Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice about Sri Lanka

I'm sitting here and enjoying a delicious cup of earl grey genuine Ceylon tea that I bought in Sri Lanka, brewed perfectly with milk and jaggery. YUMM. Sri Lanka surprised me in many ways, including how beautiful it was-- the architecture was so unique and just gorgeous, incredible tropical plants everywhere and the National Museum showed me it's pretty face of heritage as well. I mean, look at the pictures people, it was more than beautiful:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/21991688@N08/sets/72157622140609653/

I think my favorite moment in Sri Lanka was actually on the crowded train from Colombo to Bentota. I boarded the train at about 1 in the afternoon, and had been traveling since three in the morning by rickshaw, bus, plane, taxi, and now train. I just wanted to sit and stare out the window of the train, but only standing room was available. So I threw my backpack on the overhead shelf and found a spot in the aisle. It took about half hour for the train to actually start moving, and in the meantime I studied the dark, humid train car that was full of interesting Sri Lankan people. They were interesting because they were not dressed like Indians. It also smelled like garbage, but that was the train station itself. A huge team of cricket or football (soccer) players got on board with their humongous bags and filled up any remaining space. I was tired and probably didn't have the most amused look on my face.

The train finally started rolling, filling the cabin with fresh air. Soon the food vendors started pushing by and a blind beggar stumbled over the sports boys' bags. I couldn't see out the window due to my standing perspective, which sort of bummed me out. Eventually I turned around and stooped down low to look out the opposite window and realized we were traveling right along the ocean! You could see the waves crashing on the rocks just a few metres away. I smiled and laughed a little at the sight and some ladies smiled back at me. One vendor came through with a large woven basket lined with newspapers. Inside were these fried dough balls, fried whole red chillies, and whole fried crawfish-- eyeballs, antennae and all with some breaded stuffing buldging out of their bellies. It was a charming spread, although I did not want to partake. Mmmmm train snacks. A man hobbled in with bandages on his foot, parked himself next to me and pulled out his drum-- a big green one with twangy percussive strings on the side. He sang in a hollow, raspy and resonant voice while he played perfect beats. The music was fantastic, and he could play the traditional Sri Lankan folk songs perfectly. Everyone sort of tapped their feet to the rhythm. Children leaned out the window and smiled at the ocean as the sun reflected off their jawbones and bounced back into the dark train. We watched fishing boat after fishing boat pass by, all shaped like bananas and in vivid shades of red, green, and yellow. The small fishermen homes that lined the tracks with their little gardens were picturesque too. I thought to myself, "This is better than a movie, and this is my life."

Probably due to my lightened mood and the fact that I was clearly interested in what was going on outside the window, a family made some room for me by a little brother climbing into big brother's lap. I thanked them and sat down with a smile. It was nice to enjoy the next hour and a half sitting down. It was also nice to see a husband put his head on his wife's shoulder as he rested, affection you would never see in India. Also, the mom of the family was wearing a skirt where her legs could show, propped up on the seat across from her, naturally hairy, something I also greatly appreciated and that you would never see in India. Her young son picked at his mom's leg hair, something he must have liked to do. I felt somehow apart of this family unit, there was an intimacy on that crowded train. It was comforting.

I stayed at a simple little guesthouse called Wasana in Bentota, and Susani and Chandra treated me like family. When ragged and tired me showed up at their doorstep at 3:30 they cheered for me and said they had been waiting for my arrival. A cold shower with a fresh bar of soap and a quick lay down on a clean bed sheet never felt so good.

In the morning I had a super yummy Sri Lankan breakfast that consisted of little nests of tangled noodles, coconut curry with potatos, and some dry coconut chutney with chilly, onion, and salt. I also had my own tea served in a nice little set with milk and sugar, which I also appreciated. I told Chandra and Susani I wanted to venture out to see Brief Garden, the home of famous architect Geoffrey Bawa's brother. I asked how much a rickshaw ride would cost, and they made a few phone calls and got a few quotes. Chandra then got a smile on his face realizing he had the day off (he also works at the Budget car rental counter at the airport). He said, "I tell you what. I'll take you on the motorcycle and you pay for the petrol, 200 rupppees, and that will save you 550 ruppees!" I told him this was really kind of him, and yes, I was up for the adventure, let's go!

What a great way to experience the countryside, on the back of a motorcycle! (Mom, it's ok they wear helmets in Sri Lanka.) So many beautiful bungalows with the distinct Sri Lankan carved wood gingerbread details-- LOVED IT! Fields, rivers, incredible trees.... great views. Brief Garden quite amazing too, I loved how much the home highlighted the incredible nature around it.



Chandra also took me to the Kasoga Sea Turtle Rescue Project. A batch of baby sea turtles had just hatched the night before! They were super cute, and I got to hold them! Touching baby animals is always better than just seeing baby animals. This rescue project protects the eggs while they are hatching, and then releases the babies into the ocean. Locals like to eat the eggs, so to discourage this the Rescue will pay people per egg that they bring to the shelter. It works! Cool place.


Also picked up a DELICIOUS young coconut, that was ORANGE, and way tastier than an Indian green coconut. It was bottomless. I slurped for a long time.



We went to a pharmacy where I could change my Indian ruppees, and on the way back he dropped me off at the Chaplan Tea House and said, "See you later for dinner!" Wow, thanks, Chandra! I really enjoyed the tea house and was especially excited about the Sri Lankan grown gunpowder green tea! Made some purchases, as I mentioned at the beginning. It is good, fresh tea, supposedly some of the best in the world.

I went to the ocean that afternoon to take a dip amongst a bunch of Sri Lankan families. First swim in the Indian Ocean and I've been on it for almost four months now! It felt great, and powerful. I'm always humbled by the pull of an ocean wave.

Dinner was extremely delicious. Sri Lankan food is sort of a mix of Kerelan and Tamil food-- they have the fishy and salty soupy coconut curry of Kerela that is super flavorful, as well as the dry coconut chutney of Tamil Nadu. It tastes a little different though because I think they use raw onion, so it's sharper. Some different spices too I think. After dinner Susani showed me how to tie a Kandian sari. I had observed all these ladies on the airplane wearing their saris in the craziest fashion with pleats poofing out the side and fanning out like bird feathers. The folks at Wasana got a big kick out of this. It was fun.




