Gold is a Neutral

I'm currently cuddled up in an armchair in front of a fireplace the height of my shoulders, surrounded by bookcases built into the cold grey stones of an old English manor.  Oh, and the manor is in Mussoorie, a small town nestled into the foothills of the Himalayas.  If you haven't heard of Mussoorie, if you haven't ever been to the Himalayas - much less the foothills - please oh please jump a plane (or two, or three, or however many it would take for you to arrive).  Make sure you bring your dramamine for the drive up the mountain, and after you've settled in and had your tea in the rose garden (OH the dahlias!), being your amble down the thin and windy roads to make your way into town.  Smile at all the locals that you pass, and, as you enter the village, open your eyes.  

You can have ANYTHING made here.

And by anything, I mean the only things a girl really needs: clothes and shoes.  

I had read about the cobblers before coming to Mussoorie and was intent upon having a pair of shoes made just for me.  As I peered into the open-air shops, I saw a gold-coloured Mary-Jane-esque flat.  I asked the cobbler just how long it would take for him to make a pair of shoes for my feet, and he told me 3 days.  I was leaving in 36 hours, so that wasn't going to work. As I started to leave, he gestured with his head towards the gold Mary-Janes hanging on the wall and said, "But if these fit you, you can take them."

He must have been my prince, because the shoe fit. And you'd better believe that I bought it!  Next door, my wish of having a sandal fit to my foot was fulfilled - one turquoise, and one metallic gold slipper.  Ooh lala!

Two pairs of gold shoes in one shopping trip.  It doesn't get better than that, folks, but some of you may be wondering why on earth anybody would need 2 gold pairs of shoes.

And here, dear friends, is the answer:
If there is one thing that I have learned in India, it is this: Gold is a neutral.
Seriously.

Ok, yes, I've learned many, many other things as well; if you've been reading Saahasiga since its inception, you are probably thinking, "3 years on her own in India and all she has learned is that gold is a neutral?"

For those of you who aren't colour-inclined, a neutral is a colour/shade that goes with anything.  Cream, beige, black, grey, white. etc.  Most consider gold a glitter, a jewel-tone, a metallic, or just plain blingin'.

But in India, gold is always a neutral.  In today's larger fashion world, gold is now considered a neutral as well, but I like to believe that India is responsible for its debut.

We learned of the maxim when my roommate was buying a sari to wear to an Ooty wedding (they're crazy!) and was searching for the perfect blouse material.  Nothing was an exact match for her sari, so the tailor whipped out a shimmery bolt of fabric and said, "How about a nice neutral colour - like gold?"

It tickled us pink to hear him describe gold as a neutral and only served to reaffirm our love of the way of life in this country that is bursting with the unexpected.  Live life beautifully, it says.  Live life expecting the unexpected, it says.  Don't save the gold shoes for a special occasion - wear them every day!

Oh, don't worry...I will.

Giving to Beggars

As the bus rolled past the market, I strained my neck to try to catch a glimpse of the fruit being sold today.  Tumba bisilu – jasti bisilu – idde (it’s so hot – too hot) and the last thing I wanted to do was to walk 1.5 km carrying my week's worth of fruit. On the other hand, if I didn’t buy it today I would have to buy from a grocery store later on in the week, and I much prefer buying it direct. Plus, I tell myself, what would be better on a day like today than an ice cold fruit smoothie when I get home?

We rolled through the signal and around the corner, and I was the first to hop off, dodging the passengers overeager to board. I retraced the bus’s steps and my fruit farmer spotted me before I spotted her; there was no turning back now.  The table was plain fruit; nothing too exotic: 2 pineapples, 3 cantaloupes, 20 sweet limes (Uffda! 20?), a plate of black grapes, and – finally – bananas.   

Halfway through our conversation, I became aware of an old woman in a red sari behind me. Standing, watching, waiting. She had her hand extended, quietly, and I knew what she was asking for.

