I can cope with the monstrous spiders on my bedroom walls. I'm all right with the cockroaches on the bathroom floor. The giant rat that lives in the yard doesn't give me problems. I avoid them when I have to, but for the most part, we all coexist quite peaceably (except for the part where I, or someone nearby, kills the unwanted pest).
None of these critters caused me any lasting trauma. I see them, I may squeal a little, or hop back on one foot...but the unfortunate foe either meets its end, or crawls away and leaves me unharmed in any way.
I recently experienced a much more memorable encounter with a small, unwanted animal.
It all began one dark night, when, for the nightly electricity outage, I could stand the sweltering heat of our fan-less bedroom no longer, and went out to the veranda to catch a breeze. It wasn't long before a fellow room mate quit the heat of the room and joined me on the veranda. And there we sat talking.
Our conversation became more involved, and by the time the electricity came back on, and we could have returned to our room, under the relief of a working fan, neither of us moved. We simply sat, talking in the globe light coming from the nearby streetlights. It was around this time, as I sat talking and staring into the ghostly courtyard, that a stray strand of twine captured my attention.
However, as we chatted and I stared, this piece of twine slithered. I don't know if you knew, but...twine doesn't generally move of its own accord. In fact...it doesn't. Ever. Needless to say, my previously loosely directed attention was suddenly riveted on this "twine." I stared, and pointed, and mumbled something along the lines of "I think there's a snake over there."
My partner in conversation got up and said she would be back with a flashlight to see for sure. Of course, by "I think there's a snake over there," what I really meant was "I know there's a snake over there. And you're an idiot" (pardon...that may sound harsh. It's an India Field Studies thing). However, I allowed her to leave, as I stood (it may have been more like a hop back on one foot, the details are a bit fuzzy), my eyes stuck to this mass slithering toward the veranda.
She came back with her flashlight and agreed that yes, indeed there was a snake ("Mh-hmm."). We went to wake the host family.
Appa was first up, and ready for battle. However, his weapon of choice is most commonly a small, twig broom. I've heard tales of Appa wielding a sling-shot, but have yet to experience this myself. Regardless, this twig broom appeared on this evening. It would not be sufficient against this beast. When Appa saw the enemy at hand, and realization dawned, he lowered his broom and yelled something in the local tongue to our host father.
Our dear host father came out of the bedroom, groggy, and saw the snake (this thing was big). He went back to his room, and emerged once again with a large, wooden stick in hand and quite a bit more focus in his eyes. He solemnly declared this an extremely poisonous viper.
As the females of the household (myself inclusive) huddled against the wall, this brave man bent over the snake, wooden stick hovering, until just the right moment, when the stick came down, smashing the head of the snake.
This, sadly, was not a sufficient blow. Although the snake was incapacitated, and would not likely live through the night...it was not dead. I think. The snake slayer sent another forceful jab to the serpent's head. The exact time of death for this unpleasant visitor is still in question by all witnesses. The being continued to writhe, squirm, and slither for quite some time after the first two blows to the head. Our courageous host father continued on in his brave battle for many long minutes before finally satisfied with the amount of life left in the dying (or dead) fiend coiled at the steps of his home.
Although this incident is over, and through the course of the night, I am confident that the snake was sufficiently killed and disposed of (as I stood watching the majority of the process), I have been left with an inescapable sense of fear whenever laeving the safety of my bedroom late at night. The spiders, the cockroaches, and the rat have left little (no?) impression on me. But the look in the eyes of my host father, and the tone in his voice when he thanked us for waking him have not left me.
Snakes do not commonly frequent the homes in this area, and all immediate danger has been removed. Another snake is not expected. And yet, I am left worrying each night, waving my flashlight around the courtyard, frightened that I might see something.
I am glad to be here. This is a wonderful country, and a wonderful opportunity. And I thank God that I don't have to stay here forever.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Uno in a Dhoti, Part II
So I guess this was a REALLY round-about way of saying all of this, but my point to all of this is simply to say...Appa is adorable.
