Last weekend over the long holiday (we had Thursday off) I ventured to Kerala, a southern coastal state famous for its relaxing vacation spots, tasty food, warm whether, and palm trees. The train left from Hyderabad station at noon, so I took an early local train out to the city to walk around and see if my favorite restaurant was open. It wasn’t, but it was still fun visiting shops and also locating my favorite chaat food, kachori, at a roadside sweet shop. The train was very crowded, and I was glad to have a reserved seat; I was on the waiting list for the return train back to Hyderabad, you’ll see how that turns out later. Also sitting in the compartment were two older couples and one younger woman from Manipuri, Northeast India.

One couple was Jahovah’s Witnesses and had lots to say about their faith. Although they consider the bible to be historical fact, they also followed interpretations like “day” meaning ‘period of time’ as opposed to ‘24 hours’ in the creation story. They claim that the world was coming to a close soon, as disasters like corruption, homosexuality, and drugs are plaguing society, but they find refuge in their faith that guides so many aspects of their lives. I was leafing through a magazine that they had; it appeared just like a regular magazine but with a Jahovah’s Witnesses flavor to it. One story talked about how although a cow has four stomachs useful for plant digestion, a baby calf has to bypass them when nursing or the ingested milk will ferment dangerously. The story concluded with a statement about how gloriously appropriate it was for the bypass to naturally occur at a young age and used it as obvious proof that there had been some divine creator/designer at work and therefore couldn’t be the result of random chance (evolution). Although I didn’t see eye-to-eye with most of what the couple/magazine had to say, it was interesting to observe the beliefs of an example non-Hindu/Muslim practices in India.

The two couples fed me more than I could eat. They had packaged lemon rice, tomato rice, beef, roti, curd rice etc. and were more than willing to offer me as much as I wanted. I also enjoyed the company, the train ride was 24 hours and it’s nice to have conversation to pass the time. I also spent hours gazing out of the doors and windows onto the countryside.

The next day at noon the train arrived promptly in Thrissur, Kerala. I was meeting my friend who lives there, Manydas, who I had gotten to know earlier that semester at the University in Hyderabad. He was there at the station waiting for me and was eager to take me to meet his family. He lives in a residential part of Thrissur with narrow winding streets bordered by low property walls and palm trees to fill every extra inch of ground space. He also lives adjacent to train tracks, and every once in a while you’d clearly hear the rumble of a train go by, what Many euphemistically referred to as a “song” the train would sing.

The sidewalk was mossy and the air was humid, and along with the palm trees everywhere you could sure tell that the environment was certainly different that of Hyderabad’s. Many’s house consisted of a front living room with a television and small couch as well as shelves with pictures and various stuffs for religious puja. I spent most of my time in that room because as a guest I was to remain in the best-looking, most clean area of the house. After that room was a short hallway with two small bedrooms and a kitchen in the back. The floor was a shiny clean black tile and the walls were pink-painted concrete. Also their bathroom was an outhouse a few meters away in the back behind the kitchen.

Upon entering, Many’s family offered copious amounts of coconut water and coconut meat. Coconut by the way is like a way of Keralan life, the oil is used in practically all cooked dishes, the water is drunk, flesh eaten, and shell used for burning. I’m used to tough thick flesh that’s difficult to eat off of the hard brown shell, but the coconuts they served were younger and fresher, the meat was thin and squishy and peeled right off, very easy to eat and very tasty. Many’s family didn’t speak much English, so there wasn’t a whole lot to talk about, but they spent much of their time smiling at me; it was obvious that they were elated to have me as a guest. Many has three older sisters, and the one who lives there also has two young children, Pranao and Dia who speak the best English in the family because they attend an English-medium school.

Many’s family laid down mats and huge banana tree leaves on the floor. Usually such preparations occur only on holidays, but I suppose having a guest was occasion enough for a huge feast. And a feast it was. I couldn’t have held all the rice they started me off with in two hands if I tried. The rice there is plumper and shorter than the thin, long rice I’m used to in Hyderabad. They also poured on loads of samwar (a dal-like curry) and added heaping portions of cabbage, chicken curry, and banana tree spine curry (maybe made from the interior of a banana tree?). They also loaded me up with papad (thin chip) and a liquidy sweet.

Filled to the brim, Many and I headed to Guruvayur, a temple-town about half an hour away. The temple there was a location of pilgrimage for many Hindus, although I wasn’t permitted to enter. We saw lots of temples that whole weekend, but it would have been inappropriate for me to enter being a non-Hindu. The temple we saw had its own elephant sanctuary (which I was allowed to see). People will donate elephants to the temple for religious reasons, and so many have been donated (64 I think) that a whole sanctuary is needed to house them all. It was fun seeing elephants up close, but I had mixed feelings about the sanctuary itself.

Each elephant had two of its legs tied in chains to concrete posts, and they had very limited range of motion. Also I observed commotion happening near one elephant; apparently it was “misbehaving” and, looking closer, I saw many keepers hitting it hard with bamboo poles. I couldn’t quite tell exactly what the elephant was doing wrong, it appeared just to be standing there, but the keepers continued to smack at its sides. Nearby elephants picked up huge palm branches with their trunks and hurled them dozens of feet into the air at the keepers to try to get them to back off. The people touring the sanctuary chuckled at the attempt to save the misbehaving elephant. The keepers took hunks of wood and hurled them right back at the other elephants. I kept trying to find out exactly what the elephant was doing wrong, but I couldn’t get a straight answer. I guess I spent a lot of that weekend being confused; that’s not hard when limited English is spoken around you. I tried to take a photo of the event but, pulling out my camera, a keeper ran over to me waving his hands ordering me to put it back. He didn’t want their jobs to be lost or the sanctuary’s integrity to be damaged if I went to an animal rights organization.

After, Many and I met up with his brother in law; he is married to Kavitha, Many’s sister who lives at home, but lives half an hour away because of work. They both need separate jobs to bring in enough money for the family and as a result live separately, only meeting maybe once in a week or few weeks. One of the reasons that they need to be employed is because Many’s parents are partially handicapped.