Knowing how to interact with beggars is often a struggle for me in this “developing” and “corrupt” country, as it probably is for others, too.  Foreigners are told to ignore begggars; they may be pimped out, they may be enslaved, they should be in school instead and giving to them only encourages the system. However, Scripture says not to shut your hand from your brother in need; and, may I add, once you look into the eyes of a beggar, your life will never be the same.  Bananas are some of the most practical foods to share, and today my farmer friend had given me more thank I had asked for.  When I turned around, I placed the bananas in the woman’s hand.  She lifted her eyes to mine in thanks, and I smiled into hers, then walked away.

I often struggle after giving to the poor – how am I supposed to feel? Proud of myself for doing something good? Down on myself because I know that I can never do enough?  Because I fumble for a 2 rupee coin with one hand while holding my iPhone in the other? After buying some spinach I began my walk home in the dusty evening light and reached up to finger the pendant hanging from my neck: the widow’s mite.  I bought the mite in Jerusalem nearby the temple ruins; it is a relic of the story of the widow who came to the temple and was giving her offering at the same time as the Pharisee. The Pharisee gave in all his gold and his glory, but the woman gave humbly and gave everything that she had to live on. The Pharisee gave out of his excess, but the widow gave out of her poverty.

I gave this woman a bundle of bananas that I didn’t need; they were extra.  Because of who I am, where I come from, the manner in which I am employed, giving of food isn’t a sacrifice and, Lord willing, never will be.  I eat simply, yes, but never have to wonder where my next meal will come from.  Heck, I have the luxury of deciding if I am going to buy my produce from the farmer or the grocery store, and the choice of shopping later if I am feeling too lazy to lug it home.  How – how – can I give out of my poverty? Give sacrificially? Give in a way that is not self-centered, give with wisdom and love? That is the question of my heart this Palm Sunday. Because the widow at the temple isn’t the only one who gave – Jesus did, too.

Unexpected Midnight Moments

Sitting in the fresh night air, toes in cool green grass, I listened to the locusts chirping.  If I had closed my eyes, I could have been in my grandparent’s backyard in Sioux Falls.

But I wasn’t.  And I wanted to gaze at the stars in the clear black sky, not close my eyes; I wanted to stay exactly where I was.  For forever, if I could. 

Quiet voices of student at a crossroads spoke over the midnight noises, fingers played with grass, eager eyes looked to us as they shared their hearts, their dreams, their struggles.  What they want to do, where they want to be – who they want to be – after their program ends. Processing their experience, processing their next steps, wondering who they will become.

I was in Somahalli, some few hours outside of Chitradurga, about 4 hours north of Bangalore, and I had come at the call of one of my girls.  She and 2 other former students from my NGO are in an intense theatre-training program, and several times throughout the year she has called to invite me to watch the performance. It has always been last-minute, and I have always been otherwise occupied.

But this Tuesday, my only commitment had been office work. So I traveled, excited to see the girls, excited to watch their hard work pay off, excited for a sleepover and the conversation that would undoubtedly go hand-in-hand.

This, however, was exceedingly, abundantly more than I had ever asked or imagined.

It became quiet, and I heard my name.  “Jen,” Nazar asked quietly, “After listening to everything that they have said, is there anything that you want to say to them?”

I paused a moment.  My heart was full – my heart was bursting.  “So much, Nazar,” I replied, and he knew this meant that I would chime in later.  As he began to respond to what the students had shared, my mind registered something that I hadn’t realized before: Nazar had addressed me in English, but the students had been speaking in Kannada.  They had been speaking in Kannada, speaking in Kannada from the depths of their hearts.  This wasn’t a conversation about how much a rickshaw would cost or how many siblings somebody had – this was real life.  It was real life, and somehow I understood.  I understood, and Nazar knew that I did.  Tears were in my eyes, and they spring back as I type. 

