Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
A Visit
Tuesday morning after class I went out to put some more minutes on our phone and to have my shoe stitched. I grabbed the shoe and kept a note card with the phone number in my purse, (I still don't have it memorized). I went to the shop down the street and took care of the phone and then went to the cobbler. The cobbler doesn't have a shop; he spreads out his tools and sits on the ground in the shade. He'd already stitched my shoes twice, so I knew to give him my shoe and wait for him to fix it.
As he was stitching my shoe another woman came and stood by the cobbler. She seemed very nice. She was probably around 30, pretty, well groomed, and well dressed. She wanted to take my picture, (which is pretty standard), and she showed me some of them she took. She wanted to talk to me, too, but I speak no Telugu worth mentioning, and she apparently spoke no English worth mentioning.
After the cobbler had finished with my shoe I started walking home, but as I turned onto the street she called out to me and pointed straight, as if I were going the wrong way. After some confusion and a lot of us repeating ourselves without either of us learning any more Telugu or English than we already knew, I realized that she wanted me to go somewhere with her. I figured she must live in our colony and want to take me to her home to give me a glass of water or something, and since she seemed very earnest about me coming and since I didn't have anything particular I was doing, I decided to humor her. She kept trying to communicate with me as we walked through the colony and then out across the road and down the street, seeming to be continually shocked and dismayed at my ignorance of Telugu. I did manage to understand that she wanted to know my telephone number, so I took the note card out of my purse to show her for her to copy or something. She immediately took it and put it in her saree, which I guess means I'll have to ask Jain our number again. We turned down a narrow lane into another colony.
This was her colony, and she took me to show me how close the beach is and also to show me to some of her friends there. They pointed out all the small children to me and seemed to expect me to pick them up or pinch their cheeks or something, but I mostly just waved. I didn't want to scare them to death, and I'm also never quite sure that that's what they were trying to get me to do. We ran into one guy who spoke pretty good English, and he translated one or two questions people wanted to ask me. After a few minutes, she motioned for me to follow her back.
A different guy fell into step with us as she took me back and told me that my friend, whose name I think is Ishri, was telling me that I should come and walk on the beach in the evenings. I think this guy also wanted my number, but Ishri was making motions to me to tell me that I was not to give it to him. I couldn't have, anyway, because it was in her saree. She dropped me home, and I went inside. The whole thing probably took less than twenty minutes.
India leaves me a little shell-shocked sometimes.
As he was stitching my shoe another woman came and stood by the cobbler. She seemed very nice. She was probably around 30, pretty, well groomed, and well dressed. She wanted to take my picture, (which is pretty standard), and she showed me some of them she took. She wanted to talk to me, too, but I speak no Telugu worth mentioning, and she apparently spoke no English worth mentioning.
After the cobbler had finished with my shoe I started walking home, but as I turned onto the street she called out to me and pointed straight, as if I were going the wrong way. After some confusion and a lot of us repeating ourselves without either of us learning any more Telugu or English than we already knew, I realized that she wanted me to go somewhere with her. I figured she must live in our colony and want to take me to her home to give me a glass of water or something, and since she seemed very earnest about me coming and since I didn't have anything particular I was doing, I decided to humor her. She kept trying to communicate with me as we walked through the colony and then out across the road and down the street, seeming to be continually shocked and dismayed at my ignorance of Telugu. I did manage to understand that she wanted to know my telephone number, so I took the note card out of my purse to show her for her to copy or something. She immediately took it and put it in her saree, which I guess means I'll have to ask Jain our number again. We turned down a narrow lane into another colony.
This was her colony, and she took me to show me how close the beach is and also to show me to some of her friends there. They pointed out all the small children to me and seemed to expect me to pick them up or pinch their cheeks or something, but I mostly just waved. I didn't want to scare them to death, and I'm also never quite sure that that's what they were trying to get me to do. We ran into one guy who spoke pretty good English, and he translated one or two questions people wanted to ask me. After a few minutes, she motioned for me to follow her back.
