I thought I would post a small note to let you all know that I'm still alive... Right now I'm in Jodhpur which is a very cool city in Rajasthan, in Northwest India. I'm traveling with a very compatible and fun group of six (Brenda, Maya, Julia, Nick, Jamie, me). We spent two fun-filled days in Delhi, then arrived here yesterday after a really miserable over-night bus. Tomorrow we're off to Jaipur, then if all goes according to plan, Agra, possibly Khajuraho, and Varanasi. It feels like we've been traveling for weeks, but we've only just begun. When I get back to Hyderabad I'll put up a blog so chock-full of stories and pictures it'll knock your socks off.
Also, I heard Slumdog Millionaire really cleaned up at the Oscars. It's getting kind of an interesting response here. On one hand, Indians are thrilled to be getting so much global recognition, on the other hand there seems to be a lot of irritation at the fact that the huge majority of Western portrayals of India solely focus on poverty and corruption. I read a rather scathing review of the film in The Hindu. I thought it was great when I saw it, but perhaps I should try watching it again.
Tonight I'm heading North to Delhi, Agra, Varanasi, and Jaipur. A big group of us is taking a "leave of absence" from school for the next week to see what these places have to offer... We're going to some place called the Taj Mahal or something...have you heard of it? In any case, I may have a prolonged blog hiatus, but don't worry, I won't abandon you.
I am slowly but surely learning Hindi. Trying to pick up a totally foreign language is a good way to make yourself feel over-the-hill. Suddenly I realize just how far gone my capacity for language is. Pity. I'm beyond the point in psychological development where I can even distinguish between different sounds if they aren't familiar. In addition to being a depressing reminder of my old age, Hindi classes have been a real lesson in humility. Since the script is completely different I have to sound out each word like a kindergartner every time I'm asked to read aloud. "M..ai Vi-d-yaaar...tee-ni hoo?" The sentence structure in Hindi is also completely foreign. Essentially, Hindi is Yoda-speak, where the verb is always in the wrong place. For example, to say "The pen is on the book," one would say "kitab pur kalam hai," which literally translates to "book on pen is."
Hindi and English are the two national languages in India, but that doesn't necessarily mean that everyone speaks them. There are well over 100 dialects that people speak as their first language and if they go to school they'll learn some Hindi as a second language. English is taught as a third language for most people, but those who speak it are generally more fluent in English than I am...which is another lesson in humility. In Hyderabad most people speak Telugu, so the shaky, ill-pronounced phrases of Hindi that I'm picking up will really only be helpful to me when I travel to places like Delhi or Mumbai. As a result of trying to communicate in Hyderabad, I think I'll return home to the USA speaking only in the present tense in one syllable words using lots of facial expressions and hand gestures.
If nothing else, I will leave my Hindi class with a new secret code to write in. I practiced writing in Hindi script by writing out the names of some of my blog readers in the picture above...or at least, I think I wrote your names...I'm still learning. Can you guess which one is yours?
The internet has gone away from our dorm. I saw this at first as a minor setback, but now that I've heard it will probably be over a month before we get internet access again I see it more as a big reminder never to take efficiency for granted ever again. To use the internet now I must carry my computer along for the 15-20 minute bike-ride to the library where the connection is kind of questionable...this means I probably can't Skype with anyone for a while...but you could call me at 0091.965.200.9368 if you would like. Just remember the 13.5 hour time difference.
There are a great many oddities that one encounters living here, but now that a month and a half has gone by I hardly notice anymore. The internet vanishing for a month seems quite routine, the freezing showers no longer phase me, nor does my daily near-death experience on my bike. There are a few little things that I've been waiting to share about daily life in Hyderabad so I thought I'd compile them into one post.
1. CHAI Chai, in Hindi, just means "tea," so the word can refer from anything from Earl Grey to Peppermint to Sleepy-time Chamomile. It usually goes without saying, however, that chai refers to masala chai, or "spice tea." This is similar to, but not the same as the "chai" that one would drink in the USA. Are you following? Masala chai, I gather, is about one part black tea, one part cardamom and other spices, three parts milk, and ten parts sugar. 2 Rupees (4 cents) will buy you a shot-glass sized portion of the Indian nectar of life. This seems small, but in an ounce of masala chai there is about three days worth of sugar, so it's still a good little jolt. To fit in in India, one must drink chai about eleven times a day. Luckily, like Starbucks in the USA, you are never out of walking distance from a chai wallah.