Let me preface by talking about the public buses in Kerala: first of all they have no windows, it sure is more comfortable with the heavy humidity; they are also more shiny and flashy than the buses in Hyderabad. Evidently the buses in Kerala are privately owned so the drivers get in the habit of sprucing up their vehicle with garlands, flashing colorful lights, and the token shrine to a god at the front. Anyway, Many’s parents were riding the bus about 15 years ago; his mother’s elbow was resting on the windowless edge, and his father had his arm around her. The bus was in a massive wreck, smashing the front of the bus in so far that Many’s mother’s right arm was completely severed and his fathers hand crushed. After years of therapy, they can take care of themselves, but finding employment is best left for the kids.

Another problem that the family is having is that a husband can’t be found for the two older daughters, mostly because a large dowry cannot be offered. Because there is a lack of money to offer to a husband, the daughters are remaining unmarried, which means a perpetuation of low revenue for the family.

So we met up with his brother in law and walked around the town some which included short conversations with eager youngsters and teenagers, excited to see a foreigner and practice their English. They were also ‘wowed’ when I used a few Malayalam phrases. Malayalam, the language of Kerala is a most wacky sounding one. You can imitate it by making gibberish noises while rapidly moving your tongue back and forth. Also, Malayalam incorporates letters like ‘zha.’ It’s pronounced like a cross between a ‘la’ and a ‘ra’. Try it, it’s fun.

That evening we stopped at a small bar in the residential area of the town. Along with the spicy beef fry (Keralan specialty), we had kulluh (sp?), a beverage made I think by distilling coconut; it was white and opaque and had the smell of freshly broken yeasty bread. It’s also served out of a clay pot which makes it twice as cool. Its initial taste is stingingly sweet, but the aftertaste is the best part and reminded me of the taste you’ll get by eating nachos and drinking beer. Many people there were keen on talking to me too, but Many advised against it because they had been drinking and you never quite knew exactly how they were going to act. Drinking constitutes a large part of many people’s lives in Kerala, and many would claim that the state is known for it. A lot of people drink daily, but not women of course. As you can imagine, drunk driving accidents are an issue. The bars however close by 9:30 or 10 at the latest; things get too rowdy if they’re open past that.

As a side note, Kerala is also known for its political activism. The people even my age I meet from there are incredibly knowledgeable of and opinionated about politics of the state and country and usually don’t hesitate in voicing themselves. Kerala is the first Indian state to issue a communist government and also boasts the highest literacy rate in the country.

Walking back to the bus stop, Many warned to lift the feet up high when walking to avoid hitting a snake; evidently cobras and the like pose a threat to night walkers on dark paths and streets. Back in Thrissur, I visited Many’s friends. About a dozen of them gather daily in someone’s nearby house to watch television or play games like chess and cadam. They play cadam constantly, I’ve played it too in Many’s house. Cadam is basically like pool but involves flicking chips as opposed to striking balls and is played on a smooth wooden board about a square meter big. You either play teams and try to get either the black or white chips in, or the chips are worth points and you tally each individual score at the end. Many’s friends are amazingly good at it; I suppose it makes sense though if you’re playing it everyday.

Some of Many’s friends speak some English, but most have difficulty with it and stick with Malayalam; also some that know English are too shy or embarrassed to try to use it with a native English speaker. I remember when a television show in English came on, I asked if they understood what was happening. They really didn’t have much of an idea and just liked watching the actors and visual effects. Lots of people in India learn English though media like television and movies; it also fuels conceptualizations of the west (like loose women) as a result.

That night at Many’s house, his mother had made still more food for dinner, but I honestly was still filled from lunch. Many, his nephew, and I slept comfortably on mats on the floor in the living room afterwards.

The next day for breakfast we had idli (soft rice cakes) accompanied with a green ayurvedic beverage which was made of many herbs and vegetables and that tasted like a freshly mowed lawn. After, Many and I were headed to the backwaters. Kerala is famous for its winding waterways through villages, and many tourists come specifically to coast on them, relaxing and observing local village life.

We went by train and stopped in Kochi for an egg biryani lunch. After the three hour train ride, we had arrived in Kottayam and asked for directions to the ferry that could take us through the backwaters to Allepuzha, a coastal city and the starting point of the backwaters. We were directed to another town 45 minutes away. When we had arrived, we were dismayed to hear that we were misdirected and the ferry actually was in Kottayam. Taking the bus the whole way back, we narrowly missed the last ferry for the day and were rendered stuck in Kottayam for the night. We were hoping on making it to Allephuzha that evening and leaving back to Thrissur the next morning to observe a Kathakali (traditional Keralan dance/drama form) school, but that endeavor had to be forgone for a morning ferry ride the next day and day trip back to Thrissur. I guess that’s why it’s always best to check a direction you get against more than one person; following the directions of the man in Kottayam didn’t necessarily ruin our plans, but certainly significantly redirected them.

Searching for a place to stay the night, I flipped through my Lonely Planet guide. There were only apparently a few places to stay in Kottayam, and the lowest priced one was booked full. Many called the next one on the list and we were relieved to hear they had vacancies. The hotel was a thirty minute walk into town, and upon getting there it was dark. Many and I walked up to the ill-lit reception desk and when we asked for a room the man just shook his head at us. I was alarmed that the last vacancy had been taken and we were going to have to continue searching, but Many talked with the man for some time in Malayalam and eventually we got a key. I was really confused, but Many tried to explain in his broken English what had happened.

Apparently the manager was concerned about the possibility of illegal activities being conducted in the hotel. Although we don’t know for sure, it seems like he denied us rooms initially specifically because we were foreign; Many had spoken earlier in Malayalam on the phone and there had been vacancies, but the story obviously was different when he actually saw us and could easily assume we were foreigners. Maybe recently there were incidents of prostitution or otherwise involving foreigners, and that’s why we were denied entrance. Even if that were the case though, eventually you have to lend rooms out to make a business, right? Very confusing. Also, we noticed walking around the hotel that every single room was vacant. The reason we eventually got a room was because Many had explained to him that we had called earlier and because he physically showed him my Lonely Planet book which verified that we were indeed genuine tourists.

The manager was charging rs.350 for the room, but I refused to pay more than rs.300, mainly that’s because what Lonely Planet claimed to be the cost. I imagined it was more likely that he was ripping us off than it was likely that the price had actually been raised. He then asked how long we were staying; upon answering that we were leaving early the next morning, he agreed to rs.300. Evidently he was charging us for the full next day as well in his original price.