A different guy fell into step with us as she took me back and told me that my friend, whose name I think is Ishri, was telling me that I should come and walk on the beach in the evenings. I think this guy also wanted my number, but Ishri was making motions to me to tell me that I was not to give it to him. I couldn't have, anyway, because it was in her saree. She dropped me home, and I went inside. The whole thing probably took less than twenty minutes.
India leaves me a little shell-shocked sometimes.
Monday, September 20, 2010
A Day at the Office
Yesterday my translator Lakshmi took me out to get some interviews at a place I think was an office. Several kind of crazy things happened during this trip, but I'll just tell you about the ladies I met. I interviewed two of them, but they kept spicing up our interview by asking me their own questions. I didn't mind, and it was kind of interesting to hear what questions they asked. What does my father do? How many siblings do I have? Are they married? Did they have love marriages? None of them were arranged? What do my brothers do? Does the whole family work? What kind of relationships do I have with my family members? Am I married? Would I marry a Telugu boy? Were my earrings platinum or steel? Did I buy my outfit here in Vizag? Do I cook at home? What sorts of things do I cook? Could I show them how to make one of the sweets I make? Am I Christian or Hindu? Do I like henna?
Actually, I bought henna about a month ago but hadn't worn it yet. I had put it in my purse that morning in case I finished with my interview early and Karuna was at the program house when I got back so she could put it on for me. I pulled it out to show them, and one of them, Madhuri, decorated my hands. She said she would do it for my wedding, too.
Lakshmi was in a different room for most of that time talking to a friend, so the ladies discussed me in Telugu with each other and all the people who wandered through. They kept saying the English word "homely," which I assume they were saying I was. (That's a good thing in Indian English; it means innocent and home-like, not ugly.) I felt kind of like I was a little stray puppy that got adopted. Lakshmi told me as we were leaving that they were saying that they liked me so much.
They also wanted to know if I ever wore a saree, and Lakshmi told them I did and promised to bring me back on Saturday wearing one. They were very happy about that. They wanted to see me "as an Indian."
Actually, I bought henna about a month ago but hadn't worn it yet. I had put it in my purse that morning in case I finished with my interview early and Karuna was at the program house when I got back so she could put it on for me. I pulled it out to show them, and one of them, Madhuri, decorated my hands. She said she would do it for my wedding, too.
Lakshmi was in a different room for most of that time talking to a friend, so the ladies discussed me in Telugu with each other and all the people who wandered through. They kept saying the English word "homely," which I assume they were saying I was. (That's a good thing in Indian English; it means innocent and home-like, not ugly.) I felt kind of like I was a little stray puppy that got adopted. Lakshmi told me as we were leaving that they were saying that they liked me so much.
They also wanted to know if I ever wore a saree, and Lakshmi told them I did and promised to bring me back on Saturday wearing one. They were very happy about that. They wanted to see me "as an Indian."
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Saree
Sunday I wore my saree to church. I'd put it on kind of in a hurry because we had very little time to eat lunch before we had to go. I thought I did a pretty good job of it, especially for doing it so quickly. Durga poked her head in while we were gulping down our food and saw me in it. "Saree!" she said. I would have said "No problem," but fortunately my mouth was full, and by the time I swallowed I'd realized that that would have been a non sequitur.
Before Relief Society started Sister Dashri asked me who had helped me with my saree. "I did it myself," I proudly told her.
"You tried," she said consolingly. She and several other ladies told me that they'd help me with it after the meeting. I hope some of them were able to concentrate on the lesson in the meantime.
After the meeting was over they converged on me, pinned and unpinned, pulled, folded, and draped, and finally I was respectable looking.
As we were going home afterward, several of our neighbor ladies saw us and complimented the saree. Also when we went out later that evening, all the ladies smiled happily at me in my saree. I think that's my favorite thing about wearing one, how happy it seems to make all the Indian women. They seem to take it as a personal compliment. And I suppose it is.
