Dear dedicated reader,
Sometimes, in college, when we were bored on long car rides going to and from debate tournaments, we would play this game “Would you rather…?” The chooser is presented with two options and has to choose between them. A favorite was “Would you rather have a ketchup dispensing bellybutton or a pencil sharpening nose?”
In that vein, dear reader, I would like to tell you a little bit about my homestay. I live with a lovely joint family not far from the institute and am carefully looked after by the mother of that family, Auntie-ji, who sees to all of our needs here in house. She is soft-spoken and sweet, speaks English exceptionally well (I actually wish she did not speak it quite so well) and has two adorable children, Ayusha, age 8 and Arjun, age 6. Her husband has a position in the Indian military and is stationed in another city in Rajasthan, though he has been home for the past week, on leave from his job. The house is rounded out by Pappa-ji, the 84 year old grandfather who was a lawyer for the Rajasthan High Court and still practices law out of his office at the back of the house.
Because they have two extra rooms with their own bathrooms, they have often taken study-abroad or AIIS students into their care over the past few years. When Rachel and I arrived on our first afternoon in Jaipur to make their introduction, they greeted us with a detached politeness that was welcoming while at the same time belying their previous experience with foreigners coming and going in their home.
The day we arrived to move in, we quickly chose our rooms, Rachel taking the one at the back with its own entrance, I taking the one through which Rachel must pass to get to the rest of the house. Our induction to the house, however, came when Rachel discovered a dead rat in her closet, which the family quickly called the servant to come remove. This, we were to learn, was merely foreshadowing.
A few nights back, I was awoken by a hysterical Rachel who had crept into my room and perched herself on my bed, recounting to me that she had awoken with a similar uninvited intruder: a small brown mouse had taken it upon itself to crawl into the crook of her arm and nestle itself in her armpit. When she woke up to find her new friend, she screamed and flung her arm out, causing the mouse to fly through the air and then run, terrified, into the bathroom. Rachel, herself terrified, had then run into my room and spent the rest of the night in my bed (which is quite large). The next morning, when we repeated this story to our Auntie-ji, she assured us that she would administer some “medicine” strategically to the various mouse holes in the house.
“There is only one mouse,” she said, “and we have been trying to catch it for several weeks.”
I explained that, having had much success with traps back in the states, I wondered if those were commonly used here in India.
“They are,” she said dubiously, “but this mouse is very clever.”
The medicine having been administered, we believed that we could sleep easily. We were wrong.
Two nights ago, I awoke with an itch on my stomach, which I groggily moved my hand towards, searching for some relief. Putting my hand to my stomach, however, my whole body tensed as I heard the familiar crunching sound that accompanies a large bug being mashed to death. Paralyzed, my hand clutched whatever it was that I had unwittingly captured through my shirt, unwilling to let go, unsure in the dark whether the thing which I held was fully dead or not. After a moment of thought, I got out of bed and turned on the light, shook out my shirt and watched in horror as a the body of a large, dead cockroach fell down and landed on my bare foot. Shaking my foot with a full body shudder, I jumped back and hopped from one leg to the other for a bit for my involuntary shaking subsided.
Knowing I had to sleep, and that there was little I could do to prevent this happening again, after a few moments of thought I determinedly tucked my t-shirt into my pajama pants and got back into bed. All night, I could feel phantom cockroaches crawling up and down my legs.
So, dear reader, I present you with the question: Would you rather the mouse or the cockroach? It is a subject which has sparked some lively debate amongst my peers here and I would love to know your opinion.
Best,
Cat
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Hindi Class Begins
Dear dedicated reader,
Our Hindi classes have begun in earnest and each day, I wait with Rachel, my housemate, outside of our gate for the appointed autorickshaw carpool to arrive and take us to school. Waiting with my satchel given to me by the program and my little water bottle dangling from my hand, I feel l like a small Indian school girl. The reality, of course, is that I am a big, clumsy, sweaty American girl who is often tongue-tied as I reach for the correct Hindi works to express my complicated English thoughts.
