Friday June 20, 2008

Moving in with the Kapoors.
A Kirtan welcome.

I just did my first sun salutation since I disembarked for India...on my black yoga mat which lies on the marble floor of my rooftop bedroom. The soundtrack was Erykah Badu, regularly interspersed with the breas of a cow outside my window. My dristi in front of me was a dry rack of clothes that I handwashed in a bucket this evening. The most colorful items on the rack are the pieces of my second, and thus far most prized, Salwaar Kamiz. It is made of black and white and deep red-orange fabric that I bought at a Sari fabric store in busy Jaipur. I just picked it up from the little tailor’s shop that I pass on my walk from home to school. It cost 160 rupees to have it made...that is roughly 4 dollars.

My room is furnished with bare necessities: a cot, a dresser, a bookshelf and desk. In the corner is a giant cooler that I have yet to turn on because the fan above me and the evening rain outside keeps the room from overheating. Today it was very hot, very humid. I have never sweat so much in my life, all the while drinking hot tea. No matter the temperature in India, everyone drinks hot chai. All throughout the day. This morning when I went down for breakfast I could smell spices and hear Hindi chatter at the top of the steep spiral staircase that leads from the roof to the kitchen. Auntiji, my host mother, cooks us breakfast every morning. Yesterday it was homemade yogurt and aloo-paratha, a sort of potato-onion pancake, and today it was a ghi smothered omelet and toast. Needless to say, my vegan diet has become null here, I can’t imagine trying to make it in India without eating milk or butter nor can I imagine refusing a homemade omelet from Auntiji.

The Kapoors, my host family, are so kind. I nearly cried when I first moved in and realized how fortunate I am to have been paired with this Sikh family of four. I approached the gate with my bags in hand and was welcomed into the heart of a ceremony where the whole local Sikh community had gathered. In the living room, 40 to 50 women, all dressed in their nicest Salwaars were seated before an altar, raising their voices in song. The altar, decorated with strands of marigolds, held a giant text from which an elder woman was leading the chant. My two roommates and I covered our heads with our dupathas, bowed our foreheads to the floor in front of the text, and sat down to join the women singing “Wahe Guru.” As I sat there chanting, listening to the harmonium I was overwhelmed with gratitude to the universe for bringing me into this home.

Since that afternoon I have been trying to get to know my family. Though it is difficult because my Hindi skills at the moment only pertain to tidbits about myself and comments on the weather. In the last two days, however, I have already learned so much from my patient teachers and motivated peers. My health has been great, better than most others who have already fallen sick. I am exhausted each night, so I have been sleeping well and waking up early. The sunrise shines into my room and brings with it a warmth that pleasantly wakes me up. Though we take tea breaks often, school is tiring. The heat is tiring. The walk to and from school is tiring.

It is tiring to combat the small but congested dirt roads which lack crosswalks or any notion of pedestrians at all. Yet, it is more draining to ignore the dark skinned, rough voiced, young and old women who follow us, pointing to their mouths and asking for money so that they can eat. I wish that I could explain to them that I am not heartless, just that I live here too now and I will be walking this road twice a day for the next three months. There are so many of them: I can’t stop to offer a rupee that probably won’t help anyway, because it is likely to unleash a string of people in need asking me for more. I try to avoid eye contact with everyone along the way since they are mostly male rickshaw drivers and street vendors or female beggars. I know most of them are watching the three American girls who seem out of place but I can not look at them to confirm that without it being an invitation to bargain for something that I don’t need. So I walk with my face forward or down at the ground so as to avoid puddles and trash.

This is not to cast every local person in a bad light or to say that my walk is one of grave seriousness. I have had many pleasant interactions with shopkeepers and tailors and my roommates and I chat and laugh as we walk. There is just a different way to interact here and until I really understand it, I am mostly withdrawing myself from it. Tomorrow we are going on a field trip, so even Saturday will be busy with school affairs. And Sunday is sure to be full of homework: which I have already received a hefty load of. Now I have to sleep so that I have energy for all of it. Goodnight for me...good afternoon to all of you.

Continue reading: India Journal 3