| |
| Reflexive Documentary: What I really learned on the way to learning Hindi in India |
| |
| Carol Mammel http://www.carolmammellearning.com/journal |
| |
| |
Excerpt from my PCOM 641/642 exam, October 3, 2010:
For my reflexive documentary ( as well as my applied research), I will be examining my communication and culture experiences while trying to learn to speak Hindi (or any other language that is used in the areas we will be visiting; Gujarati or Katchi) and while trying to decipher written and spoken messages in some lessons with a private guide and during activities accompanied by said guide and perhaps other participants, gatekeepers, and colleagues.
Something I am still trying to figure out is why I have an urge to do the impossible: become one with the culture and not be an outsider. A fluency and literacy in the language of the country is one of the first steps into the mystery world of another culture. Phipps’ “Tourism and languaging” in The SAGE Handbook of Tourism Studies ( Jamal & Robinson, 2009) describes tourist language learning as “languaging”(Phipps, 2009); taking the learning out of the classroom and applying it to being a person in that language in the social and material world of everyday interactions (Phipps, 2009). It is an act of encounter, about relationships.
August to October 2010
Transition to India
How can you say one minute, I am in Vancouver: YVR; and then in the next minute, you are arriving in Mumbai?
Does an experience of another culture begin when you arrive in the country, or when you first dream of going there? and where, exactly, on the continuum do you say, " I am in India" and "I am no longer in Canada" or "I am in transition?"
August, 2010
Why study Hindi?
For most of us, the journey started months ago, when our Thai residency was cancelled; fine, I thought: I will save some money and go back to Victoria.
and then, one day, we received an email from Phillip: would we be interested in India?
All thoughts of saving money flew from my head: Golden Temple. Amritsar. The Taj. Bathing in the Ganges.
And then:
What language do I learn?
For most people, the answer is obvious:
--English is spoken everywhere in India, and there are 200 other languages spoken besides. Trying to learn a language is a waste of time.
That for me, is beside the point.
English may be an official language, but it is as thin a veneer of the culture as christianity was in the New World...
I need to know, in this country, what is underneath: what are all the layers made up of, one upon the other, some transparent and some not so much?
We learn about language and culture: how much does language influence culture, and how does culture influence language? Really they are both changing and being changed; by other languages, by other cultures, by each other; textured, interweaving, and accommodating, language is, I feel, one of the keys to unlock the mystery of this country.
Timeline for Hindi learning activities, and lessons learned along the way:
Sept 20, Abbotsford, BC, Canada:
-- I meet Sharina, a business student from UFV India, for an informal Hindi alphabet session. We go to the International House of Pancakes, because Sharina has never been there before, it is always nice to get out of residence, and we both need breakfast. We eat our pancakes and chat about breakfast in her house in Chandighar. Sharina is a marvelous cook, and knows a lot about Indian cooking. she tells me about her days in India, about her parents’ routine after she leaves for school in the early morning: everything is much slower there, she says. She tells me about the different kind of breakfasts. “Carol,” she says, “ when you come back, let me come over with Deep and Kamal and we will stay the weekend and we will cook you breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” I learn about different breads: parathi, nan, bhathura, puri , roti; I learn about boarding school, marriages, and vedic astrology. Before we go to the Clearbrook library to study, we also talk about school here and her prospects after graduation, and how difficult it can be for a family to allow their daughter to come overseas to study.It comes to me that my quest to learn Hindi has already had an unexpected benefit:
By needing to spend time studying Hindi, I am getting to know Sharina a little bit better and it is a wonderful gift. Usually I go from work to home to exercise to study to work; I cannot allow myself the time to foster friendships outside of work and family; it is far too time-consuming and takes me away from my family. But the extra time spent is so rewarding; in a round-about way, studying Hindi has already provided me with an unexpected gift; receiving friendship from a lively, dynamic young person. It is so heartwarming.
When I meet with Seher later in the week, it is an equally heartwarming experience: she tells me about her family in Mumbai and about her uncles’ spoiling her when she was just small; she was the first grandchild to grace the family after years and years. I enjoy our visit so much that I realize how much I have cut myself off from simple pleasures over the years, all in the name of discipline and duty. People from collective cultures all know they need to share their time, space and energy with each other; the giving and receiving, the sharing of energy, warms and supports everyone.
At the library, I show Sharina have some "Teach Yourself Hindi" books, which includes grammar and the characters and sounds. The print is so small. My reading glasses, I realize, are nowhere strong enough.
Using my iPhone, Sharina searches for the Varnamala: Svar and Vayanjan; the alphabet, with vowels and consonants.
The Svar and Vayanjan of Devanagari script are beautiful; lines and squiggles. Sharina pronounces them, and reminisces about her childhood experiences with the alphabet, school, and school supplies. Everyone, she says, has a Hindi Asharamala (alphabet book). I practise writing the characters and practising the sounds. The time has flown; I am sure I can remember the sounds. Later, I look at the notes; they look like chicken scratches. I will have to start memorizing them all over again. Was it this difficult as a child?
Sharina and I find some children’s picture books at the library, and some practice sounding-out books, and some simpler grammar books. I love grammar books, so I check them out.
My experience with language learning is as a sojourner, and exchange student in Brazil. Before going there in 1977, I studied grammar conjugations for 5 weeks, using a teach yourself Portuguese book, and a native speaker from Portugal. The grammar made sense to me, since I had spent my high school years studying French grammar. In Brazil, I pieced together the sentences, conjugating verbs and finding vocabulary in the dictionary. When no one understood my pronunciation, I would write it all down, and they would read it, and correct my pronunciation. Within about 3 weeks, I was speaking in simple sentences and paragraphs.
I followed the same method when I went to Spain two years later to spend a semester, and when I needed to learn French for work. With German, I had more of an attitude: word order, vocabulary, and case endings added a complication that I wasn’t ready for. And I was tired of going to school by then. Still, I felt that I had an idea of how to learn another language. And I continued to collect grammar books over the years, until I owned grammar books along with dictionaries in fifteen other languages. Sometimes, they came in handy when I needed to talk to a student who didn’t speak my language. Sometimes some of my students would use them as references when leading language learning cafes at the Student Union Building at UFV.
With Hindi, I can’t look up words because I don’t understand the script; I can’t remember sounds because I can’t write the words down, except phonetically; and I can’t grasp the grammar; the verbs are conjugated, but post-positions and case are inflected, so it calls for a different way of thinking and a whole lot of studying: can I remember, and do I have the time it takes to study?
I now have a whole new understanding and respect for my literacy student, Surinder, a woman my age who reads and writes Hindi and Punjabi, has raised two very functional and successful children, and who has worked to support her family since she arrived in this country 20 years ago. Only now is she starting to study English. But she frequently cannot come to free tutoring, and she has very little time to study.
I decide, first things first: write my exams, pack, study the Devanagari script. Then I will worry about grammar.
Over the next few weeks, I am so busy packing, doing exams, posting, prepping for departure and falling into bed in exhaustion at 9 pm. Studying the alphabet recedes in my mind...
I have always wondered why people know they are going to another country, yet they don’t bother to learn the language beforehand. In my case people have almost dissuaded me: “People will want to speak English to you” “No one speaks Hindi in Mumbai” “Gujarati is the language of Ahmedabad”
Yet all over India, children study Hindi, they watch Hindi movies and TV and talk shows, and they listen to Hindi radio. Along with English, it is one of the lingua franca of most of India. I see it as perhaps one of the unifying languages. And it has more history there than English does.
Oct 5: Customs in YVR had their eyes on me; I had all this heavy duty laptop stuff, markers, pens, and textbooks, Hindi grammar; it was hard for them to believe I was only taking one suitcase, however, and not be planning to do business or teach in India; especially the way I looked, in Salwar Kameez. But in Mumbai, western clothes are the better option, I think.
In any case, the explanation that I was doing school online seemed to help; but something is up; they were checking our flight out very thoroughly.
In any case, the explanation that I was doing school online seemed to help; but something is up; they were checking our flight out very thoroughly.
Oct 6: Seoul, Incheon Airport
After losing my spare set of reading glasses on the airplane out of Vancouver, getting grilled by Customs Canada (what was I doing with all the presentation equipment, Hindi books, and dressed in Salwar Kameez?) I settle into studying and am gripped with panic: I don’t even know how to sound out words yet, and I am the only one dressed in Salwar Kameez. I feel dorky and out of place. The Brazilians hated my clothes, especially the Speedo; will the Indian people laugh behind my back? I will have to shop in Mumbai as soon as I get there; first I will see what the local people are wearing.
Checking my email, I feel very comforted: There is an email from Katherine and Catriona: They arrived at the Metro Palace and it is very nice; a car from the hotel met them; there was a sign with the name of the hotel. They were in bed at that very moment, eating some delicious deep-fried bread thing with curry.
We board the plane to Mumbai. I am still the only one not wearing western clothes. I have my first moment of discomfort/dislike. A group of 40-something men are laughing and calling to each other; I can’t understand what they are saying to each other and it seems “rude” and suggestive; And then I end up sitting next to one of them. He gets quiet very quickly, as does the rest of his group and I just know they have been making rude comments about me. I am thinking: I hope he is not going to be trouble. But then another fellow comes along and says, “I think you are in my seat” and the “rude” man has to move, replaced by a quiet, polite, Korean who speaks English; I am relieved and embarrassed to feel that way; my biases are showing: I should know better.
I think to myself: so all this bleating on about Hindi and I haven’t even learned the alphabet yet..I have learned over the years, that every judgemental thought I have ever had comes back to haunt me in the form of some karmic lesson; I have just received another one: I have never understood why people don’t make the language a priority before traveling, and now I have done it myself, and I am already paying for it and feeling alienated.