For dinner, we walked around the town and at the suggestion of a vender wandered into a small restaurant at the end of a narrow alleyway off the main street. Although it was out of the way, many people were there and I was glad to be at a place where the locals ate. We ordered spicy beef fry, tapioca (like eating chunks of potato), mussel curry, and kulluh. I didn’t quite know what the mussel curry was until a few days later when Many remembered what to call it in English. He told me initially that it was made of ostrich. When I gave a confused look, he elaborated by telling me that they’re scooped from the bottom of the backwaters in Kerala. Then I was sure it wasn’t an ostrich. Whatever I thought it was at the time, it was unique to Kerala, and I was excited to try it. The meal was delicious and definitely a high-point of our trip.

On the way back to the hotel, Many stopped at a vender to get an omelet. A few men approached me with wide eyes and happily introduced themselves. They asked if Many was my guide, and I responded with a “no, he’s actually my friend, we study together.” The men said something in Malayalam to Many and then from there heated discussion erupted. The situation deteriorated into a shouting match; I remained sitting on the sidewalk. Normally I would have tried to cool things down by being a third opinion or something, but I was as confused as you are reading this and just figured it was best to sit and wait it out. The men ended up leaving in exasperation. Although I asked Many about that situation for the rest of the weekend, and although he tried his very best each time to explain to me what happened, I still don’t have a great idea of what went on. Basically I think the men somehow insulted Many by bringing up his dark skin and Dalit (of low caste) identity. Who was most accountable for aggravating the situation I had no idea, but because I didn’t have a good sense of what exactly went on, I figured it was best not to throw blame on anyone, and although the situation had been significant and dramatic, I needed to remain neutral to it all, quite difficult because I knew I would have an opinion if there weren’t obstructing language barriers hindering my understanding of what happened.

That evening we went to bed early to wake up for the first ferry the next morning. Good plan. Except that I woke up in pain at like 1 in the morning. From then until morning, my health got worse and worse which meant I continued to remain awake for the whole night. Basically I was having severe abdominal discomfort and nausea, and the heavily humid room riddled with mosquitoes didn’t make it any more pleasant. I also got to know the bathroom quite well. The toilet was my least favorite; it was a cross between an Indian and Western toilet, so it was basically like a toilet bowl without a toilet seat and had water in it like it was supposed to flush but didn’t, so you just ended up pouring water on it to clean it which didn’t work well at all. I remember miserably worshiping that porcelain god though both of my ends, sweating like anything in the humidity, with intolerable smells wafting about, dirt smears all over the walls, and huge roaches crawling about the floor. And then I smiled. In some way, that experience had made my half-year stay in India more complete, and I was happy about it.

The next morning it was hard to walk without feeling really nauseous, but we headed to the ferry anyway as I tried hard to keep down water to replenish my fluids. The thought of breakfast made me want to vomit again, and the auto-rickshaw exhaust and stagnant sewage outside didn’t help one bit. I never knew for sure what made me sick, but I imagine that most likely it was that ‘ostrich’ (aka mussel) curry. I sank into the ferry seat and even though it wasn’t great being on a swaying boat, I was grateful to sit down. The ferry ride turned out to be pretty enjoyable, we coasted down the backwaters and saw a lot of nice scenery including water lilies, birds, village life, and loads of palm trees, rice paddies, and houseboats. The people on the ferry were mostly tourists but also villagers would ride the ferry for transport. The group sitting in front of us was from Germany and was on a vacation, planning on getting a houseboat at Allepuzha for a few days.

The houseboats are basically a few comfortable a/c rooms and lounge areas covered by thatched palm leaves, catered by Keralan cooks, and propelled by motors to coast around the backwaters. Although this is not my idea of time or money well spent, many tourists flock to the area specifically for the houseboats and are willing to pay a pretty penny for them at that. A houseboat for a day and night will be anything from about $125 USD. The ferry fare was 500 times less at only a quarter, and provided a nice three hour tour of the area. I guess if you’re coming specifically to relax, maybe a houseboat is a good deal, but I was here to know and experience India, something not accomplished from a lounge chair. The ferry ride was just what I needed, I got to see the famous backwaters at a low price and by afternoon after a short visit to the beach, we were headed back to Thrissur. After disembarking from the ferry I felt more and more sick, and by the time I had gotten on the train home, it was too much for me to lift my head and look straight ahead.

I fell asleep on the train only to be awakened by a conductor who wanted an extra rs.800 from us because we were in the reserved seating class. Usually there’s enough space in the reserved class to sit or lay down for a shorter train ride, but because of the holiday there were lots of people and no extra room. To avoid the extra fee, we retreated to the general class (the first time I’d been), which only had hard wooden seats packed with loud people. Just what I needed. It wasn’t that bad though, I fell asleep on my backpack and by the time we were back in Thrissur I was actually walking without discomfort.

That afternoon in Thrissur I had an Ayurvedic massage. If there’s a place in India to get a massage, it’s Kerala, and I was excited to see what all of the fuss was about. Scantily dressed in only a thin tiny undergarment, you’re laid down on a flat wooden table and have warm herbal oils massaged into your skin from head to toe. Acupressure was also used on the feet, my favorite part. While getting massaged, it’s hard not to slide around on that table, I practically almost fell off at some points. They also massage your scalp and face; the whole deal took two men one hour. I also had a steam bath afterward; I was sat in this box maybe a cubic meter in volume, and when it’s closed, only the head sticks out. Steam is pumped into the box for 15 minutes or so, and you can breathe freely all the while. Even after a long shower, I was still slippery and greasy. I was also really loose and relaxed, although if you ask my honest opinion, you feel even better than that after doing an hour of yoga, although you’re not fragrant after yoga and smelling of herbs and coconut oil.

That evening Many and I spent more time with his friends playing cadam and such, and I actually got ok at it by the end of the evening. I also lost miserably at chess. Some of them wanted to wake up early the next morning and go running with me, and even though I hadn’t brought proper attire and my oily feet were slipping out of my sandals while I was just slowly walking around, I was eager to spend the last of my time in Kerala to the fullest. After Many and I picked up his older sister, Sunitha, who was visiting for a few days, we headed to his house for rest. On the way back home we saw men trying to repair a downed electrical pole; evidently a tree had fallen because one too many people had burned their garbage at its base, resulting in its collapse. After some paratha and green pea curry (finally I had worked up some sort of appetite) and some conversations with Sunitha who spoke English surprisingly well, I was out like a light.

