On Independence Day, August 15th, the school had a 6 km "jog for health." The course went through parts of the campus, starting at the sports complex. Even though it was a Saturday, I was there at 6 am to meet up with Subhash and Many. They were handing out T-shirts at the complex and a swarm of people were clammoring to get them...waiting in line is a "foreign" concept here, whoever can assert themself enough gets the shirt, or in Gops, his or her food. It was like a riot at times, people shouting and reaching and grabbing and pushing and shoving. I greatly enjoyed just looking at the scene for a few minutes. All this over T-shirts. Many people got the shirts and then left, having signed up for the jog with the intention of aquiring sought-after apparel, not exercise. After a quick warm up to Shakira and a brief speech by the athletic director on the importance of fitness, we were off. Most were less enthusiastic for the beginning of the run than for their T-shirts. Most of my friends wanted to know if I wanted to walk with them the whole way, but I was keen on the jog. First of all, I hadn't been running very much during my time here, so it was refreshing; additionally, I felt like I was in the Olympics. US vs. India. There were literally no other white people there. Also I was the tallest. Talk about standing out. Feeling inside like I was representing the whole of the States, I pushed foreward and subconsciously wanted to size up the other Indians, despite the jog being about exercise, not competition. Many decided to cut off the loops in the course to get ahead; I decided not to cheat...the jog was about exercise anyway right? I crossed the finish line and was greeted after with a spicy/salty yogurt...drink. It made my face scrunch up when I drank it, but the Indians loved it. My Yoga instructor told me that he had met his goal of coming in 5th place. I knew that he was behind me the whole time; when I asked him what my position was, he said 3rd. There were 400 joggers. I came in 3rd. In general, I think aerobic exercise is less stressed here than in the States, I mean I never see Indians jogging; if you do see someone running around, it's likely to be an SIP student. I've been to the weight room too at the sports complex. It's pretty nice with many machines that mostly work. There's also a total of 5 dumbells.
That afternoon the Vice Chancellor of the school gave a speech which hundreds of people attended. I think it was to commemorate India? Maybe? He did a whole lot of recognizing the school though, boasting incessantly about it's large size, large student population, unparalleled teaching, lump investments, new construction projects etc. He also spent a great deal of time defending himself with regard to the dorm shortage on campus, blaming the construction contractors for taking too long to build more dorms. He was also boring. Very boring. And it lasted for like 2 hours. Despite going into how *great* the school was, he failed to mention once the SIP program. I care more about one of the only foreign exchange programs in India, flourishing nonetheless, than how many lacs (100,000 rs.) it costs to throw up another building with state-of-the-art architecture, aka concrete.
That afternoon at lunch I was talking about the speech with my friends; if you had gone at the very least you could all agree on how boring it was. Anyway a visiting professor from the States popped up at our table with an excited look on his face. The timing couldn't have been more impeccable. *Did you guys hear that SPEECH?* I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes?" *Did you LIKE IT?* "....ummm" *Wasn't it AMAZING?* "...." *I mean didn't you hear all the STUFF he said about the UNIVERSITY? I mean who WOULDN'T want to study at a place like this?* I looked at my friends with a confused face, kindof ready to crack up, but still really confused; he was so enthusiastic I couldn't tell whether or not he was being genuine. "um...are you being sarcastic?--" *NO! I LOVED the speech!--* "OH, yeah, it was pretty good" *Yeah, you guys are lucky to be at a university like this* "...yeah." He sat down at another table shaking his head in disbelief at how much the school had to offer. My friends and I tried to contain ourselves but pretty much cracked up anyway. It just counldn't have been more unexpected.
That weekend Sumedha, Bikram, Ankush, Vipin, and I went to Secunderbad, now part of Hyderabad, to shop for a laptop for Vipin. We stopped at a famous Hyderabadi restaurant called Paradise to get Biryani, a unique favorite of Hyderabad which this place was renouned for. We got orders of mutton (lamb) and chicken biryani, and I also got Malai Kufta (vegetable ball curry) with roti. I can't tell you how delicious it was. Have you ever wanted to cry because of how good the food you were eating was? You just need to come here and try it. It's incomprehensible. Biryani is like rice layered with spices and meat and vegetables and more spices; it's eaten with yogurt sauce and of course you can't get the full effect unless you eat with your hands. I'm not even going to describe the Malai Kufta, I wouldn't be able to do it justice. My friends grinned when they tasted it and said it was made well. Heck yes it was. They seemed to enjoy everything as much as I did. They were all from different states, so maybe the uniqueness of Biryani was something we could all appreciate, but I mean even if you lived here, how could it ever get old?
As Vipin looked around for a laptop, Sumedha and I went to a shopping center and I ended up buying a traditional Kurta, complete with scarf and shoes (I don't know the actual words for them). The outfit is red and very long and intricate but not busy...perfect. If you want to see it later you'll have to ask, I probably won't be wearing it on any old day. Now I just need to find a wedding to be invited to...
Later that weekend we all went to "mushroom rock," a rock formation way out in the middle of nowhere by Gachibowli stadium on government property. The sight was...baffling, I couldn't quite figure it out. A huge boulder at least as big as a truck was balanced on two stones underneath that probably in sum only were touching it maybe a square foot. You'll have to see it, I'll try to put up a picture. It just doesn't look possible, as if it wouldn't work unless God were invisibly bolstering it up.
On another note about food, I went to a Punjabi restaurant with Satish and Many the other day. It was interesting. Satish ordered everything in Telugu, and I wasn't quite sure what I was getting, but whatever they serve was what I wanted anyway. I asked if the food was going to be spicy (I was craving spice since the guest house really takes it out of their food for the westerners). He replied that he told the waitor to take out the spice. I got a confused look on my face. "I thought you knew I liked spicy food" *Oh, but itt is nott good, nai?* "No, I really like spicy food." Satish summoned the waitor and said some things, giving me a grin afterward. When the food came the waitor hovered over me. He pointed to some dishes and said *spicy.* I thanked him and tasted it. Very good, not incredibly spicy, but very good. Satish looked at me *Spicy?* I nodded. The waitor looked at me and grinned *Spicy.* "...Yes, thank you." I couldn't have been more annoyed. I'm sick of being catered to. I wanted the food that the restaurant prepares, not the food that they alter to fit my taste. I hate the assumption that we won't like the spices that they use here. If you don't want spice, it should be your responsibility to specify. Evidently though it is more difficult to specify authenticity than it is to specify modification.
After eating I asked Satish what he thought of the city. He went on and on about how it was being developed and was the center of technology industries and has many unique things to offer. After I asked what he didn't like about the city (I mean there had to be something, the place isn't perfect by far). He got a confused look and mentioned something about Muslims, then continued his appraisal of the city. I asked about the Muslims. After much time he said that this concerned a negative part of the city and that he didn't want to tell me. Trying to contain myself, I asked what the situation was all about. If he just didn't like talking about it, that's one thing, but if he didn't want to tell me just because he didn't want me to know anything but the positives, that's another. Sheltered experience all over again. You really have to work for authenticity. Anyway he went on about the bombings that have been going on in India and in Hyderabad last year. He thinks that there's still tension between some Muslims and Hindus that makes him uncomfortable etc., nothing really I hadn't heard before, but it was sure what I wanted to hear from him, and it took some prying to get to. His perception was what I was after, not the objective bonuses the city has to offer.
I brought up my frustrations at a CIEE meeting. Some people went on about how we as foreiners can't ever truly be Indian and how you can't exect to be treated as one either. It's a difficult notion, I mean this is true but at the same time there are things that you can experience that Indians likewise experience. While we all have different perceptions, and I don't hope to have an entirely "Indian" percpetion, experiencing something that Indians are used to experiencing doesn't necessarily make you more "Indian," but at the least exposes you to something new. You can argue back and forth, and we did. I constructed an adequate analogy (something I'm fond of): I am a human from the land, diving into the sea of India for some time. The Indians here are fishes swimming in the sea. I'm used to walking, but would like to learn how to swim. While I can't swim just like a fish, I can kindof try to learn how. Learning how to swim underwater doesn't make me a fish. I'm a human and can't change that. And that's fine. I have a choice though, to experience the underwater world with a dry suit on or not. I'm still "underwater" with a dry suit on, but the environment is modified to give me a sense of what I'm used to. Without a dry suit, the water may be a little colder and the environment more harsh, but in some debatable way, it offers a more authentic experience. This is what I'm after.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Ok hmm the past two weeks...Oh I had my first unsatisfactory visit into the city. We were all going to a music store WAY into the city to pick up tablas with the tabla instructor. There were like a dozen of us and we were all in taxis. I cancelled some things with my friends in order to go; I figured I'd go to pick one out because I can get pretty choosy about my instruments. It took me a while to decide on a sitar earlier, and I only did after listening to the sound on each one. The ride was much longer than I had expected; maybe it was the dense traffic. The taxi drivers keep the windows down, I think it's to be able to hear horns more easily, a necessary element of communication between drivers. So the city exhaust was right at my face, and after a while that can get really old. For someone (me) who stops breathing briefly in the States when a car rolls past in order to avoid exhaust, I was at a loss and decided to compromise by breathing shallowly, and half the time I lifted my shirt above my nose at the cost of looking rediculous. The store was smallish and we couldn't all fit inside. The instructor tested each tabla for sound and the store packaged up a dozen of them, just like that. There was no reason for me to be there. I didn't even carry a set into a car, the storeowners did. The whole day certain things had put me in a bad mood, now it was much worse; sometimes that's just the way it goes. I stood outside the store and looked down the city street thinking "even though you don't want to be here right now, think about where you are." It took some time, and my bad mood didn't go away, but I realized I needed to quit moping. I walked up to some kids and asked them some simple questions in English (for them to practice), then in Hindi and Telugu (for my practice). I just felt like I had to do something, to validate being there. On the ride back home (equally as long and polluted), I initialized a conversation with the driver as well. At dinner back at the guest house, some others were as miffed as I was. When people would ask how the trip was, I giggled to myself and just replied with a let's not talk about it. I'm thankful that I got a tabla, and I'm thankful we had an instructor to help us. But I just didn't need to go, and it took SO much time. Some people back at the house noticed my temperament and were alarmed/confused/shocked that I wasn't being chipper like usual. When you're usually happy, being in a bad mood means that you're perceived as REALLY being in a bad mood. I smiled and calmly explained that I'm a human like everyone else and have an according emotional range. When you get to know me well enough, you realize this. We all have our ups and downs, it just may be more difficult to see when you're inherently more extroverted, especially in a place like this where there are so many people to meet. My tabla set didn't even have the right kind of drums. The store delivered a new set to the guest house the following week.
Yeah after a month and a half of being here, my extrovertedness is kindof burning itself out. I just know way too many people. I'm used to that though. Not only am I just tired, but it's getting to the point where everyone wants to spend some amount of time with me, and when I can't due to other obligations, sometimes feelings can be hurt. People joke that I'm complaining about being too popular. There's definately more to "poplarity" than the conceptulalization that the more you have the better. If I want a close group of friends, I'm going to have to sacrifice my time with others. The Indians I know take your happiness upon themselves; when you don't make an effort to spend time with them, they easily think it's their fault. This is the problem. There's always more people to meet too, usually through the people I already know. When it's all just too much for me to handle, I put on a smiling face and ask them the questions I ask everyone else (where you're from, what you study) and fake a genuine interest behind which I'm shouting TOO MANY PEOPLE. I guess there could be worse crosses to bear :)
Remember the remark I made about me actually being a human? It's actually a joke between Batia and Rachel that I'm an alien that's been sent to Earth to gather information about the planet. "It just fits, I mean, look at him...if aliens crafted how they thought a human would look like, I bet it would look like Matt. And he's always asking questions. What does he do with all that information? I bet he sends it back to his home planet." Let me clarify that Batia and Rachel are some of my best friends here, I guess if you read over what they claim it can seem insulting, but we all think it's the funniest idea ever, including me. "Matt...hmm...Matt, how long did it take your people to come up with that normal-sounding Earth name? Where exactly is your homeworld? Is your respiritory system like ours?" *Well, Batia, I could tell you these things, but then my mission would be compromised and I'd have to kill you.* It's hard to really get the full effect unless you actually *know* Batia and Rachel, just take my word for it though, they're hilarious.