Oct. 7
Arriving in Mumbai, I line up to go through customs and immigration. Everyone speaks English, but they also speak other languages. The signs are all in English and Hindi. I try to memorize the words for “exit”; it seems like a really good word to know, just in case. Everyone at the baggage carousel chats with me, and helps me with my bags. They are all wearing western clothes, but going home for Diwali. Most are from Vancouver, but a few are from Frankfurt; they still speak to me in English. The Vancouverites are going on to Goa. “First time in India?” I nod. “Keep an open mind.” They say, kindly. The atmosphere is festive, and I feel that I am among friends. Army security, men with grey hair, wearing khakis and red berets, take my landing card and wave me through. I feel as though I should be trying to speak Hindi, but I can’t, so I decide to wait for tomorrow. I am seeing lots of head wobbling now, both positive and negative, when people answer my questions. I have arrived in India.The driver doesn’t speak English (but why should he?) and that is ok; I am so tired that I cannot be bothered to haul out the dictionary and grammar, after just having put them away again, for about the umpteen millionth time. I feel vaguely guilty and rebellious at the same time; guilty because I have a perfect opportunity to practise Hindi and I am not taking advantage; and rebellious because I have had it with my inner language learning Nazi that says “never lose an opportunity to use the new language; that is how you will learn”
I am mired in my own inertia; I don’t want to take the risk.
Oct 7
It is the first morning; I am feeling much better, and ready to try out some Hindi. Maybe. First things first (I am procrastinating) I ask at the front desk how to hook up to the Internet; I have to pay about $12 every 24 hour period, connect in the lobby, and then I can carry my laptop back up to my room. I am just about to take a deep breath and try some Hindi, when Kathryn and Catriona walk in; I am so happy to see them! I am not alone in this country after all, although I am realizing that it is not as strange or as foreign as I had thought and I am not in the middle of a dream, and I am not trapped between worlds forever. But happy as I am to see familiar faces and a grasp an umbilical cord that binds me to home, doing so halts my immersion into India: my attention is diverted to my colleagues, I drop all thought of speaking Hindi, and I hover on the edge of the pool, not diving in.
We decide to get an autorickshaw and go to Colaba, the Gateway of India, where you can get a boat to the Elephanta Caves http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elephanta_Caves
I suppose it is a decent place to start mixing in to India; this is definitely a gateway, a thin crust, the stratosphere of the culture: lots of tourists, and people whose business it is to deal with them. There is a lot of space here between us and the real India. But for a first day, that is okay.
We don’t feel like visiting with other people much, or we don’t know how, yet; it is that whole tourist thing where we don’t know how to relate to others yet; I feel slightly encased inside my invisible shield. It is breached by some school boys who are visiting Mumbai: please mum, can I get a picture with you?
They so remind me of my students: fresh from feeling battered by encounters with endless hawkers, I tease them: 100 rupees, I say. I am being a bit cheeky because these boys remind me of all that is familiar back home. The face looks concerned and puzzled: you want to take money from us mum? He says politely.
I laugh and and say No! I am just teasing; it will be a pleasure! And their faces break into smiles: teasing and affection is something they understand and are familiar with. It is a lovely encounter.
We have a super meal at a tourist restaurant Cafe Mondegar, filled with both tourists and business people from Mumbai
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colaba_Causeway
Food blog for those who want Indian restaurant reviews: http://grandnunkim.blogspot.com/2008/08/jhama-sweets-chembur-mumbai.html
Kathryn and Catriona are feeling pretty yucky; it is time to go back, and I am happy with that.
It is funny; all my students swear up and down that everyone speaks English here; but our taxi driver did not; in a bizarre role reversal which I did not understand until much later, the peddler-boy had to read the English address to him; and he got lost; we had to stop and show a pedestrian a map of where we were going, and he gave the cabbie directions.
But the language barrier again caused us to see the cabbie in a most suspicious and threatening light; that and the fact that we did not realize that cabbies will need to ask directions and will need to know what is the landmark closest; and usually the passengers can help with that. But we can’t; we refuse to pay until finally we all tumble out of the cab on a street corner in Bandra, and we ask a passerby, showing the map of where we are going, to explain to the cab. He does, and then explains to us how, in future, we are to communicate: it is near the Bandra Hospice. I am reminded of a book I have been reading, about tourist artefacts: maps and language learning are intertwined; they transform places into spaces by sheer virtue of their interpretation and use. But it is the first day in Mumbai, and it is not until the end of our month that I can look back at this incident and see it in a new light.
My point is that my students have been questioning my insistence on learning a little bit of Hindi and the alphabet as well; they even told me I wouldn't see any signs written in Hindi here in Mumbai. But it is all over the place! I am now recognizing a, r, and l. And the cabbie didn't speak English; I am really wishing I had learned way more Hindi; as it is, it is hard to use the dictionary even. So I will keep practising and studying in my downtime. (note: I am re reading this after my return to Canada. I get so busy and so tired that there turns out to be no downtime for studying or even journaling sometimes. Studying is a must, and that is how I did so well with Portuguese and Spanish; I went over grammar at night and took notes of everything I heard and learned throughout the day; and I was immersed. But in India, I am older, and I save my energy for the demands of the day, and for cementing relationships with my cohort as well)
But we are feeling a bit buffeted by the new culture and the encounters with hawkers and sellers and beggars; we decide to just go on a little walking tour around the hotel tomorrow, because it is not a tourist area, and see what we can see in the little wee spaces that tend to be overlooked, usually.
Oct 8 – the Time/Place warp
I have my first experience, today, of my own wrinkle in time…
Have you ever wanted to go back to a place in time, say when you were seven or ten, and experience it just as it was, but as an adult this time? Those places no longer exist, except in our memories or in another universe…
I have long wanted to return to Goiania, Goias, Brazil in the mid-seventies; a city carved out of the bush in the Matto Grosso, south of the new capital; I was seventeen, and being shaken out of my ango-centric-ness; the world was so different; I was in a different universe, and it no longer exists; except today, it came back as a ghost, a transparent overlay on today’s Indian reality.
So many things today evoked the feelings and the framework of Goiania of 35 years ago; smells, colours, tailors custom stitching clothing on locally produced textiles, schoolkids having afternoon coffee on the way home from class, before going off to study again; cool, groomed exotic women in impeccable clothing and makeup, hair and pedicures neatly done, inside spotless interiors… Someone folded a map of my history and past and present, India and Brazil are in the same spot, indistinguishable from one another.
Walking around the streets close to the hotel turns out to be a delightful experience. We go into a bank, talk to an employee who gives us our first lesson in getting money and changing traveler’s cheques; I have to change them at a travel agency, apparently; and the ATM is right next door. The bank is so clean and pristine inside, and the employees looking so groomed and cool. We see department stores, clothing stores, schools, an astrologer’s, and an ob-gyn office in the back alley, right next to the beauty parlour, same back alley. You can have a baby and have your hair done all at the same time; and I learn that really, there is no such thing as a back alley; they are all proper streets; you would never know it by looking at them. We find an expat Grocery store – it is beautiful and small-- and buy comfort food for upset stomachs, and I try my Hindi for the first time. I learn how to say danyavad and also thank you in Marathi; and I try my debit card, which does not work. The assistant is a young man, university student, working at the store in the daytime; he is very polite and helpful. I see one or two expat. Types shopping here; the food is expensive. Down the street by a couple of shops is Ray’s Cafe and Pizzeria; we stop for coffee and lunch, and now I cannot tell anymore whether I am in Brazil or in India; teenagers in jeans and kurtas and with their schoolbooks come in for coffee and pizza before heading off for study or activities; they chat and visit; the booths are upholstered and panelled with wood and polished; the floors are marble. I eye their stylish clothes, to see what I should be buying later. The waiter writes down the Hindi and Marathi characters for Namaste and danyavad; we are allowed to take their picture. I am feeling so at home right now and the streets of Mumbai are feeling very friendly; I am being absorbed by this country.
Alice has started down the rabbit hole.
I know that part of this absorption is my commitment to engaging and doing it by trying to speak one of their languages. I am taking risks and not afraid to humble myself. Even though the locals speak English, they appreciate that I don’t necessarily expect it; and the dynamic that so often exists with English speakers is circumvented. I put myself at a disadvantage linguisitically and it shows respect; the respect is noted and reciprocated.
My colleagues put up with me doing this, which is completely sweet. They know this is my fieldwork, and they let me get on with it and even though I am being a bit ridiculous, they are very accepting. We are more relaxed today, and no one is treating us like walking dollar signs, as one of my colleagues puts it; it is much easier to relax into the rythms of life here; the antagonism and fear of yesterday seem to have been dissipated. I have a brief moment of it later, however; when I try to change a traveler’s cheque, I am pointed to a shop in a back alley; a little man leads me back, and around corners, and through an unmarked door; once again I am thinking human trafficking, theft; but the hole in the wall in the back alley turns out to be a tiny little mini bank counter, with a shrine to Ganesh in the corner, burning incense for the holiday; the ladies at the bank chat with me, correct my pronunciation, compliment me on my one Hindi word, and seem delighted to meet me. Once again, my very soul is touched by the sweetness and gentleness.
Oct 8 at the hotel: The saga of the cooking class
I am hot, drenched with perspiration, and feeling dowdy, compared to those lovely, chic and colourful ladies outside. I shower and put on a red Salwar Kameez; at least it is cool.
When I check my email, there is a message from the Detroit Institute of Goa: I have been trying to arrange a cooking class, one of our optional activities for the tourism portion.
I came across the listing 2 months previously, while looking for Hindi classes in Goa. The Detroit Insitute of Goa offers all kinds of courses, including Hindi, English and Portuguese. As my contribution to group activities, I decide to try organizing a group cooking class:
Type : Cooking Classes in Goa
Branca operates a cooking class Branca's Cooking Classes in Panaji, She offers private lessons that you can choose from her own family’s cookbook. It is also a popular cookery Course among locals as well as foreigners in Goa. It is ranked as No 1 Best Cookery Course by Travel Magazines in Goa.