The next morning I was up at 5:30 for my ‘run’ with Raju and Vinod (two of Many’s friends). Evidently they are in the habit of running everyday, which basically consists of walking and talking for 4 km and lightly jogging for 1 km. We talked a great deal, including about Kerala’s famous harvest festival, Onam, which celebrates annually the return of an ancient king and marks the New Year (even though it occurs in the middle of September). They also mentioned that when they were young, in their free time they’d like to play outdoor games like football and cricket, but they think the youngsters currently in the community are more involved with electronic indoor pass-times like television and computer gaming.

On the way back they bought me a Keralan specialty, banana fry. They’re basically banana halves fried into fritters and that morning was the first time I’d had them fresh and warm. Later we met up with more friends and visited another one of their favorite gathering places, a nearby house that’s been under construction for a few years. After more cadam, coconut, idli, and green juice back at Many’s house, it was time to say goodbyes, as my train was leaving at noon. Sunitha and Many’s mother had prepared thirty roti wrapped in banana leaf as well as chicken curry for my train ride home. The hospitality and generosity of that family never stopped amazing me.

Many, Vinod, Raju, and Rathish accompanied me to the station to see me off. They insisted that I return to Kerala soon and to be sure to let them know so we could all meet up again. India’s a big country with many places to see, but I guess you never know for sure where you’ll be in the future.

On the train back to Hyderabad were Melissa, Ben, Thy, Christopher, and Becca who had also been in Kerala, but they’d been there for a week and a half and had spent most of their time in the southern part of the state. I waved at Many’s family who had congregated outside of their house to send me off with one more goodbye as the train zipped by their neighborhood and sat down with Melissa who told me all about their time in Kerala.

Two things she mentioned that struck me were their hike in a famous nature park and their attempts at renting a houseboat for a day. The nature park they visited was famous for its wildlife and mountains, they sure did get to hike a lot but didn’t see a ton of animals. They had hired a guide to take them at a cheaper price through a back way of the park but ended up being assaulted by leeches the whole way. Melissa said she was bitten several times on her legs and even way up her thigh. Evidently the leeches secrete a pain killer so you don’t feel them, but also an anticoagulant that helps them feed more easily but also keeps the blood running down your leg even after you peel the squirmy worm off.

When renting a houseboat through the backwaters, they reserved one through a seemingly safe and reliable company to prevent being ripped off. It didn’t work, and what Lonely Planet warned against came true. The next day when they were taken to their reserved houseboat, they were appalled to see it filled with garbage and being twice as small as they had expected. It took three hours of yelling with the company owner and threats of notifying the police before they were able to get a refund. I guess the unexpected and unfortunate can happen anywhere, whether you’re associating yourself with a lone vendor or a well-advertised company.

As Melissa and I shared stories, the train got more and more packed with people. I had never seen a train this crowded before. Not only were all of the benches filled with 5-6 people in a 3 person space, but families would be practically lying on top of each other in the door spaces at the ends of each car. I was about 20^th on the waiting list for a berth; usually you can arrange for a seat with the conductor because some people won’t show up, but it was obvious that was going to be difficult. Although technically you aren’t allowed on the train without a reserved seat, the conductors usually don’t fret about it. It depends on what conductor you run across though, Melissa and her group (also on the waiting list) had been told to exit the train several times, each time they left and boarded again in a different car. Obviously more people were on the train than were reserved or else it wouldn’t have been that packed.

It was a strange feeling being on that train because it felt like there was absolutely no place to exist. If you sat down on a seat, those who had it reserved would boot you off. Literally. If you sat on the ground, people would be tripping over you. If you were just standing there helpless, people would push you out of their ways. Anywhere you were, it was a problem.

That evening on the train I found a 26 year old man that I recognized but didn’t know from where. It didn’t matter, we ended up having a lengthy conversation. Let me share some of the highlights:

*Where do you live in America?* “I live in Pennsylvania” *Oh, is that near Yugoslavia?* “No” *Oh…is New Zealand in America?* “No, that’s near Australia.” *Oh*……*Do you like music?* “Yeah, I play music too” *Really? What kind of music do you play?* “Have you heard of Bach, Beethoven, or Mozart?” *Yes, I think they are movie directors?* “No, they’re music composers” *Oh.*

I was also explaining Halloween to him; a holiday centered on scaring people and decorating your house with cobwebs is objectively pretty strange, and he was really surprised to hear about all of the customs. I remember telling him about how to carve a pumpkin, his look becoming more and more confused: “So then you pick out the pulp and seeds and carve a face on one side.” *Oh, then you put it on your head like a mask?!* “…No, we light it with a candle and put it on our front porch.” *Oh…*

Walking back from the conversation down the dark car, I stopped at Melissa’s berth to say goodnight. On the berth below and beside hers some guy was sitting up not doing anything, a strange sight amongst the other prone people. I walked up to Melissa and, staring at the ceiling, she asked me if he was still there. She was referring to the guy sitting near her; he was staring at her and had been for quite some time. When I told her he still was, she just let out a sigh. Evidently this kid (about our age) had been pursuing her on and off for the whole train ride, only letting up when she was with others in her group. Melissa and he had met with a brief one minute conversation after which he asked her out of the blue to French kiss him. When she said ‘no’ he continued to ask again, to which she went off on a rant about how he and many other Indian men had been mistreating her and how she would have no more of it. He didn’t seem to hear her, as he continued to follow her around the train eerily. I guess she had gotten used to his stares, and now Melissa was just trying not to think about it and fall asleep.

So as you can imagine there were absolutely no extra berths, and I was left to search for an alternative spot for sleeping. Most of the space at the car doorways was filled to the brim with people, but in the adjacent car I found a small sitting space on the ground next to the bathroom door. I tried various resting positions curled up with my backpack, but none of them were very comfortable. I remember in the middle of the night the conductor passed by me, and for the first time that trip I took out my ticket from my back pocket to show him. He circled the waiting list number and shook his head at me, a scowl on his face. I gave him a look like *Yeah, what are you going to do? I’m on the dirty floor just like all the other waiting list people and the train isn’t stopping just to let me off. Leave.*

And he left.

The next morning I was woken up from my pseudo half unconsciousness by the chai wallahs belting out their obnoxious *CH-AI-EE* calls. I’m used to that on the train, but it’s easier to tune them out when you’re on a berth. I stood my sore self up, brushed off all the dirt, opened the door, and watched the farmlands go by bathed in the morning sun.

