Hindi @ MindSay

Malayalam version of BOLLYWOOD action flick Dhoom 2jst 

The moon seems brighter here. A man once told me that he would remember me every time the moon was full and I was young enough, and silly enough to believe him. Even so, I laughed and asked if he would forget me for the rest of the month—I quoted Shakespeare to him—"oh swear not by the moon, the pale and inconstant moon who monthly waxes and wanes in her symmetry. Swear not by the moon, lest your love prove likewise variable." Then and now I didn't have the quote quite right, but close enough for the meaning. I wonder if he still looks at the moon and thinks of me even once a month—even though I am no longer in love with him, or the idea of him, anyway. Actually, I am glad we parted, he was not the man for me.

But the moon does seem brighter here. I think I've been watching too many Hindi movies—they're giving me brain damage and making me think silly thoughts about people I shouldn't (no—not him, another, and that's the most I'll ever mention about it. It's just too embarrassing. I hardly know him--I might as well wish for the sun :( )

Back to reality, I've been in Jaipur for weeks now. I've had two sets of yoga teachers and an interesting time of it. I won't talk about my project too much—just that everything is going well and I am in the final stages of editing my paper. At this point I'm tired of worrying about it and I just want to be done! I'm starting to hate the thing, though I am LOVING the Yoga. My first set of teachers taught me a lot about the philosophy, which is mostly Hindu philosophy and, as you might have noticed, quite in-line with my personal belief system. One of my frustrations was an inability to convince them that I actually knew what they were talking about and understood these concepts quite well! My second yoga teacher concentrates on the breathing and postures. The classes are quite similar to those I've had in the past and I am very happy with her.

I've made some friends! Yay! I'm quite excited :) they are both staying in the hotel I'm at. The first is a Tunisian girl who is doing a project on jewelry design. The second is an Indian girl who works for GM. Both of them are really nice and it is wonderful to have girlfriends again!

I can't wait for this semester to be over! I'm tired of being stressed over it. Whatever happens will be for the best. If I go to Fiji, awesome, I want that. If I stay in India, that's awesome and I want that, too. Either way I win. I know I am not how I've been perceived or what I've been told I am, I am sorry I let that get in the way of my studies. It will feel like a failure if I can't go to Fiji, I can't help it—I want SO badly to prove them wrong about me! However, I've grown a lot and I know a lot more about myself now. Though I never think I'm where I "should" be—I am proud to be who I am and that won't change. Ok, enough with the same old BS.

But--doesn't the moon seem brighter tonight?

I spent three days camped in the desert with the Raika men. Only one woman had come to the conference. I had heard stories about the Raika women being beautiful, and found them to be true—she was beautiful. She held herself like a queen.

 

On the first day I met a number of other researchers all of them were doing research for their doctorates or post-doctoral work. At first they were very welcoming. However, they invariably asked at what level I was doing my research on and were very dismissive of me when they found I was an undergrad. This was my first clue that something might be wrong.

 

I met my contact there, who was a very nice man who did genuinely try to help me. I told him about my project (again, we HAD talked about it on the phone), and that I was interested in storytelling in the Raika community as well as in doing a general ethnography of the family and village I would be staying with. He called some of the Raika council members over and we sat in a circle talking. I do not speak Hindi, even after four months, but I especially do not speak Marwari, and so he was translating for me.

 

I asked if they could recommend a family who was known for telling good stories, and was told that I should look for an old woman. From my research I had learned that elder widows are often the tale-bearers in rural Rajasthan, and this did not surprise me. One man offered to take me home to his family for a few days, a week, a month, however long—and he would feed me whatever their family ate and give me cow’s milk to drink. I was humbled and honored by his generosity.

 

I had been told that there would be a research assistant/translator available to me, and I asked about this again. I was told to go with this man for two days and that afterwards a translator would be sent.

 

One man told several stories right off and, with my contact translating, I jotted them down. My contact also told me he knew tons of stories about the Raika, and that he would tell them to me later.

 

I enjoyed the conference, interacted with the men as best I could, and took copious notes. I enjoyed my time there immensely. While there were a few other women there—researchers, NGO members and etc—they all stayed together to one side of the camp. My tent however was in the heart of things and I camped alone. At night I could hear the men all around me snoring and rustling and making noise.

 

These men had the finest honor I have seen in India. Though they were interested in me and curious about why I was there, I did not receive lustful stares and was not harassed at all. All of my previous training in India was unhelpful—I have learned not to sit next to a strange man, or to meet his eyes, but these things seemed to put them off, as if they felt I thought I was above them or was afraid of them. I was only trying to follow the standards of conduct I had become used to.

