Sinking In

Written one week ago:
I’m finally starting to feel more Indian, and somewhat like I belong. The feeling just hit me today. As I walked briskly through the dung covered streets kicking up dust with my chappals (sandals) and proudly displaying my colorfully dyed hair and face from yesterday’s festivities, I didn’t feel so out of place as I walked through neighborhoods to visit a family that have become good friends. Sure, people don’t know quite what to think of this pale girl with pink hair in a blue salwar kameez outfit who gives a slight hand wag to the autorickshaw walas (drivers) indicating that she’d rather walk than get a lift, but I like causing a little confusion. However, despite my nose ring and henna-covered hand of intricate designs, I’ll never look Indian, and perusing the city on weekends heightens my awareness of this fact even more.

The next gawking teenage boy with oiled hair and cheap flashy sunglasses giving cat calls from a parked motorcycle draped with a couple of his friends is going to get it, in the ribs, and hard. Or maybe I’ll just settle for a harsh exclamation of my indignation at his rudeness, which won’t sound so eloquent when actually being yelled. So far I’ve just kept tunnel vision: gazing straight ahead, walking with determination, and not so much as twitching my ponytail to annoying coos of “Hellooooo”. Immature verbal harassment is as bad as it gets and I don’t feel in danger, so friends and family: no need to worry. I’m bigger and stronger than most of these scrawny fellows, the only thing I’m worried about is losing my cool. I am working for a Gandhian-based organization after-all, and that means belief in ahimsa, or non-violence. It was on Friday that I felt my blood starting to boil (maybe it was the 100+ degree weather in addition to the boys), but today, Sunday, my boiling attitude has mellowed out. I feel a sudden strong love and affiliation with my adopted Indian culture.

I think my main happiness stems from a contentedness of place and familiarity; knowing people in the place I live. For example, as Ruchi (my roommate and friend) and I trudged back home from the vegetable stands loaded down with bags of produce, an autorickshaw wala named Sham, stopped to give us a lift for the last 2 blocks. I was about to give my hand waggle, when I suddenly recognized his face and he said, “Namaste, Sandhya, please ride, No rupees.” It was our first free rickshaw ride! We’ve got a friend!

We’ve also got a favorite sweetshop up on the corner where Uncle-Ji (proper term to call one’s elder, he’s also the owner of the shop) sells us the best jelabies (sugary, orange, deep-fried swirls).

Then there’s Salama’s Salon in Sardarpura Market, where we go for haircuts and shampoos, and maybe if you’re lucky, a chance to be in the local newspaper for an article on the best post-Holi-festival facials. As we stopped in to pick up a shampoo today, the ladies begged one of us to pose for the newspaper article promoting their salon as the best treatment in town for removal of the pink dye on faces. I said, “Teekay (Okay)” as my face was still extremely magenta and came back in 45 minutes for a photo-op and free facial. I never thought I was so girly! And maybe I’ll be in the paper tomorrow! (turns out I wasn’t, too bad!)

Besides these folks and spots, we’ve got our favorite little European/American shop to buy real chocolate and museli; the cellphone shop up the street to recharge the minutes on our phones (I know exactly how much it should cost); and the best dosa (an awesome south Indian dish) around. It’s wonderful to finally be getting my bearings in the city, knowing where places are and how much it should cost to get there. Streets and faces are becoming familiar, and finally I’m picking up a little Hindi!

And DAD, you would be so proud! I figured out how to eat with my fingers properly! If you think those phrases are contradictory, “eating with my fingers” and “properly”, then you haven’t yet seen the grace that Indians display in swooping fingerfuls of food into their mouths! I have been going back and forth between spoon and fingers, which is somewhat looked down upon, but I finally figured it out: just scoop a little vegetable onto your fingers, pull your thumb back and skillfully use it to push the vegetable into your mouth. It sounds so obvious, but when you’re clumsily sucking on fingertips, you’ll understand why a little finés makes such a big difference.

It feels good to finally be sinking in, even if I’m reminded of my differentness so often. Familiarity encourages me to communicate, it un-tenses my shoulders and lets me smile. (I’ve still got my elbow ready for any necessary jabs in the ribs though.)