In lieu of a story, I wanted to share my favorite Indian commercial. I have no idea what is being said in either the dialogue or the music in the commercial, but it just makes me laugh every time I watch it. I hope you find it as funny as I do!
When You Walk Up on the Dance Floor Nobody Could Ignore the Way You Move Your Body…
28 June, 2008 at 12:58 am (Uncategorized)
Tags: Shakira
Swimming in a Fish Bowl
27 June, 2008 at 2:08 am (Uncategorized)
Tags: Pink Floyd
Do you ever get tired of eating with silverware? Fork into food, fork into mouth, fork into food, fork into mouth— so monotonous! Sometime when you are feeling experimental, you should try to eat some sort of food that has the consistency of stew with nothing but a piece of bread and your right hand. Gracefully tearing a large, chewy piece of bread into pieces with just your right hand is an art form that I have not mastered! The other day at lunch, I was methodically attempting to do just that when I noticed that one of my coworkers was watching me curiously and with amusement on his face. Finally, I burst out laughing. Everyone at the table looked at me, since nothing funny had been said, and I said, “I’m sorry! I am trying to eat with only my right hand, but it is really hard!” “YOU should just eat with both hands,” my coworker, Mary, said. “At the rate you are going, you will eat one piece of roti (bread) and lunch will be over! And you should not wipe your hand on your napkin after every bite. Just wait until the end and then wipe your hand once.” No wonder they only give us one tiny, 1-ply napkin for the whole meal! So you just sit there with curry on your hand until you are done eating? Enacting this suggestion will be personally difficult for me. I hate getting things on my hands and then just leaving it there! Petting a dog, writing on a chalkboard, pulling lunch meat out of a package—these are all things that immediately send me to the sink to wash my hands, mostly because I can feel the residue these things leave. Maybe as a chronic hand-washer I am a perfect candidate for a career in public health, or maybe I am just crazy. I’ll leave the decision up to you.
I am not only learning the cultural quirks of India through my meals at work, but I am also learning many things from the family from whom I rent a room. They are a traditional Indian, Hindu family. Three generations live under one roof— the grandfather, his son and daughter-in-law, and granddaughter. The granddaughter, Kushi, is a very smart, energetic five-year old. She was born deaf, so when she was a year old she got a cochlea implant in one ear. She wears a hearing aid-like device in the one ear connected to a small disk that is magnetized to a plate in her head. When both pieces are properly in place, she is able to hear! Consequently, her speech has been slow to develop, so she has learned to communicate quite effectively through very dramatic facial expressions and lively hand gestures. Because she is accustomed to communicating in this way, she and I get along very well, whereas a typical Indian five-year-old would speak Hindi and probably get frustrated when I would not understand. The family is incredibly hospitable. They regularly invite me into their drawing room to have tea and snacks, Vandana (the wife) has prepared a homemade Indian lunch with all of her fanciest dishes, and they also have taken me to the country club where they are members.
The whole country club event came about after I had casually asked if there was a pool near the house. No, there was not, but they could take me to their club, so we set a date for the following Saturday. All of the family piled in the car. I began putting on my seatbelt, but Vandana said, “Oh, we don’t have to wear seatbelts in the back.” Most taxis here do not even have seatbelts in the backseat! If the car I am riding in is going to be dodging people, autorickshaws, cows, goats, and potentially monkeys in a city that is 4 times more populated than L.A., I think I would prefer to wear a seatbelt.