Since last Friday, these classes have kept us exceptionally busy – the first day, we were told that each week, we would prepare to complete the following:
5 pages of Hindi journal writing
2 page film review
2 hours conversation with our Hindi language partner
1 20 minute oral presentation
2 hours of listening comprehension
1 magazine article
1 piece of literature
This, of course, is in addition to 20 hours of instruction a week and countless vocabulary lists that support all of these different activities. By the end of the first day, Friday, I had already learned close to 150 new words. The pace has not lessened and I find myself studiously emulating my former students and their grueling schedule: waking early to go over my flashcards, spending my afternoons reading and diligently looking up words that I don’t know, and spending my nights reviewing and writing in my journal. I liken the approach of AIIS (American Institute of Indian Studies) to an attack on my language skills from all sides. Any weakness is eradicated as my skills are strengthened in a plethora of different ways.
One of the best parts about being in the Advanced class is that the expectation is never that we simply translate or read aloud together. We are expected to arrive at class, ready to have conversations about whatever it was that was assigned to us, be it a movie or literature or a magazine article. In this way, I’m beginning to understand the foundations of having an academic Hindi vocabulary – the difference between speaking properly and speaking in the street. Additionally, my street Hindi is benefiting as I begin to iron out what I know and what I need to know.
It can be frustrating to want to comment on the complicated themes of a Hindi film and to want to use my academic vocabulary to express my ideas concisely, only to find that my tongue and mind will not cooperate, that it is as if a thick blanket is constantly hanging over my head through which I must make myself understood. However, I have never been pushed or challenged in this way and am enjoying it immensely. There are no slackers here – everyone is in this game to reach that elusive goal: fluency.
Best,
Cat
Our Hindi classes have begun in earnest and each day, I wait with Rachel, my housemate, outside of our gate for the appointed autorickshaw carpool to arrive and take us to school. Waiting with my satchel given to me by the program and my little water bottle dangling from my hand, I feel l like a small Indian school girl. The reality, of course, is that I am a big, clumsy, sweaty American girl who is often tongue-tied as I reach for the correct Hindi works to express my complicated English thoughts.
Since last Friday, these classes have kept us exceptionally busy – the first day, we were told that each week, we would prepare to complete the following:
5 pages of Hindi journal writing
2 page film review
2 hours conversation with our Hindi language partner
1 20 minute oral presentation
2 hours of listening comprehension
1 magazine article
1 piece of literature
This, of course, is in addition to 20 hours of instruction a week and countless vocabulary lists that support all of these different activities. By the end of the first day, Friday, I had already learned close to 150 new words. The pace has not lessened and I find myself studiously emulating my former students and their grueling schedule: waking early to go over my flashcards, spending my afternoons reading and diligently looking up words that I don’t know, and spending my nights reviewing and writing in my journal. I liken the approach of AIIS (American Institute of Indian Studies) to an attack on my language skills from all sides. Any weakness is eradicated as my skills are strengthened in a plethora of different ways.
One of the best parts about being in the Advanced class is that the expectation is never that we simply translate or read aloud together. We are expected to arrive at class, ready to have conversations about whatever it was that was assigned to us, be it a movie or literature or a magazine article. In this way, I’m beginning to understand the foundations of having an academic Hindi vocabulary – the difference between speaking properly and speaking in the street. Additionally, my street Hindi is benefiting as I begin to iron out what I know and what I need to know.
It can be frustrating to want to comment on the complicated themes of a Hindi film and to want to use my academic vocabulary to express my ideas concisely, only to find that my tongue and mind will not cooperate, that it is as if a thick blanket is constantly hanging over my head through which I must make myself understood. However, I have never been pushed or challenged in this way and am enjoying it immensely. There are no slackers here – everyone is in this game to reach that elusive goal: fluency.
