India - the Prequel - Part 5 - 12/05

As I write this I’m peering through the fog on my computer screen generated by bringing it down from the air-conditioned hotel room to a bench on the hotel’s front plaza. We had many problems the first two weeks with power outages and A.C. failures due to the continuing cyclones and monsoon rain that is usually over in late November. We left the US on November 29th in fact hoping to have avoided the worst of it but we’re in the middle of a record-breaking time. We’d wake up at 2 a.m. every night to find we were sweating buckets and the power had gone out again. I would cover everything and move it all away from the walls, which had started to sweat copiously on their own due to the condensation. The generator would kick in and slowly things would get back to normal. The first time it happened I ended up in the bathroom drying out all the books and the computers with the hairdryer so they wouldn’t mildew. All is well now. They’ve had the equivalent of their water and power people working on it. Rain here - as I may have said - is not your Seattle rain. It pounds down, it soaks in and it finds you no matter what shelter you are under. It would rain so hard against the balcony windows that puddles and rivulets would seep in under the doors and we’d have to get lots more towels from housekeeping. Speaking of rivulets - even though I’m getting used to having my own running down my front and back from walking in the heat, I may start naming them after major tributaries if the promised heat wave comes next week. Meanwhile they keep turning off the restaurant A.C. because it is so “cold” now. I live for my hand fan…

I took a walk down the Promenade along the beach (our hotel is named after this walk) past the statue of Gandhi this afternoon. The usual drum, flute, wooden snake and backgammon sellers followed me most of the way but eventually peeled off when there was absolutely no sale. One snake seller (wooden toy) stuck with me because he was dying to come into possession of a coin - any coin - from the USA. I couldn’t oblige him as I’d changed everything to Rupee coins. He was very curious about the States as all young people are. Later I was standing at the wall overlooking the ocean and 3 women were next to me covertly trying to figure out what I was knitting. I had a ball of yarn in my pocket and was knitting away on a wrist warmer. When I saw them looking I handed it over and we had a pleasant sign language conversation about what it was for and how I made the purse I wear (woven). Hospitality and charm are everywhere here. I pass women in the street constantly that often look at me a bit askance, but once I smile they give me radiant smiles in return and head nods. Then there are the ice cream sellers. They must all be part of a business because the company name is Mewad. Or else Mewad is ice cream. That in itself would not be off-putting but often the sellers are all pulled over to the side of the street hawking major loogies onto the sidewalks - Mewad taking on a whole new meaning. There is a pub further on called “Between our Lips.” There is a guy who cooks bread and other fried goods from a cart and lets customers know he’s out there by making big ringy dings and clangs with his metal spoon in the iron pan. I don’t begrudge him his living but that particular sound outside my window is painfully loud. I’m tempted to pile up a little stash of wood chips or water balloons on the balcony to bomb him when he goes on too long. The cotton candy guy has a bell like the old school bells teachers used to ring. Goes onnnnn, and onnnnn and onnnn. There are some very elderly women who carry baskets of what look like gnarly roots to sell to people - I guess you chew on them but these women never seem to get many takers.

I must say that there is a general Alzheimer’s thing going on in hotel staff and perhaps the entire population, because as soon as someone has listened to your request and promised faithfully to do it immediately if not sooner with the utmost charm and happiness, the fog of forget happens and you never hear about it again. When you ask again, it either never happened or is already PERFECTLY FINE NOW madam! It’s very cute and I’ve learned when to ask and more specifically WHO to ask.

Remember that I mentioned how much children are treasured here. The fastest way to make people happy is to wave to their baby or to pretend you are calling the baby on your cell phone. No English is necessary - the whole family groups around and everyone takes turns getting the baby to shake hands with you, blow you a kiss and even kiss your cheek. The waiters, bus women and hostesses in the restaurant grab up all the babies and toddlers as they come in and carry them around, showing them off to other patrons and practicing blow kiss and shake hands with everyone. The parents relax and have their meal, knowing the children are being distracted and well-looked after.

At lunch today I was admiring a grandbaby of an Indian diner. The woman introduced herself and asked where I was from. She then introduced her daughter and son-in-law (also Indian) at the same table who are visiting Chennai and Pondy and who live on Capitol Hill in Seattle and take the 520 to work at Microsoft every day! Amazing! Most of the Caucasians we see are French and German and it’s only now that we are running into other Americans. There seems to be a conspiracy of white tourists I’ve noticed - not to acknowledge each other. Seems to have to do with appearing to be a cool world traveler, or to the idea of why would they want to speak to another whitey when they have come to a non-white country. I have passed so many confused white tourists on the road looking over their maps. They see me - and many are American - but darned if they will ask for help! Apparently I am very un-cool and need a more remote and sneer-like countenance. Guess I’ll work on it.