Location :
Detroit Institute
Jose Falcao Road, Opposite To Goa Electricals, Near Mary Immaculate Panaji Church,Next To Silimkhan Opticians, Panaji
Jose Falcao Road, Opposite To Goa Electricals, Near Mary Immaculate Panaji Church,Next To Silimkhan Opticians, Panaji
To my initial inquiry, I receive this reply:
hi,
Please let us know which menu u would like to do?
We are rated as no.1 on Yahoo, Google & MSN for COOKING CLASSES IN GOA IN INDIA.
SALIENT FEATURES
* Most popular cookery Course among locals as well as foreigners in India...
* Ranked as No 1 Best Cookery Course by Travel Magasines in Goa..
* India's leading cooking expert. Five star rating.
* Listed in top 10 on Yahoo, Google & Msn
* Arrange market tour of spices, fruits & vegetables.
* Short term course (1 day to 5 days)
* No prior cooking experience is required.
* Ideal for Chefs, housewives, children, working people, hotel
industry.
* Very practical course
* Chef has teaching experience
* Conducted in Portuguese house in a typical Indian kitchen
* Certificate Course.
* Training conducted for Chef of Marriott Hotel, Cidade de Goa,
Taj, Ronil's etc..
* We are ranked no.1 on Yahoo, Google & MSN for INDIAN , GOAN,
VEGETARIAN COOKING COURSE IN INDIA.
MENUS
A. SEAFOOD COURSE
1. PRAWN BALCHAO / KINGFISH MASALA / STUFFED CRABS/ GOAN FISH CURRY / FISH REICHADO
B. VEGETARIAN COURSE
1. CHANNA CHOLE / PAV BHAJI / VEGETABLE KORMA / POTATO BHAJI / STUFFED CAPSICUM / MALAI KOFTA / PALAK PANEER
C. INDIAN CUISINE COURSE
1. BUTTER CHICKEN / STUFFED CAPSICUM / PALAK PANEER / PAV BHAJI / CHANNA CHOLE
D. GOAN CUISINE COURSE
1. CHICKEN XACUTI / PORK SORPOTEL / KINGFISH MASALA / FEIJOADO / VEGETABLE KORMA
E. TANDOORI COURSE
1. FISH TIKKA/ CHICKEN TIKKA / CHICKEN TANDOORI / TANDOORI ROTI / SHEEH KABAB / SHAMI KABAB / TANDDOORI POMFRET FISH
F. SOUPS COURSE.
1. PORTUGUESE WEDDING SOUP / SWEET CORN SOUP / SPINACH GREEN SOUP / HINDU WEDDING SOUP / MIXED VEGETABLE SOUP
G. STREET STYLE CHATS
1. BHELPURI / SEV PURI / BATA PURI / PAV BHAJI / PAKORAS
H. RICE COURSE
1. FLAVOURED PULAO / BIRYANI / KASHMIRI PULAO / MIXED FRIED RICE / PRAWN FRIED RICE
I. CHICKEN COURSE
1. BUTTER CHICKEN / HYDERABADI CHICKEN / KASHMIRI CHICKEN / CHICKEN XACUTI / CHICKEN CAFREAL
J. PORK COURSE
1. PORK VINDALO / FEIJOADA / SORPOTEL / PORK ROAST / SAUSAGE PULAO
K. DESSERTS COURSE
1. SHEERA / GULAB JAMUNS / PANCAKES / CARROT HALWA / KHEER
L. CHOCOLATE MAKING COURSE
1. CHOCOLATE WITH NUTS / CHOCOLATES FROM FRUITS / DARK CHOCOLATES
Hands on cooking classes, with our expert chef
THINGS THAT WE DO
* Arrange cooking lessons at a typical Indian Kitchen.
* Arrange Visit to local Indian Spice Market.
* Online Recipe Book
* Lunch of what u created
ACCOMODATION
LOVELY SEA FACING DELUX SUITE APTS / SHARING ACCOMODATION WITH COOKING FACILITY FOR COUPLES, FAMILIES & GROUPS.
SPECIAL DISCOUNTS FOR COUPLES, FAMILIES & GROUPS
COOKERY COURSE TIMINGS :
FROM 12 AM TO 2 PM OR 6 PM TO 8 PM
DAILY & WEEKEND BATCHES.
DETROIT INSTITUTE
JOSE FALCAO ROAD
OPPOSITE TO GOA ELECTRICALS
NEAR MARY IMMACULATE PANAJI CHURCH
NEXT TO SILIMKHAN OPTICIANS
PANAJI GOA
TEL :9822131835.
Please let us know which menu u would like to do?
We are rated as no.1 on Yahoo, Google & MSN for COOKING CLASSES IN GOA IN INDIA.
SALIENT FEATURES
* Most popular cookery Course among locals as well as foreigners in India...
* Ranked as No 1 Best Cookery Course by Travel Magasines in Goa..
* India's leading cooking expert. Five star rating.
* Listed in top 10 on Yahoo, Google & Msn
* Arrange market tour of spices, fruits & vegetables.
* Short term course (1 day to 5 days)
* No prior cooking experience is required.
* Ideal for Chefs, housewives, children, working people, hotel
industry.
* Very practical course
* Chef has teaching experience
* Conducted in Portuguese house in a typical Indian kitchen
* Certificate Course.
* Training conducted for Chef of Marriott Hotel, Cidade de Goa,
Taj, Ronil's etc..
* We are ranked no.1 on Yahoo, Google & MSN for INDIAN , GOAN,
VEGETARIAN COOKING COURSE IN INDIA.
MENUS
A. SEAFOOD COURSE
1. PRAWN BALCHAO / KINGFISH MASALA / STUFFED CRABS/ GOAN FISH CURRY / FISH REICHADO
B. VEGETARIAN COURSE
1. CHANNA CHOLE / PAV BHAJI / VEGETABLE KORMA / POTATO BHAJI / STUFFED CAPSICUM / MALAI KOFTA / PALAK PANEER
C. INDIAN CUISINE COURSE
1. BUTTER CHICKEN / STUFFED CAPSICUM / PALAK PANEER / PAV BHAJI / CHANNA CHOLE
D. GOAN CUISINE COURSE
1. CHICKEN XACUTI / PORK SORPOTEL / KINGFISH MASALA / FEIJOADO / VEGETABLE KORMA
E. TANDOORI COURSE
1. FISH TIKKA/ CHICKEN TIKKA / CHICKEN TANDOORI / TANDOORI ROTI / SHEEH KABAB / SHAMI KABAB / TANDDOORI POMFRET FISH
F. SOUPS COURSE.
1. PORTUGUESE WEDDING SOUP / SWEET CORN SOUP / SPINACH GREEN SOUP / HINDU WEDDING SOUP / MIXED VEGETABLE SOUP
G. STREET STYLE CHATS
1. BHELPURI / SEV PURI / BATA PURI / PAV BHAJI / PAKORAS
H. RICE COURSE
1. FLAVOURED PULAO / BIRYANI / KASHMIRI PULAO / MIXED FRIED RICE / PRAWN FRIED RICE
I. CHICKEN COURSE
1. BUTTER CHICKEN / HYDERABADI CHICKEN / KASHMIRI CHICKEN / CHICKEN XACUTI / CHICKEN CAFREAL
J. PORK COURSE
1. PORK VINDALO / FEIJOADA / SORPOTEL / PORK ROAST / SAUSAGE PULAO
K. DESSERTS COURSE
1. SHEERA / GULAB JAMUNS / PANCAKES / CARROT HALWA / KHEER
L. CHOCOLATE MAKING COURSE
1. CHOCOLATE WITH NUTS / CHOCOLATES FROM FRUITS / DARK CHOCOLATES
Hands on cooking classes, with our expert chef
THINGS THAT WE DO
* Arrange cooking lessons at a typical Indian Kitchen.
* Arrange Visit to local Indian Spice Market.
* Online Recipe Book
* Lunch of what u created
ACCOMODATION
LOVELY SEA FACING DELUX SUITE APTS / SHARING ACCOMODATION WITH COOKING FACILITY FOR COUPLES, FAMILIES & GROUPS.
SPECIAL DISCOUNTS FOR COUPLES, FAMILIES & GROUPS
COOKERY COURSE TIMINGS :
FROM 12 AM TO 2 PM OR 6 PM TO 8 PM
DAILY & WEEKEND BATCHES.
DETROIT INSTITUTE
JOSE FALCAO ROAD
OPPOSITE TO GOA ELECTRICALS
NEAR MARY IMMACULATE PANAJI CHURCH
NEXT TO SILIMKHAN OPTICIANS
PANAJI GOA
TEL :9822131835.
I contact my class, and about thirteen people sign up.
From: Carol Mammel To: Detroit Institute <detroitinstitute@yahoo.com>
Sent: Tue, September 21, 2010 3:22:10 PM
Sent: Tue, September 21, 2010 3:22:10 PM
Hello: Fri Oct 22 6-8 pm seafood course 8 people and Sat Oct 23 6-8 pm 8 people Goa cuisine please Thank you
Carol Mammel
I send email after email, trying to find out class size maximum and dates available. I phone a number of times, but no one answers. After a week, I receive this email:
HI,
WE ADVISE U TO BOOK E COURSE IN ADVANCE TO AVOID DISAPPOINTMENT
WE ADVISE U TO BOOK E COURSE IN ADVANCE TO AVOID DISAPPOINTMENT
We prefer payment by bank transfer
TERMS & CONDITIONS :
1. 100% PAYMENT IN ADVANCE
2. BANK : STATE BANK OF INDIA,
MAIN BRANCH
OPPOSITE MANDOVI HOTEL
DAYANAND BANDODKAR MARG
PANAJI
GOA, INDIA - 403001
COURSE FEES RS 2500/PERSON/ME NU
I put these terms to the class, thinking 2500 rupees is $110 and people need to pay up front. Eight people sign up, and send me the money, except for one classmate who asks says she heard it only used to be $60.00; mortified, I realize that 2500 is only $60, and I have been charging Vancouver prices. I joke that I could make a killing doing this, if I so chose.