On a side note, for those of you who have been eagerly waiting to know whether or not wearing a saree is a disadvantage when playing Nertz, (which I'm sure is most of you), I'm pleased announce that a saree does not interfere whatsoever with playing Nertz. I wish I could say the same about going up stairs, getting in and out of rickshaws, and walking, but I suppose you can't have everything in life.
Before Relief Society started Sister Dashri asked me who had helped me with my saree. "I did it myself," I proudly told her.
"You tried," she said consolingly. She and several other ladies told me that they'd help me with it after the meeting. I hope some of them were able to concentrate on the lesson in the meantime.
After the meeting was over they converged on me, pinned and unpinned, pulled, folded, and draped, and finally I was respectable looking.
As we were going home afterward, several of our neighbor ladies saw us and complimented the saree. Also when we went out later that evening, all the ladies smiled happily at me in my saree. I think that's my favorite thing about wearing one, how happy it seems to make all the Indian women. They seem to take it as a personal compliment. And I suppose it is.
On a side note, for those of you who have been eagerly waiting to know whether or not wearing a saree is a disadvantage when playing Nertz, (which I'm sure is most of you), I'm pleased announce that a saree does not interfere whatsoever with playing Nertz. I wish I could say the same about going up stairs, getting in and out of rickshaws, and walking, but I suppose you can't have everything in life.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Fashion Show
Yesterday we went to a youth festival at GITAM University. The stated purpose of the festival was a fashion show to pick Mr. and Miss GITAM. Yup, not just Miss, Mr. and Miss. I think the real point, though, was to have some cool dance performances.
This guy (in the next picture) was apparently some sort of abstract combination of bride and bridegroom. He was a very good dancer, although this particular dance was a bit weird. Indian college functions give me the impression that every Indian can dance. Really well. Actually, at least two of our translators are good dancers, too, come to think of it.
This was a modern/classical fusion dance that I thought was really good.
They had to sandwich the fashion show in between the dancing, because once the dancing parts were over people started to go away. Well, maybe it was to give the contestants time to change, too. The part in the middle of the dancing was the "retro" style fashion.
This is a video of one of the dances.
The part after the dancing was over was the "modern" fashion.
After all the contestants had strutted their stuff the last time, they all were lined up on the stage and asked deep questions like "What is your favorite holiday place?"
Then there was a short wait, during which half of the audience left, and Mr. and Miss GITAM were announced.
As we left I noticed that there were more rangoli here again. I like the peacock one especially.
This guy (in the next picture) was apparently some sort of abstract combination of bride and bridegroom. He was a very good dancer, although this particular dance was a bit weird. Indian college functions give me the impression that every Indian can dance. Really well. Actually, at least two of our translators are good dancers, too, come to think of it.
This was a modern/classical fusion dance that I thought was really good.
They had to sandwich the fashion show in between the dancing, because once the dancing parts were over people started to go away. Well, maybe it was to give the contestants time to change, too. The part in the middle of the dancing was the "retro" style fashion.
This is a video of one of the dances.
The part after the dancing was over was the "modern" fashion.
After all the contestants had strutted their stuff the last time, they all were lined up on the stage and asked deep questions like "What is your favorite holiday place?"
Then there was a short wait, during which half of the audience left, and Mr. and Miss GITAM were announced.
As we left I noticed that there were more rangoli here again. I like the peacock one especially.
Bheemili
Monday we went on a trip to Bheemili. The first thing that we went to see was the 2000-year-old ruins of a Buddhist monastery.
I thought the ruins were kind of boring until we went behind the ruined buildings over the rise in the hill. Now I know what those Buddhist monks were doing when they were up here pretending to reach nirvana.
Swimming!
Yup, three ancient Buddhist swimming pools were hidden behind the normal boring ruins.
Why Buddhist monks would spend their free time carving more swimming pools out of the giant rock behind their cells, I don't know.
Somebody obviously liked to swim in private, so he made his own.