The rest of the morning I sat and read my Lonely Planet as well as talked to some other floor-banished waiting list travelers. Melissa and I also talked about our travel plans for the rest of the semester; she also mentioned her stalker from the night before. Evidently he had woken her up in the middle of the night and was trying to show her something on his phone. Melissa was delirious with sleepiness and didn’t quite know what he wanted, but she did yell at him again to leave before falling back asleep. That happened twice. I imagine that after a time of aggravation, you just end up feeling a sense of exasperation dealing with people like that. And that’s not a totally anomalous occurrence, although simple staring and picture taking is more common than outright kiss requests and lengthy pursuits.

The train was an hour or so late; it had been over 24 hours on that crowded train and I was dirty and tired and happy as ever to get off. That afternoon I walked to my favorite restaurant located near the Secunderabad train station and popped in for some of my select favorites (biryani, malai kofta, and rumali roti) before catching a local train (45 minutes late) back to Lingampalli, where I took an auto rickshaw back to campus at Gachibowli. I made it just in time for Kathak dance class, but I was too tired to really be a part of the lesson.

Walking back to my room, I was ready as ever to hit the sack. To my dismay…can you guess? I opened the door to be welcomed by rodent droppings all over my bed, floor and desk. Upon inspection I realized that the rats had chewed through the double lined cardboard barrier I installed at the base of my door. Too tired to deal with it, I shook off my sheets after convincing myself that there were no rats in my room (having checked in all of their favorite hiding places) and fell asleep.

The next day was filled with laundry and cleaning again (fortunately Tuesdays I don’t have class until the late afternoon anyway), and the first thing I did was find plastic to reinforce my defenses. I cut it to fit perfectly and taped it solidly to the door; I’d like to see a rat try to get through that. That’s a lie, actually, I’d like the rats to just stay out of my room from now on.

Grade updates! So far in History I have one 13/20 and one unknown. Powerpoint presentation left to go before the final. In philosophy my first internal exam was a score of 17/20! Big deal! That’s the highest grade my professor usually will give in fact. I’m not sure what exactly I have to do for the rest of the internal assessments for that class before the final. Hindi, I think my tests are something like 22.5/25, 16/20, and 10.5/20. I guess they’ve been steadily declining, but I plan on trying to fix that up for the final; additionally, for any class the lowest grades are dropped so my lowest scores won’t matter. Ok Indian Society: The first internal exam I studied a ton for and wrote everything I had intended to, having filled my time with writing lots of points from the readings, just what the professor wanted. That got me an 11.5/20, what the Indians claimed to be a good score. For the next test, I just could not find the motivation to study. I looked over notes briefly, but wasn’t nearly as well prepared. If there were a definition of BS, it was what I put on that second exam. That earned me a score of 13.5/20, an A. Go figure.

Two weekends ago was another trip to Ellora. With so many places to see in India, visiting the same place twice is a strange idea. I had gone back for many reasons; I’d really enjoyed Ellora the first time I’d been there, I wanted to visit Vijay again (the vendor I met the first time), I hadn’t seen Ajanta (the other set of cave temples nearby), and my really good friends were going (Melissa, Ben, and Tori). It’s an interesting situation to be back at a place you’ve visited before; imagine vacationing to the same place. Your ties with an area are reified, and this can mean deeper appreciation of the area with a new perspective that you’ve been able to develop over time. Plus I like showing people around; it was fun to say to my friends *this is where you get delicious banana lassi* *this is the path that leads up to that hidden temple* *this is the cheapest place for lodging* *this is the bus stop, we have to get this certain bus to reach this certain place…make sure you flag it down though, otherwise it will just rocket along right past you.*

See there’s always something you can gain from any experience. If I had traveled somewhere else that weekend, I’d have gotten the chance to see a brand new place; having traveled to Ellora again, I got to experience it from a different perspective and also spend more time with my good friends. In any case you can learn something new and take from the situation what it offers.

Every weekend SIP students are travelling to all sorts of places in India, coming back with interesting stories and experiences to share. It’s very easy to judge the experience you’re having against others. Sometimes I see myself thinking “oh, maybe I should have gone there/done this/bought this/NOT bought this” because I’m rating what I’m doing, how I’m spending my time/money/attention etc. in relation to that of everyone else. It’s easy to be consumed with doubt about what your own story is. “Is my time here in India what I want it to be?” “There’s so much to see and do…maybe I’m not making the right choices.”

The point is that every experience offers its own benefits and disappointments. No situation is perfect, and likewise is not the worst it could be. Additionally we all have different values; we all see the positives and negatives of a situation differently. In such a way not only is every situation unique but also any one person’s perception of a situation. Although you make certain choices about how you want to spend your time, the time actually spent will say what it has to, and it may not always be what you expected. Things can work out or maybe they won’t, and you can only do so much to produce an expected outcome and regulate all the many subtleties that produce it; in any case an experience is unique and offers its own story.

Time spent is really time spending itself, moving forward in its own way and progressing as a product of an infinite number of influences over which no person has total control. When you see it that way, it doesn’t make a ton of sense to be consumed by disappointment if things aren’t going your way; things are just the way they are. Plus hindsight only is 20/20; sometimes great things turn into great problems, and frustrations turn into just what you needed. “Chumm-ah” (whatever the spelling is) is a word that I’ve heard some people use here in conversation. It basically translates to “simply,” “just like that,” or “it is what it is.” This one word isolates a dimension of perspective that can be really helpful in a lot of ways; sometimes it’s best not to judge something as good or bad but just see it simply as it is.

It’s not like you should never be elated or distraught, those reactions are part of living; I’ve likely spent some of my happiest and most upset moments in India. It’s just helpful to realize that there’s always more to the story.

WELL let’s see, we arrived in Aurangabad after the +14 hour train ride and ate at a restaurant that had Punjabi and North Indian cuisine. Let me just digress again for a second. North Indian and South Indian foods are very different and I have strong opinions about each. South Indian (from my experience so far) mainly offers variations on the theme of some kind of rice or bread (usually fried) accompanied with a chutney or spicy dal; dosas, puri, rice and dal, idli (a perfect example) all constitute my idea of South Indian patterns. When I think of North Indian on the other hand, curries and gravies with all sorts of vegetables or other filling come to my mind, along with roti or naan. My favorites include kaju (cashew) curry, paneer palak (cheese spinach), malai kofta, and baigan (eggplant) masala. I always look for these on a menu. Yes I’m REALLY biased toward North Indian foods; fortunately it’s offered a ton of places in South India as well, but I can’t wait to travel north and verify that North Indian cuisine is indeed my favorite food on the planet.