I send the wire payment, praying that this is not a scam; but I want everything organized before I leave.
Two days later, I receive an email:
HI,
WE HAVE STILL NOT YET RECEIVED THE FUNDS
PLZ REPLY ASAP.
REGARDS
WE HAVE STILL NOT YET RECEIVED THE FUNDS
PLZ REPLY ASAP.
REGARDS
I reply, somewhat impatiently; this woman is starting to annoy me.
Hello; I sent it Tuesday 1 AM your time as per your directions; it will take 3-4 days to arrive at your bank. A credit card or paypal is of course much faster. As soon as I am at my house I will email a jpg of the receipt.
sincerely,
Carol Mammel
sincerely,
Carol Mammel
And then I pack, write my exams, and leave for India.
So today, back in my room, I receive another email:
HI,
WE HAVE STILL NOT YET RECEIVED THE FUNDS
PLZ REPLY ASAP.
REGARDS
WE HAVE STILL NOT YET RECEIVED THE FUNDS
PLZ REPLY ASAP.
REGARDS
By now, I am feeling positively snappish.
I am so sorry to hear you have not received the funds. I am in Mumbai, and I can fax the receipt to you. What is your fax number, please?
Carol Mammel
Metro palace Hotel
Mumbai
677 44 555
Room 508
Carol Mammel
Metro palace Hotel
Mumbai
677 44 555
Room 508
The reply comes surprisingly swiftly:
PLEASE SEND US THE SCANNED COPY WE DO NOT HAVE A FAX NO.
The front desk gives me directions to a cyber cafe so I can scan the receipt and email it; go across the road, they say, it is behind that fashion store (Matrix Dream Shopee); they will give you further directions. It is the first time I have to venture out on my own. I cross the street, in time with the locals; it is not such a scary thing after all.
The shop is beautiful, with silks, rayons, trims, gilt, embroidery; there are rows upon rows of Salwar Kameez and kurtas with leggings, all colours of the rainbow. I ask for directions to the Cyber Cafe. I am directed around the back, and for the umpteenth time that day, as night is falling, I am in a back alley, with cooking fires of the street people all around me, amidst garbage, crumbling and mildewed mortar, and stenches, and entering into a hole in the wall that is dingy, dirty, poorly lit, filled with PC’s and what look to be university students with backpacks, checking their hotmail and facebook accounts. A clean, tidy young man asks me respectfully how he can help me; a student vacates a terminal so I can scan and email my document. It costs me 20 rupees, or 5 cents.
On the way back from the cyber cafe, I peak into the shop again; I ask the beautiful young girl dressed in midnight blue silk and sequins if they have sarees. The man next to her answers, smiling deprecatingly, and neck-wobbling. “No mum, only kurta and salwar kameez for the holidays. Let me show you.”
There are lots of women in the shop; they are well dressed and look affluent. I think that if they shop here, I will get something acceptable for the streets of Mumbai and beyond. For the next hour, with Paresh Gada’s help, I am shown outfit after outfit, and I try some on. I get a white chiffony kurta with maroon leggings, and a teal/fuschia/gold/red kurta with ---the fellow wants me to buy bright pink leggings—chocolate brown leggings. http://silkindiaintl.tradeindia.com/Exporters_Suppliers/Exporter6267.550283/Gouhar.html OM SHREE SILK INDIA INTL. PVT. LTD.
Perfect for the Bollywood tour. I hint at bargaining: “ I don’t think I can afford them both, I say.
It is 6,000 rupees.”
“Oh no, mum,” he says, “ it is only 5, 380.” He is right; but I am being told that the price is fixed; it will not change. I buy them both. Over the coming three weeks; these outfits become godsends, along with the Salwar Kameez I have brought from home and that Sharina’s mom gave me.
Oct 09
Since buying a couple of stylish Indian kurtas and leggings I am feeling less out of place; and the clothes are built for the climate, so I feel much better; I always find it makes all the difference to do that, and it is not that expensive. The folks here seem to approve. Clothing in itself is not a language, but it does send a message; in this case it seems to be an ok one; many people smile when they see me and say, “Oh you like the Indian clothing, mum?” It is another way to be approachable. And when I sit in the lobby with my alphabet and primer and grammar, dressed in my respectable garb, the kindly older valet comes over, and helps me with my Hindi. I am beginning to get a very warm feeling for our people here at the Metro Palace Mumbai; it will be hard to leave. I am ashamed of my initial reaction to this hotel; white slave trade and human trafficking, my eye.
We go to two movie sets today; like right there while they were filming; so bizarre to be in the middle of a movie set;
and then we wandered around to the back and boom we were right on the old set of Slum Dog Millionaire.
You would never get that close in Hollywood; but our tour guide, Goram, is totally connected to all the brass; and then we had a super buffet dinner at a restaurant near the Oberoi theatre. They dropped us off at the theatre, and we had to check all our cameras at security before going in; this is the theatre where they do the red carpet premieres. We caught the end of Anjaana Anjaani, mostly in Hindi but set in New York at Christmas, with English interjected at the most surprising of times; it makes us all giggle. It is a great way to study Hindi J
and then we wandered around to the back and boom we were right on the old set of Slum Dog Millionaire.
You would never get that close in Hollywood; but our tour guide, Goram, is totally connected to all the brass; and then we had a super buffet dinner at a restaurant near the Oberoi theatre. They dropped us off at the theatre, and we had to check all our cameras at security before going in; this is the theatre where they do the red carpet premieres. We caught the end of Anjaana Anjaani, mostly in Hindi but set in New York at Christmas, with English interjected at the most surprising of times; it makes us all giggle. It is a great way to study Hindi J
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sK2Y-eogoDQ
There are no white people here. I mean there have to be, but I haven't seen any in our part of town, nor at the studios or even at the posh theatre/mall (Oberoi) where they hold all the premieres. (You would think there would be; Mumbai is a very huge cosmopolitan city). All the foreigners must be staying at the Taj, where we were that first day, in Colaba, along with the hawkers and the peddlers. Quite frankly, the tourists can have it. I love being in the middle of the inhabitants of Mumbai. So people stare a bit, but they are all completely nice and very sweet, and some even want to get their pictures taken with us because we stick out like sore thumbs. After the movie, we wait out on the steps of the Oberoi.
There are no white people here. I mean there have to be, but I haven't seen any in our part of town, nor at the studios or even at the posh theatre/mall (Oberoi) where they hold all the premieres. (You would think there would be; Mumbai is a very huge cosmopolitan city). All the foreigners must be staying at the Taj, where we were that first day, in Colaba, along with the hawkers and the peddlers. Quite frankly, the tourists can have it. I love being in the middle of the inhabitants of Mumbai. So people stare a bit, but they are all completely nice and very sweet, and some even want to get their pictures taken with us because we stick out like sore thumbs. After the movie, we wait out on the steps of the Oberoi.
“Where was the van picking us up?” I ask. No one knows, but we are not worried; all Goram has to do to find us is to ask where the foreigners have gone. He thinks it is crazy none of us has a cel phone; it is a little complicated to get one, but not impossible; I will try in Ahmedabad. At home the International students are all connected by the second day they are there. If I am taking them anywhere, they all text each other and me constantly, and no one gets left behind or lost. Without cell phones, it is a whole different set of planning we need to do. What a bunch! I think, self-deprecating; communications specialists, and no one has a cell phone.
Oct 10
Oct 10
The family of one of my students picked me up and took me to their house and apartment, and I met the whole family; the dad (in purple) showed me every single trophy and certificate and training course that his daughter had ever taken, right from pre-school; her younger sister is so sweet and I saw all her certificates as well; it was so breathtakingly wonderful to be welcomed into their home; what a different India it is here from what we see on the outside.
But the Dad missed his daughter so much you could tell; the trouble he was taking to give me the essence of his daughter, her whole life and her preciousness, her home and family
"When she was born" he said, "I held her right away and I wouldn't let anyone even touch her"
I was so so touched; he lives for his family; I didn't know how to tell him that I understood, but I do; only another parent would know.
But I was tearing up.
But the Dad missed his daughter so much you could tell; the trouble he was taking to give me the essence of his daughter, her whole life and her preciousness, her home and family
"When she was born" he said, "I held her right away and I wouldn't let anyone even touch her"
I was so so touched; he lives for his family; I didn't know how to tell him that I understood, but I do; only another parent would know.
But I was tearing up.
This was a day where I didn’t practise Hindi; we needed to not have language in the way of communicating. I am learning that I need to pick and choose the times that my language learning will take precedence over communicating; two very different things. I have accepted that I am not going to learn alot of Hindi in India this time around. I need to study at night, and I am either too tired, or I want (need) to spend time with my cohort as well; besides forming relationships with Indian people, I need to enjoy relationships with my cohort; a sensitive, dynamic group. Although I like to spend alot of time on my own, decompressing, I need the sense of belonging that comes from sharing tasks and experiences with my classmates. I make a deliberate choice to spend as much time fostering relationships with my cohort as I do pursuing the study of Hindi. I will still do it, but mostly on my time.
Oct 12
I am now in a very moslem state (Ahmedabad, Gujarat) and being extra good; it is a dry state. My colleague called last night and asked me to pick up a bottle of gin; if they were small bottles, then two – but there was nowhere to buy it. Ahmedabad is a modern city, where we are; in retrospect, Mumbai is on another planet: I looked back as we were driving to the airport and saw women in red, pink, ochre, fuschia saris, some with bundles on their silk-swathed heads; the air was grey-blue, shrouded in a Neptunian haze, generated by cooking fires. Crumbling ruins and new construction loomed eerily in the mist, and there was a forest and a lake in the middle of the city.
Ahmedabad is modern and industrialized, and the hotel is lovely (LemonTree)
everything smells of lemon, but the funny thing is that we all kind of miss Mumbai; the people there are all very sweet and accommodating; even the traffic is accommodating (crazy but true; much safer than in Europe, I would say) even if they do drive down the wrong side of the street.
