LAST PHOTOS OF INDIA!!!

Hey everyone! Here's the links to the last few photo albums:

India 11--The City of Pearls and Such

India 12--Kelsey's Keralite Krossing

India 13--Salaam, Budgam

India 14--The Marble Jewel

India 15--Last Goodbyes

Thanks for following everyone!

Che chai? Take tea?

Next we flew from Kerala to Kashmir to stay with Insha’s family. Actually, we were only supposed to stay for a few days, and we ended up canceling our ticket back because we were having such a good time.

(L-R: neighbor girls Pakiza and sister with mom, Insha's mother Maryam, sister Saba, Insha, and brother Naveen)

I don’t even have words for Kashmir. It was by far the best trip I’ve made yet, and in excellent company. We stayed with his family in Budgam, making a couple trips to nearby Srinagar, the capital.

Srinagar endeared us with the Mughal Gardens, which are always fantastic all over India, but particularly in Kashmir where the climate lets them be. It was a comfortable 65˚ the whole time—I was actually cold! Fortunately, Kashmiris are used to this, and a huge part of their culture includes pherans and kangris. Pherans are long, baggy tunic-like overcoats that are made for you to pull your arms and legs inside of it (with beautiful embroidery, as to be expected). Kangris are the BEST MAN-MADE INVENTION EVER! It’s a little clay pot that you just fill with warm coals, but the basket woven around it is made so your hands fit perfectly over the top. I really wanted one, and Insha’s father Javaid helped me look for one. They didn’t actually believe that I wanted a real one, so they kept picking out decorative ones for me, until I explained that a poor student like me tends to live in drafty apartments.

Every morning we awoke to brewing tea and tsod, a flat bread (but not as flat as roti). We sat around for about an hour, sipping and munching on the floor with our backs propped up against pillows against the walls. It was a nice house, but they don’t have furniture. They have nice carpets laid out that sometimes look more like blankets than carpets, and every wall is lined with round and square pillows. We ate rice every day with various soups, which is typical all over India. The spicing is toned down in Kashmir, which my mother’s stomach appreciated. And I did too—it was nice to have a potato that still tasted like a potato. Haak was by far my favorite dish, a sort of salty baby spinach and potato broth. Mom got used to having tea every day—we both agree that America could use a tea/coffee time in the afternoon.

Ultimately, my favorite part of Kashmir was spending time in a community that, frankly, was much like home. The only differences were that they have more mountains and they’re primarily Muslim. Like any religion, there are those more devout than others. Insha’s family is definitely practicing, and certainly devout, but not to the point of being impractical. Impracticality in any religion is something I just can’t stand. That being said, Mom and Insha’s father Javaid had so many discussions about the similarities of Christianity and Islam; our goals for treating everyone generously and contributing to a community are identical. We believe in the same God, we just heard about him through different people. I’m currently reading “Three Cups of Tea,” and although it’s in northern Pakistan, it’s a people not unlike Kashmiris. It makes me miss them so much. Their generosity is beyond any I’ve ever experienced. Mom said she’s never felt so at home with a family that wasn’t her own. Insha’s sister, Saba, just got engaged, so we’ll definitely be back for her wedding a few years from now, insha’allah.

Rub-a-dub-dub

 
Kerala is the state on the southern tip of India, running along the Arabian Sea. It’s the home of Kathakali and backwaters and fantastic butter chicken masala!

This was the next stop on our journey. The plan was to do things in the morning and relax in the afternoon, since it would be very hot and humid. Fortunately, it never got above 85˚ in Kerala, which is a nice change from the arid Deccan Plateau Hyderabad is in, and the humidity was not unlike Iowa in August. Unfortunately, our three days there were crunched down to only two as the country went on strike after a chairman was accused of rigging bets during the national cricket playoffs.

So the first day we walked around, saw the huge Chinese fishing nets Kerala is known for, and visited the few shops that remained open for tourists. It was funny visiting one shop claiming Kashmiri antiques—Insha went with us, and he’s from Kashmir. He took one look in the window and started laughing. He said tourists must get ripped off here all the time, that he could find these things down the street from his home in any store. Either way, it was nice to just take it easy the first day. Mom finally got to relax!

The next day we got up early to tour around the Kerala backwaters, which were beautiful, but I have to admit a little less enchanting than the brochures illustrate. Foliage played along the side of the boat as our boatman pushed us through the shallow waters with a huge bamboo stick. We stopped for lunch, and mom happily ate with her fingers! We didn’t even notice until half-way through the meal!

We got back much later than we thought, and made a rushed stop at a tailor for Mom to pick out some really nice Punjabis—actually, she picked one ready-made that I hoped wouldn’t fit her so I could snag it! But it fit, and it the teal/orange/purple/black fabric looks fantastic with her silver hair.

