn’t expect that one to happen, but (as you know) we were invited to one before the first month was up.  The second, which I’ve been too embarrassed to tell anyone about, was to ride on a scooter or motorcycle at night.  I don’t know where I got this idea.  I suppose it represents a familiarity with the country that I wish I had.

As of tonight, both of these events have been checked off my list!

I just got back from dinner with the girls from my house, along with the girl who lived in my room with Sangeeta before me.  I guess I was expecting we would walk or catch a tuktuk to the restaurant, but when we walked outside, I was told that I would ride with Shivali while Sangeeta and Sruthi would sit on the back of the other girl’s scooter (I don’t remember her name, oops).  I was like, “WHAA” in my head, which manifested itself as jittery body language, and the most hilarious inefficient clambering onto this moped.  Once we started moving, I could not stop smiling.  The air felt so good, actually cool for once, and I was with girls who might become my friends, and this was good evidence that I might start truly enjoying my time here, and I was just so happy.  Everyone else was super cool, and my face was in this perma-grin.  I worked really hard not to expose my teeth, though, because I kept thinking of that episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia where Mac rode on the back of the limousine that they got to collect garbage while wearing tuxedos, and his teeth were all full of bugs when they stopped they car.

We ate, and they ordered delicious food, and I was mildly freaking out the entire time, because I kept eating things and then getting paranoid that they’d make me sick.  A good 12 hours of diarrhea and vomiting is all I need to soil (literally?) my relationship with my housemates.  But so far so good.

***

Oh man!  I forgot to tell this story earlier.  Last night, I was looking for the light switch in the kitchen.  There were like eight freaking switches in a row, and I kept trying all of them.  I was really timid about it, because certain switches turned on these crazy-loud fans, and it was pretty late.  Some lights also take a few seconds to work, so trying to figure out how to illuminate the kitchen was deceivingly hard.  

I experimented with these switches with no success when I spotted a couple across the room above the counter.  It was hard to see anything in the room, but I went over and reached up to try them out.  All of a sudden, I heard a skitter, and felt a tiny, cold, soft body fall on my foot and I watched it run away out the kitchen door.  My heart was pounding.  Like, I knew it had to be a harmless gecko, but I was still really edgy as I crept out of the kitchen (scrutinizing each patch of floor that I walked on) and slowly peered at the adjacent wall.  It was right there, staring at me.  Poor thing.  It ran behind the tv that’s mounted on the wall.

It took me a few minutes before I calmed down enough to go ask my roommate where the light switch was hiding.  

(It’s the furthest on the right)

Monkeys in my Yard! (Written October 8, 2014 - Morning)

This morning, one of the girls in my house told me that we always keep the screen door closed, because sometimes there are monkeys on the terrace.  I’ve only seen monkeys once since I got to India, so I was like “Haha, okay,” thinking it probably won’t happen while I’m here.  

Spoiler: it didn’t happen.  But a few minutes after she left, I glanced out the kitchen window to this little park/garden area behind the house.  AND THERE WERE SO MANY MONKEYS!  I spent like 20 minutes watching them.  Three little ones were playing and tumbling around, and some adult monkeys were apathetically supervising them.  They were so cute, all flopping around through the trees.  At one point, I saw a teeny tiny little bitty baby monkey and I completely froke out with no one to share it with.

I took a bunch of crappy videos of them.  More crappy videos will follow, I’m sure.

***

New Digs! (Written October 7)

Tonight will be my second sleeping in my new room.  I haven’t yet gotten a “dongle,” the tool I’ll use to get on the internet, so I thought I’d write a little.  Um, first of all, do dongles exist in America?  I’ve never heard of them before.  They look like big flash drives, but you stick a SIM card in it and get data.  It’s only 156 rupees for a GB.  That’s like 

$2.50.  I could use a deal like that for my phone back home, geez.

My iPhone is my best friend here, which is ridiculous, because I can’t even do anything on it.  I use it to check the time, take pictures, and play Spider Solitaire twenty times a day (that game is my retreat when things get too crazy).

I’ve been in India for *officially* one month, which flew by.  It’s been really stressful.  My time here has been eye-opening and life-changing, but I’ve been uncomfortable for almost all of it.  India is a beautiful place, but my experience in Chandigarh hasn’t quite outweighed how hard I find functioning.

Also (and I realize how much of a Disney Princess problem this is) I haven’t been able to do anything by myself.  At school in Missoula, I’m used to going on walks and grabbing coffee and perusing shops alone.  I love being able to do exactly what I want to without having to consider anyone else.  Here, everyone thinks I’m going to get attacked if I’m alone for 3 minutes.  