It was during the drive to the country club when Kushi and I became good friends. She likes to pretend to pull off parts of your face— your nose, your eyes, your mouth— then she motions that she is either throwing them out the window or she pretends to salt and eat them. I, in turn, pretend I am retrieving them and putting them back on my face or that I am taking her features to replace mine. When she would pretend to throw them out the window, I would feign that I was blocking her from throwing the parts of my face away. This led to a new game that I found quite disturbing. Kushi would grab tissues from a box in the back and throw them out the window. As a person who grew up under the “Don’t Mess with Texas” slogan, and now with the influence of California’s “Go Green” mentality, throwing tissues out the window over and over was very unsettling; however, I could not successfully guard the windows on both sides of the car, and her parents did not seem to mind in the least, so just as Hansel and Gretel left a trail of breadcrumbs, we left a trail of tissues from our house through the streets of Delhi. The other members of the family would graciously point out landmarks and explain their significance or draw attention to a restaurant and provide a recommendation on what to order if I should go. We passed an enormous temple dedicated to the monkey god, Hanuman, complete with a towering giant statue of Hanuman himself. During the entire drive I would scan the streets for signs of monkeys, but I still have not seen one.
When we arrived at the country club, I was given a quick tour of the grounds and then directed to the changing area where I could put on my “swimming costume”. I was kind of dreading the whole swimming experience. As most girls would agree, putting on a swimsuit and parading in public is not always the most welcome event, but here, a girl gets stared at even when fully and modestly clothed! I could not imagine the negative attention drawn when wearing a swimsuit, but Kushi also put on her little swimsuit, and we made our way to the kiddie pool. This would be Kushi’s first time to ever go swimming! She stood on the edge and fearlessly threw herself into the water. I rushed over to her, where she was face down and struggling to stand up. For a while she was leery and unsure of how to walk through the water without stumbling and falling, so she would cling to the side. However, she gained much more confidence when a sweet lady let us borrow her daughter’s ring float, which helped Kushi learn how to steady herself and lose her fear of falling over in the water. She laughed and played and completely enjoyed herself. After 3 hours, we had to drag her out of the pool to eat dinner. Now, swimming is practically all she talks about. She will be waiting for me outside when I get home from work and point to me and then to herself and make motions as if she were swimming, or she will run inside, grab her swimsuit, and make motions to tell me she is ready to leave for the pool.
I am so thankful for the opportunity to share a home with an Indian family. I would be lost without being able to ask someone how to find the nearest market or even how to call the nearest taxi service. Meeting kind local people is the aspect of traveling that makes a country more endearing and keeps you from counting the days when you return home. Kids are the best. When you first arrive in a country, often your local language abilities are similar to the levels of children, and they are usually very patient with your lack of ability to communicate. They will be amused and happy to be the “teacher” to someone who is older. Kushi is unique in that she cannot really speak, nevertheless her sweet company is still appreciated and enjoyed.
Travel Tip#2: NEVER EVER EVER assume there will be toilet paper, even at a country club. ALWAYS bring some with you in your bag or purse.
Why Can’t We Be Friends?
26 June, 2008 at 1:19 am (Uncategorized)
Tags: War
How well would you be able to communicate in India? Here are a couple of conversations from my daily rickshaw rides.
The context: Sunni, the rickshaw driver, picks me up every morning at 9 am. This means that I usually arrive at work by 9:15 (Even though Delhi is much more crowded than L.A., a 15-minute commute is SO much better than the hour it usually takes me to go 11 miles to school each day in California!).The first day, I arrived to work at 9 and was asked why I came so early. “I was told work starts at 9,” I replied. “Oh, but that is 9 am, India time, so really, we get here at 9:30 or 9:45.” Oh… of course! This conversation begins as I am getting in the rickshaw in the afternoon to go home.
Sunni: Tomorrow. 8:45. Okay?
Me: You will pick me up tomorrow at 8:45? 9:00 is not okay?
Sunni: 8:45? Okay? Yes? (When you read “yes?”, each time you should imagine a man with a beard and turban dipping his head to the side, as if he wanted to lay his head on his shoulder. This means “yes”.)
Me: You need to pick me up at 8:45 instead?
— Then he gets out a piece of paper and writes “8:45” on it, although 8:45 was not the part I did not understand. I write “9?”
Me: You’ll pick me up tomorrow at 8:45? Okay.
Sunni: Okay? No problem? 8:45?
Me: No problem.
Sunni: Okay. Thank you. 8:45. No problem?