So I bet by the end of the stay here, we won't want to leave here either.
everything smells of lemon, but the funny thing is that we all kind of miss Mumbai; the people there are all very sweet and accommodating; even the traffic is accommodating (crazy but true; much safer than in Europe, I would say) even if they do drive down the wrong side of the street.
So I bet by the end of the stay here, we won't want to leave here either.
The Lemon Tree Hotel gives us this weird and wonderful map, that shows the hotel and all the different districts. I am afraid to go out in this traffic, to cross the street; I am not used to it yet. It may be accommodating, but it is not as gentle as Mumbai traffic. But walking around is the best way to feel comfortable with our surroundings; we find a marvellous chocolate and espresso shop with a very hardworking owner who helps me with my Hindi vowels and then makes us coffee; the shop is called Brown and Happy, and makes wonderful chocolates and cakes. We will use this shop over and over again while we are here, to celebrate Tina’s convocation, Melissa’s birthday, and to buy chocolates for all the hotel staff when we leave. In any case, Brown and Happy becomes more than just another little ink dot on our map. Out of space comes a sense of place.
I am learning to ask directions in Hindi. Unfortunately, I don’t yet understand the instructions, and we have to resort to the map. As yet I don’t have a Hindi-English dictionary; just the limited vocabulary in the back of my grammar book. Nor do I have a phrase book; in my snobbish purist way, I have somehow decided that phrase books are useless; people need to learn how to manipulate the grammar. I resolve to find a dictionary and a phrase book. I am not a sojourner, I remind myself sourly; I am a tourist, and I need some tourist shortcuts.
The streets are labelled in Hindi (or is it Gujarati?); I can show the map to the auto-rickshaw drivers. The Lemon Tree front desk staff give directions to our drivers, and then they proceed. Invariably they get lost, and we have to stop and ask directions. We are learning by now, however, that this is the procedure. Every now and then we ask a bystander to phone our destination for further directions. None of us has phones; people are a little worried by having to photocopy passports and credit cards. I am simply too tired at the end of every day, and as the days wear on, I begin to think there is less and less point in it; I have adapted to being without a phone. We are the only 35 people in India without a cell phone.
There are reports of ethnic violence; in 2001, Ahmedabad erupted in Hindu-Moslem clashes, and thousands of people were killed. According to Ashoke, it was incited amongst poor people by radical clerics, both Moslem and Hindu; the people of Ahmedabad remain traumatized by the sudden, violent episode. Out of it grew Drishti, a video producing company that champions peace and human rights among the poor and illiterate.
But all the reports and fear mongering keep us from appreciating this city and its lovely people. The traffic may be busier, the atmosphere less mystical than Mumbai; its edges more defined; grittier, more real; but the accommodating nature of its people is no less apparent than in Mumbai. As we get out and travel the city, use the autorickshaws, walk the streets, speak with the people, it becomes less menacing; its exoticism and uniqueness begin to emerge. With familiarity comes ease; the anxiety and fear diminish; appreciation grows.
Oct 12
The flight to Ahmedabad is uneventful; there is an unpublished stop in Bhuj, near the west coast. It is the capital of Kutch and is the centre of the textile and handcraft industry in Gujarat. I look up the city and the hotels and think I would like to go there sometime; probably there would not be too many foreign tourists and I could get closer to this ineffable country and its people. Already I am wanting to separate myself from the University group in order to meld with this new country. http://maps.google.ca/maps?q=Bhuj&rls=com.microsoft:en-ca:IE-SearchBox&oe=&redir_esc=&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=Bhuj,+Gujarat+370001,+India&gl=ca&ei=hfTlTLnJAZSksQPDoNixCw&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=image&resnum=1&ved=0CB0Q8gEwAA
http://www.bhujmandir.org/ is the link to the new temple Shree Swaminarayan.
But it is while attempting to study Hindi with my newly purchased alphabet that I make a new friend, a young software trainer who has his own consultancy and training firm, from Ahmedabad who was returning doing a training in Hyderabad. He helps me conjugate the verb to be.
Mai Carol Hu(n)
He helps with pronunciation. He confides that he has applied to emigrate to Canada. I say to him; give me your email address; so he gives me his business card, but now he is embarrassed; it is going too far to ask and he cannot say no. We have enjoyed our flight, but now he decides to sleep, or pretend to. I chat with the man on the other side; he is a British 60 something social worker turned stress-management consultant, going to Mt. Abu retreat; he has belonged to the Brahma Kumaris World spiritual university for 20 years now, and goes to the Gyan Sarovar Academy, Shantivan for a spiritual retreat every year. Shantivan Shantivan has the largest parabolic solar device in India, which provides steam heat for cooking; and, together with wind energy, provides electricity for computers, the telephone exchange and emergency emergency lighting systems. It is a huge organization, and I know I could never belong to it; admirable as it sounds.
http://www.bkwsu.org/whoweare/headquarters/gyansarovar
Oct 13
I have class; meet Ashoke Chatterjee from the National Institute of Design and have our first class with Wendy Quarry. Wendy is completely organized and has set up our visits with the NGOs; Ashoke is not completely sure of us and our involvement; are we going to be more trouble than we are worth?
After class we go and wander the streets a bit, check out the shops closer to the hotel. There is a fabric and traditional clothing shop just around the corner. You can get Salwar Kameez made, or Saris, or buy outfits for Garba dancing. The prices are excellent; I decide not to buy yet; it is too soon. I get out my Hindi book and say to the shop girl: sup kuch sundar heh (Everything is beautiful) She breaks into a lovely smile. “You are learning Hindi, mum?” An older lady, another customer, dressed in purple, helps me with the pronunciation. The shopkeeper joins in; and I am delighted. A simple sentence has gathered a group together, working in unison to share their knowledge. A feeling of community surrounds me.
In Mumbai, everyone co-exists very peacefully; it is a very spiritual place, even in the slums and on the streets; the whole city seems kind of wrapped up in a misty (smoggy:) dream; Ahmedabad has a grittier feel; but when I speak to people, they are just as nice; the religious tension that caused the bloodshed in 2001 is mostly dissipated, and the people do their best to make sure the violence will not happen again. Right now it is Navatri, the goddess Dhurga festival and the garbha dancers come out and whirl like dervishes for 9 days straight http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Navaratri ; we will go watch the garba dancing and hope to not get run over by motorcycles, which apparently happens here, according to the newspapers. And Thursday to Saturday I am out in the villages with the nomadic cattle herders
Oct 13
It feels as though I have been gone forever, and at the same time only in the blink of an eye; this is such a weird in between place that I am not surprised that even my sense of time is gibbled.
It's hard to believe that there could be any violence in this country, because I have felt so safe here. There are lots of people who don't speak English, and the Hindi book (or Gujarati) with dictionary is great at helping with communication; and then it is as if there is no language barrier and we are all among friends; otherwise, I think in some ways the strangeness of this country (seen through western eyes) would be hard to take, living on the outside so to speak.
The Navratri festival we went to was a big private event, with lots of families and kids running around and dancing in a circle forever; it was put on by the Rotary Club of Airport Ahmedabad; the Rotarians were like Rotarians everywhere, running around, making everyone happy. The people were all dancing around in a circle, going around and around, and the teenagers added their own special twist; Bollywood/garba/La Macarena; the adults rolled their eyes and smiled; kids these days.
At the hotel, a bouquet of flowers is waiting for me. From your husband, says the valet. It is his birthday, and he has sent me anniversary flowers.
Oct 14
University of Gujarat School of Communication and Culture
By now we are getting good at negotiating the rickshaws and the streets; we kind of got lost on the way to the University, but all made it eventually. I am feeling very woozy from the garba dancing still; but showtime is showtime; the students have made rangoli out of flowers and have welcomed us to the school; we have speeches; I practice saying sup kuch sunhar heh, and the students are delighted. We all prance into a relationship dance, delighted with each other; we MARAG people have to leave early for Becharaj early, but others stay longer, get invited to events, workshops and the like; I exchange Facebook and email data with some students; and I hope they will come to Royal Roads in the fall; it would be a pleasure to return their hospitality.
Oct 14 to Becharaj
We get on the bus, and I sleep to Becharaj. I wake up at the bus station, and feel as though I am in Brazil at a rodoviaria; there is a grandfather helping his granddaughter learn how to walk; I tell him that she reminds me of my eldest, Darcy at that age. I go talk to her, and the whole family comes over to visit. I feel much better.
In Becharaj, Asmeeta joins us; she is a young Maldhari advocate and the year previously won the Young Gandhi award for organizing youth and advocating for her village. She is one of the first of Lalji and Neeta’s protégées to go through the education system and in turn teaches other children. She sits next to me and I smile and ask her a question. She turns to Mona for translation. She speaks Hindi and Gujarati, but not English, and I seize the moment I have been waiting for!
I take out my Hindi book and say it’s ok; I turn to the dictionary in the back point to the word married; and point to her. She reads the Hindi, smiles, says no, and then take the dictionary and finds the words for four months. Over the next hour, Asmeeta teaches me Hindi and Gujarati, and we have a conversation. I learn how to say my name is Carol in Hindi and in Gujarati, and to say what is your name? And I would like some tea. They all give us tea J When we get to the village, she introduces me to the villagers, to the children, and our whole group practices saying, meru nam, Carol (or Nick or whatever) cheh. The children perform a dance for us the women’s collective talks with us; Mona translates. We are not sure what we should be asking, or saying, but in the quieter moments, they teach us Gujarati and we teach them some English; it is play, and we are having fun; for them it is a festive moment as well. I love the pictures from these visits; the warm feeling comes back. Deeper learning and understanding would come from a longer visit, but for now, the warm fuzzies will do.
We visit, we go to another village, we go to Becharaj and have supper before going to bed. We eat out on the porch, in the breeze, scooping up curry and rice with chapattis and licking our fingers; we all agree that we will probably not lose weight while we are in India.