That afternoon I also had kachori; it was like a hollow crust ball with a spice/potato mix inside. A sweet sauce is also poured into it which makes it not only fun to eat but twice as delicious. I’m definitely on the search for it in Hyderabad, it’s got to be somewhere. Ok so we got the bus to Ellora and met up with Vijay there. He of course showered us with free crystals and chai along with his characteristic hospitality, as well as his many stories about meeting past tourists; he sure does like talking about meeting people. That afternoon we went to the temple he showed me last time and we all swam and relaxed until dinner.

We went with Vijay to a nearby restaurant and the power was out so we ate outside by dim candlelight. While discussing what we were going to do the next day, Melissa mentioned the idea of seeing Ellora at the beginning of the next day and then Ajanta (two hours away) in the afternoon. Vijay then talked about how it would be difficult to appreciate each place in such a short amount of time and also how it upset him that people didn’t spend enough time in these places in order to realize the value of them and the hard work they required. He also talked about how much of India is missed by people who come to Goa only to party. During his talking I was hoping my friends weren’t offended; there was some correlation between what he was talking about and our brief amount of time in the area. When he was finished he immediately said that although he wasn’t referencing us, he could tell we were upset. We weren’t. He insisted that he had disturbed us and apologized; we insisted that we agreed with him, wished we had more time to appreciate the temples, and realized where he was coming from. It seemed he had refused to hear us and continued to feel bad about “insulting” us. Contrastingly, we were actually thrilled that we had gotten something out of him that he felt passionately about and could have a discussion over. He remained aloof for the rest of dinner, not making an effort to incorporate himself in conversation as usual.

This has happened before. When I was at Ellora with Madeline, Miriam, and Anna, they were interacting with him less than I was, and he ended up throwing a “hypothetical” scenario at them out of the blue that went like this: “If you had a group of visitors to the United States and you were showing them around the area where you lived but they only talked amongst themselves, how would you feel?” Obviously in some way he was moved by the present circumstances to voice himself in his own way.

Anyway, it was happening again; the four of us were having a fine time talking about whatever, and Vijay could have easily inserted himself but he refrained. I knew he would get upset about this. I tried incorporating him and asking him questions, abnormally loud actually, so he would get the point that we valued what he had to say about things too and didn’t have to remain silent.

That night we slept very well in the same room I had stayed in my last weekend at Ellora; we woke up early then to head to Ajanta. After banana lassi, chai, and flattened/fried rice we told Vijay that we were heading to Ajanta; I was expecting him to come with us and drive his car, but he got a hold of one of his friends who drove us there instead for prices that were only slightly less than what it would have cost for the bus there. Although we had wanted him to come along, I guess he had other things to do and I personally was glad that we weren’t going to have to deal with him and could enjoy ourselves by ourselves.

It was great. The taxi drive there (two hours) was half as long as a bus would have taken and we talked the whole way. The Ajanta caves were stellar too, I think I may even like them better than the Ellora caves. ps it cost rs.250 for foreigners to enter the cave grounds and only rs.10 for an Indian. Such price discrepancies arose in India after a prime minister had visited Disney World in the States and realized how much more expensive admission fees were there. With a new perspective, he marched back to India and made certain that foreigners were paying their just tourist entry fees (in this case 25 times more). On one hand, it makes sense that someone who is privileged enough to travel across the world can pay a little extra. On another hand, is it really right that my skin color jacks up a price? I guess it could be argued either way and goes along the same lines as an auto driver or ice cream vender demanding prices from us that one of my Indian friends would even take a second glance at. The largest discrepancy I’ve heard of is at the Taj Mahal; entry for foreigners is rs.750, whereas a resident Indian only pays rs.20.

The Ajanta caves are all Buddhist in faith affiliation and are also are painted on the inside. Although much of it has faded over the years (the caves date back to the 7^th century I think), the interiors are still spectacular. As Buddhism waned in India during that time and the focus shifted to the Ellora caves, the Ajanta caves were abandoned for centuries until they were rediscovered by a British tiger hunting party in the 19^th century. That would have been quite an unexpected sight.

I also loved the environment; the Ellora caves are spread out across a lengthy range and scattered, the Ajanta caves all exist at one bend in a river that has carved a deep basin against a cliff. Great views. We hiked all around them, across a stream that turned into a cascading waterfall, plains that led right up to the cliffs in which the caves were carved, and steep forested areas up and down many steps to get from the bottom river up to the top and back. Hiking for views is one of my favorites, especially when it involves rivers, cliffs, and ancient carved temples.

There were lots of kids there on school field trips. And they all were really into us. A group would spot us and approach us staring and giggling, encircling us and asking questions to practice their English. So many eyes on you. So many hands wanting to be shaken. After a group had met us they had no trouble letting us know where they were (even if across the river), by shouting our names at us to get our attention. Some of them have quite the personality.

Upon returning to Ellora we met up with Vijay so he could show us around another area of Ellora. Previously eager up the wall to let us know that he enjoys showing tourists around, we were surprised to hear that he was actually planning on meeting two girls from the States who were interested in looking around at his shop. I’m realizing that he does stuff like this all the time, backing out on plans I mean, and coupled with his annoying tendencies during social interaction, I came to the conclusion that enough was enough and I didn’t want to have us spending time with him anymore. He continually seemed less and less genuine, and I felt misled by his initial enamoring gestures of guided mountain hikes, free chai/crystals, and rosy stories about past friendships with Ellora visitors. Vijay is an overly perceptive person and immediately knew I was dissatisfied with him as I turned to walk away with an angry squint in my eye without a goodbye.

Instantly he was on the defensive, claiming that he knew exactly what I was thinking and that he didn’t deserve to be treated this way after all that he’s done for us. No effort was made to figure out why I was upset; I was the one who immediately was at fault. He continued to scorn me for not being thankful enough for what he was doing for us etc., and I had my share of words with him as well. That lasted until I really had to remove myself and walked away, as Tori, Ben, and Melissa (quiet until that point and probably alarmed that things had turned ugly) continued to try to reason with him. I sat and waited for them until things had quieted down, thinking that although the situation had been intense and uncomfortable, I really knew the whole time that it would happen and knew that I shouldn’t be surprised things had deteriorated the way they had.