Best,
Cat
Friday, June 17, 2011
Kingdom of Dreams
Dear dedicated reader,
Apologies for the radio silence – A week has passed and I’ve often opened my laptop with the intention of writing to assure you that I am safe, that I have arrived and that all is well; however, each time that I found myself in this situation, something found a way to intervene and prevent my completing this letter to you.
We’ve been kept exceptionally busy since we arrived – from stepping off the plane, we were whisked into the waiting, competent arms of the American Institute of India Studies (AIIS) program staff. For a few days, we moved about hurriedly and awkwardly, a monster with 60 heads, as the Hindi, Urdu, Bengali and Punjabi programs were all oriented together before being bussed, flown and driven to our various destinations. We were oriented and re-oriented – the mad lib of Indian orientations was repeated once again, the blanks filled in the same way – and generally led about by the nose to various tourist destinations.
This included but was not limited to a much built up visit to the “Kingdom of Dreams”. I had seen a sign at the airport for this mysterious place: it was a picture of a large Indian-esque palace with a life size picture of Shah Rukh Khan, arms outstretched, in front of it. In truth, the place is something of an Indian Disneyland – food from every part of the country is represented in stalls like a kind of Indian Epcot center. Overpriced souvenirs culled from each part of India abounded, as well as suitably thematic decoration, finishing with a large sandbox meant to replicate a beach from Goa.
The arrival of our large tourist bus was greeted with a welcoming committee of men with drums standing in front of a huge life-size ornate golden elephant. Upon entry, a demure woman with a tray of red paint greeted us and placed a graceful finger-full on our faces, pressing rice into the wet red mixture with care. The sweat which slicked the surface of my forehead immediately caused this gentle welcoming gesture to become a full on uncontained run of red down the bridge of my nose.
It was clear that our program organizers were very excited about taking us here so I did my best to remain optimistic as we paraded past men and woman in ornate, elaborate costumes meant to replicate dress from many different parts of India. We were given a credit card with 650 rupees that could only be spent at this location and told to find dinner. A few of us wandered until we found a Mumbai chaat stand and availed ourselves of its menu to eat some delicious papri chaat (fried crackers with potatos, lentils, tamarind sauce, yogurt and green chutney).
The strangest part of the experience was that this outrageous tourist attraction, this false recreation of a reality that only exists in travelogues written by colonialists, was filled not with foreign tourists, but with Indians from every corner of the country.
Truly, the experience is best communicated by video:
Now, we are in Jaipur and I’ve moved in with my host family, the Mehrishis. I’ll save their introduction for my next letter, dear reader.
Best,
Cat
Apologies for the radio silence – A week has passed and I’ve often opened my laptop with the intention of writing to assure you that I am safe, that I have arrived and that all is well; however, each time that I found myself in this situation, something found a way to intervene and prevent my completing this letter to you.
We’ve been kept exceptionally busy since we arrived – from stepping off the plane, we were whisked into the waiting, competent arms of the American Institute of India Studies (AIIS) program staff. For a few days, we moved about hurriedly and awkwardly, a monster with 60 heads, as the Hindi, Urdu, Bengali and Punjabi programs were all oriented together before being bussed, flown and driven to our various destinations. We were oriented and re-oriented – the mad lib of Indian orientations was repeated once again, the blanks filled in the same way – and generally led about by the nose to various tourist destinations.
This included but was not limited to a much built up visit to the “Kingdom of Dreams”. I had seen a sign at the airport for this mysterious place: it was a picture of a large Indian-esque palace with a life size picture of Shah Rukh Khan, arms outstretched, in front of it. In truth, the place is something of an Indian Disneyland – food from every part of the country is represented in stalls like a kind of Indian Epcot center. Overpriced souvenirs culled from each part of India abounded, as well as suitably thematic decoration, finishing with a large sandbox meant to replicate a beach from Goa.