 

For some reason my tent became puja central. I don't really have any idea what that was about. But, starting about 4AM every morning and lasting until about 7, there would be men right outside the back of my tent splashing water and intoning prayers. Sometimes the sound of the water was so close I was afraid it would start running into my tent! Usually it would be first one man, then another, singly—sometimes, there would be two or three going at it. Maybe it was simply my proximity to the kitchen—or who knows, maybe they mistook me for a goddess? It certainly pleases my vanity to think so, though I can't really believe that could be the case.

 

By the second evening I was starting to sense that something wasn't quite right. The men didn't treat me any differently, but I heard several remarks doubting that I had had the classes or had the knowledge to ask the right questions, even with a translator. When I tried to sit among the researchers (one in particular) I felt quite a bit of resistance. Maybe she had chronic headaches, but every time I'd come near she'd drop her head into her hands and massage her temples as if it were all just too much.

 

That night my contact and I talked about my project again. Suddenly he was very vague about where I'd be going. He told me there was no translator available and that, anyway, the Raika didn't tell stories anymore—maybe they had when he was a kid, but no more. I was very confused as I'd seen several times where a story had been told to illustrate a point and I myself had been told several already. Later,  a woman came up to me and asked "You think these are just poor, uneducated people, don't you?" Though I was fairly offended, I answered, "it depends on what you mean about education. I think they are educated in the desert, in their lifestyle, in camels, I think they know things one cannot possibly learn in school and that is a kind of education, too." She seemed mollified and after a time went back to sit with the group of scientists etc and my contact.

The next morning, the particular woman who seemed so troubled by my presence (which could have been all in my head or just my imagination,) came and told me sternly that my project was impossible, that there would be no translator and that she didn't see how they could help me. My three choices were: go with this guy into the desert for two days, 60km away with no translator; go into Jaisalmer and look for a group of storytellers who told stories about the Raika, or go back to Jaipur. She strongly emphasized the third choice saying, you've already wasted a week here." I tried to emphasize that one week was a huge amount in a month-long study, and that I had come with the understanding that I would be set up with a translator and a family. She became angry with me and walked away, though I had been making an extreme effort to be polite (and trying not to burst into tears) and kept my tone even.

 

(Actually, I'm very proud of the way I handled this. Despite her being angry at me, I feel I've made gigantic strides forward and come 180 degrees from how I acted when, for example, my first project was thwarted.) I feel I handled it in the best way possible, I don't feel I could have said anything different or better. I was polite, but also was firm on what I had been told and what I needed. I thanked her kindly for her honesty.

I went back to Jaisamer, checked myself into a ridiculously nice hotel, and started making phone calls. I didn't want to possibly waste another week or more finding these storytellers, and so decided I would come back to Jaipur and continue the classical singing classes I had been taking all semester.

 

On one hand I felt defeated, a failure: like I had did something, I knew not what, wrong, and that I would be blamed for my project falling apart after my advisor had put herself out there for me. On the other hand, I knew that I hadn't done anything obvious wrong, that it wasn’t my fault that my contacts had not fulfilled their promises, and that if I had done something it was so subtle that I never noticed (me the ultra paranoid about doing something wrong and over sensitive to it) and that if  it was a cultural thing how could I have known?

 

I am not sure exactly what happened. I felt a lot of resistance as an undergraduate, being young. Perhaps it was that I was collecting stories and there is some cultural proscription of which I am unaware—maybe they thought I would "steal" their stories and publish them (despite my reassurances that I was studying the role of storytelling and not collecting the stories themselves). I don't know. Feeling bummed that I could not do my project, but triumphant that I had braved the wilds and NOT been too weak or too shy to go, I came "home."

I had a lot of alone time and time for self-reflex ion in Varanasi. I’m a little nervous about posting it here—I don’t want you to think I’ve suddenly gone crazy or become a crackpot. Yet, this is a philosophy which has come to me over a period of years. I did not realize it, but I have been told I am a Hindu—imagine that! I do not make this claim, not being Indian nor raised in the tradition. Yet, I do find that my belief system, at the very least, resonates with what I have learned about Hinduism. These beliefs are what I am. They are the most important thing about me—but also the most secret, for the same reasons that I am afraid to tell them to you. I DO think it is important, for reasons that should become clear—but remember, this comes from my holiest of holies: my heart. Do not trust it to make sense, or sound sane…ok? Here are some reflections from my journal. I may not give it enough background, or tell you why I was writing it or how I came to it, but it is the essence of what it is that is important and that information is enough. Be content—or skip this post and move on to saner things.