In Colombo I stayed at a gem of a home-- Parisare totally blew me away. It was in ritzy old colonial Cinnamon Gardens, and is where Mrs. Sunetra Ilangakoon lives. Her husband was in the tea business, and when the family relocated to Colombo he said, "How can I be cooped up in the city like this?" He was a huge nature lover, so he built this house with very few walls-- a room will just start in a corner, and then in the opposite corner it will evolve into a magical garden. INCREDIBLE. All the gardening was done by this man, and I really appreciated his work. It was also super 70's because that's when they built it-- vinyl chairs, squared off minimal japanese details, concrete floors. Sunetra is a beautiful old woman who greeted me in a batiked house dress and a unique British accent. She explained to me how I was staying in her daughters room, look, this was my son's room.... She told me the whole history of the house and her sweet and gentle soul of a husband who had recently passed. She also saw me admiring the amazing old family pictures she had everywhere, so she came to explain. "This lady was my mother, this was my grandmother who was the first woman in Sri Lankan parliament.... This is seven generations of the men in my husband's family." I mean, wow, old school colonial Sri Lankans. Old tinted daguerreotypes of people from the past in the most elaborate costumes. This was Sri Lankan history, right here. I could have sat and talked to this woman for ages, she was so lovely. I just wanted to have her tell me everything she knew. She said opening her home as a guesthouse with just the three rooms was the best thing she ever did. Of course she has tons of grand kids who come from the UK to visit as well, and she showed me all their pictures. Then she had to go do some charity work, and was off for the day. It was such a treat just to be in this place. This house, the National Museum, Bawa's Gallery Cafe, and the incredible homegoods at Paradise Road were all highlights of Colombo.

Sri Lanka feels like they've been in a civil war for 26 years. Try to imagine that feeling.

I'll tell you when my heart dropped into my stomach and I got that "Oh no," feeling about Sri Lanka. I was sitting at the dinner table with Chandra and he was watching the news, and some army propaganda came on the television. Chandra took this as the prime moment to tell me about how wonderful the Sri Lankan army was, and how proud their country is of how they shut down the war. "Even the US and Europe are asking us about our military tactics! They are saying, 'How did you do it so quickly and swiftly, Sri Lanka? We would love to know your secret!' All the news sources are talking about it, you must have heard!" (This is when the heart falls into stomach, sensing a deep untruth but not knowing how to dispute it.) I told him actually that I had not heard. He was furious with me and scolded me for not following the news. Pointing to the book I was reading he said, "You spend your time reading this, but you should pick up a newspaper and read what's going on in the world."

Now Chandra is a good man who has based his life on tourism and making people happy. He is not about getting rich through the business of it either, an lives incredibly modestly. However, his country has been in a terrible war for most of the time he's been busy making foreigners happy in his unhappy country. there was evidence all over Wasana that told me Chandra is also an alcoholic, something I do not hold against him but which I do think is sad. He had been drinking when he made this statement. Now, who am I, a young privileged American woman, to tell a drunk Sri Lankan man who's never left his country that these facts his local media had ingrained into his sense of truth, were wrong? As an American, I certainly know about the news coverage not always representing the truth but here's a good one for you that The Australian recently reported: "The UN now estimates as many as 20,000 civilians were killed in the final mayhem, as army shells rained down on as many as 200,000 civilians squeezed into a tiny land sliver between the two sides." Who was I to tell Chandra, "Actually, I think your military tactics are disgusting and nothing to be proud of. And no, the US is most certainly NOT looking to copy them." I couldn't say this to a man who had showed me so much kindness. We are all ignorant in our own ways, and actually as he was telling me all this I was mostly aware and ashamed of my own ignorance.

I've been putting off this post from my recent trip to Sri Lanka because it's been difficult for me to gather my thoughts on the place. My first impression of the country and the people was, "It is eerily quiet and clean here. It's also really pretty and the people look more westernized. And oh my God, everyone on motorcycles are wearing helmets! The streets are organized and not full of animals and garbage! I am not in Kansas anymore!" And then I realized that eerily quiet part was because the people were in a state of grief, they were confused, ashamed and a little desperate. Welcome to a Police State. Colombo was a ghost town full of people with their mouths shut and armed guards with huge guns were everywhere guarding the colonial beauty of yesteryear. I did not feel safer in their presence.

I have a confession: I did my homework on Sri Lanka after I returned from the country, so all the weird vibes I picked up on while I was there was in a state of naivete. I'm sure you've all been reading the headlines this week that have revealed what is going on in the Tamil refugee camps, how journalists are being murdered for writing about the truth and how the UN is about to throw in the towel with this country. Now that I know a few more truths about the Sri Lankan civil war, I am a little horrified by Sri Lanka. This is an age old story of people hating each other. Of the few Singhalese I met while in Sri Lanka, I wish I had the insight to ask them what they thought about the whole situation, and do they really hate the Tamils as much as their country makes it seem they do? Perhaps this would have been inappropriate, I don't know. They just wanted me to be a happy ignorant tourist. But I knew something was very wrong. It's strange what you sense although you cannot see and you cannot hear.

Why didn't I know all this before I went to Sri Lanka? Well, a lot has come to light just in the past week since I've been back. Also, Sri Lanka's 26 year war ended right when I touched down in Bangalore in May, and yes, I did read the local newspaper headings that day about the Tamil Tiger leader who had just been killed, and thank God for that! (That's sort of how the newspaper read.) Since I've been in India, I've been getting my news from the BBC homepage, and I know there are details that I have missed. Confession number two: I don't trust newspapers. Confession three: I hate war, and to be honest, I am not really interested in it's details. Does this make me foolish and ignorant? Probably yes, but at least I admit it. I've always known that I am a human being who likes to seek out and understand the redeeming qualities in other human beings, and the nasty truths of war sometimes drop off my radar. I know this is a fault of mine, because there is one truth I do know: the world would not have beauty if it did not also have its share of pain and cruelty. So both sides should be paid attention to and tried to be understood.

I live in Tamil Nadu, the origin of the Tamil people. In general, I would say the Tamils here do NOT relate to the Tamils in Sri Lanka-- they see them as a group of people who left India a long time ago, and the Tamil Tigers, well they were just some extremists who had a crazy evil leader. The only thing people in Tamil Nadu have with Tamil Tigers is the word Tamil (ok, and a language and religion). However, in church today the priest read a letter written by the Tamil bishops in Pondicherry, calling his parish to "Pray for and support their Tamil brother and sisters in Sri Lanka, innocent civilians, whose civil rights are being so terribly violated in refugee camps. Women and children are dying everyday...." There was a collection taken up that was to be sent to the clergy in Colombo who are trying to help the refugees. Thank God someone here is talking about it, I really was wondering.

Sri Lanka definitely sees India as a stinky, dirty, chaotic and inferior place. You can tell Sri Lanka has always been more wealthy and less populated than India, and they are proud of it. India is also the land where the Tamils came from. At the Colombo airport they wouldn't even change Indian ruppees, and India is the the only country within a 1,000 miles of Sri Lanka. Sri Lankans definitely get a rise from turning down Indian ruppees. On the airplane they were selling duty free goods only in US Dollars. A man asked if he could pay the equivalent in Indian ruppees and the steward's response NO was so snobby I wanted to scream, "I'm the only damn American on this plane and I don't even have any US Dollars on me, you jerk!" But I didn't say that. I only said, HMMM. But at the airport when they wouldn't change my hard earned Indian ruppees, I did ask why. All I got was a smile and a shrug. Good ole AmEx travelers checks paid for my very expensive taxi ride to the train station and my very cheap train ticket to Bentota.