I’ve spent my leisure time either on my computer, desperately grasping for outside social interaction, or in town with my grandparents (sometimes attending a theater event, but usually buying yogurt and crackers), which is an exhausting and infuriating experience for all three of us.  Almost everything I do depends on the interests and energy of my grandparents, and in these situations, I have no control.  I’ve spent hours now smiling at old people and telling them that I’m here to work with my grandfather’s project.  DIR, it’s in Adarsh Nagar.  No I’m not a doctor, I’m an art student back in the US.  Oh, Montana.  Yeah, it’s north, by the border to Canada.  You’ve been to Seattle, that’s cool.  Yes, I like India very much, I find it very exciting, I’m very excited to be here.  It’s been pretty hot, though!  Haha, yes, it’s a good thing I wasn’t here in August.  Um, yeah, I like the food...

This is basically the only conversation I have.

So I’m turning over a new leaf by moving.  We found this place through a property consultant that my grandpa thought was cheating me.  There’s a very good chance he was, but this place is still super affordable.  

My grandparents were appalled that food isn’t included in the rent.  I can very easily pay for a tiffin service, in which homemade meals are delivered daily for 60 to 80 cents.  I told my grandma I don’t mind paying for food (seriously, it’s so cheap).  She said, “Well, STILL.”

Sigh.

I decided to ignore their negative opinions and move in.  The atmosphere here is so incredible.  I live on the third floor with five other girls - two to a room - with another pair living one floor down from us.  They’re all post-grads who work at the local hospital, so they’re a bit older than me; the girl I share a room with is twenty-five.  

I expected moving in to be awkward, like when you begin college and tiptoe around your dorm-mate for three weeks (not you, Becca).  Perhaps it’s the age of my roommate in addition to her personality, but our dynamic is so comfortable.  She’s not just friendly, but talkative and interested in discussing our cultures.  It’s has made the transition very smooth.

So far, I’ve only met three girls living here.  There’s my roommate, Sangeeta, a girl in the room next to ours, Savali, and a girl who lives in the room downstairs, Sruthi.  They’ve all been incredibly welcoming.

I’m nervous about how happy I am.  Like, something has to go wrong, right?  My roommate won’t move her stuff in the bathroom.  Maybe that’s it.

The Wedding (Written October 1)

Hello!  Happy October!

Today was a slow day for me.  I haven’t been feeling well, so I stayed home instead of going to the basti.  I’ve spent the better part of the day working on a poster for an upcoming personal safety meeting while listening to the audiobook of Game of Thrones.  I just found out next two days are holidays.  Now I feel bad, and I wish I could have gone in to the office.  I was unwell, though, and I’m also glad I stayed home.  Conflicting emotions.

What else has been happening... I’ve been going to basti pretty much every weekday.  Last week, we missed Friday to go to a wedding.  My grandpa’s landlords’ son was getting married.  I love the landlords.  They’re a Sikh couple in their sixties, and they both call my grandpa “Grandpa.”  The husband likes to point to him and say, “This is my grandpa,” then point to my grandma and say, “This is my friend,” and then to me, “And this is my sweetheart!”  I love it.

Their 7-foot-tall son got married to a 6-foot-tall woman.  We were invited to the wedding, which I was ecstatic about.  When we were in India in 2011, we drove past weddings and they looked so fantastic.  

Man, but I had no idea how many days of celebration there are for these weddings!  Two days before the ceremony, we went to the sangeet, which was a party for the groom’s side of the family.  We sang songs (or in my case, awkwardly listened) for an hour or two, and then there was dancing.  My grandma got *super* into it.  Also, Indian guys are SO GOOD at dancing.  There were a bunch of 50-year-old dudes in turbans who were killing it on the dance floor.  

 This guy kept calling my grandma his new girlfriend.

For half an hour, we did this ritual with a metal lantern that was decorated with cloth and electric lights.  We danced with it for awhile, each person taking a turn to hold it above his or her head while spinning.  Somehow I got landed with the job of holding a staff adorned with bells, rhythmically bringing it down with the beat.  I did not want this task, but everyone was forcing me to get involved.  The peer pressure was exhausting.  

Finally the landlady took the stick from me, and we all paraded down the street with the lantern.  Everyone was chanting an announcement of the wedding.  Someone explained that this walk was traditionally done through villages to invite the community to the celebration.

The dancing picked up again when we got back.  The groom’s sister kept preying on people from the crowd and forcing them to join in, and I wasn’t able to hide from her for long.  The last time she found me was around midnight, and I luckily had the excuse of work the following day, so I was able to duck upstairs to sleep.