He walks around in his dhoti, and bobbles his head, and he plays uno.
Appa is a meanuno player! He doesn't mess around! I tell you, get a couple of those kids, and a field studies student going on a game of uno with Appa, and...it is incredible to behold. In fact, I have a video. I'll add it sometime.
And yes. That is basically what I wanted to say. I love Appa.
He walks around in his dhoti, and bobbles his head, and he plays uno.
Appa is a meanuno player! He doesn't mess around! I tell you, get a couple of those kids, and a field studies student going on a game of uno with Appa, and...it is incredible to behold. In fact, I have a video. I'll add it sometime.
And yes. That is basically what I wanted to say. I love Appa.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Uno in a Dhoti
The past couple of weeks, our presence here in Chavadi has been complimented by that of our host mother’s father, lovingly known by all as “Appa,” the Tamil word for “father.” Appa knows about as much English as I know Tamil, but he’s expert at reading faces, intonations, and hand gestures. I always felt like he and I had a special bond. Whenever passing by, he always made sure to bobble his head and smile at me, and I would always either wave, or bring my hands together in front of my face and say “Vanakam” (the traditional local greeting). Yes. We had something special.
Appa recently disappeared from life here in the village. Two days ago he was here. Yesterday, he was not. He never even said good bye.
However! This is actually not the point of what I have to say today. Appa will be back, and I will again, someday soon, bobble my head at him, and give him my warm regards. But until then! I intend to describe to you the wonder that is endearing old men in India. I, sadly, have not as yet encountered many of these wonderful children of God, but all that I have interacted with have been adorable.
May I first describe the common apparel here in India? I think I have already mentioned the salwars—I have, by this point, memorized the common term for them here…churidars. These outfits include a long shirt, usually down to the knees or past, with some amazing pants that are unlike any other, and a scarf. This is what I wear on a daily basis. Young children wear western clothes, but as they grow (I would guess it is around puberty?), they are expected to wear the traditional clothing (with the exception of wealthy city-dwellers). At this point…whatever that point really is…the girls begin wearing the churidars. Here, the churidars are worn until marriage, when a girl becomes a woman and dons the famed saree. The saree is that loooooong piece of fabric wound intricately around the women. It is worn on top of an underskirt and a saree top (a very short blouse, which covers the shoulders and chest of the woman where the saree does not always).
The men, though…the men are slightly different. Most men in the city wear pants. All students wear pants. But if you are a man in the village, or an old man anywhere, you get to wear a dhoti.
A dhoti is an amazing little thing. It’s like a miniature sheet. It is wound and tied tightly once around the waist. It can then be worn like that, as a piece of fabric tied around the waist, reaching to the ground. This seems to be the more casual, or sometimes the more…maybe the younger look? I haven’t quite gathered that yet…but no. It is not the normal look. The common dhoti wearer then picks up the hem of the dhoti in both hands, and pulls it up around his waist. He usually flaps it around for a few minutes. I have a few theories on this flapping of the dhoti. I think it may be used as a method to shake out excess folds, or perhaps simply a cooling mechanism. Whatever the purpose may be, it happens whenever a man reties his dhoti (which is quite often). Once he has flapped sufficiently, he then ties the dhoti once more around his waist, and is fully dressed.
Well, ok, the dhoti is at least then sufficiently secured. It is actually most often worn on top of a pair of very short shorts. Most men wear some type of top with it. In the village while working at the shops, some wear a white tank. But the dhoti is almost always worn with some version of a button-up, collared shirt. It’s an interesting combination, yes. But I feel that way about a lot of India.
(sadly, my time has run out, and I must leave this blog to be continued later…)
Appa recently disappeared from life here in the village. Two days ago he was here. Yesterday, he was not. He never even said good bye.
However! This is actually not the point of what I have to say today. Appa will be back, and I will again, someday soon, bobble my head at him, and give him my warm regards. But until then! I intend to describe to you the wonder that is endearing old men in India. I, sadly, have not as yet encountered many of these wonderful children of God, but all that I have interacted with have been adorable.