Tori, Ben, and Melissa knew where I was coming from and sort of had the same feelings about him but at the same time still really appreciated his helpful and sensitive personality. Of course he was tangibly nice to us, offering us so many things, but there’s an intangible part of interaction that was absent (although necessarily noticeably) which includes a genuine interest in who the other party is. I had had more experience with that than the others had and was able to develop a sense of it over time. The four of us continued to talk about it and reason the situation out; they also mentioned how Vijay had said how upset he was at us for not incorporating us in our discussions at dinner the previous night. He didn’t think we cared much for him and that’s why he decided neither to take us to Ajanta nor spend time with us that evening. I had internally known that all along and that’s partially why I had gotten so angry; he likes to throw the blame and force us to play the sympathy card by having us realize that we had wronged him despite all of his generosity. No one needs that, and certainly I was through dealing with it.

At the same time I kindof questioned how I judged him; maybe I was imposing a set of social standards on him and wrongfully expected him to be engaging us in conversation. At the same time, if he’s interacting with as many tourists as he claims to be, you’d think he’d get the hint that people like you to talk with them, not at them. He called me half an hour later apologizing and obviously upset. I told him I’d talk to him before we left for Hyderabad.

After dinner the four of us laid on the roof of out lodging staring at the stars (including several shooting ones and the rest of the Milky Way galaxy, visible as a hazy line across the clear sky). We had lengthy conversations that touched upon topics spanning from long distance relationships to the infinity of the universe to unexplainable happenings which lasted hours and hours until we grew tired. The stars were noticeably in a different location when we finished, I remember the one I had been focusing on ending up at the other end of the sky before we went to bed.

The next day we glimpsed my favorite temples at Ellora (including the famous Kailas temple, the largest cut piece of rock in the world having necessitated the removal of 200,000 tons of rock over 150 years). After, we were headed to the Daultabad fort on the way back to Aurangabad. I took care to enjoy my banana lassi and chai; our restaurant at Ellora certainly had its own delicious, unique taste to it, and now that I was satisfied with my time at Ellora, there were other places to see in India and I’d likely never be back.

During breakfast I paid a visit to Vijay who was acting good as new, smiling all the while. I apologized as well for overreacting the previous night but also made sure I explained why we had gotten upset with him. It was more disappointing to us what he didn’t say than what he had said; the only interesting engagement on his part was when he was sure he had insulted us, sometimes that’s the risk you take though in conversation. In the end his silence was the root of the problem leading to his accusations against us that we were mistreating him. He was mostly keen on leaving it in the past and starting fresh over with the new day. Even though regrets can be unhealthy, learning from mistakes certainly isn’t. Whether or not he actually heard what I had to say no one knows. Just like no one knows whether or not his intentions were genuine or whether he was just after money (we bought nothing from him what weekend anyway); no one knows whether or not he actually wanted to get to know us but maybe just possesses a misguided sense of social interaction; no one knows whether or not his slue of stories about other tourists was true (although he did have a lot of pictures to back himself up). In the end it was what it was, and I think we all walked away having learned something. With a smile and a nod, we shook hands as Tori, Ben, and Melissa thanked him for his time and boarded the bus.

I was excited to see the fort again; it was a blast to climb up last time (you know I like hiking with the reward of a good view). While the bus slowed at the stop, we stood to walk off. Suddenly the bus jerked forward again, I guess the driver wasn’t quite finished driving or something, but Tori ended up falling and smashing her toe into a bench. Disembarking, we realized it could have been serious when she couldn’t put much weight on it or walk properly. As soon as I had stepped off I spotted Feroz, a vender I had met and conversed with last time I was there. We eagerly exchanged pleasantries and I was glad to see a friendly face. As we walked toward the fort he noticed Tori’s limp and directed us toward a shady spot fetching ice from a juicer. Tori didn’t know whether or not it was a good idea to face the steep steps to the top of the fort, and I was fine sitting and talking with them and other passers-by who were excited to meet us and to hear us practice our Hindi. Melissa and Ben continued on to the top, as I showed Tori around some of the lower elevated portions of the fort. After a whole pineapple for a snack, the four of us were wiped and ready to head back.

In Aurangabad I made sure to locate the kachori salesman again by the train station. Even though they are the size of baseballs, I gladly gobbled down 5 and the vender chuckled at the quantity. It was crazy searching for the train, the station was flooded with people and, not surprisingly, we got much conflicting information about where exactly to go. Asking is a must in India to know what’s going on, just make sure you ask more than one person. Quantity ensures validity. Anyway, although we couldn’t find any more ice for Tori’s toe (which was still giving her much pain), we located our seats and unwound.

The trip back was a quiet one with reading, listening to music, and sleeping. We woke up at 5 am to be ready for our stop and were greeted through the open door with a magnificent sunrise which casted its rays over a foggy countryside scattered with farms.

It’s funny how much you appreciate the ability to set your stuff down in your room and a nice long shower after you’ve been traveling. Unfortunately this time again, just like the previous weekend after Goa, I was greeted with rodent droppings all about my room, including on my clothes, sheets, computer, and pillow. I spent the whole day shaking the “watermelon seeds” out of my belongings, sweeping the floor, smearing hand sanitizer on my desk, and washing all my sheets and lots of clothes. Fortunately it was a sunny day; I’ve never been so grateful to see the sun, things dried so quickly, and I even had two buckets going at once to keep churning out the laundry.

Hmm, so I’m moving my bed and desk around and sweeping everywhere when I move my curtains to one side. Suddenly a rat hops down several feet to the floor and starts scurrying around; it was so unexpected that I let out a deafening shout. It hid behind the bed, and I was left staring and waiting for it to come out. I stood intently for about a minute and a half and then saw his small face peek up over the bed frame to check if I was still here. I pointed toward the open door and told it to leave (that’s actually worked before). He wasn’t moving so I started creeping up to it to try to scare it into the open. Soon he scurried out from under the bed; we ran around each other for some time and then it exited the room and ran down the hall. I chased after it to see if somehow I could get it outside. Unfortunately things didn’t go so lucky; it ended up diving under someone else’s door. The resident was out for the day and his room was locked, so I went back to cleaning my room.