Smells - such a big part of the landscape here. Lovely flowers, less than lovely piles of human and cow poop, warm sandalwood, fennel on everyone’s breath as a digestive after meals, cardamom - even in cleaning substances - smells great when a floor has just been mopped. Things are either a warm wet smell or a warm dry smell. The wet smells are often walls sweating and getting old in buildings. As many dogs as there are running around I never smell them and they often pass quite close, even tho most of them don’t interact with humans.

It’s so incredible to visit Lakshmi - the temple elephant - and stand less than a foot from her. She has light amber eyes, big eyelashes, ears that have old scars and man-made holes for decorations. Silver bracelets with tiny bells are around her ankles (size gigantorama) and her huge toenails are clean, neat, and well pedicured. Some days she has a huge necklace like a Hawaiian Lei of brightly colored flowers. She has a very cute tail with fringe at end that is very bristled - like her eyelashes. They have shortened her tusks. Her tongue seen from the side is the shape of an anvil and helps hold things in place that are still on the way down the hatch. She has SUCH a long long trunk that she rests it on the ground between treats and bonking people for a blessing. Many women and children are very scared of her even while they are getting the blessing bonk. She’s so careful - the mom gets the regular weight bonk and the kids just get the lightest touch. She shifts about from foot to foot - to relieve the weight I’m assuming. Once in a while she’ll spray out a fine mist of – er - something. Perhaps cleansing the palette? Her trunk is striated with horizontal creases and very heavy and sturdy. Her head has the human equivalent of a fine layer of peach fuzz only in black and spaced further apart. She flaps her ears forward and back fairly often to keep cool. She is so beautiful! I haven’t found out how old she is. I seem to have developed a routine now of going to the Ashram most days to sit for awhile, and then back to visit her.

Yesterday I was on my way to cruise by some stores until it was Lakshmi’s time to come out. I met Asha, one of the wait staff women from the hotel restaurant. She was in a lovely Salwar Kameez that was pale spring green and blue. It was nice to see her with her hair down and out of uniform. At the restaurant everyone with hair past their chin wears it up in a bun and wears a short-sleeved black pantsuit. She immediately invited me to the apartment where all the female wait staff live and where one of the other young women was home sick with a sinus infection. I hated to come in on them unannounced but she insisted. 17 of them all work at the hotel and live in two rooms with a linoleum floor and a bathroom. They pile sleeping mats in the corner and get them out to sleep on with blankets at night. They are up two floors and have a small balcony with doors that open up for a breeze - no air conditioning. There were only 8 women home as they all work different shifts at the hotel and its two sister properties. I tried to say I’d leave them to rest on their day off but they piled up two mats and had me sit. In two seconds there were three little plates of sweets and fruits all neatly cut up and presented to me. They didn’t touch a thing having just had lunch. We all chatted and asked lots of questions of each other. Some things were hard to explain but everyone’s English was very good and I have no other language unfortunately except HORN. The concept of divorce and being married more than once is very foreign. One of the 17 is Christian, one a Muslim and the rest are all Hindu. They are all 17 or 18 years old - very very sweet and bright. They are all from Bombay and have moved down here to work and live together. They only get a home visit every 3-4 months. I found out from them happily that all the tips on the tables are shared equally among all the men and women working in the restaurant. The men take the food orders and deliver and the women act as bus persons, clear tables, poor tea and water. Many people don’t leave tips or leave almost nothing. That doesn’t sit well with us and we do our usual healthy tips. Most of these young women hope to be married to a suitable man that their parents will choose from negotiations within the next year. Some hate the idea and want to put it off as long as possible. The intended must be from the same caste, religion and have their horoscope cast beforehand to determine lifetime compatibility of the marriage. This seems like the young women’s chance to get away from home and see something of other cities before they settle down to marriage and children. They all have cell phones and talk to their parents a minimum of once a day. Despite what sounds like minimalist living conditions, the hotel group treats them well - providing uniforms, all meals, health care, sick pay, and transportation to and from their home towns on leave - which is a long distance. The men who work at the hotel always walk or drive the women home if it’s dark and no chances are taken. The men that work at the hotel and its properties have their own male residence like the women if they are from out of town. More of them are actually from Pondy itself and commute in daily. They are all very curious but only ask questions if some friendliness is indicated by the customers. Everyone made me promise to come back and to visit them at their respective locations for dinner. I will indeed. We brought a book of all Seattle pictures so I can show them what it’s like. These young people are mostly from middle-class or higher families, even though the apartment I described seems very spartan. They all went through a short college course in restaurant management to be able to take this type of training job in another city. It may be their first (and last) experience of being away from their parents and seeing how many different people live.