May I first describe the common apparel here in India? I think I have already mentioned the salwars—I have, by this point, memorized the common term for them here…churidars. These outfits include a long shirt, usually down to the knees or past, with some amazing pants that are unlike any other, and a scarf. This is what I wear on a daily basis. Young children wear western clothes, but as they grow (I would guess it is around puberty?), they are expected to wear the traditional clothing (with the exception of wealthy city-dwellers). At this point…whatever that point really is…the girls begin wearing the churidars. Here, the churidars are worn until marriage, when a girl becomes a woman and dons the famed saree. The saree is that loooooong piece of fabric wound intricately around the women. It is worn on top of an underskirt and a saree top (a very short blouse, which covers the shoulders and chest of the woman where the saree does not always).
The men, though…the men are slightly different. Most men in the city wear pants. All students wear pants. But if you are a man in the village, or an old man anywhere, you get to wear a dhoti.
A dhoti is an amazing little thing. It’s like a miniature sheet. It is wound and tied tightly once around the waist. It can then be worn like that, as a piece of fabric tied around the waist, reaching to the ground. This seems to be the more casual, or sometimes the more…maybe the younger look? I haven’t quite gathered that yet…but no. It is not the normal look. The common dhoti wearer then picks up the hem of the dhoti in both hands, and pulls it up around his waist. He usually flaps it around for a few minutes. I have a few theories on this flapping of the dhoti. I think it may be used as a method to shake out excess folds, or perhaps simply a cooling mechanism. Whatever the purpose may be, it happens whenever a man reties his dhoti (which is quite often). Once he has flapped sufficiently, he then ties the dhoti once more around his waist, and is fully dressed.
Well, ok, the dhoti is at least then sufficiently secured. It is actually most often worn on top of a pair of very short shorts. Most men wear some type of top with it. In the village while working at the shops, some wear a white tank. But the dhoti is almost always worn with some version of a button-up, collared shirt. It’s an interesting combination, yes. But I feel that way about a lot of India.
(sadly, my time has run out, and I must leave this blog to be continued later…)
Thursday, September 25, 2008
I must go to fetch the water...
The season must have officially changed from summer to rain. It rains every day now. Some days the rain is accompanied by patches and periods of sun, but there is inevitably rain on the menu. Daily. It makes the laundry situation an interesting one. It’s also less hot. When the sun and the hours 12-3 align, it can still be uncomfortably warm (after factoring in the humidity), but it is usually quite nice. In our room, we often have the fan on, to subdue the stuffiness which comes as a result of the moisture, but we sit under blankets.
I’ve taken a few walks in the village. From what I’ve gathered, there’s not much here. The vast majority of all buildings are homes. A few little shops (selling bananas, sweets, “biscuits”—cookies—, and other small snacks) are sprinkled in. There’s also a small restaurant (I think Liann refers to it as the tea stall), and a number of temples. I also think I passed a barber’s shop (a small shack with a chair inside) at one point. But it’s difficult for me to tell what buildings are what. To my American eyes, all the buildings tend to look very much like all the others. They are large cement blocks, with small openings for windows (many of the larger windows have wooden doors). Most roofing is in some sort of ceramic or clay tiles…I can’t quite tell. Many of the sheds, outhouses, or poorer homes are thatched huts, or at least have thatched roofs. Our outhouse is cement with a thatched roof. (I just checked with Matthew, our host, and he says that the roof is clay tiles.)
Our facilitator is out of town for the weekend (for personal reasons), so the three of us inexperienced girls have been on our own. We were invited to dinner the other day. Last (and only other time) we went to dinner at a family other than our host, the family was a little more western. They had a table. This time, the family was very Indian. And we are all still very American. We had fun trying to figure out how to be polite. We kept slipping and saying thank you. In India, you don’t say “thank you” to family or friends. The family reminded us of this on multiple occasions. Finding a polite way to excuse ourselves for the evening was fun. We went through a few cycles of trying to decide if our hosts were trying to politely suggest we leave, trying to leave, and being asked to stay. Not sure that we handled ourselves in the most polite and culturally savvy way possible…but we made it through the night, and we all seem to be friends still, so I count that as a successful excursion.
