Nothing Special

February and March seem to be the months to ignore your blog. For me, the last few months have been devoid of entries. I suppose the newness of India has worn off and all things are becoming mundane.

Soon the monsoon will again drench us all and again I eagerly await the rains. I am off to a course in Kuala Lumpur this weekend and I am most excited about seeing rain again! I don't care if I get drenched in seconds, I want to see and feel rain on my face again. I'd love to go running in the park in the rain with my children, but they will not be with me.

Next week will be the first time away from my smallest ... ever ... for more than a night. In part I rejoice at the freedom of exploring a new city unencumbered with demands for aquariums, zoos, and toystores. On the other hand I will miss my children. All things considered, I'd rather stay here with my family.

Seasons

I feel somewhat of the fool for a rather simple example of how the West has controlled me. I forgot there were growing seasons. I didn't really forget, rather I forgot that some fruit is unavailable at certain times of the year. In the US any one would think that all fruits grow year round, though some items may prove more costly at certain times of the year. In Mumbai, fruits are available only during their growing season. For example grapes are available for about 2 months starting in January, mangos are available for about a month in late spring, guavas make an appearance around the early spring, and strawberries are only available for about a month. Apples, bananas, and pineapple seem to ripen throughout the year, thank goodness, so we always have a supply of those. So the city seems to wait in anticipation of the different fruit seasons. Certainly mango season is cause enough for hooplahs, dancing, and constant yellow halos around children's mouths. Mango is added to all food items; sauces, drinks, ice cream, you name it and someone dices up a mango into it and sells it as a variety for the 1 month they have to exploit the yellow fruit.

Excuse me now, I'm off to dig up my recipie for chicken a la grape with au fraise potatoes for tonight's meal.

Having family stay with you is ever a dichotomy. I feel excited to see them again, nervous to be a good hostess, and concerned that they don't tell me what they want to do to spare me any extra work. When they leave I am a bit happy to return to normal, but overwhelmingly sad to see them go. As I get older I consider 2 choices and how dramatically they affect your life - a life close to home in which you feel the comforts of family, the familiarity of home, and only occasional instances of surprise or adventure. The other choice is a life far from home, every day is an adventure, but no immediate support from family and life-long friends. Both have pros and cons, and overall I've chosen the latter path, but often I have yearned for the former. I wonder if those who have chosen the former ever yearn for the latter.

So here I am in India, once again 12,300km from my family, once again only able to converse in the early morning or late evening with any of my siblings, once again feeling alone even though I have the best, most supportive husband in the world, and the 2 most wonderful children in the world.

As I said - ever a dichotomy.

One of the most amazing women I've ever met, and the dearest friend I have ever had, once reminded me that when I have made a decision or choice in my life, I need to remember that the choice has been made, the choice was probably the best one to make given the available information, there really is not any point in dwelling on the ramifications of an alternate choice since it won't make much difference, and I must now learn from the experience and figure out a way to make the most of everything. She said it her wonderful Texan way,

"Oh Well."

Travels to Jaipur and Agra

I have recently returned from a small trip to Jaipur and Agra. Jaipur, the Pink City, rests in the desert state of Rajasthan and was once the home to the royal families. Forts and Palaces seem to adorn every corner and the sheer grandeur of many buildings challenges my ideas of civilisation. Agra lies to the east in the state of Uttar Pradesh. The city is dirty and impoverished, the streets teem with tourist-hungry merchants, and the most beautiful building in the world lies in its heart. The Taj Mahal took my breath away and left me forever changed. As we left the monument I felt as though a part of me was forever left in the shadow of that white marble. So totally enriched and honored to have seen it, so sad to leave and know I may never see her again.

Jaipur is exactly what I think of as India; elephants and camels walk the streets, snake charmers serenade their sinuous charges, stunning artwork decorates historic building, bright turbans don the heads of most men, and markets bustle in haggling abundance. My children enjoyed their first elephant and camel rides. Their mother, too, enjoyed the experience, however much longer on that camel and the experience may not have been so fun. Over the course of the 4 days I grew very fond of camels - they contain an elegance that belies their burdensome life as they look down from above with a smile, certain of their superiority and dignity.