Well, more laundry and more sweeping…then I also think to take down the curtain and wash it. As I spread open the curtain, another rat jumps out and about grazes my chest. That took be probably even more off guard than the first one; I let out another HUGE scream and then shouted at it to leave, as my nerves were pretty rattled. *GET OUT…OUT!!* I wondered what other residents were thinking. I chased it down the hall and into a corner by the bathrooms. I guess neither of us really knew what to do, so it jumped down a gutter hole at the base of the wall which led outside at the ground level. Wherever it was, I didn’t have to worry about it for the time being and went back to washing the curtain. There were nor more rats after that.

To prevent them from coming back in, I cut up an old shoebox and taped it on each side of the base of my door. It was so nice after that knowing for sure that there was no rodent creeping around leaving presents on all your stuff; finally my room was clean as new. When Adam (across the hall) came back from his trip that afternoon, it was an unexpected surprise to see me running up to him as he was unlocking his door…*Adam! Hi! How was your trip? By the way, I was chasing a rat up the hall this morning and he ducked under your door and into your room. He’s been living in my room in and out for the past few weeks and take it from me he’s quite a nuisance, I’d suggests getting rid of him as soon as possible. He can be hard to find, you might have to move around all your stuff. Check the curtains! Hurry before he poops on all your stuff! Ok, bye!*

I started a new trend, by the end of the day every room had some kind of barrier drilled or taped at the base of the doors. I was talking with one of my friends that night; he lives on the floor above me at the opposite end of the hostel. I was telling him about the rat and such…*yeah, I wasn’t expecting them in the curtains, especially after I’d already been cleaning for hours; I let out quite a shout when I found them* “Oh, was that you this morning?” *What do you mean?* “Like shouting ‘get out!’ and stuff?” *…yeah* “Oh, wow, I thought it was a bad fight between someone in the hostel and his girlfriend…”

That was a week ago, and after a whole week I’ve had no more rat problems, guess the cardboard did the trick. Hmm, the past week; right off the top of my head I can think of getting caught up on tabla, sitar, and kathak; writing this blog; watching movies on the laptop with Bikram, Sumedha, Ankush, and Vipin; watching the vice presidential debates; Durga puja; and chaat.

Yeah there was a showing of the debates between Biden and Palin last weekend at a bar at the top of Hyderabad Central, a mall in the city. Since I’ve had very little contact with the political scene back at home, I was excited to get a better taste of the standpoints of each candidate. It was a ton of fun; the bar had a great view of the city and had an overhead projection of the debate on a huge screen. It was really refreshing, being around other foreigners all involved in something that everyone knows about back home at a place that didn’t have flies buzzing around your face. It’s hard to keep on track with the present back in the States. I’m embarrassed to say it but I first heard about the State’s economic troubles from an Indian. I’m used to having Indians know more about the US than I do though. They have opinions about aspects of our foreign policy and economic history that I’m not even familiar with. They say they had to learn about it in school; I feel like I must have too at some point but maybe forgotten. On the whole it does seem that the education system here puts more emphasis on memorizing; maybe that’s why it seems that they know so much. Although I’m sick of spitting up information on tests in class without prior classroom discussions or student participation, I guess really knowing how to memorize has both pluses and minuses.

Durga is a Hindu God, specifically an incarnation of Shiva, and the festival for Durga is going on right now, especially in the state of Bengal. Ankush is Bangali and has been taking us to places around Hyderabad for puja, or ceremonies of praise. The pujas were like the ones I participated in during the Ganesh festival (Ganesh, the elephant god of prosperity, is actually a son of Durga). Basically, there consists of a central idol that is adorned with colors and flowers on which you shower more flowers and also rice grains. A chanter sings out verses, and maybe he’ll put a red tikka spot on your forehead. At some point in time you toss at the idol rice and flowers that you’ve been praying with in between your hands. You usually put your hands over a flame and transfer the heat to your face and head or maybe you even get to move the fiery plate in a circle in front of the idol. Clockwise (or was it counterclockwise?). It can be pretty picky. One time I smelled the flowers I was given before the prayer and my friend immediately got me more, telling me to discard them because the scent needed to be left specifically for the god. Food or sweets are usually given to everyone at some point; one time I thanked the man for it, but after he specifically told me not to. Evidently the food given during the puja is considered like I might regard bread and wine; it made sense after I thought about it, I don’t thank the server during communion.

Ok also chaat. I mentioned earlier about eating kochuri in Aurangabad and since then have been all about trying all different kinds of chaat. Chaat is basically Indian snack food that’s frequently sold at street-side carts but also found in many sweet shops. Chaat basically consists of variations of fried bread with kinds of flavorful sauces, chickpeas, and curd on top. Pani puri is a popular chaat; it’s eaten by punching a hole in the top of a crispy, hollow ping pong ball sized fried bread and filling it with a chickpea sauce and also spicy water. Water and bread mixed doesn’t sound that appetizing at first, but it’s quite a tasty combination when done right. Samosas are also chaat, as well as kochuri…so delicious. I’ve visited many sweet shops and bakeries around the city and university and eventually found my favorite places to go; you only get to eat authentic chaat once!

Let’s see, also I’ve gotten some grades back; my first Indian Society test was 11.5/20, and my history test ended up being an 11/20. The highest score on that test was a 13, so I guess I did ok. See here’s the problem…I’m not used to absolutely no feedback. Essays I write on tests have red check marks on every paragraph, I guess letting me know I got some point right. No comments though. I got my medieval music seminar back too, all sorts of happy checks all over it, but we all know that doesn’t actually correlate with a great grade. The professor is refusing to release the grades on our seminars because if we know it to be satisfactory, there’s no reason to work for the third and final internal assessment because only the best two of the three are counted. Makes sense.

I don’t know any SIP students who are thrilled with the education here; it’s just too different. Basically usually it’s just very difficult to feel engaged in the material when you’re being lectured at the whole time without visual aids. Plus standards are different, here quantity is really better than quality, the exact opposite of what we’re used to. So much of what you learn in the States is how to focus your writing and write well what you need to. Here the more information you include the better; that shows how familiar you are with the material and how much of the reading you’ve done.

Funny random story: The dynamite blasting still is happening all the time to make way for city expansion. Hearing huge explosions that you can actually feel doesn’t really phase anyone anymore. Yesterday at my kathak lesson one went off what shook the concrete walls and violently rattled the locked office door behind us. Our teacher had to stop for a second and knock on the door to check if there was someone on the other side; it looked like someone was trying to escape.

I guess that even though there are some things you get used to here, you don't have to look for long before you spot something unanticipated.

….chummah