Book: Passage to India

I finally read it. Indeed, it is a great book depicting the difficulties of creating and maintaining true and honest friendships with those raised in a different culture than ourselves. Despite our best efforts, we constantly see through lenses which shade everything with the color of our culture.

I wanted to write down and record some quotes that struck me. Some because of their connection to one of my biggest intellectual passions: identifying colonial/neocolonial/ethnocentric attitudes, or recognizing the narrow views we as outsiders place on others. I recorded other quotes because of their beautiful words and depictions of difficult life circumstances. Ideally, I would organize these quotes into respective categories. But, though categorizing has enable our species to evolve into what we are today (which plants to eat, which plants to not eat, etc.), I feel that categorizing is sometimes our biggest weakness as human beings. Plus, I'm lazy.

page 51

"We're here to do justice and keep the peace. Them's my sentiments. India isn't a drawing room."

"Your sentiments are those of a god."

"India likes gods."

"And Englishmen like posing as gods."

page 57

Then he realized what he had lost, and that no woman would ever take her place....She was gone, there was no one like her, and what is that uniqueness but love?

page 76

As for Miss Quested, she accepted everything Aziz said as true verbally. In her ignorance, she regarded him as "India," and never surmised that his outlook was limited and his method inaccurate, and that no one is India.

page 91

But nothing in India is identifiable, the mere asking of a question causes it to disappear or to merge in something else.

page 121, on discussing the ethics of a British man coming to India to merely live, not to colonize. Something I've pondered myself.

"I'm delighted to be here too -- that's my answer, there's my only excuse. I can't tell you anything about fairness. It mayn't have been fair I should have been born. I take up some fellow's air, don't I, when I breath? Still, I'm glad it's happened, and I'm glad I'm out here. However big a badmash one is - if one's happy in consequence, that is some justification."

page 160

"Miss Quested, fine but foolish. You keep your religion, I mine. That is the best. Nothing embraces the whole of India, nothing, nothing, and that was Akbar's mistake."

page 289

"The first time I saw you, you were wanting to see India, not Indians, and it occurred to me: Ah, that won't take us far."

page 300

"There are many ways of being a man; mine is to express what is deepest in my heart."

11 Months Later

11 months since I left. Lalida and Perumal have always told me to write a blog post about my time volunteering with Adecom. I never have. I've never wanted to sit down, reflect, and figure out how to write my experiences there. The good time, the bad times, the time of counting down the days til I go home, the time of not wanting to leave when I finally did.

I still dream about India at night. Perumal still texts me. I chat with Sundhari on WhatsApp. I write my old India roommate Line. I look through pictures. I pray for Seetha and Lakshmi.

To be honest, these past 11 months have been the hardest in my life. I sincerely hope life won't give me anything harder. I always thought I'd have to mentally prepare for India, but now I think that India prepared me for the immense pain I'd soon feel.

My field studies family and I always sat around wondering why we felt so much more alive in other cultures than our own. Why we'd smile and become ten times happier when we'd meet someone from the country we once lived in and visited. We were all students. We all either had depression or anxiety, later discovered we were gay, were single or if married were in the process of divorces. I think we all felt, or are feeling, lost in our own society and culture. And we'd come alive when welcomed by another culture and country, even though we were physically so different, and when we'd see things from a different point of view. We knew our culture and life in America to be so unfair and strange that of course we'd have something to learn from other lands, from people who had nothing and were yet happy. Now I think we're all at a point where we still want to experience life in different cultures, but are also cognizant of the fact that we can't escape our weaknesses and the trials God has in store for us.

Robyn Davidson talks about her camel journey across Australia. Odysseus reflects on his ten year efforts to finally find home. Frodo comes back to the Shire. It's funny that we think of movie and story endings as truly endings. They lived happily ever after. The end. And yet they're all stories that only lead to more challenges in life. Robyn Davidson said our lives are full of camel journeys. Joseph Campbell says we're all on our own journey. I had my experiences in going to India, and am now on a different journey figuring out how to continue living while knowing I will never be able to be with those I love most in the ways I want to.

My blog is entitled Odyssey to India, indicating the long time I thought about and prepared for my time to live there. Yet our odysseys are never ending. Or, perhaps they do end but are constantly transitioned to another odyssey of a different lesson or pain.

