Vadakkan! India Update #1

Vadakkan! (aka, greetings)

***Technically you're supposed to say vadakkan when you first meet someone, but I feel it is appropriate for my first email from Tamil Nadu (the state I'm in right now) to use it anyways. For all you Jews: you could say it's the shehechianu of greetings in some sense***

Hello everyone! I'm sorry its taken me so long to write the first one of these (mainly for those of you who have been nudging me to tell what's going on-- I've been straying away from internet as much as possible while I'm here which has been failing for the most part so far-- trying to get it down to like twice a week or so).

THere's just so much I have to tell in such a small space. It's only been two weeks, but I feel like I've experienced experiences that I ordinarily would have had in a time frame closer to 3 months in the US. I hope I don't bore you with the details, because there are a lot of them and some of you (cough, kelsey and mother) know a lot of what I'm about to share.

I'll use this email to introduce you to what I experience on a day to day basis. In a subsequent email, I'll expound on what I've been doing and what I've been experiencing (because half of what I describe will be hard to process if you first do not know what is going on around me at the time).

Right now, I am in an fan-blown internet cafe about thirty feet away from the SITA (South India Term Abroad) center where we attend classes and meet for SITA cultural excursions/traditions. Using the internet in this cafe costs about 15 rupees per hour, (in american dollars, thats about 30 cents an hour) so its relatively inexpensive for the amount of time you get. Surprisingly, the connection is about as fast as Colby Wireless. Right now I am in Madurai, India (hopefully the link works: http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&tab=wl) where the SITA program is based. The Program Assistants on our program joke that while Madurai is a city full of 1.9 million people, you can often hear your name mentioned while you cycle (bike) down the street. A story is often told that if you go downtown to the local jewelry store and buy a couple of bangles, by the time you get back to your host family, the mother will know the color of your bangles, how much you paid for them, and if you got ripped off or not. As you can tell, there is a loose yet somehow cohesive community bubbling around me as I type. Walking the streets of Madurai could not be more different than the frozen roads of Waterville. Dust and sand mar the sides of patched paved roads. It is common to walk alongside a cow while you stroll to eat at a local restaurant (the max I've had to pay for a lunch or dinner meal has been 100 rupees, or about 2 dollars. All you can eat lunch has been around the 35 rupee range, which is around 70 cents just to give you a perspective of costs here), and watch him/her release his/her past lunch on the street surface. Walking the streets of Madurai is such an intense sensory experience. Everywhere you look, you see a mini-scene occurring: people working on an under-road pipe, a woman holding her child close while trying to navigate the indian traffic (it's a lot like double dutch, you have to feel when you can cross the street... despite the fact that a law has been passed against jaywalking, people still do it, and honestly, I'd be surprised if police actually arrested people for it), an auto rikshaw (equivalent of taxis in cities yet a lot smaller and odd shaped) narrowly missing an oncoming bus, signs of the beautiful Tamil script showing the way to the nearest internet cafe, the colorful dress of an Indian sari or salwar kamiz passing all around you. But it doesn't stop there: as you walk the streets, you are instantly hit with the many sounds and smells on top of the intense visual experience: people rabbling in rapid Tamil, the endless onslaught of vehicles beeping (people beep here to tell you when they're coming or passing you, so the frequency of beeping and cycle bells is approximately once every .000001 second), the breeze hitting the trees, Kids screaming "hi, hi, hi" and "how are you how are you" in your face because of your obvious western demeanor (I've actually been mistaken for Indian once or twice... which has been quite funny actually. When they realized I was western, their face lights up and start to ask me questions about my family-- questions we take personally in the US like "what does your mom do" directly after meeting someone is common dialogue here), and the smells of sewers, passing jasmine flowers, or diesel gas from passing vehicles. WHat makes it more complicated is that each street itself has its own culture. This isn't to say this is the case in the US-- but the street's culture hits you straight in the face every time you walk down it.

Now add that to the traffic pattern...

As I said before, I drive my cycle to the SITA center (around a 3 km ride) through half paved and half sandy roads filled with vehicles ranging from cycle rikshaws to bikes to four wheel cars to massive busses (when I say massive, I mean like over 17 feet tall. The busses here are HUGE). On top of the above attack on the senses, I am forced to navigate the chaotic streets. This may be hard to believe for all who have been oppressed by Boston driving, but the traffic here would make every single dick Boston driver you've ever got cut off by scared. I ride my bicycle (called just a cycle here-- bike is the word used for motorcycle here) and literally almost get hit five times a day. There is no such thing as two sides of the road here. Often a two way street can easily turn into a clogged one way road, leaving many vehicles going the opposite direction standing still. In order to pass someone here with a car or a bus, you often drift into the opposite lane, displacing oncoming vehicles. There seems to be a hierarchy of vehicles on the street, where the biggest vehicles are able to displace every single vehicle on the road if they wish to pass someone. You would think that under this seemingly "lawless" driving pattern, there would be countless amounts of horrible accidents. NOthing could be further from the truth. Because Indians are so focused on driving in this lawless traffic atmosphere, everyone is able to avoid accidents. This isn't to say it doesn't happen; the frequency of accidents here far outnumber those in the US, but they aren't as frequent as you might think.