That night we went to a Kathakali performance, which would have made my theatre history professor Jay Chipman positively giddy. I studied this dance-drama in one of his classes, but I didn’t know anything about the actual method of performance. We watched them put on make-up, which was intricate and fascinating. The performance—which traditionally lasts 6 hours—was broken into just a few scenes, and interspersed with Kerala traditional dance in beautiful white and gold saris, and traditional martial arts. I had heard it was terribly boring, but I was so entertained! It was like watching people act like cartoons, but not in the stupid antics of commedia dell’arte. I loved it!

The next morning we got up even earlier for the elephant sanctuary. We got to help bathe a family of elephants before heading to the airport. The three babies and Daddy were in the front for photos, and Mommy was a bit further out in the river. I waded into the water just to get a different photo of the babies, but then the two guys washing the mother beckoned me all the way out in the water! I gave my camera to mom, folded up my pants, and tip-toed over the bigger rocks that kept me knee-deep in what otherwise was 5-8 feet deep. Eventually Insha and Mom came out and joined me…with a little coaxing. At one point, Insha (who was holding my camera!) disappeared under the water! I looked over to see one hand holding up my little silver Canon!

She's baaaack...

  Momma arrived in Hyderabad on Saturday the 24^th, much to the dismay of the airline gods.

I swear, there was someone powerful trying to keep her from arriving! It had nothing to do with the volcanic eruption, because she was flying from Chicago to Abu Dhabi. However, I think maybe some of the backlog from these flights effected all of the major international airports in this part of the world. She was supposed to arrive at 4am, but was delayed for 8 hours in Chicago (she probably wished she could have stayed in Grinnell a few more hours), then was delayed in both Abu Dhabi and Mumbai because neither airport knew that the connecting flight was delayed. So she was cow-herded with about thirty others. She says she made lots of friends, and if any of you know her, this comes as no surprise.

So she finally arrived at 8pm on Saturday, and Insha and I had been waiting at the airport for a few hours. We got her a room in my hostel (pulled a few strings and payed only Rs. 500/-).

Unfortunately, she didn’t get much rest, because we planned on resting all day Saturday, and shopping for some Punjabi sets on Sunday. But because of the delays, we only had Sunday to rest and shop…so she was a tired girl.

She was so funny—her first meal was just some lo mein, which she loved very much (the student canteen has the best lo mein I’ve ever had in my life). But the next day, after shopping, we grabbed some rice and dal for us. It is a really basic dish. It’s considered the soul food of India, and it’s by far my favorite thing I’ve had here. But Momma thought it was too spicy, and she wasn’t quite ready to eat with her hands. She gave Insha such a funny look when he asked her if she wanted to learn how—“Yea…right.”

She is really having to quickly adjust. I didn’t realize how much I’d gotten used to until she pointed so many things out. Things like “No one says please around here,” or “There’s so much trash and dirt—where does it go? Or does it go anywhere?” or “You were right, make-up is worthless in this heat.”  She is also convinced that traffic is a perpetual game of chicken, which isn’t too far from the truth.

Make-up received a good chuckle, but as for please and the dirt/trash issue, I had to do some explaining.

Please is an implied notion in many languages here. There is actually no word for “please” in Hindi. There are requests (+iye) and demands (+o), and so please is sort of implied. So the difference between “Will you please come?” and “Let’s go” is “Aaiye” and “Aao.”

Trash…is something that I’ve overlooked, but by no means have I gotten used to it. It reeks when it’s burned, and it’s everywhere. And in the heat it’s worse. And I couldn’t really explain it to her. All I can say is that plastics were popularized in this country only 30 or so years ago. Before that, everything was wrapped in a banana leaf or poured into a dried clay cup, so your leftovers could just be tossed out the window. And that habit was a hard one to break. There are few trash cans, and the ones that are available fill up quickly.

Dirt—the whole damn city is under construction. They build everything out of iron rods and pack cement around it, leaving leftovers in the front of the building. It will get used soon, or just moved around. But clipped front lawns and pretty exteriors aren’t really an important part of this culture, compared to America. There’s a learned notion of “putting on your Sunday best” that is very appealing about America to Americans. But as my mother soon learned, the priorities that are placed in front of front lawns are things like family tea time had on the floor with cushions.

Off to Kerala next!

96° in the Shade

So...remember a few posts ago when I talked about my Women's Studies professor?

Today is April 15! Time to give both of my power point presentations and turn in my 10-page paper! Guess who didn't show up to our final! Oh yea. My professor. So the girls and I went to the Women's Studies office and they said, "Oh...yea...we've been waiting for her...She's been back in India since Tuesday. She just didn't show up today. I don't think she has any classes."

Yea, except ours.

I reiterate: India, you crazy.

