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.