I have more grievances. First of all, the Indians I know here (meaning all of the ones in the entirety of Hyderabad) litter constantly. There's garbage everywhere. There's no recycling either. It's overwhelming sometimes the stench that lingers up your nose when you're walking past garbage piles to class. If you get a piece of gum or candy, the wrapper belongs on the ground and not in the blue dust bins placed around the campus that read "Use Me." This really eats at me, I'm not even just disappointed, I'm pissed. Hey, you don't need to love everything about a different culture right? I make it a point to pick up the garbage that my friends throw on the ground and walk over to the dust bin to dispose of it in front of their faces. No I'm not trying to save the environment. I'm trying to make an impression. It makes no difference to tell people to throw garbage away; I just see doing it overtly yourself as a satisfactory way to convey what my values are by obliquely shoving it into their faces.
The other day Satish and I were having mango juice when I read aloud the ingredients label. Including the "permitted class II preservative." "Satish, what do you think of additives and preservatives? Some of my friends prefer the taste to natural juice" *Oh, no, I only prefer fresh juice, that's what's most natural and healthy. Plus is helps the farmers and not large mass-producing corporations." At that moment Satish took a drag from a cigarette and tossed is wrapper into the bushes. I grinned at the situation, never before both agreeing and disagreeing so intensely at the same time.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Last night I didn’t get to bed until about 1 or so, Ankush and Bikram came over to my room and I gave them a tour of the pictures on my computer. I wish I had taken pictures of simple things like my room and my piano etc., but pictures from my graduation and trips to
Anyway whomever I was talking to in my dream I remember got this concerned look on his face and pointed toward my right hand. I looked down too in a pseudo consciousness but was soon awakened fully by a crawling feeling. It felt like a gecko or something creeping up my hand, and as soon as I sat up, it jumped onto the wall. The dark…creature scurried up the wall and ran around on top of my bed banister. By the time I had turned the light on, it had hid, and I figured it would be ok to head back to bed. It was 2 o’clock and I had yoga in 4 hours. My vivid dreams were once again interrupted, but this time more rudely; I heard/felt it scurrying first across my chest, then felt something like claws on my left hand. Now I was freaked. I flung my hand to the side and the creature flew across the room. I immediately threw the lights on and began moving all my furniture away from the walls and putting all the stuff on the floor into the closet. Jonas next door woke up and came over to see what all the noise was about. I was hoping that this creature would have no place to hide; I was also hoping that I wouldn’t get bit…Jesse had gotten bit by a rat earlier and had to get a series of rabies shots. Geckos don’t have claws so there was at least a possibility that this wasn’t a lizard but a more disconcerning rodent.
I opened the door to try to give it an escape route if it chose. Even though I searched everywhere high and low many times, I couldn’t see it nor hear it, and after killing the mosquitoes that had wondered in, climbed back into bed with my flashlight in one hand and the sheets covering me from head to toe. After about 15 mintues, there was the scurrying again. I threw off the covers, shouting, and jumped up as quickly as I could, flicking on the flashlight and pointing it at the ground, poised like some kind of hunter. I saw something approach the door and scurry underneath the frame and responded immediately by shoving my mosquito net at the base of the door. I was half tempted to peek out and see if I could spot it (I hadn’t gotten a good gander at it yet) but decided against it at the prospect of letting it slip back in. Whatever it was, it sure did cause a dent in my sleep, I had spent so much time searching for it and now my room was totally rearranged and in disorder. Where it was hiding I’m not sure; evidently my foe for the evening ended up being more cunning than I.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
1 of 6
Ok! Hello again! I’m not dead but very much alive and have much to post; unfortunately I haven’t had the time/ability to put it up onto the blog for some time, but I’ve been writing nonetheless and now have a ton of material to share. For convenience, I have broken everything up into a total of 6 posts; that means that if you read one a day you can spread the joy out for a whole week. And then rest on Sunday. Enjoy!
On Tuesday (last week) Joe Nicholas and I arranged to meet at his hotel to visit and meet all of his colleagues. Joe was my baseball coach in like fourth grade; he was in Hyderabad because he has been in the process of getting the construction of a cancer treatment center mobilized just outside the city. It will be a top-notch facility, providing optimal treatment, and likely the finest in India. This appeals to those with enough money to pay for treatment who would be traveling outside of the country, maybe even to the States, for quality treatment. Eventually this will provide enough funding for more treatment centers. Planning has been under way for about 2 years now, and the construction will finally begin in a few days. We spent time at the bar talking about my past three weeks and discussing their plans for the treatment center. I also was able to practice some Hindi with the bartender, who was really excited to hear a foreigner trying to speak the language. A private driver took me back to the university, how comfortable it was to be in a car again! (a rickshaw offers a slightly different, more cramped/smokey/bumpy experience). The hotel was also so glorious in comparison to the guest house :) The next day I was back at the hotel for a delicious buffet that offered not only Indian, but Oriental and Italian food as well. The cooks were very friendly and even directed me to a bowl of chili peppers when I asked for extra spice. Despite all the work that Joe and his colleagues have to do while they are here, I imagine it would be so much fun coming to India so often. He is very lucky. Actually it would be pretty tough to leave so quickly, I mean 5 months isn’t even enough. Anyway it was a ton of fun to visit Joe, how coincidental that we ended up just 15 minutes away from each other on the other side of the globe! It took my friends by surprise too…*Matt, where are you off to?* “Oh, actually my old baseball coach is in town, I’m going to visit him.” *…Oh, really?...that’s…interesting!*
I was woken up the other day at seven in the morning by power drills. I hadn’t set my alarm because I was fully intending on sleeping in to my heart’s content. They’ve been doing construction things in our dorm for a while now, so it was nothing I hadn’t heard before, but certainly not this early in the morning before. Last time I ended up with a hole in my wall that opened up into the hallway though which an internet wire was run. This time they wanted to encase the wire and attach it to the wall, running it down to an outlet by the floor. To do that though, they had to enter the room. So if the jackhammer-like drilling in concrete wasn’t enough to wake you, pounding on my door would be. I opened it barely clothed and eyes half open; the workers didn’t speak English, so I couldn’t ask them what they wanted, but they showed me the end of one of their wires and I figured that they would need my outlet to power their drills like they’ve needed before. So I showed them my outlet and, with my door open, laid back down. Before long, one of the workers started to use my room for storage. He set down coils of wires and tools on the floor, having to move some of my stuff out of the way to do so. Then he took my backpack off my chair to move the chair to stand on the chair to start drilling holes in the concrete wall up high by the ceiling. Dust and paint from the wall fell all about the floor. Still lying in bed under my blanket, I watched him intently as he went about his work, trying to figure out exactly what he was doing and amazed that he didn’t need more equipment to do it. He never used a tape measure, nor a straightedge, but managed to drill holes in a straight line around the door and cut wire casing at exactly the right length. And then I capitalized on the moment to practice my Hindi. I asked him what his name was, how he was feeling, and where he was from (token questions to learn to say when you’re picking up a language), but he responded briefly and didn’t appear too keen on carrying on a conversation. This was ok I suppose because I wouldn’t have understood anything he would say beyond the scope of these questions, nor have been able to respond even if I did understand him, and to boot the drilling trumped any conversation to be had. I continued to watch him work, being too tired to get up and shower but to distracted to go back to sleep. I still can’t tell if I have the internet in my room. There’s an outlet but no wire to connect my computer to it. Anyway it was an interesting way to start the day and certainly was a tribute to the Indian regard of personal space (in comparison to what I’m used to).
That afternoon, I went with several other students to a “school” that took care of the children of the workers who were building new facilities on campus. These laborers are nomadic I guess, moving their tarp residences wherever there is work to be done; their kids fortunately have the opportunity for some education while their parents work on campus. The school (one room) was founded and is staffed by students of the university, several SIP students as well go frequently to play with the children. I also heard that today we were going to help construct a fence around the school. While playing with children is not my favorite thing to do, building walls and fences is. As we rolled up to the school on our bikes, the several dozen children poured out of the school, shouting and screaming with excitement. This was kindof nauseating for me, but it was fun to see every kid come up to you, put out their hand to shake, and ask you how you were doing (obviously eager to practice their English). The fence was just a few lines of barbed wire that we strung around trees to stretch around the school grounds (harder to do than it sounds because you can’t really touch the wire without carefully placing your fingers on it). They were constructing the fence in part to legitimate the school and in part to keep out the cows that had the tendency to wander around the area while the children were playing. We couldn’t finish the whole thing though, so by the end of the day there was still a gap through which the cows managed to mosey in; the problem this time was that now they were trapped inside the school grounds, and we had to shoo them out with much effort. The day had been laughably counterproductive, but when the fence is complete it should actually serve its function. It reminded me of making my cinderblock walls in Mexico; although I was working with completely different material, it was still around a school and in a foreign country. I guess I’ll need to make a wall of some sort in any country I visit now; it seems to be a theme so far.
As I pulled away from the school on my bike, the kids literally jumped onto it. I had to slow so I wouldn’t run over any of them; by the time I had stopped, there were at least 6 or 7 kids clinging onto me and my bike, excited about the prospect of getting a ride. Thy (pronounced “tea”) saved me; she rode back seeing my situation and pried the kids off of me, shouting over the kids’ voices at me to ride onward or risk having them smother me again.