But that's ok--I went back to my hostel to take a nap in the AIR CONDITIONING!!! It's 99°F today. It's cooled off since yesterday--a whopping 113°F.

Mom has booked her tickets to come visit me. We were going to do a desert safari on camels out in Jaisalmer. In the Thar Desert. Along the Pakistan border. At least that was until my friend said, "Well, you can do it, assuming you can handle 55°C."

55°C is 131°F.

PS--We friend an egg on the sidewalk yesterday. I wish I was joking.

If you're Hampi and you know it...

Took a trip to UNESCO World Heritage site Hampi in Karnataka a couple weekends ago. Hampi is a gathering of ruins from the Vijayanagara empire WAY back in 1 CE. It's really cool because even though it's a little tourist-y, it's the really chill tourists that are there to admire the history of the ruins. So I didn't mind them.

Traveled with a couple girls I wanted to get to know a little better, Ashley Sherrill from Michigan and Kristin Mowery from Washington. Ashley is a psychology major with a black sass that I can't get enough of. Kristin knows everything about every comedian ever on television. We stayed at Suda Guest House, which was really cute. It had a little restaurant on top, recommended by Lonely Planet, which we hold so dear.

Anyway, here's the photos! Enjoy.

India 10--If you're Hampi and you know it...

TRIPLE LETTER SCORE!

News so much better than scrabble:

1. Went to a Thai dance performance, which was amazing. Was surprised when my friends that joined me ended up with extra tickets to go see an incredibly talented French R&B/Reggae band organized by Alliance Francaise, a local concert sponsor/organizer folk.

I wasn't looking particularly attractive in my baggy cotton pants and glasses, but I had a corny "saw you from across the dance floor" moment and ended up making friends with this French guy named Olivier who is doing his internship with Alliance Francaise. He said my French, although limited, sounded perfect, which if you know any French folk, this is a big compliment. I'm pretty sure it was the awful cranberry-and-vodka I had. (They make it with cranberry flavored syrup here--blek!) Anyway, made a friend, made a connection for future internship plans. And I practiced my French!

2. I WAS ACCEPTED INTO THE SUMMER AT THE GLOBE ACTING SHAKESPEARE WORKSHOP!!!!! I can't stop thinking about it. India first, then London. GAH. One step at a time. As my friend Jim Goble said, "You can't be in both places at one. It didn't work for the British, and it won't work for you." Haha!

England is my future home. I know it. I've known it since I set foot off the plane my first time abroad in 2006 with Iowa Ambassadors of Music. I felt it. I'm planning on going to grad school somewhere in England. This summer I'll be saying hello to the rest of my life.

3. Jack and Mike have offered a directing position to me for the upcoming season...on the mainstage! My first reaction was, "Wait, that's usually reserved for juniors and seniors" forgetting that I was obviously going to be a senior next fall (scary).

They want a show that will allow for upperclassmen role models and freshmen opportunities. They've opted for "The Odd Couple" male and female versions in repertory, directed by John Gleason Teske and myself, respectively. I told them we should document it and call it "The Odd Couple--Director's Version."

GAH! My life rocks.

Study much in India?

As I've mentioned before, I'm doing research for my Women's Studies course on women in Indian film. I've narrowed my research to female directors who are heading a realist movement in film. Screenplay writers and directors like Deepa Mehta (Water, Fire, Earth) and Mira Nair (The Namesake, Monsoon Wedding) are really heading this movement, and I love that it's two women who are not only refurbishing leftovers from the melodramatic Golden Age, but are actually focusing on excellently political stories. Hopefully this will move away from the star-obsessions and move toward director-oriented art-obsessions. I could care less about star following--I like directors.

Anyway, I'd like the research coming from the professors end to maybe amp it up a bit.

With the exception of two days where we simply discussed Indian women or Indian traditions, every day in my Women's Studies class has been lecture based. She's an activist, but I don't feel like I've met the activist. And it's common to write way too much on powerpoint slides here, so the lecturer is just reading from their presentation. I can tell every powerpoint lecture is regurgitated, somewhat plagiarized information.

We recently had an anatomy and physiology section in yoga with Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Lakshmi who talked about the heart's left and right auricle (not atrium), and how human beings are naturally vegetarians (eating meat is evidence of human corruption).

But it's my beloved English professor Mohan Ramanan, epitomizes how Indians can say something most assuredly with the least amount of evidence. He was lecturing on idol worship in Hinduism, and how it wasn't much different than Jesus on the Cross or the Virgin Mary statues. I can definitely agree with this--even though we don't offer sacrifices to them anymore, some certainly used to. And anyone--Christian or Hindu--would agree that it's not about the statue, it's about the being that it represents or the feeling that it conjures. But then Prof. Ramanan explained thoroughly that the cross symbolizes the ego being cut in half. It looks like an "I" with a line through it. I didn't want to argue that Jesus and his executioners spoke Hebrew, not English. It was also right after I'd given my presentation on Swami Vivekananda and argued that even though he instilled a collective nationalism in Hindus (for better or for worse), his rhetoric was contradictory and horribly biased toward upper-caste Hindu nationalism. Kind of like Ramanan.