These are the moments – the moments that are priceless.  Being with people you love, people you are proud of, people that inspire you, people that you believe in fully, and speaking a language that perhaps every heart can understand. Listening to dreams and yearnings; desires to live fully alive, desires to make the world a better place.  The moments where we see the commonality of humankind that cuts across race, ethnicity, caste, class.  We are real.  We are raw.

This is real life, and it is sweet - so sweet, and so precious.

One Billion Rising

Violence against women is a horrific and oppressive reality the world over, but with the recent global publicity of the torturous gang-rape in Delhi, violence against women - especially sexual violence - is taking the stage in an entirely different spotlight in India.  On Valentine's Day, I joined NGOs and concerned citizens in Cubbon Park, Bangalore, to sing, dance, act, paint, and ultimately say "No" to violence against women.

India is a culture that is permeated by struggles for women's rights, but also that is filled with strong women and men who are standing up for justice.  The use of art at this event was especially powerful.  Not only was art on display, but the participant was invited to paint banners, join dances and mimes, or take a canvas to the grassy lawn to paint their response; to enter the struggle.  I have hope that this year may be the year of the woman in India, beginning to build a solid foundation for the rights of generations to come.

To learn more about the movements to say "No" to violence against women, visit www.onebillionrising.org.

The Day I Began to Fall in Love with India

On this Valentine's Day, I thought I'd throwback to a reflection of a day in early July 2010:  The day I began to fall in love with India.

Some say that when you fall in love,

You just know.

Not this girl.

I didn’t know it then,

But four months later,

As I was pondering my beloved with a smile,

It came to me.

I remembered that moment…

The moment

That I started to fall in love with India.

It was my seventh day in Incredible India,

And it was a hot day in Incredible India.

The air was so dense

I had to push myself through it

And as I rode in the local taxi

I rolled down my window

As far as it would go,

Positioning my body

To be the recipient

Of as much of the passing air as was possible.

Traffic was stop-and-go

But not stop-and-go like you’d picture in America.

This was an India-style traffic jam.

Cars were everywhere,

Horns were blaring.

As I looked at the bikes and the auto-rickshaws around me,

I found myself thankful

That there were only four passengers in my vehicle.

Four, and not fourteen.

I averted my gaze from those crowded cars

(it made me sweat even more just looking at them)

and my attention was captured

by the town around me.

Dusk was falling.

As I focused in on the scene before me,

The blaring of the traffic

Faded.

The sounds

Of a town waking up for their evening activities

Came alive.

I was captivated.

Food was sizzling

On the street-vendors’ carts

And grey smoke

Puffed up into the air,

Becoming nothing but a haze…

A haze that

Created a mirage effect

On the reel I was watching.

The smell of the street food

Blended gently

With the scent of incense

That always lingers in the air,

And I found it soothing.

Calming.

Cozy.

Yes, I felt cozy amidst the chaos.

Children were laughing.

They were riding their bicycles

With giant smiles on their faces

Chasing each other

In-and-out of the stop-and-go-traffic.

Can I play?

Men were gathered around the vendors

Dressed in Western clothing

And deep in discussion.

No doubt they were talking politics and religion,

And all I wanted to do was listen.

Still others sat away from the groups,

On doorsteps and curbs,

Watching me like I was watching them.

Women were walking

And talking,

Adorned in colors and patterns

That I had only before imagined.

Their bangles and ankle chains

Jingled with every step

And the music that it made

Invited me to dance.

Even among the honking horns,

The milieu was idyllic.

My heart swelled,

And my only desire

Was to leave the car

And walk with them.

I couldn’t perceive it at the moment,

But this was where my journey began.

This was when I began to fall in love with India.

Good Tidings of Great Joy

Love has come

That the world may know

What the wise men knew

Such a long time ago

A thrill of hope

The weary world rejoices

Truly he taught us to love one another

His law is love and his gospel is peace

Chains he shall break for the slave is our brother

And in His name all oppression shall cease

Mary did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new?