Exciting news! I got to carry water today! The large cistern (the one with the fish, from which we draw water to shower) is filled every few days. I don’t understand the system of taking turns at the water tap. And from what I hear, none of the byu students have ever understood. But there’s a water spout just out on the road. It comes on occasionally, and when it does, the families in the surrounding area set out their little plastic pots to claim a spot in the water line. But not every time…I just don’t understand. Anyway! When it’s our turn, we get large plastic pots and carry them back and forth from the spout to the cistern. It’s a rather exciting ordeal. The little neighborhood girls laughed at us Americans who can’t carry our water properly. They laughed a lot. We’ll get better. I was excited to be able to sing the song from The Jungle Book (Father’s hunting in the forest/ Mother’s cooking in the home/ I must go to fetch the water…) and have it actually apply to the situation! I think I’ve been waiting my whole life for this opportunity. We actually really do enjoy carrying the water. And it will be a fun challenge to learn how to carry it like a little Indian girl, and not spill all over ourselves. (For those of you wondering, they actually do not carry the water on their heads…they hold it on their hips.)
I’ve taken a few walks in the village. From what I’ve gathered, there’s not much here. The vast majority of all buildings are homes. A few little shops (selling bananas, sweets, “biscuits”—cookies—, and other small snacks) are sprinkled in. There’s also a small restaurant (I think Liann refers to it as the tea stall), and a number of temples. I also think I passed a barber’s shop (a small shack with a chair inside) at one point. But it’s difficult for me to tell what buildings are what. To my American eyes, all the buildings tend to look very much like all the others. They are large cement blocks, with small openings for windows (many of the larger windows have wooden doors). Most roofing is in some sort of ceramic or clay tiles…I can’t quite tell. Many of the sheds, outhouses, or poorer homes are thatched huts, or at least have thatched roofs. Our outhouse is cement with a thatched roof. (I just checked with Matthew, our host, and he says that the roof is clay tiles.)
Our facilitator is out of town for the weekend (for personal reasons), so the three of us inexperienced girls have been on our own. We were invited to dinner the other day. Last (and only other time) we went to dinner at a family other than our host, the family was a little more western. They had a table. This time, the family was very Indian. And we are all still very American. We had fun trying to figure out how to be polite. We kept slipping and saying thank you. In India, you don’t say “thank you” to family or friends. The family reminded us of this on multiple occasions. Finding a polite way to excuse ourselves for the evening was fun. We went through a few cycles of trying to decide if our hosts were trying to politely suggest we leave, trying to leave, and being asked to stay. Not sure that we handled ourselves in the most polite and culturally savvy way possible…but we made it through the night, and we all seem to be friends still, so I count that as a successful excursion.
Exciting news! I got to carry water today! The large cistern (the one with the fish, from which we draw water to shower) is filled every few days. I don’t understand the system of taking turns at the water tap. And from what I hear, none of the byu students have ever understood. But there’s a water spout just out on the road. It comes on occasionally, and when it does, the families in the surrounding area set out their little plastic pots to claim a spot in the water line. But not every time…I just don’t understand. Anyway! When it’s our turn, we get large plastic pots and carry them back and forth from the spout to the cistern. It’s a rather exciting ordeal. The little neighborhood girls laughed at us Americans who can’t carry our water properly. They laughed a lot. We’ll get better. I was excited to be able to sing the song from The Jungle Book (Father’s hunting in the forest/ Mother’s cooking in the home/ I must go to fetch the water…) and have it actually apply to the situation! I think I’ve been waiting my whole life for this opportunity. We actually really do enjoy carrying the water. And it will be a fun challenge to learn how to carry it like a little Indian girl, and not spill all over ourselves. (For those of you wondering, they actually do not carry the water on their heads…they hold it on their hips.)