Me: No, no problem.
Sunni: Okay
So you probably didn’t have too much trouble following. That was a good warm-up conversation for you. Here is another, more difficult example.
The context: We are bumping along through some side streets in my neighborhood on the way to my house. Sunni is trying to speak to me in the mirror over the roar of the rickshaw’s engine. Finally, he stops, turns off the engine, and says:
Sunni: My friend?
Me: Your friend?
Sunni: My friend? Yes? (Don’t forget the head dip.)
Me: Who is your friend?
Sunni: My friend? Yes? Okay?
Me: Are we friends? Yes, I’ll be your friend.
Sunni: My friend. Yes?
Me: Yes.
Sunni: Promise promise? (Repeating words is a big thing here.)
Me: I promise.
Sunni: Thirty rupees, no.
Me: No thirty rupees? Why?
Sunni: My friend. No thirty rupees. My friend. Okay?
Me: No, I will pay you.
Sunni: No. My friend. No thirty rupees. My friend?
Me: Yes. We are friends.
Sunni: Okay.
In case you didn’t follow, Sunni was asking me to be his friend. I am not sure, but am choosing to assume, that he means just his platonic friend, not any other kind of friend (although he did kiss my hand this morning, and I don’t think that is normal here). He also refused to take my money for the fare, but I told him that I would just pay him double tomorrow. While free rickshaw fare each day sounds tempting, he probably needs the money, and I don’t want to feel any strange sense of obligation.
Travel Tip #1: The first word you learn in another language should always be “thank you”.
Too Much Monkey Business
25 June, 2008 at 11:00 pm (Uncategorized)
Tags: Elvis Presley
This is my first time to travel to a country where I don’t speak the language. Everyone should do it at some time or another because it will give you much more patience and sympathy for people in our own country who are struggling to learn English. At any rate, the part of my day that I dread the most is catching a rickshaw before and after work. First, I dislike it because it necessitates bargaining. I hate bargaining, period. It constantly poses an ethical struggle for me. I know that most of the people here are scraping by, and while I will hardly miss the fifty cents that I overpay, they can use every rupee they can get; yet, I don’t want to enable or be the victim of deceitful behaviors. But secondly, and the more immediate cause of stress, is that the driver and I will have to fumble through some meager form of communication that often consists of hand signals until someone gets frustrated and gives in so that a price can be determined. This is the process that I have been going through at least twice every day.
Yesterday morning I was in the middle of this process. I had already turned down one driver who tried to charge me double the rate, when a second rickshaw driver stopped for me. Honestly, at first his appearance frightened me a little, but I think it is mostly because he reminds me of some of the bad guys in Indiana Jones Temple of Doom. He is very hairy with a long, curly black beard. He wears a black turban with ashes on his forehead that appear to be permanently encrusted there; however, he does have very kind-looking eyes. His English is also the most difficult to understand of anyone I have come across (Of course, it is not his fault that our communication is so laborious. I’m in his country and unable to speak the regional language. I am just appreciative that he is so persistent to be understood.) After some difficulty, we agreed on a price— 40 rupees, or a little less than $1 USD.
Then we have the whole directions problems again. We weaved in and out of the streets of Golf Links Colony looking for my office building, pulling over multiple times to ask for directions. The rickshaw driver continuously tried to speak with me, but between his broken English, my lack of Hindi, and the roar of the engine, I could hardly understand anything he said. Finally, he pulled over the rickshaw and stopped the engine. He turned around in his chair and put his hand on my arm as if to say, “Ok… let’s give this attempt at conversation our full attention.” Somehow, all the effort worked. We drew numbers on our hands, then he pulled out a piece of paper, and we scribbled things back and forth on it. He spoke in two-three word phrases, but I eventually understood. He was asking me if I would like him to pick me up for work every morning at 9. He could also pick me up in the afternoon. He would only charge me 30 rupees each way. This saves me the daily haggle, and it would ensure that my driver would know where my home and office was. I consented, and we exchanged names and shook hands. My new official rickshaw driver is named Sunni.
