Encounters with the F word I left behind in Durshet,* but insisted on crawling back

The past week has been heavy. Last Sunday I came back from a weekend in Hyderabad, another IT hub located in Andrha Pradesh. The two days Amy, HGM, and I spend there were a much needed break from Pune. Among the glowing-white marble carvings of the Birla temple and the naked foundations of Goldkonda Fort, the honeymoon feelings of the first couple of days playfully tugged at me. India was apologizing for soaking my lungs in tar and willfully dissolving my patience. Either that, or it was doing a damn good job at behaving for once. Pune, like a rebel limb, has so far remained reticent. It welcomed us back in a minivan whose door kept snapping open like the mouth of a petulant child.

Now roughly a month into the program, I can say with absolute conviction that Pune is consistently and aggressively confusing. Visually, it is a disjointed collection of outdated infrastructure and poor city planing. Psychologically, it is just as incongruent. Simple errands, such as getting toilet paper or going to the post-office, are highly time-consuming. There is also little flexibility: making suggestions is usually either irrelevant, impossible, or detrimental. Pune will be Pune, even if you ask it nicely to behave for a moment. Granted, coming straight from D.C., the challenges of living here were going to be [word here not currently available in English vocabulary. In Spanish: bien hijo de puta]. Yet they have not so much snuck up on me as they have pugnaciously stared me down.

So yes, unsurprisingly studying abroad in India does not mean being enveloped in rich spices so much as it does drifting along in a thick haze of smog and, here comes the f-word, frustration. On the other hand, reaching the outer bounds of my sanity so frequently seems to have actually extended their length. So that just as I think I am going stepping off some mental cliff, I find myself taking another step forward instead.

Overall, the trying inconsistencies make this place inexplicably alluring as if by investing more, it gets harder to pull away. And the fascination only grows. 

On that note, here are a couple of tokens from the past week:

The Charminar

Mecca Masjid, the Largest Mosque in Hyderabad. No women are allowed inside!

Bangle Shopping in Laad Bazaar!

Golkonda Fort

Biryani, a Hyderabadi Specialty, at Paradise

 Pictures From the Final Day of the Ganapati Festival:

Ganapati Idol

Rangoli, Sand Art on the Road

Third of the Five Main Ganapatis

Ribbon of the Procession Winding its Way Through the Crowds

Flag Dancers

Perspective

Dol Groups

In the Ebullient Throng

Watching the Massive Procession from Afar

*Frustrated, and all of its colorful derivatives

Festivals and Culture

I could describe all that I have seen, smelled, and felt regarding the culture here, but still pictures would  be necessary show the dances, the drums, the music, and the vibrance of Pune. Below is a selection of photos of the events I have attended in the past week which would be far too difficult and tedious to illustrate with words. 

Last Sunday, we were invited to a neighborhood event where local children and adults alike performed dances to traditional India music in commemoration of Teachers’ Day. It was a lengthily event, running over four hours in duration. The attendees told Swapna Tai that they were very much impressed with out ability to sit quietly for such a extensive period of time. Little did they know that as a missionary’s daughter I have been training for this type of stuff for years.

Older dancer in traditional dress for Bharatanatyam 

String of bells on feet for the dance

Younger girls dancing Bharatanatyam 

Yesterday the highly anticipated Ganesh Festival started. Since then invitations to aartis - worship ceremonies performed each of the 10 days of the festival to honor the God - have been plentiful. So far, I have attended four and the young girls in the neighborhood have assured us that we must come everyday to sprinkle rice on their idols and eat prasad. Not sure if this will be feasible as I can really eat only so much Jalebi, but nevertheless their hospitality and impromptu bollywood dancing has been both entertaining and welcome. 

Mini Ganapati we had out first aarti for

Post aarti at Swapna's in laws, Amy is modeling her breathtaking sari

One of the larger shrines that have sprouted up around Pune

Ganesh Shrine at another 'mandal,' or group worshiping site.