Spring is here. Outside my office is a long sidewalk flanked on both sides by jasmine bushes. Every time I walk by I lean over to smell them. The fragrance wafts into my mouth and nose. I'm immediately brought back to a time when someone loved me enough to put jasmine flowers in my hair every morning.

A couple of nights ago I explained some of my situation in a Mormon Feminist Housewives group. One of the elderly women looked at me and said, "Sarah, God wants you to be happy and to have His fulness. And He wants you to be with someone who you can love as much as you want." I've never thought of that before. I've always felt like God was constantly planning heartwrenching trials through which I must pass, and that death would be a sign of his mercy and relief.

All of our journeys bring us to different persons. People who make us laugh or cry, people we want to share our lives with but aren't able to, people who give us hope, like this elderly sister above. We're all here together on our journeys, interacting and coinciding and dancing. Journeying together.

Out of India

written on August 11

A week and a half has passed since I landed in the United States. And still, I feel the emotional pangs of readjusting to be back in my native land.

I have been able to spend time with family and friends again. I spend a lot of time with mom and her animals: horses, dogs, cat. I visited my brother Chad, watched Ant-man with him, and sat with him in his darkness at this time in his life. I get to see my sister and her kids. I got to skype with Ann! I met Allison for lunch. I spent a weekend with Ash and Dave, working in their yard and giving them my best cheesy jokes.

I get to go to church now, every week. And the temple is so close by. All the buildings have air conditioning. And Walmart has so much more than anyone needs.

But at night, when I'm alone and I hear the crickets chirp, I remember playing ringball with Krishna and Yugi, and walking in to the office every morning to have Seetha put flowers in my hair. I miss so many things.

I'm not really sure what else to say about being home. I cherish seeing my friends and family again. It gives me such joy to know that I can play Scrabble with my mom, give Ann a call, and see my nieces and nephews grow up. On the other hand, I am always wondering what my family in India is doing, and how I as a privileged U.S. American can go back into this society where we think we are the entire world and obsess over things like Cecil the newest iPod model. When people ask the dreaded, "How was India?" question, what am I to say? And how can I fully describe my experiences? I was only in India for a couple of months, and thus feel so silly to have grown attached to it, but I made so much effort to truly live there. I feel like I was there for years.

Last Night

My last night in India. Luckily, I have the room to myself. It's almost ten. I hear the whirring of the fan, the hum of the air conditioning unit, and the chirps of the crickets outside.

I still think I made the right decision in coming home early, (think is the word), but I already miss it here. There is something in this country, in this land, that I have never before felt, and I cannot place my finger on it. Whatever it is, I connect with it. I see myself in it. I love it. And I almost cry knowing that in less than 24 hours, I will no longer be among it.

I absolutely love my friends here. I used to think I was a good friend. But they have taught me the meaning of friendship. And they have taught me love. I have found connection in a place where logically I'd never expect to. Back home, in a place where logically I'd expect to find belonging among people who look like me and speak my language, I have a much harder time of finding true human connection. Even talking with Celine and Stephane sometimes disrupts my soul and my peace.

I don't like being with foreigners here, even if I am one. How is it going to be when I'm surrounded by them? By U.S. Americans? I fear the disconnection I will feel once I am home. Amidst the advertisements, the superficiality, the weight loss, the plastic surgeries, the cars, the electronics, the big highways.

I love it here. I miss it already. How can I go back after I have felt the simplicity of loving and genuinely living? How can I move on, when I have found such life here?

Lakshmi's Village

My last Sunday in Pondicherry, Lalida took me to Lakshmi's village. I was excited for the opportunity. I wanted to see Lakshmi in her environment, and in the home which she was so proud of. Plus, I always have loved visiting villages. It is there that I have met the kindest of persons, and the most golden of souls.

Steegan, another one of the office staff and one of the few who is married, drove us in the organization's SUV. We started out at about 11 or 11:30 and the village was about a 20 minute drive away. We cruised down Villianur Road (if cruised is what one can call it) and then Steegan turned off on a dirt road. The rice paddies and various fields of crops surrounded us and even on Sunday, when everyone usually has holiday, groups of women could still be seen in the distance, bended over and working on their crops. Once or twice I saw a lone man overlooking his fields or walking through to make sure all was well.