The only thing about India is that I am so frustrated and lonely here. Sure, I miss my family, my friends, my bathtub…but these are incidentals. I can do without these as India herself gives me so much more. But I have no one with whom I really connect—though I am, I think, finally making friends here and certainly I like most of the people I am with very much. Also, no one to snuggle, no one to love. I know my little girl fantasies and dreams are both silly and childish—yet, I had hoped, I suppose, that this was at least a part of why the Universe has chosen to send me here at this time. When I applied for this program, it was uncertain where I would go—and I had some qualms about coming to Jaipur as it is the home of my newly married friend whom I must never see again. I knew some of the hardships that awaited and did not trust myself to make a good decision. Therefore, I left it in the lap of the Gods, for fate to bring me here, if that was what the Universe willed. “I will go where needed,” I said to the All, “just teach me how to listen.”

But, now that I am here, I cannot seem to find or understand why. Why was I chosen to come here, now—and for what? There were too many coincidences and synchronicities for there to be no reason, it was clear that I was being sent, if not why. I have learned that when the Universe interferes with my intended pattern, when these synchronicities crop up, it is time to be extra aware, more present, to still myself and listen. I know I should have faith in the universe and that knowing why and what for usually comes only with time—but I would do my best to do the universe’s will—if only I knew what that was. I have this desire to stop all this senseless flailing and bumbling, the anxiety of it all, and be steadfast in the knowledge that I am again on the right path. ...And I cannot stop from wanting a partner in all this chaos: another focus, a touchstone; someone to help shoulder the burden and with whom to share the joys. I fear this is not to be my path, but rather that the shadow of the moon-sworn warrior falls over me. The “virgin” priestess of the moon-dark night. Sworn to the most terrible face of the Goddess, the mother who devours her children whole. I do not want this destiny, but there have been too many signs and I cannot ignore them.

However, I have learned that sometimes, if the Universe wills, fate may be altered and a different path to the same destination taken. That is why we must never despair, why we must always try to change what pains us and not simply accept destiny. For if you can change it then THAT is your destiny, too. I tried to convince my friend of this, to no avail. I do not want it—but still I serve. To Help, no price is too great—but, what if I should pay this price, do what is asked of me, and fail anyway? I repeat the mantra again and again: what will be will be. If something is meant, no power can stop it—and if it is NOT meant, no power can force it. Have faith that the universe works as it should—for that is all there is. Small comfort, truth is.

It is said that in Varanasi, even sleep is yoga, each breath is meditation and the simple fact of being here is merit of itself. Twice I have been called here, and still I don’t know what this pilgrim searches for. Once, I dreamed I would come here to die, sometime far off—in old age I hope. Perhaps I have misunderstood or misused it, or perhaps I have forgotten how to see and interpret the signs. This was something that always came so easily to me, but for a long time I did not live rightly and I am afraid I have given up my power. Yet, I do not think it is so easy—it was never a power I asked for, nor one joyful to have, and I believe it necessary to what the universe wants of me. But, I feel I have forgotten the discipline and how to read the future in these signals and in my dreams. I want those abilities back—I feel so lost without this rudder. I feel blinded, deaf and dumb, the things I prized so much, all there was that was special about me, gone—yet not irretrievably, I feel. Perhaps that is what the real search is for—I have been looking for a master, and for mastery.
 
 

It's REALLY hot here--but I'm getting used to it. As an example, I was freezing to death from the aircon in my room the otherday and I looked at my travel clock...






...It was eighty degrees!!!

It is rather nice at night, though.

Having another off day. But I'm sure things will improve. I'm trying hard but feeling very stupid. However, listening to the other girls, they seem to have exactly the same/problems.
 
I know you want descriptions of the city and of life here but everything is so overwhelming and so hard to describe!

Here is a brief description of my day:

Puja (prayer) starts in my house at 4:30 AM. This sounds like someone gave a two year old some pots and pans and a bell and let them go to town. This is followed by some (rather pretty) singing. Around six, I jump up and hit the switch for my waterheater--then I get about 15mins more of sleep while the water heats for my shower. at seven, a boy brings me tea, which I usually take out on my (private) balcony. 7:30 breakfast is served to me on some VERY expensive and OLD china at a very long very ornate table in a very ornate diningroom where my host family has pictures of themselves with nelson mandela, queen elizabeth, and prince charles. Remember that I said I felt like a princess?? It's no joke! My family are rajputs from way back and my "brother-in-law" is a maharaja!

