memories of chutney

i have a friend that just arrived in india to shoot a commercial. his photos teleported me back to 2003, to the days when i lived and traveled there. i thought i'd exhume a piece i wrote under india's spell. i know it's too early in my blogging career to have a greatest hits compilation, but there is something to be said about revisiting your past. not to mourn for what no longer is, but to allow the widow to make room in her bed for her new lover. to be able to turn your jacket of yesteryear inside out, you darn your holes and frayed edges and create a better hemmed pastiche of yourself. you have the freedom to take on the role of being a museum curator: cherry-picking aspects of one's character that are solidly complete in themselves, yet in married synergy you become all the more tangible and discernable to the audience. i can see and understand who i was, how india transformed me and continues to play a part in my life and in my heart. mother india represents the dualities of a country so divided in haunting poignancy with its castes and beliefs, yet so gelled in its ability to humble the most seasoned traveler. i prostrate myself on my stiletto knees in india's presence.

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headshakes

I have arrived in India. It is difficult to debrief you all on my initial impressions as all the colors and smells prick the senses in a toxic thrill. I can say however that internet cafes here do not make it to the "best things about India" list. This letter may prove to be incomprehensible as the keyboards operate in an erratic manner--much what seems like a typical pattern in Indian affairs. If there is a god, India certainly has a god looking after it. So much to say about Indian life and its computer keyboards. Many formalities exist to satisfy the bureaucrats. For instance, there is the SARS counter in the airport which every passenger must pass through. The disgruntled civil servant (bless his heart) does not even glance at our meticulously filled out contagion reports as we file past.

I wish that I could give you my eyes to see what I see; to give you my heart, to feel what I feel. I feel as if I know India, a place where life is condensed and magnified. Life is so simple, so ancient, so present in its deaths and births, nights and days. I feel as if I understand and belong here, yet I know that in its presence, I am humbled and understand nothing. The Lord Buddha reached enlightenment here yet India is a nuclear state; beggars ask not for money but for the Nike shoes or designer shirts people wear. They want a piece of the global village that brought you to their villages. India can be appropriated to represent any niche--glamor, asceticism, poverty, opulence. Over 1 billion people are looking for something, and are now taking that something to become a part of India and to make the world's most populous democracy functional. It is hard to stand back and view India through my hardened glass eyes. Extreme poverty, corruption, dirt--I have lived through it all before so I find it hard to describe something that is as familiar to me as my own worn reflection. I have to stop comparing India to what I know and approach it as unpackaged and fresh. But I cannot help but feel at home here.

I am using India as a go-between in understanding my own native country. Understanding the lack of sanitation, the handwritten ledgers of government records, the weakness for betel nut; I feel like I will somehow come to understand Myanmar beyond my childhood visits. I will have to stop seeing through child eyes and take on the country with an adult's perspective, irrespective of nostalgia. What shakes me out of my boxed impressions are the range of features that pass me daily with Kohl framed eyes. Beauty is served in more flavors than Baskin Robbins. The hospitality and smiles here flood every village gate despite the fact that people exist on @ 50 US cents daily. The other day I was welcomed (at the end of my visit) with a Hindu ceremony. The head of the village marked my forehead with sanguine colored powder and presented me with a revered coconut worth a quarter of a daily wage.

There are many curiosities about India which I am not sure will ever be understood. I find myself passing through abodes which have hand and footprints stamped across the walls. I wonder if this is the 3rd World's version of Hollywood's boulevard of the Stars. Here are the smears of the poor and acrobatic (as the prints are in the middle of the walls). I am in my 2nd week of assessing water and sanitation in villages throughout Maharashtra state. I never thought that the day would come when other people's shit and piss would take on a new importance to my life. Throughout my study-tours, I have been made to feel like Princess Diana. A swarming sea of smiling children giggle and cling onto the shadows of my every move. I have been presented with flowers and new renditions of "Rlow rlow boat gentry streen" (row your boat). All I could give in return was a place in my memory. I feel like I should continue on with my humble cause of tackling AIDS, landmines, and world peace once I finish saving India next week. Mumbai and these villages are worlds apart. Mumbai, much like many urban centers, are cesspools of aggression--men have turned back to spit at us and everything that the foreign world represents. Out in these villages, everyone wants to practice their English. Unfortunately conversations don't go further than, "what is your name; what is your teacher's name;what is your second cousin twice removed, hairdresser's girlfriend's goldfish name." I have found that once people find out that I am also from a fellow developing country, they quickly lose interest in my "exotic" and move onto my "Amerika friends". Many children and adults alike have entertained us with their sincere kindness and warmth. The good fortune of the Hindu Gods have blessed us during our stay so far and we were invited to a Hindu wedding. I believe the women took pity on us as we were dressed like paupers with no jewelry and donned in mere cotton. To escape from the heat and the daily grind, I have experienced the famed Bollywood extravaganza which begins with the national anthem and public service announcements about HIV/AIDS and smoking. 3 hours later, I leave the cinema with ringing ears, not sure whether it is from the sweet Hindu melodies or from a burst eardrum as the sound system is set to deafen the deaf. In hardly a month I have a lifetime's worth of experiences. Every now and then I have to catch my breath with the realization that I am in India.