Another Mandal near Laxmi Road*

Moving Ganapati!*

Artists performing on the streets*

Temporary scaffolding for the festivities

The Crowds

Bonus! Architecture in and around Pune:

 Tulsi Bag

Rama temple in Tulsi Bag

Parvati Hill Temple at 6:00 am

Mundai Landmark

Pune's most expansive greenery

Temple near Parvati Hill before dawn

**Photo credit Lauren Cichock

Questions: Hindi, Two Wheeler, Waterfall Rappelling, Surprise Birthday

Throughout these past seven days, I have been playing chess with the curves and lines of devanagari -the script in which the local language and Hindi are written. To my surprise and chagrin, I have discovered that the scribbles and sounds have a life of their own. This becomes clear as they flow from my mind to my mouth, out my lips and across the room to finally reach ears of our teacher. The foreign source from which they depart and the journey make the words antsy. As they leave, I can already see rooks of doubt and queens of form challenging them. The pressure to perform becomes too great and they become weak, their courses increasingly unchartered. By the time they land my original meaning has been lost. Instead of inquiring about the market's address I end up with some variation of, 'Is this the market's pen?' Judgement strikes. Checkmate.

Yet on the off-chance that I am able to harness a couple of the shapes, I have learned to ask questions including 'What is this blue lotus?' and 'Is this water?' Being able to inquire as to whether the water is clean or where is the water from, perhaps more pressing questions in a country which strongly encourages pre-visit typhoid shot, remains a distant dream. 

When I am not straining to discipline Hindi script, I have been asking questions of a different sort. Results below:

 In response to, "Can I ride with you on your two-wheeler?" 

This gem-of-an-experience occurred when Swapna took us to see the drum groups. Not all nine of us could stack - yes stack not sit - into her compact car, so I volunteered/demanded/asked to ride with one the girls on Pune’s preferred mode of transport - the two wheeler. After having read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance over the summer I was anxious to experience the rapid and liberating movement Pirsig described on every fourth page. It was immensely rewarding and, fingers crossed, will not be my last.

“How safe it it to rappel down this waterfall?”

Last Sunday, a number of us hiked around the unspoiled, emerald city of Dudhivare, Pune to reach a cascading 150 meter stream of water we had signed up to rappel down. Exhausted from waking up at 5:00 am to catch a 6:00 am bus (i.e. 9:00 am India Standard Time - IST), we chatted and explored as each of us waited our turn. Our lungs readily welcomed the pure mountain air, lightly perfumed by blossoms of gardenia. A white temple stood near the center of a panoramic view of a stunning cobalt lake framed by vivid green forests. The sun peeked out around midday, strengthening shadows and boosting the sparkle of the landscape.

At 3:00 pm, I was finally peering down the edge of the waterfall as one of the guides tried to put my mind at ease by explaining in fractured English that all the equipment met international standards. “Just feet keep apart, lean back,” he instructed. I continued to say those words as I set one foot behind the other, balancing all my weight into the harness. About halfway, I looked back and caught a glance of the group, small figures against the gorgeous background. Too soon, a rush of cold water glided over the view and I raced to the bottom. As my feet touched the horizontal rock I could feel the adrenaline begin to ease.

“What are we doing for your birthday?”

HGM celebrated her 21st yesterday. I managed to distract her as Amy, her roommate, and Abouli, her host sister, decorated the house for a surprise dinner of HGM’s favorite - Idli and Saanbar. One our way back to their house, HGM asked if I was coming over for dinner the next day. I assured her I was, turning my face away should she would not spot my smile. At midnight we had cake and the next day we went to Pheonix Mall to eat at McDonald’s as per HGM’s request. Although it is quite far away, the journey was well worth the 170 rupees. For the next couple of hours we explored a slew of Indian and western stores inside the sophisticated complex. HGM enthusiastically noted it was her best 21st birthday ever. 

Firsts: Temple, Hike, Run, Rickshaw, Mastani, Jungle....Holy Cow

This post will finally contain some documented evidence that I am indeed in India. But first, a perfunctory update on life among the spices.

This past week we attended an assortment of classes to determine our final schedules. I have decided on taking Beginners’ Hindi, Contemporary India, Developmental Economics and Social Justice. The latter replaced the Emerging South Asian Economies class I had set my sights on. I figured I should grasp the opportunity to delve into concept of social justice within India’s diversified context. So far, we have explore challenges in India I never before considered, such as how national unity against the British affected opposition to equal opportunity amongst persons from different castes and how relations between Muslims and Hindus were defined as much as by the ingenuity of past rulers as by their intentions.

Everyday before class, the girls at the apartment and I promptly head up at 7:15 to indulge in a cup of chai with Swapna, our host mother. She is a petit woman, measuring 4’11 with impressive jade-colored eyes and a heart shaped face. True to my past experiences, her size is far from proportional to her bustling personality (just like RB and LM!).  Its hard to imagine that she and her identical twin, Priya, both were born with enough life for two.  Her mother wasn’t aware she was even having twins, Swapna explained. After she gave birth, she said that it was a ‘lovely dream’ to have had them. Accordingly, she named them Priya, which means love, and Swapna, which means dream. 

