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.

The Hindu National Newspaper

P.S. I'm in The Hindu - India's National Newspaper....And on page 2

http://www.thehindu.com/news/cities/puducherry/a-first-hand-experience-of-resilience/article7324446.ece?ref=tpnews

Photos

The view from the terrace on my roof. This is what I see as I'm pondering or listening to the call to prayer.

It took Stephane and I about an hour to get to Serenity Beach where his surf lessons take place. I stood on the pier composed of black rocks for about forty minutes trying to get a good picture of him catchin' a wave, but it wasn't working out. (In his defense, the waves weren't great) Then I explored the area, waded into the sea, and dodged hooting and cat calling young Indian men. It was a good day out.

Sights and Moments - June 16

-I took a walk today to a neighborhood I had never been too. It is a bit out of the way, past the river and past the railroad tracks. Apparently, not many foreigners have been there. In my neighborhood, the locals still give me the occasional glance, but are used to me and to my fellow volunteer. In the neighborhood I visited today, I felt like I was coming into a village as the president or some other famous person. The kids surrounded me and kept asking me tons of questions. One woman came up, took my hand, and started shaking it. Then the kids wanted me to go and play shotput with the boys. I refused. (I really wanted to, because the boys looked pretty skinny and I wanted to display some feminist power. But in the end I decided not to).

I liked the change of scenery, but don't know of how appropriate it is to go and explore villages like that again. Of course I want to see all walks of life, but I don't want to raise attention. This leaves me searching for other activities to do in the evenings.

-Perumal was excited about "news from America": "George Bush's son is running for president!!!" My face went sour as I thought about his support of shaming campaigns, "Ugh, I know." Perumal thought that was so funny. He told me to run for president. He, Lalida, and Tamil (one of our friends' name is Tamil, like the language) all got a kick out of that.

Sights and Moments - June 15

-I played a game of chess with Stephan (I lost) and Sita (a good game, but I won!)

-I spent a lot of time with the host fam today. Perumal's mother, Lakshmi, came. She doesn't speak a word of English, but she still kept talking to me in Tamil and pointing to the sky and to the flowers. I loved that. When Perumal and Lalida go to Europe for a month, it will be Lakshmi who takes care of me. I'm happy for that.

Letter Home

I thought I would send an email on how I am doing in India. I am doing well and am quite comfortable here. I live in the same house as my host mom and dad, who are also in charge of the organization I am volunteering for. My area of the house is pretty separate and private though. The house is composed of almost two little apartments. My host mom and dad, named Perumal and Lalida, live in the front section and I live in the back.

When I first arrived there were two other volunteers here from France. I shared a room with the woman for all of this week, but she went back to France today so I have the place to myself. It is nice, but she was such a funny older lady that I kinda miss her already. Besides her, there is one other volunteer from France who is my age named Stephan. He has a few more weeks here before he leaves. He actually takes surfing lessons on the weekends, so today I went with him to take pictures for him. It has also been so great to practice my French here! I've also been slowly learning the Indian language, Tamil, from my host family and other friends. About a year ago Ashley started to teach me. But learning Tamil always begins with learning the alphabet, which has 236 letters. So I always get tired of learning the alphabet, stop practicing, and then don't learn anything else.

My day usually starts with drinking tea with my host family. I don't know what kind of tea it is, but it is really good! About an hour later I also have breakfast with them. It usually includes foods called idly and parotas. You can google them for pictures. I eat only with my right hand, like the Indians, without any silverware. After breakfast, I go in to the organization's office. It is about a ten-minute walk away and is always interesting. Wild, sick, and diseased dogs are everywhere. Though I feel bad for them, I don't let them touch me, but I still sometimes skip or run around with them when they're not too hot. Other than that, many cows wander the streets. And there are a couple that will be giving birth to babies any day now. I always look for new baby calves everywhere. Besides that, the women will always wash off their porches and the street in front of their house each morning, and then draw patterns on their porch with chalk or by pouring sugar in beautiful patterns. So the mornings are very interesting and active.