Tourism seems to be one of the few things that Sri Lanka has left, and in Bentota I felt the height of that desperation. The minute I got off the train, I was followed by a man who wanted to "help" me find my guesthouse. I did ask him where it was, but after he pointed me in the right direction, I assured him that I would be able to find it. He followed me gabbing the whole time and staring at me with hungry eyes. I can sense a wolf when I see one, so I walked silently and ignored him. "What, you don't speak now? I like the way you speak. I'm not selling you anything, I just want to help you..." After a while I stopped and yelled, "Go away! I did not come here to be followed!" (remember: 13 hours of traveling at this point in time) as I pointed down the road from where we came, the opposite direction from where I was going ALONE. I was hassled twice more by men speaking in a not-so-nice voice on my way to Wasana, but no others followed me. This was to be repeated many times in the next two days. Men who wanted to show me a nice beach, a nice restaurant or a nice party. The worst was my waiter at the one restaurant where I ate out in while in Bentota. Of course my answer was always NO WAY, in various tones of politeness. It certainly made me appreciate how blessedly left alone I am in Pondicherry.

Three more things about money: 1) Dear Chandra could not shut-up about money and how he was not going to rip me off at his guesthouse. I told him I appreciated this greatly, and I also did not make money a priority in my life. We were kindred spirits. I understood him the first time. The thing was he decided to repeat this speech ad nauseum. 2) An antique store was selling a tiny Ganesh statue for $860 US DOLLARS! The lady there was very nice, but I wanted to ask her if she ever sold anything. 3) I went into the only place in town open on a Sunday where I could send an email to my parents saying I was here safe and sound. The young man told me they were a little busy (uploading his friends pictures), and I said I'd wait. After 10 minutes I said, "You know, I'll only be a minute, in and out, really fast." (Thinking why is your store even open if this is the way you treat customers?) He said "Ok". I really was done in 90 seconds, and he asked for 50 ruppees. (Note: no one has change in the country, at least they won't give it to you). I told him that was ridiculous, it would have cost 2 ruppees in India, and I gave him the 15 I had in change and left with a scowl. What was all this about? Desperation is the only thing that comes to mind.

Is it cruel to do all this venting about Sri Lanka? I'm just trying to express a little bit about that double edged sword, beauty and pain, that I have come to understand a little more clearly. Enough about money and war, two topics I highly dislike. But as you can see, I have been forced to confront them after my recent trip to Sri Lanka.

The country was full of gorgeous Buddahs and Buddhist temples, something I greatly admired while I was there. Non-violence is a big element in the Buddhist faith, and in the Karmic sense they believe that any violence you produce into the world will only come back to harm you. I haven't felt this more acutely anywhere than in Sri Lanka these days. And you know, I don't think that the people of Sri Lanka really wanted any of this war or violence. The people I encountered I believe were genuinely peaceful and loving. Folks, please pray for Sri Lanka and its people, both the Sinhalese and the Tamils. They need it, they are grieving and looking for a better way. Sri Lanka deserves a bright future. At its core it is an extremely beautiful and unique country.

When I was back in India and finally on the bus leaving Chennai, I looked out at the crazy, polluted, congested streets with all the people going about their daily business in that casual and content way that Indians have. I thought these streets looked more charming, happy and peaceful than any other streets I had ever seen. A tear came to my eye and I wondered what was that all about, was I really that happy to be back in India? Yes, I was and now I think I understand why.

More reading if you want:
http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,25197,26050782-7583,00.html
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/8240415.stm

Vinayaka Chavithi

Tamil's do not say Ganesha. They say Vinayaka. In fact, this beloved god has so many names, that when you celebrate his birthday you have to buy him a parcel of flowers wrapped in a banana leaf so you can give him a flower for every name that he has! At least I think that's how my neighbor described it to me this morning. Regardless, I've replaced Ganesha with Vinayaka in my vocabulary so I don't sound like such a damn American.

Vinayaka's birthday is a BIG holiday! It lasts 10 days. This is how it goes. Street vendors flood the streets with all the paraphanaelia that you have to buy for Vinayaka. Sculptors come with paddies of mud that are formed into figures of Vinayaka, and every family buys one to take home and adore all week long. You also buy a necklace of purple bell flowers that come from some sort of cactus, lotus buds, a parcel of flowers wrapped in a bananna leaf, holy grass, maize, sugar cane and a fancy little umbrella that is carried above Vinayaka's head. Probably other things as well, I haven't learned to whole scoop yet. You also prepare many sweets and special food items. On the 10th day there is a big procession to the sea, and all the adorned Vinayakas go into the ocean and are left there to dissolve (hence being made of mud). Doing this will certainly bring you a lot of prosperity. I think it is a fantastic holiday, and taking pictures at the market today was a real treat. There are more on the flickr page if you like what you see!

August 15: Happy Birthday Sri Aurobindo!

For the holiday I decided to go to Auroville, my first time leaving Pondy since I got here! I stayed at an incredible guest house, Sharnga, where I was treated like family. This place was like a jungle paradise compared to city life. Lush, tropical forest with an incredible banyan tree to admire in the courtyard, a pool where I remembered how therapeutic it is to float, really cute nice doggies to pet and wonderful people to have conversations with! I had a fantastic time. It was really nice to talk to other foreigners, just because culturally we have more in common. I met a young American named Sadie who was living at the guest house while she taught kindergarten at a nearby school. Super great. The last night Benoit brought out his guitar and we all sang songs.

It also happened to be Sri Aurobindo's birthday! I was unaware! This turned out to be a VERY busy weekend at Auroville. Sadie, Benoit and I woke up at 4 in the morning on his birthday to go to the Matrimandir for a sunrise ceremony. It was actually quite incredible, New Agey as can be. The first 20 minutes were dark and silent, and people just gathered in the outdoor ampitheater, the stairs lit with candles. Then three huge bonfires were lit around this urn that contains soil from every country that Aurovillians are originally from. As the sun rose, a recording of the Mother's voice was broadcast for all to hear, speaking philosophy on how to clean your body (the temple) in order to receive the Divine. Everyone meditated as the sun rose. I was quite impressed by how minimal it was-- no pomp and glory. It certainly reflected the feeling of Auroville.

August 15: Happy Independence Day, India!

We celebrated Independence Day at School with a big ceremony.

The kids dressed up and danced, sang songs, and gave speeches. They had been practicing all week!