Oct 15
Last night we sat around under the starry sky and around campfire, with the firelight flickering on the shepherd's faces, all those white turbans; and the gorgeous saris, and they asked us about our cattle and how much milk they produced; luckily some of us could answer those questions.
The kids sang us songs, and we taught them how to do "head and shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes" It was a great hit
The tribal people advocates we are visiting are building a retreat centre at Mera and powering it with methane gas produced by a mixture of manure and water, stored underground in a tank; they have big dreams, but look at what the Osoyoos band has achieved. They will be holding a conference here in one month. Smeeta shows us how to pick cotton.
I am uploading a picture of a bungalow under construction, and the finished product at a resort nearby (where I am not staying)
http://www.littlerannofkutch.com/the_resort_accomodations.html
Oct 16
I woke up with little ants crawling over me; the gecko was not doing his job, eating the bugs in the country hostel. We were in the little Rann of Kutch
http://www.shunya.net/Pictures/WesternIndia/Gujarat/LittleRannKutch/LittleRannOfKutch.htm And I have yet to figure out how a country that is so water challenged manages to put about 20 taps and faucets in one bathroom; I try to turn them to flush the toilet, but only succeed in drenching the whole bathroom without flushing the toilet. This reminds me of the year I spent Christmas in Tucurui, in the Amazon. The bed is a bed and I am exhausted; I lay my sleeping bag liner down; It is best not to look too closely for bugs; I take my malarone, but we are in the desert, so there is probably not much to worry about there. At least there are no snakes in the hotel.
We are now back in Ahmedabad, and I am off to bed, in a room with no ants J
Tomorrow we are meeting with our NGOs again; they really don’t need our advice on anything; quite the opposite; but they don’t have anyone with website skills, Mona tells me. One or two of our group are graphic designers, and we are all pretty handy with drag and drop website builders, which for MARAG would be a pretty good option.
Oct 17
We went to an old house turned expensive hotel last night for something called thali or Gurjarati vegetarian smorgasbord where they give you all kinds of bizarre and exotic foods and herbs that I have never heard of, washed down with salted yoghurt milk, finished off with rosewater, pistachio, aniseed and betel nut and optional shisha smoking from a hookah; this is a dry state but I swear the herbs contain mood altering drugs; we were all feeling a little euphoric. Then again, it could have been the heavy pollution and smoky incense; but i felt like something out of a turkish harem or Arabian nights.
the chef was so appreciative when we learned the Gujarati word for excellent (surcheh); he positively beamed and kept coming around to show us how to eat the 20 little dishes he had served
but oh my god I was so full; and could not sleep last night and am dragging my butt big time today. We have class and then over to the NGO to work on their website and blog; I just hope we don't get lost on the way over :)
Many of our cohort are starting to get stressed and grumpy and haven't quite realized that they need a break from this country. That is when you go to a very exotic hotel (like Le Meridien here) and do nothing more than have tea; but it at least is an escape and a break, because otherwise they get short tempered and anxious and are very difficult to be around, complaining and rude to the locals.
But it is mostly the classmates who have not engaged with the people of this country who are feeling the most disenfranchised; forming relationships makes us feel more like insiders; living on the outside, you start to feel disconnected.
We were at the National Institute of Design this morning; it is amazing what they have kids do here; I think designers and craftspeople of any kind would love this tour, and honestly nothing gets the creative juices flowing like being here because there are so many millions of microcultures here; bizarre stuff you would never dream of, it has got to be good for North American brains; a little jolt, sort of. There are quite a few exchange students here, from Europe mostly. I wonder if our Canadian undergrads would be able to come straight to the NID? I think they would do really well adjusting at the Study Abroad Cultural program at the University of Gujarat first; and then they would be in better shape to withstand the rigours of the NID. The design students spend the first year manufacturing; and then they are allowed to start designing. But the NID is very firm that designers have a good grasp on working with their chosen materials.
Oct 18
Our Marag group folded us in and made us feel like family; I was wishing Mitchell was here to enjoy working in the office with us; Mona's husband teases her; her university.
interns tease her; it was alot like being at home, except we were in India.
I am going to so miss this country; I am going to have to figure out a way to keep coming back. I said that with Brazil, and I am also saying that with India; but who really knows? When I get back it will all be about thinking about others and so it should be; but right now I am so fully engaged with this country that I do not want to leave. MARAG has an international women’s pastoralist conference at Mera in one month; I would love to be here for that; I am editing their Becharaj declaration, which is fascinating; I want to hear what will come of the Mera conference.
Mona and Parul take Catriona and me to the textile exhibition and we do some shopping; I had been to the Fair trade stores FabIndia and Anochi the previous day and now I am afraid to spend money; but Parul helps me to shop for some bracelets; and Mona and her husband took us for thali after thali; Catriona is a huge foodie she says; and Mona’s husband wanted to make sure she would get the thali that tasted the best; we went to a number of places in the city to taste the different kinds; finally he found one stall where it was made just right.
Oct 19
We went to the garba dancing at the university again; the students are all so sweet; some of them will come to Royal Roads next year; they organized the party in about 2 days and included a feast: buttermilk, curry, gulab jaman, rice; all vegan of course; Gujarat is a strictly vegetarian state, and they love their meals of thali or tapas. Everyone came and danced; Mark was a sweetheart; I was talking with two lovely young girls who were a little shy about joining the dancers; I smiled at Mark and he came over and started dancing with us; the girls joined in; it was perfect.
I keep seeing things here that I think people would like or that I would love to bring back for the same reason; my luggage is now severely overweight in any case; I will be paying through the nose to get it home, c'est la vie.
Oct 20: Riviera de Goa
We arrived here after a long day of waiting around in Mumbai airport; my prof, Wendy, a peppery bird-like lady in her late 60's, has worked for CIDA, CUSO, development work all her life; she also studied in Spain under Franco; we compared notes. Lately she has been in Kabul and Pakistan; she identified a couple of guys waiting for flights in Mumbai as CIA; I said how can you tell? She remembered them from Kabul. Bizarre is what I thought.
On Oct 21, after a long day traveling from Ahmedabad, I receive another email from Branca:
HI,
PLZ CONFIRM NO OF STUDENTS FOR COOKING CLASS ASAP.
PLZ REPLY ASAP
REGARDS
PLZ CONFIRM NO OF STUDENTS FOR COOKING CLASS ASAP.
PLZ REPLY ASAP
REGARDS
I have already told her eight, and just one class, on the 23rd; everyone is beginning to set up their fieldwork and other activities in Goa. I repeat the date, time, and number of people we have already booked. I wonder how many people are working in that office. I get another email:
hi,
plz come for the class on 22.10.2010 at 5pm to 8pm.
REPORTING TIME 4.30PM.
plz come for the class on 22.10.2010 at 5pm to 8pm.
REPORTING TIME 4.30PM.
at least she is now using lower case type, but she has the date wrong. I write her back, correcting the date. I receive this reply:
HI,
DO U WANT TO BOOK ANY STUDENTS FOR SEAFOOD CLASS ON 22.10.2010?
PLZ REPLY ASAP
REGARDS
DO U WANT TO BOOK ANY STUDENTS FOR SEAFOOD CLASS ON 22.10.2010?
PLZ REPLY ASAP
REGARDS
I reply again; by this time we are in Goa, at the Riviera, and getting ready for a bus tour to Panaji and Old Goa; it is Oct 22. I get another email that morning:
HI,
PLZ CONFIRM UR DATES FOR COOKING CLASSES
REGARDS
PLZ CONFIRM UR DATES FOR COOKING CLASSES
REGARDS
Oct 22
I have about an hour before the bus leaves for South Goa
We are here to observe tourists who observe locals who observe us; the hotel is gorgeous and luxurious and the water at the beach is warm and the food delicious and cheap
the air is fresh, unlike Ahmedabad and Mumbai, which are among two of the most polluted cities in the world, but yikes the tourists! At least at Baga beach there are lots of Indian tourists from all over as well;
It is alot harder to bond with the locals here, and that is life; I will enjoy what encounters I can. So many years of tourists invading their space; the locals have to create some distance in some way; many of them now have a natural wariness that I did not detect in the other two cities.
We get on the bus, and go for the tour, which quickly becomes what we will call the Monsoon Tour.
Tina comes with us and is willing to give me a Hindi lesson, although that is so not her responsibility I don’t want to take up much of her time; but she is a natural as a language teacher; in Ahmedabad, we spent a lot of time working with our NGOs; but now, in Goa, it is time for our fieldwork, and back to Hindi.
I have my little laminated alphabet sheet; I am getting good at the vowel sounds: uh, aah, i, ee, o, ooh, ru, e, eh?oh , au, aha. But then we get to the consonants, aspirated and unaspirated. Ka, I say.
“No, Carol; the other one is Ka,” Says Tina. “This one is Kha.”
“Kha,” I repeat, obediently.
“No,” says Tina. “Kha”
“Kha,” I say, emphatically.
“You have to gasp it out a bit,” says Tina. “Khhhhhhha.”
“Khhhhhhha!” I gasp.
“No. Khhhhhhha.”
“Khhhhhhhhhaaaa!!!!!” By this time I have full-on emphysema.
Tina shakes her head. “We’ll try it after the bus trip,” she says. “When you can hear me a bit better.”
The truth is, I obviously can’t differentiate the sounds yet; that will take quite some time. I need to hear more Hindi, and read it out loud, and have other people read to me. Somewhat ruefully, I note that I feel like a four year old. And that is okay; it gets better; you just have to put up with a little humiliation when you are a language learner.