Also (this makes me laugh), in my Women's Studies course we're required to do two powerpoint presentations and a research paper. The first powerpoint was due over two weeks ago, but because of a bandh, class cancellation, and my professor wanting to lecture, we never got around to it. On March 18, because some girls were travelling, only two of the six of us were there. My thumb drive wouldn't read onto the system of the very old computer, so the other girl was the only one to go.

Our professor told us she felt like lecturing on globalization the next Tuesday, which would be our last class until April 15 and 20 because she's leaving the country. We can turn everything in then. Another friend of mine in the class, Melissa, tole me she stayed up all night two weeks ago finishing it. But! No T/Th 11-1 class for almost a month!

You crazy, India.

Girl power?

For any woman wanting to travel to India who has not hit menopause yet, I would like to inform you that tampons are practically non-existent here.

I found one box of O.B.'s in the farthest corner of a general store all the way on the other side of Hyderabad.

But with all the emphasis on chastity here, I wouldn't be surprised if they still thought that tampons steal a woman's virginity.

Copy and Paste

I was asked to plagiarize this week by a good friend of mine who is a student here.

Hodeis (pronounced ho-DAEES) from Persia was sent an 11-page paper from her brother, and I got a phone call asking if I could help with the English, rearranging things so it would still make sense. "English isn't our first language, and I know it is yours--could you help me?" Of course I could, and I assured that it would only take a couple of hours. Assuming the work I'd be doing was grammatical editing.

But when I got back--the night I got back from Goa, already exhausted--she showed me the 11-page single spaced research paper on molecular biology. I was already intimidated because I know absolutely nothing about molecular biology aside from the bare basics I've learned in school.

Hodeis kept talking about copy and paste, copy and paste. I realized the entire 11 pages had been plagiarized, and I asked her about it. "No, not plagiarized, just copied and pasted." I had to explain to her that this would get me expelled from my home university. "But you're not at your home university, you're here." I told her that I could help her (as I promised I'd do) if she could write the paper (or, who would think, send it back to her brother and have him do it!), and no matter how bad the English was, I could help.

She was pretty upset.

Our friend Miriam from Iraq was hanging out in the room with us, and sometimes Hodeis would speak to her (Persian, Arabic, I couldn't tell) and Miriam would translate. What really upset me was that she would say a lot to Miriam, they would have a short dialogue, and I would get one sentence of translation. I don't imagine Hodeis wanted to have me over for a slumber party.

What troubled me even more though was when I talked to my friend Ali about it, and he said it happens all the time. He's finishing his PhD, and just a few days before he gave his final presentation on his three years of work, one of his friends asked him if he could put his name on the paper as well. "I need it for my degree, and I don't have it done." He said it as blatantly as that! Ali wouldn't do it, and later that day the same guy went to our other friend Ahmed and asked him the same thing! And he got upset when Ahmed said no!

Plagiarism happens all the time in undergrad studies in the U.S., but not entire papers. I don't think anyone is that stupid. Heck, I've skirted plagiarism here and there, but only when someone else can say what I want to say better than I can say it. And never for a huge project. But it's happening here and the PhD level. I'm still so appalled by it! This is supposed to be one of the best schools in India, and it's ranked the best school for physical sciences. I just don't get it!

The Adventures

The weather continues to get hotter and hotter. It's not even summer yet. My Indian friends told me that in a month no one will go outside. I've switched to wearing mostly Indian clothes, because they're all cotton and very comfortable (not to mention beautiful). But anything with polyester in my closet is getting packed right now.

Among various adventures into the city, I made a trip to a sari shop with some friends. We made it clear we were not interested in buying anything--most of them were hand-embroidered and terribly expensive (Rs 5000+, or over $100). But after a while, I had to try one on. :)

Other adventures have taken me to the football field with our SIP Women's Team. I didn't play (nobody wants to see that) but I was official photographer! They thought they were just playing for fun, but it turned out it was a tournament, and we ended up winning the whole thing!

There was one incident at the game though. A guy got on the loudspeaker during the game and spoke sort of angrily in Hindi. My Hindi is horrendous, so I obviously couldn't understand a thing. But my friends who did were shocked. "I can't believe he's saying that--someone get rid of him!" Turned out, the student on the mic was saying things like, "What do these Americans think they're doing in India--they're messing up our campus and our tournament. It's not their place, they should leave." His brief speech was peppered periodically with some derogatory term in Hindi for white people. One of my friends politely but sternly went up to him to say he was going to report him to the superiors, which shut him up really quickly. I think I was most startled, though, by the fact that the crowd didn't pay much attention, or simply didn't care. For better or for worse, I don't really know.