During the day, Swapna Tai sits by a window of her brightly colored apartment and, placing her violin squarely between her chin and left toe, plays Indian melodies. A smile confidently sweeps across her lips as she softly shifts the bow across the eager strings. Unfortunately, because of classes, we rarely have a chance to see or hear her. By the time I head back to my single room on the first floor of the complex, she has left the window and is on to one of the dozens of other projects she has taken on in addition to giving violin lessons and running a girls hostels. 

Today before dinner, Swapna took us to see the 'drum groups' around Pune which are preparing for the festival in less than two weeks. The roar of the thumping, the swinging of limbs, and the acrimonious smell of sweat made the air steadily ripple with sounds, smells, and flavor as we watched them practice. Below are some pictures, but only the clip really does the event justice (sorry for the angle!). The girl dancing with the flag is my host mother's daughter.

Rickshaws in Mumbai

First Rickshaw Ride

Hiking in Durshet

"Education for All"
Indian Government's Education Initiative
Photo Taken at the Village in Durshet

Unfettered, Untethered Cow on the Streets of Durshet

Ganapati Temple in Pune

Pista Mastani, An Indian Pistachio Milkshake

Shopping for Kurtis!

Japanese Garden/Gym

Beats the treadmill and TV!

Drummers Practicing for the Ganapati Festival

After Over Four Hours of Practice, a Grand Finale

Stretching

“Stretch yourself.”

If any two words have been trailing through my mind like a mantra in the past two weeks it has been those two. The CEO of the thinktank I worked at this summer gave them as a thread of advice and I’ve tugged on it continuously as I fluctuate between helplessly falling in love with India and hitting the ground in between the swoons.

I arrived exhausted. My luggage, but much more importantly, my laptop were missing. I’m almost certain, somewhere between Newark and Mumbai, I lost traces of my dignity as well.  Although my clothes have arrived and my laptop is on its way, I’m not quite sure I’ve found the lost pieces of myself. Fortunately, I’ve discovered that being a true foreigner means you require dignity is lesser portions; I’m coming to terms with this whole experience being a diet for my ego.

After staying the first night at a hotel near the airport, I set out for a ‘forest lodge’ in between Mumbai and Pune with thirty other jetlagged, but eager American students. I joked to them that the ensuing 72+ hours can be described fairly succinctly. The food was spicy, nothing dried, I had no clothes.  But really, the experience was more dynamic. Even among the wrinkled hills of Durshet I began to feel the enormity of India. We had the chance to hike up to a village and walk among the delicate frames of the rugged rural homes. The women, enveloped in vibrant saris of all shades, gracefully balanced tins of water on their heads against a background of rice fields and grazing cows. The comparison between their lives and those in the slums we quickly passed in Mumbai was already demonstrative of the diversity cradled inside India’s borders.

After three days packed with sessions on food, health, safety, Marathi, and rickshaws, we finally set out for Pune. The trip there brought us through winding roads peppered with slimmer versions of the cars in the West. As we came closer we spotted more two wheelers, the term here for motorcycles, expertly crisscrossing the traffic as slender trucks brought fresh produce into city. The pedestrians appeared to coexist with the chaos, nonchalantly weaving themselves among the moving vehicles.

Upon arriving, we had lunch with local college students at the small cottage that serves as the program center. For once, the food was bland. This allowed me to more readily focus on the company. After, we stood close as they walked us through the narrow roads and shaded streets of Pune, pointing out important landmarks. The following day we met them as well. We went to a Ganesh temple and I received a coconut prasad, or offering, from the bare-chested priest. Then they carefully guided us through markets riddled with excited crowds of weekend shoppers.

This week I’ve started classes, ran at the quaint Japanese garden nearby, and eaten my first dosa. And I’ve seen hundreds of elephants, or elephant heads to be exact. Yet so far none of them real; they all belong to Ganesh, the most beloved god in Maharashtra

Overall, I feel as if I move minute to minute, grasping at different opportunities and piecing them together, wondering whether the pattern they form will ever make sense. I crave routine, but India insists. It sinks deep into my belly with its impatient spices, it arrests my concentration with the intricacies of its music. It warms me with chai, it chills me with rain.

So keep reminding myself to stretch, pull at my seams until I feel my size comes to fit all there is to embrace. 

** I am actively working on getting my pictures uploaded. Hopefully there will be plenty in the next couple of days!