On Tuesday (last week) Joe Nicholas and I arranged to meet at his hotel to visit and meet all of his colleagues. Joe was my baseball coach in like fourth grade; he was in Hyderabad because he has been in the process of getting the construction of a cancer treatment center mobilized just outside the city. It will be a top-notch facility, providing optimal treatment, and likely the finest in India. This appeals to those with enough money to pay for treatment who would be traveling outside of the country, maybe even to the States, for quality treatment. Eventually this will provide enough funding for more treatment centers. Planning has been under way for about 2 years now, and the construction will finally begin in a few days. We spent time at the bar talking about my past three weeks and discussing their plans for the treatment center. I also was able to practice some Hindi with the bartender, who was really excited to hear a foreigner trying to speak the language. A private driver took me back to the university, how comfortable it was to be in a car again! (a rickshaw offers a slightly different, more cramped/smokey/bumpy experience). The hotel was also so glorious in comparison to the guest house :) The next day I was back at the hotel for a delicious buffet that offered not only Indian, but Oriental and Italian food as well. The cooks were very friendly and even directed me to a bowl of chili peppers when I asked for extra spice. Despite all the work that Joe and his colleagues have to do while they are here, I imagine it would be so much fun coming to India so often. He is very lucky. Actually it would be pretty tough to leave so quickly, I mean 5 months isn’t even enough. Anyway it was a ton of fun to visit Joe, how coincidental that we ended up just 15 minutes away from each other on the other side of the globe! It took my friends by surprise too…*Matt, where are you off to?* “Oh, actually my old baseball coach is in town, I’m going to visit him.” *…Oh, really?...that’s…interesting!*
I was woken up the other day at seven in the morning by power drills. I hadn’t set my alarm because I was fully intending on sleeping in to my heart’s content. They’ve been doing construction things in our dorm for a while now, so it was nothing I hadn’t heard before, but certainly not this early in the morning before. Last time I ended up with a hole in my wall that opened up into the hallway though which an internet wire was run. This time they wanted to encase the wire and attach it to the wall, running it down to an outlet by the floor. To do that though, they had to enter the room. So if the jackhammer-like drilling in concrete wasn’t enough to wake you, pounding on my door would be. I opened it barely clothed and eyes half open; the workers didn’t speak English, so I couldn’t ask them what they wanted, but they showed me the end of one of their wires and I figured that they would need my outlet to power their drills like they’ve needed before. So I showed them my outlet and, with my door open, laid back down. Before long, one of the workers started to use my room for storage. He set down coils of wires and tools on the floor, having to move some of my stuff out of the way to do so. Then he took my backpack off my chair to move the chair to stand on the chair to start drilling holes in the concrete wall up high by the ceiling. Dust and paint from the wall fell all about the floor. Still lying in bed under my blanket, I watched him intently as he went about his work, trying to figure out exactly what he was doing and amazed that he didn’t need more equipment to do it. He never used a tape measure, nor a straightedge, but managed to drill holes in a straight line around the door and cut wire casing at exactly the right length. And then I capitalized on the moment to practice my Hindi. I asked him what his name was, how he was feeling, and where he was from (token questions to learn to say when you’re picking up a language), but he responded briefly and didn’t appear too keen on carrying on a conversation. This was ok I suppose because I wouldn’t have understood anything he would say beyond the scope of these questions, nor have been able to respond even if I did understand him, and to boot the drilling trumped any conversation to be had. I continued to watch him work, being too tired to get up and shower but to distracted to go back to sleep. I still can’t tell if I have the internet in my room. There’s an outlet but no wire to connect my computer to it. Anyway it was an interesting way to start the day and certainly was a tribute to the Indian regard of personal space (in comparison to what I’m used to).
That afternoon, I went with several other students to a “school” that took care of the children of the workers who were building new facilities on campus. These laborers are nomadic I guess, moving their tarp residences wherever there is work to be done; their kids fortunately have the opportunity for some education while their parents work on campus. The school (one room) was founded and is staffed by students of the university, several SIP students as well go frequently to play with the children. I also heard that today we were going to help construct a fence around the school. While playing with children is not my favorite thing to do, building walls and fences is. As we rolled up to the school on our bikes, the several dozen children poured out of the school, shouting and screaming with excitement. This was kindof nauseating for me, but it was fun to see every kid come up to you, put out their hand to shake, and ask you how you were doing (obviously eager to practice their English). The fence was just a few lines of barbed wire that we strung around trees to stretch around the school grounds (harder to do than it sounds because you can’t really touch the wire without carefully placing your fingers on it). They were constructing the fence in part to legitimate the school and in part to keep out the cows that had the tendency to wander around the area while the children were playing. We couldn’t finish the whole thing though, so by the end of the day there was still a gap through which the cows managed to mosey in; the problem this time was that now they were trapped inside the school grounds, and we had to shoo them out with much effort. The day had been laughably counterproductive, but when the fence is complete it should actually serve its function. It reminded me of making my cinderblock walls in Mexico; although I was working with completely different material, it was still around a school and in a foreign country. I guess I’ll need to make a wall of some sort in any country I visit now; it seems to be a theme so far.
As I pulled away from the school on my bike, the kids literally jumped onto it. I had to slow so I wouldn’t run over any of them; by the time I had stopped, there were at least 6 or 7 kids clinging onto me and my bike, excited about the prospect of getting a ride. Thy (pronounced “tea”) saved me; she rode back seeing my situation and pried the kids off of me, shouting over the kids’ voices at me to ride onward or risk having them smother me again.
2 of 6
That evening I went to a football (soccer) game with Subhash, Manydas (jokingly nick named “money” or “black money” or “mini-das,” he’s short and has dark skin for an Indian, I'll just call him 'Money' for simplicity), and Satish (“sat-eesh”). The stadium is adjacent to campus and a short bike/auto ride away; it’s the largest in the whole state and is part of this larger sports complex that looks pretty new. The stands are big concrete steps, you don’t sit in seats. That match was Turkistan vs. Afghanistan, although I was more interested in talking with those around me than paying attention to the game. There was an older man sitting behind me; he tapped my shoulder and asked if I’d like some coffee from the nearby vender. I thanked him and politely refused. He got a confused look on his face and asked “Why?” It wasn’t like he was insulted or anything, it just didn’t really make sense, I mean, why wouldn’t you want a tasty warm drink? I’ve heard that in India people expect that you take what is offered to you more than in the States, where offering something to someone is more just a polite gesture, likely to be refused anyway. If you refuse something offered, often people will continue to ask until you accept. So the second time he asked me, I accepted, and we all had coffee. The man loves football; he attends these games at Gachibowli stadium daily. He also loves to converse, and took it upon himself to teach me more Hindi. After riding back from the game on our bikes and cycles, we all ate at Gops.
Bikes are motorcycles, cycles are bikes. Why we confuse them doesn’t make any sense to my friends, but if one more closely compares the words that I’m used to calling them, my confusion is maybe justified.
Gops is the student center nearest to the Guest House and International Students Hostel. It consists of three eateries: South Indian, North Indian, and ….this other one that I guess is a mix. Only two are operating, the North Indian one (what I heard was the best) was recently closed down due to cases of food poisoning and sanitation concerns. There is also a beauty parlor, a convenience store, and a fruit/vegetable/juice stand. The juice from there is amazing and made fresh right there; they usually add masala, salt, and black pepper to the juice for more “flavor,” but my favorite is just the plain juice (typical I guess if you’re not used to spicy juice). My favorite juice is grape, and they also serve apple, pineapple, pomegranate, and mosambi (sweet lime/lemon). This reminds me of several contradictions that I’d like to point out that I’ve noticed about society here.
The organic/natural foods movement is huge in the States, or at least from what I’ve seen. With accompanying reactions against GM foods, organic and whole foods are prized above food that has been modified in some way. From what I’ve seen in India, whole fruit is available everywhere (eg. juice stand, eg. everywhere on the streets), but at the same time artificial flavoring is big. This really confused me. I asked several Indians if they prefer artificial or natural flavoring; artificial usually wins. I guess they think it tastes better. You won’t find a packaged juice without sugar and so labeled “permitted class II” artificial flavors and preservatives. I’m not sure what the prevalence of genetic modification/pesticide usage is like here, maybe there’s less to react against than in the States, or maybe it’s just a different system of values.
Women are to be covered; females in this program were warned continuously about proper wear. Some women here cover themselves totally except for the eyes. At the same time, the sides of the body are generally exposed to an extent that you would NEVER see in the States. Especially with saris, the flowing fabric wraps around the whole body except for the right arm and the left side down to the waist. My history teacher’s love handles are constantly available for all to see. An aged female in the states would likely never dare expose this sensitive region that provides a glimpse at your true weight/body figure.
Sometimes you are to be independent and self-sufficient, other times you are to be served, whether you want to be or not. You are ALWAYS (at least as far as I’ve seen) served your food; I’m really not used to this and like taking exactly the portion that I require of exactly the dishes I want. That’s pretty hard to do here though because the food is sometimes blocked from reach or the ladles pointed toward the back by the servers; you just usually say or point to the dishes you want, and they pour it on. The other day Melissa was riding on the back of my bike when her skirt got caught in my rear wheel. She was stuck to the bike, but not for long, as several Indians came right away to help. Soon a crowd gathered to help us of at least half a dozen people. We (or rather, they) ended up shattering a pane of glass from alongside the road and using the shards to cut her skirt away from the wheel. The remaining jammed fabric was removed by Money who had to take the chain off and dig and dig at the fabric to remove it. Two Indians ended up cutting their hands and bleeding throughout the process. Even if we had refused their help, there was little we could have done aside from running away that would have prevented them from coming to our aid. At the same time, some things you’re expected to do on your own. Dr. Pande (history) handed out one syllabus to a student, and if we wanted a copy, we were to go after class to the copy room to generate one from the sole distributed copy. Reading material is SO FREAKING DIFFICULT to get you hands on. I’ve described the library process. Sometimes you have to go to the department to get things copied, sometimes you have to check the library, sometimes it’s on the internet, sometimes it’s God knows where. The point is that the professors don’t provide material to the extent I’m used to (Blackboard, library reserve, etc.); you’re expected to locate the material by any means, even if it means that you go to the roadside book stands in the middle of the city to get it.
Even though sometimes people will come up to me out of the blue and start a conversation, Indian students in general seem very quiet. Not only in everyday conversation will they usually use “six inch” voices, but especially in class there’s really no student participation, even if the professor is shouting at the students to respond. On the other hand though, students rarely raise their hands, if they have a comment, they’ll just kindof say it aloud. It’s very interesting and different from what I’m used to. That’s another thing, there are never questions, only comments if anything. Class is lecture, there is neither discussion nor active student participation like I’m used to. I’m also not used to 2 hour long classes. The worst is right after a huge lunch, the classes from 2-4, I mean. It just tires you out, eating a lot, and especially when you’re sitting in a comfortable chair for a long period of time, with air conditioning or fans cooling you and blowing in your eyes, it’s all I can do to force my eyes to remain open, let alone follow what the professor is saying.
Breakfast is 8-9, lunch from 1-2, and dinner from 7-8. A noon lunch is really really early. A dinner at 6 is also really really early, you won’t see students at the canteens during those times when in the States, usually those are the times when GQ or Garden Room is packed.
Guys will embrace each other here more than in the States. For me this is extremely confusing. It’s not that I can’t understand why this is the way it is here, it is just that it is significantly not what I’m used to. From my perspective, it seems that much of growing up has to do with legitimizing yourself, and this is done through seeking the acceptance of your peers. In terms of legitimizing oneself as a sexual and mature individual, male/male contact is taboo as the authenticity of one’s heterosexuality is at stake. All too much of the common social scene in the States seems to me as being structured around establishing one’s heterosexuality (and by extension, masculinity, and vice versa as well) by following gender role guidelines. Such guidelines it is easy to see have been constructed in different ways for different societies. While wrapping an arm around the shoulder of another male may or may not be all that strange to see in the States, keeping that arm there for an extended period of time certainly is. Of course there’s the holding hands part as well. But at the same time it’s different here in that there seems to be less distance between people “holding” hands. In the States holding hands is a symbol of mutual affection, something that is declared for all to see, hands tightly embraced. Here it is sometimes hard to tell whether or not hands are actually being “held;” people will walk right next to each other and kindof dangle their hands down, cupping their hands over one another’s lightly or barely at all. Sometimes you’ll see fingers interlocked, but this light cupping is more prevalent than what I would consider “holding.” Sometimes there will be lines of half a dozen men embracing each other in this way. Coming from a background where contact in general is questionable, such displays are downright perplexing because obviously the interpretations that I’ve constructed over time, built within the context of the States, are not valid anymore.
Women usually don’t engage in much contact with anyone in general. They’re more quiet also and don’t jump at the opportunity to engage in a discussion. In a setting where it’s also uncommon for a female to start a conversation with a male, the women of the SIP program are kindof caught between a rock and a hard place if they want to meet people, male or female. Women usually only associate amongst themselves, although some gender mixing can be observed. This gender separation is probably perpetuated, among other things, by the separate dorms (male-female living spaces are practically on the other ends of the campus). It is interesting as well to observe that in my history class, males sit on one side of the classroom, females on the other.