This was the first event that teachers got to wear their uniform sari-- Now we have to wear it every Monday for the assembly. Teachers enjoyed the show


My favorite part was all the little kids dressed up as figures from Indian history. Of course, Gandhi was my favorite!

More fun with neighbors

I have found my official Indian teapot and it will always be a prized member in my future collection of teapots. I always knew that someday I would be a fuddy-duddy old lady with a house full of teapots. My Indian tea pot is superbly made, hand made out of clay, balanced to perfection, is solid, the right size, has a bamboo handle and an impeccable glaze job. It sort of reminds me of the iris of my eye-- grey-blue and brown. I certainly have a tea fetish-- the pots, the little cups, the little cookies and of course the excuse to invite people over and share all these fun little things with. Working at Sympathy for the Kettle in the East Village didn't help.

It's funny. I knew exactly what my Indian teapot would look like, and I knew exactly where I would find it-- Casablanca, the fancy department store in town where the white people shop. Indians don't use tea pots, they make it fresh in a pan and pour it directly into cups and it is slurped up quickly. No need for tea to linger in a pot. As much as I am driven to perfecting my Indian tea and making it as authentic as possible, I want to serve it in a pot. So, I went to the famed Casablanca, and I have to admit its reek of Western materialism sort of made me uncomfortable. But I made my way to the top floor where the homegoods are, and there was my teapot, waiting for me on the shelf. On the way home, I stopped at a street vendor on M.G. road where I had spotted the perfect little cups to match a week earlier, and bought six for a song. Somehow buying the cups on the street made me feel better about my chichi teapot.

Since then, for three consecutive Sunday's I've had different neighbors over for tea. It's become a fun weekly event. I boil the milk and water together in a pot, add the Taj Mahal black tea, some masala and a little extra cinnamon. Bubble simmer simmer, try not to boil over. Wait till its the correct shade of mocha. Strain with the special cheese-cloth tea strainer. Then I slowly add the sugar to taste until it's a wee too sweet for me and a wee less sweet than an Indian would prepare it. A happy medium. I put some extra sugar on the table with a teaspoon. We sit in my living room and nibble on a spread of biscuits as they tell me that my Indian tea is very tasty, and a little different. "Super," is the Indian adjective of choice for many things, including my tea. I show them pictures of my family. It's fun.


Yesterday I went to Sujatha's house to meet the cow who comes daily for breakfast at 9:30. At 9:30 I called her and asked, "So, has your cow friend arrived yet?"
"Not yet, I'll call you when he comes." Two minutes later the cow call came, "He's here!" and I was on my bicycle with my camera.

Sujatha's mother feeds this cow curd rice (city cows will eat anything!)and blesses him with a bindhi. The cow does belong to someone, there is a cow shed near Sujatha's house, where apparently the water buffalo live as well. The mystery of all these city cows is revealed to me. They have no fields to roam in, so in the streets they roam. Someday I would like to have a cow that all my neighbors feed for me. I love cows!!!

Some things that would never happen in an American School

1. One of my students said I look like a Barbie doll.
"Kate Miss, you look just like a Barbie!" said Kadambari one day (she's the girl on the right who looks like trouble.)
To which Kate Miss' instant reply was, "Oh NO!"
I was so shocked, that's what came out of my mouth. I wanted to ask, "What kind of Barbie do you have, child?" When I think of Barbies, I think of women who would be six feet tall with boobs the size of missiles. Apparently when Kadambari thinks of Barbie, she thinks of blue eyes and blonde hair. I must be the first person she's met who fits that description, other than Barbie.

2. Relationships between men and women are yucky sticky icky taboo to these kids. In music class when I showed my kids a clip from Mary Poppins where Mrs. Banks gives Mr. Bank a little peck on the cheek, some of them winced a little bit. Many of them have never seen their parents kiss.

One day a little girl came running into the staff room to declare, "Sai Shankar said a bad word!"
"What bad word did he say?"
"MARRIAGE!"

3. To teach prepositions to my sixth standard, I made a worksheet that had a brief bio of my childhood. "Katherine Alice Strassman was born _____ December 14, 1982, _____ Milwaukee, Wisconsin _____ 7:32 p.m." Not only were my students shocked silly to learn that I would be turning 27 this year and that I wasn't a teenager, but Naveen came up to me to ask, "Milwaukee, Wisconsin.... Is this your father?"

4. Most of my students are Pure Veg, which means vegetarian, or saivam in Tamil. They are all shocked that I am also Pure Veg, have been so for almost seven years, AND that I'm a Christian! "Christians are not Pure Veg!" I had a fun time explaining that one. Also, during fifth standard English, usually a neighbor starts cooking and the smells waft up to our classroom. The smell is of Non-Veg food, and the students instantly freak out, cover their noses and close the windows and doors.

5. Ok, this didn't happen at school, and this isn't humorous, but it does illustrate one of my big first cultural snafoos: Last night my neighbor Priya rang my bell. She instantly apologized for disturbing me, something I have gotten in the habit of saying when I also ring a neighbor's bell, because that's apparently what you say. She explained to me that her son had a competition at school, the topic was on Water Conservation, 300 words, and could I help by writing this speech? I was flabbergasted, and my response was a swift and solid "No!" I continued, "I really can't Priya, I'm morally against it, I believe students have to do their own work. I teach five days a week, and each day I refuse to do work for my students because that's the only way they learn-- by doing it themselves." I think I also said something about America, and that I was really sorry, it's not that I didn't want to help... I told her I could print some articles from the internet for her at school.... She said, Ok, she normally writes the speeches for her son, she just thought that this time I could help... She was embarrassed, it was awkward, really bad. I gave her the clean tupperware she had lent me full of dosa batter and told her the dosas were delicious, thank you so much, and again I'm really sorry. Man, I felt SOOOOO bad when I closed the door! I should have replied with more tact, I was just so surprised and unprepared for that one! It's true that Indian parents write speeches and make posters and science fair projects for their kids all the time. It's generally accepted. But I cannot accept this! I must learn to be more sensitive and polite about these things! I went this morning to apologize for my reaction, but Priya had guests. I'm going to go back this afternoon to try again. She's been so kind to me. Agh.

Some good ones from the market

White Lady in a Sari

Yep, that's how I felt.

This all started when my colleague Sunitha handed me some turquoise cotton fabric and said, "Go have a sari blouse stitched. You'll look nice in a sari."

Ok, fine. All the lady teachers were waiting to see me in a sari, so I thought I'd spice things up a bit at Primrose and come to school all dolled up.

I took the fabric to my lady tailor, she took my measurements (also tickled pink that a white lady wanted to wear a sari) and said "Come back in a week". I left, and immediately turned around and went back to ask for a small swatch of the fabric. She looked at me like she didn't understand and I explained, "I need to go buy a sari to match. I don't have one yet!" This set them all laughing hysterically, because usually you buy your sari first, and then buy the fabric for the blouse to match. "Long story," I said. "Long story!" she echoed in stitches.