The organization I'm volunteering for advocates for women's rights, which are much needed in India. So they teach women and kids how to speak English, how to work on computers, and other vocational skills to help them obtain jobs. I wanted to be more involved with the women, but the organization wants to make use of my English skills. So I am editing and writing a lot of reports for the company. Not too exciting.

The days get to be 110 degrees Fahrenheit here (not including humidity), and my work has no a/c, so I sit under all the best ceiling fans and work. I and the other volunteer sweat constantly. (I never see my Indian friends sweat). Thank heavens, my room has a little air conditioning unit, so when I come home, I hurry and turn it on, and just stand in front of it for a while. But, some days there are power outages, in which case the a/c and ceiling fans don't work.

At about 1 o'clock, my host parents and I go back home to have lunch. It's usually homemade curry, sambar, or some kind of vegetable mix, and…rice…of course. Then we go back to work for a couple more hours. My host parents usually work Monday through Saturday 8 am - 8 pm. But, I go home around 4:30 or 5. I'll cool off for a bit, and then go to explore around town, or do errands like going to the bank or getting items at the store. Other days I just sit and read. We have a staircase that goes up to the roof where one can best feel the breeze. I like to go up there and read or just think. Sometimes the neighbor kids will come over to talk. I'll talk with them or I'll see what everyone else is doing on their own rooftops up and down the street.

I hope you are both doing well. I think about you often and want to visit soon. If you have time, please write me a couple of lines on how you are. I may not be able to write back all of the time with lousy internet connection, but I love you.

Sarah

Sights and Moments - June 12

Sights and Moments - June 12

- On our way home from eating out, our rickshaw ran out of petrol. The driver pushed it to the side of the road. He then emptied his water bottle, and stood out in the street trying to stop motorcyclists. One guy on a scooter stopped for him. The rickshaw driver hopped on the back of the scooter and off they went! Still sitting in the stopped rickshaw, my friends and I all looked at each other. "Um...did he just leave us?" We waited a few moments. Several minutes later the driver walks up, this time with petrol in his water bottle. He poured it in the gas tank, and off we went! I loved this experience. You never know the adventures you'll have.
- I had a wonderful dinner out with fellow volunteers Line and Stephan
- One of my favorite people ever, Sita, sat down with me and started teaching me the Tamil alphabet.

Sights and Momeent - June 11

-my favorite part of the day is hearing the call to prayer from a nearby mosque.
-I found 20 rupees on the street!
-Sita, my favorite person here, made me fish and rice today. She loved watching me eat it.

Volunteering

It's Tuesday, my second day of volunteering. A few months ago when I asked the organization what I would be doing as a volunteer, they said they needed someone to help at their domestic violence shelter.

My heart sank. I was already going to India. I didn't want to add another level of intensity.

When I asked more about this domestic violence shelter, the organization never responded but merely said, "We'll talk more about the details when you get here." Despite that that may sound a bit sketchy, I felt okay about it. After all, I knew that people from other cultures aren't as direct and straight forward as Westerners.

Then, when I got here different persons at the organization kept telling me different things. One person said I would be writing a report for the organization. I frowned; I just got done working on (well, semi working on) a similar item with the job I left behind in Utah. Then another person told me I would be assisting in communicating with other Western organizations. I thought that sounded nice, but didn't really understand what that would entail. And finally, when I arrived yesterday morning, I was given an actual task: write a report for a survey they would be administering this coming week.

So that's what I have been doing. I think they are expecting a one pager or something, but I'm trying to write it very professionally to include not only a description of what the survey is, but its purpose, why it is needed, the social context behind it, how it is administered, why it is formatted in so many categories and sections, what it will be used for, etc.

