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?

Photos Again

I came across a Christian cemetery and loved it. So many different influences from various cultures, languages, and religions.

Another picture of Pondicherry streets!

I came home to see these ladies sorting out vegetables and fruit! I felt like they brought the market home! We could start a business!
Sundhari, my lovely neighbor, is on the left. Lakshmi-amma, Lakshmi-mother, my dear caretaker, is on the right.

Me and Sita! I can't get enough pictures of this woman! I love her so much! She is so sweet but tough - don't mess with her!

Good ole Raja!

My fellow volunteer from France, Stephane. Such a good guy and I've had a lot of fun with him. He leaves next week. He and Raja are such a dynamic duo.

Sights and Moments - July 20

--I was able to go to a Hindu Temple festival with Lakshmi. The temple is located right in our neighborhood, so it was an easy walk and trip. We also went with Sundhari, and her nephews Yugandra (Yugi for short) and Krishna.

Hundreds of people came, all with their vilakku candles and bowls of food to offer to the god Ayanar. They crowded around the temple sanctum and waited for the temple officiate to wake up Aiyanar and his two wives. But first the officiate and his helpers wash the deities with milk and ghee. And then the time of awakening comes and they ring loud bells. At this time, everyone puts their palms together and brings them up to their heads as a sign of prayer.

I have seen this all before, but on this occasion there were so many people I couldn't really see the activity. I mostly played rock, paper, scissors with Krishna and the other neighborhood boys. But there is always something special in seeing persons try to find God in their own way.

--I left the festival early because I was not feeling great. This, of course, meant that there was a long conversation-- well, an attempt at a conversation since I don't speak Tamil-- with Lakshmi.

Why are you going? Why do you not want to wait til the gods offer us food? Did you have a fever? She feels my head. No, you don't have a fever, why are you going? I'm coming with you. No, wait. Okay, I come with and make you dinner. You don't want dinner, why not? What's wrong with the food I make you?

Whew. Anyway, I was finally able to go. I went and took a nice shower. Then, despite telling Lakshmi not to make me dinner (I know she understood because I had someone translate, so there!), she brought me temple food AND made me dinner. I did not eat very much with my sensitive stomach and overall exhaustion. In addition and to be honest, sometimes I don't eat very much just to prove my point that when I say I have enough food, I mean it and no, don't bring me anymore. And don't give me that sad face either! ;) I'm tired of feeling guilty for not eating ten pounds of food every meal!

But then Lakshmi told me to sit by her on the couch. Because I care for her very much and we always give each other kisses, I did. This time she just dragged me in her arms, laid my head on her chest, and played with my hair for a few minutes. It was very touching to me, especially as I'm trying to decide over my dilemma mentioned in the previous post.


All of this happened last night. This morning, Sundhari told me Lakshmi cried because I did not eat dinner.

I sighed. I get burnt out sometimes from trying to be the perfect host daughter. Cultural differences hide my efforts. On the other hand, Lakshmi is probably tired of trying to be the perfect host mother, and thinks that I don't like her food.



*I would say priest, but, I don't know if that is a good comparison

Decision-making

Ugh. Another decision. Always decisions.

I have been bored out of my mind as of late. Basically, my organization doesn't really have anything for me to do. I occasionally write a report, or do a project. And I feel like dying when I do reports.

After my "volunteering" time, there is only about an hour until night-time, and so I run out and try to do something in town before rushing home so as to not be out alone at night. I don't ever feel unsafe at night, but people still tell me not to be about. Then I come to where I live and talk to my neighbor, to Lakshmi, and now to new French volunteer Celine who shares my room with me.

This all worries me. I have not felt "depressed" for many months now, but I know that it will come if I have nothing to do for so long. I think too much about things when I don't have anything to do. It is detrimental for me.

This is so frustrating to me as I very dearly love India, at least the part of it I have experienced. I love my friends here. I love coming into the office to get a hug and kiss from Sita, and going home to make some joke to Lakshmi. I love going to the Hindu temple, and riding the bus, and going to my store and to my chemist. I love going up to my terrace, and talking to my neighbor, which was at first a trial for me as I wanted alone-time.

But again, this is all in contrast to my volunteering duty. I spoke to my friend and office supervisor, Nandhini. She said they would get some kids together to start an English class I can teach. I jumped in excitement at the thought! I would have something to do!! YES!! …However, kids are now in school. Class would only be from 6 - 7 in the evening - the only time I normally have to explore town.

For the past week, I have had many thoughts of leaving India early, not because I am stressed here or dislike it at all, but because I am bored. I have quickly brushed these thoughts aside, knowing that probably everyone coming to India for a few months has that thought. At some point in our stay here, we foreigners hit a wall where we get bored or frustrated. This is just my wall - that Stage 2 of Culture shock.

I have prayed a lot, asking Father to help me be present to these feelings, and to feel them out. But things at work have only gotten worse and more boring for me. And usually thoughts of going home fade after a day or two, but now they are more recurring. I prayed to God that if He thought it best for me to leave earlier, to let me know. And now these thoughts are more frequent. Now, staying til September seems to be the incorrect thing to do.