Anyway, on a much happier note, I've made a weekend adventure to the Golconda Fort with Zamir and Ali, only a motorcycle ride away from Hyderabad. It was massive, and actually really beautiful. It was more than stone, it had a lot of character. My Kashmiri friend Zamir played tour guide, which I'd bet was more informative than an actual guide.

Other than that, a few weekends past I went to Pondicherry, the old French colony in Tamil Nadu. I learned Friday was a holiday, searched around that morning for anyone wanting to travel, and booked tickets for Ali and I that evening! It was definitely a colony--you could feel it. And I got to speak French there! Many auto-rickshaw drivers knew their French numbers better than their English numbers (or at least I understood them better), which made bargaining easier. I think it's also very funny that Tamil-speakers know Hindi, but refuse to speak it. Perhaps a little French-influenced linguistic pride?

While there we visited Auroville, an experimental, self-sustaining community where all the hippies go to visit. It was a really great idea--in theory. I think what it left me with was that it was turned into a tourist attraction for the sake of funding since its conception in 1968. Because of this, it hasn't gotten very far according to its model. And after awhile, it seemed very exclusive, which I thought was quite contradictory to its all-inclusive, spiritually non-affiliated foundation. Our bus took too long in traffic to Chennai to catch our bus, and we watched it pull out of the station. So, Ali and I checked out the Theosophical Society in Chennai. There was a huge element of spiritualism there. This is trait perhaps sparked by Hinduism (otherwise, why would foreigners be setting up spiritual shop in India?). But Hindu nationalism overshadows a lot of this, and frankly, drives me crazy. Nevermind the Muslims, Christians, Sikhs, and Jains that live here. I think the most attractive thing for me about both Auroville and the Society is the idea of spiritualism, and not religion.

Goa was my last trip. The paradise beach known as Palolem, where all the chill Europeans go. I made lots of friends, got a nice tan, and celebrated Holi--the festival of colors! It was also my first time in the ocean. Salt water and sea food have convinced me I was born in the wrong part of the US. Words will not do this justice. So check out my photos!

These are the links to my last few albums. Enjoy!
India 5--Buffalo Lake, BBQs, and Football, oh my!
India 6--Further Explorations 
India 7--Golconda Fort
India 8--Pondicherry
India 9--Goa Goers and Holi Throwers

I really hope that people read this and check out my photos. I know I don't post very often. But I feel I can capture things better in photos. And thanks to all for even simple comments on my albums and blogs--simple things to keep in touch! And please let me know if there are problems accessing them.

Sometimes I feel like I'm missing so much at home. Then someone fills me in on the drama and I'm glad I'm half-way around the world. :)

When your tongue feels like leather...

Food has been a central part of my life here in Bharat. You don't realize how central food is to your culture until it's nearly impossible to find what you're familiar with. Don't get me wrong--the food here is fantastic.  Outrageously spicy, but fantastic. When I learned I was going to the spiciest part of India, I had no idea what I was in for.

But our food is our comfort. I suffered from a small bout of dehydration and all I could stomach was fruit and toast. The smell of pepper, curry, anything made me queasy.

Fortunately, when I got well, I had outlets of friends that also get homesick for their home cooking. All my Arab friends tend to crave beef BBQ nights. They'll skewer potatoes, tomatoes, onions, everything marinated. But their potatoes are not covered in pepper and curry, and they still taste like potatoes. A very warm welcome.

I've also discovered The Chocolate Room. This is a restaurant with a 14-page menu, and only two pages of these list actual dinner food. The other 12 contain mochas, sundaes, chocolate pancake dinners...you name it, it's there. Their hot pudding is nothing to be underestimated. Nor is their Triple Chunky Choco Sundae. I'm going to be triple chunky choco Kelsey if I don't watch it.

Food has even permeated through the walls of my classroom! What is the logical thing to do when your Hindi students have missed three hours of class? Have an Indian cooking class, of course! I learned how to make aloo masala with mint chutney and gulab jamun. Aloo masala is like a spiced potato latke with carrots and green chilies, mint chutney is cilantro (coriander) and mint mixed with green chilies and curd (plain yogurt), and gulab jamun is a sweet that is a type of bread that gets fried and then soaked in honey water. We added cashews and dates to ours. And our professor brought along her baby girl, who is quite possibly the most adorable creature on the planet.

Travelling, I've tried coconut and onion uttapam, mango lassi (GAH! Mango anything is amazing!), various attempts at western food, especially in Pondicherry. But my favorite favorite favorite was spicy Goan sausage in Goa. It was like chunks of pork spiced with who-knows-what and cooked with tomatoes and green chilies. And I still can't get over all the fresh juice here.