I am also really enthralled with the idea of seeing monkeys roaming the streets. I saw monkeys in the jungle when I was in Guatemala, but that was in a nature preserve; these are city monkeys that are not constrained by fences or cages! Apparently, Delhi residents do not share the same sentiments. The monkeys cause many problems… they will open the door to your house and come in and break things, people have had to wrestle their infants away from their clutches, and recently, a man died instantly when a monkey threw a flower pot off a roof, striking him in the head. In a previous post, I mentioned that my friend Elaine had warned me that a man had been killed when monkeys threw him off the balcony of a building. She was correctly informed. That man was Delhi’s mayor! The government of India has actually hired a langur monkey (a larger, more aggressive monkey than the typical Delhi variety) that is officially on the government’s payroll and was hired to scare the smaller monkeys away from government buildings. I’m not exactly sure how a monkey receives a paycheck. I wonder if he gets a benefits package? The monkeys maintain their Delhi residency because, for Hindus, the monkey is a manifestation of the Hindu god, Hanuman, who represents strength and valor. Two days ago in Delhi, a group of Hindu priests offered prayers to Hanuman asking that he grant Obama the presidency! Isn’t it amazing that that Indian Hindu priests would be that involved with U.S. politics?!?
A Rebel without a Clue
20 June, 2008 at 11:26 pm (Uncategorized)
Tags: Tom Petty
I was told never to make eye contact. Prolonged eye contact can be seen as an invitation here. In this country, I am not sure of the exact point when a look crosses the line from necessary glancing in order to not run into someone to what could be interpreted as invitational eye contact, so I generally just look at the ground or into the distance and not directly at a person. My strategy seemed to be working until I was eating dinner a couple of nights ago and suddenly a guy about my age appeared at my table. This was startling for two reasons. First, obviously I do not know this guy, and he is suddenly speaking to me in very rapid and somewhat nervous English asking me if I want to do breakfast tomorrow, but also, the place where I am staying is extremely lacking in people my age, and I thought I was the only one there under 40. I was so taken aback that I consented to breakfast without thinking, but I ended up being very thankful that I did.
My new friend is named Salman. He is Indian, but grew up in Singapore, and currently attends Columbia University in New York City. He is traveling through India alone, and although it is unlike him (he tells me), he approached me to hopefully find some company and good conversation while he is in Delhi. His accent is Singaporian, which means it has a decidedly British intonation, so I welcomed a conversation in which I could understand every word. (Aside: Many Indians speak perfect English, but the inflection is so different from the American accent that sometimes I have a difficult time understanding what is being said. I often pretend I understood what was said in order to not appear stupid, especially with the auto rickshaw drivers, but sometimes the questions asked warrant an answer other than yes or no, and then I get caught pretending! I’ve also found that if I speak in a fake British accent, they can understand me much easier!) Our conversations were very interesting. Salman is informed on a wide variety of topics, and even though we know not a single person in common, we never ran out of things to talk about. I have always heard that carrying on interesting conversation without involving people is the mark of a good conversationalist. This was probably aided by the fact that Salman has an opinion about everything… and I loved it! Do you want to know who writes the best Indian cookbooks? How about the process by which curry trees are used to make curry? Who should you read if you are interested in Indian history? Just ask Salman! He will be happy to tell you!