Hm. I don't know. I don't want to leave my friends here, dammit!! I want to keep learning Tamil!! To keep discovering layers of culture by hanging out with my host family after work everyday. To wake up every day and to draw kolam, designs made with powder, on the porch every morning. I want to keep watching horribly made Tamil soap operas with Lakshmi, and play with Perumal's niece and nephew. I don't want to go back to America, to Utah, with its big highways, its disconnection from the land, and other factors which I cannot quite place my finger on. I don't want to go back and to get used to thinking that life in America is how the world is. To be just another person that "lived in India for a couple months" and assimilates back into the person they were before. I hate coming home and being unable to fully describe my experience to others. To go back and to let my time here become another memory. To return and not be understood by the majority of people I meet.

Every time I come home from a trip, I think of Frodo in Lord of the Rings, the story that I have looked to every time. He returns to his home to find that he cannot go back to the Shire as he knew it, that he is a different person, and he cannot fully live in peace after gone through such a long and hard journey. "Sometimes there are wounds that never heal."

Sometimes I think the hardest part of living internationally is coming home. You are a different person. You try to adapt back into society while also not losing what you have learned in your time away.

But then comes the thought, "Sarah, what's best for you, and your state of being?" I know it isn't making myself endure doing nothing all day everyday at the office. Perumal and Lalida would be disappointed at me going away early. I feel like I would be disappointed in myself a bit. And then I'd feel like I would have to calmly explain to most people, "Look, I didn't come back early because I couldn't handle it, but because I would die a slow and painful emotional death if I continued to sit at work reading newspapers and playing solitaire all day." (I actually think they would be glad I returned for my mental health, but the insecure part of me disagrees).

At the same time, the thought of coming home and being satisfied with myself and knowing it was the right thing for me to do, despite of others' thoughts, sounds refreshing. I totally know the people I trust, (Ann, Mom, Kenzie, you're included in this) would agree with that.

Ugh. Ugh. UGH. DAMMIT!! PUTAIN!!! (Mom, don't look up the meaning of putain…but, it's a French bad word that I learned, I'll just say that.)

I'm watching Sita now, my favorite person here. I love her a lot. I don't want to leave her.

I have often spoke to my friends who have also spent time living abroad (Maggie, Ann, Heather, Natalie, Jay, the list goes on) about why we love learning about other cultures so much, and yet most of us seem to be outsiders to our own society. Maybe that's why we love other cultures. We immerse ourselves in them and make connections. We feel more connected with them than in our native culture. Yet if we do feel like an outsider wherever we visit, it is not because of our social or emotional differences or insecurities, but because of our nationality or skin color. It is much more affirming than feeling like an outsider in our own communities.

In the end, maybe going home, and not staying here to endure boredom, is what the Lord wants me to experience and to struggle with.

Sabbath Moments II

In place of church I have my own little Sabbath meeting every Sunday. I'll sing some hymns, read scriptures, read sacrament prayers, and eat some bread and water while remembering the Savior.

Today I sang I Am A Child of God. It made me recall the first Tamil man I had met. It was at BYU the semester after I came home from Italy. The Field Studies Preparation Course was taking place that semester, which preceded the summer when all the FS Students would leave. I was supposed to be getting ready to take a group to Italy, but I really didn't want to go. I hadn't healed from my time in Italy. Going back so soon didn't seem right to me. Simultaneously I had been hanging around Ash and Dave a lot, and thus I was becoming more interested in India. So, I took a beginning Tamil course that was offered for the FS Students who were going to Coimbatore in the summer. It has been the only Tamil course offered on BYU Campus.

I went with my crush at the time (long story), Josh, and a handful of other friends from Field Studies. The teacher's name was Venkat and he was from Chennai. Venkat was so delightful! We all had such a great time with him that semester. His favorite joke of ours was when we would say "Naandri paanee!", both because it rhymed, and ha, because it meant "Thank you pig!" He would laugh so hard when we would tell that to each other.

Anyway, on the last day of class, he told us how much he liked being with us. He said he wanted to become a member of the Church, but his wife, who was a native of Utah, didn't like the Church and wouldn't let him.

Before the bell rang for us to leave, he asked all of us to sing I Am A Child of God to him.

And we did. It was one of the most spiritual experiences I've had. The five or six of us in class sang it while looking at him with tears in our eyes; we knew Father had a message to give Venkat, and that we were blessed to sing it to him. He merely stood in the front and looked down. When we finished, he asked to say a prayer, and prayed he did, first in Tamil, and then in English.

Remembering all of this made my Sabbath so much more special.

Sights and Moments - July 17

Today Lakshmi and I sat on the porch of the office. (She's friends with Sita too, so sometimes she'll come to the office and visit with her.) She had these little green twigs and was taking all the leaves off of them. Once the leaves were gone, she showed me that people use them to clean their ears. So, we sat on the porch and cleaned our ears. …They didn't work very well for me, but hey, if it works for Lakshmi, then, cool!

Girl Talk

Today the electricity (or as they say here "current") went out during work. As a result, no one could do much because the computers were off. For a while everyone helped rearrange "the library", composed of three hefty book cases. Afterword, Raja left to go to another one of our offices. Tamil also took off on his scooter, again commenting about girls from the neighboring high school looking at him (I love Tamil… but he is so eccentric). We of course said it was because he was a monkey and "Hey, korungal [monkey]! Do you want a banana?" I claim ownership of this last joke.

With Raja and Tamil gone, this left just us girls. We sat in the shade and on the steps of the veranda. Everyone taught me more Tamil words: "po"! Go! "Naanam" Me too. "Neeam" You too. Then we went through the whole round of calling each other akkaa, older sister, and tanggachi, younger sister. When I learn a new phrase and use it, they always laugh. So I of course try my best to perpetuate the laughter, talking to random people walking by on the street.