The second event we attended was the wedding ceremony two days later.  It was held at a gurdwara, a sikh temple.  The ceremony itself was about an hour and a half long.  There were many prayers and the couple walked around the Guru Granth Sahib (the book of Sikh scripture) four times, and we ate this oatmealy stuff that a dude handed to us out of a pot.  It wasn’t clean finger food, but it was pretty delicious.  

The really tall newlyweds (our landlords on the left)

After mingling, we made our way to the reception, at the Taj Hotel.  It was faaancy.  The food was incredible, and they played some American oldies while we ate, which was fun.  I was probably the only one in the dining hall singing along to “Another One Bites the Dust.”  Dancing followed our meal, and a older guy taught me the Punjabi move of pointing my fingers back and forth into the sky.

I thought we were done, but the following day I found out there was another party.  This one was a ways out of town.  For the first time in this series of celebrations, I wore what I felt comfortable in, a black silk kameez and leggings.  A couple of Breezers in my system, and I actually had fun when someone pulled me up to dance.

All three days, my heart was breaking for my grandpa.  He wanted to dance so badly, but his ankle is really painful.  On the final day, he got up for a minute or two and it was wonderful.

(I have two videos to add to this post, but they're refusing to load right now)

A Useless Saturday

Eughghghghghghghh

Today's Saturday.  

It seems to be slightly cooler now, but it's still incredibly hot.  My face is still drenched all day long.  I still feel the first drip of sweat run all the way down my back by 9:30.  It only gets grosser from there.  I won't go into details.

I've been feeling like an outsider lately, ever since the "hair recommendation" incident.  I'm so self-conscious, and I feel like everyone I work with doesn't know what to do with me.  My clothes are slightly off.  I wish I could blend in.  I also really wish I could speak Hindi.  Most of the time I'm in the slum, I sit quietly since I can't understand what anyone's saying.  Later, the Health Promoters accuse me of being shy and demand that I talk more.  Which I understand, but I'm trying not to be an asshole by interrupting their discussions.  I'll work on being more social.

The Health Promoters also say I'm going to be part of DIR's cultural event, and I need to learn the dance they're going to do.  Sounds like an embarrassing experience for me, but it might be pretty cool.

I don't have a whole lot to do on the weekends, which is bad for my productivity, but I'm also dreading going back to work on Monday.  I'll be starting full days then (not just 9-1 like I've been doing).  I've been upgraded to an entire day to feel horrible about myself!  Great.

I'll write more later.  I'm too worn down right now.

First Day on the Job (Originally written Sept. 7)

I just got back from my first day on the job!  This morning, my grandma, grandpa (Pop), and I went out to the slum, or "basti."  

I forgot how thrilling the drive there is.  Chandigarh was designed on a grid, which has really impacted the culture of the city.  Everything is more spread out, perhaps a bit less chaotic.  It’s a nice city, but doesn’t meet certain expectations of how an “Indian City” will be.  Five to ten minutes from Pop’s house, right outside the city border, the grid dissipates and culture shifts.  Taking the right turns brings you to Janta Colony, where my grandfather’s project is established.  Twisty streets pop up, and little pockets of shops line the uneven road.  Lean animals sit in empty plots, and if you’re lucky, a cow might block your path for a minute or two.  This is the India a visitor imagines, and I really value the opportunity I’ve been given to experience it.

Every morning, the staff does a series of exercises.  A portion are done on the roof - for a bit we even get to use broken bricks as weights - which would be lovely, if the outdoors didn’t feel like Satan’s sauna.  Then the Health Promoters prepare paperwork for their day of house visits.  My grandma and I sat in on this, and the women told me I look like “Kat Weenslet from the Holeywood movie ‘Titaneec.’”  Some of them pulled up pictures on their phones of me from my last visit in 2011.  They were embarrassing photos.  We all shared a cup of delicious sugary tea before embarking on our day of house visits.

The health promoters always spend the morning checking on the families they council.  Today, I accompanied Sangeeta, a beautiful young woman who is the only health promoter today to wear leggings (as opposed to salwars) and active, Choco-style sandals.  I can’t understand what she says to passersby in the slum, but it seems like she’s often wittily teasing them.

Today, Sangeeta was meeting many new families she’d be advising.  Fortunately for me, several of these homes had young babies.  In one of the first houses (huts? Rooms?  I’ll describe the housing later at some point), there was a sweet tiny little baby boy that I couldn’t keep my eyes off of.  He was so little!  If I’d had to guess, I’d have thought he was a month or two old.  Three at the very most.  His thin wrists and ankles were wrapped in strings of beads, and even though they were incredibly small, his little shorts slipped down a few times revealing his bare bottom.  The mother looked very young herself, probably in her late teens.  There was another woman there too, probably the grandmother, who held the baby much of the time.