2. Garbage Cans Trash recepticles are few and far between in India. On the very rare occasion that you do come across a "Dust Bin," they are often cleverly disguised as a cuddly animal. I have seen garbage bears, garbage penguins, garbage monkeys, and garbage bunnies, but no garbage cans. The critters' cuteness is perhaps meant to be welcoming and encouraging to the idea of clean trash disposal, but don't be fooled--the menagerie of waste generally scolds you with a moralistic message about trash disposal like "Cleanliness is next to Godliness," or "Cleanliness is the symbol of civilization."
3. STD's Phone booths in India are called STD booths. This probably does not stand for Sexually Transmitted Disease, but that doesn't mean that I can't burst into giggles every time I see a public telephone.
4. Doors I have yet to see a single door in India with an actual latch. They all have bathroom stall style bolts on both sides of the door like this. This is not a problem unless you forget that someone is in the room that you've just exited and you bolt the door from the outside as you leave locking them inside until their knocks are heard. This has not necessarily happened to anyone I know...
5. Dogs Even more common than cows or monkeys are stray dogs. They're a constant part of the scenery. 50% are adorable and 50% are tragic and disgusting. Either way you probably shouldn't touch them if you don't want fleas or rabies. The best quote I have heard in India thusfar came from my history professor, who, in the middle of lecture the other day stopped, looked to the back of the room and said flatly, "There is a dog which is wishing to make an entry." We all turned around, and indeed a spotted, confused dog was standing in the doorway of the classroom wishing to make an entry. He was shooed away and class resumed.
6. Indian Music The sounds of Indian music are inescapable. Every bus, car, store, or passer-by is a source of sound. Music-player cell phones seem to be very popular and people walk around with them playing music from their pockets so that each person you pass is surrounded by an aura of Bollywood sounds. Catchy-sounding cell phones are in fact so important that even the cheap, barely-functional cell phones that our abroad program provided us with came built-in with Bollywood ringtones. CLICK HERE to experience the fine song that I answer to.
This morning I arrived, after an overnight train ride and a early-morning rickshaw jaunt, back to Hyderabad just in time to scarf down breakfast, shower, and arrive to my 9 AM class fifteen minutes late.
But I should start from the beginning.
A large group of my friends here expressed had expressed an interest in visiting Chennai and Pondicherry, two cities along the Southeast coast of India in the state of Tamil Nadu.This looks, on a map, to be very close to Hyderabad, but slow transportation, non-existent freeways, and the whole concept of “Indian Time” can really increase the distance between two given places.There are two options for traveling from Hyderabad to Chennai.One can either take a fourteen hour over-night train, or a one hour plane.Let me reiterate, FOURTEEN hours on the ground versus ONE hour in the air.Something here doesn’t add up.The forty dollar plane wins out in terms of efficiency, but the four dollar train wins for price.Amongst a group of cheap college students, the majority chose to skip a day of school to make the journey by train.My friends Tamar and Laurel and I opted for the more luxurious plane though.
None of us remembered much of the Hyderabad airport, having arrived there in the wee hours of the morning over a month ago following a brutal 24+ hour flight. We were, for this reason, quite surprised to see it again in all of its glory.The airport may well be the swankiest establishment in the city.Our eyes widened and our mouths watered as we saw an Italian gelateria, a REAL coffee shop, and a cocktail lounge amidst the massage parlor and jewelry store.Since we were already being really elitist we got cocktails.
The SpiceJet flight to Chennai was, in the tradition of Indian transportation, a little crowded and noisy, but otherwise quite a luxurious way to travel.The most shocking element of the journey was the flight attendants.With plenty of makeup, fitted blouses, and short skirts, these beautiful girls could have fit in with flight attendants from any other part of the world, but this was the first time since being in chastely-dressed India that any of us had even seen a set of exposed human knee-caps.