What's "up?"
Well! I’ve been here just a few more days, and experienced just a few more things.
I have now experience doing laundry…Indian style. It’s hard. Let me just say that here, laundry and laziness do NOT mix. I used to complain about having to carrying laundry over to the mat, and remembering to go back to switch it (all right, in all honesty, I probably will complain about that again when I get back)…but we Americans have it so easy. To all the mothers out there…be glad you have a washing machine.
Remember that tub full of water (the one with the fish)? K, so you use a little dipper to fill two large buckets with water from that tub, and put some powder detergent in one, then stuff all your clothes into this bucket. After it’s sat for a while, you get a brick of detergent, and pull each item out one at a time, to scrub the problem spots with more detergent. Then you have to rinse most of that detergent out in the bucket of soapy water. Then comes the fun part. Once the item of clothing is sufficiently soaped down, you pull it out, wring it out, and proceed to beat it against a large, flat stone. This is what rids the clothes of the soap, and the dirt, and the body oils, etc. So it’s important to beat. HARD. I think it will be a while before I wear truly clean clothes again. Oh! So after you’ve beaten your clothes, you rinse them once again from the second bucket of water, then hang them to dry. Yeah…it’s intense.
I also went to church! I think most of you have heard by now that I’m staying at the branch president’s family. But his (it’s actually not even large enough to be a branch, it’s a group)…um, his group is only the very few members that live here in the village. It’s pretty much his family, the BYU students, and a sprinkling of a couple of other people (his sister…one neighborhood girl…). But three of the four of us BYU students need translators for our research, so we went to the city branch for networking purposes (I did find a translator, by the way!). It was SO good to see fellow members! A whole room full of them! Here, where daily we walking through crowds of people that we can’t understand, and who look so different from us, and who live such different lives…I think it’s good to be able to go to church with a group of them, and remember that they’re not so different as we sometimes make ourselves believe. And it helped that two of the three meetings were held in English, and there was a group of siblings from America that volunteer at a nearby orphanage.
I don’t think I’ve said much about the people here. They are so kind. I have already fallen in love with the Indian people. They are a very trusting people. In the buses (which are every bit as full as the trains in the bigger city were…I’ve decided that in order to be considered a true Indian man, you must first have the ability to hop on and off of a moving bus, and the ability to ride the outside of the bus), I’ve seen many women who don’t have much room hand whatever they’re carrying (be it books, purses…whatever), to somebody with more room. This transaction is done with very little verbal communication. The goods are most commonly simply placed on the lap of the unsuspecting caretaker, accepted, and then reclaimed in time to be carried off the bus with the proper owner. I think this small gesture actually exemplifies much of how Indians interact. They have some kind of unity that is foreign to us Americans.
When I first arrived in Chavadi, I mentioned that many of the school children followed us home. These children are the neighbors of my host family, and come here quite often. They have been the source of my first few henna tattoos (ball-point pen style), and have taught me many useful things (like how to say “beautiful” in Indian, and some of the meanings for some simple Indian symbols). One of the girls in our group has even been the subject of their hairdressing skills (it actually turned out pretty cute). In exchange, we have played with them, tried teaching them American songs that they don’t already know, and tried to teach them to greet each other with “What’s up” and leave with “Peace out.” For the longest time, whenever we tried to get them to say “what’s up” they would throw their hands in the air and tell us the Tamil word for “up.”
So now that I have a translator, my goal is to re-familiarize myself with my research and get a start on that this week! Wish me luck!
p.s. I think I now officially smell like an Indian (I’m sweating all those Indian spices…it’s great!).
I have now experience doing laundry…Indian style. It’s hard. Let me just say that here, laundry and laziness do NOT mix. I used to complain about having to carrying laundry over to the mat, and remembering to go back to switch it (all right, in all honesty, I probably will complain about that again when I get back)…but we Americans have it so easy. To all the mothers out there…be glad you have a washing machine.