The arrival of our large tourist bus was greeted with a welcoming committee of men with drums standing in front of a huge life-size ornate golden elephant. Upon entry, a demure woman with a tray of red paint greeted us and placed a graceful finger-full on our faces, pressing rice into the wet red mixture with care. The sweat which slicked the surface of my forehead immediately caused this gentle welcoming gesture to become a full on uncontained run of red down the bridge of my nose.
It was clear that our program organizers were very excited about taking us here so I did my best to remain optimistic as we paraded past men and woman in ornate, elaborate costumes meant to replicate dress from many different parts of India. We were given a credit card with 650 rupees that could only be spent at this location and told to find dinner. A few of us wandered until we found a Mumbai chaat stand and availed ourselves of its menu to eat some delicious papri chaat (fried crackers with potatos, lentils, tamarind sauce, yogurt and green chutney).
The strangest part of the experience was that this outrageous tourist attraction, this false recreation of a reality that only exists in travelogues written by colonialists, was filled not with foreign tourists, but with Indians from every corner of the country.
Truly, the experience is best communicated by video:
Now, we are in Jaipur and I’ve moved in with my host family, the Mehrishis. I’ll save their introduction for my next letter, dear reader.
Best,
Cat
Friday, June 10, 2011
Filling in the Blanks
Dear dedicated reader,
“Think of your worst trait and magnify it by ten – that is what you will turn into on your worst day in India.” The woman speaking to us paused to let this sink in. I looked around the hotel conference room, full of prospective Critical Language Scholarship recipients heading to India, and I wondered if everyone else was thinking the same thing as me: what *is* my worst trait?
While conducting this reflection, I realized that, at this point in my life, I have attended no less than four orientations preparing me for life in India – one with Brown, Princeton in Asia, Nanubhai, and now the State Department. Therefore, I have decided that the best way to communicate what the common denominator experience of being oriented for India is like is to provide you with an “India Orientation” Madlib!
“Congratulations ________ (name of group of hopefuls) on your decision to go to India. I’d like to provide you with _______ (amount) of advice about living in India based on my _____ (number) of years of experience. First of all, let’s talk about safety. You should never go out at ______ (time of day) because of _________ (weather/wild dogs/monkeys/rapists) or, if you do, make sure that you have travel in packs or have a male friend with you. Also, please let us know where you are because we are afraid of ______ (threats to your personal safety/litigation).
Now, it is likely that you will fall ill during _____ (some/part/all day everyday) of your visit and therefore you should be prepared with _____ (immodium/doxycycline/advil/lopamine/larium/probiotics/Tylenol pm/Sudafed/cipro/airborne/tums), but, make sure not to self-medicate: go the _______ (qualified medical professional)! One thing that usually makes participants sick is the _____ (food/smells/heat/change in climate/bacteria). Therefore, you should watch what you eat and make sure you never eat _______ (fruit/uncooked vegetables/street food/unfiltered water/anything tasty looking). This will most likely make you feel like ______ (nasty horrible thing). Also, I checked the high in _______ (city of arrival) and it is _____ (three digit number) degrees, so make sure to drink plenty of ____(a liquid).
Getting around in India will also present some challenges. The roads in India are like _______ (something crazy). The most common transportation (unspoken assumption: for foreigners) is the ________ (three wheeled device with an engine taken from a lawnmower). You can take these, but not after ______ (time of day).
You may know that the culture of India is very different from ours, and you may experience some culture shock on your arrival. Men, don’t wear ________ (typically informal American piece of clothing) and women, we suggest that if you don’t want your _______ (Part of the body) stared at or touched that you wear ________ (typically traditional piece of clothing).
Lastly, we’ve purchased travel insurance on your behalf and I’d like to go over it. It provides benefits fo most things, but not ________ (a contact sport), ________ (a pre-existing condition), or _______ (an act of terrorism). So, please keep those restrictions in mind.
We hope you have a great time in India this ______ (summer/year/semester)!
Safe travels!”