I feel like an anthropologist. So I’ll continue. In the state of Gujrat, a “tsk” sound made with the back edge of the tongue means “no.” If someone is to respond “yes,” in general on campus or around Hyderabad, you will get (maybe in addition to the head bobble) a “ha” sound that literally means “yes” but can be easily confused with “huh?” Context with facial and head expression is needed to interpret the response if you don’t know whether a “huh” or “ha” has been issued. It is also problematic when you respond to someone with a legitimate “huh?” (which happens frequently), and he or she understands it as “yes.” Let’s take an example, maybe a conversation at the dinner table: *Do yoo eh-speek Hin-di?* “Huh?” *Hah, yes, ok.* “aap cardamom pasand karte hai?” [‘do you like cardamom?’…I hate cardamom] “Huh??” *Hah, yes, ok, yoo must trry dis dish den.*
That’s something I’d just like to point out briefly. I HATE cardamom. There are several things I’ve gotten used to and grown to like, for example the mint things that taste like licorice (I don’t traditionally like licorice); and now I have it after about every meal. I love the food, and I love the spice, but I can’t grow into this cardamom. Fortunately, if it is in a dish then it will be present in one bite where you break the kernel which fills your palate with this perfumey eucalyptus/chlorine essence, overriding any other pleasant taste already there. Rarely does this trauma happen more than once or twice a meal. Sometimes they grind it up and put it in pudding; I can pick that taste out immediately. I can even pick it out in the chai that is served (but continue to drink it anyway because it is sweet and delicious). That’s my grievance, now it’s off my chest. I LOVE Indian food more than any other, but just like anything else in this world, nothing is perfect.
Bikes are motorcycles, cycles are bikes. Why we confuse them doesn’t make any sense to my friends, but if one more closely compares the words that I’m used to calling them, my confusion is maybe justified.
Gops is the student center nearest to the Guest House and International Students Hostel. It consists of three eateries: South Indian, North Indian, and ….this other one that I guess is a mix. Only two are operating, the North Indian one (what I heard was the best) was recently closed down due to cases of food poisoning and sanitation concerns. There is also a beauty parlor, a convenience store, and a fruit/vegetable/juice stand. The juice from there is amazing and made fresh right there; they usually add masala, salt, and black pepper to the juice for more “flavor,” but my favorite is just the plain juice (typical I guess if you’re not used to spicy juice). My favorite juice is grape, and they also serve apple, pineapple, pomegranate, and mosambi (sweet lime/lemon). This reminds me of several contradictions that I’d like to point out that I’ve noticed about society here.
The organic/natural foods movement is huge in the States, or at least from what I’ve seen. With accompanying reactions against GM foods, organic and whole foods are prized above food that has been modified in some way. From what I’ve seen in India, whole fruit is available everywhere (eg. juice stand, eg. everywhere on the streets), but at the same time artificial flavoring is big. This really confused me. I asked several Indians if they prefer artificial or natural flavoring; artificial usually wins. I guess they think it tastes better. You won’t find a packaged juice without sugar and so labeled “permitted class II” artificial flavors and preservatives. I’m not sure what the prevalence of genetic modification/pesticide usage is like here, maybe there’s less to react against than in the States, or maybe it’s just a different system of values.
Women are to be covered; females in this program were warned continuously about proper wear. Some women here cover themselves totally except for the eyes. At the same time, the sides of the body are generally exposed to an extent that you would NEVER see in the States. Especially with saris, the flowing fabric wraps around the whole body except for the right arm and the left side down to the waist. My history teacher’s love handles are constantly available for all to see. An aged female in the states would likely never dare expose this sensitive region that provides a glimpse at your true weight/body figure.
Sometimes you are to be independent and self-sufficient, other times you are to be served, whether you want to be or not. You are ALWAYS (at least as far as I’ve seen) served your food; I’m really not used to this and like taking exactly the portion that I require of exactly the dishes I want. That’s pretty hard to do here though because the food is sometimes blocked from reach or the ladles pointed toward the back by the servers; you just usually say or point to the dishes you want, and they pour it on. The other day Melissa was riding on the back of my bike when her skirt got caught in my rear wheel. She was stuck to the bike, but not for long, as several Indians came right away to help. Soon a crowd gathered to help us of at least half a dozen people. We (or rather, they) ended up shattering a pane of glass from alongside the road and using the shards to cut her skirt away from the wheel. The remaining jammed fabric was removed by Money who had to take the chain off and dig and dig at the fabric to remove it. Two Indians ended up cutting their hands and bleeding throughout the process. Even if we had refused their help, there was little we could have done aside from running away that would have prevented them from coming to our aid. At the same time, some things you’re expected to do on your own. Dr. Pande (history) handed out one syllabus to a student, and if we wanted a copy, we were to go after class to the copy room to generate one from the sole distributed copy. Reading material is SO FREAKING DIFFICULT to get you hands on. I’ve described the library process. Sometimes you have to go to the department to get things copied, sometimes you have to check the library, sometimes it’s on the internet, sometimes it’s God knows where. The point is that the professors don’t provide material to the extent I’m used to (Blackboard, library reserve, etc.); you’re expected to locate the material by any means, even if it means that you go to the roadside book stands in the middle of the city to get it.
Even though sometimes people will come up to me out of the blue and start a conversation, Indian students in general seem very quiet. Not only in everyday conversation will they usually use “six inch” voices, but especially in class there’s really no student participation, even if the professor is shouting at the students to respond. On the other hand though, students rarely raise their hands, if they have a comment, they’ll just kindof say it aloud. It’s very interesting and different from what I’m used to. That’s another thing, there are never questions, only comments if anything. Class is lecture, there is neither discussion nor active student participation like I’m used to. I’m also not used to 2 hour long classes. The worst is right after a huge lunch, the classes from 2-4, I mean. It just tires you out, eating a lot, and especially when you’re sitting in a comfortable chair for a long period of time, with air conditioning or fans cooling you and blowing in your eyes, it’s all I can do to force my eyes to remain open, let alone follow what the professor is saying.
Breakfast is 8-9, lunch from 1-2, and dinner from 7-8. A noon lunch is really really early. A dinner at 6 is also really really early, you won’t see students at the canteens during those times when in the States, usually those are the times when GQ or Garden Room is packed.
Guys will embrace each other here more than in the States. For me this is extremely confusing. It’s not that I can’t understand why this is the way it is here, it is just that it is significantly not what I’m used to. From my perspective, it seems that much of growing up has to do with legitimizing yourself, and this is done through seeking the acceptance of your peers. In terms of legitimizing oneself as a sexual and mature individual, male/male contact is taboo as the authenticity of one’s heterosexuality is at stake. All too much of the common social scene in the States seems to me as being structured around establishing one’s heterosexuality (and by extension, masculinity, and vice versa as well) by following gender role guidelines. Such guidelines it is easy to see have been constructed in different ways for different societies. While wrapping an arm around the shoulder of another male may or may not be all that strange to see in the States, keeping that arm there for an extended period of time certainly is. Of course there’s the holding hands part as well. But at the same time it’s different here in that there seems to be less distance between people “holding” hands. In the States holding hands is a symbol of mutual affection, something that is declared for all to see, hands tightly embraced. Here it is sometimes hard to tell whether or not hands are actually being “held;” people will walk right next to each other and kindof dangle their hands down, cupping their hands over one another’s lightly or barely at all. Sometimes you’ll see fingers interlocked, but this light cupping is more prevalent than what I would consider “holding.” Sometimes there will be lines of half a dozen men embracing each other in this way. Coming from a background where contact in general is questionable, such displays are downright perplexing because obviously the interpretations that I’ve constructed over time, built within the context of the States, are not valid anymore.
Women usually don’t engage in much contact with anyone in general. They’re more quiet also and don’t jump at the opportunity to engage in a discussion. In a setting where it’s also uncommon for a female to start a conversation with a male, the women of the SIP program are kindof caught between a rock and a hard place if they want to meet people, male or female. Women usually only associate amongst themselves, although some gender mixing can be observed. This gender separation is probably perpetuated, among other things, by the separate dorms (male-female living spaces are practically on the other ends of the campus). It is interesting as well to observe that in my history class, males sit on one side of the classroom, females on the other.
I feel like an anthropologist. So I’ll continue. In the state of Gujrat, a “tsk” sound made with the back edge of the tongue means “no.” If someone is to respond “yes,” in general on campus or around Hyderabad, you will get (maybe in addition to the head bobble) a “ha” sound that literally means “yes” but can be easily confused with “huh?” Context with facial and head expression is needed to interpret the response if you don’t know whether a “huh” or “ha” has been issued. It is also problematic when you respond to someone with a legitimate “huh?” (which happens frequently), and he or she understands it as “yes.” Let’s take an example, maybe a conversation at the dinner table: *Do yoo eh-speek Hin-di?* “Huh?” *Hah, yes, ok.* “aap cardamom pasand karte hai?” [‘do you like cardamom?’…I hate cardamom] “Huh??” *Hah, yes, ok, yoo must trry dis dish den.*
That’s something I’d just like to point out briefly. I HATE cardamom. There are several things I’ve gotten used to and grown to like, for example the mint things that taste like licorice (I don’t traditionally like licorice); and now I have it after about every meal. I love the food, and I love the spice, but I can’t grow into this cardamom. Fortunately, if it is in a dish then it will be present in one bite where you break the kernel which fills your palate with this perfumey eucalyptus/chlorine essence, overriding any other pleasant taste already there. Rarely does this trauma happen more than once or twice a meal. Sometimes they grind it up and put it in pudding; I can pick that taste out immediately. I can even pick it out in the chai that is served (but continue to drink it anyway because it is sweet and delicious). That’s my grievance, now it’s off my chest. I LOVE Indian food more than any other, but just like anything else in this world, nothing is perfect.
3 of 6
CIEE organized that the students would visit MVF on Saturday. MVF (M. Venkatarangaiya Foundation) is an organization that is committed to abolishing child labor through the principle that every child has the right to an education. The foundation has several institutions throughout Andhra Pradesh and has put 25,000 adolescent girls in schools, stopped 8,000 child marriages, and has mainstreamed 50,000 children into formal schools. The establishment we went to was two hours away, but we went through nice wide farming lands to get there, something I haven’t gotten to see much of within the Hyderabadi congestion.
During our visit there, we observed students learning Telugu and also played with them. We organized games like “down by the river” and “simon says” etc. and when we weren’t playing a game I knew of, the students would be singing or dancing something they would usually use to enjoy themselves. I learned some of their dances but can’t remember them anymore. Although I couldn’t understand any of their Telugu, I loved the melodies that they’d use in the music, so different from what I’m used to and beautiful in a whole different way.
To my ears there seems to be a lot of fluttering around important notes to the scale which not only emphasizes these notes but also conserves a common home tone throughout the piece. The prominence of this conserved home tone seems to be equivalent in prominence/importance to harmonic chord arrangement and progression in western music. I’ll probably have more to say once I’ve started learning instruments. I remember standing in our circle of 22 CIEE students and 20-30 school girls and listening to three of them sing from one of their notebooks. The line of music they sang combined with how they pronounced the words affected me in such a distinct way. The song was arranged like a rondo with a repeating refrain, and after each small section, the rest of the school would respond with the same. It was so simple because the refrain was repeated so many times and held constant throughout the song, but at the same time so complicated because of how foreign it was to my ears. Somehow I got a feeling of playfulness but at the same time a feeling of matter-of-factness after each refrain that led me to not label the song as “happy” or “sad” but just the way it was, plain and pure in its own way. Solid but not strong. Subdued but not weak. I don’t quite know how else to put my finger on it. The reason I try though is because of how it churned at my emotions. I really could have let myself go if I had chosen to. I restrained, but not without a few tears down my cheeks. Prashanthi told everyone after the song was finished that it had been about the struggles the girls had faced before coming to the foundation. I introduced myself to one of the girls who sang and asked her what her name was in Telugu. It took her a while to respond; she had a shy smile and seemed to want to run back to the comfort of her friends. Funny how she was fine with singing in front of 50+ people but was nearly too shy to respond to just one. Her name was Anita; I had one of the CIEE directors tell her that I greatly enjoyed her song (I only knew how to ask simple questions in Telugu). She nodded at me and grinned before returning to her games with the other girls.
