नवम्बर ४, थे फिनाल इंडिया ब्लॉग

After a week at home I’m ready to write a final reflection on my experience in India.

After Kanyakumari I got the inevitable sick. The good news is that even though I couldn’t really leave bed for two days I was able to watch the fireworks of Diwali from my window – they were ubiquitous. I first saw them on the train on Friday night coming home from Kanyakumari. It was so neat watching the colourful explosions come from the villages as we went by. They didn’t stop until the end of the weekend. Even during the day it was a constant barrage of detonations. (“I love the magic of TNT. How eloquently it speaks! Its resounding rumble, its clap, its quack is scarcely less deep than the passionate moan of the Earth herself. A well-timed series of detonations is like a choir of quakes. For all of its fluent resonance, a bomb says one word – ‘Surprise!’ – and then applauds itself. I love the hot hands of explosion. I love a breeze perfumed with the devil smell of powder (so close in its effect to the angel smell of sex). I love the way that architecture, under the impetus of dynamite, dissolves almost in slow motion, crumbling delicately, shedding bricks like feathers, corners melting, grim facades breaking into grins, supports shrugging and calling it a day, tons of totalitarian wreck washing away in the wake of a circular tsunami of air. I love that precious portion of a second when window glass becomes elastic and bulges out like bubble gum before popping. I love public buildings made public at last, doors flung open to the citizens, to the creatures, to the universe. Baby, come on in! And I love the final snuff of smoke.” –Still Life with Woodpecker)

I never thought I’d actually have the opportunity to use that quote in any kind of relevant way.

Anyways, unfortunately the two days I was extremely ill were also the days the air conditioning decided to quit. Thankfully I was still at Roopa’s so I was well fed and safe. However with the air conditioner’s demise the mosquitoes attacked in full force which didn’t help with my recovery.

Day three of sickness I got myself up and headed to Lady Doak college where I investigated their service learning programs, gave a lecture on Canadian culture, and audited some of their social science courses. It was an interesting time – in those circles Canada is known for Niagara Falls, wheat, and snow. I enjoyed talking about Thanksgiving, our seasons, and cultural diversity. The lectures I attended were somewhat similar to lectures I’ve been to here – only the professors seemed a lot more sure of the research they were citing – instead of the constant emphasis on how research and psychology and sociology are constantly changing that we get here. In Roopa’s class she showed a video on the elderly in India. It has spurred me to plan a visit to my grandmother – one that has been far too long coming.

On my last day in India, Roopa wrapped me up in a saree. It took quite a while to do- it’s more complicated than it looks. People liked me far better in a saree. Suddenly people who couldn’t speak English could, auto rides were cheaper, and I got many more smiles. Roopa also asked one of her students to do henna for me. It was an awesome time – she did beautiful and detailed designs. Her sister stayed with us through the process. They are both daughters of a Hindu priest and astrologer. They were both extremely bright women – both in graduate school for accounting. They were the first people I had met in India who didn’t subscribe to a specific religion. They both talked about how they take truth from all religions. I also found it interesting that despite their religious pluralism they believe fully in their father’s work as a priest and astrologer – they insist his techniques are mathematical and precise – and say that he can read minds (however they never allow him to read their own thoughts). It was also interesting to talk about dating practices with them. They both wistfully told me about how they had been in love before but had to restrain themselves because the men weren’t in the same caste. They were grateful that their father would let them marry outside of their family religion, however the caste rule was steadfast. If they could not find husbands by a designated time, then their marriages would be arranged. They didn’t look forward to this fate but it was accepted.