After we'd finished with the monastery, we went to see a Dutch cemetery. The gate was unexpectedly locked, so we sat around for a while waiting for the key. Becky and I were sitting on a bench overlooking the beach when a cow wandered by and took a liking to me. He looked at me, decided I was okay, and began to rub his head against me over and over. Um, thanks, Cow. Incidentally, I'd heard vaguely about cows wandering around the streets in India before I came, and I seem to have always heard that in connection with Indians worshiping cows; i.e. they don't kill them so they just wander around freely. That's not exactly the way it goes. All of the cows and buffaloes are owned by someone, they're just let out to pasture in the city. They go home when they need to be milked. K.P. told me that a cow can earn a poor family enough to survive on. Anyway, back to the cow with me, that was about the time Krishnayya decided to give up and just look over the fence at the cemetery, so we did.
We actually went in later that day and got to see it. Many of the graves are nearly three hundred years old, and some are within the past few years. One of them is open and empty.
After that we went to a Hindu temple. At least we all went up the hundreds of stairs to get there, but I don't think many of us actually went in. We all went past it on the stairs that go up beyond the temple and end on a look out point. There was a pretty good view up there.
There was also a crazy ancient staircase not attached to anything at the bottom and not leading to anything at the top.
Some of us climbed it.
Not me, though. I stuck with the safe stairs. Aren't you proud of me, Mom?
I thought the ruins were kind of boring until we went behind the ruined buildings over the rise in the hill. Now I know what those Buddhist monks were doing when they were up here pretending to reach nirvana.
Swimming!
Yup, three ancient Buddhist swimming pools were hidden behind the normal boring ruins.
Why Buddhist monks would spend their free time carving more swimming pools out of the giant rock behind their cells, I don't know.
Somebody obviously liked to swim in private, so he made his own.
After we'd finished with the monastery, we went to see a Dutch cemetery. The gate was unexpectedly locked, so we sat around for a while waiting for the key. Becky and I were sitting on a bench overlooking the beach when a cow wandered by and took a liking to me. He looked at me, decided I was okay, and began to rub his head against me over and over. Um, thanks, Cow. Incidentally, I'd heard vaguely about cows wandering around the streets in India before I came, and I seem to have always heard that in connection with Indians worshiping cows; i.e. they don't kill them so they just wander around freely. That's not exactly the way it goes. All of the cows and buffaloes are owned by someone, they're just let out to pasture in the city. They go home when they need to be milked. K.P. told me that a cow can earn a poor family enough to survive on. Anyway, back to the cow with me, that was about the time Krishnayya decided to give up and just look over the fence at the cemetery, so we did.
We actually went in later that day and got to see it. Many of the graves are nearly three hundred years old, and some are within the past few years. One of them is open and empty.
After that we went to a Hindu temple. At least we all went up the hundreds of stairs to get there, but I don't think many of us actually went in. We all went past it on the stairs that go up beyond the temple and end on a look out point. There was a pretty good view up there.
There was also a crazy ancient staircase not attached to anything at the bottom and not leading to anything at the top.
Some of us climbed it.
Not me, though. I stuck with the safe stairs. Aren't you proud of me, Mom?
Our New House
We moved. Our old apartment was on the third floor of a building, up a narrow staircase. I mentioned that Bacchi, Sudha's husband, is the warden of GITAM, didn't I? That is a residential job, and I guess it has a year-long term. The apartment where we had been living is their house, which they're just not in right now because of that job. For some reason Dr. Nuckolls didn't like students to stay there, so when he saw the prettiest house on the street for rent a few weeks ago, he immediately called, rented it, and decided to move all of us who had been living in Sudha and Bacchi's place into the green house.
Apparently it is owned by one of the supreme court justices of India. It's pretty nice. This is the ground between the porch and the door.
I like the front door.
We call this the Aslan knocker.
This is our bay window in the living room. And Becky.
This is the living room looking down from the indoor balcony. That sheet is functioning as a curtain for the bay window.
This is the staircase up to the balcony and the rooms upstairs. The staircase is probably my favorite thing in the house. I just like it.
This is the chandelier.
This is the gigantic kitchen that we don't use at all. There's also a dining room we don't use.
This is my room.
This is another view of my room. Yup, I have a window that looks down onto the living room. My doorway doesn't have a door, either.