They really enjoyed hand games; they’d play theirs with us and we’d teach them ours. I knew ‘Miss Mary Mack,’ and after showing it to them they couldn’t get enough of it. I’d have to kindof squat down to play it with them and there was at one point a crowd of at least half a dozen girls who were all clamoring to play it with me, one would push into the front after the previous had finished playing; the girl who had finished would go to the back of the crowd and excitedly wait until she got another chance. That lasted for a while but was lots of fun.
I met a girl (from an English college) from Dubai who was reporting about MVF. She explained how in Dubai it can be easy to make a ton of money by investing in the oil reserves there and also how pretty it was, kindof like an oasis with desert all around. She also explained how there is a huge gap between the rich and poor (common theme I guess) but that the poor workers had even less hour/working condition regulations than in India; many die during the hot season due to unreasonable working conditions.
Before long it was time to head back to our motorcoach (obnoxiously large amongst the one-room shanty school buildings). The girls of course swarmed us and crowded around the bus as we boarded. I spotted my new ‘Miss Mary Mack’ friends, Divya and Supria, amongst all of the commotion. They were grinning as they too looked back at me on the bus and had their hands pressed together, meaning namaste. I slept the whole bus ride back.
That evening I went to another soccer game with about a dozen SIP students and also my Indian friends, I kindof introduced them all. It took a while to amass everyone together; first some SIPs had to go back to the guest house to get their IDs, then Money bought chai and fried vegetables that we leisurely ate, then I spotted Anu and Sumedha in Gops and convinced them to come with us, then they had to go back to the ladies hostels to get their bikes.
I loved that though, more than anything it took be back to being at home; there’s Colin, Thom, Matt and the other people from our grade, then there’s Drew and all of his grade, then there’s Eric and Alexei etc., some people are available, some aren’t, some want to do this, some don’t, some want to go with these people, other’s don’t, by the time we all figure out what we’re doing, it’s about midnight. I guess my friends know a little about being Indian by not really adhering to a strict schedule :)
Anyway fortunately we could amass ourselves before midnight and all made it to the game only a few minutes after it started. That game was North Korea vs. Afghanistan. Yes North Korea has a soccer team; it was pretty shocking, I had never predicted that I would see a North Korean in my lifetime. But of course I paid less attention to the game and more to the people around me. I found my Hindi guru again (the one who offered coffee last time)…everyone raised an eyebrow at me to see me walk over to a man sitting in the stands and act immediately like we were old friends. They weren’t incredibly surprised though, giggling and shaking it off as just “something Matt *would* do.” My SIP friends left early, but I stayed back with Satish, Money, Anu, Sumedha, and some Ethiopians we had met. North Korea won (a lot of people were cheering for them actually). By the end of the game there were some monsoon-quality rains upon us which we had to wait through for a while; we didn’t get back to campus for another hour probably. Sumedha, Anu, and I met up with Vippin, ‘B.C.’ (Vikram), and Ankush for dinner at Gops. The paneer and roti there is delicious but may get old fast…I think I’m going to eat at the guest house for another month before ending my meal plan to eat totally on campus.
Gops was a lot of fun, but maybe or maybe not as interesting as what the other SIP students did (who left early from the soccer game). They had all gone to a club in the city; they said that American music was played mainly, along with select Bollywood hits. You have to dance in couples or you’ll be bounced, especially men, women can really do what they want; I think the reason is to keep enough women on the dance floor. The dance floor was as small as a table and no one was really dancing until the Americans arrived. Same story at the clubs in Europe! The drinks were extremely expensive but free vouchers were handed out at the end to encourage us to come back.
During our visit there, we observed students learning Telugu and also played with them. We organized games like “down by the river” and “simon says” etc. and when we weren’t playing a game I knew of, the students would be singing or dancing something they would usually use to enjoy themselves. I learned some of their dances but can’t remember them anymore. Although I couldn’t understand any of their Telugu, I loved the melodies that they’d use in the music, so different from what I’m used to and beautiful in a whole different way.
To my ears there seems to be a lot of fluttering around important notes to the scale which not only emphasizes these notes but also conserves a common home tone throughout the piece. The prominence of this conserved home tone seems to be equivalent in prominence/importance to harmonic chord arrangement and progression in western music. I’ll probably have more to say once I’ve started learning instruments. I remember standing in our circle of 22 CIEE students and 20-30 school girls and listening to three of them sing from one of their notebooks. The line of music they sang combined with how they pronounced the words affected me in such a distinct way. The song was arranged like a rondo with a repeating refrain, and after each small section, the rest of the school would respond with the same. It was so simple because the refrain was repeated so many times and held constant throughout the song, but at the same time so complicated because of how foreign it was to my ears. Somehow I got a feeling of playfulness but at the same time a feeling of matter-of-factness after each refrain that led me to not label the song as “happy” or “sad” but just the way it was, plain and pure in its own way. Solid but not strong. Subdued but not weak. I don’t quite know how else to put my finger on it. The reason I try though is because of how it churned at my emotions. I really could have let myself go if I had chosen to. I restrained, but not without a few tears down my cheeks. Prashanthi told everyone after the song was finished that it had been about the struggles the girls had faced before coming to the foundation. I introduced myself to one of the girls who sang and asked her what her name was in Telugu. It took her a while to respond; she had a shy smile and seemed to want to run back to the comfort of her friends. Funny how she was fine with singing in front of 50+ people but was nearly too shy to respond to just one. Her name was Anita; I had one of the CIEE directors tell her that I greatly enjoyed her song (I only knew how to ask simple questions in Telugu). She nodded at me and grinned before returning to her games with the other girls.
They really enjoyed hand games; they’d play theirs with us and we’d teach them ours. I knew ‘Miss Mary Mack,’ and after showing it to them they couldn’t get enough of it. I’d have to kindof squat down to play it with them and there was at one point a crowd of at least half a dozen girls who were all clamoring to play it with me, one would push into the front after the previous had finished playing; the girl who had finished would go to the back of the crowd and excitedly wait until she got another chance. That lasted for a while but was lots of fun.
I met a girl (from an English college) from Dubai who was reporting about MVF. She explained how in Dubai it can be easy to make a ton of money by investing in the oil reserves there and also how pretty it was, kindof like an oasis with desert all around. She also explained how there is a huge gap between the rich and poor (common theme I guess) but that the poor workers had even less hour/working condition regulations than in India; many die during the hot season due to unreasonable working conditions.
Before long it was time to head back to our motorcoach (obnoxiously large amongst the one-room shanty school buildings). The girls of course swarmed us and crowded around the bus as we boarded. I spotted my new ‘Miss Mary Mack’ friends, Divya and Supria, amongst all of the commotion. They were grinning as they too looked back at me on the bus and had their hands pressed together, meaning namaste. I slept the whole bus ride back.
That evening I went to another soccer game with about a dozen SIP students and also my Indian friends, I kindof introduced them all. It took a while to amass everyone together; first some SIPs had to go back to the guest house to get their IDs, then Money bought chai and fried vegetables that we leisurely ate, then I spotted Anu and Sumedha in Gops and convinced them to come with us, then they had to go back to the ladies hostels to get their bikes.
I loved that though, more than anything it took be back to being at home; there’s Colin, Thom, Matt and the other people from our grade, then there’s Drew and all of his grade, then there’s Eric and Alexei etc., some people are available, some aren’t, some want to do this, some don’t, some want to go with these people, other’s don’t, by the time we all figure out what we’re doing, it’s about midnight. I guess my friends know a little about being Indian by not really adhering to a strict schedule :)
Anyway fortunately we could amass ourselves before midnight and all made it to the game only a few minutes after it started. That game was North Korea vs. Afghanistan. Yes North Korea has a soccer team; it was pretty shocking, I had never predicted that I would see a North Korean in my lifetime. But of course I paid less attention to the game and more to the people around me. I found my Hindi guru again (the one who offered coffee last time)…everyone raised an eyebrow at me to see me walk over to a man sitting in the stands and act immediately like we were old friends. They weren’t incredibly surprised though, giggling and shaking it off as just “something Matt *would* do.” My SIP friends left early, but I stayed back with Satish, Money, Anu, Sumedha, and some Ethiopians we had met. North Korea won (a lot of people were cheering for them actually). By the end of the game there were some monsoon-quality rains upon us which we had to wait through for a while; we didn’t get back to campus for another hour probably. Sumedha, Anu, and I met up with Vippin, ‘B.C.’ (Vikram), and Ankush for dinner at Gops. The paneer and roti there is delicious but may get old fast…I think I’m going to eat at the guest house for another month before ending my meal plan to eat totally on campus.
Gops was a lot of fun, but maybe or maybe not as interesting as what the other SIP students did (who left early from the soccer game). They had all gone to a club in the city; they said that American music was played mainly, along with select Bollywood hits. You have to dance in couples or you’ll be bounced, especially men, women can really do what they want; I think the reason is to keep enough women on the dance floor. The dance floor was as small as a table and no one was really dancing until the Americans arrived. Same story at the clubs in Europe! The drinks were extremely expensive but free vouchers were handed out at the end to encourage us to come back.
4 of 6
I went to another soccer game yesterday with a few people. It was Nepal vs. Sri Lanka. I don’t know what the score was, but I read Hindi from this girl’s textbook and she corrected all my pronunciations. What fun these football games are! I love that there’s no admission fee too.
CIEE has been running these seminars to make us more culturally sensitive and aware. They actually are very interesting and make you think a lot about your perceptions etc. People aren’t very invested in it though. We’re to get a certificate by CIEE upon having completed these seminars, something to put on your resume etc., but people are planning a revolt because of the inconvenient seminar times and annoying homework assignments. If we *all* won’t go, maybe it’ll be ok. I’m interested to see what CIEE does in such a case.
Yesterday I didn’t pee before I went to bed, although I had been drinking a lot of water. In the morning I had to get to yoga, then breakfast, then class and had no time to pee. Right after class I was engaged in a conversation about the US and India etc. etc. that lasted three hours. Despite the pain, I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity. It’s unrealistic how little I know about the US compared to some of these people. Sirvesh would as me questions like *how do you feel about the US foreign policy toward Iran…what about Cuba?* Then he’d start going on about presidential administration history. I talked some about things that I’ve experienced though, like what kind of jobs we get (being 16 to 20 years of age) or how our education system works. He also enthusiastically answered questions I had about India...Bindis (dot on the forehead) originated as a physiological symbol of nervous system unity throughout the body; although it has its originations in science, its significance evolved into a religious one as it became a punishable sin not to wear one. I kindof picture parents stressing to their kids the importance of eating vegetables and fruits by threatening God’s wrath if they didn’t. And that’s how it became religious. Sirvesh also explained how a significant part of going to the temple was asking for forgiveness of misdeeds and sins. Additionally, the offerings made at a temple go to philanthropic causes like school construction and medical treatment, not to the religious institution itself. Lastly he explained the evolution process as Hindus believe, manifested in the ten Vishnu avtaras, starting with the cell, then fish, tortoise, pig, half lion, small child, man with bow and arrow, then axe, then plow, and Krishna as a ruler, then lastly the punisher/enforcer of the law. Interesting evolutionary destiny. Thanking him for the discussion, I waddled back to the guest house and peed. People looked at me strange as I entered the house kindof hunched over and not breathing right. The sacrifices one makes for the sake of cultural exchange.