Sari shopping proved to be more difficult than I imagined. You can buy silk saris which are beautiful and expensive. Cotton saris I am also attracted to, but you have to iron them like crazy (6 meters of them), they are caked with five layers of starch and I have no idea how many washings it would take to get that out, plus the Indian ladies tell me they are difficult to tie. Synthetic saris are the everyday sari of choice because they are thin, easily draped and tied, affordable and iron-free. Unfortunately, they come in the most hideous patterns and colors I've ever seen. Perhaps that sounds cruel to say, but I mean come on -- India's traditional textiles and patterns are BEAUTIFUL and number one on my list. The catch is, India is going thru it's "late 70's" phase of fashion (more on this later), so all these women want orange and lime green patterned sari's with "modern" flower patterns on them. Bad bad bad. I would find a sari I liked the pattern of, and it would be yellow. I also wanted the turquoise color to be the accent color, not the main color. I found a white sari with a peacocks all over it in purple, blue, green and turquoise. An option, despite the glitter dots.

Over tea with my best neighbor friend Vidyia, I told her about my sari dilema. I also told her about the peacock sari, which I was hesitating on because to me peacocks represent vanity and I didn't want that to be my message. She agreed "No," on the peacock sari. "Kate, that is very old-fashioned, the peacock. There are many nice contemporary designs that will suit you. Go for one of those." I nodded my head. She gave me a lovely pair of white sari earrings with dangling faux pearls that I could wear when I finally found my sari. She would also be there for me in the morning to help me put the damn thing on.

Ok, so I found and acceptable sari, picked up my blouse and tried it on. What a ridiculous little garment! The sari blouse is a bralette with sleeves made to fit your body like a glove. I've never had something custom tailored to fit me, and when I put this thing on I couldn't believe how perfect it was. There is no elastic, no give in a sari blouse. So when I put my arm in the sleeve I thought "Oh no, my big bicept will never fit in this sleeve...." But magically, it did. The circumfrence of the sleeve was exactly that of my bicept.

Sari Monday rolled around, and Vidyia showed up with pins on her chain to tie it around me. The mystery of the sari was revealed to me. It's sort of like doing oragami around your body, with all the pleats, folds and tucks. Definitely takes practice.

I put on my makeup, my bindi and my earrings and felt rather grand. I walked to catch the school bus and the bus was way late. So waiting on the hot street for an extra 20 minutes I cooked in my sari while sweating profusely. "Great, I'm going to arrive at school in my sari and five inch pit stains". Then when I stepped up into the bus I stepped on my front pleat and they pulled out a little. I was a total novice.

My friend Sheila got on the bus and just screamed in delight. There were many shock reactions and double takes from the teachers. Everyone was quite surprised and many people told me how beautiful I looked. Ravi Shankar the Hindi teacher shook my hand and said, "Ah Kate, so now you are becoming a real Indian woman." My response was, "Yeah, something like that."

I found Sunitha. Her jaw dropped when she saw me and I said, "You know, I did this for you." I got myself to the staff room and instantly Annuradha, the Tamil teacher who wears a sari everyday and is quite the expert, got to work retying/tucking my sari without my consent. Hands all over me. Three teachers quickly fixing my sari and giggling at my white belly before I went to class. The students of course loved it, and even days later students who I don't even know came up to me to tell me how fine I looked.


At the end of the day, it wasn't so bad. Oh but it wasn't over. Shanta Devi grabbed me when the bell rang and said, "I'm going to make your sari proper." I think everyone just wanted to dress me like a doll. Actually, Shanta Devi's sari tying was the best of the lot-- sharp creases, nice and tight. The magical fold is the one that tightly comes around your back, rounds your waist on the left, than pins at the correct spot close to your right thigh to make a nice figure-hugging line. She did it right. When I got off the school bus I went straight to my tailor to show her. I met her in the street and she grabbed me and yelled, "SUPER!" with a huge smile on her face. I went to the vegetable stand on my street to buy a few things to make dinner, and actually did sort of feel like an Indian lady.

The next day at school, I felt like I was wearing pajamas in my loose cotton dress and pant set. "No sari today?" everyone asked. "I only have one sari! So far...."

Freaky branding on my APPLES??!!!

So, although there are many delicious tropical fruits that are indigenous to India, the apple is still my favorite. Every week and the fruit and vegetable store, half of the five dollars I spend for my weekly bill goes towards buying my apples. The fujis are quite good! I even named one of my four goldfish "Apple." The other three are Varaiparam (banana), Manguy (unripe mango) and Marmallam (ripe mango).

Today I FREAKED out to find a Christmas tree branded into the skin of my apple! It was like some of the pink pigment had been scratched or bleached away!


I went directly to my computer and got myself busy Googling. I was a little put-off by the concept of eating such an artificially altered piece of fruit until I read this:

http://www.geekologie.com/mt/mt-search.cgi?search=fuji+apples&IncludeBlogs=&IncludeBlogs=1&x=0&y=0

So I guess when a Fuji apple is ripening, you can put a sticker on it, and then when it's fully ripened you peel off the sticker and WHA-LA! Freaky fruit!

ps-- Geekology happens to be a really funny and interesting website. Check out the homepage.

Friends and Neighbors

Hey, it's been a while. I've been sick, and also lost my internet connection for a while. But I'm back on the blog wagon!

I've been going out and doing things with people! A few weeks ago, one of my student's mothers, Udaya, invited me to a dance performance on the beach. Udaya is a classically trained Carnatic dancer, and an excellent one. So I piled into a car with a bunch of ladies wearing saris as they all exclaimed how thin and old I was. (According to my body size, I appear to be 19, not 26. I was like a freak of nature to them. So not only should I have several babies by now, but I should also be a bit chubbier. Oh well.) Once we got there, we talked about how Carnatic music heals the soul. The music struck me as incredibly beautiful, I was actually surprised. It was the best music I've heard in India so far. Udaya was also an incredible and expressive dancer. The dances tell traditional stories. One was about paying devotion to Lord Krishna, and making flower garlands. I don't remember the rest of the explanation, but I think there was some slaying of demons in there as well. It was a super peaceful way to spend a Friday evening.



My neighbors in my apartment building are also wonderful. I made friends with my downstairs neighbor Priya because she is the resident gardener, and I have been trying to start a garden on my balcony. On Sundays a man sells plants whose roots are wrapped in a sleeve of plastic on MG Road, and I've seen where to get the pots.... The only hurtle was where to find the extra dirt to fill in around the plant. I noticed Priya had some empty pots (empty of plants, but full of dirt) in her rooftop garden. So I rung her bell with a proposal to buy some pots of dirt from her. I explained how I knew it was a silly request, but I only had a bicycle and it was difficult to ride outside of the town to go to a plant nursery. Priya told me to meet her on the roof at 6, when the sun wasn't so hot.

