Illusions of Glamour

So, I've been working and reworking this particular post for some time now. When experiencing culture shock, you try to shake off the negative and focus on the positive, to find humor in frustration. Especially when those far away are so excited for you, so intrigued by your exotic experiences, and so enthralled with what appears to be a life of jet setting and glamour.

Yes, there are lots of flights, but usually in coach. And even if the seat space isn't tight, international flights are filled with people of multiple cultures, all with their own 'quirks.' Uncovered coughs and sneezes. Sniffs and snorts. Throat clearing. Scents of perspiration. All of us trapped in an enclosed space for hours on end breathing each others' germs. Nobody is sashaying down the aisle delivering glorious cocktails.

And yes, I have a maid, which is lovely when our communication is actually effective. Beyond just the language barrier, her Indian English and my American English, there's also simply communicating when and how things should be done in the apartment. It usually takes months before it goes without saying how I want this or that done, and taking the initiative to do it. Don't get me wrong, my maid is wonderful, but we're still building this relationship and I'm still looking all over to find where she's put something away. So until then, I miss my maid of nine years in Colombia, and I'll just keep rearranging what she's rearranged and explaining it over again.

And yes, the city of Mumbai is new and exciting and honestly, never sleeps!  I'm not sure what festival we're in now, but there are low flying fireworks going off every night. Before that, it was lights and drumming. Before that, it was drumming and loud speakers. Before that, it was carrying an elephant statue to the sea with singing and drumming. Before that, it was filling the street with goats then slaughtering them over two days and eating them. With some drumming for good measure. I'm fortunate in that I can sleep through anything, but my colleagues have had their windows rattle with the noise.


I'll take a noisy, bumpy rickshaw to the crowded train station to wait in line to elbow myself onto a train downtown to have a coffee by the sea, only to have a pigeon poop on me.

I'll stroll for hours in the heat, sweaty and sticky, to enjoy the streets and shops of nicer neighborhoods, popping in to make a mental note of gifts to buy later, and just as I look up to admire the detailed architecture, I step on a loose brick and have the back of my pants, ankle to butt, splattered with muddy water...that is most likely more than just mud. eck

I'll wake up and throw my curtains open only to see the neighbor lady, not four feet away, staring back at me with binoculars. I'll go downstairs to receive a blank stare from the guard, which is better than the look away. I'll walk into the street to have ear-poking, crotch-scratching, paan-spitting men leer at me.

And then, there'll be kites. The children here make their own kites and fly them off the roofs of their buildings. And it's beautiful. They coast and soar and cross and cut themselves free. And for two minutes, as you look up, it's a little something wonderful in the midst of all the madness.

Dabble in Politics

I was away for Diwali and when I got back, Mumbai was in mourning for Bal Thackerary - a man who led the extreme right-wing political party, Shiv Sena, who had never been elected to public office.

I've received emails from both my employer and the U.S. consulate to 'avoid going out of your home' all weekend. Makes one wonder how violent an Indian funeral can get! Obviously some people will be mourning, but others will be celebrating.

Thackerary was a racist hate-monger. His political party is named after a god of destruction. He publicly admired Hitler. He was touted as being 'fearless with his words' - his words. He encouraged regional discrimination and intimidation. He instigated riots and the slaughter of thousands of non-Hindu men, women, and children. He added fear, grief, and suffering to the world.

I won't celebrate his death even though I'm glad he's out of India's political picture, but I also won't mourn the loss of a man so hateful. I'll only mourn the loss of a life misled.

Rice Threshing

So much thought and effort goes into a rice harvest. 

Patches of flat land are damned in to create a rice paddy and irrigated with small canals of water that is constantly monitored to ensure just the right amount enters.

Once fully grown, it is harvested at the root and set to dry in the sun.

Once fully dry, it is carried to the village and threshed to separate the rice grain from the stem. Later the rice will be separated from the chaff and ready for cooking.