Then it wore off and we just sat quietly. Sita, of course, had scrounged up some flowers from somewhere and was tying them together to put in my hair.

{Agila on the left and Sita on the right.}


I looked at Agila and Nandhini sitting on either side of me. Both of them are still single. I had the urge to lean back on my elbows and say, "Sooooo…how is dating going?" Then I remembered our cultures' concepts of dating are completely different.

Instead I asked them, with some hesitation, if they were going to have arranged marriages. They replied that yes, they were. Love marriages are extremely risky, since marrying someone outside of one's caste means losing his/her family's support and relationship. Most family would tell him/her to go, get married, but never come back.

Nandhini and Agila then explained to me the formalities of arranging marriages. It has a lot to do with jataakum, numerology -- matching up the girl and boy according to various formulas that take into account the day and date of their births, etc. And of course, caste plays a big part, as well as the opinion's of both sets of parents. If both parents are thus far satisfied with numerology, caste, standing of the prospective partner's family, and various other factors, they arrange for the girl and boy to meet. First, the boy and his family will come to the girl's home to meet her and her family. If both are still satisfied, the vice versa occurs. Then more meetings. If all goes well, a marriage date is set at least three months in advance, and always on an auspicious day. The soon-to-be couple then have the time before the wedding to get to know each other.

With all that being said, I want to make clear that I am summarizing. Secondly, all of this is according to Agila and Nandhini. I assume this process can vary from region to region. I do know the wedding length varies from caste to caste. The higher one's caste, the longer the wedding is. A higher caste can have a four to five day wedding.

After Nandhini explained all of this to me, which took a long time, we again sat in silence for a couple of seconds. Then Agila asks about formalities of how one comes to be married in America.

Of course my response began with, "Uhhmmmm…" How in the world do I explain it? I started, "Well, you have this horrible thing called dating, where you…" blah blah blah. I didn't say the "horrible" part, but…yeah. When I explained it, the process sounded so foreign and odd after hearing about marriage in India. I explained it all, or rather tried to explain, in a couple of minutes.

All Agila said was, "I like this."

This perplexed me, as the Western way of dating and marriage has its own problems. I wasn't trying to convince them our way was better, but rather had merely tried to describe it in response to Agila's question.

The three Indian women spoke in Tamil for a bit. From Nandhini's hand motions and the fact that many here say more modern words in English (Tamil is so old of a language that there are no words for more contemporary concepts), I could tell she was explaining more details to Agila and Sita. I also could tell that the topic of divorce came up.

This was brought up by Sita, the only married one. And of course, she loving her family so much, also asked, "Kids! What about the kids!" What happens to the kids when a divorce happens?

A long discussion ensued. Nandhini and I discussed and tried to explain to the other two both the pros and cons of the U.S.-American way. I attempted to explain the West's more individualistic values, and how that also comes with its vices.

It was a good talk. I mostly defend the Indian side of things, and always point out that U.S.-America and the West is not all happiness and wealth. With so-called "modernity" also comes the loss of something important, and something which I feel our "modern" society needs to remember. I'm not sure what this "something" is. I cannot pinpoint it with words, but I know it is a conglomeration of many things.

I know that I have never seen families as close-knit as I have here. I have never been more touched by a mother's love for her children. I know that the families I have visited in the villages, devoid of toilets or electricity, seem to have so much more peace and simplicity amid the rice paddies and the farm fields. Perhaps this is all merely a delusion created from my own perspective, always tainted with my experiences of Western society no matter how hard I try to pull the U.S. American lenses from my eyes.

When the conversation meandered off, I went back home for lunch. The neighborhood kids all stopped me to talk to me and listen to the few Tamil things I know. "Auntie! Auntie!" they'll cry until I stop to talk to them.

I felt lighter and a lot happier.

Nine Lives

I just finished reading this book, "Nine Lives: In Search of the Sacred in Modern India." The author, William Dalrymple who is a journalist and has written any books on India, writes about the lives of nine people in India who are devoted in many different ways to various religions, ranging from a Jain nun,to a Hindu devadasi, a Buddhist monk, and a Tantric Baul singer. It is a wonderful book and I encourage all to read it. The nine people Dalrymple writes about are real, and the stories told about them are true.

As I've mentioned before, I received a priesthood blessing before traveling to India which directed me to study the different religions here. I try. I've been learning about Buddhism from my host mom and have been attending various Hindu temples (the ones that will allow me inside) to pay devotion to the various Hindu deities. This book definitely gave me perspective.

One of my favorite portraits was the last one in the book, that of a Tantric Baul who has dedicated his life to sing in order to reach happiness and truth. I loved reading how he spent his entire life, over forty years, on the road wandering from place to place singing and playing instruments to bring joy to his life and to the lives of others. However, tantrics are most frequently associated with crazy sex rituals, which of course are often depicted in ethnocentric language. This past year or so I have been casually studying sexuality and the church, and sexuality and religion in general. It is most interesting how sex and sexuality within Christianity is typically seen as something which prevents man from communing with God. Yet to the Tantrics, and in general Hinduism, sexuality is seen as just another way for humankind to access the divine.

Another favorite vignette of mine from the book: a folk dancer who embodies a deity while performing and dances with a TWENTY FOOT TALL MASK!!



Other Books on India to Read:
The Arrow of the Blue-Skinned God
Behind the Beautiful Forevers

Hot

Sometimes I get so hot I stop caring about attracting attention and just do whatever it is to keep me cool. Picture this with sunglasses.