The only drawback to this is that I don't know a lot of this information. With differences in communication, sometimes my questions aren't understood, or I don't understand others' responses. As I've mentioned above, I've learned a while ago that not all cultures speak or communicate as straightforward as Westerners do. But this is one of my first times experiencing it…. Well, that's not true, but it's the first time I've actually needed to sift through the conversations for specific information instead of just politely listening and not needing to see where the response is going. Now, I still listen of course -it's not like what is being said is meaningless- but I have to be extra alert and willing to listen for a while. In the middle of one's explanation or story, the information for which I originally asked will eventually pop up. If not, I've learned that listening to other people will give me clues which I can piece together to have a clear picture of the topic -in this case the survey.

Ta-daa!

Well, hopefully the result will be a positive, "Ta-daa!"

But, do I like doing this kind of reporting? I wish I were doing something else. Granted, this was only my second day so I'm not sure what else I'll be doing as a volunteer. But I hear the two other volunteers' stories of teaching kids English and having fun times with women in computer training class, and I get a bit envious. Plus, they get to go out to a village outside of Pondicherry.

However, staying at the office here also has its advantages. I absolutely love the people that work there. And as I'm doing my work I'll glance up from my computer to observe the activities of staff and other workers and join them in conversations. There are several of them, and all are so kind.

…another advantage is that there is the best mango tree behind the office…

Sights and Moments - June 6

Sights and Moments from June 6

-Rode a bus and took a rickshaw for the first time

-I saw a women, dressed in a full salwar kameez and sandals, working a jackhammer today in road construction.

Processing Homesickness

It's Sunday. And since there is not an LDS/Mormon sacrament service in town, I have decided to make Sundays holy in other ways. (Is it bad that later today I'm going to have a "remembrance moment" and pray over bread and water?) I originally planned on spending Sundays exploring other temples and churches, seeking to know God as different religions do. However, I learned that most activity in the temples and churches take place in the evening. This is tricky since I was directed by friends not to stay out too late past sunset. At any rate, I'll visit the Ganesh Hindu temple later today when the sun is not so fiery. In the meantime, I've been reading The Hindu -India's national newspaper-, talking with my host family, reading scriptures, pondering, and meditating.

In my attempts to practice mindfulness, my attention constantly comes back to my recurring emotional pattern of each day. I wake up rested, adventurous, and fascinated with this new culture and world which I have entered. I go out and explore. I greet women in the stores who look at me curiously with a smile, a "vanakkam," and a head bob (I don't acknowledge any of the mens' stares). I ask a barrage of questions and take notes in my jottings journal. I write follow-up questions that I want to inquire about later. Then, around 4 o'clock or so, I begin to feel the emotional drain, the exhaustion of having taken in so many news things. The toll of being in a completely new environment away from everything with which I have grown up. By 9 o'clock at night I'm on the verge of tears wondering what the hell I'm doing here, feeling the familiar tightness of chest and throat, and texting my mom to make sure she knows I love her and miss her. All the while, I feel ashamed for feeling homesick.

Homesickness. My thoughts and shame keep coming back to damn homesickness. More than that, my thoughts keep coming back to the shame I'd feel if others I care about, and particularly whose opinions of me I care about, would *gasp* discover my homesickness!! What would they think?! I'm not as adventurous of a person as they thought! Who is this girl, psh, feeling homesick?!

My thoughts keep going back to that. I keep remembering how I felt embarrassed of telling some people in my life that I wanted to go to India; I worried they did not think me to be "strong enough" to go. I remember my first inklings of a desire to come; I felt sheepish about it. "Oh no," I'd say. "I'm not good enough to go there." And now, in the calm evenings after dinner when I grow sentimental of home, of family and friends in America, I fear that I was right: I'm not fit to be here.

Three years ago I started therapy at my school's Counseling Center. I went in to fix myself. To have this stereotypical, media-simulated transformation where I would reemerge a new and "fixed" person. Voila! I felt that I had some psychological disorder in loving people too much, in being "too attached" , or "unhealthy". Due to various events, I felt that being so loving of people was wrong. I became entrenched in depression, for the above and other heartachy reasons. But after three years of this mindfulness therapy group, I realized nothing was wrong with me at all. Rather, this love and connection with people and friends is something beautiful.