Salman is also very gracious and generous. His last night in town, we went to a Punjabi restaurant named Gulati that his aunt had recommended. He would ask me what I wanted and then proceed to give many suggestions. This way, it could seem like I knew what I was doing, but really he could guide the selection and make sure we didn’t get something like brains (I did see that on a menu.) We ordered lots of things, and I tried my first kulfi. It is ice cream that is made by boiling milk until all that is left is the creamy fat. Yum! (I only aware of that fact because of course Salman knew how kulfi was made and told me!) But his display of kindness that I appreciated most came at the end of the night. This was my first time that I had ventured out into the streets of India when it was dark outside. We caught a rickshaw that would deliver him to his hotel, and then take me to my apartment. Realizing that I may feel uncomfortable riding in the open-air rickshaw at night, he asked the driver to drop me off first, even though his hotel was on the way to my apartment. This decision later saved me utter panic because, at this point, I don’t know where I live. After the rickshaw driver repeatedly asks me which way to go and I finally understand the question, I have to say, “I don’t know where I live. Here is the address.” I hand him a card with my address on it, and it is up to him from there. For this reason, I am not so angry when they overcharge me because I know we are going to waste some gas trying to find the destination since I cannot offer any directional guidance. Thankfully, Salman tried to be as helpful to the driver as possible while I sat beside him helplessly listening to the Hindi exchange. He made sure that the driver delivered me safely to my doorstep.
Salman has since moved on to Kashmir to stay in a houseboat and continue his travels, but he may venture back through Delhi in a couple of weeks. Our meeting made me anxious to meet others here, not only to have friends with whom I can explore the city, but also to have opportunity to walk wisely and redeem the time.
Far Away from Home
19 June, 2008 at 8:14 pm (Uncategorized)
Tags: Groove Coverage
India has several things in common with Latin America…
- Drivers really, really like their horns, whether they are warranted or not. (Although it is not the rude L.A. “Move before I run you over” honk; it is more of a “You should know I’m coming to the intersection” or “Just letting you know I am behind you” honk)
- The lines painted on the streets serve no purpose other than decoration (this is particularly unnerving when the cars are already on an opposite side of the street than you are used to!).
- There are giant palatial mansions surrounded by the poor or seemingly unemployed persons sitting in the shade.
- Mexico has a certain peculiar smell when you drive across the border… and India has its own special smell that accosts your nostrils as you exit the plane. I was told before arriving that I was going to have to get over getting angry when things smell bad if I was going to make it in India. I keep checking my armpits, but it is definitely not me.
- I never have my umbrella when I need it, no matter what city, state, or country I am in!
- Mattresses are very thin and very hard.
- The people are astonishingly kind and generous.
I actually met the first kind Indian of the trip before ever setting foot on Indian soil. She was seated next to me on the plane from Hong Kong to Delhi. Even though she has lived in L.A. for over 30 years, she has not lost her sense of Indian hospitality. We had not been talking for 10 minutes before she invited me to come visit her home in Kashmir, a state in the far northern region of India overlooking the Himalayas. This kind lady will be staying at her home in Kashmir for the next two months, and she said that her chef would cook for me and her maid would do my laundry. Her house has many rooms, and she believes people should share what they have.
One of the most awkward things for me is the constant royal treatment I have received. Mr. Balram, the Pop Council driver, has now picked me up twice, and every time I entered or exited the vehicle he rushed to open and shut my door; I view the sites of Delhi from the back seat of the car. I’ve ridden in taxis plenty of times, but when you hire someone for a one-time trip to some destination it seems different than when that person is consistently “your driver”. At my hotel, I am not allowed to lift a finger. My bags were taken to my room and set up for me, similar to when I stayed at the Plaza Hotel in NYC. At the in-house restaurant, everything is very formal and served on silver platters, and then the bill gets put on my tab. At the office, there is a man who is hired seemingly just to do our dishes and make tea, coffee, and snacks at our beckoned call. I was asked at least 4 times if I would like coffee or tea during the 45 minutes that I was there.
Another new experience is dealing with Indian electricity. When I plugged in my blow dryer this morning sparks blew out of the plug and black soot sprayed all over my hand. It was really scary, but my blow dryer still worked… I debated about putting on my crocs so that at least I would be wearing rubber shoes if I got electrocuted. The electricity has only cut out briefly 5 times. Three of the times I was in the shower, so it reminded me of some scary movie when the power goes out and then someone swings open the curtain and stabs you. Yes, I am a little paranoid.