The henna took much longer than I thought it would – all the sudden it was mid afternoon and I knew I would have to leave soon. So, with the henna still gooped all over my hands I made my way to an auto and back for one last visit to the Meenakshi temple. A woman helped me tie jasmine in my hair and I went into a different entrance than I had before. I walked around the corridors and the bathing tank… taking my time to take in all of the sensations one more time. It was the only time I actually walked around the inside by myself – and I think that’s what I really needed to truly observe and absorb the beauty. As I walked around I slowly rolled the henna off of my hands – which ended up being symbolic for me. India has taught me many lessons – most of which I’m finding ineffable at the moment. I got a different perspective – and that is what I was going for. I saw some of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen – and also some of the most difficult and disturbing. I’ve said it before and I’ll continue to describe India as the land of contradictions. The most lavish expenses and the most devastating poverty; the most beautiful, loving acceptance and the most rude, abrupt casting off; nature, children, and femininity being held up and exalted, and also being degraded and despised. As I left the excess henna behind I accepted the beautiful marks India has made on me but I left behind any sense of ‘unfinished business’ or anxiety that I had about what I had seen, what I had experienced, and all the work that I feel is left to do. I got one last blessing from my elephant, and said good-bye.

I started typing the lessons I’ve learned and the changes I’m noticing in myself after this adventure – but I think I’m still processing them and sorting out what will be integrated into me from here on in – and those superficial changes that will wear away with cultural erosion.

On the way home I spent two nights in Brussel’s. This was a perfect intermediary for me – part way on the culture, the temperature, the language, and the time difference. I stayed in a beautiful place called “The Chocolate Room” – a cozy bed and breakfast run by a helpful and cheerful very gay, very French host. The architecture was lovely, I checked out an Art Nouveau house, the parks and the general view was beautiful– and nice and peaceful which was what I needed. The first night I rested for a bit and ended up going for dinner rather late. I got recruited into an Italian place near Grand Place. After dinner I walked around – Grand Place with its cobblestone streets and old buildings were enchanting. Around eleven a guy asked me to have a drink. He only spoke French – which was fun for me - it was a good chance to practice my French. I politely refused the drink though as I was dead tired. He asked to walk me to the subway – which I accepted since I had no idea where it was. After the conversation steered to a suggestive invitation to his "maison," I decided to start asking other people if we were actually going in the direction of the subway. After a racy struggle in a dark doorway I stormed off. He followed me for a good twenty minutes… I was careful to be loud and I was so, so glad I didn’t follow him down any isolated roads before this point. I couldn’t believe how long this guy followed me – and how persistent he was – after my angry refusal he still kept grabbing my hand and even got a lick in or two (yuck!). No one helped for a while – maybe they thought it was just a domestic dispute, I don’t know. But eventually, two sweet men (bless them) helped me out – one distracted the guy while the other told me where I could catch the subway. By this point I was completely freaked out, soaked in the rain, and very angry. Luckily I got back to the Chocolate Room and two dear friend were online and helped me calm down. Somewhere in the struggle he got my wallet – luckily I had two wallets going just in-case so he only made away with some photos, some ID, and twenty bucks. Funny how I got along for almost a month unmolested in India – I spend one night in the UK and end up mugged.

Ahhhh well – it was a learning experience and it could have been much worse. The second day I consoled myself with Belgian chocolate and waffles. Waffles are so delicious I didn’t expect they could be improved upon much. I was wrong. There is magic in the Belgian waffle. They are so fresh they are almost doughy. The outside must be fried like a donut – it’s so perfectly, but not overwhelmingly sweet. I spent about six or seven hours that day just walking around taking in the sites. I met a woman at a café who takes periodic trips to India who noticed my henna. She said India leaves magic with you that will never go away.

Even though at times I feel disoriented (I’m learning that reverse culture shock is a real phenomenon), there are a few things I have to describe to you upon returning home. First of all – I’m traveling all over the world every night. I’ve been sitting up in bed and all the sudden I’m in a tower in China, looking out a window in London, back in India or Brussels, or last night I was on a flight to Australia. Secondly – I have to express how devastatingly thankful I am. I came home on a cool rainy afternoon. It’s not cold – it’s fresh. The smell of rotting leaves and the Canadian breeze makes me feel so at home. Dad took me home through the scenic route and I’ve never experienced fall colours like that before. On Friday night – I spent most of my night just thinking about how cute and how beautiful my nephew’s little ears are – and how excited I am about his life. I have a whole new appreciation for the people in my life. The random text messages people sent me while I was away – the emails, facebook notes, music downloads, prayers, positive thoughts – it’s like my family and ten of my best friends were with me on this amazing adventure and I thank you with all the madness in my soul.