This child that you delivered will soon deliver you

The blind will see

The deaf will hear

The dead will live again

The lame will leap

The dumb will speak

Born that man no more may die

What love

What grace
What redemption

What freedom
What hope

What a Savior.

Merry Christmas from Pottery Town!

Flowers. Flowers. Flowers.

The earth laughs in flowers. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Flowers are sunshine, food, and medicine to the soul. (Luther Burbank)

Just living is not enough...one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower. (Hans Christian Anderson)

People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things around us. (Iris Murdoch)

I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck. (Emma Goldman)

I must have flowers, always, and always. (Claude Monet)

Yes. Yes. Yes. All of these are true.  I just love flowers.  I love them so much.  They make me SO happy.  And the wonderful thing about India?  There are flowers all around me.  Flowering trees.  Flowers being sold outside the temple.  Flower petals used in rangoli.  Fresh flowers used to decorate for all special events.  Flowers braided into hair.  Flower shops on every other corner.  It is glorious.  In fact, as I write there are branches of jasmine starting to wilt in old wine bottles on my kitchen table.  But OH! the fragrance is still so divine that I am going to hold on to them as long as I can!

I like to surround myself with things that make me happy, so every once in a Monday I bring flowers to the office.  Generally, the shop on the corner by my office has brightly colored gerber daisies.  Pretty, but also pretty run-of-the-mill.  Once, they had gorgeous tiger-lily-esque wildflowers.  Took my breath away, and I bought them out.  But today - OH!

Today I had a big day.  I didn't only want flowers in my office - I NEEDED flowers in my office.  So I stopped at the corner shop and THIS MADE MY STOMACH BURST INTO A MILLION PIECES AND MY HEART EXPLODE:

(GASP) Oh these flowers are so beautiful!  I exclaimed.  Thank you Madam, he replied.  I want them all!  I told him.  I have two Snapple bottles and I need them as full as I can get them!  

He started in on his work, smiling to himself as I continued to exhort the glorious flowers.  Oh! I am so happy! I said.  I'm glad Madam, he replied.  I took out my phone to take a picture.  I may or may not have jumped up and down.  He handed me a HUGE bunch of flowers wrapped in newspaper; I handed him cash.  And headed down the street with a smile on my face even huger than the bouquet.

The best part?  I got to arrange them.  If starting off my day finding these flowers wasn't joy enough, I also got to trim them and arrange them in our humble little vases.  Get my hands dirty, if you will.  OH! It made me so happy.

Not to mention that we get to have these on our desks all week long!!!!!!  Oh so happy!

No Nasties!

I spent today doing a fun little photo shoot for an awesome organic, fair-trade t-shirt company called No Nasties.  IT WAS SO MUCH FUN!  I'm generally the girl behind the camera, so it was fun to be the one being photographed for a change...I was even attacked by a goat!

I confess that the fair-trade and organic movement is something I have been aware of for a while, and it was always a lifestyle that I admired but - like many people - looked forward to living when I was "grown up" and could afford it.   When I first came to India in 2010, however, I worked with academic programs at an NGO and the opportunities I had with them allowed me to experience firsthand the importance of organic and fair trade food and products. I researched farmer suicides on the ground in Kerala and interacted with child labourers in northern Karnataka.  I spent a day on an incredible organic farm with an amazing man who has been fighting against multinational seed companies for the majority of his life.  These experiences made the movement personal; I was led to do more research and to learn even more about why fair trade and organic is the best route for me, the land, the animals, the farmers, and - last but certainly not least - the people involved in production.  While I can't say that I live a completely fair-trade, green, and clean life, I do my best to make informed decisions about the food I buy, the products I use, and the clothes I wear.

Here's my challenge to you: explore organic and fair-trade for yourself!  No Nasties does a great job of telling the story behind the importance of organic and fair trade and how you can help.