Steegan turned down one road and then another. Meanwhile, Lalida told me of how hard Lakshmi has worked for her family and how well she had budgeted her finances. Because of her hard work and of her husband's lifetime working as a police officer, they were able to build one of the best homes in the village and to raise their family securely. Knowing Lakshmi's kindness and good heart, I was not surprised to discover this, but it made me admire her all the more. In addition, now that her husband (Perumal's father) was retired, both of them had gained some land and now work the land to feed themselves and to sell their crops. One day, they will build a new home on the plot of land which they currently work.

We finally made it. Her part of the village was on a road made of cracked cement, surrounded by chickens, puddles of water, thatched huts, some leaning homes, and naked elderly men sitting on their porches. The village was so small they felt comfortable doing so. Everyone recognized Lalida and said hi, because everyone in the village knows Lakshmi and her family.

Lalida led us past a couple of houses and into an open area that almost looked like a natural courtyard. On the side was Lakshmi's home. It was composed of two small buildings, made of some cement and wood, running parallel to each other. In one building, the husband sat watching tv in his dhoti. He gave me his usual warm smile and waved. Then, out popped Perumal's nephew, a four or five year old boy also named Perumal. He is so cute and SO energetic ALL OF THE TIME!!!! He played hide and seek with me, laughing all the while. I love him. In the other building was the kitchen, a small room with a place to worship the gods, and another bare room in which visitors sit to eat. Lakshmi came out from the kitchen with a smile.

"Lakshmi-amma!!" I cried. Lakshmi-mother! Oh, what good feelings of love and warmth I have when I think of her.

She laughed and patted my shoulder. She sat us down on the floor and talked for a while, then brought us her homemade food: chicken biryani!! YES! Of course, no matter how much I ate, she would still say, "SAHP-DAH!! SAHP-DAH!!" EAT! EAT! "I'm EATING!" I would say with a laugh as I stuffed more food into my mouth.

Later I learned Lakshmi's husband had said this: "I don't know what happened in that month when Lakshmi was taking care of Sarah, but her biryani usually isn't very good, but today it is great!"

We talked some more. Steegan played with little Perumal. Lakshmi showed her small garden bordering her home, where she would get capsicum and spices from. She was very proud of it. And then UP! We're going to the small village temple!

Steegan took the wheel. This time Lakshmi and little Perumal went with us. The temple was about ive minutes away through more rice paddies and a gate we had to open. The temple was dedicated to Aiyanur, who I have mentioned in a previous post. He is a rural god, and no brahmin officiates in his temple, only a person of the village selected to do so. He is one of the few gods who Lalida and Perumal will worship, because he does not support lower caste members giving money to Brahmins for worship. Rather, Lalida explained to me, the people in the village were worshipping Aiyanur here before the big gods of Hinduism, such as Shiva and Vishnu, came around. The villagers look to Aiyanur to protect them and to take care of their crops and families.

In front of the temple was a statue of Aiyanur flanked by two other police officer statues. Lakshmi explained that one of the statues was based after her uncle, who I believe protected the temple somehow. Because of his duty, his statue was built there flanking Aiyanur. We took pictures in front of the Aiyanur and uncle statue.

We also went into the temple and paid our devotions to Aiyanur and to Ganesh. Lalida placed turmeric on my forehead.

Across the temple's dirt road was a plot of land with more rice paddies and crops. It is here, Lalida said, that Lakshmi and her husband work the land and will build their new home. I smiled. I know Lakshmi will absolutely love being just across the street from the temple.

We left the village then. Lakshmi came with us, and we also picked up her daughter, Perumal's sister, Sylvie. They were going to a birthday party in Cuddalore, and we were to take them to the bus station. When we were at the bus station, it was time to say goodbye to Lakshmi. She gave me a sad look and a frown. She kissed her fingers and then pinched my chin, a sign of kissing me. I gave her a hug. I completely love Lakshmi. Ha, and then she said to stop saying goodbye. She was sad and said she would come by to see me again before I left.

She was not able to, understandably. And thus that was the last time I saw her. But I know I love her and that she loves me.