and the day turned to night

After three hours of sleep, I woke up very happy once again. I saw the cutest little lizard by the front door. Had a delicious breakfast and a nice chat with my host. He asked his driver to take me downtown (I finally got a glimpse of the magnificent Maneeksha temple), and then to take me to the Gandi museum. I love their driver. I forget his name and feel bad about that. But he doesn't speak very much English, but has been very kind to me - chopping my coconut, and putting effort into communicating despite our language barrier. He dropped me off at the Gandhi museum. I started looking around when he came up the stairs with a friends of his, Kaleeswaran. Kalee spent over two hours showing me around the museum and giving me an extremely valuable Indian perspective on recent Indian history. It was interesting also to tell him about parallels within Canadian history and how whitey treated the natives there. There were three little girls who stared at me adorably. Eventually the oldest had the courage to shake my hand and ask my name - her two little sisters followed suit. Very adorable. It's amazing the people who have come up just to talk to me - as me what country I'm from and what my name is. The inner room is painted black and contains the clothes Gandhi was wearing when he was shot. Kalee took me to the garden afterward, where we walked barefoot to where some of his ashes are buried. Then he took me to see Hindu statues from the past 700-800 years.

After this I offered him some cash to say thank-you, and he refused. He then introduced me to his father who rode his bicycle from Madurai to Pakistan spreading the lessons of peace that Gandhi also spread. His father had a scrap book on him where he showed me the newspaper clippings. Kalee said that Gandhi was his father's role model, and his father is a role model for him. He then offered to take me on the back of his bike to the road. I am so touched by the time he took to show me around - just because he wanted to.

Then, walking back in the searing heat, an old man, smaller than I am, asked me to get into his rickshaw. I tried to politely refuse - I wanted to walk - but he insisted saying he needed the money - and by the look of his frighteningly broken down carriage I believe him. Against my better judgment, I climbed in. It was extremely humbling to have an old man peddling me down the streets. About half way to our neighborhood, he pulled over to show me pictures of his six children, and other people he had driven around. He then dropped me off at the entrance to our neighborhood. He charged me over twice what the journey was worth but I gladly paid him. Then, to my dismay, he started following me around. Eventually I made it clear that I wasn't going to go with him (he probably wanted to take me to shops where he'd make commission), and he went away. Another very kind man just stopped me to ask if everything was alright. This is the second time someone has just approached me to ask if I needed anything - not trying to sell anything, just offering assistance.

Then I walked past some of the slums on the way to the gorgeous house I am staying at. A beggar woman kept asking me for money - really, how could I say no? And what difference will ten rupees make to one woman when there is poverty just everywhere.

Finally I got home and now I'm just going to hide and process and sleep. I know I haven't even seen the half of it. I picked up Gandhi's autobiography. Might be good for me to read right now.

Not For Sale!

Last night I was privileged to be able to drive a group from our Introduction to Roman Catholicism course to a "Not for Sale" anti-human-trafficking open meeting in Waterdown at the School Sisters of Notre Dame mother house. It was inspiring. The speakers not only explained the problem (I learned so much), but they also offered a whole range of things everyone can do to help. There are easy things - like print out coupons to give to store owners who don't sell fair-trade chocolate to encourage them to buy some fair trade chocolate. On the other end of the spectrum you can collect data for the organization over-seas.

Check out the link:
http://www.notforsalecampaign.org/

Highly recommended! I wish I had time to write more! Check out the link! Now! Do it!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvTFKpIaQhM

I stole this from one of the Beyond Borders student blogs. :0) Thanks Jen!

Beyond U Meeting Today

I met with some Beyond U students today - it was great to meet everyone!

Everyone seems enthusiastic and ready to get the most out of this pilot project.

I look forward to working with everyone further!

Blogging for CRC

Well I figured I should start a blog account for the Centre for Responsible Citizenship (http://sju.ca/crc.html).

Since we're asking Beyond U students, and Beyond Borders students to keep blogs - I figured a good way for me to keep up would be to sign up myself!

I'm not sure if I will actually get a chance to post much in here - we'll see how it goes!