After 5 minutes of listening to Sangeeta speak with the woman in Hindi, she told me that I could hold the baby.  The grandmother held him out to me and I could have started crying.  I got to hold him for the rest of our stay (another 5 or 10 minutes).  There were times that he looked as if he might start fussing, but it was like he didn’t quite have the strength to do so.  It was heartbreaking.  He stared and stared at me while I cooed to him.  The two women said I will be a good mother.

When we left the house, I asked Sangeeta how old the boy was.  “Five months,” she said.  I couldn’t believe it.  When Ansel was that age, he was army-crawling around the living room.  I don’t think this baby could have even intentionally moved his head.  Sangeeta explained that the mother is having trouble producing breast milk, which is making the baby very weak.

I can’t even think of anything to follow up that story with, it’s just so sad.

Later, I saw a green parrot in a too-small cage, a newborn wearing eye makeup (as they all do), and a half-naked baby with a cleft pallet.  I got to hold him too.

Arrival (Originally written Sept. 6)

Hello from the other side of the world!  If you’re friends with me on Facebook, you probably know that I’ve arrived in Chandigarh, after a somewhat grueling 24 hour journey.  

The morning of my departure, I spent half an hour dying my hair to a deep brunette, in the hope that it’ll help me blend in slightly better in India.  I was doing well in getting my bags ready, but I scrambled in the last five minutes with filling my water bottle and shuffling toiletries between ziplock baggies.  It was in the car on the way to the BART that I realized I left my insulated water bottle (which I had spent weeks thinking of how useful it would be in the hot climate of India) on the counter.  I’d spent so much time focusing on keeping my shit together, I had to breath through my frustration to keep from tearing up.  A couple minutes later, I realized that I’d also left all my liquids on the table.  God.  DAMN IT.  I kind of lost it at that point.  I was so pissed at myself, and I was also saying goodbye to my aunt and uncle at the BART station: my last “farewells” in America.

I was fully crying as my grandma and I rode the escalator to the platform.  When the train pulled up, the car we were presented was packed.  I rushed to get in line for the car to our right.  My body was through the threshold when the doors closed on my arm, my suitcase and grandmother outside.  I was able to push them open again to get my case though, but they shut before Grandma could squeeze in.

So there I stood, blotchy-faced with a full audience of commuters who’d watched my poor nana knock on the window as the train pulled away.  A nice woman assured me that I could reunite with her at another stop.

On the first flight, I watched Maleficent and The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.  I think I only liked Maleficent because Angelina Jolie's lips were so mesmerizing.  The Fannings always annoy the crap out of me.  And Elle’s hair was far too clean and bouncy for the time period.  Walter Mitty was pretty good.  I always forget how much I like Ben Stiller...  I was glad I watched it, because it got me excited for my trip again.  At that point, I was too focused on what I knew would be uncomfortable about my stay, and forgot how much I’ve wanted an adventure.  Most of my trip will be really exciting and enriching.  And it’s important to remember that bad instances often make good stories.

On the second flight, I sat next to a man who ate and drank very loudly.  There was a storm outside and I got to look down at lightning.  That felt weird.

When we arrived at the airport in New Delhi at 1 am, we had the good luck of meeting a man also catching the bus to Chandigarh.  He even knew one of my grandpa’s colleagues.  He helped us take the shuttle to the bus stop and get our tickets.  I was able to sleep for a bit, but buses always make my nose really itchy (???) so it wasn’t very restful.  The driver was heavy on the horn, as most Indian drivers are.  In my dream, the honking became a man playing the accordion.  When I woke up, rain was pouring across the window, and my backpack at my feet was drenched.  

My grandpa picked us up at about 8, and we got settled at his apartment.  I have a nice little bed in the living room, on which I took a nap that turned into an epic five-hour slumber.  

Last night, my grandparents and I went to an Indian choir concert.  It was great, but my grandma and I both kept falling asleep.  I feel really bad about it, but the concert was like two hours long, and jet lag has such a grip on me!  We’re almost a full 12 hours from my normal timezone.  It still has me all off-schedule, making me wake up at 5:30 this morning with no hope of falling asleep again.  It was one of my most productive mornings yet.

Tomorrow I’m off to the slum or basti, as is the local term.  I’m surprised we’re going out there already, but I’m also glad to get started so soon.

Resurrection

Hey.  So I took down all the old posts from my last trip, and I might record some new adventures here, since I'm going back to India on Thursday.

But no promises, I'm a real flake.