And here's my shameless plug: if you're into ethical fashion, check out No Nasties.  If you're not into ethical fashion but you're into t-shirts, check out No Nasties.  You just might find yourself into ethical fashion quite soon :)  Are they asking me to do this? No way, Jose.  I just love companies like No Nasties that are passionate about what they do, passionate about people, passionate about making change...and passionate about cute clothes!  

The Explorer Store

This is my favorite store in all of Bangalore, rivaled ONLY by the Mysore Saree Udyog.  I mean, let's be honest, it's hard to say that the store you walk into and cry because it's so BEAUTIFUL isn't in the running for your favorite store [Ahem - those of you who love textiles will understand].

BUT.  This isn't Mysore Saree.  This is The Explorer Store.  At least, that's what I call it...I'm not sure that it has a name.  It is the store that sells trinkets and artifacts collected from all of India over years and years and years.  We once found an antique Tibetan Prayer reel with a stale and discolored, ages-old prayer rolled up inside. One afternoon, I sat with the owner while he told me the history of India through coins.  #Winning

I get excited just looking at it.  It is a single-aisle store with every inch of wall and ceiling space used to the fullest.  And it is absolutely amazing.

High School Heaven

Today we spent time visiting high schools in the mountains.  I still can't decide whether I would have been a better student in this kind of environment or if I would have been too distracted by the views to get anything done!

not a bad place for a pool!

Night Train

Into Mussoorie

A misty afternoon drive up windy roads into the foothills of the Himalayas.  A rainy night at an old English manor tucked into the hillside town.  Wearing multiple layers and sitting curled up by the fireplace reading a book.  My cheeks hurt from smiling, and the beauty refreshed my soul.  My life is amazing, and I love it when it's Pinterest-worthy, too!

Tourists...Finally!

And we had a day of rest.
A sweltering day of rest, swimming through the incredible Delhi heat and humidity.  Seriously, I think I lost 5 pounds in water weight it was just that hot.
We had a day of rest, but that doesn't mean our work was done! It was time to do the tourist thing; we took our guests on the Delhi tourist route: Dilly Haat and the India Gate.  Despite the heat, it was absolutely incredible to have a break from hotels and high schools and to be a part of life again.  To see beautiful things, touch beautiful fabrics, gaze upon antiques and chat up shopkeepers.  To hear birds, to peoplewatch, to eat real food, to stand beneath the India Gate.  It is wonderful being alive, isn't it?

Driving through Delhi

Phew!  The last few weeks I have been traveling like a crazy person - Bangalore, Mumbai, Pune, Delhi - and my poor little camera has been used for work purposes only.  Today we were stuck in traffic (and more traffic and more traffic) so I took the opportunity to snap a few shots out the window.  I just love India.  Is Delhi my favorite? No.  But I love that life is so vibrant.  Even amidst the traffic.

Happy Independence Day

I got a new camera, and I had a day off.  What better way to celebrate Independence Day than by exploring my favorite area with my new toy?  Pottery Town never fails to make me smile.  All I need to do is walk through and the lights, life, and artisans at work wake me up and brighten my day.  I also quickly learned that a white girl with a large-lensed camera will attract a bit of attention!  Along with many photos of precious children, I also went home with two women when they invited me for coffee (Oh the things you do in India that you don't ever do elsewhere - don't worry, I'm safe Mom!).  Here is my favorite photo of the day - happy Independence Day, India!  This is your future.

Looking for Daddy

A little girl and her father boarded the bus.  The father was tall with an angular jaw and dressed in a plaid Ralph Lauren button up.  The little girl was wide-eyed, pigtailed, and dressed in a fuscia lehenga with a bright orange choli.  Cute to the max.

In India, or, at least, on most busses in Bangalore, the women sit in the front and the men sit in the back.  This father made his way to the middle of the bus, where he stood, and tried to have his daughter tuck herself into the seat in front of me.  This was further away from him than she seemed to like, and she desperately looked for an option closer to him.  I scooted towards the open window, offering the space in between me and the 12-year-old girl beside me.  “Ba,” I said, patting the space beside me.  She looked up at her father, he nodded, and she scrambled between us, sitting on the edge of the seat, gripping the bar on the seat ahead of her, and craning her head to look at me.  I smiled, said hello, but she was silent, staring.