It rains in sheets, in floods, in oceans and tsunamis; the river cruise is cancelled; and we end up in Panaji square browsing around in the dark at 6 pm, huddled under the eaves of the shops, peering out; we are drenched, but warm. Thank god for small miracles. As we are getting off the bus, a flash of lightning lights up the street; and in the narrow alleyway, I see a haphazard, peeling, crooked, faded sign above an aluminum roll-down door: DETROIT INSTITUTE OF GOA. Dodging motorcycles and cabs in the shiny cobblestoned streets. I cross over; there is a miniature river rising out of the gutter next to the curb where the storefront sits. The curb is so narrow; I walk along it as if it were a tightwire, raising my hand up to steady myself against a phone pole. Another bolt of lightning: the phone pole is an electric pole, complete with resistors and transformers on it. I don’t touch it, preferring to splash into the flooded gutter. Looking at the storefront, I note that it is dark, empty; I resolve to go back on Saturday before the scheduled class, just to see if I have the right place. I am really beginning to think I have been scammed. It is such a pleasure to finally get back to the Riviera and have a hot shower. On the way we stop a number of times at ATMs; almost none of them are working for our foreign debit cards.
Oct 23.
The next day, I get Rosetta at the Riviera to phone Branca for me; she answers, by some miracle. We agree on the time for the cooking class that evening. I hop into a taxi with Valerie and Peter; we head for Panaji; they have shopping to do, and I want to check out the Detroit Institute in Daytime. I go back to Jose Falcao Rd, walk up and down in front of the storefront, ask the neighbours about the Institute. “All gone,” they say. I go to the tourist agency off the square (entering the building, it feels and looks like an old dungeon, Spanish inquisition style; but on the second floor, and peek behind a weathered wooden door; I find a beautiful modern office) and try to phone; the phone lines are down. I go back to the storefront.
Feeling an even greater sense of foreboding, I lean against an unmarked wooden door. It opens, and inside is a room within another room, with 5 computer terminals and a desk. A woman stands up to greet me: “Carol?” It is “Branca” whose real name is Renee. I will bring the rest of the group back at 5:30, and she will escort us to the huge Portuguese mansion for the cooking class. She seems much nicer in person. They advertise Hindi lessons as well; on impulse, I ask about Hindi classes, since I have got nowhere with the university. The answer is swift: yes, of course we teach. Five days in one week, for one hour and a half, 3,000 rupees.
I go to the bookstore and find a Konkani grammar (the dialect of the region) and a Hindi-English dictionary, finally, and a couple of simple teach yourself Hindi books, much simpler than my convoluted texts. I am realizing I need something short and sweet and condensed at first; grammar at a glance. I wonder if they have verb wheels.
Walking back to meet the others at the Fidalgo Hotel (great coffee shop and Portuguese bakery there; this place is messing with my mind big time; this is so highly reminiscent of Brazil in the 70’s, right down to the custom made outfits of the women here) I see a Saree shop; Neeta’s Saris; it has absolutely stunning outfits in the shop window. On impulse, I enter; I have to take my shoes off; they are trying to keep the shop clean, after yesterday’s torrential downpour. The shop is bathed in lemony sunlight. I ask about sarees, and Neeta takes me upstairs. There are a number of women getting outfits made in preparation for Diwali festivities. She shows me everyday sarees; beautiful silks, glowing colours; and then I mention I would like something for my daughter’s graduation. http://silkindiaintl.tradeindia.com/Exporters_Suppliers/Exporter6267.550283/Gouhar.html
Out come the sarees made of netting and sequins; yards and yards of material, with chiffony underskirts; luckily I have only 10 minutes to choose, which helps narrow my focus considerably. I look at sarees with cream chiffon and netting and golden embroidery; sky-blue and pink; and sea-foam green with gold embroidery. Seafoam green wins out. It will be 5,000 rupees all told, with the blouse and underskirt; they usually need one week to “stitch” the outfit, but for me they can do it by Wednesday, as I will be gone by Sunday. It is hard to believe I will be leaving this soon. I want to pay with Mastercard, but the phone lines are all full of static from the rain, and the ATMs and credit card machines are not working; it reminds me of living in Ryder lake, where our dialup and debit machines went down every time it used to rain. You never know what living in Ryder Lake will do for cross-cultural understanding. I pay 3800 rupees and promise to pay the remainder on Wednesday. The young man measures me for the blouse and skirt. The women and I talk about exercise and weight loss; the shopgirls have lost about 100 pounds between them. I am seeing lots of ads, in this newly affluent India, for weight loss and exercise.
I am feeling much better about everything; I meet up with the others and we ride back to the Riviera; our cab driver organizes a friend to transport our whole group to cooking class and back.
The cooking class is not in a mansion at all; it is a house, in little Lisbon, an old upscale quarter by the Panajim church. It is Renee’s house. Her sister, Mom, twin nieces and a nephew are there. The house is run down, by our standards; but very homey, full of faded grandeur. It reminds me, once again, of Goiania in the seventies. The kitchen is perfect; gas stove with propane cylinders, a filter on the wall and clean water stored in old 2 litre pop bottles in the fridge. The purified water is doled out in cooking, drop by drop. We chop, we sautee, we are starving; we take pictures of all the pots, pans, and antiquated appliances, blenders and pressure cookers included. Catriona goes on a beer run; we stopped for wine on the way to dinner. When eventually it is time to eat, Renee sits down with us and shares wine and presides imperiously over the dinner table, and we chat.
Renee says to me, “We will do a dish from every state.” This is news to me. I thought we were doing the Goan menu. In retrospect, perhaps Renee never expected us to show up at all, and then she was scrambling to produce something. For $60 each, she produced a meal which was an incredibly authentic learning experience, but we are all sure it only cost her about $30 dollars to produce. She has made $450 all in one evening. She knows her cooking, but it is nothing special. I love this experience, but it has nothing to do with anything she has promised. She could have told the truth and we would have been happy to join in. But at this juncture of our stay, we are all beginning to understand to value of a rupee. We have not been scammed outright; but we have been gouged, I think. I am feeling very disgruntled.
But I am incredibly intrigued and relieved by this whole evening, and I have more questions than answers about the Detroit Institute and about the little office; who is the owner, and what exactly do they sell?
Our class, two days later, revolves around commodification and other adjustment issues; Many of our cohort are tired of the beach peddlers and other hawkers; we feel somewhat assaulted by the expectation that we will pay more because we are foreign, and we are fair game. Accustomed to the gentle treatment and delight that we experienced in our relating with our cohorts at the University of Gujarat and with our NGO friends, it is so difficult to enter into this antagonistic relationship. Krysta offers an excellent insight: her customers, in the bar where she works, can be just so many walking dollar signs, she says; but when she talks to them, gets to know them a bit better, she can no longer see them that way.
It is my Eureka moment.
This is why I have been working so hard at engaging the people around me: when you form relationships, the antagonism that can exist between tourist and locals, each seeing the other as a commodity, diminishes. The only place in India where I have felt taken advantage of, been treated as a rich person to be gouged is at the Detroit Institute. Renee, with her proud, imperious manner has no problem charging what I see to be ridiculous prices. I decide that I need to get to know her better, in order to diminish the antagonism I am feeling.
Sunday Oct 24
I have decided to take the day off; at ten a.m. I go to the beauty parlour and spend 5 hours getting waxes, manicures, pedicures, all for about $20.00; I chat with the girls; I have my Hindi grammar. They help me out, but they don’t remember their school Hindi exactly; I ask when they use Hindi in Goa; for TV shows, they say, films, lots of radio. The masseuse comes in to invite them for lunch; it is her birthday and she is missing Thailand. I am delighted; it is my birthday as well. That night I am persuaded to go out to a Greek restaurant in Vagador, on the beach; it is delicious food and in a beautiful setting. When I get back, I have a message to phone home; Brian has been trying to reach me and the landlines are down, so he phoned a manager on his cell phone; and I have been out gallivanting; I feel so bad.
Monday Oct 25.
The recipes from Renee arrive via email; they are not the dishes we have learned the night before, but have been taken off the Goa Holiday Homes website, where the Detroit Institute advertises; I am wondering what the connection between the two businesses might be.
I decide to sign up, even though I will be unable to make it there every day; we have classes and some excursions coming up. I am pretty sure Renee is not a Hindi teacher per se; I tell her I have a number of books to learn from, and I would like to get some help reading out loud.
She recommends a bookstore, Broadway books, where I can find Children’s books in English and Hindi.
Over the next several days, Renee drills me in phrases and sentences: How is your wife? How is your husband? And we chat; she is a great fan of Oprah, and asks me about abusive teachers, abusive husbands, shelters and transition houses. I learn very little about her. I ask her how to say please in Hindi, as my grammar show commands, with not a word for please in sight.
“We say it in English and then the rest in Hindi,” she says. I have not once heard her say please, or ask for anything politely. Everything is a command or a statement. We sit at her desk in the hole in the wall and her colleague, Elsa, a middle aged sweet woman, answers email on the computers. They are also helping someone apply for documents to go abroad; apparently he is very unreliable and never shows up when he is supposed to.
I am getting the impression that Renee Menezes is proud of her heritage, devoted to her family, and is supporting them through her work. She is not married, and she is a devout Catholic. I am reminded of the Suri of Ethiopia, who are also extremely proud of their culture, and more than a little tired of the tourists, who invade their space and don’t know how to behave. The half-naked Russians running around on the beaches? “Mafia,” she sniffs.
Tourists, in this context, can pay through the nose to be in her space; she has not asked for them to be here, and if they want to be here, they can pay a fair price. Like the Suri who charge tremendous amounts to have their pictures taken and who will rob their guests if they have not paid enough, she expects the tourists to pay or to leave. If her product is questioned, she raises her voice and speaks even more imperiously.
While I am there, the fellow who is applying for travel documents arrives. He questions the fees she has charged him, because he has still not received the documents. Renee bristles; he is questioning her honesty? She tears a strip off him, literally. She shoves his money at him; take it; take it; I go to all this work and you impugn my honour! It seems he has not brought in all the documentation she needs to fully apply for his visas. This argument goes on for what seems to be half an hour; I get Elsa to help me sound out some words from The Otters and the Wolf (Ood aur Bhidya) The man eventually begs Renee’s pardon, promises to bring the documentation in, and leaves.