So at six Priya not only gave me several pots of dirt, but also several plants, and helped me repot a flowering tree I had bought. Priya took one look at the pot I had bought it in and said, "Too small." My garden has grown from two plant to six because of Priya. I also went to the birthday party of Priya's five-year-old daughter, who totally reminded me of myself when I was 5. We had similar tastes in dress-up dresses:




Vidiya, Krishna, and their son Vidiji are my neighbors who live directly across the hall from me. They are quickly becoming my family away from home. Vidiya touches base with me once or twice a day. I go to their flat for tea and a chat, they come to my flat for tea and a chat, Vidiya took me to their family doctor when I was sick and brought me food to eat, she's there to talk to the internet people in Tamil for me .... the list of little everyday things that they help me with goes on. I also really enjoy my conversations with them. They love talking about yoga, spirituality, American culture and Indian culture. Plus they are my main gurus right now for learning all about the Hindu gods, something I'm endlessly fascinated with. It is nice to have someone to be there for you, but also nice to have someone who understands you as well. They are wonderful. Vidiya is a total godsend!

Leslie and Gary live about five minutes from me, and were the first people I met in Pondicherry. Leslie is the director of the school I work for, and she hired me. In a way, she's the reason why I'm here! She has also been extremely helpful to me. I love going over to their house for an excuse to say hello. They have a library of DVD's and books that I can't wait to tap into... once I find the time! Leslie and Gary were my first dinner guests, and hopefully there will be many more occasions to have people at my table! Leslie and Gary are Americans, but have lived here for 35 years now. They lived in the ashram when the Mother was still alive. Gary helps run the Mother's Service Society which is a really unique research group that studies the texts of Sri Aurobindo and works to bring them into the context of everyday life in Tamil Nadu. Leslie got her Masters here in Pondicherry in History (the books she has on India are daunting and enticing to me at the same time) where she also studied Tamil-- she can read and write it! I think this is really incredible. Primrose school is an extension of the Mother's Service Society, and a successful project that has bloomed in the past ten years to become one of the most unique schools in Pondy. Well, I think Leslie and Gary are totally cool, especially because they have adapted to this culture in such a unique way. They are also a well of exciting information.

Sujata teaches first standard at Primrose. I never see her at work because I work with the older kids, but I do take the bus with her and she also lives about a 5 minute walk away. For this reason, she has taken it upon herself to bring me into her family. This is the definition of Indian hospitality, especially if you are alone. Being "alone" is a concept that is hard to fathom amongst South India culture, and one that is rarely thought of as being pleasant. Therefore, Sujata insisted that I "come over on Saturday and meet my family." Sujata lives with her two sisters, one brother and her mother in a very traditional South Indian home. I have gone to her house twice, the second time to have lunch on the 4th of July. I brought them all icecream cones (kind of like drumsticks) and explained to them that this is what people would be eating in the U.S. on this day. First, we ate a delicious lunch that her mother prepared. It's hard to be homesick when you're eating fantastic food on a banana leaf in the company of a big family. They also love teaching me about Tamil culture, religion and tradition.



To be honest, we really don't have that much else in common, but we all happen to love music! Sujata and her sisters were trained in classical singing, and we spend our time singing each other songs! This is something my family always loved to do. It is such an old fashioned past-time, something that is rarely done in America anymore. Just sitting and sharing songs. No instruments, no record players, no mp3's, no youtube, just voices a'cappella. I really want to learn some of the songs that Sujata and her sisters sing, plus they love singing the American folk songs that I share with them. Sujata's mother said I have a good voice for Indian singing! Sweeeeet!



Ok, I will probably never write in detail about these people again, but for some reason this is the only news I feel I have to share at the moment. I'm writing about these people because they are really important to me. I would be miserable here if I weren't connecting to those around me. It's just so interesting to build relationships from scratch with EVERYONE around you. I mean, I didn't know any of these people until two months ago, and they knew nothing about me either. It's all about baby steps at this point in the game.

Search "70's Bollywood Disco" on YouTube and you won't be sorry!

I have a T.V. It came with my apartment. I haven't had a T.V. in my house for eight years, so when I first saw the thing I thought I would never turn it on, and I would just dust it off from time to time. I almost said to Leslie, "Oh, this wasn't necessary."

So I've been watching the T.V. and my T.V. loves to play vintage Bollywood music videos, which are INCREDIBLE. I've definitely seen some Bollywood before, mostly while eating at Punjabi Dhaba in Inman Square, but the stuff from the 70's and 80's is by far superior. I saw this crazy technacolor go-go dancing disco scene the other night on the tele, and went on YouTube determined to find it. Well, I did not but I did find this, which is the most RIDICULOUS disco EVER:



You must wait until 2:19 when the dude tries to breakdance (? I think that's what he's trying to do?) There's also another great moment at 3:49. Best lyrics of this song: "Joys abound here, plunder it all".

This one is more repetitive, but also brilliant, and quite famous. Thank God the original is better than M.I.A.'s:



This song's my jam. I'm still singing "Jimmy jimmy jimmy.... accha accha accha", all the time. I'm waiting for one of my students to catch me singing it to myself.

T.V. and Disco have definitely made my life happier. Hope this makes your fourth a little happier. Doesn't it make you proud to be American to know that we gave disco to India? Thanks America for spreading all the good stuff around.

MY DAY

For those of you wondering what I've been up to and why I haven't posted a blog entry for almost two weeks, I will tell you. My friend Annie commented that my blog was very "thorough". Get ready for some thoroughness!

I now have nine days of teaching at Primrose School under my belt, and all together I teach about 200 different kids every week. Of those kids, four of them are named Anne, Marc, Maria, and Jennifer. The rest have names like Logapadmanabha and Charumathy. My day begins by catching the big school bus with the kids. We all crowd into the open-air bus, little kids sitting on big kids' laps, and whizz down the street with the driver on the right and a second man with his head out the window to conduct traffic on the left. His job is also to open the door and hoist little kids up the stairs. It is LOUD! This bus has quite the horn, and it must be used at all times. It is difficult to have a conversation on this bus, so I opt for staring out the window. I like watching parents race up to the bus via motorcycle so their child can jump on board. Yep, if you miss the school bus there's always a chance to catch it given the laws of Indian traffic.