Seetha's Home

First off, I have been referring to one of my dear friends as Sita. But, upon some moments of boredom and the two of us practicing writing English and Tamil words, I found out she writes it as Seetha. This spelling has to do with the qualities of Tamil letters and pronunciations, which I won't get into.

Either way, on one of my last days in India I went to visit Seetha and her family. She invited me to come a while ago, but I had already planned my trip to Mahalbalipuram for that day, and so I never was able to. She asked me to come to her home again when she found out I was going back to America. So after work, instead of going to my house, I went to hers. Veedu. Home.

We left the office amidst a usual conversation of ours: naming things in Tamil. I identified things as we walked through the neighborhood, nagar, and to the bus stop.

Cow. Maadu. Bird. Paravai. Or, as Seetha would correct me, paravai ka-kaa (the noise a bird makes added at the end). Hospital. Maruttuva…something. I already forgot.

She wouldn't let me pay for my own bus ticket; she paid for it. Off we went down Villianur Road to the part of town called…yes, Villianur. One side of the road was banana trees and vegetation, with wild pigs (pawnee) roaming around and grazing. The other was a long line of various shops and little restaurants, occasionally intersected by a dirt road leading to various neighborhoods. After descending from the bus, she stopped to grab some parottas (my favorite! Click here) and samosas. Then we walked down Villianur for a bit, and turned down a residential street.

This street, also dirt, was flanked by the occasional fields of palm and banana trees, and cozy little homes that looked more like bungalows. As is usual, kids were playing in the streets, and women gathered in circles with their friends. Seetha pointed out her home with a smile. We took off our shoes on the veranda and walked inside. A typical Indian home. Cement floors. Yellow walls that were now faded and scraped in some places. A couch. A tv. A calendar marked with Hindu events.

Her mother-in-law sat on the floor. Father-in-law stood by the kitchen. And Seetha's beautiful children were on the couch watching a zombie movie. Ah, they are so cute and so kind. Her first son, Seetharb, is about 12 or so. The other, Abinabh, is 8. Above all, Seetharb and Abinabh are Seetha's pride and joy. In addition, Vishnili (I think that's her name), Seetha's 13 year old niece, was also on the couch. All of them were so happy to see me. They knew who I was and were expecting me. Seetha beamed as her boys came up and spoke to me in English.

In the beginning, all were shy. So I sat down on the couch and watched tv with them. Seetha went into the kitchen and came out with the parrotas warmed up for me to eat, along with chuttnee, or a kind of gravy. I was thrilled! I love parrotas! I ate them like a starving man. Seetha smiled to see me eat so much. However, she only prepared food for me. The family watched me eat, leaving me feeling awkward, but their attention was only kindness. They were pleased I liked the food so much.

After this, the shyness wore off. All of us started talking. The boys taught me how to say colors in Tamil, as well as basic body parts. Pachai. Green. Manju. Yellow. Mooku. Nose. Palai. Teeth. They had so much fun with that.

At one point, I caught Vishnili staring at me. She told me how beautiful I was. She stared at my white skin. "So white and beautiful," she said. This pained my heart, as I have discussed in a previous post. I told her how beautiful she was. She looked down at herself. Then I told her how many U.S.-American women wished they had dark skin like her. She nodded, but I don't know if I had any positive influence as I had desired.

Following my Tamil lessons, Seetha's husband arrived. I had anticipated meeting him, not knowing what to expect. I knew he beat Seetha, but many husbands beat their wives in India. Though I don't like it, it seems to be expected and nothing malevolent. It's something the ladies will joke about the next day. However, Seetha's husband was very kind to me. I've had a lot of thoughts about domestic violence in India, but I won't explain them here.

Others arrived. Seetha's friends, neighbors, her sisters, etc. The ones with small children wanted me to hold their kids, as has been usual in my time in India. Again, though I feel I don't deserve it, I always react with kindness and warmth to the children and their parents. After all, since many of my friends in India will not meet very many persons from the United States, I need to represent my own nation kindly, as well as my religion, and my faith in Christ. Plus, I love kids. And the parents, for whatever reason, love seeing their kids with me. So a lot of photos were taken of me and the kids and babies. I love being able to serve, in whatever limited way I can.