For a birthday, we went to Hard Rock Cafe, Hyderabad. That hickory smoked bacon cheeseburger was the best I've had in my life. I keep craving lasagna and home-made garlic cheese bread. And mashed potatoes. And milk. Oh my goodness, I miss milk.

Ajantha/Ellora

Hey all, I took a trip in mid-January to Ajantha and Ellora to see some really cool cave temples.

Ajantha dates back to 2 BC, and Ellora was built between 6-8 AD. Ajantha is two kinds of Buddhist prayer rooms (chaitya grihas) and monestaries (vihanas) from the Hinayana and Mahayana periods, and Ellora is three groups of Jain, Hindu, and Buddhist temples.

Here's the link:
India 4--Cave Temple Adventure

I promise I go to class. Sometimes.

You don't realize how much you secretly pick your nose until you get your nose pierced. For anyone wondering, it hurts no more than getting your ears pierced. The worst part was only that it was pierced with a piercing earring, which meant the sharp end was inside my nose. Inside. my. nose. Fortunately it's easy to clean, because I'm not wearing a lot of make-up anymore.

I was pretty stoked about acting class, and I went for a week, before I dropped it. I thought I wouldn't have a huge problem in a multi-lingual class (if anything it'll force me to learn the language), but it wasn't just me--the Telugu speakers have trouble with the Hindi speakers, and Hindi with Malial, etc. Ultimately though, it was the traps in the acting school here. There's a lot of talking, but not a lot of acting. Here, they don't hold back, I'll give them lots of credit for that (can't guarantee truth in their acting, a bit of moldy leftovers from the Golden Age). But if we're given two hours to work, they'll philosophize for all of it, and schedule a rehearsal for the evening, which entails writing out detail by detail what will happen.

But not to worry! A stronger, more popular form of storytelling here is classical Indian dance. I've picked up kathak, which is known for its rhythmic footwork (tatkal) and spins. I wear these long strings of bells wrapped around my ankles. Youtube it. It's awesome. I'm also taking a trip to Karnataka to study shadow puppetry and to Kerala for kathakali, so I'll have my fair share of Indian performance art!

I'm also taking a yoga class (at 6 am, 3.5 km away and still on campus--blek) that will get me a certificate to teach. We've started theory this week, which so far is something like junior high gym class with a scruffy Santa Claus. We have three instructors--super-sweet lady with the yoga voice, Cartoon Yogi Master, and the Santa Claus. The lady is quite possibly the nicest person on the planet, the Cartoon is kind of a show off with a napoleon complex who is intensely dedicated to the art of yoga, and the Santa Claus tends to bark like a wrestling coach. Which made a lot more sense when I learned that he used to be the wrestling coach, was head of the Phys. Ed. department, and was a former boxer, until he retired for a year, got bored, and came back to teach...yoga?

I've also picked up a Women's Studies in Contemporary India course, which is pretty great. I'm doing some great research projects this semester. For various classes, I'll hopefully be looking into woman's social status in Indian film, the sociology of depression, insanity, and disease as is evident in literature (Plath, Dickinson, Milton, Byron, etc.), and the Indian influence on William Butler Yeats' work.
 
My parents joked that they were paying money for me to go on a four month vacation, with all the traveling I'm doing over here. They're not too far from the truth, but I promise it's all educational and it's all cheap. A charter bus ticket to anywhere in India ranges from Rs.400-1000, which is something like $8-$20. So it's worth traveling.

Plus, between the Telangana bandhs, every second Friday holiday, and the Hindu holidays that happen at least once a month, it feels like I'm never in class. :D

 PS--This is where I'm going next weekend for five days. Those huts are restaurants and where we will stay.

Note.

A pair of blue underwear dying an entire load of laundry blue seemed completely irrelevant this week after I heard about my friends and former high school classmates Nicole Kelling and Jon Lacina.

For those of you who don't know, Nicole was a sarcastic and acutely perceptive person who died of a drug overdose January 20. They thought it was suicide, but eventually they ruled it out.

People have been writing things to her on her facebook wall. Her mom's post was so simple and honest--they've named a star after her.

Jon disappeared January 22. He was filed missing this morning. I got to be friends with him my senior year, and we still hang out every now and then when we are home for breaks.

I've never wanted to go home so badly. My god, I hope he's okay.

PHOTOS!!!

I uploaded a bunch of photos to my facebook account, if y'all would like to see more of my adventures.

If you can't access the photos, let me know. I'm still new to this blog gig.

India 1--Getting There

India 2--Campus and New Year's

India 3--Exploring the City

Reading Between the Movies.