Remember that tub full of water (the one with the fish)? K, so you use a little dipper to fill two large buckets with water from that tub, and put some powder detergent in one, then stuff all your clothes into this bucket. After it’s sat for a while, you get a brick of detergent, and pull each item out one at a time, to scrub the problem spots with more detergent. Then you have to rinse most of that detergent out in the bucket of soapy water. Then comes the fun part. Once the item of clothing is sufficiently soaped down, you pull it out, wring it out, and proceed to beat it against a large, flat stone. This is what rids the clothes of the soap, and the dirt, and the body oils, etc. So it’s important to beat. HARD. I think it will be a while before I wear truly clean clothes again. Oh! So after you’ve beaten your clothes, you rinse them once again from the second bucket of water, then hang them to dry. Yeah…it’s intense.
I also went to church! I think most of you have heard by now that I’m staying at the branch president’s family. But his (it’s actually not even large enough to be a branch, it’s a group)…um, his group is only the very few members that live here in the village. It’s pretty much his family, the BYU students, and a sprinkling of a couple of other people (his sister…one neighborhood girl…). But three of the four of us BYU students need translators for our research, so we went to the city branch for networking purposes (I did find a translator, by the way!). It was SO good to see fellow members! A whole room full of them! Here, where daily we walking through crowds of people that we can’t understand, and who look so different from us, and who live such different lives…I think it’s good to be able to go to church with a group of them, and remember that they’re not so different as we sometimes make ourselves believe. And it helped that two of the three meetings were held in English, and there was a group of siblings from America that volunteer at a nearby orphanage.
I don’t think I’ve said much about the people here. They are so kind. I have already fallen in love with the Indian people. They are a very trusting people. In the buses (which are every bit as full as the trains in the bigger city were…I’ve decided that in order to be considered a true Indian man, you must first have the ability to hop on and off of a moving bus, and the ability to ride the outside of the bus), I’ve seen many women who don’t have much room hand whatever they’re carrying (be it books, purses…whatever), to somebody with more room. This transaction is done with very little verbal communication. The goods are most commonly simply placed on the lap of the unsuspecting caretaker, accepted, and then reclaimed in time to be carried off the bus with the proper owner. I think this small gesture actually exemplifies much of how Indians interact. They have some kind of unity that is foreign to us Americans.
When I first arrived in Chavadi, I mentioned that many of the school children followed us home. These children are the neighbors of my host family, and come here quite often. They have been the source of my first few henna tattoos (ball-point pen style), and have taught me many useful things (like how to say “beautiful” in Indian, and some of the meanings for some simple Indian symbols). One of the girls in our group has even been the subject of their hairdressing skills (it actually turned out pretty cute). In exchange, we have played with them, tried teaching them American songs that they don’t already know, and tried to teach them to greet each other with “What’s up” and leave with “Peace out.” For the longest time, whenever we tried to get them to say “what’s up” they would throw their hands in the air and tell us the Tamil word for “up.”
So now that I have a translator, my goal is to re-familiarize myself with my research and get a start on that this week! Wish me luck!
p.s. I think I now officially smell like an Indian (I’m sweating all those Indian spices…it’s great!).
Fishy Water
Because we're still working on getting enough outfits and supplies, we've come to the city more often than will be the norm later in the semester. That means more frequent internet access!I've moved from the big city down to the village where I'll be staying for the next few months. We're staying with an LDS Indian family.
When we arrived in the village, on bus, from the nearby city, school had just let out, and all the children ran toward us, yelling "Hello, what's your name?' Interestingly, the next question was always "What's your father's name" followed immediately by "And your mother's name?" I still don't know why.
The children are all adorable! many of the girls in the village wear anklets around both feet, with little bells that jingle at every step. We've been told this is a symbol of being conservative. I've decided that my little girls will wear bells around their ankles.
When we got to Matthew and Jeeva's (our host and hostess), a few of the children tagged along with us. One of the little girls was actually the daughter (named Priya). The girls stayed and sang and danced some Tamil songs for us (Tamil is actually the language spoken in this state). They were so cute! And already so graceful! It must be a genetic thing...