Lunch that afternoon was eggplant…I’ve been waiting for this since they first served it. Yes, I had such an unhealthy amount, but it was so good. On my way to class a small boy ran up to my side, put out his hand, and said *biscuit.* I responded with a “no” and he continued to say *please, sir, rupee.* “I shook my head, raised my eyebrows, and gave him a grin like ‘sorry, I’m actually not going to give you anything.’ He stopped and turned to go, throwing his hand in the air and waving it at me with a lot of energy. As he ran back he happily shouted *Ok, bye!* I smiled, waved, and said ‘bye’ too. It felt like we were friends who had made exciting plans to play together tomorrow. I walked away giggling thinking of the idea of such a parting in this manner with a homeless person in the States.
When I got to class, I pressed on the door but it didn’t move. I was already 15 minutes late and had debated whether or not to come at all, suspecting that professor Pande had locked the door, which she had. Professors here are fans of locking the door when the class starts. I could have interrupted the class but decided to get the notes later. I get excited for that class for two reasons. Pande usually comes into the classroom a few minutes late; at that time all the students are sitting at their desks and talking. As she enters and proceeds to the front of the class, everyone immediately stops talking and stands up until she sits in the front. I bet some teachers (Frank) in the States would dirty themselves at such a refreshing student response of respect. Additionally, I like at the end of class when she takes attendance; when names are announced, the students reply with *yes ma’am* or *yes, ‘m.* It’s just amusing not to hear the obnoxious “HERE” or “PRESENT” like in the States. The material of the class is amusing, and so is Pande herself, but these are not as exciting to me as standing up and saying “yes, ma’am.”
I had my first Hindi test yesterday. It was so amazing to see myself take it, two weeks ago all the script would have looked like foreign symbols, now I can transliterate like anything. Lots of students had trouble with the test, maybe though I’ve just had lots of practice with my Indian friends.
So I bought a sitar the other day. There are about 8 people in the SIP program who want to learn it, so the program coordinator had a seller come to the school with handmade sitars. To CIEE students, classes are free and occur twice a week, although I haven’t had any classes yet, I’m able to strum around on it. I’m not positive how I’m getting it home yet, but maybe I’ll worry about that in a few months. I have a fiberglass case for it, so it can be shipped, which may be expensive, but likely my only option as it’s probably too big to carry on a plane, and at the same time I wouldn’t want to risk the potential inflicted damages by checking it. I wonder how many organists play sitar too.
I also had Kathak dance classes yesterday. Again CIEE has arranged free lessons for us. Kathak dance is the dance mainly from Northern India, whereas Kuchipudi dance is from the south. So far it has involved a lot of stamping our feet on the ground and moving our hands up and down with the beat, quite fun actually, although my heels do feel kindof bruised.
Tabla (it’s an instrument like a drum set) lessons are on my list too, it seems that some people are arranging for private lessons once a week, and it could be fun if it fits with my schedule. Tablas are much less expensive than sitars anyway :)
In other news concerning cultural instruction, I’ve enrolled in a Yoga certification class that meets early in the morning. The duration is for 3 months, 6 days a week (each day at 6 am), and about 10 other SIP students are enrolled as well. In the class I’ll be learning the Yoga as well as the theory, philosophy, and physiology behind it. If I’m able to keep up with the early schedule and get the certification than I’ll be able to teach Yoga, although that’s not my goal as much as learning a lot about it.
CIEE has been running these seminars to make us more culturally sensitive and aware. They actually are very interesting and make you think a lot about your perceptions etc. People aren’t very invested in it though. We’re to get a certificate by CIEE upon having completed these seminars, something to put on your resume etc., but people are planning a revolt because of the inconvenient seminar times and annoying homework assignments. If we *all* won’t go, maybe it’ll be ok. I’m interested to see what CIEE does in such a case.
Yesterday I didn’t pee before I went to bed, although I had been drinking a lot of water. In the morning I had to get to yoga, then breakfast, then class and had no time to pee. Right after class I was engaged in a conversation about the US and India etc. etc. that lasted three hours. Despite the pain, I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity. It’s unrealistic how little I know about the US compared to some of these people. Sirvesh would as me questions like *how do you feel about the US foreign policy toward Iran…what about Cuba?* Then he’d start going on about presidential administration history. I talked some about things that I’ve experienced though, like what kind of jobs we get (being 16 to 20 years of age) or how our education system works. He also enthusiastically answered questions I had about India...Bindis (dot on the forehead) originated as a physiological symbol of nervous system unity throughout the body; although it has its originations in science, its significance evolved into a religious one as it became a punishable sin not to wear one. I kindof picture parents stressing to their kids the importance of eating vegetables and fruits by threatening God’s wrath if they didn’t. And that’s how it became religious. Sirvesh also explained how a significant part of going to the temple was asking for forgiveness of misdeeds and sins. Additionally, the offerings made at a temple go to philanthropic causes like school construction and medical treatment, not to the religious institution itself. Lastly he explained the evolution process as Hindus believe, manifested in the ten Vishnu avtaras, starting with the cell, then fish, tortoise, pig, half lion, small child, man with bow and arrow, then axe, then plow, and Krishna as a ruler, then lastly the punisher/enforcer of the law. Interesting evolutionary destiny. Thanking him for the discussion, I waddled back to the guest house and peed. People looked at me strange as I entered the house kindof hunched over and not breathing right. The sacrifices one makes for the sake of cultural exchange.
Lunch that afternoon was eggplant…I’ve been waiting for this since they first served it. Yes, I had such an unhealthy amount, but it was so good. On my way to class a small boy ran up to my side, put out his hand, and said *biscuit.* I responded with a “no” and he continued to say *please, sir, rupee.* “I shook my head, raised my eyebrows, and gave him a grin like ‘sorry, I’m actually not going to give you anything.’ He stopped and turned to go, throwing his hand in the air and waving it at me with a lot of energy. As he ran back he happily shouted *Ok, bye!* I smiled, waved, and said ‘bye’ too. It felt like we were friends who had made exciting plans to play together tomorrow. I walked away giggling thinking of the idea of such a parting in this manner with a homeless person in the States.
When I got to class, I pressed on the door but it didn’t move. I was already 15 minutes late and had debated whether or not to come at all, suspecting that professor Pande had locked the door, which she had. Professors here are fans of locking the door when the class starts. I could have interrupted the class but decided to get the notes later. I get excited for that class for two reasons. Pande usually comes into the classroom a few minutes late; at that time all the students are sitting at their desks and talking. As she enters and proceeds to the front of the class, everyone immediately stops talking and stands up until she sits in the front. I bet some teachers (Frank) in the States would dirty themselves at such a refreshing student response of respect. Additionally, I like at the end of class when she takes attendance; when names are announced, the students reply with *yes ma’am* or *yes, ‘m.* It’s just amusing not to hear the obnoxious “HERE” or “PRESENT” like in the States. The material of the class is amusing, and so is Pande herself, but these are not as exciting to me as standing up and saying “yes, ma’am.”
I had my first Hindi test yesterday. It was so amazing to see myself take it, two weeks ago all the script would have looked like foreign symbols, now I can transliterate like anything. Lots of students had trouble with the test, maybe though I’ve just had lots of practice with my Indian friends.
So I bought a sitar the other day. There are about 8 people in the SIP program who want to learn it, so the program coordinator had a seller come to the school with handmade sitars. To CIEE students, classes are free and occur twice a week, although I haven’t had any classes yet, I’m able to strum around on it. I’m not positive how I’m getting it home yet, but maybe I’ll worry about that in a few months. I have a fiberglass case for it, so it can be shipped, which may be expensive, but likely my only option as it’s probably too big to carry on a plane, and at the same time I wouldn’t want to risk the potential inflicted damages by checking it. I wonder how many organists play sitar too.
I also had Kathak dance classes yesterday. Again CIEE has arranged free lessons for us. Kathak dance is the dance mainly from Northern India, whereas Kuchipudi dance is from the south. So far it has involved a lot of stamping our feet on the ground and moving our hands up and down with the beat, quite fun actually, although my heels do feel kindof bruised.
Tabla (it’s an instrument like a drum set) lessons are on my list too, it seems that some people are arranging for private lessons once a week, and it could be fun if it fits with my schedule. Tablas are much less expensive than sitars anyway :)
In other news concerning cultural instruction, I’ve enrolled in a Yoga certification class that meets early in the morning. The duration is for 3 months, 6 days a week (each day at 6 am), and about 10 other SIP students are enrolled as well. In the class I’ll be learning the Yoga as well as the theory, philosophy, and physiology behind it. If I’m able to keep up with the early schedule and get the certification than I’ll be able to teach Yoga, although that’s not my goal as much as learning a lot about it.
5 of 6
So yesterday was Ben’s 21st birthday. We’ve been planning on going somewhere for a while now, so everyone was informed about it in the SIP program. That’s probably why so many people ended up going. Anyway let me start from the beginning.
Cat kindof organized when we were going and informed everyone about it; we found out about where to go by a recommendation through Anuj, a localite who is peer tutoring us in Hindi. It was my job to mobilize some Indians to go as well (I’m kindof known as the SIP student who knows all the Indians and is always hanging out in Gops, the nearby student canteen, making more and more friends). The day before, I had invited about 8 people to go, and they all accepted. They must have been pretty excited about it and pushed their plans around because who has all of Wednesday night completely open for a party? Anyway I told them all to meet at the guest house at 7:30 where we’d walk to the public bus at the university gate. It was an interesting situation; not only did not all of these Indians know each other, but not everyone in the SIP program knew them, I was kindof the glue holding that all together.
It was time for dinner at the guest house at 7; Cat and I walked in first to the dining room and were stunned to see Mr. Das standing behind the food counter with pizza and spaghetti in front of him (Mr. Das is the “RA” of the guest house, he lives there and manages things and helps us with questions etc. that we have). He had known it was Ben’s birthday and ordered food that he knew we’d like. I must say it was a nice break from the normal roti, rice, and daal (lentil)! Everyone was kindof gitty already at that point, not only was there tons of excitement about the “American” food for dinner, but we were all anxious to go to the club as well. The club Anuj had recommended to us is called Bottles and Chimneys, all I really knew about it at the time was that it was a club pretty far away by the airport and that we intended to take buses and rickshaws there.
I finished dinner quickly to go get ready back at the hostel and to be ready to meet my Indian friends. I was getting ready in my room when Subhash and Money showed up unexpectedly, I had told them my room number many days ago, and was surprised they had remembered. I also didn’t know how they knew that I was still in my room. Whatever though, sometimes things just fall into place, a common theme for the evening as you’ll read. Anyway I finished getting ready and we were heading for the guest house when Thy called and said they were already leaving and heading to the small gate. We shifted our direction to meet them, and I also had to call a few people who were initially going to the guest house to tell them our new meeting place. Subhash, Money, and I raced up the road leading to the small gate and were stunned to see a stream of people as far as we could see in either direction. They were all going to Ben’s party. Practically everyone in the SIP program was there! While waiting for the bus at the gate, we took a head count of about 45, and there were still more of my Indian friends coming. I had had no idea how this was going to really work. We were to take bus 216 to Medhiputnam bus stop and then 47A to the airport. Where the club was from there I didn’t know. Our group was going to fill at least a whole public bus, but they’re usually packed to begin with! If we were to take rickshaws, we would have had to have waited for at least a dozen or so. It started to rain. And the bus wasn’t coming.