Maybe my evening homesickness is like that too. Perhaps it is beautiful to have courage to go somewhere new, knowing it will be uncomfortable, while simultaneously longing for the people I've left behind. Perhaps it is beautiful to continue to think about the various people I love, who are miles and miles away.

One evening a long time ago, I had dinner at Mazza's in Salt Lake with a friend of mine who had been to India. I told her about my desire to one day go. Then I asked, "What if I have major culture shock? What if I get all mopey and crazy and homesick?" Robyn looked at me and said, "Then you'll be like everyone else who moves to India and experiences the same thing." Wise words.

First Photos

The View from my front porch

One of the many stray dogs around. They may be cute, but are very diseased.

"We've got cows!" (Guess what movie that's from!) One of the many cows ambling on the streets.

Villianur Road, the main road by my neighborhood.

Our Lady of Immaculate Conception church in old Pondicherry.

Fast Forward

The time has come for me to go. People ask if I am afraid or nervous to go to India. I've heard many different ideas of what I should be afraid of, but I don't feel afraid. Although, I have a couple of things I'm trying to prepare for: the switch from a regimented meal plan to eating lots of rice, a paranoia of being pickpocketed, a worry that my relationship with individuals at the organization will be centered around transactions of money rather than friendship, and culture shock.

1) I have progressed a lot this past year in eating a healthy, balanced diet. I have also tried to consume a lot less carbs. Now when I eat a lot of them, I feel like dying. In addition, I have eaten A LOT of Indian food this week. I still love it, but boy, I feel so heavy and immobile afterwards.

2) In Italy I developed a crazy paranoia of being pickpocketed. Before leaving to go anywhere, whether it was leaving the place where I lived or exiting the bus, I always had to literally check my purse and pockets three times to make sure everything was accounted for. And I could have gone on checking; I had to will myself to believe everything was accounted for and to walk away.

3) Enough said.

4) Culture Shock


I've experienced it before, and everyone has. Yes, you too. If a person has experienced changing circumstances in life, whether it's moving from Arizona to Utah or breaking up with a longtime partner, one has experienced culture shock. It's the process your body and emotions go through to adapt to changing environments. But the thing is, if a person is experiencing culture shock when living in a different country, it means that he/she is doing something right. They're growing! They're adapting. And in order to do that, there has to be the sense of loss, or that feeling of being engulfed in the winds of change, in the waves of the unknown.

Each person has different symptoms of culture shock. One of mine is always homesickness and not wanting to leave my sense of place behind. It gets me every time. Leaving my abode in Salt Lake to live with my mom for a few days was difficult. I drove away thinking of all the moments I have lived through in Salt Lake. The bus routes I took. My favorite houses in my neighborhood. The corner of 9th and 9th. The beauty of Temple Square. My friends' house on Lake Street. Utah in the summer time. As you can tell, I very much believe in the power of place.

It is so interesting how moving, or change in general, causes one to reflect and grasp to be back in "how it was". I even started to miss the hard times I've experienced in Salt Lake. Walking up my hill, listening to Lost Stars by Adam Levine, and watching Pioneer Day fireworks below while holding back tears of emotional pain I was enduring at the time. Or strolling home from screenwriting class in the middle of the night along 500 South; the way I walked under the street lamps that glowed in the dark.

At times I am ashamed of my homesickness. And one would think that a person who tends to get homesick would not be so interested in traveling to and living in foreign places. But, it makes sense to me. I appreciate emotions. I try to experience every moment to its fullest, even moments of missing people or things. And I feel that I appreciate the significance of life changes.

I know that hard times and various challenges are ahead, in India and wherever I will be. But I don't feel afraid. I am thankful for that. After all, having fear is not a comfortable feeling. I'm excited for the opportunities. Some believe that before we were born, all of us shouted for joy at the thought of coming to earth and experiencing life. There have been times when I have wondered why anyone would do that with all the suffering and heartbreak that life brings. Now, as I look forward to something, maybe I understand. At least a bit.