This is the first year Primrose has an intercom system, and every morning they play "Mother's Music" for a few minutes while the well-trained students sit with their eyes closed and meditate. IMPRESSIVE. More on the Mother later but real quick: Basically she was this rad lady who is now a very holy spirit that watches over all of Pondicherry and makes it the special place it is. Her music is her very old voice speaking inaudible words of wisdom over new-agey harpsichord drones on a keyboard. Mother used to hold flowers and feel their energy, then she'd give each one a name. The mother said a primrose's energy was "growth". Therefore the school is named Primrose. My first period is free, which is nice, because I have time to get all my materials together for the day and sort out what I'm going to do and in what order.

So, out of my Zen meditation and into the Kindergarten chaos that is UKG! Here I sing nursery rhymes to 4-5 year-olds for forty minutes. Let me tell you, you realize how short nursery rhymes are when you have to sing them for forty minutes. I suck it up and be a good sport, because this is not something I particularly enjoy doing. But once I've jumped into the pool, it's not so bad. The school asked me to do this because they want the kids to start hearing English from a native speaker while they are just beginning to learn.... ok ok. I take batches of 10 at a time to a separate room and I pray that none of them gets injured under my supervision because some of these kids are CRAZY! They do not come when I say "Vanga! Va Va Va!" (Tamil for "Come come come!"). And they do not come when I yell, "Come come come! Sit down!" I'm at a loss. I have to periodically pry children from the window bars that they are climbing up. This week a little girl was standing on a table less than a foot off the ground, did a 180, and bounced on her head. BOUNCED. She didn't even cry, just looked a little stunned. NO MORE STANDING ON THE TABLES! Too bad they love doing this. "Jingle Bells" is by far their favorite song, it is always requested, and they shout the chorus at the top of their lungs. Christmas everyday in UKG!



Onto my English class with 4th Standard, 8-9 year-olds. This is my smallest class, a batch of only 11. The fourth standard is divided into 3 batches, and there were instructions to give me only the "Nice smart girls and the quiet shy boys", as 4th has a reputation for being a bit naughty. I love my 4th standard. They are the first class I memorized all their names (Abirami, Kadambari, Hari, Hussein, Siddarth, Shakti Ragov, Raguveer, Oviya, Mridula, Sandya, and Pooja!) They are getting very good at following the rules I laid down for them: Do not shout, "Miss miss miss!" when you raise your hand and want to say something. Do not interrupt the teacher when she is giving instructions to ask what the instructions that are coming out of her mouth are. Bring your English notebook to class, not your Tamil notebook. You do not need to ask permission to enter the class room. You do not need to stand up to read or answer a question. They think I'm an alien from outer space and they are so eager to please! We love each other.

Next, I get so sing rhymes again, this time with LKG, the 3-4 year-olds! Basically, same gig as UKG, only these kids are a little more confused. A few of them are starting to sing along to "Inkle inkle iwil saaaaah...." I requested that I needed more time to prepare for my classes, so I do this only on Mondays and Wednesdays.

I go drink some tea from a thermos while the other teachers go to the kitchen to have their "buttermilk" break. We get a tea break in the morning and afternoon for five minutes. It kind of rocks. Except, I can't get used to buttermilk-- curdy salty liquid cheese at room temperature. It's supposed to cool the body. Once it's not 100 degrees, we'll start drinking tea instead in the morning.

Lunch with Sunita in the teacher's lounge. We usually sit in exhausted, introspective silence together. Sunita is my buddy. She is also a new teacher, and teaches English to 6th thru 9th. We relate to eachother, and plan 6th's curriculum together.

After lunch, 5th standard English. This class needs the most attention, but I really love them too. I'm going to stop naming names, but there's this one boy who has the biggest loudest mouth I've ever encountered for such a little person. His voice is deep, raspy, and kind of like a trumpet. I need to reprimand this kid for constantly gabbing, but I love the sound of his voice so much I kind of like it. He is also hilarious. 5th standard loves playing hangman. All Saturday they were begging me to play it until I wrote on the board "We will play games at 1:05". No matter how many times I repeat myself, there will always be a kid who asks again. This writing on the board thing seems to clarify. I just point to the chalk on the board. No more questions asked. They were so excited about playing games that they just couldn't settle down. So at 1:03 I stopped class and made them listen to the silence. "Ah? Do you hear that sound? Listen! Shhhh!" I got them to all listen to the silence for about 50 seconds. Then I asked, "Who likes this sound?" They all raised their hands. We are starting to understand each other. Hangman commenced.

Then I have 6th standard Art! These kids are probably my favorites, mostly because I have them for two periods in a row and I get to really know them. I feel like you can learn a lot about a kid by watching them draw/create for an hour everyday and seeing what they produce. I love it. The first day I gave them the project, and for the next 45 minutes they sat in silence, totally engrossed. I just walked around watching them in awe, giving words of encouragement. We made name rangolis and oragami. They're great. Pictures of art to come.

So then I have the 6th for English and we have a lot of fun together. Their English skills are a bit more advanced, so they understand me better and we can move a little quicker allowing time for more games and stuff. I think this class will really take off as writers this year, I can see the room for growth and what I can teach them. Exciting exciting!



Tea break. Milky caffienated sugar, into my bloodstream.

Then 7th music! Also a high point of my day. This class is special because Leslie's niece was at the school two years ago and taught them how to sing in tune. Therefore, it is my job to mold them into a choir by the time the year is up. It is do-able, they can sing! I have a crush on this class. We have started with "A Tisket A Tasket", "Yellow Submarine", and "Goodmorning Starshine" from Hair. They love all of these songs, so I'm glad I know how to select appropriate music. I've been handwriting sheet music so I can play these songs in the right key on the keyboard... yeah. I showed them clips on Youtube of Ella singing "A Tisket", and they were totally enchanted, they wanted to watch it again and again. I also showed them "Yellow Submarine" and "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," which is this gorgeous psychadellic animation from the movie that I thought they'd really dig. Unfortunatley, all the dancing women kicking up their legs (CLOTHED) were just too much for these conservative kids to handle. Oh jeez. "Haven't you watched the Olympics? Gymnastics? Dance shows on TV?" I apologized and told them I wouldn't show them something like that again. No songs with kissing or love mentioned. No dancing girls. Check.

Twice a month I teach photography and soap making (don't ask...) to the 9th standard, the "old" and "special" kids. Fourteen-year-olds! Rad. I won't go into too much detail, but yesterday I showed them a bunch of photos in the projector room taken by two of my photographer friends-- one in Brooklyn, one in Bangalore. I made them talk about the pictures, compare, contrast. They seemed quite interested, no straying attention spans. This type of art and thinking is new to them. I think they were a little confused at all the talking you could do about one photo. It's hard to tell, but I think this class will be a good one.