I had a conversation with some new Indian friends recently about outsider’s impressions of other cultures through the media, particularly film.

As a Theatre Arts major, I know full well how important stereotypes and archetypes are to fulfill a character. Types exist to convey in immediate story without having to go into too much detail. Everyone knows a type. But what if the type is the only story that’s told? This is obviously a delicate balance.

We talked a lot about “Slumdog Millionaire,” which is definitely a film I’ve seen, and what my family not-so-subtly reminded me of before my departure. My friends felt that this was the only image of India—slums, violence, deceit. They were very much relieved when I mentioned that I’d seen a fair share of Bollywood films as well as “The Namesake,” “A Wednesday,” and the Deepa Mehta elements trilogy (all of these films I would recommend to anyone, by the way, because they’re FANTASTIC.) I was reluctant to tell them that these films were not popular in the US, that I just stumbled on them by accident in a class I took.

Their film impression of the US was that everyone was rich, everyone was beautiful, and everyone falls in love. Obviously, we all knew that these impressions were loosely based, but relevant nonetheless. Actually, our American film conversation was pretty short—they knew that I’d already seen all the films they talked about, they were certainly commercialized enough.

Anyway, my point is that it’s actually easy to say that not all stereotypes are true. There is trash in the street because before plastic packaging was introduced only twenty years ago, vender’s cups were made of clay and plates of banana leaves—things that can be thrown out a window without environmental repercussion. The train stations smell like piss because the toilets drain directly into the railway. It’s incredibly difficult for me to go into the city and see people begging in the streets, to be able to count the ribs on a homeless man. It turns my stomach to see children begging at all, and it literally makes me ill to see children with burn scars and missing limbs. Furthermore, Ossmania University students have committed suicide for the sake of the Telangana movement.

I know this is not all of India—I want everyone to know this, despite whatever they interpreted from “Slumdog.” But poverty is real. Starvation is real. It is by no means the rich white man’s job to come in here and save the place, but it is very important to acknowledge that Banjara Hills (the Beverly Hills of Hyderabad) is very different than Gachibowli outside of the city, but Gachibowli is very different from the slums of Mumbai. Hot water is not a luxury—clean water is a luxury.

Dr. Wolfe would love it here.

I learned recently that my dear cousin is reading some of my blog entries for her fellow 6th graders. I would like to say thank you, and I love you Megan! And I will be sure to post more often!

Classes are going very well so far. The scheduling system is so strange! First of all, classes officially began December 18, but many didn’t actually begin until the new year to allow for traveling. Secondly, departments will allow a one- to two-hour time slot for the class, but then the schedule can change depending on the student’s schedules. This made registering for classes incredibly difficult, because 1) classes may have started early and could have already been changed, 2) what does not conflict in your schedule on the day could change after going to class, and 3) UoHyd is not like a liberal arts college where the student takes classes in all departments; it is more like a conservatory where you stay in your own department, so cross-departmental classes often conflict. So for a double degree in English AND Theatre Arts like myself, I struggled a bit. Had to drop dance class, but I’m surrounded by it anyway (there are so many performances by the dance department here), so I’m still absorbing the atmosphere of the art at least. But my theatre classes don’t start until January 27th! I’m itching with anticipation!

On the flipside, I’ve picked up Sociology of Health, Sickness, and Healing, which examines the current health care system of India, and compares Western and Eastern medicine. It’s more than just pills versus herbs. We’ve talked a lot about public versus private affairs, and how medicine is becoming increasingly impersonal. It’s one of the best classes I’ve taken so far. I can’t wait to get to the Indian studies section to study the shamanic medicinal traditions.

The English class I’m taking is amazing. Professor Ramanan is easily one of the best I’ve ever had. He’s brilliant. Fortunately, he’s also very easy to understand. Most professors and students have very good English here, but the dialect is so unique that I have to listen very closely. One day in class he lectured on the education system, how English has affected it, and the response to it. I didn’t realize that during the British occupation, children were not taught Indian history—they were taught British history. Also, they were reprimanded for speaking in their mother tongue. We talked about Indian Classicists, Vernacularists, and Anglicists; this means people who favor education in Sanskrit or Persian, those who favor local languages, and those who favor English. I suppose it’s sort of like our schools that teach Latin, which obviously isn’t spoken anymore, and the push for Ebonics in 1975 and 1996, or even the push to modernize Shakespeare. But the moment that really caught my attention was when Professor Ramanan mentioned that his entire education has been in English. His English is better than his Hindi. He was very grateful for the extensive and quality education he’s received, but I could tell he was very passionate about maintaining local languages, even if education was in another.

It really made me think about what India has lost, and may never regain. I’m currently reading Forster’s “Passage to India,” in which he states that the occupation was not only a terrible idea economically or politically, but that it brought out the worst of both cultures. I wonder how true this is, considering Forster’s piece is creative non-fiction. What did India lose? What have we missed?