Sights and Moments - July 13

Many moments today.


--Raja and Sita had their usual argument about tea today. He claims that it has not been as good the past few days. Sita, who makes the tea, disagrees. So they'll argue in Tamil. He keeps his voice down pretty quiet, but Sita raises hers. Ha, Sita is so sweet, but she can change in a second!

The argument usually ends with Sita pointing to all the other people in the office drinking their tea without complaint, saying how they all like it. Of course, this is all in Tamil, so I'm inferring her words, but she does point to everyone. Then she'll nod to me.

"Naal arukah?" She'll ask me. Do you like it?

I nod my head. "Naan arukuh." I like it. In my opinion Sita makes the best tea.

Then she'll look at Raja as if to say, "See, she likes it."

Then Raja will just look at me, shake his head, and give up the argument.

This has happened for the past two or three days. All the same process.

I wish I could write down every interaction in the office. I love everyone. They are all so funny.


--Another office moment. Raja loves Arnold Schwarzenegger. So he, Stephane, and I agreed that Arnold will be the next "Chief Minister" of Pondicherry.

Stephane, Tamil, and I will get on a roll with our jokes; Tamil and Raja love it. A common one is labeling all of us as certain siblings in Tamil culture. Older brother. Older sister. Young sister. Younger brother. Then we'll go around telling all the older people they are our little siblings, and then just telling Tamil he is something random, like a monkey. Korangaal. Everyone thinks that is so funny.

Until Tamil starts labeling all the women as his x number of wife. "First wife. Second wife. Third wife." Then I just get mad.


--Went to the temple with Lakshmi and Sundhari today. Actually, I came home from town to find that Lakshmi was gone (you can always tell when someone is or isn't home base on whether or not their shoes are outside the door). The only other place she goes is the temple, so I went there and met her.


--I let Lakshmi and Sundhari play dress-up, with me as the victim. I knew this would happen for a while; they've been talking about it for a long time. So they got out their saris, flowers, necklaces, and everything else. Dressed me up and took pictures.

Overall, I was tired and wanting to go into my room and bar the door shut in order to obtain some me-time. But, Sundhari was so happy about this. And since her son committed suicide in April, and I see her crying everyday, I know she needed some happiness.

Sights and Moments - July 10

Today I saw a man at the market who bought a large chunk of ice. He tied a rope around it, dragged it through the market, and then strapped it on to his motorcycle.

Sights and Moments - July 9

I've previously mentioned a group of puppies that live on the street behind me. I know it is such a white characteristic of me to pay attention to them, but they are so cute. And despite my fellow volunteer telling me not to touch the dogs around here, I have broken the rule once or twice and scratched the puppies' heads. I mean, they're newly born, so they won't have as many diseases and worms, right? (…I know this is illogical to think. Just let me have it) And since I sometimes give food to the puppies' mom, she has developed the habit of following me around, which in turn means that sometimes I have this dog following me and then a troupe of puppies following her for their milk meal.

I was sitting in bed reading Les Miserables (which can compose another post in and of itself) when I heard the dogs' squeals. Since I have seen persons purposefully poke and hurt the dogs, I have gotten used to it, which is sad once you think about it. I just try to ignore the painful yelps. But this time was so much worse. Painful squelches and moans. They would slowly fade. Silence. And then they would start again in increased fervor.

I got up, grabbed my flash light, phone, keys, scarf, and a knife from the kitchen. (Don't ask why about the last one. But if you have known me throughout my life, you would know my instilled Jason Bourne-ness). I hurried out to where the puppies were.

Too late. I'm not sure how it happened. But a man was shining a light on a dead puppy. Its brothers and sisters were playing/fighting with the body. Its mother was whining.

I could feel the gaze of the man and some neighbors looking at me, wondering why I had gotten up in the middle of my night and in my pajamas to scramble out here. The man tried shooing away the puppies from playing with the corpse.

I just walked back home without looking at anyone. A couple of the adult dogs followed me home.

* I did not take these photos. I took them from the internet, but they do look exactly like the dogs in my neighborhood.

Sabbath Moments

"Sabbath Moments". This could be the name of a new television show on the BYU Channel, which would play right after "Fires of Faith" and that show where a guy drives around America on a Harley and talks about history.

I felt like I really honored the Sabbath on Sunday. That feeling of satisfaction came amidst the morning scripture study and letter-writing and continued after the evening of exploring Pondicherry and going to Pizza Hut with Stephane -- a "Sabbath breaker" for many. Perhaps the day still felt holy to me because I was living the day purposefully? Because it was a perfect mixture of individual stillness and then exploring and interacting with others? I'm not sure. Despite some frustrating encounters in town (well, Stephane was the one fuming, I mostly just thought it was funny) the evening ended up with a few events that completed the holy day, the holy day which to me has become a day for my sanctification and reflection after a week of work and labor.

Stephane and I separated after the rickshaw drive home. He walked his way to where he stays, and I walked my way. It was night (don't tell Ash or Dave) and the lamps of the occasional street stalls dimly lit the dirt road. I walked past the man who makes fresh juice for me, past the pawnbroker, and past the shop owner who always looks at me as if he's wondering why the hell this white girl is walking by his shop. Past this but before the corner with the "Euro Kids Pre-School" where I turn is a stretch of road which has been under construction. On this night, the massive gaping holes were all filled in, but the ground was now mostly under large puddles. To the left is a curb which people step up onto in order to walk past the construction mess.