FINALLY, once a week I teach yoga to the 6th thru 9th standards. The kids were buzzing about it all week, asking me questions every day about yoga class. Example: "Kate Miss, we have to be sure to do this in yoga!" Then the student promptly got into lotus pose to show me nadi sodhana, alternate nasal breathing. "Marc, we will be sure to do that one, just for you." So much to smile over with these kids. In the end, yoga class came to 60 kids. While waiting for the bus and talking to a parent, my friend Dhinesh tapped me on the shoulder to inform me it was actually 61. I prepped the 6th and 7th standards by saying "Ok, when you get to yoga class I need you to sit down right away and be quiet, so you can set a good example for the older kids." This seemed to work pretty well, I was amazed. After a few minutes of settling we had an auditorium chanting, "OOOOMMMMMMMMM". Wow. They rigged a microphone for me, which was kind of bizarre to get used to as I was trying to demonstrate all these asanas while holding it. Indian kids have pretty weak arms, so they had a hard time with plank and chataranga. I egged them on by saying, "Hey come on, if I can do this with one arm, you can do this with two!" That got some of the boys going. We might just have some buff kids by the end of the year. One of my sweet sixth graders came up to me after class to say, "Kate Miss, that was really lovely." Oh my. :)



The bus ride home: Almost always there is a 4-year-old propped up next to me taking a nap, tucked under my arm (to keep him or her from flying forward as the bus lurches around). The wind dries the sweat on my face as I gaze out the window.

Yoga on the ocean and tender coconuts

I have a really nice morning routine. I roll out of bed at 6 am, put on some clothes, and jump on my bicycle to go the beach road where I have yoga class. The roads are very peaceful at this time, and you can cruise down the street enjoying the morning breeze without the blaring horns. I share the road with a lot of ox-drawn carriages, and pass sleeping rickshaw drivers. In less than 10 minutes I get to the ocean and it is swarming with people in their tennis shoes doing their morning walk and calisthenics. I love it.





The yoga class itself I find a little bizarre, but I have a feeling I will still learn something from it. More importantly, I enjoy being in a beautiful studio in front of an open window with a view of the rolling waves and fishermen out to sea. So I do these asanas, while breathing deeply and meditating in the early morning sun. I really enjoy how my teacher often reminds us to “Breathe through a smiley face”. So we are a class of all these smiling people with their eyes closed holding poses while listening to the ocean. We purify our chakras by doing all sorts of things I've never done before, including swaying back and forth like you are waltzing, jumping up with your arms and saying “huh!” multiple times, and speaking in tongues. I am an opened minded person so I go along with all of this with a smiley face. It certainly makes me feel good, and this is important. I will look into the philosophy behind all of this, and will let you know what it is all about. In the meantime, I am still looking for an Iyengar teacher in Pondy. But that does not mean I will desert my spot on the beach!

On my way home, I stop at the tender coconut guy's stand (a pile of green coconuts on the side of the road), to get some coconut water. It is really hot here and coconut water helps cool your body; it's totally natural gatorade and full of electrolytes. The coconut dealer picks me a coconut from the pile, skillfully chips off the top with his machete, and carves a little hole in the top for a straw. When you are finished slurping, you hand it back to him and he hacks it open, chipping away part of the shell so you have a spoon to scoop out the tender meat. Then you throw it in the discard pile! 10 ruppees. 20 cents. One young coconut in the states can cost you up to $3! (NYC prices.) You can only get tender coconuts before 8am. After that, the dudes wearing longis and carrying machetes disappear and you are SOL.

Indian Coffee House, Nehru Street

I wanted a masala dosa. These lentil and rice crepes filled with spicy potatos and served with coconut chutney and sambar are delicious. You can find them everywhere, but some places are better to go to than others. My colleague Vidya told me a great place to go was the Indian Coffee House on Nehru Street, "very famous", she said. I told Leslie this is where I was planning on going and she said, "Agh! That place is so old and run-down! It was there when we came in the '70's, and it was run-down even then. Why do you want to go there?" After these words, I knew this was exactly the dive where I wanted to go.

Many of these authentic Indian eating spots are sort of like canteens with bare tables and plastic chairs. There's not too much going on other than people eating food, and you know the good ones by how busy the place is. Sort of equivalent to an American Diner. Indian Coffee House was the place to be on a Sunday morning! It was hopping with people who were sipping their sweet milky coffee and eating dosa and idli.



It seemed to be the fashion to spill your coffee on your saucer and drink it from there. Most Indians drink their coffee in little metal cups which are quite hot when full of coffee. Therefore you always have a second metal cup so you can pour the coffee back and forth to cool it. This also froths it in a nice way. I was guessing that the saucer phenomenon was branching from this tradition.

So the dosa was quite yumsters, and served with TWO types of coconut chutney! I'm going back, next time I go I'll drink from my saucer.

Learning how to bicycle in Pondicherry

On my third day in Pondicherry, my principal Jareena handed me a 2003 edition of “Experience! Pondicherry,” as a welcoming gift. This was the same day that Leslie gave me the extra bicycle she had laying around, a dark green cruiser built like a tank that I became immediately attached to. I was still learning how to cross the busy streets here, which takes strategy. The best way I've come up with to describe it is this: crossing the street here is more like crossing a river with a swift current. You sort of go with the flow with all the other trucks, rickshaws, pedestrians, motorcycles, cows... and hope you come to the other side with your head still above water.

In my “Experience! Pondicherry,” guide, I was drawn first to the “Street-Smart Travel Tips”. Here is an excellent diagram on how to turn right (like turning left in the U.S.), that I thought was especially helpful. I had no idea how one was supposed to accomplish the feat of turning right. This diagram gives you a sense for the “river current” phenomenon I was trying to explain, as well as the general order to an Indian street:



So you have to get in the right lane to turn right. As my book states, “Why on earth would you be trying to turn right while staying in the left lane?”
“Experience! Pondicherry”, also has these nuggets of wisdom:

“The three basic principles:
1.Bigger rules smaller.
2.What I can't see isn't there.
3.It's my way on the highway.”

These are meant to help the newcomer understand the mentality of the other drivers on the road. Also very helpful. I am getting very good at adapting these principles as my own, which means eliminating peripheral vision and only focusing on what is in front of you. Biking in New York for years was good training.

In my experience thus far there seems to be one exception to the rule, “Bigger rules smaller.” Pondy has one famous elephant named Lakshmi. She is the official temple elephant, and for a few ruppees she will bless any passerby by raising her trunk. Lakshmi does such a good business, that she can afford three full-time workers to take care of her: feeding, bathing, painting her face, etc. One afternoon I had the pleasure of passing Lakshmi on her way back to the temple after her afternoon repose. The streets here are pretty narrow, and you really get a sense for how big an elephant is when you are squeezing by on a bicycle. Here's the impressive thing: cars and other vehicles slowly waited behind her. There were certainly trucks and buses that were bigger than Lakshmi, however, she got the priority. “Bigger rules smaller,” in Pondy unless you are Lakshmi the elephant, and then you trump all.