We touched down in Chennai and felt the change of climate immediately.Beach towns in southern India are very humid, evidently.We had picked a hotel called Broadlands somewhat randomly out of someone’s guidebook. The description spoke of “chipping plaster walls,” “courtyards,” and “a lot of character.” I knew this meant that it would either be awesome or disgusting.Luckily, it was fabulous.The white plaster walls were indeed chipping, and there was not a whole lot in the way of luxury, but the “character” really made up for it.There were bats hanging from the ceilings of the open-air hallways, the room had slatted shutters for doors, the building could only be navigated by a series of narrow winding stair-cases, and overall, it had the atmosphere of an Alfred Hitchcock movie.We loved it and I’m not even being sarcastic.
As the three of us were walking out of the hotel to find dinner we passed a group of other hotel guests and easily struck up a conversation.It’s hard not to love other travelers.Before we knew it we were sitting down to dinner in a great little restaurant with three British blokes (one of whom was celebrating a birthday) and a girl from Maine.The evening concluded with more socializing and drinking in the chipping plaster courtyard with lots of interesting characters back at the Broadlands.
The next morning we rose early and set out for a little exploration in Chennai. A long, sweaty walk led us to Chennai’s famous beach which was dirty and kind of gross, but somehow still really scenic.Chennai, as a whole is a much more aesthetically pleasing than Hyderabad is.
From Chennai we took an epic bus ride to Mamallapuram. The bus, we imagined would be air conditioned but it was not. It was not as luxurious as the plane. Once passengers had piled in three to a seat, more passengers squeezed into the aisles, and once the aisles were almost full of passengers a group of construction workers loaded down the remaining space with giant burlap sacks of what we can only assume were rocks. After 45 minutes we made it out of the bus terminal and after a draining few hours we made it to Mamallapuram. We found and devoured lunch immediately upon arrival. We also found the rest of our group who had traveled on the train.
I had heard of Mamallapuram from my Asian Art History Class sophomore year at Oxy. I knew it was a cool place and that I wanted to visit it, but all I could remember about it was that it was the last set of monuments that we learned about before our midterm. I remember trying to memorize how to spell "Mamallapuram," but could not remember any of the dates or people associated with it. Oh well. Nice old 7th(?) century elephant carvings...
Mamallapuram was quite interesting as a town because it is the first tourist-trap that I've been to in India. In Hyderabad we tend to get a lot of stares for being white, but in Mamallapuram we were surrounded by large tour groups of aging Americans, and many of the be-dreadlocked, be-birkenstocked spiritual tourist types that I assumed one would find in India. We also had trouble shaking off a group of three eager teenage boys from Yemen who wanted to follow us around all day having political discussions. They did provide some entertainment however. Upon the discovery that I study dance they immediately demanded that I do the moonwalk...what must they think of Americans?
Though Mamallapuram was a neat little town, it was not our final destination for the evening. Laurel, Tamar and I had had enough gross buses for the day so we had planned on taking the slightly more expensive Express bus to Pondicherry. Unfortunately, no such thing exists and we had to stand on a crowded, sweaty slow-as-possible bus for a good three hours. I kept falling over. Laurel, in an act of spontaneity had jumped into the ocean at Mamallapuram and got to stand around with wet hair all that time.
At least, we had a reservation at a really nice hotel waiting for us in Pondicherry...or we thought we did...We FINALLY arrived at the hotel, starving, sweaty, and willing to pay any amount of money for comfort, only to find out that the hotel clerk that we had spoken to on the phone less than an hour before had simply been lying when he said there were rooms available. We called every hotel phone number that we could find with no luck and eventually had to bribe our rickshaw driver to take us around to all of the hotels he could think of. We found one, but it was more expensive than we were hoping for. And though it was air-conditioned, it had neither bats nor character.
We went to the first restaurant we could find that was still open at 9:30 PM, and ordered huge meals. Unfortunately for the waitstaff at the restaurant we were really in no mood to be reckoned with when they told us that they were out of everything we wanted on the menu.
Pondicherry is an interesting and surreal place because it was once a French colony. The streets and buildings all look French, but in front of them you still have vendors selling pineapples or begging women in saris or lazy cows napping in the road. It's like what you might imagine a French town to be if it was built and inhabited by Indians... Like Mamallapuram, Pondicherry is filled with Western tourists. It was fun for us to get away from Hyderabad for a while and eat European food and pamper ourselves a little bit, but it seemed strange that Europeans on vacation would come all the way to India to visit a replica European town.
The day's adventures included a lot of wandering. We went to a used book store where I acquired a recipe book for Indian desserts so that one day I can cook gulab jamun for all of you. We also decided to get pedicures. This would have felt great were it not for the hundreds (literally) of bug bites that I had collected over the weekend all over my feet and legs.