We go back to studying; I notice that I am now able to produce the sounds better and to distinguish them when Renee pronounces them. On the way home, Renee and Elsa drop me at the Broadway bookstore (I pay the rickshaw fare, of course) and look around. I am in another back alley.
By now, I am used to this; I look for any kind of rickety door, and find it, surrounded by cardboard boxes and packing-crates: books waiting to be unpacked. By now, I know the drill: I go up stairs that look like they will lead to a gallows, and through another rickety door. And enter Paradise. Chapters, eat your heart out. Books and school supplies of every description and subject piled upon pile, and people upon people searching through the shelves. I find the section on Hindi learning, and I am in hog heaven; I pick out another dictionary, a phrase book, a book about a man riding a motorcycle (a Royal Enfield) up through the Himalyas and yet another teach yourself Hindi book (I now have four) – this is the one by Mohini Rao, a classic and the best one yet; and I find the bilingual kids’ books (Appu Series); all 60 of them. With great restraint (a tougher job than deciding on Sarees) I limit myself to four.
Next to me, a couple of Japanese students are looking through the teach yourself section. Can I help you find something? I ask. They are looking for teach yourself Spanish books; I know exactly where they are.
I learn that these students are on a Study Abroad program at Goa University, and they will be there 6 months total. They are studying English, along with 9 of their countrymen, some African people, and a few Europeans. But (as I learned as a study abroad student myself) after two months they are thinking wistfully of studying somewhere else; and they want to try Spain next. I am leaving in two days’ time; we exchange facebook names and promise to get in touch; I could give them a Spanish lesson. Actually, I want to meet their faculty, since I have sent a million emails to that program and received nothing back. In India, I am learning, you need an introduction. Showing up is the best thing you can do.
On the way out, I take out my phrase book, and ask one of the workers what time it is. He answers me, and of course I don’t understand, but he shows me his watch; it’s all good. The grammar summary in the back is very handy, as well.
Out on the street, a middle aged man asks if I am lost; I explain I am just looking around while waiting for a Hindi lesson; he is from Portugal, an expat; so we spoke in Portuguese; so now he wants to take me out to hear guitar music in India, which may be a genuine offer, but it is the first whiff of a come on that I have heard here; so I dodge the offer very very diplomatically, although my classmates would probably take him up on it; but I have found it is best just not to go there. I have so enjoyed being the Mother Theresa figure here; tons of respect and my towels always get changed daily although others have waited for a week for the same service; age and dressing properly has everything to do with it.
Oct 28 El Shaddai
it is 9 pm after an excruciatingly long 2 days; I went to the street kids' shelter (very lovely!) and it was a very long day; today I went to the Taj Fort Aguada and met with the Indian astrologer (Masterjee), who is 84 years old and deadly accurate; the Taj is gorgeous and a welcome respite from chaos; I can see where it would be an expat's escape for a weekend, although I love this country; you would even have room to run there. Goldie Hawn is a customer of Masterjee’s; she stays at the Taj.
On the way back I could see people rice harvesting beside the road, where it is nice and hot; the paddies are right next to the road, where the little hariya (deadly green vipers) lurk among the lily pads; I will not be going into the rice paddies any time soon. Coriander paste, however, (and the wild cilantro grows like couch grass around here) will slow the venom until you can get to the hospital.
The street kids shelter and school (run by El Shadai organization) http://www.riddlesforrupees.com/Act_1.html#4 is such a remarkable and transformational story it moved me to almost tears of gratitude and appreciation; these people do outreach in the slums and bring street kids into their daycares, shelters; teach them through university and beyond, support families so the kids can remain with families if at all possible, even if they live in the garbage dump, give them daily baths and meals and school and run a hospice for aids children and other sick kids; the families cannot afford care. There was a little girl in blue there; she is disabled; the only future for her, outside of El Shaddai is begging or prostitution; at El Shaddai they teach these kids trades as well; the grads usually return to give back to others after they are out and working. They started 14 years ago helping 17 kids and now are looking after 3500; their cubbies at school have their names on them even; and the kids drilled me in the Hindi alphabet; letting those kids be the teachers made them very proud; and I learned a lot. Kids have so much patience, they can teach for hours, we learn together, and I don’t feel any anxiety about messing up. It is, I decide, the best way to learn. In return, We taught them the hokey pokey and read stories and gathered up hugs.
The tourism industry can cause so much commodification and antagonism, just because of the disparity between haves and have-nots; supporting good agencies and forming relationships with locals mitigates those negative effects in a very big way, which is why, I suppose, I always try to learn the language or communicate with a dictionary when language is an issue; and try to reach out in other ways when it is not; however, getting back to air conditioning and a room of my own, a hot shower and my laptop at the end of the day is a piece of heaven.
Oct 30
Everyone is leaving. Classes are over, my fieldwork is concluded, and I don’t really have to talk to anyone if I don’t want to. I still don’t speak Hindi. I spend all day hanging out in the lobby, saying good bye to one person after another. Lynne wants to know if I want to “crash” the mehendi party of the girl who is getting married; we would be more than welcome; but I am not feeling very sociable. By the end of the day, I just want to be alone, and I want to go home. I go sit by the pool and try to read about the motorcycle ride through the Himalayas, but by this point I am suddenly so done with India I don’t even want to read about it. The Russians are splashing about in the pool and making lots of noise. I meet Lynne for dinner at the hotel; we have a long chat about non-India things, and I start to feel a little less mopey.
Oct 31
Lynne and I decide to go do some shopping at the markets in Calangute; I go back a bit earlier, and take the shuttle back from Baga. A young Russian couple is sitting across the aisle; I ask a question, and she answers. She is one of the few Russians I have met here who speaks English. Apparently she was a grad student in Vermont for two years, and she and her husband are traveling in India, not in a group. As we chat, the husband smiles; he doesn’t understand anything I am saying, and he reminds me of my husband. We used to travel all over South America together, and I would translate. If we met up with other people, I would translate for all of them. Sometimes our group got really rowdy and I could see the locals getting frustrated, but our group, locked away in our English speaking little bubble, couldn’t see it. Sometimes I just wanted to get away from our loud mouthed group. This girl doesn’t want to be part of the Russian group right now, either. Suddenly I am thinking; I have been trying to learn the wrong language here. I should have had a Russian book and I should have been reaching out to the mystery Russians. I bet I would have learned a lot of interesting things. I feel sorry for them; they seem so isolated. Suddenly, I don’t have enough time in this country anymore. I need another week, I think.
Nov. 2- 5: What have I really learned?
I make the long trek home by myself, looking out at bejewelled Mumbai as we leave; I am not sure I am coming back, much as I would like to. You never know what life will throw at you...
I love being home.
I love being cold and putting all my clothes on.
My lungs still hurt from the air pollution, and I can go for a run in fresh air.
My Achilles tendon has healed from a month of no running and no high heels, and less sitting.
I have not lost weight, but I have not gained it, either.
And I have not learned much Hindi, either, although I have finally learned the alphabet.
I have learned that you don’t need to learn the language in order to connect, and sometimes the language learning exercise kept me away from really connecting in English, which everyone around me spoke. But to which degree did I want to connect? More profound relationships are still difficult for me; and that has nothing to do with language. Some bubbles are very difficult to penetrate. My bubble has more to do with shyness and anxiety around people; if I control my environment by putting out nice and getting nice back, reduce other peoples’ anxiety at meeting me, smooth over any difficulties in the immediate environment, my all-over anxiety reduces and “static” disappears; I am better able to notice, to appreciate, to reflect. If my environment is tense, I am unable to do any of these things. Other people in my cohort didn’t aim to do any language learning, but they were naturally better at forming relationships, exploring, getting stuff done, and noticing some things that escaped me; I feel that their natural anxiety levels are much lower than mine. I am an anxious person, an anxious tourist; the fact that I have learned to cope in different situations speaks to the amount of time I have spent trying to adjust to other cultures, in Spain, in Brazil, in Quebec and traveling elsewhere; and also in many situations where I felt inadequate and insecure.
I deduced, after a month of really thinking about it, that the engagement, the clothing, the politeness; “showtime”; is my way of controlling my environment. When I put out nice, I usually get nice back. Harmony is very important to me, and conflict and confrontation is difficult; I will do anything to get that stopped before it starts. Sometimes, however, it doesn’t work. Renee, despite my efforts to connect better, still regarded me as her cash cow to be milked; and I do believe she would continue to try, unless I simply stopped her. In that case, I could always withdraw from the situation, because I don’t believe she ever backs down. I think she is struggling to support her family. But there are some people with whom confrontation will be inevitable. Nice doesn’t always work; just most of the time.
And my little meltdown has occurred a week after I got home. I had forgotten, while I was away, that I had people in my life; I can’t, at the end of each day, go to my room, shut the door, and be by myself. There are issues, mini crises, relating tasks that need to be taken care of constantly. I guess I have always done this, but I had taken it so for granted, a month away showed me how much time needs to be spent on other people just to keep the relationships healthy. I guess I have been doing it all this time, and never noticed it. Some things I re-engaged with; other situations, I said, enough or this is unacceptable. Being away for this long, you see things with new eyes. But mostly I am glad to be back, and glad to be reliving the experience again with this website.
This experience will continue to settle and mature, and insights will continually make their ways to the surface. The learning does not stop when we leave a place; it stops when we cease to reflect upon it.
And India, precious India with the golden future; may everyone who visits you appreciate you as I have and even more; there are not enough lives in this universe to experience your culture, your complexity, your mystery. One of our cohort wrote a beautiful love letter to you on the last day (link to Anika’s blog http://anikamcdonald.wordpress.com/) and said: I will not exoticise you. India, it is impossible to make you more exotic than you already are.
http://www.goaholidayhomes.com/goan-dishes.php
______________________________________________________________________________