I roamed back to the Ashram to sit for half an hour before I went to see Lakshmi. I usually meditate and don’t look around me once I sit, but that day there was an older man who walks around to make sure silence is maintained by everyone, only he was muttering and standing in front of me. The crows were extra chatty this afternoon and I swear some of them had been learning English. This man was going to have silence at all costs and I looked up to see him with a home-made slingshot in his hand. The Samadhi - or stone tomb of the two founders is in the middle of the courtyard where we sit. Above us - forming a canopy over the entire courtyard - is a huge frangipani tree. There is a large semi-transparent cloth hung over the tomb (which is covered with flowers in arrangements that look kind of like the floats in the Rose Parade) so that the tree will not drop leaves directly down on the stone. Presumably it keeps crow poop off too, but the crows were up above and he was taking aim. What killing crows has to do with a practice of compassion toward all beings I don’t know but the handles of the slingshot were old and well-taped so it had definitely seen some service. He couldn’t get a good bead on them so he finally gave up and moved off thank goodness. I love crows, ­.whether they are getting punchy and chatty or not.

One vendor in particular near Lakshmi’s temple knows me now as I have bought some beads from him. We haggled a bit on some sandalwood beads at one point and when I was all done paying, he came running after me with one more type I’d been asking him about that he thought he was out of. We agreed on price and it was everything I had except for 5 rupees, meaning I couldn’t hop on an auto rickshaw for the ride home. I wasn’t sure I had enough so I was counting out carefully. Another vendor came over to watch the action as well as the pesky drum seller and a beggar. Soon it was like “The Price is Right” with all of them counting out loud with me. “20! 40! 60! 70! 80! 85! 90! 100! Like I’d hit the jackpot. Waiving 5 rupees (about 10 cents) I said he’d taken all my money and I was headed for home. Everyone saw. Everyone understood. Nevertheless, the drum guy, the beggar and an auto rickshaw guy followed me for two blocks with the sales pitch just in case I was a lying foreigner and had a special new stash of bills to bring out if the patter was clever enough. No cigar. 5 rupees pretty much won’t get you anything!

I’ve been using Cling Film (British for Saran Wrap) wound around the display of my cell to keep too much grit from getting into the face. I’m thinking of doing it with the display of my laptop as well since I sit out on the main front area of the hotel to wait for David each day and the breeze from the ocean gets quite strong at night, blowing many a bug and bit of this and that onto me and mine. I did mention that I’m the queen of the run-on sentence didn’t I? It’s tempting to encase my legs and ankles in it as well on rainy days - as walking around in the rain here is a funky business and there’s no knowing quite what has washed up on the sidewalks and on- or into your shoes. Think it would be noticeable if I used it on my face for a bit of a lift? We foreigners probably already look weird so it might pass - ya think?

The Indian nod is not really a nod. It’s like the word for snow among Eskimos or Aloha in Hawaii. The head tips from side to side rather than front to back, and can indicate “sure, I understand,” or “maaaaybe, but maybe not," or “I don’t reaaallly want to answer that question,: or (with a somber face) “I understand what you said but I don’t have to like it.” The men also do an abbreviated version that’s just a quick tilt to the side and back that seems a greeting and sometimes seems like a “hey, you’re swell with me kid” kind of affirmation. When listening to you some people slowly shake their head back and forth as if not agreeing with you. This was a bit disconcerting for awhile but I have the hang of it now. It just means they are marking your conversation and taking it all in. David and I are already head wobbling at each other when the answer could swing either way.

I have not made any friends at the bank! I go to the cash machine first to get 500 Rupee notes (about $10 US). I then go to the bank next door to change them into smaller denominations to keep up with tipping and small purchases. Same teller every time. Same look of disgust that he doesn’t try to hide. He chastised me the first time because I’d come in on payday and I was taking all his small bills. One would presume they have a VAULT for more such bills, no? Now I go in the mornings on alternate days and deliver many thank yous. No cigar. Maybe I’ll send him a congratz card with a copy of my exit plane ticket when I leave. There is a guard that sits near the front door who holds an aged rifle. I saw a chain hanging from the stock and never figured it out until the other day. The other end is chained around his waist so no one can grab and go with it. I never see another white person in the bank so maybe Mr. Intimidation has scared them all away?

I’ve noticed there are many advertisements on billboards on how to lighten skin here and obvious favoritism for light-skinned babies. In stores there are many lotions guaranteed to turn skin lighter for both adults and children. The Indian women in magazine ads are always very light-skinned. I know this conflict exists in African-American culture but was surprised to find it here – my ignorance. Is it exposure to Caucasian cultures or did it develop on its own?