At eight my rickshaw driver, shankar, honks and takes me and two other girls to school.

At school we start with a hindi quiz, two and a half hours of hindi lessons, punctuated by chai breaks, and then one and a half hours of arts and culture seminar. After which I have two hours to do homework (everything has to be typed but it's almost impossible to get computer time and I STILL haven't got a voltage regulator for my laptop, though I've spoken to the guy about it.

On mon, wed, fri, I go for my singing lesson from 5-6pm and then home around 7. I try to do as much work as I can and stay awake until dinner which I get served in my room between 9-10pm (I don't know why, indians eat dinner REALLY late. At ten or so I fall down in exhaustion (usually with only half my work done) and the whole process stars over.

I swear--I'm used to working HARD and not having any free time--but this is a joke! We do a chapter of Hindi a day but we only go over things once and are expected to have memorized it (we're expected to review on our own so I never really get the chance to memorize anything before it's on to new stuff.) We're supposed to be able to do weekend excursions and not to mention time for shopping for necessary items like notebooks, pens, whatever--but just going one place can take ALL DAY. If I cut down on my sleep to get things done, I feel even worse and my memory is even MORE useless than it already is! And, when I say anything the teachers etc just make me feel worse/stupid: "you just have to review fifteen minutes a day and you will have it." I reviewed for FIVE HOURS yesterday and didn't have it! Or "yes you're expected to do a lot of work, this is college now, not high school." As if I hadn't been going to college for ten years, taking a heavy load and doing fine!!

Taking a rickshaw walah to school is such a trip! I've developed a relationship with a guy named Shankar (purely business, I assure you!) It was something of a drama as I was being ferried about by a fellow named Gopal. Gopal was very creepy. The first day I met him, he was grungy, unshaven and wearing a dirty uniform. When he came to take me home that evening, he shaved, slicked his hair back with a week's worth of lard, and got a new uniform--I didn't recognize him and almost refused to get in the rickshaw with him. It is a different culture here--looking in a girl's eyes here, touching her in any way--even shaking hands, or being overly familiar are are signs of sexual advance. Gopal-ji (ji is a term of respect used with elders) did ALL f these things, but even if I hadn't known how to be a "good girl" here and something of how I should be treated by the opposite sex--he would still have felt slimy! Just the way he looked at me and the way he smiled made me feel icky. However, since he is registered not only with my host family and with SIT, it is true that he was "safe"--if icky. The final straw was that, whenever he had me alone in the rickshaw, he would stop and try to pick up one of his friends. This really scared me and so I arranged for this other fellow. Unfortunatly, my host mom didn't tell him, and he hasn't any english. This morning at eight I came out to fine gopal and shankar quarelling over who was going to take me to school. Gopal had to be propitiated with 50 rupees (about a buck) before he would leave off. I was annoyed at having to pay him for nothing but, as a respectful "daughter" I obeyed my host mother and counted the money as well-spent if it meant that I had a rickshaw driver I felt comfortable with!

I think one of the most frusturating and interesting things about India are the rickshaws and their wallahs. When they are good they are really really good--but when they are bad, they are horrid. (So to speak.) When you have a trustworthy driver, richshaws are quick, easy and cheap. They are small enough to maneuver even the tightest back alley ways and are a wonderful way to see the city. However--the drivers can be awfully shady and the rickshaws sometimes in extreme disrepair. As with the rest of everything in India, there seems to be an "American tax." That is, they take one look at me and the price skyrockets--and they can be quite persistent! They like to tell you that the ride is free--just visit ther brother's shop. Don't believe them! You'll pay VERY high prices for shoddy work and pure junk--and don't expect the ride to be free afterward! For a woman alone, they can be quite dangerous at night--I'm sure I don't have to explain. Even at the best of times, they'll fleece you blind if you're not careful. That is why I am SO happy to have Shankar who is nice, respectible, and who even undercharged me by 10 rupees today when he saw me crying after my Hindi lesson.

It takes SO long to do anything here. Something as simple as mailing a package can take ALL DAY! First you have to find a box. Then you go to a special person who sews it into a burlap sack and seals it with wax. Then the customs agent for some document or other--and you are ALWAYS in the wrong line (which you only are told about after a minimum of two hours waiting.) You are then directed to another line which is--surprise--the wrong one! Then it's off to the postoffice to again play the line game. This usually continues until I throw a temper tantrum. It's like a contest to see who can withstand the most bureaucracy. The winner may die of old age--but they get to mail their package!