We weren’t quite sure what to do when all of the sudden this private bus rolls in front of us, obviously attracted by the huge crowd waiting alongside the road. I had Satish and Subhash talk to the driver to see where he was going, and wouldn’t you know he was heading to Medhiputnam of all places. Why he was going there I wasn’t quite sure, why the bus was empty I didn’t know either. And how he coincidentally met us while we were waiting for all of 10 minutes alongside the road is a mystery. I wondered if Satish had arranged for the bus to pull up, he and Subhash had disappeared for a few minutes before it came. When I asked them though they denied it and claimed they had no idea where the bus came from. We all boarded on with this strange kind of excitement like…*is this really as fortuitous as it seems?* A private bus that came out of no where, taking us exactly where we need to go…hmm…ok I guess that works! We were eventually able to convince the driver to take us all the way to the club. And also to take us back to the University. We had arranged a private bus driver just like that; I’m glad my Indian friends were there because the driver really only spoke Telugu! We just barely fit, the bus was packed full, and everyone was referring to it was the ‘magical party bus.’ We were all hollering and singing songs the whole way there, it took probably about 50 minutes. I sat in the front kindof next to the driver on top of the engine and was able to see everything in front of us.
The way these people drive still stuns me. Pulling right out in front of cars that are already moving is just no big deal, especially when you’re in a big bus like this one, you’re just supposed to stop for the vehicles larger than you are. Anyway we made it to the club, but as we were going through all the security and metal detectors etc. some bouncers had stopped us and told Satish, Subhash, and Money that they couldn’t enter; they were wearing sandals. Obviously this was a nice high-end place. Nice and inconvenient. We were left at a loss over such a silly thing. The guards simply wouldn’t let them in. Everyone else had already entered except for me (not wanting to abandon them) and the three sandaled Indians. Most shoe places were closed by then (maybe 9:15), and it didn’t look like we were going to be able to smuggle any shoes from the inside out; I had called people inside but not only could I not hear them because of all the noise, but Satish said it was a bad idea, claiming the guards could get really angry over it. We resolved to take a rickshaw out into the city to buy shoes at a roadside stand. I was having a great time, I mean, going out into the street shops is what we practically do for fun in our free time anyway. Satish especially felt so bad about it though, claiming that he felt really ashamed that he was taking me away from the party etc. It seemed that he thought he was insulting Ben as well. As much as I tried to say that everyone would just think the story was funny, they continued to feel bad about the whole situation. I guess you can’t make someone loosen up, but by the time we reached the club I think they were ok with it.
The interior was amazing; there were two floors and all these lights flashing; definitely the biggest club I’ve been too. The other SIP students swarmed me as I entered, knocking me over and obviously glad I had shown up, whether or not I was an hour late. Immediately one of my other friends insisted I have a shot of tequila with her; when I saw the bill though I was a tad less excited. I thought that the fee was the calculated tip they gave us, but my jaw literally dropped when I learned that our three shots were 1,200 rs. That’s $10 a shot. And that was quite enough of that. I didn’t need to get drunk anyway. Each of the pairs of shoes was less than one of those silly tequila shots.
Anyway the night was so much fun; I’m in love with the CIEE students here, we all blend so well and it feels as if we’ve been friends for quite some time, much more than only 3 weeks. There was a lot of dancing etc. and hookahs etc.; I really liked the music there too, although didn’t recognize any of it. From what I heard it was Punjabi; it was funny to see all the Indians get excited when a Bollywood hit came on the speakers. Of course it was loud; I had expected this and had Amanda bring me a pair of earplugs. That’s my new thing when I go to clubs anymore, it makes the experience so much more enjoyable. You can still hear people talk when they shout directly in your ear (which they’d have to do anyway) and you feel neither deaf nor upset that you’ve damaged your hearing afterward. Love it.
The night lasted only about 2 hours though; the music stopped and the lights went up at midnight on the nose (most places close by midnight in the city unfortunately). People lingered around though and continued to talk as the bartenders managed the hundreds of bills that were paid or needed to be paid. Things kindof deteriorated from there; unpaid bills continued to be thrown at us, whether or not it was a sure thing that they belonged to us. Oh yeah then the police came to enforce the curfew. Then our bus pulled up and was partially clogging the street, enticing us to hurry up, collect ourselves, and leave. The bartenders forced us to pay for about 20 shots, amounting to just under $200; who knows, maybe they actually were all ours, but whatever the case, one person paid the bill and we decided to split the fare and pay her back separately in the morning when we could think straight after a night’s sleep. Same for the bus fare. It was kindof difficult to make sure everyone was on the bus…so many people to keep track of! The ride back was just as fun as the ride there, except this time people were a tad more quiet now that they’d been dancing for a few hours. We got back to the university at about midnight; I continued to spend time with my friends Minakshe, Anu, Vippin, Vikram, Sumedha, Rakesh, and Ankush until about 5 am. That meant I wasn’t going to be waking myself up for Yoga, a reasonable price to pay however for such an exciting evening.
I found out later that three of the guys from our group had gotten into the club with sandals. This stunned me because I imagine that the guards noticed, due to how tight the security was. If that were the case then there was discrimination against the Indians with sandals, but not the Americans. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but it is possible that the sandals rule actually exists but wasn’t enforced for the American males because they knew we would have enough money to pay for a slue of drinks etc. It is less likely that my Indian friends would have been able to contribute as much money to the club, so why let them in at all? Just a theory.
Cat kindof organized when we were going and informed everyone about it; we found out about where to go by a recommendation through Anuj, a localite who is peer tutoring us in Hindi. It was my job to mobilize some Indians to go as well (I’m kindof known as the SIP student who knows all the Indians and is always hanging out in Gops, the nearby student canteen, making more and more friends). The day before, I had invited about 8 people to go, and they all accepted. They must have been pretty excited about it and pushed their plans around because who has all of Wednesday night completely open for a party? Anyway I told them all to meet at the guest house at 7:30 where we’d walk to the public bus at the university gate. It was an interesting situation; not only did not all of these Indians know each other, but not everyone in the SIP program knew them, I was kindof the glue holding that all together.
It was time for dinner at the guest house at 7; Cat and I walked in first to the dining room and were stunned to see Mr. Das standing behind the food counter with pizza and spaghetti in front of him (Mr. Das is the “RA” of the guest house, he lives there and manages things and helps us with questions etc. that we have). He had known it was Ben’s birthday and ordered food that he knew we’d like. I must say it was a nice break from the normal roti, rice, and daal (lentil)! Everyone was kindof gitty already at that point, not only was there tons of excitement about the “American” food for dinner, but we were all anxious to go to the club as well. The club Anuj had recommended to us is called Bottles and Chimneys, all I really knew about it at the time was that it was a club pretty far away by the airport and that we intended to take buses and rickshaws there.
I finished dinner quickly to go get ready back at the hostel and to be ready to meet my Indian friends. I was getting ready in my room when Subhash and Money showed up unexpectedly, I had told them my room number many days ago, and was surprised they had remembered. I also didn’t know how they knew that I was still in my room. Whatever though, sometimes things just fall into place, a common theme for the evening as you’ll read. Anyway I finished getting ready and we were heading for the guest house when Thy called and said they were already leaving and heading to the small gate. We shifted our direction to meet them, and I also had to call a few people who were initially going to the guest house to tell them our new meeting place. Subhash, Money, and I raced up the road leading to the small gate and were stunned to see a stream of people as far as we could see in either direction. They were all going to Ben’s party. Practically everyone in the SIP program was there! While waiting for the bus at the gate, we took a head count of about 45, and there were still more of my Indian friends coming. I had had no idea how this was going to really work. We were to take bus 216 to Medhiputnam bus stop and then 47A to the airport. Where the club was from there I didn’t know. Our group was going to fill at least a whole public bus, but they’re usually packed to begin with! If we were to take rickshaws, we would have had to have waited for at least a dozen or so. It started to rain. And the bus wasn’t coming.
We weren’t quite sure what to do when all of the sudden this private bus rolls in front of us, obviously attracted by the huge crowd waiting alongside the road. I had Satish and Subhash talk to the driver to see where he was going, and wouldn’t you know he was heading to Medhiputnam of all places. Why he was going there I wasn’t quite sure, why the bus was empty I didn’t know either. And how he coincidentally met us while we were waiting for all of 10 minutes alongside the road is a mystery. I wondered if Satish had arranged for the bus to pull up, he and Subhash had disappeared for a few minutes before it came. When I asked them though they denied it and claimed they had no idea where the bus came from. We all boarded on with this strange kind of excitement like…*is this really as fortuitous as it seems?* A private bus that came out of no where, taking us exactly where we need to go…hmm…ok I guess that works! We were eventually able to convince the driver to take us all the way to the club. And also to take us back to the University. We had arranged a private bus driver just like that; I’m glad my Indian friends were there because the driver really only spoke Telugu! We just barely fit, the bus was packed full, and everyone was referring to it was the ‘magical party bus.’ We were all hollering and singing songs the whole way there, it took probably about 50 minutes. I sat in the front kindof next to the driver on top of the engine and was able to see everything in front of us.
The way these people drive still stuns me. Pulling right out in front of cars that are already moving is just no big deal, especially when you’re in a big bus like this one, you’re just supposed to stop for the vehicles larger than you are. Anyway we made it to the club, but as we were going through all the security and metal detectors etc. some bouncers had stopped us and told Satish, Subhash, and Money that they couldn’t enter; they were wearing sandals. Obviously this was a nice high-end place. Nice and inconvenient. We were left at a loss over such a silly thing. The guards simply wouldn’t let them in. Everyone else had already entered except for me (not wanting to abandon them) and the three sandaled Indians. Most shoe places were closed by then (maybe 9:15), and it didn’t look like we were going to be able to smuggle any shoes from the inside out; I had called people inside but not only could I not hear them because of all the noise, but Satish said it was a bad idea, claiming the guards could get really angry over it. We resolved to take a rickshaw out into the city to buy shoes at a roadside stand. I was having a great time, I mean, going out into the street shops is what we practically do for fun in our free time anyway. Satish especially felt so bad about it though, claiming that he felt really ashamed that he was taking me away from the party etc. It seemed that he thought he was insulting Ben as well. As much as I tried to say that everyone would just think the story was funny, they continued to feel bad about the whole situation. I guess you can’t make someone loosen up, but by the time we reached the club I think they were ok with it.
The interior was amazing; there were two floors and all these lights flashing; definitely the biggest club I’ve been too. The other SIP students swarmed me as I entered, knocking me over and obviously glad I had shown up, whether or not I was an hour late. Immediately one of my other friends insisted I have a shot of tequila with her; when I saw the bill though I was a tad less excited. I thought that the fee was the calculated tip they gave us, but my jaw literally dropped when I learned that our three shots were 1,200 rs. That’s $10 a shot. And that was quite enough of that. I didn’t need to get drunk anyway. Each of the pairs of shoes was less than one of those silly tequila shots.