Here’s hoping you all now feel fully oriented. We head out to the airport in just a few hours for our flight! The next time that I write to you, dear reader, I will be staying at the Taj Ambassador in Delhi.
Best,
Cat
“Think of your worst trait and magnify it by ten – that is what you will turn into on your worst day in India.” The woman speaking to us paused to let this sink in. I looked around the hotel conference room, full of prospective Critical Language Scholarship recipients heading to India, and I wondered if everyone else was thinking the same thing as me: what *is* my worst trait?
While conducting this reflection, I realized that, at this point in my life, I have attended no less than four orientations preparing me for life in India – one with Brown, Princeton in Asia, Nanubhai, and now the State Department. Therefore, I have decided that the best way to communicate what the common denominator experience of being oriented for India is like is to provide you with an “India Orientation” Madlib!
“Congratulations ________ (name of group of hopefuls) on your decision to go to India. I’d like to provide you with _______ (amount) of advice about living in India based on my _____ (number) of years of experience. First of all, let’s talk about safety. You should never go out at ______ (time of day) because of _________ (weather/wild dogs/monkeys/rapists) or, if you do, make sure that you have travel in packs or have a male friend with you. Also, please let us know where you are because we are afraid of ______ (threats to your personal safety/litigation).
Now, it is likely that you will fall ill during _____ (some/part/all day everyday) of your visit and therefore you should be prepared with _____ (immodium/doxycycline/advil/lopamine/larium/probiotics/Tylenol pm/Sudafed/cipro/airborne/tums), but, make sure not to self-medicate: go the _______ (qualified medical professional)! One thing that usually makes participants sick is the _____ (food/smells/heat/change in climate/bacteria). Therefore, you should watch what you eat and make sure you never eat _______ (fruit/uncooked vegetables/street food/unfiltered water/anything tasty looking). This will most likely make you feel like ______ (nasty horrible thing). Also, I checked the high in _______ (city of arrival) and it is _____ (three digit number) degrees, so make sure to drink plenty of ____(a liquid).
Getting around in India will also present some challenges. The roads in India are like _______ (something crazy). The most common transportation (unspoken assumption: for foreigners) is the ________ (three wheeled device with an engine taken from a lawnmower). You can take these, but not after ______ (time of day).
You may know that the culture of India is very different from ours, and you may experience some culture shock on your arrival. Men, don’t wear ________ (typically informal American piece of clothing) and women, we suggest that if you don’t want your _______ (Part of the body) stared at or touched that you wear ________ (typically traditional piece of clothing).
Lastly, we’ve purchased travel insurance on your behalf and I’d like to go over it. It provides benefits fo most things, but not ________ (a contact sport), ________ (a pre-existing condition), or _______ (an act of terrorism). So, please keep those restrictions in mind.
We hope you have a great time in India this ______ (summer/year/semester)!
Safe travels!”
Here’s hoping you all now feel fully oriented. We head out to the airport in just a few hours for our flight! The next time that I write to you, dear reader, I will be staying at the Taj Ambassador in Delhi.
Best,
Cat
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Back again
Dear dedicated readers (or those of you who still remain),
I’ve long since left Nanubhai and Kadod behind but I am thinking of reviving this blog as I enter into yet another Indian adventure, this time under the purview of the U.S. Department of State’s Critical Language Scholarship program (www.clscholarship.org). I’ll be moving to Jaipur for ten weeks this summer and after a year of doctoral study I’m very much looking forward to seeing my old friend India again, this time, with different eyes.
I remember the very first time that I made the transition across the ocean as a sophomore in college, venturing to this place that I had studied but never seen – the alternating waves of elation and terror were so overwhelming that I considered, on disembarking for my connecting flight in London, simply turning around and going home. When I think back to that first experience, my memory catches on the surface level things – the smells, colors – those things that India is known for. I remember outrageous arguments with autorickshaw drivers and dust and heat and occasionally an elated rain. I remember thinking, “There is no reading about this place. There is only being here.” I still feel that way, even after three years of Indian residency.