First Impressions

So much has happened in the last few days! A very long post…

For the first few days we were together, all the international students (mostly Americans) sat around in the common area getting to know one another. We didn’t have orientation yet, or bikes, so we couldn’t wander around campus—it’s far, far too big. We complained that the bandh was keeping us indoors, as the campus had shut down with the rest of the city. A bandh is a one-day strike organized by the ruling political party that shuts down the entire city; no one works, everyone stays at home. This one was instituted because of the Telangana protests.

Andhra Pradesh is split into two parts: Andhra and Telangana. Telangana is one of the lesser developed parts of India, and some of its people want to split from the Andhra Pradesh government and start their own. Why is this important for Hyderabad? Because Hyderabad is the capital of Andhra Pradesh, and is located in the Telangana region; if Telangana becomes a new state, Andhra will lose its IT industry. Most of the protests have been at Osmania University on the opposite side of Hyderabad, so UoH has been pretty quiet except for a few small marches of no more than 20 people. A few of us were in one of the outdoor student centers while they were setting up for a rally. There was chanting, a drum, a bonfire, and someone carrying a huge Ravana puppet (Ravana is the ten-headed Hindu god/demon with the knowledge of ten scholars that, although he is often considered an antagonist, is also capable of being an excellent ruler.) Perhaps the ten heads also were symbolic of Telangana’s ten regions? To calm nerves, no, I have no intention of participating in any of these, as I don’t really know what’s going on, and even if I did, protesting as a white American girl would be a terrible idea. However, in the next few months, everything will either go back to normal, or I will be in Hyderabad as history is made.

(Photo: piled in the back of an auto-rickshaw after shopping for New Year's punjabis. L-R: Allison, Rosemary, Melody, Caroline, Laura, me)

On New Year’s Eve, I’d befriended some lovely girls. I’m rooming with Rosemary. Since there’s another Kelsey around, they call me Kelsey LeAnn. Rosemary and I were at the SIP office when our shuttle unfortunately left us. We were outside, trying to figure out our way back to the student center when we met a fellow Tagore Int’l House resident Ali…who had a motorcycle. He gave us a ride back to Tagore and introduced us to his friends Amir, Alaa, and Achmed. The bandh was over, but there was a lot of hesitation to go out for New Year’s because of the unrest. Because of a pretty wild Halloween party this fall, Tagore is now a dry house (we don’t know yet how strictly this is enforced, but we didn’t want to test it too early). So we grabbed Caroline and Melody, and the four gentlemen drove us into the city on their bikes to get the appropriate materials for the evening’s on-campus lakeside party.

Caroline was late getting back because, we found out later, she decided to buy flowers. We were getting a little worried when she and her ride didn’t come back. Meanwhile, a quiet rumor was spreading throughout the girls’ wing that these four wild girls found a mysterious motorcycle gang of strangers and that one girl got abducted. I guess with everyone being locked up, they were eager for a juicy story.

Let’s review: motorcycles, incredibly fast and crowded Indian traffic, New Year’s Eve lakeside party with new friends. To say this was the best night of my life would be the understatement of the century.

In the meantime, I’ve been learning how to eat with only my right hand and without silverware. An unleavened bread called roti or poori (pictured is a small type of poori) is torn into pieces and used to pick up the food, usually some spiced veggie sauce served over rice. Lots of biryani. Lots of curry, lots of peppers. The food is consistently fantastic. Plus, the caf makes everything fresh, including their juice. This morning for breakfast we had fresh pineapple juice. Oh.my.goodness.

Dress really surprised me here. I figured since it was a city that there would have been a lot more westernized clothing. Men, young and old, wear pants and button up shirts, just like the west. Women, on the other hand, wear primarily saris and salwars. So I went shopping. And the rupee is something like 45 to the dollar.

I’m taking a lot of really great classes. I’m really excited to learn a language; Conversational Hindi is offered through SIP, and one of my friends offered to teach me Arabic. I’ll also be taking classes from the main catalogue, including Aspects of Indian Modernity (a literature course), Approaches to Acting, and an independent study of either kuchipudi or bharatnatyam dance (YouTube them! They’re amazing!) I met a few theatre students the other day. We’re the same everywhere—I knew before they spoke to me they were actors, haha!

I’m also getting used to Standard Indian Time. This means when they say one minute, they mean an hour. When they say 11:30 prompt, they mean 1:00. Classes rarely start on time, and the kuchipudi/bharatnatyam performance scheduled for 7:30 began at about 7:55. The campus shuttle runs on schedule at a quarter to every hour. That is, on the days it decides to come at all.

 And whoever said that India has monkeys like we have squirrels wasn’t kidding. Macaques are rampant.