My seat was the last in the “women’s” section, so her father stood next to our seat.  When the bus hit a bump in the road, he leaned down, placed her back firmly on the seat, and instructed his daughter to continue holding on to the bar in front of her.  While she enjoyed looking back at me and peering out the window, every once in awhile she would turn the other way and make sure her daddy was still there.  He was.

The bus started filling up.

More women, some speaking angrily, boarded the bus.  The little girl’s father got pushed further from us, towards the back of the bus.  The girl turned, worried.  Her father smiled, nodded at her.  He was still there.  People continued to board; the bus was overflowing with people.  She turned towards me, anxious, and I said, “Ah, Appa idde.”  She turned to the other side, eyes searching frantically, and, sure enough, although there were rows of people between them, Daddy was still there, and his eyes hadn’t left his little girl.  

As we drove, she glanced back about once every two minutes, and I found myself looking with her.  His body was mostly hidden  by sareed women and he was no longer close enough to readjust her after a bump in the road, but Daddy was still watching.  Smiling.  Reassuring.  She couldn’t feel him, and she could barely see him, but he was there.  In the midst of the chaos, of the panic of people, even if she felt alone and helpless, all she needed to do was look.  And she would see that he had never stopped watching her.  That he was proud of her for sitting on her own.  That he  wasn’t going to leave without her, and that he would make sure she made it to her destinations afely.  This one look was enough to reassure her; to give her the peace to make it through the next two minutes.  Until the bus got a little more crowded, a little more loud.  Until it hit a bump in the road and she became unsure.  Until it was time to look back and double check that Daddy was still there.  

And he always was.

Birthday Best

Tonight was my neighbor's son's birthday, and it made me so happy.  I wish I had some pictures, or had filmed the entire thing, but alas, I hadn't exactly been planning for a party.

It's Sunday evening, and my doorbell wrang at 8:00.  As, when I am within the 4 walls of my own home, I don't always dress appropriately for the outside Indian world (especially since I was getting ready for bed...yes, at 8pm on a Sunday night), I yelled "One Nimsha!"  (One minute!)  It wrang again.  (An aside:  my doorbell sings a different song each time it's pushed.  I wonder how many are in its repertoire?)  I pulled on my Eden Prairie hoodie and flannels (circa 2002) and opened the door.  Shobha, my neighbor, was standing there.

"Jen! It's my son's birthday!  Come fast!"  She pulled me out of my door and we started down the hallway until I stopped dead in my tracks.  "Shobha - I'm not dressed!!!"  She looked at my tattered sweatshirt in chagrin and said, "Go change.  Go fast!!"

So I ran back to my room, trying to figure out what I could easily pull on (I did laundry earlier this evening so most of my go-to's are drying.)  Then I ran out, slamming the door shut and trotting down the hallway.  (This was the point where I thought that I should bring my camera.  But the rush, mixed with my uncertainty as to whether or not my camera would be worth bringing because of its increasing slowness and low quality of photos, threw that out the door.

The room was overflowing with neighbors and a huge beautiful cake sat on a small table.  A handful of Yeshu's friends had also come, dressed all cute for a party...cuter than I was dressed, definitely :)

I won't give you a play-by-play.

But I wil tell you this:

I think birthdays really have a way of bringing out the best in people.  Challenging them to act their age, if you will.

Yeshu is normally the most unruly and disrespectful child I have ever encountered.  Blatantly disobeying, talking back to his mom, spanking her when she spanks him, throwing his garbage on the ground instead of in the garbage can, never doing what he is told.  But today, dressed in his birthday best, he was a different person.  Suddenly responsible.  He posed for pictures with his parents, even putting his arms around them and drawing them close.  He patiently waited while each guest stuffed a piece of cake into his mouth (it's tradition).  He thanked his friends for his gifts, and when it was time to serve the cake he went, unasked, to fetch more plates when they ran out.  He served all the guests, and then himself.