The things I read in graduate school about India seem flat – two dimensional. Regardless of the quality of their empirics – their method, their contribution to the literature – it feels far away and somehow lacking. As I’m only a beginning scholar, I struggle sometimes for the proper words to intimate the why behind my feelings of distaste for these studies. Maybe it is that when I think of India, I think of my students, my close friends, the place I lovingly refer to as my village. My mind seems unable to comprehend India in aggregate.
In many ways, my understanding of India is like my Hindi. At first, formally schooled, I studied Hindi and India at a distance, from afar. I immersed myself in its study and believe myself knowledgeable. I was wrong. I couldn’t keep up in a conversation and while I could argue fine, I was miles away from true knowledge of the language. In Kadod, I achieved a sort of unschooled comfort with language and with India – I had to relearn many things that I thought I knew, be always ready for the cognitive dissonance of living in an unfamiliar place. My tongue became accustomed to producing the sounds on command and my mind found a way to reconcile itself to a new palette of experiences by inventing explanations for what I saw that gelled with my American way of understanding the world.
This combination of schooled and unschooled experiences are what I bring to my journey this summer. My relatively fluid Hindi needs grammatical supports – structure – to improve and my mind needs the combination of reflecting on my experiences in reference to theory in order to move forward in my scholarship.
I am hoping to document my attempt to do both of these things. While I cannot promise the array of characters that you came to know and love in my previous blog, I will do my best to communicate my experience with thoughtfulness, honesty, and with some luck, humor.
Best,
Cat
I’ve long since left Nanubhai and Kadod behind but I am thinking of reviving this blog as I enter into yet another Indian adventure, this time under the purview of the U.S. Department of State’s Critical Language Scholarship program (www.clscholarship.org). I’ll be moving to Jaipur for ten weeks this summer and after a year of doctoral study I’m very much looking forward to seeing my old friend India again, this time, with different eyes.
I remember the very first time that I made the transition across the ocean as a sophomore in college, venturing to this place that I had studied but never seen – the alternating waves of elation and terror were so overwhelming that I considered, on disembarking for my connecting flight in London, simply turning around and going home. When I think back to that first experience, my memory catches on the surface level things – the smells, colors – those things that India is known for. I remember outrageous arguments with autorickshaw drivers and dust and heat and occasionally an elated rain. I remember thinking, “There is no reading about this place. There is only being here.” I still feel that way, even after three years of Indian residency.
The things I read in graduate school about India seem flat – two dimensional. Regardless of the quality of their empirics – their method, their contribution to the literature – it feels far away and somehow lacking. As I’m only a beginning scholar, I struggle sometimes for the proper words to intimate the why behind my feelings of distaste for these studies. Maybe it is that when I think of India, I think of my students, my close friends, the place I lovingly refer to as my village. My mind seems unable to comprehend India in aggregate.
In many ways, my understanding of India is like my Hindi. At first, formally schooled, I studied Hindi and India at a distance, from afar. I immersed myself in its study and believe myself knowledgeable. I was wrong. I couldn’t keep up in a conversation and while I could argue fine, I was miles away from true knowledge of the language. In Kadod, I achieved a sort of unschooled comfort with language and with India – I had to relearn many things that I thought I knew, be always ready for the cognitive dissonance of living in an unfamiliar place. My tongue became accustomed to producing the sounds on command and my mind found a way to reconcile itself to a new palette of experiences by inventing explanations for what I saw that gelled with my American way of understanding the world.
This combination of schooled and unschooled experiences are what I bring to my journey this summer. My relatively fluid Hindi needs grammatical supports – structure – to improve and my mind needs the combination of reflecting on my experiences in reference to theory in order to move forward in my scholarship.
I am hoping to document my attempt to do both of these things. While I cannot promise the array of characters that you came to know and love in my previous blog, I will do my best to communicate my experience with thoughtfulness, honesty, and with some luck, humor.
Best,
Cat
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