Next, Seetha took out the wedding and family picture albums. My other friend, Sundhari, did the same when I visited her. Let me tell ya, these albums are long and sometimes the pictures seem to be exact copies of each other, but Seetha and Sundhari were so happy to show each picture to me. So I looked at each one as if it were the first one I had come upon. I had such a good time getting to know Seetha and her family. She was so delighted to point out her family members and friends. She also showed me an album of when Seetharb had his ears pierced and head shaved, an important mark of growing up in Hinduism.

When it came time to go, half of the neighborhood's kids were gathered around Seetha's house to get a glimpse of me. I tried to smile at each one as I left, but I'm sure I missed a few. Seetha was about to take me back to the bus stop when one of her friends asked, "Sarah Indian wedding?" Will Sarah get married in India? Seetha laughed, "No, no!" They said something in Tamil. Then they looked at me. Whispers. A pause. And then, "Come! Come!"

They led me to another house. I followed them. They took me inside and yelled for someone. Out came a young Indian man, probably in his early 20s. They introduced us. Then Seetha and her friend winked at me, "Doctor! Doctor!" Oh dear. They're Indian versions of Jane Austen's Emma, trying to match me with a future doctor.

Hi, Mr. Doctor to be. Nice to meet you. Awkward, awkward.

After the introductions and after the young Indian fellow asked me a few questions, we left. Seetha just smiled, but didn't say anything else. I smiled too.

After meeting my fiance ;) , Seetha took me to the bus stop. We walked down the road hand in hand. At the stop, I gave her kisses on the cheek. I pointed to her and then placed my hand over my heart. She did the same and placed her hand over her heart. We began this custom a couple days earlier when I explained that even when I left India, she would always be in my heart. A couple days later, on my last day in India, when tears streamed down my face, Seetha shook her head, "Don't cry." She pointed at me and then placed both of her hands over her heart.

Later, I discovered that Seetha was very mindful of who she invited into her home. But she had invited me. Through translation, she also told me how happy she was to have me there, as were her kids and the neighbors. And she revealed that all of them kept asking about me. How I love Seetha, her family and home, her neighborhood.

Friday Day

Today was a good day. That is, after I left the office early. It was also one of those days that perfectly represents my indecision to return to Utah: work was boring and depressing. It left me grumpy and in a pissy mood afterwards, and I get annoyed with the kindest of acts by my friends. I hate that feeling. All the while, when I'm in that mood, I recognize it. I recognize I'm being grumpy, and yet can't stop it. So I just feel it out and try to be present to it. Beating myself up about it never makes me feel any better.

On the other hand, after work, I love India. I love riding on the bus. For some reason ascending into that sweaty mosh pit, being squished with Indian women with big smiles, always gives me joy. I love it. I took the bus to the old town, bought some gifts, and sat on the rocks by the seaside. Evenings in Pondicherry are wonderful.

I came home. Lalida and Perumal were back! I talked with them, and finally, at long last, was able to have a conversation with Lakshmi translated. Lakshmi was so excited about it and Lalida seemed really surprised at our intimate relationship. Ha, and at how often Lakshmi and I would hug each other and rub each others' backs.

Then I played badminton with Krishna, the neighbor kid. He's pretty cool and reminds me of my nephew Wesley a lot.

Again: work horrible, me wanting to gouge my eyes out. After work: great, me picking flowers and singing like a Disney princess.

Also, did I tell you that I'm like Sita's third child? She puts flowers in my hair everyday. She teaches me Tamil words. And she also scolds me when I do something wrong. When especially hot I always find myself raising the legs of my pants - just a little teensy bit! She'll slap my hand. "No!!" She shakes her head. I'll make a frowny face. She'll shake her head again. Another time I was playing with the bangles she gave me. Again, slap on the hand, "No! Glass!" The bangles are glass - stop playing with them or they'll break! Another time. I eat the entire berry she gave me (including the middle). My face gives away how horrible it tastes. Another head shake from her, "No!!" Don't eat the core, crazy!

I saw her at the bus stop today. I went up to her and gave her a hug. She then proceeded to give me loud kisses on my cheeks. Ha, this caused everyone around to look at us with curiosity. Why is that Indian kissing the white girl?! And then Sita helped me to cross the street.

I'm really going to miss everyone. I'm tired of missing people no matter where I live. Why can't we all just be together?