Maybe this is culture, perhaps he is performing according to social expectations and norms.  However, the birthday had an effect on his relationship with his big brother, too.  Kishan is a few years older, and generally they fight.  All the time.  Today, however, Kishan was a protective and proud big brother.  In each picture, he had his arms around Yeshu protectively.  He reported each gift, and who gave it, to his mother and (again, without being asked), carefully placed a julabee on every cake plate.

Will this "birthday behaviour" continue?  I doubt it.  But it was relieving to see the kids loving each other, respecting their families, serving their guests.  And perhaps, just perhaps, it was a sign of the becoming that will occur in this new year.

Deep observations aside, the night was full of smiles and laughter.  When most of his friends had left, Yeshu and a friend ran in to the bedroom to play with some new toys.  Kishan, like most oldest children, was left in limbo to decide if he was still a child or if he should hang out with the adults.  But when Shobha scooped him an extra big helping of Biryani, you can bet your buttons he stayed.  And when the adults whipped out the home videos, the little ones returned as well.  What started as a birthday ended up as an evening watching the footage from the birthday boy's parents' wedding.

I'm on my way to bed (again), but I can still hear the boys playing in the parking lot below me.
The party continues.

Jubilee!

Earlier this week, I met a new friend from England.  Her name is Ruth.

Halfway through the day, I got a text asking if I would like to come to her apartment tonight with some other Brits so that we could celebrate The Majesty Her Queen's Diamond Jubilee.  The celebration would include wearing tiaras and drinking tea out of newly-purchased teacups.

My reply?  Absoflippinlutely.

When I arrived, the BBC was on and I was met by two others from the UK that I hadn't met yet.  One greeted me with, "You sound American."  Well...I am American.  BUT my great-great grandmother was born within earshot of the Bow Bells so I have Cockney in my blood, I often crave London, and my grandma subscribes to Royalty Magazine (or is it Majesty Magazine? Probably both, actually)...therefore, I like to think I'm a smidgeon English and I love that I'm taking part in the Jubliee!  (I had already been following the celebration via Twitter, and it turns out that, once in a while, I knew more about the Royals and British history than some of the girls actually from the UK did!)

The evening was a smashing success, and at times we wondered that that we were celebrating England in a country that was so recently oppressed by its imperialism.  Que vida, no?

We drank apple juice (sometimes mixed with rum...) out of a new china set.  One teacup, from one of the Brits, boasted a picture of the Queen herself.  While we crafted some Union Jack bunting, we watched the Diamond Jubilee specials on the BBC, and our conversation that stemmed from this was both intellectual and humorous. And, of course, we each ended up confessing our schoolgirl crushes on William...or Harry...or both :)  To be honest, though, I was completely sucked in to the programme.  And watching it, being reminded of different events and circumstances, certain passions of certain Royals, etc., my respect for this family increased multifold.

Our homemade Union Jack bunting

We cooked baked beans and runny eggs sunny side up, fried tomatoes.  The reaction these girls had to the smells and tastes of food from home was absolutely priceless.  I made truffles and there was other chocolate to be shared.  We drank Tetley tea and watched bad British comedy.  The entire evening's festivities were conducted while wearing plastic tiaras.

It was absolutely brilliant and the loveliest of evenings.
God save the Queen!

Lands of Contradiction

Many people consider India to be the land of contradictions.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that the very first thing I read when I found out I would be coming here in 2010 described it as such.  A land of great wealth but of great poverty.  A land of the highly educated and the illiterate.  Etc.