In front of me, an elderly woman had permanently bent back that caused her to lean forward at a ninety degree angle. She was just staring at the curb. Then her eyes would shift to the big puddle in front of her. Her gaze followed a man who casually stepped up on the curb and walked down it. Then she looked at the curb again. She took a small step forward. Mind you that for her, a step is an inch or two.

It is in moments like these when I always suddenly feel the assurance that I'm right where God wants me, and when I know that He who notes the fall of a sparrow for sure notes the comings and goings of a white American girl and the struggles of an elderly sage, two of His daughters who come from opposite sides of the world. I stepped up behind her and offered my arm. She look up at me, grasped my hand, and tried to overcome the distance between her feet and the curb's surface. She tried once. Twice. And then stepped on up. I closely followed her as we edged along, preparing to drop everything in my hands in the case that I saw her wobble for an instant. We made it to the other side of the construction mess. We stepped down and I continued to walk by her side until the road became a bit smoother.

We then came to the "Euro Kids Preschool" corner where I had to turn. We looked at each other. She said, "Thank you. Thank you." Her voice was so sweet, and it cut me to the core. We each went our separate ways, but we kept looking back at each other until the corner of the pre-school cut off my view of her.

A simple walk on a curb. A ten second encounter. It left me weeping. I did not weep over my own kindness. I wept because I knew that kindness was the Savior's. I knew it was He who caused this woman's path and my path to meet. And I knew He for whatever reason thought me worthy enough to be His tool. I hope I am. I try so hard to be. I felt so humbled to be called to do something on His behalf.

I'm not sure how to "build the kingdom of God" anymore. Whenever I hear that phrase, I think of 100% visit teaching and doing missionary work…as in, visiting so many persons who haven't gone to church for three months or longer, or in inviting someone to read The Book of Mormon. But, what if girls don't want to be visit taught in the typical way of the 1950s? And what if people are happier not going to church because of whatever insecurities or pains they have from when they did go every Sunday? And what if me handing a Book of Mormon to someone isn't what they really need, but rather a hug and a listening voice? I wish I could feel comfortable doing those other things seen as typical ways of promoting the church. I guess so I can check them off a list and then feel good for "building the kingdom". Even now I ponder how God would have me represent Him and strengthen His presence on the earth. I try my hardest and always seek to magnify my calling.

But there is nothing like helping an old woman cross the street that makes me feel so close to God's Son. Nor like helping the Greek lady in Salt Lake take her groceries home on a snowy day. Nor like waving hi to all the kids here who look at me in wonder, even though I don't feel to deserve such attention.

After helping the old woman, I walked for a few more seconds. Two other women, one old and one young, with a little girl were walking in my direction. They saw me, and the young woman picked up her daughter and pointed me out to her. She directed the little girl to wave at me.

Again, I don't feel I deserve such attention, and least of all because I am white. But, I know it makes the parents happy. And so I stop and talk to the little girl and shake her hand. She just looked at me with her big brown eyes. The mother and grandmother laughed. They smiled so big.

Further on down the road, two men and a women were walking. As I got close, the woman smiled and held out her hand to me as she passed by. I held it for a few moments and smiled back to her. She just laughed. We let our grasp slip as we each continued walking our way.

When I left for India, one of my good friends, Ellesse, wrote me a note (in a card that makes me sound as if I'm dying!*). She told me this, "Keep your feet planted in the Gospel - don’t get weighted down by all the answers you can't answer yet - just keep looking for that joy that is there in the Gospel - in the face's of God's children." I saw that joy today in these various persons' faces. And it reminded me more of Christ than almost anything else.

*This is what the card's original writing says : May treasured memories bring you comfort & peace as we remember one dearly loved….

?!?! I will see you again Ellesse! Haha

Second Letter Home

Hello dear family,

I figure it is that time to write again and to let you know how I am doing. Thank you for all the messages and emails you sent. It was really good to hear from everyone.

Things are going well here and I am settled down into a routine. The actual volunteering is usually quite boring for me, but as is usually the case, my favorite moments and experiences have come in the time while I'm waiting around for the electricity to come back on, for the internet to work, for the bus, or for my friends at work to give me a project to do. It has taught me the value of living in the present moment and taking things one day at a time. I continue to try to learn Tamil. I know I won't get very far learning it in the three months that I am here, but it makes my friends here and the other locals so happy to know that a U.S.-American is interested to learn of their culture and traditions. It is the same with me wearing local Indian dress instead of jeans and a t-shirt. In my experience, everyone has respected and has been appreciative of me wearing the salwar kumeez, a scarf, flowers in my hair, and the red dot between my eyebrows. And let me tell ya, it isn't easy! Only now do I realize how much I took shorts for granted.

Everyone constantly told me about the differences I would encounter in daily living, the logistics, not using toilet paper (though it is still available here), taking bucket showers, eating with my right hand, the spicy food, bobbing my head, not to smile at men you don't know, etc. In my opinion and thus far in my time here, though they are to be prepared for, these have been the easiest things to adapt to. It is the differences in deeply instilled culture and communication that takes the most energy to mitigate. Concepts which we find so easy to understand can mean entirely different things here: what it means to be a friend, to be a guest, to work a full day, to be somewhere at a certain time, to be religious, to eat a certain way, to love, how to communicate appreciation, etc. It is things like this, trying to bridge the gap between our different ways of understanding, that is most exhausting, but also the most rewarding.