My father and I debate on the cost of freedom throughout the trip. When Jaipur was ruled by royalty, wealth poured in to the royal family who built the most spectacular palaces, observatories, and monuments. These buildings exude elegance and harmony. Over time, as invaders came and went, the money left the hands of the few and is still trickling in to the hands of the many. The result of this is that the beautiful buildings are no longer created and are in fact difficult to maintain. Is it better to have wealth devoted to cultural advance and the arts? Or better to distribute it to the masses at the cost of cultural advance? As my father says, "What is the cost of freedom?" I am perhaps a socialist at heart, but I see his point - were wealth distributed among the people, we would never see such glorious sights, perhaps we would not even be able to imagine them.

Bollywood

You haven't lived until you have seen an Indian soap opera. Words may be entirely in Hindi, but the expressions and music so perfectly accentuate the melodrama that you understand every word spoken. As a big plot device builds to its crescendo, the filming slows down, facial shots increase, eyebrows raise, and sparkling, heavily made up eyes drip with emotion. Inevitably, the evil lady of the hour stands out as beautifully as the heroine, however an arched and perfectly plucked eyebrow lifts, the eyes squint, and music thunders with pounding warnings. I once watched this scene:

Good lady is ironing in her room as her toddler is in the crib next to her.
Phone rings in other room, good lady unplugs iron, puts it out of reach of the baby
Next shot is of bad lady putting her cell phone down
Bad lady enters room, plugs in iron, places it next to baby, leaves room.

This scene lasted over 15 minutes as the camera flipped from face to iron to face to wicked smile to innocent baby, back to face, etc. Unbelievable. So here the motto can be less plot, more emotion.

I can't wait to see a movie in the theater. I don't care that I won't understand it ... I just want to see the film!

Christmas Celebrations

Yesterday my daughter sang in the choir for an end of semester Christmas show. The lyrics my daughter has been practicing were for songs, written by the school music teachers. I was a bit grumpy about this, since a Christmas show for me should be traditional songs of the season. How wonderful a surprise to discover that the older children sang the same old good songs that I adore ... O Come All Ye Faithful, Silent Night, Frosty the Snowman, etc.

This is my big bugaboo about the schools in the US - our children are no longer able to celebrate Christmas at school like this - no more carols, no more nativity plays, nothing that hints at Christianity in any way. I am no believer in God, but even so I love the plays and songs and celebrations this time of year. What's more, the children love it! But no, we mustn't tread on some poor sensitive soul's toes so we remove the fun for 90% of the class in order that no one gets their feelings hurt. Because that's the way life really is, isn't it? When you are all grown up and on your own expect no challenges to your own ideas, expect no differences of opinion, expect everyone to think as one ... right?

By the way, my husband and I are obviously meant for each other --- in the Christmas plays at our respective schools we both played the ass.

Five days ago ...

Monday draws to a close and I reflect on all that has happened in the last 4 days. Five days ago I walked around heedless to my surroundings, today I hunch and look down at the ground, trying desperately to act inconspicuous. Five days ago I would run out to the little shop across the street to find my groceries, today I prefer to call down and have someone deliver them. Five days ago my daughter practiced singing her songs for the Christmas concert, today the concert is postponed indefinitely. Five days ago my daughter's friend enjoyed playing the guitar, today he and his 2 siblings mourn the loss of their parents. Five days ago my daughter didn't know what a terrorist was. Five days ago ...

I feel the same melancholy that strangled the US on September 11 ... the scale may be very different, but the emotions play the same - a sadness that colors everything shades of grey, an anger that rages scarlet in intensity, a yellow fear lurking beneath, and, of course, the deep blues.

I have no need to fear, no need to cancel the highlight of the month - my family's visit to Mumbai. What better way to overcome this than to have family nearby and a plan to visit the beauty of India? What better way to show defiance than to continue our enjoyment of life and appreciation of this great country? So I'll spare no more words on this but to quote the country's most amazing pacifist ...

You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.
- Mahatma Gandhi