The host family has three rooms and a small ktichen, all in a line, with a veranda down one length. outside the veranda is a small courtyard, and the outhouse/shower is on the other side. the room on the far end is reserved for field study students, so we crashed there for the night...on the concrete floor, with our little (very thin) mats. sleeping here will take some gettng used to. however, today I did go buy a pillow (which will helpa LOT) and a blanket. At night, the fan blows very hard, and it gets chilly, but without the fan it's too stuffy...so we all bought blankets.
Not much else has happened that's so new. The city here ismuch cleaner than the last big city (I was in chennai, now I'm inCoimbatore). It's still VERY hot and VERY humid, but in chennai, there was MUCH more smog, and every day, at the end of the day, we would have to clean off a rather thick layer of scum from our skin. Here, we don't get quite so dirty by just walking around. the majority of what we wash off is just our own sweat.
Washing! Washing is an experience. Oh...yeah...they use squatty potties here. I think of EVERYTHING in Japan, that was the one thing more than all else that I was not sad to say goodbye to. ...they're back. For a full three months.I'm also showering with a bucket. Oh! And we get the water for our showers from a large tank/bathtub thing that we fill whenever we can. and fish live in the tank. It's quite interesting to be scooping out water to use for cleansing purposes, while watching the fish swim around in there. they're really pretty fish! They keep the water clean by eating anything that would grow in it.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Alyssa's first experience with India
I'm in India, and I'm safe.
It's been SUCH an exciting day! I got here yesterday morning, early. After shopping around for a hotel room with the field facilitator (a fellow BYU student, but one who has been in the field before), we crashed for an hour before going to pick up one of the other students (I was the first to get there, nice and early at 5 am!). Then we all went shopping! Yay! I have a...oh dang...I've forgotten what it's called...but the local outfit that's not a sari. In the north it's called salwar camise, but it has a different name down here. Anyway! We found a shop, and we have our first outfit being made. We hope to pick it up today! As of right now, I'm still wearing the same skirt I put on Saturday morning (though I have different shirts, thank goodness. And I did buy the local pajamas...exciting. Like an Indian moo-moo. Kylie, you will LOVE it!)
There's been a lot to get used to. Many very new noises and very new smells. Many women buy strings of jasmine to put in their hair (I'd never noticed how very strong a fragrance it had before I noticed it above all the other smells). All the vehicles on the streets seem to feel the need to simply announce that they exist every few minutes, with a quick honk of the horn. The horns are all somewhat...cute-sounding, and together with the put-put of the rigsha's, and the yelling, and crows...it's all quite...new. I'm really adjusting well though, and am not bothered by any of it yet.
Well...ok, almost not bothered. Those anti-malarial pills are killer! I made the mistake of taking one BEFORE going out to breakfast, and let me tell you...all the way walking over to the little restaraunt, every smell suddenly churned my stomache. It's funny, there's an oddly sour smell that I hadn't picked up on yesterday.
The road system is quite unique here. There are two sides to all the major roads, with a clear division. This is heeded. Any lane markings aside from the one seem to be entirely disregarded. It seems that so long as you're on the correct side of the road, it's a free-for-all. Which works incredibly well. There are raod occupants of every size. Trucks and busses, actual cars, rigshaws, LOTS of little motorcycles, bikes, even pedestrians and sometimes dogs, all find their way through the road. They are incredible drivers. I wonder if the majority of stunt-drivers in the movies are Indian? In any case, they like to clump, and around any point where traffic slows or stops, traffic suddenly becomse a jigsaw puzzle, and it's every person's duty to find where they best fit, and they squeeze in wherever that happens to be.
The train is insane! Even tokyo trains, as often as they are compared with sardine cans, have nothing on the trains here in Chennai! Whenever possible, we look for the specifically designated women cars of the train. Even I feel more comfortable with those. It gets VERY packed.