In addition, the heat just wears you down. It is usually manageable, for most places have high-powered fans, and my room has a small AC unit (thank heavens). But when the electricity goes out for short or long periods of time, then you must retreat into the shade or the innermost part of the house and try to move as little as possible.

Overall, all of these things are very challenging but thus far are worth it. I feel my soul stretching and learning. I always pray for and need extra strength and patience. And I really love my friends and host family here.

This weekend I am planning on taking a trip to an old ancient city on the coast, and then go to the nearest city with a LDS Branch, so that I can go to church at least once while I am here. Wish me luck and I will take pictures. I love you all and hope to see you soon! I've only been away for five weeks, but I feel like I have been gone for 6 months or something! Love, Sarah

Sights and Moments - July 2

---Today Stéphane bought some birdies for the office's badminton racquets. Thus commenced an office badminton party. Well, almost the whole office. Agila as always stayed focused on her work. Raja wasn't in the mood for sweating. But, Stéphane, Tamil, Ezhumalai, Nandhini, and I all came out and played. Man, exercise felt so good. Playing made me so happy, though this was actually my first time playing the sport, so it took me a bit to get used to the racquet (I'm used to racquetball racquets).

Ha, watching everyone get so excited for a turn was most amusing and heartwarming. Tamil would say, "Okay, whoever loses this set is out and then it's someone else's turn."

He would lose. And then he'd say, "Okay, NOW whoever loses is out." He'd lose again. The same with Ezhumalai (the "zh" is a mixture of a "r" and "l" sound...kind of.*)

After the initial excitement, everyone went back to work. Stéphane and I stayed and played for a while. I bragged to him about my array of extended family members who have played sports professionally or nationally, and he told me all the weird sports classes he had to take in high school. And to celebrate my fourth or fifth week of eating only rice and Indian food, I think we'll go to town and have Pizza Hutt tomorrow. I'm not for being those tourists who go to a different country only to eat McDonalds or KFC, but I think Pizza Hutt** is fine after a month of Indian meals.


---Since Perumal and Lalida are in Europe for a few weeks, his mother Lakshmi is taking care of me. I absolutely adore her, but I can't tell her because she does not know a lick of English, and I only know like six words in Tamil. After dinner I always try to sit and watch Tamil soap operas with her, as I did tonight. But it is so hard. When one does not know the language, these soap operas are just watching people move their mouths, and look at each other.§ I suffer through the soap operas because I know she gets lonely and wants some company. It's the only thing I can think of doing to serve her and to show appreciation for all she does. I don't think I've racked my brain so hard and in such limited success to think of ways to serve someone. She doesn't let me clean dishes, or put out laundry, or event serve myself food.


* I try not to use English letters to pronounce Tamil words, because then it's not really speaking Tamil but just a mixture of English letters. But, options are limited when typing).

** Ann, remember the "Wash Hut" in Provo?! "Oh I'm just goin' to da wa-ash hu-ut")

§ It's a worse version of Twilight, in which half the movie was the camera circling the two lovebirds staring at each other.

Temples in Tiruchi

The story is of a woman whose daughter was in labor. The mother was there with this daughter for her every need. As the daughter's pain increased, the mother hurredly went off to obtain firewood. As she searched for and collected the wood, the rains started. In fact, there was such a downpour that the riverlands flooded, separating her and the daughter. The mother desperately tried to find a way back to her laboring daughter, knowing that the latter would now be in the worst throes of pain. But it was no good. The mother could not find a way across, and so she prayed.

Lord Shiva heard her prayers and answered her call. He took on the mother's appearance and went to the daughter. There he helped her safely deliver the child. Then, once the daughter and newborn infant were safe and sound, he disappeared as quickly as he had come. In the meantime, the mother was able to get back to her daughter shortly thereafter. When she discovered what had happened, she dedicated a temple, to Lord Shiva.

…this is all what my host dad, Perumal, told me about one of the temples we visited. This one is at the base of Rock Fort Hill in Tiruchi, but there is another at the top. One must climb many steps (and pay a few rupees) to get to it.

My host dad Perumal led me to the entrance at the bottom of the hill. We took off our shoes at the where the entrance lay. A man took and placed them in an assigned space on a shelf. We then entered into the building which houses a place to buy gifts for the deities and to receive blessings from an elephant. I'm always amazed at how well trained these elephants are, but I'm still figuring out if I think it's cool or sad. Either way, I walked up to it and put 5 rupees in his trunk. He curled up his trunk and then tapped me on the head with it.

Perumal and I then started upward. We first stopped at one of the temples located on the lower part of the hill. Because I am not Hindu, I was not allowed to enter it. Instead, I stood at the entrance, hanging on the brass ring of an ancient door and staring inside. The pandits, in their white lungis (correct terminology?) perform ceremonies, placing food, flowers, and other presents around the deity. One pandit with kind eyes under gray, bushy eyebrows, entered and motioned me to come forward a few steps more, so as to get the best view possible. It is at this location where I felt the most reflective, the most peace. Everything was completely still. Only whispers of the outside wind could be felt. I felt something eternal there. How I wish I could have gone inside and sat before the deity, in the midst of whatever aspect of the One Above which was being worshipped. I would have stayed longer, but Perumal was waiting for me.

Perumal and I continued up. Not only is he my guide and guard, he is also my photographer. He just grabbed my camera and took all the photos for me. A few hours later I discover that photography is actually his passion, but he does not have the time to pursue it, nor a camera that is of high enough quality. And, he did take some good pictures.