Today, however, I was orienting a new employee to the U.S. higher education system.  And I realized that the good old USA is quite full of contradictions itself…

Let’s talk about the difference between private universities and state/public universities.  State schools are generally bigger…oh hold on, that’s not always true.  Stanford has about 20,000 students, grad and undergrad.  Ok…well, private universities pride themselves on their small class size and personable faculty and staff.  But no, my cousin at the U often had classes in the teens and enjoyed much better mentorship with her professors than I did at my small, private, liberal arts college of 3,500.  Well, because state universities are state-funded, they are often less expensive.  Actually, sorry.  We’re dealing with international, non-residential students, so the cost is actually very similar (if not more, because of lack of scholarship opportunities) to the cost of an education at a private university.

I’m not sure that these count as contradictions; the descriptions above of India are more statements of extremes, and perhaps the discussion on higher education in the U.S. is more of a lesson that one can’t generalize or make statement based on common beliefs.  But it definitely made me smile and shake my head, because whether extremes, generalizations, or commonly-held beliefs, it can be confusing.  And I’m sure my poor trainee’s head is a mess.

Speaking of contradictions in the USA, though… what about the English language?  I before E except after C, or sounding like hay as in neighbor or weigh…weird?

Thirsting for Knowledge

I have recently discovered that I have an insatiable thirst for knowledge.  I’ve known this, yes, and in fact two of my “strengths” according to Strengthsfinder are “input” and “learning”. 

Learn something new every day has always been a motto of mine.

          Pumba: What’s a motto?

          Timon: Nothin’ – whats a motto with you?

          Dundun ching!  Thank you, Lion King. And my apologies for the bad joke.  Couldn't resist.

And believe me – every day, living in India, I’m pretty sure that I learn something.  However, the "something" I learn daily isn't necessarily something of intellectual value.  And I hadn’t realized how much I need that in my life!

On Sunday I had a dinner with a delegation from Rollins College.  I happened to sit opposite of an archaeology professor, to whom I confessed that when I was first thinking about college I wanted to study archaeology (still do!).  For the rest of the evening, I sat mesmerized by the stories he told, the research he’s working on.

Did you know that a tribe in northeastern Karnataka (the state in which I live) celebrates its oral tradition and festive culture in a language that is only spoken by 30,000 people in the world?  And where do those 30,000 people live?   Eastern Africa.  Yeah.

I’m hooked.  I’ve always been a world civ girl, but focused more on European history.  So here I go towards the Indus Valley civilizations.  I’m SO intrigued.  How did these people get here?  From what son of Noah did they come?  Why did they travel from the Mediterranean?  Did you know that during the 600s BC there was HUGE trade between the Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean?  Why didn’t I ever learn about that during world civ?  And that, according to one source, the first Jewish people came to India during the reign of King Darius…the second group coming during the Jewish diaspora after the destruction of the temple in AD 70?

And that, supposedly, Thomas the Apostle (commonly known as Doubting Thomas) was the first “missionary” to come to India with the intent of sharing the Good News with the Jews who had settled here.  I’ve studied the crossroads of civilization.  I’ve studied the Babylon and Assyrian empires.  I’ve studied early Christianity.  I’ve studied the Roman empire and the Jewish diasporas.  Why has India never been included? 

OH.  And did you know that Sanskrit is related to the romance languages.  Yeah.  The most obvious example of this is when we look at the word King (English), Raja (Sanskrit), Rey (Spanish), Roi (French), Re (Italian).  I’m also a lover of linguistics, so I am absolute and completely fascinated.  (Unfortunately Kannada, the Indian language I am learning, is far from Sanskrit – I believe it is a Dravidic language - and absolutely nothing like the Romance languages I have studied in my past.)

A word to the wise: all of my reading and findings have thus far been courtesy of the internet.  So they may not be completely accurate.  But I always try to find opposing viepoints and differing accounts…one of the excitements of being a “Learner”!

So.  Needless to say, increasing my knowledge has brought a lot of joy to my life.  Life to my life, in fact.  And I realize how much learning is really a core piece to who I am.