I showered this morning! With my nifty bucket. It's been a while, and it was more difficult than I expected. In japan, they often showered with buckets, but when they did, they had little stools to sit on. I find it easier that way. I had to re-cleanse myself a few times before I got all the spots I'd missed (for Letitia's knowledge and comfort: I have not yet had to give up my toilet paper).
Oh! The rain! It's funny what little things in America we tend to take for granted (like toilet paper, for one)...such as drain systems. It rained yesterday. It POURED yesterday. And when it did, the streets were immediatedly ankle-deep in muddy, garbage-filled water (the trash is tossed into piles on teh side of the street and collected from there). You just have to not think about it and trudge on. Though, apparently many Indians think that if you get your head wet, you will get sick. so many of them seek shelter when it rains. However, with the millions of people that live in this small city, all shelter was very full, and we had things to do. so we trudged.
It's been SUCH an exciting day! I got here yesterday morning, early. After shopping around for a hotel room with the field facilitator (a fellow BYU student, but one who has been in the field before), we crashed for an hour before going to pick up one of the other students (I was the first to get there, nice and early at 5 am!). Then we all went shopping! Yay! I have a...oh dang...I've forgotten what it's called...but the local outfit that's not a sari. In the north it's called salwar camise, but it has a different name down here. Anyway! We found a shop, and we have our first outfit being made. We hope to pick it up today! As of right now, I'm still wearing the same skirt I put on Saturday morning (though I have different shirts, thank goodness. And I did buy the local pajamas...exciting. Like an Indian moo-moo. Kylie, you will LOVE it!)
There's been a lot to get used to. Many very new noises and very new smells. Many women buy strings of jasmine to put in their hair (I'd never noticed how very strong a fragrance it had before I noticed it above all the other smells). All the vehicles on the streets seem to feel the need to simply announce that they exist every few minutes, with a quick honk of the horn. The horns are all somewhat...cute-sounding, and together with the put-put of the rigsha's, and the yelling, and crows...it's all quite...new. I'm really adjusting well though, and am not bothered by any of it yet.
Well...ok, almost not bothered. Those anti-malarial pills are killer! I made the mistake of taking one BEFORE going out to breakfast, and let me tell you...all the way walking over to the little restaraunt, every smell suddenly churned my stomache. It's funny, there's an oddly sour smell that I hadn't picked up on yesterday.
The road system is quite unique here. There are two sides to all the major roads, with a clear division. This is heeded. Any lane markings aside from the one seem to be entirely disregarded. It seems that so long as you're on the correct side of the road, it's a free-for-all. Which works incredibly well. There are raod occupants of every size. Trucks and busses, actual cars, rigshaws, LOTS of little motorcycles, bikes, even pedestrians and sometimes dogs, all find their way through the road. They are incredible drivers. I wonder if the majority of stunt-drivers in the movies are Indian? In any case, they like to clump, and around any point where traffic slows or stops, traffic suddenly becomse a jigsaw puzzle, and it's every person's duty to find where they best fit, and they squeeze in wherever that happens to be.
The train is insane! Even tokyo trains, as often as they are compared with sardine cans, have nothing on the trains here in Chennai! Whenever possible, we look for the specifically designated women cars of the train. Even I feel more comfortable with those. It gets VERY packed.
I showered this morning! With my nifty bucket. It's been a while, and it was more difficult than I expected. In japan, they often showered with buckets, but when they did, they had little stools to sit on. I find it easier that way. I had to re-cleanse myself a few times before I got all the spots I'd missed (for Letitia's knowledge and comfort: I have not yet had to give up my toilet paper).
Oh! The rain! It's funny what little things in America we tend to take for granted (like toilet paper, for one)...such as drain systems. It rained yesterday. It POURED yesterday. And when it did, the streets were immediatedly ankle-deep in muddy, garbage-filled water (the trash is tossed into piles on teh side of the street and collected from there). You just have to not think about it and trudge on. Though, apparently many Indians think that if you get your head wet, you will get sick. so many of them seek shelter when it rains. However, with the millions of people that live in this small city, all shelter was very full, and we had things to do. so we trudged.
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