We go up more stairs. I was delighted at the thought of exercise and of the burning of lungs that I miss from running, but I ascended slowly, both to admire the view, to be present in my feelings, and to not pressure Perumal. He needed a few breaks.

Someone's palace (I'm not sure who) was also built on the side of this hill, and so the path up lays between its pillars and the cliffside. Many other temple visitors of all different kinds ascend with us. Some are the aforementioned holy men and pilgrims. Others are from northern India who are traveling into the south. We also saw families and many children. Also, some damned kids kept photobombing my pictures, acting like monkeys. Ha, just kidding on the "damn" part. I had a good time with them….Still, I did want some shots without them in it.

Finally, we arrived at the building that housed the top temple. It was comprised of the temple, which has space for devotees to worship and also for the inner sanctum, in which the deity resides. Circling around the temple is a walkway where one can a) look out over the city, at the rivers, and the valley in general, and b) walk around the temple and deity's home, which is labeled circumambulation. One pandit in Salt Lake told me that circumambulating the deity is like a child who is always circling his mother's feet either out of love, attachment, or need of blessings.

Since I could not enter the temple (although I should point out that I am able to enter some Hindu temples), I walked around the building and enjoyed the view and the devotion of the worshippers. Because this temple was more crowded, I did not feel the peace I had at the lower temple. Perumal and I then descended.

Later, we also visited a Christian church which was built by the British. It was impressive, and I was surprised at how many were there praying in the pews.

The archaeologists say that the Uchi Palaayar Kovil temple was built in the 7th century. And I felt that, especially in the middle temple at whose entrance I had lingered. I felt that feeling of age and of passed millennia.

Before I left for India, I asked Dave to give me a blessing. It was most beautiful. One thing that God told me: "Though India is fast entering modernity, it is a land which has knowledge of many eternal truths, which were known here far before the west."

I feel that. I see it in the sadhus, and in the Christian nuns who walked all the way the hill for a blessing. In the woman who entered the Christian church and knelt before the crucifix. In the many Hindu temples that line the streets, and the small ceremonies performed at events such as the construction of a new home or the blessing of a bride. In the Muslim call to prayer. I feel kindness emanating from all the women who smile at me, and in Sita, who brings flowers to work to put in my hair everyday. Though I try not to give any opportunities for men to harass me, and thus have little interaction with them, most of those who I have interacted with are trustworthy and kind: the bookstore keeper, the security guard at the bank, my elderly next door neighbor who sits on his terrace just like I sit on mine, my favorite rickshaw driver, Perumal, and of course, Tamil, Perumal's sidekick. Never before have I been so recognizant of the fact that God is mindful of every people, and gives all of them some kind of knowledge of His existence, though that knowledge may look different than what we are used to in the west.

Blurg Photos

A trashed up old car on the side of the road.

I couldn't resist taking a picture of this ancient looking tree outside of the Pondicherry City Museum.

Again, some statues outside of the Pondi museum, which took about 20 minutes to explore.

I always try to take photos that capture the beauty of the streets in the old, colonial part of Pondicherry. I never can.

I spy on these puppies from my terrace. Behind them is where a poor family lives, on the unfinished ground level of an apartment building. They live behind the aluminum walls there, and you can see their clothes on the line. I think the family takes care of the puppies because they are a lot more plump and healthier looking than the strays.

The terrace, where you can find me for a majority of the evenings. It's pretty much an unfinished level of the house. I sit in front of the railing. The leftover brick pile always make me think of dad, the former construction worker and brick collector for his "wall in progress" or his "Arizona room". I still remember driving around Apache Junction. He'd stop at a light, and discover a block on the side of the road. "Hey Clint, big husky, wanna get out and grab that nice block?"

Time

Time passes so differently here, at least for me. There is so much more of it. It's infinite. It just keeps going on and on. Before moving here, time seemed so quantitative. I was constantly treating it to be this physical substance which could be scrimped or saved. I had to do things in a certain order and according to a certain routine to save time. There were only so many slots available in my phone calendar to fill: wake up at this time, call grandma at this time, go to work during these hours, take the bus during this slot to go to the store in this slot in order to be home by this time before the buses stop, which leaves only this many minutes to do homework because I need to sleep for this many hours.

I mean, yeah, I have things to do here. There's always tea time at around 7, breakfast around 8. I go to the office at about 9. Tea again at 11. Lunch in early afternoon, tea in late afternoon*, home for a while, dinner, and sleep whenever. But, I'm not rushing. I can be late. What's more is that though I listed some of these things by time, I don't know if that's how people here arrange it to be. I think that's just the usual moment when they are ready for whatever meal or whatever comes next. I don't know. Maybe I'm completely wrong.

But suddenly I "have" (another western way of thinking about time- we own it) all the time in the world. I have time to think, and not about anything in particular. I can let my mind wander as I sit on the terrace on my roof. I think about tamil words, the sunset. I watch workers build a new turquoise house with gold trim, the old people next door watching tv, and oh my hell how can that guy balance that much stuff on his scooter. I find myself frequently watching animals and wildlife here. The cows wander in herds with a couple newborns tagging along. Four or five stray dogs always hang out on our porch because we give them food. The Indian equivalent of a chipmunk and lizards always get into entertaining fights. I have a couple of friendly geckos in my place too. They make this charming chirping noise a lot - I feel like it is a good sign of auspiciousness.