Anyway the night was so much fun; I’m in love with the CIEE students here, we all blend so well and it feels as if we’ve been friends for quite some time, much more than only 3 weeks. There was a lot of dancing etc. and hookahs etc.; I really liked the music there too, although didn’t recognize any of it. From what I heard it was Punjabi; it was funny to see all the Indians get excited when a Bollywood hit came on the speakers. Of course it was loud; I had expected this and had Amanda bring me a pair of earplugs. That’s my new thing when I go to clubs anymore, it makes the experience so much more enjoyable. You can still hear people talk when they shout directly in your ear (which they’d have to do anyway) and you feel neither deaf nor upset that you’ve damaged your hearing afterward. Love it.
The night lasted only about 2 hours though; the music stopped and the lights went up at midnight on the nose (most places close by midnight in the city unfortunately). People lingered around though and continued to talk as the bartenders managed the hundreds of bills that were paid or needed to be paid. Things kindof deteriorated from there; unpaid bills continued to be thrown at us, whether or not it was a sure thing that they belonged to us. Oh yeah then the police came to enforce the curfew. Then our bus pulled up and was partially clogging the street, enticing us to hurry up, collect ourselves, and leave. The bartenders forced us to pay for about 20 shots, amounting to just under $200; who knows, maybe they actually were all ours, but whatever the case, one person paid the bill and we decided to split the fare and pay her back separately in the morning when we could think straight after a night’s sleep. Same for the bus fare. It was kindof difficult to make sure everyone was on the bus…so many people to keep track of! The ride back was just as fun as the ride there, except this time people were a tad more quiet now that they’d been dancing for a few hours. We got back to the university at about midnight; I continued to spend time with my friends Minakshe, Anu, Vippin, Vikram, Sumedha, Rakesh, and Ankush until about 5 am. That meant I wasn’t going to be waking myself up for Yoga, a reasonable price to pay however for such an exciting evening.
I found out later that three of the guys from our group had gotten into the club with sandals. This stunned me because I imagine that the guards noticed, due to how tight the security was. If that were the case then there was discrimination against the Indians with sandals, but not the Americans. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but it is possible that the sandals rule actually exists but wasn’t enforced for the American males because they knew we would have enough money to pay for a slue of drinks etc. It is less likely that my Indian friends would have been able to contribute as much money to the club, so why let them in at all? Just a theory.
6 of 6
The next day was the football (soccer) semi-finals at Gachibowli stadium. I was unable to go to the match that India was to play in because I had Hindi class and Sitar lessons, both of which ended up cancelled anyway due to heavy monsoon rains. I went to the other game that would decide the other team for the finals though with Satish, Subhash, and Money. The field was so wet and muddy! The players with clean, white uniforms ended up completely brown with mud, everyone was slipping and sliding around; the ball when kicked would hit the ground and come to a dead stop, being partially embedded in mud. Once when the goalie dove for the ball, someone else went to kick it, slipped and kicked the goalie square in the face. He was knocked unconscious. This however was not as significant to the audience as the fights that broke out at the end of the game between the players over referee calls; the whole stadium was cheering the fighting on. It kindof felt like the States. When I wasn’t watching the game, I was reading a Hindi newspaper with Satish’s help, although didn’t know what any of the words actually meant. The victors of the two games that evening were India and Tajikistan (each with only one goal). They will face each other for the football cup for all of Asia in the final match at Gachibowli stadium. It feels so much more important than even a Steelers game, these are entire nations represented, not just cities.
That match may or may not be played on Sunday though, we’ve been have MASSIVE rains here. I have seen monsoon rains, and see also why they call this monsoon season. It’s been wet for at least a week and a half, but last night took the cake. We were on our way to a movie (the new batman one) when a huge storm started. The water would come down in heavy bullets and would blow at you in sheets. There were people already at the theater who called and informed us in the car that the movie had been cancelled due to so much congestion/traffic in the city because of flooding and heavy rains. The next day I was to take a cooking class in Banjara Hills, but couldn’t go also because of this flooding. The rain has continued through the night and it’s still coming down strong. The power went out for some time today (actually once right as I was going to put up this blog); it was a weird feeling because not only was there no light and no way to check email etc., but we really couldn’t leave the campus due to flooding. This catalyzed some good discussions though (I love it when the power goes out for this reason)…
Batia, Rachel, Victoria, and I talked a lot about the current situations in Israel and Judaism in different places. Batia is Jewish and also an Israeli citizen. I had the concept of Israel in my mind as this nationalistic country that was founded on the principles of Judaism which continue to play a major role in the lives of its citizens today. Such a conceptualization was built up in my mind by hearing both about the Zionist movement and by observing how Jewish individuals at Muhlenberg regard Israel. They all seem to love it and be very proud of it, hailing it as a somewhat utopic place. Batia claims that in general this enthusiasm is more unique to Jews living outside Israel than I expected. I was stunned to hear that Israel is now currently a somewhat secular country, maybe analogous to how the US was founded on Puritan principles but has evolved over time into…the US, with all of its component religions, atheists, etc. Batia also spoke about how birthright trips have become commodified into a pseudo tourist industry. It was interesting to hear her talk about how she is conflicted because of how difficult it is for her to have an objective opinion about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. She realizes that she feels a certain obligation to uphold her family values and coincide herself with their perspective, but would rather have a more objective opportunity to assess the nature of the country and its issues etc.
I spent last night in Money and Subhash’s room in the Men’s Hostel A. There are about 6-7? men’s hostels on campus, each with its own mess. Their room was somewhat like mine, all concrete with high ceilings. Their beds were anchored to the walls and had mattresses about half as think as mine is in the international hostel (already about half as think as I’m used to at Muhlenberg, or about a quarter as think as I’m used to at home). They claimed that some rooms have forced quadruples, and that two people have to sleep on the floor. No wonder SFI, the student group affiliated with the communist party, recently had a large protest demanding more student hostels. Money likes sleeping on the floor anyway, he even opts for it when at home in Kerala. That evening we watched a movie in Telugu; even though I couldn’t understand any of the dialogue, the acting was amusing enough. It was so expressive! The facial expressions they’d do sometimes would just crack you up even if you had no idea what was going on; it was borderline obnoxious, picture Disney Channel middle school actors in a dramatic series, except with adults instead of kids (I know about such actors from spending time with Emma, my cousin). Money and Subhash loved having my laptop, they’d listen to my music, look at my pictures, etc. Laptops are pretty uncommon amongst the students here, usually they go to the library to use computers.
This afternoon I went to Banjara Hills with some other students to participate in a cooking class. We learned how to make Biryani (famous Hyderabadi rice dish) and a spicy potato dish; I’ll keep the recipes and make it when I get home to give everyone a taste of the food here…get excited! We took a rickshaw there and back, taking about an hour each way and stuffing it to double the passenger capacity. Not many rickshaws were out, there was still partial flooding etc. and damage from the recent storms; fortunately we never got stuck in a pool of water, but we did go though some massive puddles.
I’d like to take this random opportunity to mention that there is NEVER voicemail on any mobile phone here. Whenever you call someone and he or she doesn’t answer, this obnoxious recorded voice comes on…*the person you are trying to reach is not available, please try again later…BEEP* I guess if you have to leave a message, you can text (I’ve tried texting in Hindi too, it’s quite fun), but usually you just wait and call back later. I guess it’s not a big deal for me because I’m not too on leaving messages anyway in the States, but it is an interesting difference.
For those of you (Mom) who were worried about my potential trampling in a stampede at the final soccer match, you need not be concerned anymore; the match has been relocated to Delhi next weekend due to poor field conditions caused by the recent monsoon rains. I likely won’t be going to Delhi for it, although I was excited to see if India was going to win!
That match may or may not be played on Sunday though, we’ve been have MASSIVE rains here. I have seen monsoon rains, and see also why they call this monsoon season. It’s been wet for at least a week and a half, but last night took the cake. We were on our way to a movie (the new batman one) when a huge storm started. The water would come down in heavy bullets and would blow at you in sheets. There were people already at the theater who called and informed us in the car that the movie had been cancelled due to so much congestion/traffic in the city because of flooding and heavy rains. The next day I was to take a cooking class in Banjara Hills, but couldn’t go also because of this flooding. The rain has continued through the night and it’s still coming down strong. The power went out for some time today (actually once right as I was going to put up this blog); it was a weird feeling because not only was there no light and no way to check email etc., but we really couldn’t leave the campus due to flooding. This catalyzed some good discussions though (I love it when the power goes out for this reason)…
Batia, Rachel, Victoria, and I talked a lot about the current situations in Israel and Judaism in different places. Batia is Jewish and also an Israeli citizen. I had the concept of Israel in my mind as this nationalistic country that was founded on the principles of Judaism which continue to play a major role in the lives of its citizens today. Such a conceptualization was built up in my mind by hearing both about the Zionist movement and by observing how Jewish individuals at Muhlenberg regard Israel. They all seem to love it and be very proud of it, hailing it as a somewhat utopic place. Batia claims that in general this enthusiasm is more unique to Jews living outside Israel than I expected. I was stunned to hear that Israel is now currently a somewhat secular country, maybe analogous to how the US was founded on Puritan principles but has evolved over time into…the US, with all of its component religions, atheists, etc. Batia also spoke about how birthright trips have become commodified into a pseudo tourist industry. It was interesting to hear her talk about how she is conflicted because of how difficult it is for her to have an objective opinion about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. She realizes that she feels a certain obligation to uphold her family values and coincide herself with their perspective, but would rather have a more objective opportunity to assess the nature of the country and its issues etc.
I spent last night in Money and Subhash’s room in the Men’s Hostel A. There are about 6-7? men’s hostels on campus, each with its own mess. Their room was somewhat like mine, all concrete with high ceilings. Their beds were anchored to the walls and had mattresses about half as think as mine is in the international hostel (already about half as think as I’m used to at Muhlenberg, or about a quarter as think as I’m used to at home). They claimed that some rooms have forced quadruples, and that two people have to sleep on the floor. No wonder SFI, the student group affiliated with the communist party, recently had a large protest demanding more student hostels. Money likes sleeping on the floor anyway, he even opts for it when at home in Kerala. That evening we watched a movie in Telugu; even though I couldn’t understand any of the dialogue, the acting was amusing enough. It was so expressive! The facial expressions they’d do sometimes would just crack you up even if you had no idea what was going on; it was borderline obnoxious, picture Disney Channel middle school actors in a dramatic series, except with adults instead of kids (I know about such actors from spending time with Emma, my cousin). Money and Subhash loved having my laptop, they’d listen to my music, look at my pictures, etc. Laptops are pretty uncommon amongst the students here, usually they go to the library to use computers.
This afternoon I went to Banjara Hills with some other students to participate in a cooking class. We learned how to make Biryani (famous Hyderabadi rice dish) and a spicy potato dish; I’ll keep the recipes and make it when I get home to give everyone a taste of the food here…get excited! We took a rickshaw there and back, taking about an hour each way and stuffing it to double the passenger capacity. Not many rickshaws were out, there was still partial flooding etc. and damage from the recent storms; fortunately we never got stuck in a pool of water, but we did go though some massive puddles.
I’d like to take this random opportunity to mention that there is NEVER voicemail on any mobile phone here. Whenever you call someone and he or she doesn’t answer, this obnoxious recorded voice comes on…*the person you are trying to reach is not available, please try again later…BEEP* I guess if you have to leave a message, you can text (I’ve tried texting in Hindi too, it’s quite fun), but usually you just wait and call back later. I guess it’s not a big deal for me because I’m not too on leaving messages anyway in the States, but it is an interesting difference.
For those of you (Mom) who were worried about my potential trampling in a stampede at the final soccer match, you need not be concerned anymore; the match has been relocated to Delhi next weekend due to poor field conditions caused by the recent monsoon rains. I likely won’t be going to Delhi for it, although I was excited to see if India was going to win!
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