But I actually have two rooms, kind of. I'm in the one I'm in because I like the fan better. It's kind of an antechamber to the other room, which has my bathroom in it.
We each have our own bathrooms. Except, the water doesn't often seem to work in Becky's and mine, so we use the bathroom in the spare bedroom more often than not, especially for showering. If Megan decides to move in there she might just have to deal with that.
I was kind of ambivalent about moving here, because I don't like the hassle of moving and because we had to leave the TV in the other apartment. I was rather annoyed, too, when the second night we were there I was laying sleepless on my bed and something fluttered across my hand. Or rather, crawled. I got up and turned on the light to see a two-inch cockroach right next to my bed. Yuck! I'm a wimp, so I don't kill cockroaches; I jump on furniture and scream until someone else kills them for me. Usually Becky. Unfortunately, it was the middle of the night, so my choices were stand and keep an eye on it all night (painful), kill it myself (no way!), or wake up Becky. She wasn't super excited about being roused at 3:30 AM to kill a huge cockroach, but she did it. She's pretty awesome like that. (This experience is the other reason why my bed is in the room it's in. This happened in the inside room.) Whatever, though. We hadn't really had cockroaches in the other apartment, but a day or two after that I saw one there, too, so I guess it wouldn't be much better in that regard. And now that I've had time to settle in, I like this house. It's comfortable, and it feels more like home somehow.
Apparently it is owned by one of the supreme court justices of India. It's pretty nice. This is the ground between the porch and the door.
I like the front door.
We call this the Aslan knocker.
This is our bay window in the living room. And Becky.
This is the living room looking down from the indoor balcony. That sheet is functioning as a curtain for the bay window.
This is the staircase up to the balcony and the rooms upstairs. The staircase is probably my favorite thing in the house. I just like it.
This is the chandelier.
This is the gigantic kitchen that we don't use at all. There's also a dining room we don't use.
This is my room.
This is another view of my room. Yup, I have a window that looks down onto the living room. My doorway doesn't have a door, either.
But I actually have two rooms, kind of. I'm in the one I'm in because I like the fan better. It's kind of an antechamber to the other room, which has my bathroom in it.
We each have our own bathrooms. Except, the water doesn't often seem to work in Becky's and mine, so we use the bathroom in the spare bedroom more often than not, especially for showering. If Megan decides to move in there she might just have to deal with that.
I was kind of ambivalent about moving here, because I don't like the hassle of moving and because we had to leave the TV in the other apartment. I was rather annoyed, too, when the second night we were there I was laying sleepless on my bed and something fluttered across my hand. Or rather, crawled. I got up and turned on the light to see a two-inch cockroach right next to my bed. Yuck! I'm a wimp, so I don't kill cockroaches; I jump on furniture and scream until someone else kills them for me. Usually Becky. Unfortunately, it was the middle of the night, so my choices were stand and keep an eye on it all night (painful), kill it myself (no way!), or wake up Becky. She wasn't super excited about being roused at 3:30 AM to kill a huge cockroach, but she did it. She's pretty awesome like that. (This experience is the other reason why my bed is in the room it's in. This happened in the inside room.) Whatever, though. We hadn't really had cockroaches in the other apartment, but a day or two after that I saw one there, too, so I guess it wouldn't be much better in that regard. And now that I've had time to settle in, I like this house. It's comfortable, and it feels more like home somehow.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Blessed
The day before yesterday I was sitting with Sudha and she was telling me about Brahmanandam, the top comedian in Telugu cinema. He was a Telugu teacher before he entered films, a good one. Sudha knows one of his former students. He now earns 2 lakhs per day, which is equivalent to about $4,000. I told Sudha, "I'd like to get $4,000 a day someday," mostly to show that I appreciated that that was a lot of money.
"You will. You definitely will; I've blessed you for it," Sudha said.
What do you say to that? Thank you very much, I guess.
"You will. You definitely will; I've blessed you for it," Sudha said.
What do you say to that? Thank you very much, I guess.
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