The following day we had to begin our journey back to Hyderabad, but we opted to hire a car rather than take the four hour bus back to Chennai. From Chennai we took the overnight train...and now you know the whole story. It was a fantastic, cultureclashtastic weekend, and I'm sad to have to go to school again...now I've just remembered that I have a test tomorrow. Uh oh.
I'm off on another mini-adventure tomorrow. This time I'm going to Chennai and Pondicherry for the weekend. No blog for a few days, but stay tuned.
And a question: Did anyone catch the result of Phil's prediction on Groundhog day? Did he happen to say six more weeks of winter in India? I could use a cool-down.
In general, the American girls studying here have been taking the grunt of culture clash in a lot more ways than the American guys.Rules of dress, modesty and decorum which are lost on most 21 year-old American girls are suddenly the strict social norms that we need to comply with.A common point of frustration among the American girls that I have talked to is that it has been hard to interact with Indian students without coming off as too forward.For this reason, the guys in our group have had a slightly higher success rate at branching out and making Indian friends.
This brings me to my discussion on Indian male friendship.Indian man-love may be the biggest cultural difference that I have observed here.Male camaraderie holds a lot of significance and breaks all of the boundaries that Americans have about male affection or emotion.It is not at all uncommon to see two male friends walking hand-in-hand or with one arm around the other.My friend Jamie, a very sociable Middlebury student, has had the good fortune to befriend several of his Indian classmates whom, he admits, “are big hand-holders.”Jamie has also been lucky enough to receive friendship text-messages from his new friends.These, popular and un-ironic messages are usually puns or riddles expressing the value of a good friend.
Very jealous of the attention, a few girls and I tagged along with Jamie and two of his Indian friends to go see a Telugu movie last night.Abas and the other boy whose name escapes me were really enthusiastic about bringing us to this movie.“You’ve seen Hindi Bollywood movies, but you have to see a local Telugu film!” They kept saying.It’s true.We’ve been out as a group to see two great Bollywood movies, Ghajini, an action film starring the popular Aamir Khan and his six-pack abs, and Rab ne Bana di Jodi, a real musical extravaganza, but these are both creations of Mumbai, and we had yet to experience film from this region.(For reference “Bollywood” refers to Hindi-language films made mostly in Mumbai, here in Hyderabad, the major dialect is Telugu, not Hindi, so there is a different film culture.) Our wonderful hosts for the evening were especially excited about this particular film, which they described as a “black-buster superhit.”It was also especially unique because, as they kept emphasizing, “it has a female protagonist.”Arundhati, the cinematic masterpiece in question, is a gory horror film involving a ghost seeking revenge on a screaming girl. It's hard to say exactly what the plot was, due only in part to the fact that I don't speak Telugu. There were none of the fabulous music and dance numbers seen in Bollywood cinema, but Arundhati did feature a lot of "black magic," a human sacrifice by blow of coconuts, several impalings, and some really low-budget CGI.Telugu films, evidently don’t get quite as much funding as Bollywood films. The rowdy and excitable culture of the movie theater remained high though and the crowd's unbridled enthusiasm was in no way deterred by the quality of the film. If I'm going to continue going to the movies in India I'm going to have to work on my loud whistling skills.
Arundhati was certainly a memorable experience, but I personally felt the highlight of the evening was the true exposure to Indian culture that our hosts provided us with, namely, in the form of transportation.Here we thought we had mastered the art of rickshaw riding, but last night we learned how it is REALLY done.The seven of us waited by the street for a rickshaw to take us to the movie theater.Soon enough a rickshaw with two drivers pulled over—this is not uncommon and I have yet to figure out why, I think it’s really just a companionship thing, but many drivers seem to work in pairs.In any case, a rickshaw is just barely big enough to tightly fit three butts in back and maybe two in front if you have doubles-drivers so naturally; we assumed we would be taking at least two rickshaws.Not so apparently.True to local culture, we really stretched the limits of crowding capacity.Each of us exercising our contortion skills and stretching our concepts of personal space, we somehow managed to get FIVE people in the back of the vehicle and FOUR people (two passengers, two drivers) into the front.Let that be a record: NINE people in a rickshaw.
