Getting into a Rhythm

A Hindu Temple in Chennai

At Davidson I run from classes to meetings to Delilahs rehearsals to admissions events.  18 days of India has upended my busy Davidson schedule with its frequent power outages, ambling cows, and bustling traffic.  My typical day begins with 6:15 am yoga, 7:30 breakfast, 8 am language instruction in the local Tamil, 9 am - 12 pm three classes about the politics and society of the Indian Ocean, then lunch at 12:30 pm.  The rest of the day, theoretically, is free.  We have spent many afternoons walking about the streets of our suburb of Chennai, Tamil Nadu, trying new sweets, shopping for vibrant shalwar camises, and walking down narrow alleys simply to breathe in the sweet perfume of the flowers which waft from stalls filled with elaborate garlands. 

The moments of down time have been few and far between.  As I write this, I am sitting on our balcony at the International Guest House of Madras Christian College (MCC) listening to the chirps of crickets, the howling of monkeys, and the occasional yelps of stray dogs.  Oh, and the unexpected bomb blast or gunfire from the nearby naval and Air Force bases. So goes the soundtrack of my evenings on a Friday night in the south of India. 

We left North Carolina on Saturday August 31st and arrived in Chennai on Monday September 2nd.  As we tried to adjust to the new culture and time zone, we fit in a journey down the coast to Mahabalipuram, the site of many Hindu temples from the 6th century, and Pondicherry, the charming former French colony.  I had a surreal realization while wandering the brightly lit streets of Pondicherry's French Quarter (think New Orleans) that all my friends back at Davidson were sitting down to have lunch at commons.  I struggled to tune out the beeping car horns and constant whirr of autos (auto-rickshaws) and imagine sitting outside in the mid-day sun for Saturday morning brunch.

In Pondicherry (Puducherry, Pondy) we stayed in a hotel in which every surface gleamed with polished granite, glittered with crystal chandeliers, and shone with burnished elevator doors and ceilings.  Take one step outside the high gates of the hotel, however, and a wave of dirt and noise smacks you clean across the face.  Maneuvering around the buckling sidewalk and piles of trash, I could not help but think of the contrast between spotless opulence of our hotel and the unabashedly grimy poverty of the neighborhood in which I now found myself.  Indians deal with this contrast between the rich and the poor, the new and the old, every single day.

Rights of admission reserved?

America does a fantastic job of hiding its poverty.  Out of sight, out of mind, no?  In my hometown in Ohio I drove to school every day through a disaffected area of town, but the streets were always wide and clean with not a single homeless person in sight.  Here, every time I leave the sylvan campus of MCC for the city, I pass at least ten beggars who plead for money.  They sit in piles of rags with festering wounds, amputated limbs, and raggedy hair, curled up against the flow of the passing foot traffic.  I want to help, but I have been told that any money I give will only attract unwanted attention.  My fellow classmates have remarked in slightly embarrassed tones how easy it is to ignore beggars.  The physical presence of poverty is normal even here in Tamil Nadu, one of the most affluent of India's 28 states.  As I have already mentioned, with each passing day, the wide brick sidewalks in Davidson fade, confronted by new sights, smells, and tastes.

Market shopping in the city

The culture shock I have heard so much about has yet to hit me.  This delay is due, in part, to the fact that I left the Davidson bubble for a Chennai bubble.  At Davidson we all recognize the presence of the "Davidson bubble," a phenomenon where we hear no news from outside a three-mile radius.  At MCC in Chennai, the seventeen of us exist in our own insular bubble, aware of the news in India and the world only when the wireless decides to work.  At all other times we go to class and live our daily lives caught up in new lives in India. 

Namaste until next time!

The First Few Days: An Impression

 The City of Chennai from St. Thomas's Mount

The window of a colonial era church in Chennai

India has fulfilled my every expectation that it would smell, look, taste and be different from everything I have experienced up until this point.  These first couple of days have been exciting and exhausting all at the same time.  I thought I would share a few of my observations and adjustments.

So many new desserts to try!

Observations: 

1. As Westerners in a city with very few other Westerners, seventeen 19-21 year olds attract plenty of attention.  The good thing is that the staring is simply curiousity on the part of the locals and has not been malicious.
2. In my day-to-day life in the United States, I find myself a part of the social and racial majority.  In Chennai I am a minority, a sweating, glaringly white minority.
3. Despite my every expectation I have yet to experience debilitating culture shock.  I have adjusted fairly well to new foods, the oppressive heat, and daily life in the global south.
4. Our guide at MCC, a Chennai local, lived in Ohio for 6 months a few years ago.  What are the chances of that?  When he found out it was my home state, the first thing he said to me was "Go Bucks!" 
5. I feel like I'm living in a wildlife sanctuary.  Since arriving on MCC's campus I have seen lizards, spotted deer, bats, a few of MCC's 100 varieties of birds, monkeys, stray dogs, and copious amounts of insects.

The sign to our guest house at MCC

A typical scene at MCC

Things to which I've had to adjust:

1. Not using my left hand (more importantly becoming conscious of when I use my left hand, which is all the time).  In India, the left hand is considered dirty, so I have to accept money, hand out gifts, and even pass food with my right hand.  I always considered myself left-handed only when I wrote .  Since coming to India, I have realized the sheer number of actions I automatically and subconsciously perform with my left hand.  Just imagine lots of awkward, last-minute fumbling arounds and you have my behavior in a shop when I go to hand my money to the cashier with my left hand.
2. Eating with my hands, actually just my right hand again (of course).  It makes every meal feel vaguely like a messy, but entertaining and enjoyable art project
3. Spicy food for breakfast: America is the reigning champion of bland breakfast foods and, my personal favorite, dessert barely concealed as breakfast food (think cinnamon rolls, chocolate chip pancakes, and scones).  By contrast, here my taste buds are assaulted early in the morning by flavor and spice.  I particularly liked a chewy rice cake called "idli" we used to sop up our spicy lentil stew Monday morning. (Think soft, moist dough with a faint hint of sourdough flavor shaped into patties and you have igli
4. Early wake ups: I woke up naturally at 5 am this morning with plenty of time for 6 am yoga!

What would this post be without a holy cow?

Until next time!