When you combine the sensory onslaught and the traffic pattern, you find yourself becoming so overwhelmed and often cornered into little pockets filled with other cycles. One of the girls on my program and I were once walking in a fairly trafficky area, and then encountered total silence. We both flipped our shit-- silence is one thing that you don't get a lot of in India.

That being said, it is possibly one of the funnest ways to travel that I've ever encountered so far.

Switching gears now:

Adjusting to the climate has been a struggle. As some of you know, I've been to India once before, except around 1000-2000 km north of where I am right now. I am right now combating 80-100 degree weather (excluding humidity) on a day to day basis. What's a little humorous is when I look at my weekly SITA schedule and realize we're in the middle of JANUARY (to emphasize this point: Indians often call a climate "cold" if it drops under 75-- I even saw a woman with WOOL ear muffs during one of my morning rides here-- when I looked at the thermometer in the SITA center, it read 70 degrees). While I don't burn easily, the sunlight here is incredibly bright, and just staying out in the sun for an hour squinting about can result in quite a headache. I also have to drink around 5 liters of water per day just to remain hydrated. And by water, I mean bottled water, because, as my host mother put it, "god knows what's in the tap water." You will get sick if you drink the tap water here (the tanks that water comes from is often creeping with ameoba and protists that will give you excellent sicknesses like giardia and dissentary. Bottled water is the only sure way to drink water safely... even that's risky since most people just refill bottles here with tap water, so you must be careful even while drinking bottled water). That isn't to say you can't shower and wash your hands with it. You just don't want ameobas in your body.

My host family is really really great. This is their second time hosting, but by the way they act, they look like they have been hosting for quite some time now. They totally understand the issue of privacy, (which is something that Indians do not often give you it's natural to be more public and less private here-- private spaces increase speculation unless you are sleeping or doing something that requires the door to be closed) make incredible food (yes mother, I AM eating a lot here-- in fact, until I'm about 80% full which is something I don't do very often-- but I'm still somehow losing weight... I'll expound on my food experience in a later email, I'm quickly running out of time-- must eat lunch soon), and talk English extremely well (and thus teach me tamil on a day to day basis, which is freaking sweet). My host siblings are equally fantastic. The girl, who is 8 years old, is very vibrant, talkative, and really loves to be the center of attention (which often elicits frequent scoldings from my ammaa-- tamil for host mom). Oddly enough, she doesn't really like artistic things such as hair ties and coloring materials... so the gifts I originally got her are a little bit useless. She does love to sing, and often does so while simplifying fractions or writing my name in cursive English. My brother is very soft-spoken. He is 12 years old and is extremely mathematically driven, and enjoys talking with me about random random things from my life. He loves the backstreet boys (ironically, the first CD I ever bought was the backstreet boys first self-named album at the age of 12) and many mainstream rock groups such as linkin park and good charlotte (i haven't commented on these... because these are two of my least favorite bands...). Despite our differences in musical taste, he is extremely curious about life in the US. My appaa (father in Tamil) is the Madurai correspondent for the national newspaper in India (The Hindu), and works very long hours. I only see him before I leave for SITA each morning and on Saturdays (his off day). He is extremely interested in politics, and often discusses world politics and conflicts with me. He is extremely smart and knowledgeable, and really adds a different and often more educated and neutral perspective on many US issues (such as the recent election, which he believes will not be as monumental as everyone sees it as-- To him, it seems a longshot that Obama will be able to change much of the current political system to the way he wants to lead). My ammaa is an extremely vibrant and caring person (her daughter takes after her in these respects). We often talk about the differences between our two cultures which gives way to a discussion about the problems that we have with the two. She is an extremely understanding person, and really takes care of her kids very well. She doesn't have a day job, and stays at home taking care of the house when everyone else is gone (this is the standard woman's role in a Brahman--scholarly/priestly caste of Indian society-- household, and she does not mind the role, though wishes she was able to take classes and get out a bit more). She is equally as educated as my appaa, having graduated from Chennai (city about 4 hour train ride North of Madurai) University with a degree in Economics. As Kelsey knows well, she is an extremely good cook, and I often find myself extremely full by the end of dinner or breakfast.

I have to go grab some lunch right now, but I'll be sure to write again in the next couple of days. I have so much more to tell: what I do on a daily basis, where I've been so far, who I've met, what words I know how to say in Tamil, how I crashed into a rikshaw driver my first time coming to the SITA center on my cycle (no Emma and mom, I'm not hurt) and weird past coincidences (I figured out me and my Resident Director Trudy once met while I was last in India in 1996-- On top of that, she went on the same abroad program that my mom went on in Benaras... full story to come).

I miss you all quite a bit, and wish you were here to experience this with me. I feel strangely connected to India, as if I never truly left here in 1996, and sharing the experience with you guys directly is like sharing a piece of myself. Alas, it cannot be done; maybe next summer? (anyone? anyone? Sorry mom, I know you'd like to come back with me, but you already got me for 6 months). Write me back! I'd really like to know how you guys are doing!

Hopefully I didn't miss anyone on the contact list... if you realize someone should be here and isn't (unless the "group email list" isn't shown for some reason...) and is actually one of my good friends that for some reason I missed along the way-- don't hesitate to forward this to them.

Pooyete vaaren (pronounced pohyaetae vahhren-- literally means I will go and then come again-- otherwise a way to say "I'll see you later")

Love,

Hasan