This first 24 hours has definitely provided some interesting experiences so far, and I am sure there will be many more. I still haven’t really ventured out by myself much, in part because I am still a little leery of being out alone, but usually because I can’t keep myself from falling asleep anytime I come home! The jetlag is killer.
Babe, I’m Gonna Leave You
16 June, 2008 at 6:29 pm (Uncategorized)
Tags: Joan Baez, Led Zeppelin
I’m leaving the U.S. Over the years, I have found that if 3 months have passed and I haven’t taken a plane trip somewhere, I start to feel stir crazy, but this is the farthest from home that my travel addiction has taken me. I will be living in New Delhi, India for the next 2 ½ months.
The first 8 weeks will be spent participating in an internship with Population Council doing HIV prevention research. The project is called Prevention with Positives, and it aims to identify members of the community who are “healthy” HIV positive people (healthy meaning not currently in need of treatment and therefore not receiving regular medical attention), determine their level of awareness of the consequences of the disease and their engagement in high-risk behaviors, and then develop education and support programs for these people in order to prevent the spread of HIV. My hope is that the work I will be doing will lend a view of the big picture of the importance of public health in developing countries and provide me with some vindication for slaving through hours of classes and projects this past year and joie de vivre to push through this next year as well. The final couple of weeks I will be able to travel around to catch a small glimpse of the diversity of culture, natural beauty, and opportunity for service that India has to offer.
I’ve had some mixed reactions to my plans, which have definitely affected some of my wardrobe choices and my ideas about which items are necessary for the trip. Here are some paraphrases of comments I have received:
Naveet: I am from New Delhi; let me give you some of the information you will need… Here is all of my contact information, and here is the name of the diarrhea medication to ask for at the pharmacy. Take it twice a day for three days. You don’t need a prescription.
Sanaa: I am so jealous. You will have so much fun. I wish I could go with you. And you’ll definitely get a parasite while you’re there. If I was going to India I wouldn’t even worry about eating healthfully right now because I know I would just lose it all when I get sick there. You are so lucky.
Aunt Kathy: I remember when I went to Thailand during medical school; this other guy went to India. When he came back he had lost so much weight! I think he had diarrhea the whole time he was there!
Professor Halstead: In North Delhi, it is not uncommon to see elephants walking down the street. And you have to be careful of these packs of monkeys that come into the city. They are not shy or scared of you at all.
Elaine: I just read a story in the news about how this man was standing on a balcony in India, and those monkeys came and pushed him off, and he died.
Sanaa: The men will love you there. It is a South Asian man’s dream to be with a white blonde girl.
Lori: I had a friend that traveled to India during some festival that only men attend. When she got out of the cab this crowd of men bull-rushed her and rubbed their bodies all over her.
So I’m all packed now. I brought a giant bag of medications and two forms of mase. My sweet friend Sanaa let me borrow her favorite scarf to cover my hair when I feel it is necessary. I had to buy long skirts and dresses (California and India just don’t agree about the appropriate amount of skin to be shown during the summer). I also bought this great umbrella that is compact, but opens up to become golf-size, for the monsoon season.
Even after some of the mixed reviews, I am still excited about the trip. India is a country that is on the cusp of the delineation between the developing and the developed world. Its advances in the IT world have not been matched. Its population is increasing at a phenomenal rate, and is projected to surpass China by 2035. It has 19 national languages, with over 1000 regional dialects. As a country it has a very distinct culture that is so different from the United States, with many variations on this culture across the nation. It is bordered by the Himalayas in the north and the Indian Ocean in the south with many other sources of natural beauty in between. The political climate is intense and complicated with a lot of passion on both ends of the spectrum.
Each time a person ventures outside of his comfort zone, outside of his comfortable circle of friends and family who share his same thoughts and perspectives, he will learn something and hopefully pass on a piece of what he knows to others. This will be the farthest from that comfortable circle that I have ever been, and I am sure I have a lot to learn. I also hope for ordained opportunities to leave behind some of my own pearls.