Overall, I guess what I'm saying is that it feels so good not to have deadlines. Not to schedule every minute of my day (as hard as I would try not to). I can write in my journal or work on my script. I'm reading Les Mis and this book about religion in India called Nine Lives. I go to the main part of town when I feel up to it. I hang out and watch movies with my host parents**.

It's a wonderful feeling to not be so constantly limited, to be mindful, but to be so free.


*I know, I am constantly drinking tea. BUT, it's tradition, AND it's delicious. Adding milk in tea makes it so great. Plus, people get concerned if I don't drink tea (or if I don't eat thrice as much as fits in my stomach), so it's easier just to drink it.

**Ah, my big brother, how I wish you were here to see these movies. With our jokes I don't think we'd stop laughing. And I've given up on laughing aloud-- that's just the way movies are made here. When I do laugh my host parents look at me wondering what is so funny.

Sights and Moments - June 22

I was at the store today, buying some laundry soap and mosquito repellent when up walk two ladies. One, a married woman dressed in a green sari, pulled along a younger who was an employee of the store. They stopped about three feet away and just stared at me with wide eyes. Since I'm becoming used to people stopping and staring at me, a white girl, I smiled, bobbed my head, and said hello.

The younger one stepped closer and said, "You are so, so beautiful."

She repeated it a few times, in between me thanking her and trying to figure out what to say .

It all made me incredibly sad. Little do they know that to me, and to many back home, these two women are immensely beautiful. But they looked at me as if they were anything but, and stared at me in awe as if I was on this higher plane of existence. I've never had anyone look at me like that before; I felt so uncomfortable, though grateful for their compliments. I hope one day they know that they are each beautiful in ways with which I am not able to compare.


P.S. Ha, since coming here, I have felt anything but beautiful. I feel like I am always a big sweaty mess! I'm not fishin' for a compliment here, I'm just sayin'.

The Market

Fact: The English word "bizarre" originates from the Indian "bazaar", or market, reminding us of how the first Europeans to see an Indian market felt it to be so odd, outrageous, and what have you.

Whatever they thought (those colonists), I thought it was exhilarating. The sights, the smells, the tastes. Flashes of colors and the mingling of odors. There were fruits, vegetables, and those things of which we always argue are one of the two. Barrels of pasta, lentils, rice. Crates of cigarettes. Mazes of hanging scarves and shirts. Books. Bracelets. People bantering over prices. The concrete pieces composing the ground on which we stood shifting under everyone's weight. It was great. Leftover newspaper rotting in the earth from the rain and from foot traffic.

My host parents, Perumal and Lalida (who are also head of the organization), needed to get some gifts for when they go to Europe, and I wanted to see the place and to look for more Indian clothing. Tamil, another staff member and loyal assistant and friend to Perumal, also came, for which reason I don't know. But he adores Perumal, so he always comes with us to places. I hopped up with Perumal on his scooter, and Lalida on Tamil's. Off we went! I loved the ride. So up and close with the other scooter-peeps, cutting in between buses and tuk-tuks.

(I'm noticing a pattern here. One of my favorite experiences in Italy was riding on a scooter. And my favorite scene in Roman Holiday is the scooter scene. I think this is the universe telling me I need to buy a scooter and create a scooter gang.)

(Another sidenote: A new law is set to begin July 1 saying that all motorcyclists need to wear helmets. I'm not so sure it will be effective here in Pondicherry, where no one wears them. )

At the market, we first said hi to Tamil's "relation" (that's the word used. I think maybe they are cousins?) who works at one of the many fruit stands. As is the usual case when I am introduced to a young man, they become very bashful and giggly, and trade back and forth fast comments in Tamil with the introducing party. I don't know if this because I am a foreigner, because I'm a woman, because people here are normally bashful and giggly like that for introductions, or a mixture of all three.

Either way, afterward Perumal took me to the clothing and material section to buy some tops and scarves. Lalida also purchased a lot of silk ones (worn for colder weather) for her friends in Europe, only after haggling down the cost of course. Then we strutted downtown to buy her new shoes, to hunt down a shirt big enough for Perumal, and to get me a new blanket and towel.

Tamil gets so excited about shopping. He constantly hovers over me, wanting to see my every reaction. He seemed complexed at my frugality. "Sarah, look, look!" He would point to some brushes and combs. "Oh my!" I say, "So beautiful!" "Which one you like?" "Oh ,I don't need them. It's okay." Ha, he would just frown and shake his head. A few moments later he'd whistle to get my attention and show me something else he thought I'd like, such as certain styles of pants, earrings, jewelry, and you name it.

The evening was also great because of the rain. We were not exposed to it too much, being under the tarps of the market stands, but it was refreshing to step out, to look at the sky, and to see rolling storm clouds instead of the piercing sun.

Towards the end of our trip to downtown Pondicherry, Perumal had some work to do at his office for a case the next day. Tamil of course was to accompany him. So Lalida and I collected our bags and took a tuk-tuk home.

BUT, not before they stopped for some coffee. And let me tell you, those worker-guys can sure pour coffee. It was quite the sight to see such a monotonous act made so beautiful and enchanting, and yet in such a simple way. To best mix the tea and/or coffee, they keep pouring it from one cup to another, sometimes holding the collecting cup at knee level and the pouring cup high above their head. Though no one else seemed impressed with it, the sight caught my eyes for more than a few minutes.

Overall, it was a nice outing, and I was glad Perumal got to come.